Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (50 page)

Morgan bristled at further confirmation of
his state. “You’re lucky to only have a headache to show for your
drinking,” she charged, hearing the heat of an old wound in her
words.

The man whistled under his breath, then
winced. “Bold as brass. That will not be earning you much in your
trade.” He eyed her legs again with open appreciation, then shoved
himself to his feet.

Morgan was dismayed to realize how much he
towered over her and darted up another step so she could at least
look him in the eye. When his fair brows drew together, she wasn’t
at all certain this was a good place for her to be.

Maybe trotting down these stairs had not
been the best idea. She did have a tendency to act first and think
later. Morgan glanced around and realized the only way out of the
small chamber was back up the stairs.

“
Do not be getting skittish
on me now, lass.” He pushed his hand through his hair, his blue
gaze fixed determinedly upon her, and his voice rumbled in a most
unsettlingly confidential way. “You have got to know that I was
only thinking of your fortunes. Fetch me a wee dram and I will see
you have a roll unlike any other, and coin for your own as
well.”

His bold wink left no doubt as to what kind
of roll he meant.

Of all the nerve!

It wasn’t reassuring in the least that
Morgan was still simmering from that first glance. She sputtered
for a moment before she managed to take refuge in indignation. “How
dare you talk to a perfect stranger like that?”

To Morgan’s dismay, he laughed, the rich
sound filling the tower room. “You must be the most cheeky whore I
have yet to meet,” he murmured, a grin still lingering on his
lips.

“
I am
not
a whore!”
Morgan snapped.

He blinked, then his fair brows drew
together. He shoved a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled in
a boyish manner at odds with the severity of his expression. “Nay?
What manner of spouse would let a woman run about dressed as you
are?”

The idea of a husband telling Morgan what
she could or could not do struck a nerve and she heard her own
voice rise. “If I had a husband, he wouldn’t tell me what to
wear!”

“
Would he not, then?” The
man’s sapphire gaze was assessing, though he seemed to muse as much
to himself as to Morgan. “And why would he be listening? Why, a man
could just toss a wee lass like you over his
shoulder…”

Morgan’s mouth went dry as he stepped
closer, a sensuous gleam in his eye.

“
Morgan!” Justine’s call
came at the perfect moment.

“
Here
!” she cried in
response. With one last glance at the man, Morgan scampered up the
narrow steps.

But in her hurry to escape, she slipped.

Morgan yelped, clenched her camera and
gritted her teeth. She bounced off two stairs before landing with a
thumpity-thump
all the way at the bottom again. The jolt of
her landing made her camera go off, because her finger was still on
the shutter.

The flash was blinding.

“
Ach! The light!” The man
swore vehemently under his breath, but Morgan had a few curses of
her own.

Another shot wasted! Morgan shoved the
camera back into her bag in frustration, hating that she was so
useless with mechanical things.

She didn’t even have a chance to think about
what Blake would say before the kilted man squatted down beside
her. He braced his arm against the wall above her shoulder,
effectively trapping her in her ignoble sprawl. Morgan couldn’t
take a breath, he was so close.

His blue, blue gaze was fixed upon her again
and Morgan’s mouth went dry. She was far too aware of the tanned
strength of those legs, let alone how close they were to her own.
Beneath the tang of the whisky, Morgan could smell the musk of the
man’s skin, and her traitorous toes curled inside her boots.

She really could pick ‘em.

“
Are you all right, lass?”
he asked with surprising gentleness.

“
I have to go,” Morgan said
hastily, but he did not move.

Then the Polaroid clicked and the sound of
the emerging picture echoed loudly in the tiny room.

Her companion glanced pointedly at her bag,
his eyes bright with curiosity. “What manner of sorcery made that
light? You had only a wee box in your hand.” He cocked his head at
the sound of the whirring. “It hums like some fey insect in there!”
He reached out a hand. “Let me see, lass.”

Morgan’s fingers closed proprietarily over
the straps of her bag. Was he a thief? The last thing she was going
to do was display her recently acquired camera to this man! “No!
It’s just a camera.”

“
Just a
what
?” He
looked, remarkably, as though he did not know the word, though his
eyes shone with intelligence.

Where had this man been for the last
century?

“
A camera. You
know.”

His firm lips twisted. “Nay, lass, I know of
naught that can blaze that brightly with such speed. Let me have a
look at it.” He leaned closer with obvious curiosity. Morgan inched
backward, convinced he was trying to trick her.

It was disconcerting how quickly she found
the stairs at her back.

Morgan swallowed and looked up at the
determined man leaning over her. “You can’t see it,” she insisted
and hitched the bag higher over her shoulder. “You have to let me
up.”

The way his gaze darted over her made
Morgan’s blood heat in a most troubling way. He might have spoken
but Justine’s cry carried from overhead.

“
Morgan!”

The man’s head snapped up. “Morgaine!” he
whispered. His gaze blazed into hers. “She called you
Morgaine
!” His voice was low as though he barely dared to
voice her name. “Why?”

“
Because it’s my name.
Morgan Lafayette.”

Alarm flickered through those blue eyes.
“You
are
Morgaine le Fee!” he hissed through his teeth.

Before Morgan could make sense of that, he
lunged to his feet. He jumped backward - as though he were suddenly
leery of her - and seemed surprised to find a solid wall behind
himself.

Morgan took advantage of the chance to
scramble to her feet.

His gaze flicked between the wall and
Morgan. Evidently he was noting escapes just as she had a minute
earlier. If Morgan had been more composed, she might have found the
change of roles funny.

“
Sealed up the passage,
have you?” he demanded suspiciously, then his eyes narrowed to
sapphire slits. “I suppose that is all the proof a thinking man
needs of your powers.”

Morgan had never met anyone whose eyes so
clearly revealed their thoughts, even ones as inexplicable as his
seemed to be.

“
And I must pass you to
escape,” he mused. “Some sort of test, is it, then?”

A test? What on earth was he talking
about?

Suddenly Morgan recalled his demand for
whisky and understood. The man was drunk as a skunk! No wonder he
made no sense!

Trust her to find the only drunk in this
place and to find him attractive! Hadn’t she learned her
lesson?

Morgan reached for the railing, determined
to not make the same slip twice - in more ways than one. “Well, at
least you weren’t hurt by your fall. Perhaps you’ll think about
this the next time you have a whisky.” Morgan smiled brightly.
“I’ll just be going now.”

And she fled up the stairs.

“
Wait!” he cried with such
dismay that Morgan halted to look back at him and saw that he was
about to follow after her. His eyes were bluer than blue, the
appeal within them as clear as crystal, and he certainly didn’t
look drunk.

Something within Morgan melted with
dangerous ease.

“
What are you wanting from
me, Morgaine?” he asked huskily. He put one foot on the bottom
step, revealing those bronzed legs to singular
advantage.

Morgan’s mouth went dry. Her impish mind
immediately recalled the offer he had already made, before she
forced herself to remember where she was.

And what kind of man he was. A drinker, a
troublemaker, possibly a thief, apparently a womanizer.

A man a whole lot like Matt.

His question alone should have been enough
to remind her of those last ugly months with Matt. How often had
Matt asked her what she wanted of him?

And how seldom had he
listened
to her
simple answer?

Hundreds of broken promises flooded through
Morgan’s mind, the memories alone enough to make her heart ache
once more. She blinked her tears away, tears not for Matt but for
her own stupid trust, and squarely met the stranger’s gaze.

Been there, done that, Morgan reminded
herself forcefully. And never again.

“
Nothing,” she said firmly,
though she might have been answering Matt rather than the
attractive stranger below. “I don’t want
anything
from you.”
She waved a hand toward the top of the stairs, wanting to make sure
he understood she wasn’t alone. “They’re waiting for
me.”

Without waiting for a reply, Morgan turned
and ran as though her life depended upon it.

*

The bump on Alasdair’s head throbbed as he
watched the delicate marvel of Morgaine le Fee dance up the stairs.
Aye, she was all he had heard of her and more, an enchantress of
the highest order. What manner of woman would flaunt such shapely
legs before the eye of a red-blooded man?

Incredible as it seemed, Alasdair had indeed
been sent to confront a powerful sorceress within her own den. He
thought furiously, but there was no other explanation. It did not
help at all that the whisky, the fall and Morgaine herself had left
his thinking all tapsal-teerie.

His first idea, that she was a whore hired
by the lads to muddle his wits in good fun, had been a reasonable
one given her garb. But then the other details had not added
up.

If the bite of her tongue - another
attribute held to be Morgaine’s, he reminded himself - had not made
the truth clear, then that flashing box had made her identity
obvious. That Morgaine had hidden it away after he had caught a
glimpse of it only hinted further at the power of its sorcery.

And every laddie knew that Faeries had eyes
the shade of new grass.

Alasdair liked to think that there was a
more sensible explanation for his plight, but he had terrible
feeling it was not to be.

For what mortal woman could have been so
fetchingly beautiful as she? Just the sight of her made a heat
unfurl in Alasdair’s loins - the unnatural power of it should have
told him sooner who stood before him. Like a blood-red rose
Morgaine was, delicate and alluring, yet the barb of her viper’s
tongue was as brutal as the rose’s hidden thorns.

Aye, he should have guessed the truth
sooner.

’
Twas fortunate for
Alasdair that she’d had her dark tresses bound back. Had her hair
been loose, who could have guessed what havoc she might wreak! He
remembered well enough the tales of what might happened when a
sorceress unbraided her hair.

Aye, Alasdair would do well to recall the
manner of foe he had engaged. She was a wily one, one who caught
men in the net of her allure and never set them free. Already she
had sealed off the passageway that led to his compatriots and so
seamless was the barricade that Alasdair knew it must have sorcery
at its root.

’
Twas clear enough that he
had already riled Morgaine with his accusation that she might be a
whore. He was a fool and then some! Alasdair could think of a
thousand options of how she might torment him, each lovingly
detailed in his gran’s tales, and he liked not a one of
them.

He was in a mess of trouble, there was no
mistake. Alasdair took a deep breath and shoved a hand through his
unruly hair, wincing as his fingers brushed the bump on his skull.
The only way out was the same way the enchantress had gone.

But what cruel fate awaited him at the top
of the stairs?

“
Morgan!
There
you
are!” A woman’s voice rose above, drawing Alasdair’s gaze
reluctantly upward once more. “Are you ready for lunch?”

’
Twas clear enough that the
only way he would ever see the mortal world again would be to
convince Morgaine to send him there. Perhaps he had only to ask her
of Scotland’s fate. Alasdair had no idea, but one thing was
evident.

He could not afford to let Morgaine le Fee
out of his sight.

Alasdair took a deep breath, swallowed his
trepidation, then climbed the stairs two at a time. After the
shadows below, the brightness of the sunlight made him blink.

How long had he slept?

A castle was spread before him, its towers
and turrets of fantastical design. Alasdair immediately spied the
sorceress, her shapely legs snaring his gaze with beguiling ease.
He deliberately looked to those Morgaine met, and found a pair of
men attired in garb strange to him, yet similar to her own.

Well, he had never been one to avoid a deed,
however unpleasant it might threaten to be. Alasdair stalked in
pursuit, determined to see this matter settled as soon as
possible.

He had obligations to fulfill, after
all.

*

To Alasdair’s surprise, the threesome were
engaged in a dispute by the time he reached them.

To his further astonishment, one of the
“men” proved on closer inspection to be a woman, flaunting that
same shocking garb as the enchantress herself. She looked enough
like Morgaine to have been her sister, but there was a polish about
her that the enchantress did not share.