Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (55 page)

Morgaine’s eyes flashed and she waved a
finger indignantly under his nose. Alasdair fought the instinct to
retreat. “I don’t need to hear any pleas from you! Whatever you
might have told Justine, I know all I need to know about the kind
of man you are. I’m not interested in anything you have to
say.”

Alasdair caught his breath, then anger
surged through him. How dare she judge him without a hearing? “You
know naught of the manner of man I am,” he retorted.

“
Is that right?” The
enchantress dug in her small black satchel and hauled out a faceted
crystal that was breathtakingly familiar.

Alasdair gaped.

The crowning stone from the regalia! ’Twas
the stone the witch had bade him hold when she sent him to
Morgaine’s kingdom.

’
Twas the stone he would
need to return home.

Without a second thought, Alasdair snatched
at the gem, but Morgaine danced out of his range. Understanding
burned bright in her green eyes, and she shook her head in
displeasure.

“
What kind of man would
stoop to stealing from the regalia?” she demanded and Alasdair’s
hand fell limply to his side.

He could well understand her revulsion.
Indeed, Alasdair would have shared a low opinion of anyone who
resorted to thievery of Scotland’s crown jewels.

But the witch had
given
the token to
him.

“
I can explain,” he
protested, but the sorceress shook her head.

“
Save your lies,” she said
coldly. “You may have fooled everyone else, but I know what you’re
done and I’m going to make sure it gets fixed.”

With that, she strode after her
advisors.

But her words made no sense. Alasdair could
not quite understand how Morgaine, who stole men away to her world
without remorse, could judge him harshly for stealing from the
regalia.

A crime of which he was not even guilty.

Did she nurse a secret affection for the
Scottish dream of independence – despite the fact that she flew the
English standard above her abode?

Was that why it required the regalia stone
to come to her domain?

Alasdair did not know. Annoying the powerful
enchantress had certainly not been on his agenda for this night.
How should he proceed?

Justine solved the issue.

“
Alasdair!” She summoned
him with a smile, indicating a vacant seat beside Morgaine. “Come
along, we’re waiting.”

Alasdair gazed across the glittering
restaurant and felt as kenspeckle as a fart at a funeral. But there
was naught for it. Somehow he had to win the Lady Morgaine’s favor.
And this might be his only chance.

Surely, given his current run of luck, he
could not manage to make matters worse.

*

Some actor! Alasdair certainly hadn’t been
able to hide the fact that he recognized the crystal Morgan had
found.

Well, she was on to him now, and even
Justine would see that she had been wrong about this man.

Morgan marched to the table the maître d’
indicated and sat down without looking back to the highlander. She
cringed when her sister called out to Alasdair, but bent her
attention on the menu.

The menu, however, was not sufficiently
fascinating to keep Morgan from noting a very muscular leg sliding
under the table beside her. The dusting of golden hair on
Alasdair’s leg caught the light and Morgan had an impulsive urge to
feel whether his muscles were really as firm as they looked.

She gripped the menu harder instead.

Moules marinara, avec un demi baguette de
l’ail.

Morgan swallowed when Alasdair’s knee bumped
against her own and she felt her cheeks heat with
self-consciousness. She ignored her sister’s not-quite-concealed
nudge of Blake. Those two huddled behind their menus, smugly
satisfied co-conspirators.

Strong fingers landed on the table within
Morgan’s peripheral vision. She hated how she noted their lean
strength and deep tan. Morgan imagined those fingers sliding up her
flesh and swallowed awkwardly.

“
My lady Morgaine?” Even
his voice was low and husky, a perfect pitch for intimacy. If she
drew him, Morgan would put Alasdair against a fiercely blue sky,
his hair blowing in the wind.

Wait a minute! She wasn’t going to
draw
some con man!

“
My lady?” Alasdair
murmured again and Morgan didn’t have it in her heart to ignore
him.

Auntie Gillian had always said there was no
excuse for rudeness. Morgan composed her features in an
unencouraging expression. She glanced up and nearly drowned in
fathomless blue eyes. Her heart stopped, then lurched forward
again.

Why, oh why, did this scoundrel have to be
so attractive?

Alasdair cleared his throat, obviously
uncomfortable with what he had to say and flicked a glance to the
menu. His ears reddened and Morgan remembered that he hadn’t been
able to read the guidebook in the castle.

A tiny traitorous part of her heart melted
in sympathy when he leaned closer. Alasdair’s voice dropped to a
husky burr that eroded Morgan’s resistance even further. “My lady,
I fear that I do not know how to proceed in such
circumstance…”

Surely it couldn’t hurt to help the man
order a meal?

“
It’s in French,” she
explained before she could question her compassionate impulse.
“They have a lot of steak and seafood, it seems.”

He looked blank.

“
Beef and fish.”

“
Fish?” Alasdair grimaced
comically. “Who would have fish when they could have good beef?” He
slanted a suspicious glance her way. “Unless the beef here is
tainted?”

Morgan decided not to get into the whole
‘mad cow’ business, especially as she didn’t understand the
specifics very well.

Instead she stuck to the tried and true.
“Studies show that it’s not healthy to eat red meat every day,” she
informed the highlander.

Alasdair scoffed openly. “’Tis a far sight
healthier red than any other shade.”

Morgan knew that this time
she
looked
blank.

But Alasdair’s firm lips twisted and his
fair brows drew together in a frown. “Aye, there’s many as think
they can fool a man with stewing and spices, but when meat is gone,
’tis
gone,
and no kitchen wizardry will disguise the truth
from a man’s belly.”

He seemed to be speaking from experience.
Morgan supposed that if she had ever been served bad meat, she
would be similarly opinionated.

She deliberately did not think of her own
culinary efforts, many of which had not been fit for a dog.

Alasdair shook his head, then turned those
beguiling blues upon her. Morgan was astonished to find a twinkle
glimmering in their depths and could not look away. “When the pigs
will not consume it,” he confided in a low rumble, “any cook must
be compelled to face the truth.”

His words were such a close echo of her own
thoughts that Morgan felt as though he seen right into her mind.
She felt herself blush furiously.

Alasdair’s gaze danced over her face and the
resolute line of his lips softened. If Morgan thought his tone had
been low and confidential before, the way it rumbled now proved
this man had considerable charm still to spare. “My lady Morgaine,
would you do me the courtesy of choosing some viand to fill my
belly?”

Morgan tried to act unaffected by his appeal
and was pretty certain she failed. Fumbling with the menu and
dropping it on the floor was a big clue.

Alasdair gallantly dove to retrieve it at
the same moment as Morgan. They bumped heads en route. She sat up
hastily when she saw his strong fingers close over the laminated
sheet.

By the time she was sitting straight again
with the menu securely in her grip, Morgan’s face was so hot that
she was sure it was as red as a beet.

One glance at Justine’s smug smile was
enough to revive her. This guy was a crook! And she was going to
prove her sister wrong on this matchmaking venture!

Morgan took refuge in the details of the
menu. “How hungry are you?” she asked, proud of her businesslike
tone.

“
Very.”

Morgan refused to let Alasdair’s low chuckle
affect her attitude.

A waiter carried a tray of hors d’oeuvres,
including escargots, past their table. Alasdair sniffed
appreciatively at the waft of garlic butter, then looked alarmed as
the food was deposited on the next table. He was obviously shocked
when the diners tucked into their appetizers.

“
They eat
snails
?
Like some vermin in the fields?” he demanded in an incredulous
whisper. The woman in question apparently heard Alasdair, because
she shot a hostile glance toward their table.

Morgan swallowed her smile. “It’s an
acquired taste.”

“
Indeed, I would expect
so!” Alasdair inhaled sharply and looked towards the other diners
with unconcealed horror. “I beg of you, my lady, find me some
decent fare.”

Decent would be big, red and dead, in a man
like Alasdair’s vocabulary, Morgan was sure. She scanned the menu.
“There’s a Delmonico steak in a pepper sauce.”

A glint of interest in Alasdair’s eye told
Morgan she had made a good choice. “Aye? ’Tis good fresh meat?”

“
Oh, I’d think so. They
serve Steak Tartar, after all.”

He frowned. “What is this Tartar’s
steak?”

“
It’s raw, with onions and
an egg and some spices,” Morgan explained. “But the meat has to be
very, very fresh.”

Alasdair nodded firmly. “I will try
this.”

“
But it’s just an
appetizer.” At his blank look, she continued. “A small serving to
start the meal.”

“
And the other?”

How could he even wonder about a Delmonico
steak? The only time Morgan had ordered one – the “house special” –
she’d taken so much of it home that she’d had it for dinner for the
next three nights. “That would be a main course.”

Alasdair nodded approval, his glance
straying to Morgan’s black clutch. He leaned toward her, capturing
one of her hands in his great warm one. His voice was low with
intent, and Morgan felt that tingle awaken in the depths of her
belly. “My lady Morgaine, you must understand that I
need
that stone…”

That’s what she got for trying to help!

“
I’m sure you do,” Morgan
snapped and easily pulled her hand out of his gentle grip. She
snatched up her purse and slapped it on the table at the furthest
point from Alasdair. Just for good measure, she moved her chair a
foot closer to Blake.

Alasdair stiffened. “What do you think I
mean to do?” he demanded, as though insulted. “Steal the token from
you?”

Morgan arched a brow. “It would hardly be
news, would it?”

Alasdair snorted and Morgan took refuge in
her menu, pretending she hadn’t already decided to order the filet
mignon.

“
Morgan!” Justine chided.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? Alasdair is our guest
tonight, after all.”

Morgan deliberately set her menu aside.
“That’s only because you don’t know that he’s a thief.”

Justine and Blake gaped at Morgan most
satisfactorily.

“
My lady, I told you that I
could explain…” Alasdair murmured, but Morgan wasn’t going to
listen to anything a con man had to say for himself.

“
A thief?” Blake echoed,
adjusting his glasses with a frown. “Why on earth would you say
that?”

Morgan snatched up her purse and rummaged in
it, dropping the crystal from the regalia on the white linen
tablecloth with a triumphant flourish. “Because he stole this from
the regalia!”

The response was less than she might have
hoped for.

Justine and Blake stared at the stone as
though they didn’t know what it was. Alasdair’s hand moved on the
table, but Morgan stilled any acquisitive move he might have
contemplated with one cold look.

“
From where?” Blake
asked.

“
What is it?” Justine asked
simultaneously.

“
It’s the crowning stone
from the Scottish regalia,” Morgan explained impatiently. “Don’t
you remember that it was mounted on the top of the scepter in the
display this morning?”

Blake rolled his eyes. “Morgan, you really
have to start listening. What’s the point of taking these tours if
you don’t pay attention? The guide specifically said that the stone
had been missing for seven centuries or something.” With a
dismissive wave, he picked up his menu again. “That Robert the
Bruce dirtball is supposed to have sold it.”

Alasdair inhaled sharply, and Morgan glanced
up to find his eyes blazing. “Robert the Bruce would never have
committed such a foul deed!”

Blake shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like it
matters now. The guy was a loser, no matter how you slice it.” He
ran a finger down the array of offerings and wrinkled his nose. “Do
you think the lobster would be any good?”

Justine clicked her tongue and winked at
Alasdair. Morgan was irritated to hear her sister’s soothing
hostess-with-the-mostest tone. “Alasdair, I sincerely hope that
you’re not insulted. Morgan has the most active imagination.”

“
I’m not making this
up!”

Justine laughed lightly. “Oh, Morgan. You
always said that when we were kids, too. Honestly, monkeys outside
the window and pet dragons in the closet.” Her lips twisted as
though she couldn’t help laughing, then she plucked the stone from
the table.

The tension emanating from Alasdair was
tangible. Morgan noticed that his fists were clenched on either
side of his chair.