Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (56 page)

It he grabbed for the stone, she wasn’t
going to let him get away with it.

“
Don’t you see?” Morgan
said urgently. “He used us to get the stone out of the castle, and
now he’s going to steal it back from us.” She gave Alasdair a
scathing glance. “Probably sell it for a fortune.”

“
That?” Blake’s expression
was skeptical. “Might get five bucks for it, on a good
day.”

“
It’s kind of pretty.”
Justine turned the stone to catch the light, then tossed it to
Morgan as though it were no more than a bauble. Morgan fumbled but
managed to hold on to it. “Did you find it in one of those New Age
shops? They’re just nuts for crystals, aren’t they?”

Morgan felt herself tremble as her fingers
closed over the stone. “This isn’t a joke.”

“
Then why don’t either of
us remember the stone being in the scepter?” Blake asked. “Face it,
Morgan. Your imagination has gotten away from you.
Again.”

Obviously they didn’t believe her. Morgan
didn’t know how Alasdair had managed to fool everyone, but she was
somehow going to prove that she was right. She shoved the stone
back into her evening purse, glancing up when she felt the weight
of someone’s gaze upon her.

And one look into those blue, blue eyes told
Morgan that there was one person who already knew that she was
right.

*

The steak of Tartars was good fare, but
hardly ample enough to satisfy. Alasdair was greatly relieved when
the servant slid a great wallop of beef beneath his nose. The smell
alone made his innards growl in anticipation.

Anxious not to give offense in this strange
court, he had already noted and adapted to the use of the small,
tined spear that had been awaiting him at the table. He
surreptitiously watched the lady Morgaine herself as she carved a
piece of her own much more meager serving of meat, then mimicked
her actions.

And closed his eyes when the succulent
flavor flooded his mouth. He was too hungered to care whether ’twas
bewitched. The red wine was finer than any he had ever known, wine
being a rarity in his life and one oft so musty by the time it
ventured this far north that Alasdair preferred his ale.

All in all, he could not object to the
quantity or quality of the food in Morgaine’s domain.

As long as one avoided the snails.

“
I must thank you, my
lady,” he murmured. “For the fare is most fine.”

Morgaine looked unimpressed by his
gratitude, although she nodded curtly. Conversation flared briefly
as each commended the meal to the attentive servant, then silence
reigned again. Alasdair took another morsel of meat and tried to
think of a way he could win the crystal from Morgaine’s
clutches.

Let alone curry the queen’s favor.

“
You know, Alasdair, you
just might be able to help us,” Justine commented
brightly.

“
Indeed?”

“
Yes.” The advisor smiled.
“You know, Morgan has a fascination with folktales and old stories.
I was wondering if you might know some, you know, stories you heard
as a child that you could share with us.”

Alasdair glanced sideways at his adversary,
only to find her expression murderous. Evidently she did not like
this advisor sharing tales of her tastes. Why would she be
interested in the tales of mortals, except to turn them to her own
dark gain?

But all the same, this might work to his
advantage. Alasdair summoned a winning smile. “Aye, that I do. My
gran is a great teller of tales, and I have heard the lot of them
from the cradle.”

“
Really?” Justine was
obviously impressed by this news. “You see, Morgan, I just knew
Alasdair would be able to help.”

Before Morgaine could comment upon this, a
servant hovered at the periphery of the table and coughed
discreetly. Blake looked up and beckoned to him.

“
Excuse me, sir.” The
servant’s manner was as deferential as if he addressed Morgaine
herself. Alasdair wondered whether the common folk here were not
permitted to speak to the great lady without intercession. “We did
manage to obtain tickets for this evening’s performance for you” –
Justine cooed with delight – “ although there is a small
problem.”

“
Really?” Blake
fastidiously wiped his mouth and laid his fine napkin aside. “And
what’s that?” He did not look surprised by this morsel of news, nor
did he so much as glance at the sorceress Morgaine. Alasdair could
not help but wonder whether these two had launched yet another
scheme on his behalf.

He would not consider what he might owe them
for their intervention.

The man cleared his throat. “Sadly, there
are only two tickets available…”

“
Ah!” Blake’s face wore an
expression of exaggerated dismay.

Justine pouted in a manner that Alasdair
would have thought most uncharacteristic. “But I
really
wanted to see this play. It’s our only night in Edinburgh.”

The pair of advisors turned winning smiles
on their patroness.

“
Well, then, you should
go,” Morgaine said flatly and stabbed at her meat. “Don’t worry
about me.”

“
Oh, we couldn’t,” Justine
protested, her bright glance dancing toward Alasdair so pointedly
that he realized his role in all of this.

As did the tiny queen, evidently. Morgaine
muttered an expletive beneath her breath that Alasdair was
astonished she knew.

And then he was so sorely insulted that she
found his companionship offensive that he could not summon a word
in his own defense.

“
Well, that’s settled,
then.” Blake pushed himself to his feet and looked at the dark band
on his wrist. “Almost curtain time.” He presented a gold square to
the man, who bowed and scurried away, then smiled at Morgan. “I’m
glad this worked out so well. You and Alasdair just take your time
here, everything’s taken care of.”

“
Have dessert and coffee,”
Justine added as she got to her feet.

“
And Alasdair, surely you
wouldn’t mind seeing Morgan back to the bed-and-breakfast?” Blake
asked amiably. “Any city at night is no place for a woman
alone.”

Alasdair got to his feet politely and
inclined his head. “I should be most honored to accompany the lady
Morgaine wherever she desires…”

“
You can’t do this to me,
you know,” Morgaine said tightly, granting a glare at Justine that
did not bode well for that woman’s future. “I’ll just go back to
the hotel myself. This isn’t going to work.”

“
Oh, don’t be silly!”
Justine protested. “Sit and enjoy yourself. Talk. Relax for once,
Morgan.” She slid her arm through Blake’s and smiled for him alone.
“I’m sure we’ll all have a wonderful time this evening.”

The pair exchanged a hot look that left no
doubt in Alasdair’s mind as to the status of their relations. Blake
retrieved his gold square and they swept away, leaving Alasdair
with the lady Morgaine.

Who was evidently not very happy with the
situation.

No sooner had they left than Morgaine jabbed
a finger toward Alasdair, giving him no chance to try another
measure of his charm. “You may have fooled them, and you may have
fooled the guards, but I know what you did and I’m not going to
forget it.”

“
But I can
explain…”

“
I’m sure you have some
story.” She sniffed with disdain and pushed her plate away,
obviously preparing to leave.

“
But my lady, I truly must
speak to you…”

“
I’m not interested in
anything you have to say,” Morgaine said crisply. She stood up and
gathered her small satchel, the crystal making a little bulge in
its soft sides. She met Alasdair’s gaze coolly. “And you don’t have
to see me back to the hotel, regardless of what Blake and Justine
have said.”

With that, she strode out of the
restaurant.

Alasdair watched her go, grudgingly admiring
the way she held her head high. She was a feisty bit of woman, that
much was for certain.

And Alasdair was not going to let her out of
his sight, regardless of what she had to say about the matter. His
gran had always said the MacAulays were too cursed stubborn for
their own good, and for once Alasdair was content to prove her
right.

There was too much at stake to do
otherwise.

*

It was probably the best exit Morgan had
ever made in her life.

She hadn’t tripped over a single thing, or
tried to leave through the ladies’ room, or had her words come out
in the wrong order. She hadn’t even inadvertently dragged the linen
napkin away from the table. And she hadn’t been to the ladies’
room, so her skirt couldn’t be tucked into her pantihose.

But it was just her luck that there wasn’t a
single taxi in front of the Lyceum Theatre.

Something had to go wrong. It always
did.

When a great blond man stepped out of the
restaurant while she lingered indecisively at the curb, Morgan knew
that her luck had run out. She wouldn’t be able to manage hanging
around without talking to Alasdair again.

And Morgan didn’t trust herself to say no to
him again so quickly. She jumped off the curb to hail a cab flying
past, but the taxi kept going. In its wake the street was dark in
both directions.

Well, if her options were talking to
Alasdair or walking back by herself, there was no choice.

She would walk.

It was a nice evening after all and not that
late, despite the darkness. Morgan told herself that the exercise
would do her good after that meal. Plus she could work off some of
her irritation with Justine’s meddling.

She hastily picked the road she thought led
to the bed-and-breakfast, without looking back to see whether
Alasdair was behind her. She headed off at a quick pace, despite
her little black heels, and was momentarily alarmed by how quickly
she became the only one walking in the street.

Morgan nervously glanced back at the
brightly lit theater behind her. Her heart skipped a beat when she
thought she saw a figure step quickly into the shadows.

No. She was imagining things. Again.
Edinburgh was a safe city, probably a lot safer than Chicago, where
she regularly walked by herself.

At least, she walked streets she knew were
safe.

And in daylight.

Morgan scanned the front of the theater, but
Alasdair was gone. She refused to feel disappointed that he had
finally taken no for an answer.

After all, she didn’t need an escort. She
was sure it wasn’t far to the bed-and-breakfast. And it was only
eight-thirty – it just got dark early here.

There was no problem.

Morgan clutched her purse, her instincts
screaming to the contrary, and trotted in what she was absolutely
positive was the right direction.

*

Directionally impaired Morgan was, of
course, completely wrong.

But by the time she realized her mistake,
there wasn’t much she could do about it but keep walking.
Periodically, she thought she heard a stealthy tread on the
pavement behind her, but whenever she looked back, the street was
vacant.

She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or
frightened. Her heart had no such indecision – it was pounding in
her ears like the sound track of a rock video.

But Morgan kept walking.

And cursing her own ability to get herself
into a pickle – as Auntie Gillian would have said.

The neighborhood she found herself in must
have been part of the university. It was completely, eerily
deserted, the windows of the lecture halls dark and vacant. Her
heels clicked loudly on the pavement, and a candy wrapper rattled
as it tumbled across the road.

There wasn’t a vehicle in sight, and the
only light came from the streetlights. Keep moving, she told
herself firmly.

Morgan studied a building opposite as she
walked, certain she had seen it sometime during the day but unable
to place it. Had she been going to the castle? To the palace? For
tea? Back to the bed-and-breakfast? All the streets were twisted
around each other, their names made no orderly sense, and it was so
very confusing.

She could have headed back to the theater,
if she could have managed a guess at which way she had come. Morgan
rounded a corner and the dark silhouette of a park loomed three
blocks ahead.

She hesitated. Crossing that dark expanse
alone wouldn’t be a clever move.

Morgan considered the narrow streets to the
left and the right, but didn’t like the look of any of them. The
street behind her was filled with ominous shadows. Left without
many choices, she marched onward, ignoring the lump in her
throat.

A cat yowled suddenly and Morgan jumped. She
lost her balance on her unfamiliar heels, tripped over the curb,
and took one step down into the gutter.

And broke the heel of her shoe in a sewer
grate.

The heel disappeared through the metal grate
and she heard it splash into something unmentionable far, far
below.

Morgan was almost ready to cry. She loved
these shoes! And she would never be able to get another heel to
match. She turned to head back to the theater, one way or the
other, then realized she had bigger problems than matching a
heel.

Morgan wasn’t alone anymore. She looked up
into the cold eyes of a truly Dickensian ruffian, standing on the
curb right beside her.

Complete with a nasty little knife.

Morgan swallowed carefully. She hadn’t even
heard him coming.

“
C’mon darling, give me all
your lovely money.” The knife flashed as he waved it impatiently at
her. “C’mon, c’mon, hand over the wee purse. I’ve not got all night
for this.”