Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (58 page)

Alasdair snorted and glanced pointedly about
himself. “I should think that even in this place, on such a busy
avenue, someone might notice a foul deed and intervene on your
behalf.” When she looked unconvinced, Alasdair felt himself scowl
with impatience. “Why would I come to your aid just to attack you
myself?”

Morgaine exhaled slowly, her bright gaze
fixed upon him. “You might want me to trust you,” she mused.

Alasdair studied her, liking the light of
intelligence in her witchy eyes. She was a clever one - he had not
even thought of such a ploy.

“
My lady,” he said in a
tone that brooked no argument, “I grant you my word that I mean you
no harm.”

She lifted her chin proudly. “Then what do
you want from me?”

Here was his chance. Alasdair sobered as he
dared give voice to his only hope. “I only want to go home, my
lady.”

Morgaine stared at him, as though confused
by his simple request, then bit the lip he had so recently tasted.
Alasdair’s desire roared to life.

“
So do I,” she admitted, a
most fetching and shy smile curving her lips. “Except I don’t know
where it is.”

A lie, clearly, for no queen could forget
the site of her own lair. Yet Alasdair guessed this was a test of
his ingenuity. Were his gran’s tales not filled with Faeries
requiring mortals to prove themselves worthy of any otherworldly
gifts?

And to be released from the domain of
Morgaine le Fee could only be considered a great gift. Alasdair had
but to think of his son to have his determination renewed.

He gripped Morgaine’s elbow and marched her
into a brightly lit establishment, where the portly patron glanced
up from his ledger. “I have need of direction to the lady
Morgaine’s abode,” Alasdair said firmly.

The man blinked as though he had not the wit
to understand and looked to Morgaine.

“
The Thistle Bed &
Breakfast,” she supplied and understanding dawned on the man’s
heavy features.

How could he not know the home of his
queen?

The man led them back to the door and
pointed in the direction they had been headed. “Down thisaway a
good six eight blocks to Leeds Avenue, then right for a few blocks,
then left on Thistle Down, then it should be along on your right
beside the off-license.”

That might as well have been in Latin, for
Alasdair understood little of it. The off-license? And Leeds was
far to the south, in the Briton’s country.

“
Thank you,” Morgaine said
with a charming smile.

Alasdair squinted down the road. Right left
right. He could remember that.

“
Right, then,” the man said
with a nod and ducked back to his books.

Morgaine and Alasdair exchanged a glance and
he was reassured to see that she evidently understood no more than
he did.

“
We had best make a start
of it,” he said crisply. “My lady, you had best look for this
Avenue of Leeds. I shall count these six eight blocks.” He cleared
his throat as they stepped onto the pavement. “What, my lady, would
be a ‘block’?”

Morgaine seemed to fight the urge to smile.
“The distance between two cross-streets.” She pointed back to the
last intersection, then to the next with a quick explanation and
Alasdair understood.

It was no small advantage that each
intersection was marked with curious illumination that changed from
green to amber to red. Indeed, a man could scarcely miss such a
signpost.

Alasdair began to stride down the walkway
with Morgaine’s elbow firmly within his grasp, but the lady
wriggled free and danced ahead of him.

“
You can see me back to the
bed and breakfast if you like -” she cast the words over her
shoulder without looking back, but Alasdair heard that she was not
as indifferent to his decision as she might have liked him to
believe “- but don’t even think about touching me
again.”

Oh, Alasdair
would
think about it,
that much was for certain, especially with those hips twitching
right afore his eyes. A man did not readily forget a kiss that left
him simmering clear down to his toes.

The enchantress limped along as he watched,
then stumbled over the shoe that yet sported a stilt. In a quick
gesture, she ripped off the shoes, looked them over, then cast them
aside, marching on without them. One pale toe peeked through her
dark stockings and Alasdair feared for those tiny feet amidst the
muck of the street.

He scooped up the shoes as he trailed behind
her and easily broke the stilt off the other one. A perfect pair
they were now.

If only she would accept them from him.
Alasdair could not help but wonder whether the sorceress would
grant him another token of her esteem when he showed concern for
her tender toes. The very idea did hot and thick things to him that
could only betray his desire to return home.

Aye, he was a fool and then some to lust
after a Faerie queen.

*

Morgan stifled a howl of pain when she
stubbed her toe hard on the pavement. She bit her lip, hoping
Alasdair didn’t notice her clumsy move, and fought back her tears
as she tried to continue on as though nothing had happened.

He was beside her in a moment, his lips
tight with impatience. “Have you no care for your own welfare?” he
demanded, then bent and lifted her injured foot in his great gentle
paw. He ran a fingertip over the bruise, his touch making Morgan
shiver, then slipped her own discarded shoe onto her foot.

In the blink of an eye, Morgan had matching
shoes on her feet. They felt strange without the heels, the toes
curling up like Aladdin’s slippers, but were a lot more comfortable
than the pavement.

Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“
Now, then,” he said
briskly, eying the street before them. “We seek six eight blocks. I
count this crossroads ahead as one.” He gripped her elbow and set
off at a purposeful pace.”

He probably couldn’t wait to be rid of her,
Morgan concluded.

The idea bothered her so much that she
didn’t have it in her to make conversation. With a heavy heart, she
clumped along beside him, enjoying the way he cupped her elbow in
his warm palm even though she knew she shouldn’t.

And then Alasdair began to hum.

The tune was infectious, and Morgan found
herself matching her steps to it without intending to do so.

Alasdair must have noticed, because he cast
an amused expression in her direction. “Lifts your spirits, does it
not?” he murmured, and Morgan couldn’t help but smile.

“
What it is?”

“
Ah, an old ditty of my
gran’s. ’Tis a tune to walk upon.”

“
Are there
words?”

“
Aye, ’tis the song of True
Thomas. Surely you know it?”

“
No.” Morgan was
fascinated. When Alasdair hesitated, she took his arm and gave him
a little shake. “Tell me.”

Alasdair’s eyes narrowed. “It would please
you?”

“
Oh, yes! Like Justine
said, I’m here to find folktales from the countryside.”

“
Well!” Alasdair
straightened. “This is no fey tale, for True Thomas was a man in
fact…”

“
Will you sing
it?”

He assessed her with a glance filtered
through his fair lashes, his eyes intensely blue. That look alone
was enough to set Morgan’s blood to simmering. “If it would please
you.” Hi voice was so low that Morgan had a hard time fighting her
urge to kiss him again.

“
It would,” she managed to
say.

Alasdair straightened his shoulders and
hummed the ditty once more. Then he began to sing.

True Thomas lay o’er yon grassy bank,

And he beheld a lady gay.

A lady she was brisk and bold.

Come riding o’er the fernie brae.

Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,

Her mantle of the velvet fine,

And woven into her horse’s mane

Hung fifty silver bells and nine.

True Thomas he took off his hat

And bowed him low down till his knee.

“
All hail, though mighty
Queen of Heaven!

For your peer on earth I ne’er did see!”

People turned in the street to smile and nod
in time to the tune. Alasdair’s voice was magnificent, melodic and
deep, and Morgan was fascinated.

Then she laughed as Alasdair changed his
pitch to a falsetto to indicate the voice of the fairy queen. He
winked at her in a roguish way and her heart skipped a beat.

“
Oh no, oh no, True
Thomas,” she says,

“
That name does not belong
to me.”

I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,

And I’m come here for to visit thee.

“
But you must go with me
now, Thomas.

True Thomas, you must come with me.

For you must serve me seven years,

Through well or woe as chance to be.”

She turned about her milk-white steed,

And took True Thomas up behind.

And aye, whene’er her bridle rang,

The steed flew swifter than the wind.

For forty days and forty nights,

They wade through red blood to the knee,

And he saw neither sun nor moon

But heard the roaring of the sea.

Oh, they rode on, and further on,

’
Til came they to a garden
green.

“
Light down, light down, my
lady free.

Some of that fruit let me pull for
thee.”

“
Oh no, oh no, True
Thomas,” she says.

“
That fruit must not be
touched by thee!

For all the plagues that are in hell

Light on the fruit of this country.

But I have a loaf here in my lap,

Likewise a bottle of claret wine.

And now ere we go farther on,

We’ll rest a while and you may dine.”

When Thomas had eaten and drunk his
fill,

“
Lay down your head upon my
knee,”

The lady said. “‘Ere we climb yon hill

And I will show you pathways three.”

They came to the intersection of Leeds
Avenue, and Morgan indicated they should turn to the right.
Alasdair paused, pointing to the left with a smile.

“
Oh, do you see yon narrow
road,

So thick beset with thorns and briars?

That is the path of righteousness,

Though after it but few enquires.”

Morgan grinned at his game, and Alasdair
gestured to the road ahead.

“
And do you see that broad,
broad road,

That lies across yon lillie leven?

That is the path of wickedness,

Though some call it the road to heaven.”

Alasdair pointed to the right and turned
their steps in that direction.

“
And do you see that bonny
road,

Which winds about the ferny slope?

This the road to fair Elfland,

Where you and I this night must go.”

His voice dropped low as they started down
Leeds Avenue.

“
But Thomas, you must hold
your tongue,

Whatever you may hear or see.

For it a word you should chance to
speak,

You will never return to your own
country.”

Thomas has gotten a coat of the even
cloth,

And a pair of shoes of velvet green,

And ’til seven years were past and gone.

True Thomas on earth was never seen.

The shadows of the entwined branches over
Leeds Avenue made Morgan feel as though they were following that
road to Elfland. Even the streetlights seemed to dance, as the
light was filtered through the rustling leaves. It was quieter
here, an elegant neighborhood where a few townhouse dwellers
wandered with their dogs.

“
Isn’t there any more?”
Morgan asked when Alasdair didn’t continue.

He shook his head. “Nay, that is the end of
the rhyme.”

“
But what happened to
him?”

“
True Thomas? Ah, my gran
says he spent his seven years in Faerie, though indeed it seemed to
him to be no more than seven days and nights. When he returned to
Erceldoune, the Queen of Elfland granted him an apple that gave him
the gift of prophecy and a tongue that could not lie. ’Twas then
she explained why he was to be named True Thomas, though he was
known by mortals as Thomas Rhymer. He made his way as a poet whose
verses came to pass with uncanny ease.”

Morgan’s imagination was captured by the
spell of Alasdair’s song, a thousand images gathering in her mind,
restless to be set down on paper. She could easily visualize Thomas
being surprised by the Queen of Elfland while he lay on a hill and
the way his eyes would go round when she showed him the marvels of
her world.

“
Well, why did the Queen of
Elfland pick him?”

“
Ah!” Alasdair nodded
sagely. “’Twas said he had seen her once and lost his heart to her
beauty. With her otherworldly arts, she heard his heart’s song and
came to him, binding him to her side with a single
kiss.”

“
Oh, that’s lovely!” Morgan
sighed with romantic delight, her image of Thomas becoming stronger
with every detail Alasdair added. “She must have loved him, too, to
have given him such a gift.”

“
Aye.” They navigated the
next curve, the street busier but with fewer trees. “’Twas said
that even the barrier betwixt the worlds could not keep them
apart,” Alasdair mused. “She sent for him years later, as my gran
tells it, and Thomas passed happily to the land of Faerie, never to
be seen again.”

Morgan saw the liquor store that the locals
called an “off-license.” The bed-and-breakfast was right beside it,
and the blue Nissan Micra rental car was parked out front.