Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (6 page)

“
I am the Princess Aurelia,
a Pictish priestess and daughter of the King,” she said with the
same pride that she had declared her father’s title. “If I am to be
your guest, I can only ask that you address me
properly.”

Princess? Baird blinked but her gaze did not
waver.

“
No one calls me ‘her’ in
my own presence,” she clarified, obviously mistaking the reason for
his silence. “I do not take offense, for a barbarian such as
yourself cannot be expected to know better, but in future, you
could try to be decently mannered.”

Baird gritted his teeth and bit back a
defense of America with an effort. Aurelia certainly wasn’t the
first he had met in Britain who thought everyone from beyond their
own borders was an illiterate colonial redneck.

Especially Americans.

But considering herself royalty was another
thing entirely.

“
Princess Aurelia?” he
echoed skeptically.

Aurelia’s smile was dazzlingly bright. “Of
course, I’m a princess!” She giggled like a teenager that he would
question something she found self-evident. “King Hekod the Fifth is
my sire, as you well know.”

Baird didn’t know any such thing.

What he did know now was that Aurelia was
crazy. There was no doubt about it. She thought she was a princess,
that her father was a king and that this was her home.

Such as it was.

Aurelia’s smile slowly faded when Baird said
nothing. A wariness dawned in her expression again, as though the
silliness was a mask that had slipped away.

Baird found himself intrigued by the hint
that there was more to her than met the eye. Which was the real
Aurelia?

Baird told himself that he shouldn’t
care.

He certainly shouldn’t be replaying
Aurelia’s luscious kiss over and over again in his mind.

“
Well, I’m late, princess.”
Baird bowed ever so slightly in her direction, and caught a wayward
glimpse of her pale toes. The sight did hard and thick things to
him that had no place in this situation. “Julian will find you a
room.”

“
Don’t worry, I’ll take
care of everything.” Julian waved him off and Baird didn’t need any
more encouragement to take the stairs two at a time.

*

Baird’s heart was still pounding when he
reached the graciously wide entry to the hotel. Though he told
himself that it was because of the run across the lot, Baird wasn’t
as sure of that as he would have liked to be.

It certainly wasn’t because he was anxious
to pore over marble samples with Marissa Witlowe.

In fact, he couldn’t remember exactly why he
had agreed to let Marissa come early to Dunhelm. Keeping her and
Julian from each other’s throats was not going to be a treat.

Marissa pivoted at the sound of Baird’s
arrival, her slender curves perfectly accentuated by her slim black
suit. A pretty woman, she was impeccably groomed, as always, and
right on time. Morticia was not such an unlikely moniker for her,
with her preference for black clothes, her fair skin and love of
dark lipstick.

Marissa raised one hand to pat the elegant
coil of her glossy black hair and smiled at the sight of him.
“Baird!” She waved with her fingertips, her high heels clicking as
she crossed the new granite floor. Baird wondered whether he
imagined the accentuated sway of her hips.

Marissa Witlowe had been hired by a human
resources expert who hadn’t lasted long at Beauforte Resorts. All
the same, Marissa had remained, and shown rare determination in
working her way to the top. She was a competent designer, though
not brilliant, but even Baird was quick to admit that hotels seldom
require decorating brilliance.

Marissa not only understood the Beauforte
look, but she was good at digging out new suppliers and good prices
for the materials that the resorts needed. Baird gave her credit
for that - and no more.

There certainly was nothing else between
herself and Baird - never had been - they simply weren’t each
other’s types. Marissa was simply Too Much Trouble. She took hours
to get ready for the smallest occasion, she invariably broke nails
or lost eyelashes or found minute snags in her stockings that
required long sojourns in the women’s room to repair. Marissa was
allergic to a change of plans and was almost as fussy an eater as
Julian.

And apparently, somewhere and sometime,
Marissa had adopted a flowery, extravagant way of expressing
herself - not to mention a glaringly phony British accent - that
she obviously thought suited a creative personality like her
own.

Having Marissa on the Beauforte team for the
even most mundane business function was such a huge pain that it
cured Baird of any desire for female company for a good month
afterwards.

The sight of her, here in Dunhelm but
dressed as though she were popping out for a goat-cheese-and-endive
salad at one of Julian’s chichi bistros, was a tangible reminder of
the real world that should have been more welcome than it was.

But Baird had to force his smile. He found
himself half wishing that the real world had stayed safely
ensconced in head office, where it belonged.

“
How was the flight from
London?”

“
Uneventful.” Marissa waved
the question off dismissively, then leaned closer. The move granted
Baird a view of her cleavage and a waft of her musky
perfume.

Before Baird could do more than wonder
whether the view was deliberately offered - much less why -
Marissa’s gaze dropped to his jeans. Baird hoped she hadn’t noticed
what he thought she had noticed.

He knew he should have gone for relaxed-fit
jeans.

Silently, he blamed Aurelia for getting
under his skin in a way that no woman ever had done. And more
quickly than Baird would have thought possible.

Aurelia was going to be trouble with a
capital T. Why had Baird listened to impulse and invited her to
stay? He was never impulsive!

Worse, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He couldn’t even concentrate on Marissa’s chatter, his mind
replaying that hot kiss over and over again.

And Marissa evidently had noticed the
result.

“
The gates look simply
divine! And this place is absolutely fabulous!” Marissa smiled with
something more than professional respect gleaming in her dark eyes.
Baird felt the back of his neck heat in embarrassment, but Marissa
continued merrily along, kissing her fingertips dramatically. “Of
course, you always have the most impeccable taste, darling, you
truly do.”

“
The logo on the gate was
your idea,” Baird reminded her, his tone coolly professional. “I’m
just glad it worked out so well. Did you get pricing on the
travertine marble?”

Marissa’s lips thinned ever so slightly
before she ducked her head and dug into her briefcase. “Why, of
course, darling! Why else would I be here other than to work, work,
work?”

*

Aurelia certainly had not expected Bard, son
of Erc, to find her kiss repulsive! Her feathers ruffled with
feminine pride and she glared at the priest to whose company she
had been abandoned.

The insult was even worse given the tingle
of awareness that kissing Bard had awakened within her.

After all, Aurelia knew she was not plain!
Men came from far and wide to court her, but Aurelia turned them
all aside. She wanted a partner who cared for her, not merely her
face. Beauty, after all, would fade and it was the person within
who endured.

Aurelia had learned much of the power of
that kind of partnership from her parents’ example and she wanted
no less for herself.

All the same, Bard’s rejection irked her.
Why, she had even been called a beauty!

But the new king of Dunhelm could not bear
to have her touch him. That just proved he was an unmannered
barbarian!

The priest urged Aurelia impatiently toward
the stairs. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I don’t know about
you, but I could use a brandy. Let’s find you a guest room
pronto.”

Guest? Ha! No doubt this priest would toss
her into some dank and dour prison, crawling with rats.

Aurelia tightened her lips and stalked
toward the stairs. They would drag her out periodically to
interrogate her - perhaps even torture her! - then cast her back
into misery.

Oh, she knew well enough the kind of
brutality of which Bard was capable! But she, she would not bend
readily to his will. Somehow she would find her sire, and somehow
she would prevail against this villain.

Or Aurelia would die trying.

Decision made, Aurelia stormed to the summit
of the stairs, then froze on the spot. She stared dumbstruck at the
changed scene before her.

What had happened to the holding she knew as
well as the palm of her own hand?

Walls had been ruined, the rubble moved so
that the structures Aurelia knew were virtually obliterated. Her
father’s great wooden hall was gone so completely that it might
never have existed. And she had raised a chalice of mead within
those carved walls this very morning, before the battle.

At least, it seemed as though it had been
this very morning.

Aurelia frowned and eyed stones heavy with
moss where there had not even been stones. She chewed her lip with
uncertainty and she had the odd sense that her mind taunted her to
reach for a truth hung just out of reach.

She must have been drugged. There were
plants Aurelia knew well more than potent enough for such a
task.

“
Come on,” the priest urged
impatiently. “Let’s get out of this miserable rain already. God, I
hate this place. Beats me why people choose to live
here.”

Aurelia stepped forward at his demand, all
the while fighting to hide her response to Bard’s wanton
destruction. If she had not recognized the ritual well, Aurelia
might have doubted that she was home.

Aurelia looked to the sea, knowing that it
would tell her no lies. She eyed the sweep of the coastline, the
reassuring shade of hazy blue with which the sea always met the
sky.

That was familiar, at least. She recognized
the crags and beaches, the great stones and the waves that
stretched to the horizon, and felt her fears settle as surely as
the waves pounding on the shore.

Back across the island and in the other
direction, Aurelia could barely discern the silhouetted towers that
had been falling apart as long as anyone could remember. The dimple
of an old chambered tomb, left by people long forgotten, could be
seen if she squinted into the morning sun.

Were the crumbling towers shorter than
before? And what had happened to all the trees surrounding her
father’s hall? Bard’s men must have raided the towers for material
to build his great stone hall, just ahead. And the trees could have
been chopped and burned with alarming speed.

This was her home, regardless of how quickly
Bard had managed to make his mark upon it.

Aurelia took a deep breath and looked once
more at the construction they approached. Workers crawled over the
site like bees in a hive, their clothing different but no less
strange than that of Bard and his priest. The great stone hall rose
high behind them, higher than any hall Aurelia had ever seen.

Surely everyone she knew could not have been
slaughtered? It looked as though Bard had need of every strong man
for the ambitious construction he made here.

Encouraged by the thought, Aurelia focused
her attention on the men themselves, hopefully seeking a familiar
face. She scanned the first workman that she and the priest passed
by, but did not know him. Nor the second, nor the third. Aurelia
returned more than one questioning glance, and hoped desperately
that the priest did not notice her curiosity.

But there were no faces she knew in the
yard.

Aurelia refused to despair. Maybe the women,
at least, had been allowed to survive as household slaves and
whores. They would be hidden away at this hour, working in kitchens
and storerooms and fields. With so many men filling the courtyard,
Aurelia knew there must be women kept to service their needs.

It was the fate of conquered women
everywhere to roll to their backs, willingly or not. Somewhere on
this holding, Aurelia would find someone she knew.

The priest led her through a wide portal set
beside a soaring tower that had not existed before. The portal was
thrice as high as Aurelia stood, its wooden doors heavy with iron
studs and folded back against the inside. As they passed beneath
its shadow, Aurelia glanced up and saw the spikes of a wicked iron
gate that could be dropped across the passage.

She had never seen such fine iron work in
all her days and slanted a glance to the priest. Aurelia knew well
enough that blacksmiths possessed a secret power and taught their
songs only to specially chosen apprentices. Had this priest been
responsible for increasing the power of the smiths’ songs?

The high walls were wrought so carefully of
stone that they seemed perfectly smooth. Aurelia touched one as she
passed through the passageway behind the portal and marveled at the
thin line sealing each stone to the next.

The craft of the stonemason had also been
taken to new heights by Bard’s men.

The truth could not be denied. There was
powerful witchery at work in this place.

Aurelia slanted a glance to the impassive
priest, much impressed by his influence. Perhaps her father had
underestimated the powers of the men from Rome.

Another pair of doors - these wooden ones
ornamented with swirls of gold or brass - opened at the priest’s
touch to reveal a hall of such sumptuous design that Aurelia halted
and gaped.

The floor was like a gaming board,
alternating dark and light squares, but wrought of some infinitely
smooth stone that was cut with incredible precision. The ceiling
arched high overhead and Aurelia could not imagine what magic
possessed the slender columns that they could hold up a roof
wrought of stone. The interior was in the midst of being painted
most artfully with writhing Celtic dragons and knots.