Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (61 page)

Then she spun around and stalked back to her
abode, the proud tilt of her chin so intriguing that Alasdair
almost forgot that he was lost in the grip of a powerful
sorceress.

Morgaine spun and wagged a finger at him.
“And remember, I’m not talking to you.”

When she continued to walk away, her hips
twitched with such feminine allure that Alasdair’s distrust melted
like butter in the sun. Aye, had she been a mere lass, he would
have followed her to the ends of the earth.

But Morgaine was no lass and Alasdair was
already beyond the ends of the earth.

He gritted his teeth and crossed the park in
the enchantress’s wake. No doubt a meal would restore his even
temper, though he had best ensure that his manners were impeccable.
Everything he desired was so close, nearly within his grasp.

Alasdair did not dare risk an error now.

*

Morgan didn’t miss her sister’s quickly
smothered smile as she entered the little room of their
bed-and-breakfast that was designated for the morning meal.

Tables no bigger than card tables were
packed into what had evidently been a parlor in the converted
Victorian townhome. There was barely enough space to sit at each
place, let alone to pull out a chair or cross the room. Plastic
tablecloths punched in imitation of cutwork linen hung perfectly
square on each tiny table; a printed place mat marked each
place.

The room was packed with tourists, obviously
in a hurry to get to the business of sightseeing on a day that
promised sunshine. Morgan noted, to her dismay, that Blake and
Morgan had claimed a corner table that would take considerable
navigation to reach.

Blake had packed his long legs into the back
place and was wedged against two walls. It didn’t look as though he
could manage to break free anytime soon. Justine perched beside him
with the same grace she would have exhibited if breakfasting at
Buckingham Palace, although her elbows were tight against her sides
as she poured her coffee.

Their hostess, Maggie, was depositing racks
of toast, cups and saucers, and individual pots of both coffee and
cream amid the clutter of condiments permanently set on the table.
The plump matron expertly fitted everything around the pair’s
half-emptied cereal bowls and juice glasses.

As Morgan watched, Blake, trying to find a
way to reach his knife without starting an avalanche, moved his pot
of coffee to the other side of the table to make space.

Maggie swooped down on the offending pot,
plucked it up, and moved it back into Blake’s quadrant. “
Mr
.
Macdonald! Must I remind you that this place is reserved for
another guest?”

“
I’m sorry, I just needed a
little space here…”

“
Mr. Macdonald.” Maggie
sighed deeply in disapproval. “I can only ask you to be courteous
and keep your breakfast to yourself.”

Suitably chastened, Blake tried to edge his
knife free without either hitting one elbow on the wall or jabbing
the other into Justine’s ribs. Morgan felt a momentary twinge of
envy when he succeeded.

She would have sent the entire table
tumbling to the floor. As it was, she still had to wind her way
around four tables to reach the place opposite Blake. When she got
there, Morgan resolved, she would certainly let Blake put his pot
of coffee on her side of the imaginary lines dividing the table
into quarters.

Maggie came to a full stop on her bustle
back to the kitchen and pointedly eyed Morgan, who still lingered
on the threshold. The hostess then looked up at the prominently
displayed wall clock and back to her guest, her brow furrowing.

“
Breakfast is at
eight-fifteen,” Maggie admonished in her rollicking brogue. Her
lips were so tight that Morgan wondered how the words broke free.
“Not eight o’clock and not eight-thirty, Miss Lafayette, but
eight-
fifteen
.”

Every guest turned to see who had broken the
cardinal rule, and Morgan felt her color rise.

This was a vacation?

But there was obviously only one thing to
say.

“
I’m sorry.”

“
Well! We are having our
share of troubles from our American
friends
this morning!”
Maggie sniffed at this inadequate apology and undoubtedly would
have said more, but her gaze fixed on a space behind and slightly
above Morgan.

The matron’s entire face brightened.

Morgan didn’t have to turn to know who had
just arrived. She groaned inwardly as everything in the room
stopped talking and stared. Morgan was sure she heard a knife
clatter on a plate.

Justine, of course, simply stirred her
coffee, looking like the cat who had swallowed the canary.

“
My most sincere apologies,
my goodwoman,” Alasdair said in his charming rumble. “My dalliance
has delayed the lady in coming to the board.”

“
Oh!” Maggie’s features
melted into a smile that was obviously an unfamiliar expression.
“Well, for such a braw man, I canna blame her for dawdling.” Then
she winked at Morgan and made for the kitchen with a definite swing
to her hips.

Someone chuckled, and Morgan didn’t need her
imagination to know what everyone was thinking. Her face went hot
right on cue, and the whispering began.

When Alasdair’s hand landed on the back of
her waist, her heart skipped a beat, and Morgan knew she had to
move. She darted forward, thinking of nothing but reaching the
relative safety of her seat.

Of course, she snagged her toe on the corner
of a table en route.

And everything went from bad to worse in a
hurry.

The table jumped six inches, and the blond
woman there squealed as her tea spilled into the saucer. Her portly
husband muttered in noisy disapproval, the china clattered, the
vase holding one fake carnation wobbled.

The simultaneously erupted into a scold of
German.

“
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
Morgan stepped backward and collided with another table. The salt
and pepper shakes from that one tumbled to the floor and rolled
underfoot. The woman seated there said something uncomplimentary,
just as the vase on the German tourists’ table decided to fall
after all.

It landed right in the woman’s sunny-side-up
eggs, sending a little splash of bright yellow yolk across the
place mat.

Exclamations in several languages burst from
all sides. The woman with the silk carnation in her eggs expressed
her feelings about the matter in rapid-fire German.

Morgan didn’t need a translator.

She stepped forward to help clean up, but
the German woman took one look and cried out. “
Nein!
Not the
little one again!”

As she protested, she spilled her tea,
sending a dark flood across the plastic tablecloth. Her husband’s
mouth rounded in a little O, and he jumped to his feet, a dark,
steaming stain on his trousers revealing just what the problem
was.

He wasn’t a small man and his quick move
made his chair bump against Justine’s table, immediately behind.
Blake swore, china clattered, people stood up to get a better view,
and Morgan felt Alasdair right behind her.

Just when it seemed things could get no
worse, Maggie appeared in the doorway, clucking like a disapproving
hen. “Miss Lafayette! What are you about? What have you
done
?”

Morgan looked back quickly to explain and
might have lost her balance if Alasdair hadn’t snatched her elbows
and lifted her clean out of harm’s way.

“
That would be enough of
that,” he said, his tone so dangerously low that Morgan
froze.

The entire room breathed a collective sigh
of relief.

Morgan could feel the solid thud of
Alasdair’s heart against her back, and the heat of his skin pressed
against her own was enough to make her blush again. Her toes were
dangling several disconcerting inches above the floor.

Morgan saw the sly smiles slide around the
room and didn’t know whether she was grateful for the highlander’s
intervention or not.

She wished the floor would yawn open and
swallow her whole.

“
Do not even move, my
lady,” Alasdair growled.

Morgan was smart enough to take his advice.
She nodded and he set her back on her feet. One strong hand
remained on the back of her waist, as though Alasdair didn’t trust
her to do as she was told.

“
There’s no harm done
there,” he told the one woman, as he gallantly retrieved her salt
and pepper shakers. “’Tis powerful good fortune to spill a wee bit
for the pixies. Toss a pinch over your shoulder for good measure.”
He winked and that woman sat back with a smile.

“
The left one,” called
someone, the room settling with a chuckle as she did exactly
that.

Alasdair plucked the vase out of the German
woman’s eggs, and treated her to a killing smile. “’Tis no harm to
an egg already broken,” he assured her. “Nary a bit of water in the
vase to spoil the meal.”

He turned back to the matron, and Morgan
seethed at the way Maggie relaxed before his easy wink. “Maggie,
lass, would it be too much trouble for you to bring another pot of
brew? And a wee cloth to repair any damage done?”

Maggie, far from a lass, giggled – much to
Morgan’s astonishment – and darted away to do Alasdair’s bidding.
Everyone returned contentedly to the meal, and the low hum of
conversation filled the room again.

“
Now, step there and
there,” Alasdair murmured, the flurry of his breath on her ear
making Morgan shiver. She did as she was told and slid gratefully
into her seat, knowing her cheeks were hot.

Alasdair took his seat with unexpected grace
for one so out of scale with his surroundings. Morgan immediately
realized there was absolutely no way to avoid having his arm brush
against hers. His leg was planted firmly alongside her own and she
swore she could feel the tickle of his hair through her
leggings.

She could certainly feel the warmth
emanating from his skin.

“
Well, good morning!”
Justine said smoothly, as though nothing had transpired. Morgan
studied the bad drawings of the local attractions printed on her
place mat, as though they were fascinating, and pretended not to
notice the warm scent of the man almost pressing her against the
wall.

That damn tingle was humming in her belly
again – and it had a companion tingle quite a bit lower. Morgan
tried to ignore them both and failed.

Alasdair took a deep breath, and to Morgan’s
surprise, when he spoke, his tone was hearty and cheerful. “And a
fine morning ’tis indeed,” he agreed.

He glanced to bowls of cold cereal before
Justine and Blake, and Morgan caught a glimpse of his dismay.
Morgan smothered a smile and studied the drawings some more.

“
Is the fare good in this
hall?” he asked, his voice sounding strained.

“
Well, you can’t eat eggs
and sausages every morning,” Justine declared.

“
You cannot?”

Blake grimaced and indicated his wife. ‘I
could if she let me.” He winked at Alasdair. “A man needs a hot
breakfast, right?”

“
It’s not good for you to
eat so much saturated fat, “ Justine stated with her usual
assurance about matters of nutrition.

Blake leaned forward with gleaming eyes.
“What about kippers, Alasdair?” He pushed up his glasses. “Don’t
real Scotsmen eat kippers?”

“
Aye, that they do! A plate
of kippers with eggs and sausages, bread and ale would be most
welcome indeed.”

Morgan peeked through her lashes to find
Alasdair looking much more enthusiastic. Maggie was hailed and was
easily persuaded to provide two kipper breakfasts for the men, but
she wouldn’t go for the ale. Morgan supposed she shouldn’t have
been surprised that Alasdair got what he wanted – mostly.

Morgan had bran flakes.

At least, she tried to have bran flakes. The
little boxes of cereal that Maggie provided were sealed far more
securely than Morgan remembered. She cut along the perforated lines
but couldn’t get the box all the way open. Oblivious to the fact
that her three companions were watching her warily, Morgan put
aside her knife and wrestled with the little box.

Now she remembered why she’d hated camp.

Morgan gave the cardboard a determined tug
and it tore unexpectedly. She saw that the wax paper lining was
ripped just as bran flakes flew all over the table. They cascaded
everywhere, oblivious of coffee, cream or anything else.

Fortunately, her family was used to this
kind of thing. And the last container with which Morgan had lost a
battle had been an econo-size jar of mustard.

Now, that had been a real mess.

Blake philosophically picked a few bran
flakes out of his coffee, and Justine swept up little piles on the
tablecloth. Morgan tried to get some of the cereal actually into
her bowl before Maggie could chide her. Even retrieving the bran
flakes from every relatively clean surface left Morgan with only
half a bowlful.

She would have to open another one. Morgan
gritted her teeth and reached for another box. She caught
Alasdair’s eye in time to see his dumbfounded expression.

“
You would go to such
trouble for wood shavings?” he demanded.

“
It’s cereal,” Morgan
retorted. She waved the box at him. “And besides, I’m not talking
to you.”

“
Aye?” Alasdair picked up a
flake from his table quadrant, put it in his mouth and chewed for
only an instant before he made a face. “’Tis wood shavings and
naught else.” He took the wet flake out of his mouth and
fastidiously set it on the side of a saucer.