Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (65 page)

But she accepted it all the same, giving him
a smile that twisted his heart. “By your gran?”

“
Aye.”

“
It sounds as if she has a
lot of folk wisdom to share.”

Alasdair grimaced. “Aye, oft too much.” He
smiled ruefully. “Would that I had listened.” Then the smile
vanished, the visage of Fenella invading his thoughts for the first
time in years.

And the ardor that raged in his loins for
Morgaine felt the equivalent of a winter’s daunting chill.

Morgaine leaned against him, the press of
her breast against his arm banishing the unwelcome Fenella from
Alasdair’s mind. And beneath his kilt, there was a definite promise
of summer’s heat. “Was there a war?”

Alasdair nodded and fought against his
earthly urges. “Aye, there was, and nasty ’twas indeed. Edward had
women and children put to death for no reason at all; he razed
entire towns and terrified the people. He taxed and murdered and
slaughtered until all bent to kiss his hand. He would have all
grovel before him, whatever the cost.”

Alasdair fixed the sorceress with a stern
look. “If any had a doubt about the English and their intent for
Scotland, years of bloody savagery put it to rest. It might have
been a short war indeed, for so many bellies had gone soft in those
good years, were it not for one William Wallace of Elderslie.”

“
Oh, I know all about
Wallace,” Morgaine declared. “I saw
Braveheart
, you
know.”

Alasdair could make no sense of that
comment, but he continued nonetheless. “Aye. Well, Edward captured
Wallace after years of war and years of hunting. He put the valiant
man to a gruesome public death.”

Morgaine grimaced. “I know. I couldn’t watch
the end.”

Alasdair frowned at this easy reference to
her powers. “But though Wallace died cruelly, he did not die for
naught. Edward showed the cruelty of his nature in his pursuit of
Wallace. He stole away both the ancient regalia and the Stone of
Scone when he considered himself victorious, showing one and all
that he did not intend Scotland to have another king of her own. A
broken promise it was, for had promised Scotland’s crown to one
loyal to his side, name of Robert the Bruce.”

“
I thought Robert the Bruce
was a rebel?”

“
Aye, in the end he was,
though there was a time when he bent his knee to England. Such is
the burden of those who hold property and must think of their
responsibilities as well as their own hearts’ demand.

“
There was more than one
Robert the Bruce, to the first son of each generation of Bruces had
the name of Robert. The one I follow is the grandson of the one to
whom Edward broke his word. One of two powerful families in
Scotland, the Bruce clan knew ’twould be they or the Comyns who
retrieved the Scottish crown, if any had the valor to do the deed.
’Tis said the Comyns did not want the crown but agreed to aid the
Bruces in exchange for land and wealth.

“
At any rate, ’twas no
coincidence that Robert the Bruce took council with John Comyn the
Red in Dumfries, nor that a church was chosen for their parlay.
Many’s the account of what happened that day, for they two were
fiercely competitive and ambitious both, and neither afraid to use
his blade. In the end, there is but one fact clear – they argued
and John Comyn left the chapel in a shroud alone, while Robert the
Bruce rode away.”

*

Morgaine’s eyes were round. “He killed
him?”

“
Aye, or at the least his
man finished the deed once ’twas begun. To have done so in the holy
sanctuary of a church was no small sin and I can only believe that
the Robert the Bruce I know and serve would have had just cause. I
heard tell that John had betrayed Robert’s plans to the English and
done so far too soon for comfort, but ’tis not a topic upon which
Robert the Bruce will tolerate discussion.”

Morgaine frowned at that and might have
protested, but Alasdair continued determinedly with his tale.
“’Twas certain the English would hunt any man who killed one of
their own - let alone one conspiring to make himself king - and war
was in the wind once more. Robert the Bruce hied himself to Scone,
his supporters in his wake.”

Alasdair smiled, recalling that sunny
summer’s day they had lolled on Moot Hill and heard the tale
recounted. “Imagine the sight, if you dare. A fine spring day, a
heatherclad hill and pennants snapping in the breeze, great
stallions of war stamping on the perimeter.

“’
Twas the 25th of March,
some twenty years after the death of Alexander III, that Robert the
Bruce was crowned King of Scots in the Abbey of Scone. He was
attended by three bishops and four earls, together the eight most
powerful men in this bonnie land.”

Alasdair leaned toward the sorceress and
lowered his voice. “’Tis said the MacDuff clan have the ancient
right to set the crown upon the brow of the Kings of Alba - this
blood courses through the veins of the Earl of Fife. That man was
imprisoned in England but his sister, Isobel of Buchan, defied her
husband’s allegiance to both Edward of England and John Comyn. She
rode in haste and at considerable risk to herself to fulfill her
family duty.”

“
How exciting!” Morgaine’s
eyes sparkled.

“
Aye, there were those who
said Isobel loved the Bruce more than her own spouse, and ’twas
that alone that set her course.” He shrugged. “Whatever the truth,
the lass was two days late for the coronation, by all accounts. All
the same, Robert the Bruce had her place the golden circlet upon
his brow once again. ’Twas Palm Sunday and Scotland again had her
rightful king.”

The enchantress frowned. “But you said that
Edward took the Stone of Destiny away.”

“
Aye.” Alasdair smiled at
the intent sorceress, liking that she listened well. He dropped his
voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There are those who say he
stole a fraud, and that the true stone was hidden away. Those who
knew the truth unveiled the real stone for the crowning of the
Bruce.”

Morgaine sighed. “That’s so romantic.”

Alasdair nodded grimly, not able to pinpoint
precisely why it troubled him so to find the sorceress prey to the
Bruce’s legendary allure. “Aye, Robert has always been one to turn
a lassie’s eye, that much is for certain.”

“
But wasn’t Edward still
ready to make war?”

“
Aye, that he did. You may
well believe that once he heard the tale of the coronation, he
bayed for blood. Robert the Bruce managed to flee and came himself
to my island, seeking recruits to his cause.”

Alasdair cleared his throat as he pushed
recollections from his mind. “At the time, it suited me well to
join his ranks.”

“
But…” Morgaine looked
perplexed.

“
But
what
?” Alasdair
echoed irritably. There had been protests aplenty when he joined
the Bruce, but Alasdair had no interest in hearing them again now.
“Do you think it so unnatural for a man to wish to see his homeland
freed of the iron fist of the English?”

Morgaine looked dumbfounded.

In truth, for a sorceress of rare power, she
was markedly easy to surprise.

“
But the war is
over…”

“
Over
?” To think
that she would tell him another falsehood after he shared this
noble tale! “’Tis far from over and you know the truth as well as
I!”

Alasdair bounced to his feet in outrage,
tugging his tartan from beneath her with such force that she nearly
rolled away. “I know well enough that you support their cause, but
listen to me well, my lady. There can be no excuse for the rape and
slaughter Edward and his kin have made of this fair land.”

Morgaine looked exasperated. “But they’re
all dead!”

Alasdair straightened and impaled her with a
glance. “Who would be dead, by your account?” he asked coldly.

“
Robert the Bruce, for
one.” She ran a hand over her brow. “I mean you talk as though you
know him, but…”

“
I do know Robert the
Bruce!
” Alasdair propped his hands on his hips. “I have served
beneath his hand for seven years and have yet to regret one single
day of that service.”

“
But…”

“
Morgan! There you are!”
Justine crowed.

The sorceress looked as dismayed as Alasdair
felt at the interruption of her advisors. Justine and Blake
descended on them, their wide smiles remarkably at odds with
Alasdair’s jaggly mood.

“
Should we head out?
Blake’s found the most wonderful little place where we can stay
tonight.”

The pair acted as though there was naught
amiss.

“
Is it to Lewis you would
take me?” Alasdair asked suspiciously.

Blake pushed the device up his nose. “Look,
I’m sorry we misunderstood each other before. It’s going to take a
couple of days to get there, you know, it’s pretty far.”

Alasdair knew well enough that the road was
long from Faerie to the mortal world. But how much earthly time
passed with each moment here?

Blake smiled. “Trust me, that’s where we’re
going.”

Trust him.

Alasdair hated that he had little option
other than to do exactly that if he meant to see his home again.
Morgaine frowned now, as deep in thought as Alasdair had ever seen
and clearly not following the conversation around her. The
sorceress looked as though she intended to be of little use to him
in this, although she could addle his wits in splendid fashion.

Was his fate no more than a game to her?

Alasdair wondered at his own sense that
Justine fairly held her breath, awaiting his approval. “Please,
Alasdair,” she cajoled with a smile that appeared genuine. “We’re
on the way now, anyway.”

Alasdair had never been a fond of moment
when he had few options. He thought of his wedding day and his mood
worsened considerably.

He sighed, then nodded grimly. “I will
continue to journey with you.” When Blake and Justine smiled
happily, Alasdair slanted a glance to Morgaine.

One last matter was there to resolve.

The advisors trotted back toward the Micra,
evidently busily planning some scheme or other and he waited until
they were out of earshot.

Then, Alasdair bent low to growl to Morgaine
alone. “Understand that I travel with you because I have no other
choice. But make no mistake, my lady, I will not readily
countenance your lies about the man of honor I follow.”

“
But…”

“
But naught!” Alasdair
interrupted her savagely before she could concoct some tale to
beguile him. He glowered at her sternly. “So long as you insist the
English have vanquished the Scots and that Robert the Bruce is
dead, ’twill be
me
who is not speaking with
you
.”

With that, Alasdair followed Blake and
Justine, leaving Morgaine to trail in his wake.

*

Alasdair said he knew Robert the Bruce.

Personally.

Was he nuts?

Or was he telling the truth? From their
first meeting, Morgan had thought those blue eyes revealed his
thoughts with unreal clarity. He believed without a shadow of a
doubt everything he had just told her.

Morgan could see it in his eyes.

But did that mean she should believe it,
too? Because if Alasdair was telling the truth and he wasn’t nuts,
then he had to have come from the past.

Morgan watched him stride away and
wondered.

What if Alasdair
were
lost from
another time? His attitude about nearly everything could be
explained if he had just arrived from the fourteenth century, but
even Morgan’s imagination had a hard time accepting that.

Maybe he was an actor who really got into
his roles. That was easier to accept, but left three really big
loose ends dangling.

How could Alasdair have changed their
guidebooks?

And, even tougher, how could he have changed
Blake and Justine’s memories of Scottish history?

And why didn’t he show up in her photograph?
Morgan chewed her lip and trailed behind the others.

Unless Alasdair’s coming forward in time had
changed
history.

It couldn’t be true. There had to be a
logical explanation, but logic had never been Morgan’s strong suit.
She was intuitive, and her intuition was screaming
Yes!
at
the very idea of Alasdair traveling through time.

Morgan rubbed her temple as the trio marched
away from her and tried not to flash back to math class and the
torture of making geometric proofs. Not having had enough sleep
didn’t make thinking this through any easier.

She meekly piled into her place in the
Micra, vaguely aware of Justine describing some romantic hotel that
a nice woman from Cincinnati had told them about.

Morgan twiddled the heather in her fingers,
liking that Alasdair had given it to her and not liking that she
liked that.

But if Alasdair was a fourteenth-century
highlander, then he wasn’t a con man. In fact, if he had had the
crystal from the regalia in his possession before he traveled
through time, that could explain why it was missing and no one
remembered it ever being there. Alasdair could have changed
history.

Morgan really didn’t like how reassuring she
found the logic of that. No one could zip across six or seven
centuries.

Could they?

And if they did, would it turn Robert the
Bruce from hero to scoundrel?

It was all just too confusing. Morgan leaned
back in her corner of the back seat and pretended to doze, watching
Alasdair through her lashes all the while.