Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (72 page)

“
I’m not coming out at
all,” she replied. “You might as well eat and make use of that
bed.”

She had beaten him on every front. Alasdair
hung his head and examined his toes with disinterest. Breaking down
the door would only undermine what little he had accomplished. When
he heard Morgaine’s clothing hit the floor, his mood grew even more
foul.

All women were filled with trickery, be they
mortal or immortal. But Morgaine’s trick would not work thrice,
Alasdair resolved as he stomped across the room and sat down before
his meal. He took a long draught of ale, ignoring its peculiar
bitterness, and frowned at the locked door in thought.

Aye, ’twas the key that gave her such power
over him.

And ’twas the key that Alasdair would be rid
of, at first opportunity.

*

Somehow Morgan’s bath wasn’t quite as
relaxing as she thought it should have been. It should have been a
perfect moment, with the rain beating down and the heat pumping out
of the radiator. The bathroom itself was a delight, and the bath
oil smelled wonderful.

But the lingering scent of a man was more
than unsettling. It wasn’t as though she could forget Alasdair,
with his laundry hung across the small space. Morgan had a hard
time keeping herself from looking through the keyhole.

Especially when things got very quiet very
fast.

She couldn’t have put too many sleeping
pills in the beer, could she? But Morgan hadn’t had that many in
the first place, since Justine wouldn’t trust her sister with
anything near a lethal dosage.

What if Morgan hadn’t put
enough
sleeping pills in the beer? Alasdair was a lot bigger than she was,
after all, and would need more of a sedative to fall asleep. What
if he never went to sleep? She’d be trapped in here all night.

Morgan didn’t even want to think about what
Alasdair would do to get even with her for tricking him. He’d think
she didn’t trust him – when really, she just didn’t trust
herself.

But confessing that would effectively give
him a green light for seduction.

On the other hand, he would wake up
eventually. And he wasn’t going to be very happy about any of this.
Morgan splashed the bathwater in poor temper.

In retrospect, her plan didn’t seem to have
been a very good one. At some point in time, she’d have to face
Alasdair.

Or worse, share the back seat of the Micra
with him.

And men, in Morgan’s experience, didn’t take
well to being made to look or feel like fools.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that
she had stepped right square into something one more time. Morgan
bobbed in the bathwater and worried about the silence emanating
from the bedroom.

Was Alasdair all right?

Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer.
Night was pressing against the little window, the chill of the
highlands penetrating the cozy little room. It seemed a long time
since she’d had a good sleep, that little nap in the Micra
notwithstanding.

Morgan just wanted to snuggle in her
bed.

She got out of the tub, tried to take her
time pampering and moisturizing, but ended up spilling a great gob
of cream on the tile floor. The rose-scented talcum powder billowed
in clouds fit to choke a horse and Morgan started to cough. She
flung on her nightgown and carefully turned the key in the
lock.

There wasn’t a sound from the other
side.

Morgan inched the door open.

No one jumped on her.

She opened the door all the way and looked
out. On the far side of the room were the remnants of Alasdair’s
dinner. There wasn’t very much left – it looked as if he had licked
the plates clean – but Morgan wasn’t interested in the meal.

It was the highlander collapsed on the cot
that snared her gaze.

Alasdair’s eyes were closed and his chest
rose and fell with the easy rhythm of sleep. He sprawled across the
little cot, almost overwhelming it with his size, and looking as
though he had practically fallen there. The towel that had been
knotted around his waist had slipped free, revealing an intriguing
stretch of hip. The glass of beer, now empty, dangled from his limp
fingertips.

But was he really asleep?

Morgan took a deep breath and stepped out of
the safety of the bathroom.

Alasdair didn’t move.

She took a couple of steps, then
hesitated.

Reassured that he was asleep – or still
pretending to be – she continued in that halting fashion. She felt
like a mouse on a midnight prowl, avoiding a large, dangerous
cat.

When she reached Alasdair’s side, Morgan was
sure he would leap up and snatch at her. She braced herself to flee
as she took that last step.

But Alasdair slumbered on.

She bent ever so slowly and lifted the glass
from his hand. Alasdair’s fingers slid away from it as though he
had no bones at all. She froze when he frowned slightly and
murmured something in his sleep.

But then Alasdair rolled over to face the
wall and began to snore.

Morgan took the chance to have a good look
at his tight butt. Then she smiled. She had done it! She had
actually managed to pull off a scheme.

Now, she just had to check how soundly he
was sleeping.

Morgan put the glass down on the table with
a victorious thump, but he didn’t move. She then gathered the dirty
dishes onto a tray, taking no pains to be quiet.

The sound didn’t elicit any response.

Morgan carted the tray to the door, making
no end of noise setting it down, opening the door, and dropping it
in the corridor with a clattering
thunk
.

Alasdair snored away, lost in the land of
sleeping pills.

And Morgan, well satisfied with herself,
turned out the lights and went to bed. The trick would never work
again, but she didn’t need it to. First thing in the morning,
Morgan would trot down to Room 11 and convinced Justine that they
had to continue immediately to Lewis.

Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. They
had to get out of here before she did something she’d regret.

*

The sun eased golden through the window, and
Alasdair awakened. He looked around the room for the rat that had
evidently slept in his mouth.

But he was in the sorceress’s chambers – and
the sorceress herself slumbered peacefully not half a dozen steps
away. His first impulse was to slide into her bed beside her, but
he forced himself to think matters through.

His tongue was thick and furry, the
lingering taste most foul, and his thinking as foggy as the valley
on a November morning. A dull thud pounded behind his eyes, but he
had no recollection of an evening merry enough to have earned him
such a state of being. Alasdair had fallen asleep after his meal,
’twas clear, and the lady had neither joined him nor invited him to
her bed.

Perhaps Alasdair was not so close to victory
as he had believed.

Too late he recalled the sharp tang of the
ale she had brought him and then he understood. ’Twas clear enough
– the lady Morgaine had concealed a noxious potion in the guise of
good ale. She had tricked him again!

And he had been fool enough to drink of it –
even knowing what he did of her feelings toward drink.

Alasdair nearly slapped his pounding
forehead in disgust. How could he have been so slow-witted? So
angry had he been by her trickery that he had fallen for another
prank.

Well, ’twould not happen again. ’Twas clear
enough that she only slept because she believed him safely
enthralled, so Alasdair resumed his slumbering pose.

And he waited, watching her through his
lashes.

’
Twas not long before the
sorceress stirred. To Alasdair’s mingled delight and dismay, she
turned immediately to him, her brow drawn in a worried
frown.

Her chemise gaped at the bodice, revealing
the creamy perfection of her breasts to his view. But naught would
reveal his wakefulness more clearly than a rise in the linens.
Alasdair gritted his teeth and thought of his gran’s morning
libations again.

And of cold, cold winter winds.

Morgaine rolled gracefully out of bed,
raking one hand through the darkness of her curls. She came to his
side, and Alasdair closed his eyes more tightly, feigning sleep as
well as he was able, inundated as he was by her perfume of
roses.

Did he breathe too fast? Too slow? Did his
eyelids flicker as she watched? How could he truly expect to fool a
powerful sorceress, especially one who could read his very
thoughts?

An eternity later, Morgaine straightened and
yawned. Alasdair treated himself to a glimpse through his lashes of
her stretch and it nearly undid his carefully composed state.

But mercifully, she turned away in that
moment. She hauled her gown over her head, the perfection of her
buttocks making his mouth go dry. Indeed, he forgot to pretend
anything, so enchanted was he by the sight, and ’twas his own good
fortune that Morgaine clearly had other matters on her mind.

For within the blink of an eye, she had
dressed and was opening the door to the corridor. With a single
backward glance – one Alasdair fortunately had anticipated – she
slipped out into the silent establishment.

Alasdair waited only to hear her footsteps
fade before he rolled out of bed. His prey gleamed in the lock of
the bathroom door. He captured that cursed key in one smooth move,
padded across the room, and flung it out the window. It flashed in
the pale morning light, then disappeared, never to be seen
again.

Well satisfied with what he had wrought,
Alasdair resumed his sleeping pose and waited to see what the
sorceress would do next.

He did not have long to wait.

*

Morgan refused to think about how early it
was when she came to a stop outside the door to Room 11.

Surely Justine wouldn’t mind? This was
important, after all.

But Morgan had a funny feeling her sister
wouldn’t see things that way. The DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging
jauntily from the door knob made her hesitate.

Still, her point of view counted. This was
Morgan’s vacation, too. Despite Justine’s obvious matchmaking,
Morgan didn’t want to spend her holiday locked into a romantic
bed-and-breakfast in the highlands of Scotland with a wildly
attractive man bent on seducing her.

That didn’t sound quite right, but Morgan
knew it was true anyway. She raised one hand to knock on the
door.

And froze as the squeak of a mattress
carried clearly through the door.

It squeaked again.

And again.

The rocking rhythm was pretty
unmistakable.

Morgan chewed her lip, her fist an inch away
from the door. Did she want to get out of here badly enough to
interrupt a Moment of Potential Procreation?

She grimaced and backed against the far
wall, thinking furiously. What was the rush? After all, Alasdair
was still out cold.

Blake and Justine couldn’t “do it” forever.
Morgan was sure Blake had other items on his agenda for the
day.

Maybe this would be a good chance to zip
back to the room and have a shower.

Morgan hadn’t washed her hair the night
before and it needed it. On a sunny morning like this, being
without a blow dryer wasn’t necessarily a precursor to
pneumonia.

Plus she’d be all ready to go when Justine
agreed.

The bucking tempo of the mattress squeaks
increased and a slight moan escaped under the door. Morgan had the
sudden, quite definite sense that this was not exactly where she
wanted to be.

A shower. Alasdair would sleep right through
it, and she’d be back here in half an hour. At least Morgan knew
that Justine and Blake were already awake.

There was nothing more to worry about, she
told herself as she returned to her room. The closer she got to
Room 7, the faster her own pulse raced. But her sleeping potion had
worked on Alasdair, Morgan knew it.

And besides, she could lock the bathroom
door.

*

At least, she could have locked the bathroom
door if the key had been anywhere in sight.

But it wasn’t.

Morgan looked high and low, careful not to
make any noise that might disturb her sleeping companion. No luck.
The key had disappeared.

What had she done with it? Morgan propped
her hands on her hips and glared around the room, willing the
errant key to reveal itself.

But the fact was, she couldn’t remember
where she had put it. She thought she’d left it in the door, but
that couldn’t be the case. She had been so intent on checking on
Alasdair and making sure she hadn’t killed him that it was entirely
possible she’d absently set it down somewhere else. The rhythmic
sound of his deep breathing distracted her even now. Morgan stared
at Alasdair and tapped her toe, halfway feeling that this was his
fault.

With increasing irritation, Morgan checked
the desk, the end table, the floor under the bed, even the closet.
She had a rummage through the dirty dishes still waiting outside
the door, but the key was gone.

It was old news that Morgan would lose her
head if it wasn’t screwed on. Frustration rolled through her but
there was nothing she could do about it.

The damn key was probably somewhere “safe”.
Morgan would find it in her luggage the next time she planned a
trip, or something equally stupid. It happened to her all the
time.

But what about her shower?

Morgan eyed Alasdair with uncertainty,
feeling as if her scalp was itching. Her hair wasn’t that dirty,
but now that she’d thought of having a shower, she wanted one.
Badly. Did she dare to take a chance?

As though he had heard her very thoughts,
Alasdair nuzzled his pillow, then rolled to face the wall and
started to snore softly.

Well, that decided that. Morgan smiled.
Alasdair wasn’t going to wake up anytime soon, that was for sure.
She had really knocked him out cold. With luck, he might even sleep
most of the day, and she could work, too.