10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set

by P. L. Parker, Beth Trissel, L. L. Muir, Skhye Moncrief, Sky Purington, Nancy Lee Badger, Caroline Clemmons, Bess McBride, Donna Michaels

  “I saw only a wee bit of yer house,” she continued, “yet this is different. Not fit for a laird.”

  “No. Mine is far more grand.” He had the bills to prove it. “But we can’t go back there tonight. The police aren’t finished with their investigation.”

  She leaned into his support. “These police, be they soldiers?”

  “Yes, in a way.” What were police called in Scotland? Bobbies, or was that only England? Guards, maybe.

  “Sassenach,” she hissed, a Scottish term he vaguely remembered as meaning outlander; one he hoped she wasn’t applying to him.

  Through the wool plaid cloaking her, he felt the soft warmth of her body, marveling again that she was flesh and blood. She seemed to belong in another realm, an ephemeral being that might vanish with the dawn, though her anger at the hospital had been tangible enough.

  Another gust of wind shook them both and Mora trembled in his arms. “We’ll soon have you out of the cold and you can lie down.”

  She waved her hand at their surroundings. “‘Tisn’t the chill or m’ head that vexes me so much as all this.” She tilted her face up at him. “I do not ken,” she said, using the Scottish dialect for understand and do not sounding like doo na.

  The perplexity in her eyes made Neil want to hold her all the more and sooth away her fear and confusion. If that were possible. He only just refrained from clutching her to his chest.

  “I’m sorry. You’ll feel better after a rest.”

  Even a small American town like Staunton must seem very strange in comparison to what she knew, or thought she did. Given her peculiar state, it was difficult to say.

  “Let’s get you indoors.” He slowed his pace to accommodate her shorter stride.

  Mora gazed up at the street lights. “Sech great torches. How do they light them, wie huge ladders?”

  “Electricity.”

  “What manner of fuel be this?”

  How could she not know? “Perhaps you’re accustomed to gas?”

  She eyed him as one trying to translate a foreign language. “Sum disorder of the stomak?”

  “Uh, no.” Maybe she hailed from some relic of a manor house with oil lamps or actual torches like they used in medieval castles. “Never mind. I’ll explain later.”

  Or not. He’d probably only cause her further confusion.

  Fighting to maintain a confident air despite mounting qualms, Neil guided her up the paved walk and brick steps to the narrow landing. A potted chrysanthemum drooped beside the wizened pumpkin smiling in toothless welcome, leftover from Halloween. Fergus wasn’t much of a decorator.

  “Fergus!” Neil banged the knocker on the olive colored door.

  No answer.

  Mora gripped the iron railing. “Be this an alehouse ye’ve brought me to?”

  “Of sorts.” Neil hoped she liked coffee. “We’ll definitely be served refreshments. It’s a townhouse.”

  What did they call townhouses in the British Isles, semidetached, or was it attached? Likely it didn’t apply in her case anyway. “My friend, Angus Fergus, lives here.”

  “Ah. He’s the tavern keeper, is he?”

  “And a great deal more.”

  Likely his eccentric business partner and best friend was settled in his favorite recliner with his laptop, television remote in one hand and his caffeine molecule emblazoned mug in the other. Coffee was a food group to Fergus and one he took seriously. Even so, he might have dozed off in between caffeine highs or was preoccupied with one of his many gadgets.

  Neil pressed the buzzer. “Fergus! Open up.”

  “Not locked,” came the muffled reply.

  Mora shook her head. “He leaves his door unbolted for all to enter at such a late hour. What of thieves? Every barrel of ale will be pilfered and all his cattle carried away by reivers.”

  She made it sound like the old West. Scottish cattle rustlers were unlikely here, but, “I’ll caution him,” Neil assured her. As for the barrels, Fergus would probably fill them with his favorite specialty coffee.

  “He ought to keep watch. No man stands guard,” Mora observed, clearly appalled by the lax security.

  “Indeed.” Neil opened the door and ushered her into the living room, a catchall for his friend’s beloved electronics. Techie magazines, comics, and the remains of fast food meals littered the beige carpet.

  As usual, Fergus was absorbed in his laptop. “Hail Caesar,” he said offhandedly, without looking up from the leather upholstery.

  “Whyever does he call ye by sech a name?”

  At Mora’s heavily accented query, Fergus arched his neck and peered up at them through the retro fifties glasses he didn’t really need. Fergus was all about Geek as the new kewl and more boyish looking than his actual age of twenty-four, further enhanced by his slender build. He had a quirky appeal, Neil supposed, but wasn’t exactly a babe magnet.

  Fergus widened pale blue eyes and his reddish eyebrows rose above the thick black rims. “Who the—”

  Neil could have said, “Mary Queen of Scots,” and Fergus wouldn’t have commented. Not the way he goggled at Mora.

  The remote slipped from his usually nimble fingers. “Holy mother of—Neil what in the h—” Without finishing his exclamation, Fergus sat upright and straightened the recliner with a thump.

  Mora must think Fergus couldn’t complete a sentence, while nothing could be further from the truth. It amused Neil to see the normally articulate young man so at a loss. Come to think of it, Fergus was never at a loss. Until now.

  He set the mug on the end table and his laptop on the coffee table stacked with Calvin and Hobbes and Far Side books. Alongside these, virtual jellyfish floated in a purplish mood lamp and an ambient orb device transitioned between a rainbow of hues to show changes in the weather, the time, and most anything else Fergus might want to check the status of.

  An enormous fan of prime geek websites, Fergus stocked everything a computer nerd could want. But Neil might as well have taken Mora into outer space. She stared from the suspended jellies and the iridescent sphere back to Fergus.

  “Magic?” she asked Neil in a whisper.

  “Sort of.” Although highly creative, Neil wasn’t nearly as taken with techie gadgets as Fergus, preferring to lose himself in his art. But together, they made a great team. Fergus was even like a younger brother.

  Neil swept his hand at their gaping host. “Fergus, meet Mora Campbell, recently arrived from Scotland.”

  “Seriously?” Fergus got to his feet in Star Wars Jedi slippers.

  “Seriously.” Neil was not yet certain how much information to give out about Mora and the old country of Scotland she seemed to hail from.

  Eyes still dazed, Mora nodded. “Most serious. ‘Tis a grave matter that brings us to ye, sir. I am betrothed to Neil, son of Robert Mackenzie.”

  Fergus combed his fingers through a thatch of orange hair, a not so subtle tribute to cartoon character Bart Simpson. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he worked his clean-shaven jaw. Bart had no stubble and Fergus was a purist.

  “Dude! You’re engaged? Some online dating thing?”

  “No. And it’s a long story.” Not one Neil was privy to the details of, which made sharing them a challenge. Not to mention Fergus would think he’d gone nuts.

  “Mora’s suffered a concussion and needs to rest. My house is off limits just now,” he explained instead.

  She crinkled that adorable nose dusted with freckles. “Sassenach are come. We only just escaped from a vile chamber called a hospitale. There were no holy men at their prayers,” she added in a shocked tone. “No sacred Communion dispensed. How could sech a place care for poor and dying wretches of this world?”

  Fergus considered, briefly. “How indeed?” He eyed Neil for an explanation he was unable to provide.

  However, Mora appeared satisfied with Fergus’s response, at least as much as one who thought she’d fallen down a rabbit hole could. “If ye would be so good as to make provision for
us this night, Mr. Fergus, and might I trouble ye for a ladies’ maid?”

  “Sure,” he stuttered, regarding her as though she’d requested a meeting with a deceased saint. He signaled Neil in a silent request for suggestions.

  He had none.

  Unfailingly, Fergus managed to contrive something, and didn’t fail Neil now. Fishing around in that quick mind of his, he came up with, “I’ll call my cousin, Wrenie. She’s kind of a maid. Waitress, anyway. I’ll see if she’s free.”

  “Is the poor lass imprisoned?”

  Fergus rubbed his fingers over his chin. “Uh, not the last time I checked. Although the fashion police have a warrant out for her.”

  Before Mora reacted to this wisecrack, a large plasma screen TV snarled at them in surround sound and reverberated off the walls. She startled against Neil and raised a trembling finger. For a moment she stared mutely, and then said, “A murderous beast! There—in that box.”

  Neil glimpsed the polar bear from a popular TV series. “It’s just the television. Telly,” he amended, in hopes of sparking a glimmer of recognition.

  Nothing. So much for Mora having watched nature shows, or anything else for that matter. Had she been totally cut off from civilization? How’d she make it through life without ever seeing a television?

  He tried a different track. “Only a picture.”

  “But it moves. ’Tis haunted, that portrait.”

  Fergus hit the off button on the remote. “Dude, she’s better than the sci-fi channel.”

  She is the sci-fi channel, Neil thought.

  “Why does The Fergus address you as duke?”

  How could Neil explain slang, he pondered, enjoying her spin on Fergus’ name. “It’s only an honorary title.”

  “Yer friend must respect ye greatly.”

  Fergus swept his thin arm down across a t-shirt that read, Go ahead, make my data, with a courtly flourish. “Inestimably. Come on, Neil. You two are in a play, right? Some community theater thing?”

  Neil shook his head. “I’ll fill you in later.” He would rather not explain acting to Mora. At this point, he wasn’t sure if she even knew what a play was, though Shakespeare was penning them in 1602.

  Fergus ran his fingers over his punk hair. “So she’s for real?”

  Mora looked indignant. “Do I not stand before ye in flesh and blood?”

  Giving a low whistle, Fergus snapped on the overhead light and gestured toward the hall. “If you will be so good as to follow me, my lady, I shall show you and his lordship to your chamber.”

  Mora lifted bewildered eyes to Neil. “We cannot yet share a bed. Can we?”

  The idea of sleeping with this utterly unique and desirable woman left Neil momentarily at a loss for words. What a turn this bizarre day had taken.

  Mora surveyed him through a fringe of lashes. “We gave each other our pledge, and then I was promised to yer brother…”

  Fergus dropped his jaw, not a good look for someone invested in kewl. “Neil has a brother?”

  Mora angled her head toward Fergus. “He has forgotten.”

  “Quite a lot, it would seem.”

  Waving his friend’s comments aside, Neil said, “Don’t worry about the sleeping arrangements, Mora. You can have the bed to yourself. I’ll sleep out here on the couch and keep watch.”

  Red hair flaming in the light, she returned her focus to Neil. “Has Mr. Fergus a claymore ye can wield if the worst should come?”

  “One of those Scottish broad swords?” Fergus quirked a grin. “I lost mine on the battlefield, but my nunchucks are at the ready.”

  Before Fergus went off on his imitation of the quintessential nerd, Napoleon Dynamite, Neil said, “Put your mind at ease, Mora. You’re safe now.”

  “But The MacDonald—”

  “Doesn’t know this place.”

  She gave a guarded nod. “’Tis the enchantment perhaps.”

  “Right. That’ll be it.” Fergus arched his brows at Neil.

  He shrugged and shot Fergus a get on with it look.

  “Fine,” Fergus mouthed, and led the way to the spare room he kept in a respectable state for visits from his mother.

  His social life was mostly virtual and other guests rare, particularly of the female persuasion. Neil’s wasn’t much better, the bulk of his so-called friends having fallen away after his divorce.

  “Why is The Fergus’s hair sech a peculiar color?” Mora whispered, the word hair escaping her lips sounding like heir.

  “Everything about Fergus is peculiar. But he’s possibly the most brilliant man you will ever meet.”

  “Aye. He is most brightly colored.”

  Chapter Six

  Relief.

  The modest sized bedchamber held furnishings Mora understood. Perhaps the enchantment she’d sensed at that wretched hospitale and the Fergus’s front chamber lessened in here. She prayed so.

  It seemed safe enough. A carved bed stood in the center of the room with a large headboard and four posts at each corner. On either side of the bed were wooden stands with a brass lamp, books, and wee portraits of agreeable looking people crowded on the top. A grand portrait of a benevolent matron smiled down on them from the wall in seeming blessing, an ancestor mayhap.

  Much of the floorboards were covered in a carpet woven in a colorful design of exotic flowers. A chest of drawers, a beautifully carved oak cupboard, and a low table with a mirror jostled each other for space. A silver comb, brush, perfume bottles, and vessels that must hold substances for enhancing one’s appearance covered the top of the dressing table. Framed paintings hung so closely on the walls that scarcely an empty space remained.

  The white bed coverlet embroidered with roses complimented the lace-edged curtains hanging at the windows. A tiny room, its door slightly ajar, offered a glimpse of women’s gowns hanging inside. The entire chamber overflowed with an air of femininity.

  And yet, “He has no wife?” she asked Neil.

  “No. His mother decorated this room.”

  “‘Tis lovely.”

  “Unlike the rest of the house?” Neil finished for her. “Mrs. Fergus often visits. She owns an art gallery downtown and a second store in Winchester.”

  “I’m told the city has a beautiful cathedral I should delight to see.”

  Neil’s lips curved in a half smile. “I was speaking of Winchester, Virginia, not England. Many towns here have English names.”

  Mora should have paid more attention to geography lessons, but she’d preferred to learn to read and study English, Latin, and French along with her older brothers.

  Neil gestured at the paintings on the walls. “Mrs. Fergus collected these.” He pointed to a magnificent portrait of mountains rich with colors that reminded her of the Hielans in autumn. “I painted that one.”

  Now she was even more perplexed. The Niall she’d known was a warrior forever feuding with rival clans, not a man given to peaceful pursuits. He took pleasure in hunting with his favorite deerhound, a bloody affair in her opinion, but one at which he excelled.

  This new Neil was different, fascinatingly so. “Ye are an artist?”

  He gave a nod. “Also a graphic designer, but I’ll wager you don’t know what that is, right?”

  She shook her head, wondering why he would wager on her ignorance. Most men laid bets on duels, horse races, or how far they could toss a stone.

  He cleared his throat. “Would you like to freshen up before retiring for the night? I’d be glad to assist you until the maid comes.”

  What a preposterous notion.

  “At least as much as I’m able to without it being improper,” he added.

  Just being alone in a bedchamber with Niall or Neil MacKenzie was scandalous. But he was to be her husband, wasn’t he, even though he didn’t remember?

  Mora struggled to think past the mist clouding her mind. Feeling somewhat like an uprooted plant, she gave a nod.

  “Mrs. Fergus keeps extra clothes in here. She’s much larger than yo
u, but I’m sure we can find a nightgown and whatever else you may need. I’m surprised she hasn’t moved in with Fergus altogether.”

  “Why should she not?” Mora was accustomed to family caring for older relations.

  “She would drive him insane.”

  The Fergus didn’t seem entirely in his right mind as it was.

  “Besides, she divides her time between Staunton and Winchester,” Neil added.

  Mystified by the unfamiliar practices, Mora followed him toward an adjoining chamber. He paused in the doorway. “The bathroom’s clean. Fergus never comes in here and his mother keeps it spotless.”

  Inside the small room, Mora saw a blue tub she assumed was for bathing, though it was unlike any such vessel in existence. Colorful bottles lined every surface, and a sweet odor perfumed the room. Yet there were no flowers.

  She sniffed. Incense, or more perfume? “I’ve never seen the like of this.”

  Neil cleared his throat. “You’re not familiar with these fixtures?”

  Mora hadn’t the faintest idea, but suspected their use would be extremely personal. “Nae.”

  He fingered his chin with a hurried swipe. “I had better show you.” His manner grew brisk and he strode inside. Bending over the spacious tub, he turned a silver handle. Water gushed forth.

  She startled, gasping. “Is a spring hid beneath the floor?”

  Neil cast a disbelieving look at her. “No. Pipes.”

  “Sae clever.”

  “Yeah. Amazing.” He turned the second handle. More water streamed out and steam clouded the room.

  “Do ye not heat it over the hearth first in a kettle?”

  “No need. One faucet is for hot water, one for cold. I’ll adjust the temperature for you.”

  Did he expect her to climb in there?

  “You can have a nice warm bath. Just the thing.”

  Apparently Neil thought so.

  He nodded at the basin, fitted with two handles. “Not sure what sort of sink you’re accustomed to.”

  She wasn’t.

  He left the water flowing in the tub and walked to a most singular chair. “This is the toilet. What do you call it? A water closet, maybe? This one has a power flush.”