Someone grabbed my knee.
Why can't the girls leave me alone to wallow in my agony? I cracked an eyelid, discovering a strong broad hand slipping over of my knees toward its calf.
Blue jeans or not, Murdo groped me. But sunlight pierced my skull every moment my eyes are open though. I pinched them shut, noting how he just patted my leg.
Well, I'm not in the mood for flirtations or speaking. If I ignore him, he'll go away. Right? I'll just show him. I kicked the leg free of his handhold.
Forget all these dolts. Especially the silent ones.
"What about that waterfall?" Jennifer asked.
"There's not enough time," Pam replied.
Right. Hangovers definitely consumed one's day. What time can it be anyway? "What time is it?"
"Ten forty," Jennifer snapped.
"We've got just enough time to check in early at the airport. I can even drop the car off for you if you're not up to walking," Pam offered. "Where's your uncle meeting you?"
God, how would Uncle John react seeing me with a hangover? "Hopefully, at the car rental."
"But he wasn't going to meet you until one o'clock," Pam noted.
Damn the bloody ghosts. I'll die sitting at the airport. Waiting. I shouldn't have guzzled so much. "I guess I'll have to hang out and wait."
"That won't be a problem with Murdo looking after you."
He is? I managed to crack an eyelid.
The big behemoth smiled sideways my direction.
Jennifer and Pam glanced sinisterly between each other.
"Yeah. He'll take care of you," Jennifer chimed.
My head hurt too much to question these so-called friends. After all, don't they supposedly have my best interest at heart? And I won't be alone in my misery at the airport. Enough for now as the world tries to shake me witless.
****
Noise grated on my still-suffering nerves as the car rolled to a halt in front of the yellow Hutzpah sign.
"We're here," Pam lilted, turning off the ignition. "All ashore who's going ashore."
Lord, walk? Option-less, I opened my eyes.
The pain in my head had lessened to an insistent dull ache. At least I could hold my head up on my own.
"It's eleven-thirty. The flight to New York departs at two-thirty. We can dump the car, check in, and grab something to eat," Pam suggested.
A howling car's horn blared past the car.
Noise is bad enough. No food. "Whatever." Nobody seemed to care that I waved an indifferent palm at the front seat.
I swung my heavy-ass door wide. Sounds of revving engines, horns, and conversations only amplified. Noises aren't so bad now though. Thank goodness. I peered at the gray concrete walkway that ended in a yellow curb just beyond my seat.
Absolutely no walking. Out of the question. Pam is insane.
A shadow darkened the path.
"Come on." Pam thrust a hand at me.
"Can't." She has to be kidding.
"Come on," Pam cooed. "You can do it."
What choice does a girl have when facing the return of a rental car? "I feel much better. I do." I swung a foot to the curb.
"You still look grumpy." Pam's scuffed tennis shoes retreated toward the trunk.
More like Sleepy. Thanks for reneging with the damned hand, friend. I climbed out of the backseat to join the humming airport.
Pam's blue jeans edged into my periphery. "Wait here. I'll return the car keys and sign us in." Pam pivoted toward the double glass doors, capped by the large yellow Hutzpah sign.
To a muted interior yellow light illuminated the inner counter where one man waited behind a computer monitor. Fine. Save me a few steps, dear friend. For now. Pam's control issues will be flying back to New York shortly.
The trunk thumped.
Our colorful luggage had lined up along the sidewalk like dutiful soldiers. Murdo towered next to the bags, his hands on his hips, looking overhead at the equally towering wall of glaring windows. Jennifer squatted beside him, foraging inside her backpack.
Murdo has no luggage. How can he have no luggage? He is on vacation. Isn't he? We'd gone and left his bags in Edinburgh! "Murdo?"
"Aye?" He turned an attentive mask my direction.
"Where's your luggage?"
His dark eyebrows arched. "In my room."
We forgot his baggage? "Where's your room? At Culcreuch Castle?"
"I'll get it after we repair the sword."
What? " But--"
He waved dismissively. "There's time."
In his brooched tartan, sword, and sporran, he looked too commanding to argue with. Or my head said screw the subject. And after running him over, I'd let the argument die. Especially since I have no energy to argue.
The shining glass Hutzpah door opened with a flash of reflected light, and Pam headed for the group. "There's a shortcut to passenger check-in inside."
Everyone reached for bags.
Okay. Time to move, body. I braced my hands against the warm car, pushed off to retrieve a suitcase and my backpack, and stepped into a mass of sawing arms, swinging derrieres, and heavy shifting luggage.
Lord, does everyone have to move at once?
Jennifer leaned, hoisting her rolling bag on end and extended the handle to pull the luggage. My tapestry suitcase waited just beyond where Jennifer worked. I headed after it and bumped into Murdo.
"Excuse me."
He grabbed my bag and hoisted it upward.
How kind. I won't strain to lift it. Good thing. I'd fall over trying. "Thanks." I reached for the bag.
"I've got it."
Oh? His impenetrable expression only confirmed he intended to haul the suitcase. Maybe he isn't so bad. His behaving like a gentleman now. Just repair the sword and be done with this vacation.
He extended a hand toward the building entrance. "After you."
That Dafydd Emyr smile stole my breath away. Well, arguing with him is as foolish as arguing with Pam. Where's my backpack? I scanned the legs, bags, and ground.
Murdo snatched my backpack up, throwing it over his shoulder. "Let's go," he timbered.
I so don't feel up to arguing. I moved for the entry, glancing sideways at Jennifer.
Jennifer expelled loudly, grabbing the handle to her rolling suitcase with one hand, and stabilizing her backpack strap with the other.
Jealous? Wishing she had a Murdo? I needed to get drunk more often. Being inebriated seems to make me more perceptive. Or patient. Or something.
Passing through the doorway was electrifying. The cool terminal vibrated with hustling bodies minus the stink of automobile exhaust. Everywhere I looked someone hauled luggage, stared at monitors, darted for the restroom, or walked on conveyor belts. Progress is altogether a separate issue. Jennifer struggled with her rolling possessions, slowing the group. Finally, I waited with Murdo beyond a roped maze while the girls checked in at a counter.
He observed everything like a guard dog. Well, he is a pilot. And this is his realm. Right? "You should be used to this." I studied his clean-shaven jaw. With the beard, he's demandingly virile. I can't look away from his moustache. He's beyond sexy.
He riveted that mind-numbing blue gaze on me. "'Tis naught really."
That's one heck of an unusual way of saying something. Kind of nice though. "What kinds of planes do you fly?"
A man shouted down a corridor in some foreign language.
"I'm a private pilot." He thrust his chin in the man's direction.
How interesting. "Did you fly yourself to Scotland?"
"Aye." His gaze fell back to me.
Is he rich? Gads, Katie. You're disgusting.
"We've got to head straight for customs," Pam said.
Both girls waited behind me with sad smiles. "You'll have to eat without us. Sorry." Pam grabbed her backpack strap at her shoulder.
They're leaving already? I'm not ready for them to go. "But--" I stopped, my view smearing with tears. No need to make a scene.
Pam threw her arms wid
e. "Give me a hug."
How s I'd miss them. Even after they made my life hell. I stepped into the strong embrace, hugging Pam tight.
"Murdo will look after you," Pam whispered, then stepped rearward, releasing me. "I'll call you later from the plane."
They'll be gone soon. And where will I be? Back pounding iron into submission and dodging Sticky Fingers. With Murdo? What? Whatever? "All right." I hugged Jennifer. "I'm so glad you came to visit." Really.
"My wedding's next summer." Jennifer grinned. "You'll come?"
Pam rolled her eyes where Jennifer couldn't see.
A trip back home sounded good. I choked on a laugh. "Of course, I couldn't miss your wedding." The event would be a milestone for Jennifer. If the marriage worked, it'd be monumental.
The girls waved and turned toward a bottleneck of waiting patrons at a security gate.
If only they didn't have to go. Just one more day of bickering...I watched, until Pam's green T-shirt disappeared beyond the metal detector, then turned to Murdo.
His blue eyes were filled with intense concern.
Why? Am I that pathetic? "I'll be all right." Hopefully. "What would you like to eat?"
"Do you feel up to eating?"
No. That was one question laced with a heavy dose of shock. But I didn't want to ruin his day. Somehow, I feigned a weak smile. "Maybe a little."
Murdo grinned the most sparkling grin.
The gesture nudged me back the way I came toward the Hutzpah car-rental booth at the end of a long stretch of scuffed gridded gray linoleum, impatient footwear, bobbing elbows, and swinging carry-ons. Why are people giving Murdo long assessing looks? How rude. I bit my tongue before chewing out the idiots.
Boy, alcohol can really raise a girl's temper. Okay, rather a hangover. I scanned the corridor's signs for food advertisement…Fish and chips. A pub. "Are you hungry, Murdo?"
"Maybe some coffee."
Coffee? He's huge. He has to eat something.
A faint high-pitched howl cut through the cacophonous airport.
Who is that? I scanned the milling crowd for the source and found a crying little girl in a sweet red-and-green plaid dress being dragged along by her mother. If only the girl realized she wasn't alone. The world dragged everyone along. I turned back to the patient alert Murdo. "Coffee's good. We can wait for Uncle John. I don't know what I'd do without Uncle John. He's a saint. Surely, he'll be starved when he arrives."
Murdo nodded.
What's he really thinking? I know absolutely nothing about him. And what have I done inviting this strange man home? I need a thousand jolts of caffeine myself. At least, to think things through again before Uncle John learns what I've done. "Let's find some coffee."
We strode toward the pub's black door.
Dark and ominous. Just like my future.
We passed an area filled with tables, ringed with chatting travelers. A group of men swarmed out of the pub, pushing me firmly against Murdo's side. He tightened his grip, drawing me a step away from them.
Gads, he still feels like an iron tree trunk. Huggable. Oh. My. God. I blinked the present back into place, discovering my palm on the warm linen covering his chest.
Dolt. Don't ogle him. Look away. Instead, I chanced a peek up at him.
His gaze riveted on the men. Protectively.
Since when is it bad to have a guy around? Really. How had my friends known Murdo would take care of me? And that's exactly what he's doing. Why? The man wants something. He has to. At least, he hasn't caught me looking at him.
****
I held the wee maiden's curves too tightly against my chest like the monster who tormented her at her home. Never would I want her to suspect I'm as vile as her cousin. The walking corpse. Cousin will die soon. "Come on, Katie." I loosened my hold on the sweet gentle curve of her lower back and stepped toward the pub's doorway.
She followed closely.
Odd. I'd have expected her to act rigid, reserved, even terrified. But she kept close. As if aware I only protected her. Good. She'll have to get used to that. Ring Masters guard their charges.
A dozen steps took us to the pub's dark glass door. I pulled the hatch wide, allowing her passage.
Katie turned full burgundy lips to me. "Thank you."
Just watching them flutter set my heart racing. This duty would be the death of me given she never permitted me to bond our souls through Holy Union. But Time often dangled those carrots to keep us trapped in mystery. I'll just have to be dutiful and wait to see what unfolds. So went the life of a Time Guardian. I stepped into the darkened pub perfumed with coffee and tobacco.
Overhead lamps softly lit each table. A few tables harbored socializing folk. Aye, just the place to rest one's weary legs. Now, to reassure my maiden I'm most trustworthy.
Katie's swinging peach-shaped arse brightened the shadows. Her almost-white pale-blue pants seemed luminescent denim in the light cast by the artificial lighting. Drawing attention to that delicious fruit she paraded about for all to view. Centurian females needed to reassess their clothing choices. We'll have to discuss female clothing one day. Katie and I. Sooner than later. I followed closely, blocking the view of her swinging peach from others.
To focus beyond her shoulder proved impossible. Her sinuous stride drew my gaze to her exquisite form like a man charmed by a cobra. And Christians believed snakes were male. Fools. I followed the serpent to a dark booth in the back of the pub.
She turned and smiled. "Is this fine?"
Damn, she even hissed. A quasi-warning. But being bitten began to strike my fancy. "Aye." Anything to hide my own serpent who'd risen from its burrow to play with a local, scratching against wool. Not good for a man who doesn't want to appear interested or discomfited. I pushed the heavy suitcase across the bench, dropped her backpack on the table, sliding it over to her, and sank down onto the hard wooden seat to rub my damned swollen manhood into a not-so-obvious position of confused cognizance.
Bless the Gods for the hardness of wood. The seat jolted my thoughts back to sanity. I slid my palms across the cool slick tabletop beneath the dim light cast by two low-hanging lamps.
In the amber light, this duty of mine is a goddess. Her angelic face's mesmerizing glow in the muted lamplight. The way her exquisite lips almost pouted. With the way of my recent luck, she'd sprout wings like a fairy any moment.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Damn. Am I staring? Stoking her worry. I looked away, spotting the bar keep across the shadowy room.
The man nodded.
Well, the century hasn't ruined the friendliness of the Scots. I turned back to Duty.
She blinked one slow sultry blink.
Is she summing up my thoughts?
My groin lurched.
Return to your lair, vile beast. There's more to this soul-mate dance than claiming the prize of a wife. My soul mate needs protection. Requires vengeance. Cousin John's days are numbered. Maintaining a façade of friendship with Katie will be torture. A true test of will. Patience definitely equated to virtue in this relationship. I must prove myself trustworthy though, or she will never be able to love me. And where will that leave an assigned Ring Master? Unwed until death. Bound to her without her knowledge. Alone until Fate dropped her reincarnated soul onto my path somewhere in Time.
The Ring Master's Masonic purpose to experience life at its fullest, both the good and the evil, the magnificent and the ugly, would definitely help strengthen a man's character. It had to. After all, Code promises a legendary end to the means. Time to bear up to the trial. Persevere.
The tall gangly barkeep stepped into my periphery. "Hello. And what would you have this fine afternoon?"
Ladies first. I eyed Katie.
"Cappuccino." She smiled at the man. "Perhaps a scone?"
The man's attention turned to me. "And can I bring you a whiskey or stout ale?"
No spirit to addle my wits when hunting vile cousins. "The same as the lady."
"Very
well." The sound of the man's footfalls faded quickly.
She watched the receding barkeep.
Almost longingly. Studying the man. If she'd only gaze at me that way. Tease me into a sense of complacency. But a man must earn that treat. Only then can he nurture her love.
****
I'd never felt this comfortable, looking through the soft amber glow of lamplight at Murdo. The way his killer smile curled into his cheek. Adorable. I have to be stupid for falling for his smile. Isn't that how girls wind up in bad relationships? Saddled with three children and a negative balance in their checking accounts.
"Your drinks." The waiter returned with two steaming cups of cappuccino covered in thick white foam. A clean hand with one upturned white cuff placed one steaming vessel at a time on the table with a chink. The frothy surface rocked slightly but remained contained inside the cup's rim.
My mouth watered.
Where has the headache gone? Adios pain. I reached for the cup.
The heat of the slick surface warmed the undersides of my fingers.
The waiter placed a plate with a golden scone in front of each of us, then a small bowl of clotted cream.
Thick and white.
My gut churned.
No spreads. Bread would prove tough enough to swallow.
The waiter unceremoniously departed.
Glancing at Murdo, I lifted my steaming cup until the warm mist tickled my nose. "I'm feeling much better." I think. Maybe it's him. And his gentlemanly behavior. Or the Scottish burr.
His dark eyebrows arched. "Good to hear it." He lifted his own cup, sipped the beverage, and placed the white china back on the tabletop.
The little smile snuck back to the corners of his mouth.
Maybe that's his friendly face?
"You were quite ill last night, lost in your cups, before the others put you to bed," he declared.
Sick? His smile noted his enjoyment of something. I don't want to hear about how I danced on tables or threw myself at huge run-over Dafydd Emyr clones. The current subject's in sore need of changing. "What of New Zealand? Why are you in Scotland?"
His chest rose as he inhaled, looking at his cup. "I'm searching for a job."
Wonderful. Having him around permanently sounded intriguing. Or maybe I'm crazy and just need to think about something else. I pinched off a hard edge of the dense scone, touching the soft velvety fluff inside. "As a pilot?"
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 89