John turned to me. "We'll be downstairs. Come fix us some sandwiches."
When the cow craps on your head while jumping over the moon. Arguing would only lead to more discussion. I carried my heavy backpack into my room.
What is in it? By Murdo's attentive behavior, probably the moon. Pity he plucked the satellite from the sky. Now, the cow had no reason to leap and bomb John with a huge stinking round of steaming feces.
Both men turned toward the stairs.
Murdo is leaving with John? No way. That's so wrong. Bon voyage, boys.
When the last bit of green-and-blue plaid slipped past the white wall, I opened my door.
Home. All was as I'd left it thirty days ago. Framed by the alert doorjamb. The blue curtains still hung halfway drawn open. The white sheers still filtered sunlight that attempted to brighten the dresser's shining surface.
Iona had dusted the dresser beneath the curtain hem. Typical Auntie behavior.
A pile of mail waited on the bed where the mattress frame anchored a large gray area rug in the room like an island in a sea of wooden planking. I grabbed her suitcase handle and heaved.
The heavy bag barely budged.
I shouldn't have kept that massive cobble I fell in love with on Skye. But the patchwork of smoothed crystals, riddling the rounded surface, reminded me of Mother's love of rocks. So, a little heaving would keep the memory alive. Pulling with gusto, I tried again.
The bag was impossibly heavy.
Damn it. Sentimentalism got me into these messes.
Good thing Murdo insisted on carrying the bag. He can take care of Sticky Fingers any day. I dumped her backpack on the bed and returned to fight the suitcase.
I am better off unpacking the over-stuffed case where it stood. Oh. No. Cousin John would happen by just in time to see my unmentionables. The pervert. I somehow managed to drag the blasted thing across the threshold, making straight for the bed.
Going was easy once I built up some momentum. The bag whispered, scraping across the floor's golden planks. My area rug bunched up beneath the load. Hell. Talk about a strong man. Murdo had the strength of many men. One would think a female metal smith would too after pounding metal into submission. After all, metal is just rock melted down and poured into a form. Give or take a detail or two. I stood up, huffing for breath.
The suitcase toppled onto its side.
Well, the suitcase is at least inside the room. Nothing else mattered. I unzipped the flexible lid.
Something caught the zipper.
Great. I'd be here unpacking all night. I thrust a finger under the cover and tickled fabric loose.
Liberated, the zipper whirred until I was able to throw the lid open. A blue Kentucky sweatshirt seemed to inhale upon release. And good old Pam had packed the suitcase neatly this morning. I tossed the sweatshirt and my pajamas aside, starting a dirty clothes pile on the floor.
A pair of blue jeans joined the pile, revealing my toiletry bag and the cobble's earthy hues. The watermelon-sized stone had worked toward the edge of the suitcase during transit. How funny. Or sad. I really shouldn't sneak stones away in my luggage. The thing is practically a boulder. I reached for my unmentionables.
And flinched.
Is John outside? I glanced at the shadowy hall beyond the open doorway and shoved the silk under my dirty clothes.
A copy of Periods of Highland History and Scottish Castles lay in the bottom of the bag among a few small token souvenirs I just had to purchase. Haul around Scotland. I really need another hobby. I laid the books aside.
A whispering sound stopped at the doorway.
Not Sticky Fingers.
A soft rapping sounded. "Katie."
Murdo? I spun to a towering Murdo holding one of Iona's cobalt blue plates topped with brown crust of bread, hinting a sandwich rested upon the dish.
"I've brought you something to eat." He nodded and stepped into the room.
Oh. My. God. A man who doesn't wait for me to slave in the kitchen? What is the world coming to? And he made the sandwich all by himself.
****
Standing there, wielding my maiden's sandwich was difficult simply because of the way her unbound golden hair hung down to the floor's planking. The bonniest thing a man had ever seen. Perhaps too beautiful in the case of Cousin John. By the Gods, give me time to avenge her honor and win her over. The heathered hills will ring loud and long with vengeance soon enough. I glanced down at her adventure's trappings.
The most enormous stone rested in her suitcase.
By Dadga! No wonder the bag was so bloody heavy. Talk about the chains of a soul mate. Better to hand over than to dwell upon Duty. "I've brought you something to eat." I extended the plate, stepping around the suitcase.
Evil Cousin John had pitched a stink in the galley about fixing food for a lass, but I managed to insist without choking the life out of the worm. My maiden had little to eat all day.
She peered up at me, with an apologetic curve to her brow, reaching for the plate. "I'd forgotten about the stone in my bag. It must have been the hangover. Thank you for carrying the load for me." The lass almost winced.
Pain noted. Apology accepted. "All is forgiven. Eat up, lass."
She slipped the plate from my grasp. "Thank you," she smiled. "You didn't have to make me food."
"You've eaten naught but a scone today. You must eat something." Anything to balance out her body chemistry. I scanned the room.
The bedchamber symbolized her. Blue. Almost inspirational. Or healing. I'd never take such a thing lightly. A Ring Master's assignment was for eternity. Soul lovers we'd be after the first time they laid together. Soul lovers we'd remain in each life following thereafter. All to protect the integrity of the timeline. Boon or punishment, the future is my future.
The display of pictures lined up upon little legs across a long table, stretching the length of the far wall, certainly held clues of her life. She had a lamp and a chair. Perhaps she wrote lengthy treatises on sword design. Surely, she would prove a philosopher. Druids are philosophers. And Ring Masters wed Druids. Intelligent females.
A large painting of a castle on the wall above the table had to be equally expressive. The infamous Duart Castle had a long history to claim.
"Do you like castles?" she lilted.
"Aye." Especially, Ring Master Keep on Scotia Major. Speaking of the planet to the unlearned was out of the question, though, until after we bound our souls in Holy Union for eternity. I slid my gaze back to her bonnie blue eyes.
The gems still shone brightly in the cool shadow of her bedchamber.
"Are you eating too?" Her clothes whispered as she rose.
"Aye."
"Come on then." She sidestepped toward the door. "I'll join you in the kitchen. Aunt Iona disapproves of people eating elsewhere."
Then Iona's son also disrespected his mother. Cousin John devoured his sandwich in the family's hall. I followed her swinging hair into the corridor.
Katie took the first step downstairs. "What do you think of Fort William?" she asked over her shoulder.
"'Tis a place of renown. I'm glad to see it."
"Good. I can take you to town tomorrow. We can visit the West Highland Museum. I always like the tartan exhibit."
"And what of the glen?" A place renowned for its beauty.
She turned an arched brow my direction, taking the last steps. "You've heard about Glen Nevis in New Zealand?"
"Aye." Oh well. A lie won't hurt. But a bit of a history lesson all Ring Masters heard in training saved many a Time Guardians’ ass. Studying it saved a man's life.
History. The most important thing to anyone. Especially Time Guardians. History makes time travel possible. And without a good understanding of time and space, one would muddle up the past. I stepped onto the floor's dark gray slate at the bottommost step and followed Katie's sweet swinging peach to the galley where she placed her plate on the table.
"We'd be wise to eat here." She grinned.
Cousin John sat on the long brown couch, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth while the television filled the small chamber with music.
The dolt glanced sideways at me as he gnashed his food.
There's no telling what the cretin thought. I'd just go on about my business. I made for the low table running between the long couch and the matching wide upholstered chair and sidestepped to circumvent John's knees.
"Going somewhere?" John asked.
"I'm to eat in the kitchen." I reached for my plate.
John frowned, chomping wildly, placing his sandwich on his plate, rolled his eyes, reached for his bottle of beer, hefted the rim to his lips, swigged, and washed the bite down. "You'll miss the soccer match."
Sports are defined in the mind of the beholder. A better game awaited in the kitchen with a person who played fair. Two steps took me across the hall where I quickly claimed a seat and noticed the other team hadn't eaten. "Aren't you hungry, Katie?"
She smiled. "I'm waiting for you. “Och! Most considerate.
John cleared the doorway with his plate and bottle. "Women," he sneered, descending into a squeaking chair beside me.
An interesting choice of seats considering John could gaze across the table at Katie. So John wanted to play the game if hearts too? The more, the merrier. I'm certain Destiny had already chosen the winner.
The mongrel looked right at my maiden and smiled. "'Tis good to have you home again, Katie. Be a good lass and fetch us a second round of beer."
She pursed her lips, raising her sandwich, bit off a wee bite, chewed, returned the sandwich to her plate, and rolled her eyes until her disgusted gaze locked on mine.
Good to see she refused to assist the worm. I smiled and picked up the soft stack of meat, cheese, vegetables, and bread.
A loud ring trilled.
John jolted upward. His chair's legs screeched against the floor. "Cannot keep the lasses waiting." He grinned devilishly at Murdo, bracing his hands against the tabletop to rise.
Hopefully, every Da in Scotland caught wind of this rapscallion. I glanced at Katie.
She chewed quietly, staring at her plate.
Had the rascal's taunts really bothered her that much?
Another ring trilled but then broke off by John's muffled voice.
The dog will miss out on the next round of Win The Maiden. "Ignore him. I try."
The demure manner in which she turned her tart lips toward me all but knocked me to the slate floor.
"I detest the way he tries to dominate me." She flung her hair over her shoulder, tilting her head so the long tresses hung down against the roundness of one of her breasts.
She reeked of sex. Ripe. Or my mind was playing tricks on me.
I went rock hard. Or Black Liam's orders were so deeply ingrained into my spirit by now that she drove the dastardly reaction. Whether part of The Cause and Duty or pure lust, it's imperative that I take care and disguise the attraction. To earn her trust. Or lose the game as Cousin John had. I sank my teeth into soft salty bread.
A faint sound of footfalls produced John. He headed to his chair, looking at Katie. "It's Da. He wants to speak with you."
She rose and swung her bonnie peach to the telephone.
Cousin John licked his lips, watching the spectacle as if he witnessed a cancan dance.
Any second, the bastard would breathe his last breath. I clenched my fists, fighting back the urge to beat Cousin John into oblivion.
"That's a right bonnie piece of fanny," John blathered.
Too close to home.
John leaned over, whispered, "You planning to dip into that virgin well?"
The comment is beyond forgiveness.
Chapter 11
I stared at the hard black receiver. Wondering if any deadly venereal disease clung to the plastic after John spoke to his father. Ugh. No wonder Iona cleaned so much. Disinfected was more likely the truth! I wiped the plastic against my sweatshirt and thrust the phone against my ear, trying not to think about germs. "Hello."
"Och! Katie, lass. I see you've arrived home safely."
Uncle John is his usual caring self. "Yes. I had a wonderful time." I spotted a potato chip on the slate floor in the corner.
Another yellow crumb caught my eye. Crumbs trailed from the family room door to the kitchen. The house would need a good sweeping before Iona returned.
"Good to hear it. And you've brought a friend?" he lilted.
"Yes. I didn't mean to impose but--" I paused, hoping to find a way to break the news of my disastrous encounter with Murdo. "There was a little accident."
"None to worry, Lass. He's welcome to stay until you've repaired his sword. Auntie and I will be driving home tomorrow--"
"Let me speak to Katie," Iona begged in the background.
"Here's your auntie, Lass. I'll see you tomorrow."
Anything to hear happy voices. "All right. Tomorrow."
A second of silence lapsed before Iona spoke. "Katie? Are you well?"
"Yes, Auntie. I'm quite well." Passing on the hangover story wouldn't reassure Iona though.
"And you've a friend over? A young man?" Iona cooed.
What is the big deal? "Yes, Auntie."
"There's an apple crumble in the freezer. You pop that in the oven on 350 degrees and cook it for an hour. Then you feed it to him later."
Feed it to him? What is Iona up to? "Yes, ma'am. I will when I get off the phone."
"It's in a large rectangular aluminum pan, Lass. What--" Iona's voice died.
"All right," Iona returned with an irritated tone. "Your uncle says he left you a note on your bed. You're to attend a feast tomorrow night at the SCA. Duke Ronat's sword is ready for delivery. There are also two orders for swords you must begin. We'll see you tomorrow."
****
Slowly, I closed my eyes. Fighting against ripping John's voice box out. By the Gods, the man didn't deserve to speak or breathe after uttering that unforgivable question. And being forced to sup with him was beyond torture.
Katie's melodious voice found my ears. "Tomorrow?"
The lilting sound helped my subconscious reason.
"I see you do then," John cooed.
For some reason the bastard can't keep his thoughts to himself. Under no circumstances will I discuss my intentions in reference to Katie.
"You should know, Da plans for us to wed," John gloated.
Could the demon not still its forked tongue? And for that matter, Katie had never spoken on the point. Why would a man wish his child to wed his first cousin? Waiting to kill the man would be the hardest thing a Ring Master ever had to do. But when all is finished, I'll take Katie away from this chaos. Perhaps to the future.
****
Katie clutched the receiver to her ear, wondering if her uncle would have any other chores for her after telling her to begin a special work order. "Alright. I'll get on it at sunrise."
"Farewell, lass." The line went dead.
What's new? Vacation was over. Work waited. I hung up the receiver.
Three steps took me to the doorway where Murdo sat with his back to the door and Sticky Fingers yammered about New Zealand.
Sticky Fingers' gaze locked on me. "What's new?" he asked.
Don't his parents confess anything to him? Probably think he'd botch the work order. Knowing him, he'd try to hover then try to claim all the glory for himself. I just wouldn't admit I had instructions. I continued past the butcher-block countertops, toward the white refrigerator and the crisp. "They're driving back tomorrow." I tugged the refrigerator's massive rectangular freezer door open.
A rolling mass of misty frigid air rolled out to lumber across the dark slate floor to loom around Sticky Fingers.
Chill his wanton thoughts. Do all females a favor. I studied the contents of the freezer.<
br />
Containers and freezer-wrapped packages were stuffed everywhere. Aluminum foil covered them all. Where's the cobbler?
"Are you going to cook something for supper?" Sticky Fingers chirped.
Why does the moron insist on speaking? "No. Your mother told me there's a crumble in here. I'll bake the pastry for later."
"Mother's crumble is exceptional. She loves me so."
"Actually," I interjected, spotting a bit of silver, rearranging cold containers. "I'm supposed to bake it for Murdo. Besides, if she wanted you to eat it, she would have told you how to bake it before she talked to me on the phone."I freed the large heavy pan, placed the iced mass on a wooden counter, removed the aluminum foil cover, and cranked up the oven.
"Can you bring some beers on your way back?" Sticky Fingers asked.
For Murdo. I grabbed two cold brown bottles from the refrigerator and returned to my seat.
Murdo had eaten a few bites of his sandwich. Sticky Fingers had but two bites left. Good. He'd return to the soccer match.
"Did they say when they were returning?" Sticky Fingers popped the cap off a beer.
Unfortunately, he didn't slit his fingers open. Justice coming full circle is long overdue. And he was too drunk to recall I'd already answered that particular question. "Tomorrow."
"Oh?" Sticky Fingers thrust the lip of the bottle to his mouth, threw his head back, chugged, and placed the almost-emptied bottle on the table, grinning. "I best get to work then."
Work? Hm. Probably harassing some young lass. What he hadn't done was unimportant. I glanced at Murdo, ignoring the moron. "I have swords to begin tomorrow. I hope to be able to straighten your claymore too."
Murdo smiled, chewing and nodding.
"Then we're going to work?" Sticky Fingers piped.
Unfortunately. I have no choice. With the shop on the other side of Fort William, I commute with whoever is available. Uncle John is out of town. That left me dependent upon the despicable, Sticky Fingers.
****
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 91