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

  People gaped in my direction.

  They obviously waited for some tale of spooks. I'm not shoveling shit tonight. They can muck out their own stalls.

  "No," Murdo finally timbered. "'Twas none but Katie who saw the man."

  The audience's eyes widened, anchoring upon me.

  Joy. Time to cover my arse as much as possible. I turned back to the duke and Murdo to think of a quick save.

  "Do you fence, Mr. McEwen?" the duke asked, changing the subject rather abruptly.

  Damn. The duke would drag me onto the floor any moment. All the men would then take turns against me and the sword. Mr. Boots would probably show. Could the night get any worse?

  Chapter 17

  The scene smeared into amber light as I stared at one dancing flame on the banquet table's chandelier. Isn't there something about wishing or meditation while focusing on firelight that would make the duke vanish? The candlelight sure as Hell didn't conjure up an answer.

  "I haven't fenced often these days. I'd rather recite poetry," Murdo said.

  What? Poetry is good. And changes the subject. Unless it's about sword play. I blinked away the blurry candlelight, turning back to the men.

  A broad smile split the duke's face. He scooted to the edge of his chair and stretched his neck.

  What is he up to?

  "Our guest from New Zealand fancies himself a poet. Shall we hear our fill?" The duke settled back in his chair.

  The whisper of SCAers rose and hushed. The diners lifted their cutlery, then dropped the butts of their knives against the tabletop.

  Great. How could Murdo refuse a rowdy crowd?

  But Murdo shot me a smile, braced his hands against the table, pushed his chair back, and rose toward the dark beams overhead.

  And poetry is only going to make me more agreeable. He'll be in trouble if he recites romantic stuff and tries to back out of sex by the loch.

  Mr. Perfect claimed a place beyond the duke's shoulder.

  An odd place. It was as if Murdo fit right in there too.

  Goose bumps niggled to chilly attention down my arms.

  The room quieted.

  Did they get gooseflesh too?

  "My favorites are those unclaimed by their creators," Murdo announced. "A love poem..." He nodded at me.

  The man could not read my mind. Could he? Or is he just building toward another round of blowing me off. Torture.

  "O Western wind, when wilt thou blow

  That the small wind down can rain?

  Christ if my love were in my arms

  And in my bed again."

  Oh. My. God. Not more magic.

  My skin warmed all over.

  "And for those Scots best not forgotten. Let's recall William Aytoun." Murdo cocked his chin left and gazed at a darkened stained glass window.

  "Tremblingly we scooped the covering

  From each kindred victim's head,

  And the living lips were burning

  On the cold ones of the dead."

  The noses of ladies and gentlemen dipped toward the table.

  Why? I understand the reverence thing. But I hadn't heard the poem before. I so needed to learn more about poetry. Go to the library. Who has time with a Murdo afoot?

  "Could the cry of lamentation

  Wake thee from thy silent sleep,

  Could it set thy heart a throbbing?

  It were mine to wail and weep."

  Murdo's gaze trailed back to the mournful audience. "Never forget Glencoe. 'Tis something to remember when the world pits Scot against Scot. But for those with happy hearts and souls that search for something more, I can think of none other than Thomas Moore, himself.

  "The harp that once thru Tara's halls

  The Soul of music shed

  Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

  As if that soul were fled."

  Murdo threw his shoulders back then bowed slightly. "So sleeps the pride of former days."

  Eerie intuition tickled down to my toes. My Murdo looked as if he had completed a secret task, proven something. Covertly.

  The big quasi-Scot skirted the humbled Duke, making for his seat.

  The duke shoved upward from the table's dark wood, hoisting a goblet high. "I have never heard a finer presentation than Mr. McEwen's delivery this evening. May he know he is always welcome at my table."

  A murmur drew her gaze down the table. And everyone thrust their goblets high with nods and murmurs.

  Great. Now, we'd be invited back.

  My New Zealander ignored the praise. Why? He just sat quietly as if thinking. Is he alright? I laid a hand on Murdo's warm sleeve.

  His stiff arm softened instantly. But he pulled my hand from its perch and cradled it in his woolen lap atop one firm thigh, both of our hands scandalously hidden beneath the table.

  Well, he deserved to hold it in plain view too. Show Amie a thing or two. Even Ronat.

  ****

  Silence blanketed the banquet tables filled with quiet people in the castle's Great Hall. So quiet, but if holding my maiden's hand were the only prize for this life, I'd stand before them, berate them again for acting like they had nothing more to remember but dining in historical attire and nagging the guests who were obviously uncomfortable. How could so many Gaels forget so much? But I know the answer. How the way of cultures was to conquer one another. To control the other culture through transposing its reality and rules upon the people. To wipe away the memories of one's past, a people's history, and fashion them a new worldview. Surely, these Freemasons were wiser than they appeared. Couldn't the Orders’ ancestors understand love, history, and the Gods? Soon. Soon enough to do more than play these empty games?

  Katie squeezed my hand as if she understood.

  Did she? How I'd done the unthinkable. Reminded them of things they were only beginning to process in history. The Gaelic cultural revival would soon carry the Orders’ ancestors into the stars. In a few centuries. But hadn't blown into full force yet. Decades would pass before the mass cultural exoduses left Earth. And centuries before the Gaels discovered time travel. So many wasted years. But that's the way of human nature. I sighed long and loud, staring at Amie Murray's empty smile.

  The wench tried and tried to coax one out of me. Not likely. I held my face in stoic check.

  A fork clanked against a plate.

  Liquid gurgled, pouring into a vessel.

  And still this Amie stared, somewhat demurely. I slid my gaze to the glistening chandelier, down to Katie's plate of roasted chicken, and up to her steady stare.

  She sure ate an awful lot of chicken. She'd better learn to like mutton to live on planet Scotia Major. Well, if I could repair my sword, I'd take her there. Away from this travesty of a historical reenactment.

  Her warm fingers clenched mine.

  But completion waited in my future. Experiencing life. What Freemasonry is all about. And soon, I'd seal the marriage contract for eternity with anam cara. The fey gift of soul mates. Recompense for a Brother's sacrifice of his life through the duty of guarding the timeline and seeking Truth. Ring Mastery. A noble duty. I squeezed the wee hand cradled in my palm.

  Love and mystic union lay only a maidenhead away. And she wanted me to have it. Now. I gulped down a wayward chuckle.

  Tonight. Aye. Tonight.

  ****

  The two dice rattled like bones in my hands over the castle's pool table. Sweet magical little dice often worked in a girl's favor. Sometimes, they rammed an eighteen-wheeler up my derriere. But Fate can't steal this moment from me now. I've got Murdo right where I want him. Need him. And we'd be leaving shortly.

  The duke's twisted smile undulated with the liveliness of the violinist's hopping melody.

  Whatever. I had my guy. Screw everything else. I shook both bones harder over the billiards table's green fabric.

  "Come on, Katie," Angus Dubh cooed from behind the line of medieval ladies flanking the table. "You're the last one. The pickings are yours."

/>   Oh, yes. Picking the prize that snipe Amie snatched from my grasp never sounded so delightful. Come on Fate. I shook the dice harder.

  The duke turned back to Murdo.

  Chatting. Well, they'd become great friends since the recital. Lovely. So, I'd better shake these dice like there's no tomorrow.

  The bones tapped a merry tune.

  Sneaky cubes. No wonder people found gambling irresistible. Looking down the stretch of green fabric, I searched the unwrapped treasures resting before each attentive guest.

  Where Amie scowled above the DVD collection of Timeless Legends, the unwrapped gift the snipe had recently snatched from an unhappy man just two bone-rolling turns ago. Oh, I could chuckle long and loud. Because the last unclaimed mystery package waited at the end of the table. Definitely clothing inside a large shirt box. No more girlie clothing, Fate. I'd be forced to attend the next wingding, wearing the garment. All I needed is that damned DVD collection. If I roll doubles, Amie gets the mystery box. If not, one man's trash is my treasure. Or so the SCA theorized about what each guest brought--an unwanted wrapped object that needed a new home. But Amie's precious box would only do for me tonight. Aside from doing Murdo.

  Anything to irritate Amie. With a wild fling. Of dice. And my Murdo. Why do I feel so evil? I watched the dice rattle and clatter across the green pool table.

  One die finally bumped off a wad of green wrapping paper. The other slid into the box of DVDs Amie had lowered in reverence to Fate's rolling bones. And everyone held their breath.

  Amie hovered over the die, seeking the reading. "Four," she blurted.

  Wench. She should watch that tone.

  Angus Dubh shoved a wimpled lady out of the way beside the other die and bent to count the dots on the bone. "Two," he groaned.

  So much for luck. I guess he didn't want Amie to have the DVDs either.

  Amie hugged the documentary collection.

  Laughing ditz.

  A few guests glanced reproachfully between themselves.

  Yes. They aren't the only people who disapprove of Amie's bad manners. But DVDs are just DVDs. That box is another can of worms. And gummy worms couldn't hurt at the moment. No clothes, Fate, please. God, please make that box loaded with gummy worms. The box probably held girlie shoes. Talk about the universe being jinxed for me.

  The mystery shirt box passed from one set of hands to another, down the line of guests until I was presented with the gift.

  Joy. Whatever was inside had to be better than DVDs. Yes. Had to be. But the package is so light. Almost too light to contain anything. Please, Fate, I could use about ten thousand dollars. What a joke that would be. I surveyed the curious gazes circling the table with a smile. "Methinks, 'tis a box of air." They could all use a laugh.

  Laughter erupted around the room, making Amie's eyes roll.

  Murdo stepped into my periphery.

  The laughter faded into silence.

  The duke peered over Murdo's shoulder, nodding. "Open it, Lady Innis. I transported the treasure all the way from Ireland."

  Ladies cooed, pushing in for a glimpse, the crowd edging closer too, forcing the air tightly against me and my prize.

  A box of air would come in handy now with all this closeness. Or something real expensive. Like I'd luck out. Oh well. You can't win twenty-four carat gold all day long. Murdo would have to do.

  "You almost had it, Amie," the duke teased.

  Oh? This should be good the way Amie squinted with suspicion.

  She clutched her gift-boxed DVDs. "I got what I wanted."

  Right. I'm the one with Murdo. But I'd love to test the snipe. Opportunity knocks. I tore into the crisp paper wrapping the box.

  In three quick crackling rips, I uncloaked the white shirt-type box and shook the lid loose. The base plopped onto the table.

  Medieval hairdos pressed closer, gaining a glimpse at white tissue paper.

  At least, the crowd is intrigued. I wiggled my fingers beneath the wispy paper, into cool smooth fabric and pinched a slip of cool softness.

  Material. Not girlie clothing. Please. I pulled.

  A long whisper-thin piece of white cloth trailed out.

  And kept coming. And coming.

  "It's silk," the duke announced.

  At least it didn't look like some kind of lingerie. There'd be no modeling of lingerie for this crowd. Ever. But this amazing fabric felt like liquid. Would feel like liquid against my skin. Not a bad thought.

  Tiny flowers were embroidered across the sheet of woven mist. The end slipped over the side of the box and glided toward the floor.

  Lord, the floor filthy stone floor. I jerked it upward, saving the clean softness from the cobbles.

  Murdo grabbed the length of silk and drew the fabric from my grasp to shake out the cloth.

  A shivering fringe edged the length of one side.

  Well, the garment is little more than an exquisite shawl. I can handle a shawl.

  Winking, Murdo threw the shawl upward, over my head, and let the silk settle around my shoulders like a parachute. "'Tis beautiful." He wrapped the ends around my elbows.

  Standing way too close.

  I caught a whiff of cinnamon.

  The slinky fabric slithered across my arms with a silent whisper. I snatched the smooth dangling ends and saved it.

  A smile played upon his lips. "I wish I had bought it."

  That didn't matter. Although the sentiment made me feel good.

  The crowd suddenly milled about, passing in various directions, toting their bone spoils from the game.

  Now to meet the future.

  ****

  Gripping the vibrating steering wheel, watching the headlights slice through the hazy darkness above the road over my knuckles, I decided life finally panned out. Mr. Perfect will be secured before dawn. Okay, maybe just placated with sex. But that has to mean something. He's the one who doesn't want to even kiss in public. Sex must carry some serious weight with him.

  The beam from the headlights dispersed upon a veil of mist hovering above the road to Loch Nevin. And the full moon hung low over the treetops. Beautifully. Oh to watch moonlight trail across the lake's calm mercurial surface with my poetic knight-in-colorful-tartan. Okay. Knight. His armor was reduced to a two-inch round Celtic brooch and a bent sword. That pin would do in a pinch though. Burst my bubble. Or something.

  Murdo sat quietly in the passenger's seat.

  Has he changed his mind? "You're quiet." I glanced at him then back at the lines painted down the side of the road.

  "'Tis safer to remain silent."

  Whatever that comment means. He's still mine. Mine. Hear that, Fate?

  "Katie."

  Thank goodness he decided to speak. I peered through the shadows at his serious gaze. "What?"

  "I cannot allow you to bond with me without confessing one thing."

  Bond? One thing? What one damned thing?

  My heart froze.

  HIV? No that isn't truly bad any longer. HIV is a treatable disease now. Right? He's gay. No. No! So…That's why he kept delaying sex. No. He can't be. He's way too interested in me to be gay. Isn't he? I fixated on the passing wall of ghostly trees.

  Those trees are like the a wall of the time and effort I wasted on him. A wall of squandered emotion that's so freaking steadfast it'll be torture to tear it down. "What?" I think I asked.

  The loudest exhalation I ever heard from a man flooded the cab.

  What can be so awful? Is he a mass murderer? I glanced sideways at him.

  He faced the road, his eye closed in profile.

  Bad, Katie Innis. Really, really bad. We should have gone to Wales this year for vacation. "What?" Maybe I don't want to know.

  Licking his lips, he opened his mouth, yet still remained silent.

  Drive me insane. Time to take the wheel. I slowed, steering onto the sleeping heather.

  The car rolled to a stop.

  He didn't fight me this time. No. My heart did a damned go
od job to make up for his lack of a struggle with the wheel like on our way to the castle. Would my pounding heart die too? If he killed me, at least I won't have to think about my mistake tomorrow. Yes. Something has to give now. I waited for the engine to quiet.

  "You can tell me now." I spun, pointing a finger at him. "But if you tell me you're gay, I'm going to do something really bad to you. Worse than what Cousin John deserves."

  His eyes gleamed with a bit of wayward light. Slowly he blinked and refocused on me. "I'm from the thirty-first century."

  What kind of wise crack is that? Mr. Perfect metamorphosed into Mr. Demented. "Just dump me like a real man." Like being a bitch would do any good. I bit my tongue, watching his calm mask.

  Oh. My. God. I told him I loved him.

  My heart thrashed like a freaking alien monster tried to bust out of my ribcage.

  Wait. He isn't dumping me. Not yet. But, Murdo hadn't taken what I already willingly offered three times. He's confessing. Something. But time travel? Come on. No. That's just so damned insane.

  My face started to twitch.

  With fear. I threw my face into my clammy palms.

  Time travel is ludicrous. Why did I have to fall in love with a nutcase? How funny. Rather ironic. I'm nuts to fall in love and get all crazy about a pile of nuts. I smoothed out the folds in my skirt.

  And I trusted him. How? "I thought you were perfect," I mumbled. There. I'd admitted the entire failure. Time to start working toward being perfect again. It would take a lot of work to climb back up to that rating.

  "I speak the truth," he timbered over the droning silence.

  Truth? What did truth have to do with this? He would speak of something happily realistic. He will.

  "My job is to seek Truth. The sword, Katie. You can't repair the blade because the alloy won't be created until the twenty-second century."

  What? My gaze slid over the stick shift, up his thigh, over his tartan draped chest to meet his resolute gaze.

  And Pam told me to trust him. To start trusting men by trusting him. "Please don't lie to me, Murdo. I've only got my aunt and uncle." Tears smeared my view. "And I really do love you even though it has only been three days." Why did I have to say that again? "So how are you planning on explaining time travel as some sort of truth?"