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

  "After he told me to take care of you."

  My head spun. Not helping. In the least. "It's all too much. Too strange."

  "In the thirty-first century, the Druids say: When the past is born of the future, when the future is born in the past, there are no coincidences. There is only purpose."

  Odd poetry is supposed to comfort me? I stared at him, at his resolute jaw, his earnest gaze. His expression showed he truly believed those words. "Are you saying we were meant to be together?"

  "If you find comfort in knowing, aye." He nodded.

  Fate? Okay. Just go with it. I inhaled deeply, wishing I could really believe in his time-travel fantasy. And, now, Black Liam is in on the charade? He couldn't be. The captain would explain. Yes. I'd talk to him too. "I'll help you." I reached for the business card.

  Murdo didn't argue and eagerly headed for Uncle John's office following my lead. I circumvented the mounds of documents on the desk, descended into Uncle John's upholstered chair, and scanned the desktop for evidence of the telephone.

  Where is the bloody thing? "This place should be condemned as a fire hazard," I muttered. "After all, right beyond the wall is a raging furnace." I spotted the coiled cord of the receiver and repositioned books and papers until uncovering the phone.

  Murdo showed no sign of hearing the joke.

  Fine. I'd just call Black Liam. I tapped out the number and waited for a dial tone.

  One ring trilled.

  A breeze kicked up papers on Uncle John's disaster of a desk.

  My gaze slid out the open window, to the distant peak of Ben Nevin.

  Scotland's highest peak. Obviously, the hill proved an undying challenge with Cousin John--a man who could never win its annual foot race.

  A second ring trilled.

  Click. "Black Liam's Charters. Loch Lomond."

  Black Liam's voice. "Black Liam? Do you remember taking a few young ladies and a large kilted man on a sunset cru--"

  "Katie?" he interrupted. "I wasn't certain when you'd ring."

  He knew I'd call?

  My gut flopped.

  "Are you there, lass?"

  Oh boy. Ghosts. Time-traveling keys. People who knew the future. Things are starting to point toward the polka-dotted pink elephant. "Yes. Murdo wanted to give you a call." I studied my straight-lipped beloved.

  Murdo stood with arms crossed over his chest, opposite the desk.

  His foot is certainly tapping.

  "What has happened?" Black Liam insisted.

  Heck, what am I supposed to say? Have you heard of this futuristic metal that can't be worked in twenty-first-century foundries? "I'd better let Murdo talk to you."

  ****

  Murdo shoved the telephone receiver against his ear, mimicking his soul mate. Time to learn what I can, he thought. "Black Liam?"

  "Aye, lad. 'Tis good to hear from you. What's happened?"

  An older man's voice could make a Brother dance a jig sometimes. Especially when the voice belonged to a retired Ring Master. "I need to repair my sword."

  "You've a bit of a bend, don't you?"

  The man always knows. "How did you know?"

  A raven flapped its shimmering black wings past the window.

  Not a good. The sign of a War Fury.

  "Seers tell a man things he needs to know. What's bothering you, lad?"

  So, Black Liam has been conversing with spirits from the future. "What else did Seers tell you?"

  "That you're to visit the Duke of Ronat. He's got the equipment to repair your sword."

  Why didn't the duke inform us the other night? "What?"

  "You've met the duke then. He can repair your key."

  Katie coiled wee tickling fingers around my knee.

  That's what I get for pacing past her chair. Her clinging touch and gooseflesh prickling up my limbs.

  A shiver shook me through the core.

  Those wily fingers slipped up my inner thigh.

  His loin tightened.

  Not the sword I wished to sing into submission at the moment. I pushed the mischievous fingers downward, walked across the room, and struggled to concentrate. "But 'tis fey metal. Can the duke pull off such a feat?"

  Black Liam sighed. "I cannot help you, lad. You must go to him."

  "A hundred thousand thank yous--"

  A loud pop burst outside the window.

  My heart froze.

  Something is outside the window. Or someone. I searched the sunny view beyond the glass for signs of an intruder.

  "What's happened?" Black Liam alarmed.

  Someone overheard the conversation. Black Liam probably already knows. I dropped the receiver, bolted to the windows, and leaned against the hard sun-warmed glass.

  Naught but heather-swathed landscape stretched beyond, dotted with stones and swaying grass.

  Probably War Furies again. The crow was a sign. I hope. I'd ask Black Liam to confirm my suspicions.

  Katie stood wide-eyed, holding the telephone receiver against her breast. "What's happened?"

  Thrice repeated in the conversation. The question is evidence the War Furies must be at work here. I reached for the communicator. "'Tis naught for you to fret about." I thrust the hard receiver to to my ear. "Just a noise, Katie."

  "Are you certain?" Black Liam demanded.

  Now I've got two people hounding me. "I couldn't tell you."

  "Call me if the need arises. I've a car and a boat. Take care, Ring Master McEwen." The phone line clicked and hummed.

  Only time would tell if a fey hand tinkered with my future and treated us like chess pieces in a game I'm expected to win. Time would reveal my purpose. I handed the receiver to Katie.

  ****

  Murdo looked really disturbed moments before I gazed out Uncle John's office window at the clear blue Scottish sky. "No one is outside?" I returned the receiver to its holder and turned to my distraught husband.

  He looked deathly ill. Both Uncle John and Murdo agonizing over things beyond their control would kill me.

  Murdo's dark eyebrow arched. "I'm sure you're correct."

  The robotic sound of his voice made my heart sink.

  I'd just find more answers. "Let's look up something online. Check for more information." I strode toward the computer monitor. "A clue to help us straighten that sword."

  Murdo didn't budge. "I need to speak with Duke Ronat."

  Him? That's odd.

  Murdo grabbed my elbow, tugging me toward the door. We breached the stifling forge's cloud of heat. Nobody waited in that warm choking bubble. Oh. Yes. Warm. And cozy. We're definitely more isolated now. Murdo should calm down.

  He turned his nose toward the furnace and strode across the space, pulling me to the end of the work counter, below the edge of Uncle Murdo's sword display.

  What is he up to?

  He grabbed my waist, hoisted my body upward, and seated me firmly on the bench.

  Sex now. After the incident? But his features are apprehensive. "What are you up to?"

  Mr. Perfect turned his back to the furnace and watched the mirrored wall.

  Not me. He watched the reflection of the doorway. As if he protected me. From something.

  "I must speak with Duke Ronat," he announced again.

  His behavior is odd. "Why?"

  "He possesses the technology to repair my sword," he whispered.

  Really? "What--" Is Murdo leaving? This time? Or going somewhere? Is fixing the sword a lie to allow him an easy out from our handfasting? "Why is repairing your sword so important?"

  Murdo shot me a stern gaze, but his gaze immediately prowled the reflection of the sunny driveway in the mirrors. "I've already explained I cannot travel through time without the sword. Each man is gifted a sword when the fey deem him worthy. The sword is fingerprinted, marked for use by only the man 'tis gifted to. If I don't have my sword, I cannot go home."

  He isn't leaving me. "You're leaving?"

  His blue gaze locked on mine. "I will never lea
ve you," he declared as if he knew my thoughts. Murdo snatched my wounded palm, holding it up next to his so I could see the cuts. "Was my vow unclear?"

  Oh, another admonishing look from him today. He must be from another time. Another planet. Where husbands expect their wives to believe them. "Men aren't like you these days."

  He raised my hand to his lips, planted a warm smooch on the heel of my palm, then his serious gaze sought mine. "Never forget that."

  Okay. I can see in the depths of his eyes that he's genuinely serious. But believing all this mumbo jumbo is going to take some time. "I keep wondering how crazy it is to remember this marriage. I've only known you for four days."

  He just stared at me.

  As if waiting for me to buckle. Or for me to explode with another ridiculous statement. Yes. I shouldn't have said what popped into my head.

  "Trust is important, Katie. Everything I do hinges upon trust."

  He isn't angry? But trust went both ways. I looked him in the eye. "I have to witness time travel to believe in it. But I do believe in you." I threw my arms around his solid neck and smiled.

  A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Murdo's lips. He leaned down and pressed his soft mouth against mine, kissing my angst into throbbing oblivion.

  Oh. God. My parts are way too happy. Humming pulsing happy. Like where's the workbench? Back me up. Lay me down. Hell, shove me against a wall. I'm ready and willing to lock these wobbly legs around that iron waist.

  His amazing mouth receded, smiling beneath his an dark arched eyebrows. "There's you an experience to believe, my love. And don't fret. You're simply a true example of a twenty-first Centurian, Katie Innis McEwen."

  Is that an insult? Who cares? His kiss had enough momentum to hurl me into another century. Heck, even Mr. Boots is part of the possible too. Add to the list this futuristic metal alloy. All three had to attest to something.

  Uncle John's shiny red racecar rolled to a stop in front of the forge outside the open foundry's double garage doors like the man intended to cure the world of all its woes. He's going to kill himself driving like he raced to claim the trophy. Hopefully, what he found would assist in sword reparations though. And standing here absorbed in a touchy feely things with Murdo with the doors hanging wide isn't going ot win me any brownie points with Uncle John--a man who worried about his reputation. And I'm an aspect of his business. I released Murdo's shoulders.

  Murdo grabbed a hammer at the end of the workbench, keeping his back to the doorway, fiddling with the massive tool.

  Obviously trying to look busy? Innocent. Too funny. But all too wise.

  Blinding sunlight glinted off the car's windshield.

  I'd play along and appear productive at work. I knelt, foraged through the cabinet below, pulling the iron handle to find buckets filled with O-rings and bolts.

  Trying to look like I'd been busy all along. Grabbing the edge of a bucket, I yanked.

  Heaved.

  The seriously heavy container slid across the shelf. I tried to rise while lifting the mass of parts. Gads. Fifty pounds. I managed to place the rattling bucket on the countertop and turned to the entrance.

  "I've got it." Uncle John waved a large fat book at us.

  He didn't act like he could see in the building moments before. Or had seen us arm in arm.

  Sticky Fingers stepped inside from the edge of the doorway.

  Holding nothing. What's new? As if he could provide a solution. Right. Maybe an annoying distraction.

  Uncle John stepped to me, across the room. "Here, lass. We'll work out the problem." He blinked, squinting more.

  Murdo turned calmly to face us.

  "Come on." Uncle John stepped over to the anvil. He placed the book upon it, throwing open the cover. "Mr. Hammerstein will have the answer. He always does." He chuckled.

  Right. The metal smith had never heard of this futuristic bride. We're better off throwing the useless tome into the forge to feed the flames.

  Murdo and Sticky Fingers joined Uncle John.

  "Are we at temperature yet?" Uncle John asked.

  Murdo spun, stepping to the pyrometer mounted on the wall near the forge mouth. "We're at 2150," he announced.

  Uncle John jumped, skirting the anvil. "Pull the blade out. Hurry." He glowered at Sticky Fingers. "I thought I told you to watch the gauge while I was gone?"

  Chapter 20

  The trees flanking the road in the waning sunlight whisked by like everything was in as much of a hurry as Uncle John was. Hurrying to straighten the sword. Hurrying to speak in secret. Hurrying to wring Sticky Finger's useless eavesdropping neck. I gladly stared out the car's front passenger window next to Uncle John on the drive home. The orange and hot pinks of the sunset offered a disconcertingly glorious ending to a mind-boggling day. The temperature had quickly trebled in the foundry after we realized what Sticky Fingers had been up to. And I'm not talking about adding fuel to the forge's fire. No. But Cousin John said nothing about anything he'd most likely overheard. And Uncle John had continued to increase the fire's heat to work the sword. With the rise of temperature in the actual forge, something strange occurred. The sword grew heavier with each increase in temperature. But metal doesn't get denser as it heats. Nothing does. Except if it's from the future! I'm so not going there right now. So, the alloy teased Uncle John into a game of chase which is why he sped his car home. To find more answers.

  Uncle John's deep concentration left us riding in absolute silence beyond the friction-induced tire noise and the rush of wind along the outside of the windows.

  At least we're not watching Uncle John fuss with the blade in the care. We'll arrive home soon. Call Duke Ronat. Who better be home. Who else would we call for assistance with this nidium? Not Uncle John who focused on the gray road, chewing his inner cheek. Poor man. Absolutely unable to resist a challenge as usual. "What will you try tomorrow?"

  Not a moment passed.

  "I'm taking the blade into Edinburgh," he announced. "My friend will assist at the University."

  Murdo had to be choking in the backseat. If he isn't, he should be. Get a bunch of Scottish metallurgists together and his sword is destined for destruction with tests or reclassification like some extraterrestrial object after being flayed like an alien from outer space. And the idea won't be so farfetched this time. Hopefully. I'd hate to learn Murdo is really a nutcase.

  "We'll leave at sunrise." Uncle John glanced in the rearview mirror. "John will tend to the foundry."

  "And why can't I go?" Sticky Fingers demanded from the backseat beside Murdo.

  At least the sword won't be around John's sticky fingers after tomorrow.

  ****

  The savory smell of roasted lamb almost knocked me over when I stepped into Uncle John's foyer. Scrumptious food. To help us calm down after the volcanic afternoon.

  My mouth watered.

  Murdo halted beside me.

  Still deathly silent. Would he say nothing? It's all my fault. First I hit him with a car. Then I introduce him to my despicable cousin.

  "We're home, Mother," Uncle John boomed behind me.

  "Wash up," Iona lilted from the kitchen.

  Uncle John veered toward the bathroom door. Cousin John strode to the telephone.

  Who wants to listen to one of his vile phone conversations? I need a shower. After a day sweating in the foundry, Mr. Perfect had to be zapped too. I smiled at his tired mask. "The heat of the foundry sucks the energy right out of you. Go upstairs and wash up. I'll wait for Uncle John to finish." I leaned toward him to whisper. "Maybe he didn't hear anything."

  Murdo patted my knuckles and departed, ascending the stairs in what appeared to be deep thought.

  At least, he the shower will keep him preoccupied while I think of something. Anything. I leaned against the wall beside the bathroom door.

  The gushing sound of water seeped through the walls.

  "Hello, Mary?" Sticky Fingers chimed on the telephone the hall.

  What a wa
y to end the day. Overhearing John call a receptive girl. Yes. Bother someone else. Or the idiot might say something important. Something related to today. I gazed at the staircase's dark spindles.

  Well, hearing him talk to a woman was wonderful. Hopefully, Mary adored him. Invited him over. Gave him a cozy place to tuck his wee sword.

  "I'm up for a trip into town tonight. Are you?" he asked Mary.

  Yes. Take him to town. Leave me here for a lovely evening with my Ring Master. A night shorn of groaning Sticky Fingers since he caught wind of the handfasting.

  "Eight then?"

  Oh. Boy. Mary could talk his ear off. Sticky Fingers needed to spend more time with the gal.

  The receiver clicked.

  The bathroom door whisked open.

  Bright light shafted across the slate floor.

  "Och! There you go, Katie." Uncle John stepped across the threshold with a straight-lipped scowl and patted my shoulder. "We'll straighten that blade."

  "Of course we will." I smiled and grabbed the hard smooth door, pushing until I couldn't see his concerned face anymore.

  Alone felt good. I didn't have to worry about hiding things behind the dark wooden door. All I had to do is breathe.

  "Come on, now. Supper's on the table," Iona pealed.

  Yes. Food. I’m so on my way. I turned to wash my hands.

  The mirror revealed a black smudge across my temple.

  "So much for a facial." I cranked on the water and thrust my fingers into the cool stream, cleansed the soot off my face, dabbed my skin dry with a slightly damp towel, and pulled the door open.

  Murdo descended the stairs.

  Still a bit too reserved.

  He managed a smile. "You washed off the mark."

  Men. "You could have told me it was there."

  "Why would I have done that?"

  Men definitely needed to be retrained once taken on by a woman. Tomboy or not. "Let's eat."

  He caught up with me.

  Smelling ripe. I undoubtedly smelled just as awful. "We reek." I chuckled.

  "What can you expect after melting all day?"

  True. "Let's eat."

  Iona had set the table with a platter mounded in roasted lamb. Bits of bone jutted out among the golden pieces of meat. Uncle John's tongue flicked out faster than a snake testing air for signs of supper from where he sat at the head of the table, almost grinning like a drooling ogre.