Again My Love (Kaitlyn and the Highlander Book 9)

by Diana Knightley

  His friends all laughed. Guy and Max shook Magnus’s hand and then slumped into chairs to round out our circle. Picasso took a seat on the coffee table directly in front of me, knee to knee. “Have you posed for a painting before, Madame?”

  Flustered, I said, “No, never, I...” I glanced over his shoulder at Lady Mairead. Her head was tilted, a smile spread across her face, enjoying my discomfort.

  Magnus was looking from my face to Picasso’s.

  Picasso lifted my chin and turned my face from side to side speaking to his friends in French.

  Magnus said, “She is m’wife.”

  Picasso let go of my chin and banged his palm down on Magnus’s knee. “Of course she is, friend Magnoose! I am paying you a compliment with my admiration. A man like you!” He patted Magnus on the shoulders. “You are the kind of man who can love a woman like this.” Guy and Max stifled their laughter.

  Picasso sauntered to the bar-cart in the corner, chose a bottle of Lady Mairead’s whisky, pulled the cork with his teeth, spit it to the side, shoved the bottle under his arm, grabbed five glasses, and brought it all to the coffee table. He poured, with spills and splashes while laughing drunkenly, a shot for each of us. Swerving, he directed his ass onto the arm of Lady Mairead’s chair and perched there, swigging from the bottle. “Will you be entertaining tonight, Mad, or would you come out with us to the restaurant?”

  Lady Mairead tilted her head and smiled. “I daena ken...” She focused on her wrist as she languidly turned a hand. “I have Monsieur Jacques tae meet with this evening, he has promised tae bring more paintings.”

  Picasso scowled, swigged some more whisky, and said something in French that sounded a lot like, “That guy’s an asshole.”

  Guy and Max laughed, they laughed at anything Picasso said, apparently.

  Picasso said, “I will give you another painting, Mad. We do not have anyone to buy dinner, please come buy us dinner.”

  She seemed to consider it for a long time to make him suffer.

  Picasso said, “If your guests come to dinner you will have to come as well.”

  He splashed whisky into Magnus’s glass. “Magnoose! Accompany your friend, the Lady Mad, to dinner. Bring your beautiful wife, her visage will whet our appetites.” He pointed at me, leering, as if Magnus needed a reminder who I was. “Mad has promised she would come to dinner but only if you will come.”

  Without waiting for our reply, he turned to Lady Mairead. “They said they would, Mad, but only if you are going as well.”

  Lady Mairead laughed. “Aye, I will go, I will take everyone tae dinner. Ye will owe me a painting, Picasso, I rather like the portrait ye did this week of the young harlequin.”

  He yelled, “We have a fairly struck deal!”

  Lady Mairead stood. “Kaitlyn, we needs tae get ye ready. You canna go in your current state.”

  Lady Mairead brought me a piece of jewelry from her collection but passed it to Magnus to place around my neck, along with a pin for my hair, twisted up. And a scarf to tie around my waist to make my skirt and blouse pretty. Magnus straightened his coat and vest.

  She swept from the apartment following Picasso, Max and Guy as they clattered down the stairs drunkenly yelling and singing.

  Magnus’s eyes twinkled. “Tis verra awkward for m’mother tae have a drunk makin’ love tae her in front of me.”

  “That drunk is the most important painter of the twentieth century, almost any century. Please, whatever happens, don’t hurt him, or we really will change time.”

  “I could rearrange his face tae match his senseless paintings.”

  I groaned. “Just be on your best behavior. We all know you can kick his ass, but not kicking his ass is just as heroic.”

  “Tis why I haena yet. Like a true hero.”

  We swept from the house following them as they staggered down the street, with Lady Mairead in their midst.

  Thirty - Kaitlyn

  About three blocks away we came to a very, very crowded restaurant. Every square inch was packed with revelers. A clown juggled, somehow, just within the front door, and I ducked to miss getting walloped by a ball. He laughed and pinched my chin, “Tu es la plus belle fille,” then he turned away to juggle somewhere else.

  I pushed through the crowd following the back of Lady Mairead’s head, as she followed the men. Picasso was in the lead, stopping to speak and kiss and greet all the characters, because the restaurant was filled with characters — women were barely dressed by the standard of the day, their shirts much lower than mine in the front, their dresses long, pale, and gauzy, a little like wearing corsets and nightgowns. Women pressed against Magnus’s chest as he pushed through the crowd, easily the tallest man in the room.

  I was expecting Picasso to ask for the table, but instead Lady Mairead arranged it through the owner. We were led to the best table in front of the stage where dancers with a shocking lack of clothes were performing. Holy cannoli this is decadent. Then I wondered how the fuck I became such a prude.

  The music was loud, people stood all around our table pressing in toward our seats. This nightclub was without any rules about overcrowding, obviously, the women, the crowd, the cacophony, and laughter — a glass was passed my way, a green liquid poured from a fancy bottle. I took a sip. What is it?

  My brain thought, Absinthe, though I had never come across such a thing before. I took another sip, and went completely warm all over.

  A laughing woman sat down on my husband’s lap, her arm around his neck. “Oooooh!” rubbing a hand all up and down his chest.

  He stayed completely still, chuckling, but not moving, so she grew bored and climbed from his lap to twirl away to sit on Guy. He enthusiastically returned her affections.

  Magnus leaned forward. “Ye okay?”

  I took another sip of absinthe. “Aye, Master Magnus, I am perfect, this is delicious!” I giggled. “Be careful, I think tis alcoholicky...”

  Across from me, Lady Mairead looked beautiful, flushed and laughing. Picasso kissed her cheek and said something sexy, turning her cheeks a high color. Platters were brought, plates passed around, amazing rich sauces — a cassoulet, braised beef, a chicken dish with red wine, oysters and roasted vegetables.

  I ate enough to take the edge off the alcohol a little, a very little. There were pastries delicately coated with powdered sugar and filled with pear, and loaves of bread. I smeared fresh butter on a slice and chewed happily.

  I scanned the room. It was lot like a giant raucous frat party, a little like an LA party, mixed with costumes and then some oddities like — the crowd parted and a man rode through on a unicycle, stopped at the stage, grabbed the hips of one of the dancing girls and rubbed his face in the back of her pantaloons.

  I announced, “I think I’m drunk.”

  Magnus followed my eyes. “Everywhere I look is a sight of wonder.”

  Another underdressed woman slid her arms around Magnus’s neck, holding on, kissing and whispering in his ear.

  I tugged his elbow. “Come sit with me.”

  He shrugged off the woman, laughing. “But ye have a wee chair.”

  I wobbled up to standing. “We can stack.”

  He slid over and I sat on his lap, took another bite of sweet sugary pastry, and kissed him, full lips and tasty tongue.

  He said, “Ye taste of a delicious dessert.”

  I glanced up, Picasso was watching intently. My face flushed. I reached for my drink.

  Picasso leaned across the table, yelling to be heard over the revelry. “Mad has amused me with stories of time traveling, have you ever heard these outlandish tales, Magnoose?”

  Magnus said, “I have heard her speak on it, seems she has a talent for tellin’ tales that arna true.”

  Picasso grinned. “Ah, but Lady Mad has the best stories, told in such a way that though they can not possibly be true, they certainly seem to be. She tells me about the future, a land of planes, and automobiles and...”

  He asked Lady Mai
read, “What did you call them, Lady Mad?”

  Lady Mairead stroked his hair back from his forehead. “They will be called computers, ye can ask them for any information and they will answer ye.”

  Picasso stood and held up his glass. “To a future of certainty, all the answers to every question — the end of religion, of philosophy. We will be left with only truth and equality!”

  Everyone held up their glasses, most having heard not a word, or not understanding most of it, but cheering anyway.

  The roaring music ended, the dancers left the stage, a pianist played a quieter song. Picasso’s head wobbled as he turned to me. “Ma belle, you must be a time traveler as well, are you not?”

  “What on earth makes you say that?”

  “You have a glow, as if you emanate light.” His fingertips stroked down my cheek and down my arm, only inches away from Magnus’s arm. He clutched my chin and peered into my eyes. “I would like you to pose for me, I could—

  Unable to think of what else to do I pushed myself across Magnus’s lap and slid butt first onto an empty chair. I giggled because I was almost upended, my feet across Magnus’s lap, almost in Picasso’s face.

  Picasso laughed. “La fée verte has taken Madame Kaitlyn!” He leaned back against Lady Mairead, opening his mouth, waiting for her to offer him another slice of pear.

  I kissed Magnus again and then we were interrupted once more by Picasso. “A question for you, Mangoosey.”

  “Aye, I will attempt tae answer ye.”

  “If your friend, Lady Mad, is a time traveler and has arrived from the year... what year are you traveled from, Mad?”

  Lady Mairead said, with a sexy lilt, “Monsieur Picasso, tis verra rude tae ask a lady her age.”

  Picasso nestled his face against her neck kissing her there. He said, “I do not see a lady.”

  She laughed. “Fine words from a scoundrel, careful or you will have tae buy the dinner tonight.”

  He jokingly straightened up. “I have to carry myself with the manners of a statesman around Lady Mad or she tires of her poor Pablo.” He swigged straight from one of the bottles then turned his bleary eyes on Magnus. “I think you are from an ancient time, Mangoose, from long ago, a time of barbarians. You have the difficult work of pretending to be civilized, no?”

  The jaw muscles on Magnus’s cheek tightened, but he kept his smile. “I have cleaned up well enough.” He drank from his glass.

  Picasso returned his focus to me, “So, ma belle, I have a question. Here are your friends, from a time of barbarism, darkness, and superstition. If I ask them this question, they will have an answer that will not surprise us. Here is Pablo Picasso, a painter, with my friends the poet and the philosopher...” He waved to the men at the end of the table. I was too drunk to remember who was Guy and who was Max.

  He continued, “If I ask us this question, we might not have an answer, we would argue about it for the rest of our lives, but then there is you, a beacon of beauty waiting for us in a bright future of promise. If you are tired of the bright lights, and you could travel to any time and place in the world, where would you go?”

  “That’s an easy one, I would go to my husband’s bed.”

  Picasso held up his glass. “To the future! Not a time of harlots and wild women, but of beautiful wives wanting to fornicate!” Picasso held up his bottle and his friends held up their glasses. They drank. He slammed his bottle to the table and leaned on it. “It must be very hard, Beautiful Kaitlyn, to have all the times in history laid out behind you and before you, a long straight line of days.”

  “Not really. It’s not really like that at all...”

  He leaned forward, “What is it like?”

  I leaned on my hand and considered. “I believe it’s like this — time is not a straight line, but strands, past present future, and all the times in between. I think they’re all happening at the same moment, lives in each, though the ‘years’ are different. I go from one life, family in the year 1704, a child is born, an uncle passes away, then I go to the year 2400 and there is a war, and then I go to the year 2017, and there are friends there. In each of those places the story of their lives carry on, like fragments of a whole. Time is a lot like different planes of the same shape.” While I had been talking, my cheek stretched on the heel of my hand. Picasso leaned on his own hand and it stretched his face too.

  “Time, for you, mon chérie, is at the same time, just in different places?”

  “A lot, kind of, exactly. I think I just blew my mind.”

  Picasso asked Lady Mairead, “Is this the way it is for you, Mad? When you are visiting me and you have been here for... How long have you been visiting me this summer?”

  “Long enough to be bored with your endless questions.”

  He laughed. “Lady Mad is bored with her Pablo!” He kissed her neck. “I will need to be careful on the discussion, no?” Then he instantly forgot to be careful and said, “I think Mad has been here for three decadent months. How long has it been since you saw her last, beautiful Kaitlyn?”

  “A couple of weeks, I don’t really remember, but not long.”

  Picasso applauded. “Time!”

  He turned to Lady Mairead, “I want you to take me with you on your next travels.”

  “Maybe someday...” She sat up straight in her seat dislodging him from her lap. “I am tired of your questions and ready tae go home. You should find yourself somewhere else tae sleep tonight.”

  Picasso grabbed a bottle off the table and tucked it under his arm. “I am sure there is a lady here with a warm bed to share with Pablo.” He weaved down the chairs to slump beside his friend Guy, a moment later there was a woman on his lap.

  I slurred, “That sucks, he should at least come home with you.”

  Lady Mairead said, “Tis nae matter in it, he will come tae my bed afore the morn. He always does.”

  “Whoa…” I said, as Magnus helped me up to leave.

  Lady Mairead walked a block ahead of us.

  I staggered on the way home, bumping Magnus, and giggling. He put an arm around me to keep me straight, but then we were both weaving.

  Magnus laughed. “We should nae have drunk so much.”

  “I barely drank anything!” Then I laughed and doubled over. “I drank everything. I’m lying. I drank sooo much.” I looked down at my feet. “I could walk straight if it wasn’t cobblestone. It’s tooooo faaaarrrr to walk!”

  Magnus leaned over, grabbed me around the waist and hefted me to his shoulder.

  I squealed in indignation and a little in delight.

  “Ye have tae have braw man feet for the stones.” He strode through the crowds, dim lamps lighting our route, drunken people along the path, someone peeing on the curb, a couple totally making out — wait... “Oh my god, Magnus, they're having sex, right there.”

  “Och, tis nae the first time I have seen it this night.”

  “Paris is a trip. This is like Mardi Gras. And it’s what, like a Saturday?”

  As he strode along, me bouncing comfortably over his shoulder, I watched the revelry and decadence. “Are we the only people who didn’t have sex tonight in public, is it because we’re married? Do you not lust after me anymore?”

  “Tis because ye arna a harlot.”

  My eyes widened. “These are prostitutes? I don’t think I ever saw one before.”

  My husband’s pace, as he carried me home, lulled me into a daze. I put my head against his. Then we were at the front door. He let me down and I leaned against his chest while he opened the door. “Ye have tae get yer self up the stairs.”

  “Push me, I’m already asleep.”

  Magnus helped lift me up the stairs and then we spilled, laughing, into the living room.

  Lady Mairead was curled up in pale blue silk pajamas at the end of the pink velvet couch. A very dim lamp beside her. The sounds of the street party floating up through the windows.

  “Ye made it home? The streets are full of revelers.”
<
br />   “Och, tis the usual manner of the city?”

  “Aye, most nights.”

  “This is a level of decadence I dinna think ye would enjoy.”

  She sighed. “I enjoy it verra much, there is a freedom tae Paris that I appreciate.”

  Magnus slouched down in the chair across from her. I dropped to the floor in front of his chair and leaned my head on his thigh. His hand drifted over to rest on my hair.

  He said, “This is where ye always come, here, tae live when ye arna dealing with the future?”

  She nodded. “I have my gallery, and the respect of—”

  “The Picasso man is verra young and a scoundrel, ye shouldna—”

  “He is nae a scoundrel, he is the most important artist in the modern world. I provide for him and he paints for me. He comes tae my bed when he wants the company. It is a good arrangement, mutually beneficial. He is verra attached tae my good graces.”

  “I just want tae make sure ye...”

  “That I am careful? I am.”

  “Will ye be livin’ here then?”

  “It depends on whether ye need m’help in the kingdom. Dost ye need my help?”

  “Nae, I daena.”

  “Well, then this suits me.”

  “Thank ye for tellin’ me how tae work the rest of the vessels.”

  “I am sure ye are aware, there are more ye daena ken of, Donnan had more sons, your uncle had more sons. There are vessels in the world that haena come intae play yet.”

  “I guessed as such.”

  She gestured toward a door. “Your bedroom is through there.”

  Magnus nudged me lightly, but as I was groggy and near sleep, he hefted me into his arms and carried me through to the guest bedroom. It was decorated with an ornately carved four poster bed. The bedding was all in a crisp white linen with lace.

  He dropped me to the bed and pulled my shoes off.

  I sprawled back on the bed. “I can’t believe this is her happy place.”