Time Travel Romances Boxed Set

by Claire Delacroix

  But blond Aurelia would look like dirty dishwater in such a pale shade.

  Marissa fanned out the dress’s fullness across the top of the open trunk and a hint of a smile curved her lips. The dress brushed her own ankles with dramatic flair - but she was a good six inches taller than the blonde.

  All these yards of silk would dwarf the little unfortunate. With luck, despite the luster of the fabric, she’d look like a lost child dressing up to be a woman.

  Wouldn’t that be sad.

  And Marissa, by lending a silk dress Baird knew she favored, would appear to be sweet and generous.

  Perfect. Marissa tossed the dress over her arm and smiled. This could work all to her advantage in the end.

  *

  Marissa rapped on the door of the room Julian said he had given to Aurelia. The door swung immediately open.

  “Oh! Hello.” Aurelia was obviously both surprised to see Marissa and fresh from the bath. Her hair hung damp and gleaming past her hips, the towel she had wrapped about herself covered her only from underarm to mid-thigh.

  And there was not a dot of cellulite on what Marissa could see of those slender but muscled thighs. Aurelia was the very image of dewy innocence. Thank God Baird wasn’t here to witness this!

  Anger surged through Marissa at the thought. She gritted her teeth and managed a smile that she hoped appeared friendly. “Didn’t you look through the peephole before you opened the door, darling?” she asked sweetly. “You never know who could be knocking at your door otherwise and you certainly wouldn’t want to just let them in!”

  Aurelia blinked, obviously not understanding.

  “The peephole, darling.”

  Aurelia’s blank expression didn’t change.

  “In the door. The peephole in the door. Surely, you’ve noticed it?” Marissa tapped impatiently on the brass insert in question, amazed that the ditzy blonde didn’t seem to know what it was. “You look through it, darling, to see who is outside before you open the door.”

  Aurelia frowned. “There is no hole in this door,” she said carefully, looking at Marissa as though she was the dense one.

  Marissa barely controlled her exasperation. “You know, you can’t just open the door, especially dressed like that! What if there had been a workman here?”

  Or Baird. He’d likely blow a seam in his jeans!

  Marissa refused to think any further along such lines. “Go inside and look through the peephole, darling,” she instructed, incredulous that she had to explain something so simple. “You’ll see exactly what I mean.”

  Was it true that blondes were as dumb as bricks?

  Aurelia shut the door obediently. Marissa waited a second, then waved and smiled. There was an audible gasp from inside the room and Aurelia tore open the door, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “How did you get in there?” she demanded.

  Marissa barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Dumber than dumb. But then, hadn’t Aurelia insisted that she was a princess? Obviously, reality was a distant concept for this one.

  “I’m not in there, darling, I’m out here,” Marissa explained patiently. “You looked through the peephole in the door and saw me out here in the hall. That’s how it works, very simple really.”

  Aurelia appeared unconvinced. She glanced to the peephole, then back to Marissa, her doubts clearly unabated.

  Did she think Marissa was lying about something so painfully pedestrian?

  “You were only this big,” Aurelia insisted, holding her finger and thumb an inch apart. “How did you make yourself so small?”

  Marissa blinked, but Aurelia held her gaze stubbornly. Incredibly, the woman was not putting her on. She might be drop-dead gorgeous, but Baird’s attraction wouldn’t last long if he had to explain every little thing.

  Maybe she really had been incapable of drawing her own bath.

  Maybe there was hope, after all. Marissa’s spirits soared and she felt uncharacteristically generous.

  “It wasn’t me, darling. There’s a lens or something in there, a special kind of glass that makes things look smaller when you look through it. It lets you see whatever - or whoever - is out here before you open the door. It’s perfectly marvelous, of course.”

  Aurelia went back and looked through the peephole again, swinging the door and staying right behind it to stare through the peephole as the door moved.

  Pathetic. When Aurelia reluctantly abandoned the game, she looked impressed. Marissa’s bored tolerance must have shown.

  “You are used to this magic,” Aurelia commented.

  “Oh yes, I wouldn’t have a door without it.” Marissa shrugged. “You never know who is going to come knocking these days, darling, do you, and one can only be prepared for every eventuality.”

  Aurelia nodded understanding, her gaze trailing back to the marvel in the door once more. Marissa, though, had no intention of wasting any more time watching Aurelia gawk.

  “Look, darling, I’ve brought you some clothes, nothing too terribly swish but something to get you by. Here’s a dress for dinner and some undies - don’t worry, of course they’re clean! - some pantyhose. I’m not sure whether any of my shoes would fit you, darling, but here’s a pair just in case they do.”

  Marissa handed over the lot. Aurelia fingered the silk and Marissa smiled with the certainty that she would take the bait and wear the dress.

  That made her almost laugh out loud. “Oh, and here’s a bit of makeup that just might be perfect for you, darling.” Marissa handed over a vibrant pink lipstick and a glaringly blue eyeliner that she hadn’t gotten around to pitching. “I thought the colors would suit you.”

  In one way or another.

  Aurelia stared at the cosmetics as though she had no idea what they were. Maybe they packaged them differently here - God knew most everything else was backwards in one way or another. People even drove on the wrong side of the road!

  “At any rate, it will get you by until you can get some things in town.”

  Then Aurelia glanced up and something flashed in her eyes that made Marissa wonder whether she had underestimated the woman’s intelligence.

  The expression was gone so quickly that Marissa immediately doubted what she had seen.

  “Thank you very much for your generosity.” Aurelia smiled. “I hope that you have not done yourself a disservice.”

  “Oh no, darling, don’t fret!” Marissa, her optimism restored, gave her trademark trill of laughter. “I’m sure I’ll find some little rag to wear!”

  “No doubt you will,” Aurelia said sweetly. She firmly closed the door before Marissa could wonder what was being implied.

  Marissa stood there for a moment, then shook her head. Diverting Baird’s attention from Aurelia’s charms would take virtually no effort at all. Marissa was certain that Aurelia could manage the job just fine, now that she had had a little bit of assistance.

  *

  Aurelia tossed the armload of clothes across the room, outraged that Baird’s whore would try to cast her in the same role. The garb of a harlot was what she had shared, that much was clear, for no woman of honor could afford such fine fabric.

  ’Twas the mark of a whore to be indulged with silk. Aurelia supposed she should have expected no less.

  But wait - who had chosen the garb? Certainly, the whore was adverse to any competition for Bard’s eye and would have shared millet sacks, given her choice.

  Not garb wrought so fine as this.

  Which could only mean that Bard must have dictated what would be brought.

  But why? Aurelia thought furiously. Had the priest been successful in coaxing Bard closer to his own view?

  Why else would his kiss have changed so seductively?

  Aurelia examined the sheerness of the silken chemise once more. It was thin enough that any man would see the flesh beneath. Even a whore would have to be bold - or well claimed - to wear such attire into the evening revelry of the hall.

  Especially in a holding
so apparently devoid of womenfolk.

  Aurelia’s mouth went dry at the import of this garb. Wearing this to the board would make Aurelia a temptress - and any results the fault of no one but herself.

  Clearly, Bard meant to add her to the ranks of his whores! Why else would he insist Marissa share this garb?

  Why, he might even have planned to bend his considerable charm upon Aurelia this very night! Perhaps she would be fed tender morsels to fuel her libido, or plied with mead until she was too drunk to fend off Bard’s advances.

  And once her maidenhead was gone, Aurelia would be compelled to wed the cur or shame her family. It was reprehensible - yet curiously evocative of how Thord had been coaxed to his death.

  Aurelia paced her chamber at breakneck speed as she worked through the repercussions of this deed. She would not drink a single sip of mead at the board this night. And she would not eat of any ‘special dish’ prepared for her alone. She would eat and drink only whatever Bard ate or drank first. Her chastity was not to be begged or bartered at any man’s command!

  Especially the murderer of her only brother. Aurelia would rather starve than go to the hall and make such a spectacle of herself!

  On the other hand, she was very hungry. She drummed her fingers and considered the problem of how she might foil Bard’s plans, at least long enough to fill her belly.

  Suddenly, Aurelia glimpsed the linens adorning the bed. She hastily peeled back the coverlet and was astonished at the lush beauty of the smooth cloth revealed. Somehow a pattern had been made upon the fabric, though it was not woven there, its hues echoing the shades of the room.

  Aurelia recalled the sewing needles in the little basket in the small chamber. There was another option! Oh, she would show Bard that she would not readily become his whore!

  But she must hasten, lest she be too late to the board. Who knew when this “six o’clock” might be? The sky was already darkening outside the room and Aurelia was certainly hungry.

  She might already be late!

  *

  The rain had stopped and the dark clouds had parted in the west to frame a magnificent orange sunset when Bard came downstairs. The dramatic light streamed through the tall gothic windows along the west side of the old bishop’s palace and painted the unfinished room in shades of gold.

  Baird refused to look at the cut thorns marking the place he had met Aurelia.

  Instead, he stared at the sunset, certain he had never seen another so beautiful. Baird’s senses seemed to have awakened after a long sleep when he had taken up residence here. Not only was every hue more intense, but the simplest food seemed more flavorful, and he felt as though he could hear a thousand voices in the wind.

  Dunhelm had enchanted him.

  Was that why Aurelia affected him so strongly?

  Baird dismissed his whimsical thoughts and surveyed the construction critically. This was currently the tidiest public room in the renovation, though folding tables were the extent of the furnishings.

  It was a far cry from his plans, though Baird could see hints of what the space would become. Although the main restaurant would be on the east side, stretching down the slope towards the beach and a stunning view, this would ultimately be a smaller restaurant. It would boast a comparatively small kitchen, and be a good place to have drinks or perhaps a casual lunch.

  Right now, it was a less daunting unfinished space than the cavernous main restaurant.

  The old stone walls of the 13th century palace exuded a cozy intimacy here, as would the great stone fireplace, once it was refurbished. Yet, the high ceiling would absorb the murmur of several dozen conversations easily.

  And the view was magnificent, whatever the weather. The large windows granted a sweeping view of Dunhelm’s natural site. The sea stretched out to the west, shimmering in the evening light like an endless blanket of jewels, and waves crashed on the ragged coastline.

  Currently though, the space in the east restaurant destined to be filled with gleaming stainless steel was still a gaping hole filled with wires and sawdust. Baird tapped his toe and wondered how long it would take for the food he had ordered to be delivered from the village.

  Or how cold it would be when it got here.

  Baird spotted a package wrapped in brown paper on one of the folding tables. He picked it up and noted that it was addressed to him in Talorc’s spidery handwriting. Baird smiled with satisfaction.

  The mystery of Hekod was close to being solved. He could call the man tonight, maybe head to his place with Aurelia after dinner and get the whole tangle sorted out.

  Whatever story Aurelia had concocted or family complications had brought her ultimately to Dunhelm, it would all be shortly laid to rest. Then, Baird could focus on solving the question of how he recognized her - and from where.

  Baird tore the paper away with purpose, but paused to frown at the package’s contents. Instead of the telephone book he was expecting, he held a beaten-up copy of a book called Sorensson’s History of the Orkney Islands.

  A history book?

  A slip of paper was tucked into the middle of the book and Baird opened the volume to that page. There was more of the shaky writing on the slip.

  “Here you will find the only Hekod that I know, he would be the famous one I told you about this afternoon, to be sure.”

  The page marked was entitled “The Dark Ages in the Orkney Islands”.

  Obviously, Talorc had mistaken Baird’s meaning, but a little history about the area wouldn’t be unwelcome. He had a few moments to wait for the others, anyway.

  So Baird settled into a chair and read.

  The Arrival of the Vikings

  The Vikings first landed on the shores of the Orkney Islands sometime shortly after their raid on Lindisfarne, the famed monastery on the east coast of England, which occurred in 793 AD. Some scholars maintain that the attack on Lindisfarne was launched by a fledgling Norse colony in Orkney, but whatever the chronology, within a century, Orkney, Shetland and Faeroe Islands were all major Norse settlements. The Orkney Islands remained a holding of the Norwegian crown until 1468.

  One of the first established Viking kings in the Orkney Islands was Hekod the Fifth, King of Dunhelm and Lord of Fyordskar.

  Hekod the Fifth, King of Dunhelm?

  *

  Chapter Nine

  Baird slammed the book closed. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. Aurelia had claimed her father, Hekod, was King of Dunhelm and lord of somewhere else. Surely her father couldn’t be this 8th century Viking conqueror?

  No, no, that was nuts! She hadn’t said Fyordskar. She couldn’t have. How could her father be twelve hundred years old, give or take a few decades?

  Baird was connecting dots that didn’t deserve the link.

  Obviously.

  Okay, he’d never heard the name Hekod before, but it might be popular here, regardless of what Talorc said.

  It was illogical for Aurelia’s father to be twelve hundred years old, plain and simple. He must have been named after this Hekod, and when Aurelia lost him, however that had happened, she was so upset that she confused the past with the present.

  Baird was no psych. major but that made sense. Aurelia could spend her whole life looking for this historic Hekod and never find him - just as she would never find her father if he had abandoned her.

  It was a familiar enough story to Baird Beauforte. Baird had to admire the way the human mind rationalized things to save its own sanity. His compassion for Aurelia grew with the certainty that they had both been dealt the same lousy hand.

  But unlike Baird, Aurelia remembered her father, she had known him and obviously cared for him. Baird’s lips thinned. There was no way Hekod should be allowed to get away with that.

  No one should have to go through what Baird had. He would make sure Hekod gave his daughter a straight answer, if nothing else.

  Baird deliberately shook off any intuitive feelings that argued with his conclusion - intuition, af
ter all, was illogical - and opened the book again.

  Comparatively little is known of Hekod, other than the fact that he married a Pictish woman. There is some scholarship indicating that Hekod’s queen was linked to the Pictish List of Kings, the only Pictish document that survives. This could imply that his marriage was strategic move designed to assure his suzerainty in his new home. Appearances would support this, for unlike many conquerors whose reigns were short, Hekod sat upon his throne for at least twenty-five years.

  A Pictish woman? Aurelia had mentioned the same thing.

  But what was Pictish? Baird fanned back to the table of contents and discovered that a good third of the book concerned the Picts.

  Little is known decisively about the Picts, and there is wide dissent in academic circles about even their origins. A prevailing opinion is that the Picts were a remnant of the Celtic society that once spread across all of Europe. When the Romans began to defeat the Celts, they moved to the margins of Europe, the Picts being those Celts ousted to the northern fringes of what is now Scotland. Other scholars maintain that the Picts were simply the descendants of Iron Age peoples in the area.

  At any rate, even the word Pict is not their own - it is derived from the Roman Picti or “Painted Ones”. The Romans were continually harassed by the Picts, eventually resorting to the construction of Hadrian’s Wall and the Antonine Wall, further north, designed to keep these “barbarians” out of Roman Britain.

  The moniker Painted Ones derives from the Picts’ purported fascination with body tattoos as ornamentation. These they created by piercing the skin with needles in intricate patterns, then rubbing the juice of an herb - woad, used as a blue dye in the area until the importation of indigo much later - into the punctures to make a fairly permanent stain.