“Put me down!” she demanded.
Only then did Alasdair realize his own foolhardiness. He had lost himself in Morgaine le Fee’s kiss! He was seven kinds of fool to be so careless with his own fate.
The enchantress did not need to repeat her request. Alasdair dumped her on her feet without ceremony and backed away. He wiped the taste of her kiss from his burning lips with the back of his hand and surveyed her warily.
What witchery had she cast over him?
Morgaine looked as distressed as Alasdair felt. Her cheeks were flushed in a most attractive way; her eyes were flashing; her hair was tangled.
And her lips were temptingly swollen. Anger rose hot within Alasdair that he had been so readily tricked.
“How dare you touch me?”
“I touch you?” Alasdair retorted. “You were the one as pressed yourself upon me!”
“You were the one who took more than was offered!” the lady fired back, shaking an indignant finger. “I was only going to give you a peck of appreciation….”
Alasdair folded his arms across his chest and glowered at her. He refused to think about the fire this one would start when she meant to kiss a man soundly. “That was no peck, my lady.”
“It certainly wasn’t!” She glared back at him, so full of vigor that Alasdair was tempted to repeat the exchange.
Even if his better judgment demanded he keep her at arm’s length. Alasdair fought against his desire and slowly got his pulse under control.
His gallant words were forced through gritted teeth. “Clearly, ’Twas no more at work than the fright we both had have.”
Morgaine looked as though she would have argued that point, then she nodded vehement agreement.
Alasdair wondered only for a moment whether she had deliberately been testing her allure. Then, he shook such whimsy from his mind and offered Morgaine his elbow, his manner as coolly impersonal as he could make it. “My lady? I would accompany you to your abode.”
“You will not!” she snapped and danced backward. She tossed her hair like a flighty filly. “I can find my way there alone, thank you.”
Did the woman have so short a memory as that? Alasdair folded his arms across his chest and knew his skepticism showed. “Aye, you were doing a fine job of it when I last came along.”
The lady flushed crimson and Alasdair’s anger melted to naught.
“I gave my word to Blake,” he added gently when she seemed at a loss for words. “And I would see it kept.”
Morgaine stared at him for a long moment. “How do I know you don’t want to hurt me? You said you want the stone - you might mug me and leave me in a gutter somewhere.”
Alasdair snorted and glanced pointedly about himself. “I should think that even in this place, on such a busy avenue, someone might notice a foul deed and intervene on your behalf.” When she looked unconvinced, Alasdair felt himself scowl with impatience. “Why would I come to your aid just to attack you myself?”
Morgaine exhaled slowly, her bright gaze fixed upon him. “You might want me to trust you,” she mused.
Alasdair studied her, liking the light of intelligence in her witchy eyes. She was a clever one - he had not even thought of such a ploy.
“My lady,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, “I grant you my word that I mean you no harm.”
She lifted her chin proudly. “Then what do you want from me?”
Here was his chance. Alasdair sobered as he dared give voice to his only hope. “I only want to go home, my lady.”
Morgaine stared at him, as though confused by his simple request, then bit the lip he had so recently tasted. Alasdair’s desire roared to life.
“So do I,” she admitted, a most fetching and shy smile curving her lips. “Except I don’t know where it is.”
A lie, clearly, for no queen could forget the site of her own lair. Yet Alasdair guessed this was a test of his ingenuity. Were his gran’s tales not filled with Faeries requiring mortals to prove themselves worthy of any otherworldly gifts?
And to be released from the domain of Morgaine le Fee could only be considered a great gift. Alasdair had but to think of his son to have his determination renewed.
He gripped Morgaine’s elbow and marched her into a brightly lit establishment, where the portly patron glanced up from his ledger. “I have need of direction to the lady Morgaine’s abode,” Alasdair said firmly.
The man blinked as though he had not the wit to understand and looked to Morgaine.
“The Thistle Bed & Breakfast,” she supplied and understanding dawned on the man’s heavy features.
How could he not know the home of his queen?
The man led them back to the door and pointed in the direction they had been headed. “Down thisaway a good six eight blocks to Leeds Avenue, then right for a few blocks, then left on Thistle Down, then it should be along on your right beside the off-license.”
That might as well have been in Latin, for Alasdair understood little of it. The off-license? And Leeds was far to the south, in the Briton’s country.
“Thank you,” Morgaine said with a charming smile.
Alasdair squinted down the road. Right left right. He could remember that.
“Right, then,” the man said with a nod and ducked back to his books.
Morgaine and Alasdair exchanged a glance and he was reassured to see that she evidently understood no more than he did.
“We had best make a start of it,” he said crisply. “My lady, you had best look for this Avenue of Leeds. I shall count these six eight blocks.” He cleared his throat as they stepped onto the pavement. “What, my lady, would be a ‘block’?”
Morgaine seemed to fight the urge to smile. “The distance between two cross-streets.” She pointed back to the last intersection, then to the next with a quick explanation and Alasdair understood.
It was no small advantage that each intersection was marked with curious illumination that changed from green to amber to red. Indeed, a man could scarcely miss such a signpost.
Alasdair began to stride down the walkway with Morgaine’s elbow firmly within his grasp, but the lady wriggled free and danced ahead of him.
“You can see me back to the bed and breakfast if you like -” she cast the words over her shoulder without looking back, but Alasdair heard that she was not as indifferent to his decision as she might have liked him to believe “- but don’t even think about touching me again.”
Oh, Alasdair would think about it, that much was for certain, especially with those hips twitching right afore his eyes. A man did not readily forget a kiss that left him simmering clear down to his toes.
The enchantress limped along as he watched, then stumbled over the shoe that yet sported a stilt. In a quick gesture, she ripped off the shoes, looked them over, then cast them aside, marching on without them. One pale toe peeked through her dark stockings and Alasdair feared for those tiny feet amidst the muck of the street.
He scooped up the shoes as he trailed behind her and easily broke the stilt off the other one. A perfect pair they were now.
If only she would accept them from him. Alasdair could not help but wonder whether the sorceress would grant him another token of her esteem when he showed concern for her tender toes. The very idea did hot and thick things to him that could only betray his desire to return home.
Aye, he was a fool and then some to lust after a Faerie queen.
*
Morgan stifled a howl of pain when she stubbed her toe hard on the pavement. She bit her lip, hoping Alasdair didn’t notice her clumsy move, and fought back her tears as she tried to continue on as though nothing had happened.
He was beside her in a moment, his lips tight with impatience. “Have you no care for your own welfare?” he demanded, then bent and lifted her injured foot in his great gentle paw. He ran a fingertip over the bruise, his touch making Morgan shiver, then slipped her own discarded shoe onto her foot.
In the blink of an eye, Morgan h
ad matching shoes on her feet. They felt strange without the heels, the toes curling up like Aladdin’s slippers, but were a lot more comfortable than the pavement.
Why hadn’t she thought of that?
“Now, then,” he said briskly, eying the street before them. “We seek six eight blocks. I count this crossroads ahead as one.” He gripped her elbow and set off at a purposeful pace.”
He probably couldn’t wait to be rid of her, Morgan concluded.
The idea bothered her so much that she didn’t have it in her to make conversation. With a heavy heart, she clumped along beside him, enjoying the way he cupped her elbow in his warm palm even though she knew she shouldn’t.
And then Alasdair began to hum.
The tune was infectious, and Morgan found herself matching her steps to it without intending to do so.
Alasdair must have noticed, because he cast an amused expression in her direction. “Lifts your spirits, does it not?” he murmured, and Morgan couldn’t help but smile.
“What it is?”
“Ah, an old ditty of my gran’s. ’Tis a tune to walk upon.”
“Are there words?”
“Aye, ’tis the song of True Thomas. Surely you know it?”
“No.” Morgan was fascinated. When Alasdair hesitated, she took his arm and gave him a little shake. “Tell me.”
Alasdair’s eyes narrowed. “It would please you?”
“Oh, yes! Like Justine said, I’m here to find folktales from the countryside.”
“Well!” Alasdair straightened. “This is no fey tale, for True Thomas was a man in fact…”
“Will you sing it?”
He assessed her with a glance filtered through his fair lashes, his eyes intensely blue. That look alone was enough to set Morgan’s blood to simmering. “If it would please you.” Hi voice was so low that Morgan had a hard time fighting her urge to kiss him again.
“It would,” she managed to say.
Alasdair straightened his shoulders and hummed the ditty once more. Then he began to sing.
True Thomas lay o’er yon grassy bank,
And he beheld a lady gay.
A lady she was brisk and bold.
Come riding o’er the fernie brae.
Her skirt was of the grass-green silk,
Her mantle of the velvet fine,
And woven into her horse’s mane
Hung fifty silver bells and nine.
True Thomas he took off his hat
And bowed him low down till his knee.
“All hail, though mighty Queen of Heaven!
For your peer on earth I ne’er did see!”
People turned in the street to smile and nod in time to the tune. Alasdair’s voice was magnificent, melodic and deep, and Morgan was fascinated.
Then she laughed as Alasdair changed his pitch to a falsetto to indicate the voice of the fairy queen. He winked at her in a roguish way and her heart skipped a beat.
“Oh no, oh no, True Thomas,” she says,
“That name does not belong to me.”
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,
And I’m come here for to visit thee.
“But you must go with me now, Thomas.
True Thomas, you must come with me.
For you must serve me seven years,
Through well or woe as chance to be.”
She turned about her milk-white steed,
And took True Thomas up behind.
And aye, whene’er her bridle rang,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.
For forty days and forty nights,
They wade through red blood to the knee,
And he saw neither sun nor moon
But heard the roaring of the sea.
Oh, they rode on, and further on,
’Til came they to a garden green.
“Light down, light down, my lady free.
Some of that fruit let me pull for thee.”
“Oh no, oh no, True Thomas,” she says.
“That fruit must not be touched by thee!
For all the plagues that are in hell
Light on the fruit of this country.
But I have a loaf here in my lap,
Likewise a bottle of claret wine.
And now ere we go farther on,
We’ll rest a while and you may dine.”
When Thomas had eaten and drunk his fill,
“Lay down your head upon my knee,”
The lady said. “‘Ere we climb yon hill
And I will show you pathways three.”
They came to the intersection of Leeds Avenue, and Morgan indicated they should turn to the right. Alasdair paused, pointing to the left with a smile.
“Oh, do you see yon narrow road,
So thick beset with thorns and briars?
That is the path of righteousness,
Though after it but few enquires.”
Morgan grinned at his game, and Alasdair gestured to the road ahead.
“And do you see that broad, broad road,
That lies across yon lillie leven?
That is the path of wickedness,
Though some call it the road to heaven.”
Alasdair pointed to the right and turned their steps in that direction.
“And do you see that bonny road,
Which winds about the ferny slope?
This the road to fair Elfland,
Where you and I this night must go.”
His voice dropped low as they started down Leeds Avenue.
“But Thomas, you must hold your tongue,
Whatever you may hear or see.
For it a word you should chance to speak,
You will never return to your own country.”
Thomas has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
And ’til seven years were past and gone.
True Thomas on earth was never seen.
The shadows of the entwined branches over Leeds Avenue made Morgan feel as though they were following that road to Elfland. Even the streetlights seemed to dance, as the light was filtered through the rustling leaves. It was quieter here, an elegant neighborhood where a few townhouse dwellers wandered with their dogs.
“Isn’t there any more?” Morgan asked when Alasdair didn’t continue.
He shook his head. “Nay, that is the end of the rhyme.”
“But what happened to him?”
“True Thomas? Ah, my gran says he spent his seven years in Faerie, though indeed it seemed to him to be no more than seven days and nights. When he returned to Erceldoune, the Queen of Elfland granted him an apple that gave him the gift of prophecy and a tongue that could not lie. ’Twas then she explained why he was to be named True Thomas, though he was known by mortals as Thomas Rhymer. He made his way as a poet whose verses came to pass with uncanny ease.”
Morgan’s imagination was captured by the spell of Alasdair’s song, a thousand images gathering in her mind, restless to be set down on paper. She could easily visualize Thomas being surprised by the Queen of Elfland while he lay on a hill and the way his eyes would go round when she showed him the marvels of her world.
“Well, why did the Queen of Elfland pick him?”
“Ah!” Alasdair nodded sagely. “’Twas said he had seen her once and lost his heart to her beauty. With her otherworldly arts, she heard his heart’s song and came to him, binding him to her side with a single kiss.”
“Oh, that’s lovely!” Morgan sighed with romantic delight, her image of Thomas becoming stronger with every detail Alasdair added. “She must have loved him, too, to have given him such a gift.”
“Aye.” They navigated the next curve, the street busier but with fewer trees. “’Twas said that even the barrier betwixt the worlds could not keep them apart,” Alasdair mused. “She sent for him years later, as my gran tells it, and Thomas passed happily to the land of Faerie, never to be seen again.”
Morgan saw the liqu
or store that the locals called an “off-license.” The bed-and-breakfast was right beside it, and the blue Nissan Micra rental car was parked out front.
“There it is,” she said and pointed. Evidently Alasdair had noted the thistle on the sign, because he headed straight for it.
They paused as one at the base of the steps, Morgan toying with her key. She hadn’t dated in so long that she’d forgotten how awkward this moment could be.
But then, this wasn’t a date.
Morgan tipped her head back to find Alasdair’s expression unreadable. “Thank you for walking me home,” she said quietly, then smiled. “And thank you for keeping those kids from taking my purse. I really appreciate it.” She cleared her throat, unable to look away from Alasdair’s steady gaze.
It didn’t help that he didn’t say anything.
“And thank you for singing,” Morgan added. “I liked the story very much.”
Alasdair smiled suddenly, the sight stealing Morgan’s breath away. “Anything to please you, my lady,” he murmured, then bent low over her hand.
Morgan’s skin tingled where his lips brushed across it. The memory of their kiss unfurled in her mind, and she didn’t trust herself not to repeat her mistake.
She turned and quickly trotted up the stairs, hating how breathless her voice sounded. “Well, good-bye. I hope you do find your way home.”
Alasdair frowned at that, and the sadness that claimed his eyes tore at Morgan’s heart.
But before she could say anything she would probably regret, he turned back to the street. “Sleep well, my lady,” he said gruffly and walked away.
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 43