Free The Highlander's Bargain by Barbara Longley Page A

Erin had fixed for him. He found he enjoyed the bitter, dark brew, so different from the tea or ale he usually drank. She’d added cream and sugar, making it even better. Fascinated, he took another sip and watched the bowl of porridge rotate inside the microwave.
    As promised, she’d taught him how to use all the wonders of her kitchen, including the sink faucets and the cordless phone. He’d taken notes with yet another futuristic marvel: a ballpoint pen. Plus, she’d provided him with a pad of paper. Erin had called it a legal pad. The thin yellow sheets had lines of blue running across and two lines of red running down either side. Wonderful!
    The microwave pinged, and he opened the wee door. The rolled oats had cooked in but a few moments. In his time they had to soak the grain overnight and boil it for a good long while before the oats were edible. Mayhap he could figure out a way to cut and flatten the grain once he returned home. His mouth watered at the scent of the butter and brown sugar melted on top. Sugar was a rare treat at home, though they oft used honey to sweeten things.
    He snatched a cloth from the counter and lifted the steaming bowl, placing it on the kitchen table where he’d set his spoon in readiness. As instructed by his lady, he moved to fetch the milk she insisted had to be added before he could truly enjoy the oatmeal, as if he hadn’t been eating porridge almost his entire life. He poured a bit into the bowl and put the carton back in its place inside the large, cold box. Refrigerator. That’s what she’d called it, fridge for short. So much to learn.
    Thinking of Erin brought a smile to his face. She’d fussed over him like a mother hen this morn, clearly reluctant to leave him on his own. He knew she’d thought him asleep when she’d stroked his face and ran her fingers through his hair last night, but he always slept lightly. Years of training and numerous nights sleeping out on an open battlefield had schooled him to come to alertness quickly. He’d been well aware and deeply moved by her gentle touch. The way she blushed when he teased her made him chuckle. Aye, she found him attractive. He was off to a good start in wooing her.
    Taking his seat, he tucked into his meal, savoring the sweetness of the brown sugar. The telephone rang, and though he’d heard the jarring sound before, he still jumped from his place with his heart in his throat. Snatching it from the stand, he took a moment to recover his breath before bringing it to his ear. “Aye?”
    “Robley? It’s Mark. Do you have time to do some training today?”
    He grinned. “I always have time to spend in the lists.”
    “You crack me up, man. No need to sound like a medieval knight on a Monday morning.”
    “I’ve no other way to sound, lad.” He frowned. “How shall I find you?”
    “Do you have a rental car?”
    “Nay. I’ve no means for transport.”
    “OK. I have Erin’s address from the club directory. All I have right now is my motorcycle. My car is waiting for new brakes at my uncle’s garage.” He paused. “You all right with riding on the back of my bike?”
    As usual, most of what was said in this age held no meaning. “I’ve no idea . . .”
    “It’s a Harley Davidson Breakout,” Mark said, as if that should make all the difference in the world.
    “Ah,” he said, still with no notion what that might be. “’Twill be fine, I’m sure.”
    “Yeah. We don’t have far to go. I train at the Minnesota Fencing Club in Minneapolis. How about I pick you up right after lunch, about one o’clock?”
    “I’ll be ready.” The shorter hand told the hour, and the longer hand counted the minutes, that’s what Erin had said. He glanced at the clock, which reminded him of the sundials oft found near kirks, cloisters and in courtyards. Not difficult at all to read. ’Twas half past ten at present.
    “Bring your own sword. They have plastic ones to borrow, but yours is wicked. Would you mind