Free Claire Delacroix by The Last Highlander Page A

be one who had a way with the ladies, turned tapsal-teerie by a wee scrap of a woman!
    And still she did not come. A thousand worries crossed Alasdair’s mind, along with a thousand possibilities of his own dire misfortune. How could he return home if he had no chance to appeal to the queen of this domain herself?
    How could Justine have lied to him, when so much was at stake? Could he have made some slip of the tongue this day that had offended Morgaine’s advisors? He had been careful to remain quiet, understanding so little of their chatter as he had.
    But ’twould have been easy to err and never guess the truth. That did little to reassure the pacing highlander.
    Alasdair growled in dissatisfaction, pivoted to pace the length of the glass wall again, and froze in his tracks. Justine and Blake were stepping out of one of the black horseless chariots that he had been seeing all day.
    And Morgaine, radiant in a fitted and flared kirtle, dismounted behind them.
    Alasdair’s heart thumped. She had come, garbed fetchingly in Faerie green.
    Now all he had to do was figure out how to win her favor. A hard lump rose in his throat. Any vestige of charm he possessed disappeared like a morning mist burned away by the sun.
    “Alasdair!” Justine exclaimed, as though surprised to see him here. “What a delight to see you again.”
    “You remember Morgan?” Blake gestured to the tiny, perfect queen and winked slyly at Alasdair.
    They had warned him that this meeting would have to look uncontrived. Endeavoring to appear pleased with a chance encounter, Alasdair summoned his best smile and turned to the lady in question.
    Only to catch a flash of fear in her eyes.
    This was not good. All of Alasdair’s comments in their first encounter tumbled into his mind, and he feared that he had given grave offense in assuming the lady to be a whore.
    Oh, he was the most simple daftie ever to draw a breath!
    “My lady Morgaine,” Alasdair said as smoothly as he could.
    The lady took a step back.
    Suddenly Alasdair recalled how the lairds greeted Robert the Bruce’s wife. The way to a woman’s approval, as any man knew, lay in sweet words.
    Though any compliments he granted this sorceress would be far from insincere. Alasdair captured her hand with a quick gesture, then bent low and kissed its back. The scent of roses that emanated from her skin fed his highly inappropriate desire. “Might I say you look lovely on this evening.”
    Justine sighed and Alasdair dared to be encouraged.
    But Morgaine snatched her hand away. “Why you...” she began.
    Before the enchantress could finish whatever she had intended to say, Justine intervened. “How wonderful to cross paths again! What a small world. Alasdair, you’ll just have to join us for dinner.”
    “Why, look, we’re almost late for our reservation,” Blake declared with a glance at the black band on his wrist.
    Justine laughed lightly. “Maybe they can find us a table for four. We’d better hurry inside.” She flashed a meaningful look at Blake, who began herding them all toward the restaurant like a brood of wayward chicks.
    The entire transaction occurred so quickly that Alasdair’s head fairly spun. They were accomplished at seeing their objectives met, these two, and Alasdair felt a grudging respect for the manner in which Justine kept her pledge.
    Morgaine was clever to have such advisors close to her.
    “Justine!” Morgaine sputtered. “What are you doing?”
    The advisor, to Alasdair’s surprise, slanted a coy look at her monarch. “Just being friendly,” she responded enigmatically.
    Morgaine flushed scarlet, and Alasdair’s heart melted at the sight. Had he ever had the good fortune to meet a more entrancing woman? That her charms were wrought by magical means did not seem to be pertinent – at least, not to one part of his anatomy.
    Blake ushered them into the restaurant, where they lingered in the doorway, obviously awaiting some attendant. By accident or