Free A Fall Through Time (Stacey and Shane Mcleod, #1) by Rikki M Dyson

around.  There be no people digging anywhere near there and not one of the learned people I spoke with has ever heard of a country west of here.”
    Disgusted, Stacey said, “The Vikings have lived in Iceland since long before eleven hundred A.D. If your learned people are so darn smart how is it they don’t know that?” Stacey’s anger let loose and she exploded, “Besides all that what happened to, ‘I don’t care if you came from the moon,’ crap?  Huh?  Or were you just playing kissy poo with me, while you were waiting for your mistress to get here?”
    “As I recall,” Eric said, “it be ye who asked for more of my kisses.”
    “Well,” Stacey said, “hell will freeze over before you ever get another kiss from me.  Of course, with your whore here you won’t need anything from me.” 
    Stacey was reaching for the door, when Eric said, “I am not finished with ye, Miss Scott.”
    “Well, I’m finished with you,” she said and sailed through the door and slammed it behind her with the tail of her skirt catching in it.
    Eric opened the door and said, “Ye will hear me out. I am not finished with ye, Miss Scott.”
    Stacey grabbed her skirt and headed for the stairs, then turned back and said, “Tough shit, your Lordship, cause I’m finished with you.”  Up the stairs, Stacey went and slammed her solar door.
    Everyone in the hall was looking on, so Eric let it go for now.  He had never been so hurt and so angry with any woman in his entire life.  Stacey was not going to go down for the eventide meal.  Then she decided, to heck with him she would show him.  Sir Perceval took her to the river to bathe. Her hair was still wet, so she put it in a French braid.  Stacey had become very close with the servants.  She now referred to Alice as a chef, which made Alice very happy, once Stacey explained what a chef was.
    At the table, Stacey was very quiet.  Isabelle was her usual talkative self.  When Alfred served the wine, Stacey asked to be served a goblet. “Ye do not care for this vintage, Miss Stacey.  I will bring ye the blackberry.”
    This brought Eric’s attention to Stacey.  Isabelle had not shut up since they had sat down to the table.  Eric thought, to himself, if she does not cease her constant chattering soon, a gag might be in order. He wondered why her constant yapping had never bothered him before now.
    Alfred brought the wine and Stacey poured her goblet full.  Alfred looked to his lordship fearing chastisement. Stacey picked at her food.  Eric knew she was still angry.  He was waiting for her to explode.  Eric had never before seen Stacey drink wine.  She had now drunk two full goblets.  She was sitting almost directly across from Isabelle.
    Stacey was sitting with her elbow on the table with her chin resting in the palm of her hand.  She looked across at Isabelle and asked, “Where’s your husband?” 
    “My dear husband passed on a few years ago, Miss Scott,” Lady Isabelle said. “I thought I had already told ye that.”
    “What title did he hold?” 
    “He was a baron, why do ye ask?” Isabelle inquired. 
    Stacey, with a bit too much wine said, “So, you’re heading on up to the east side, hea, Wizzie?”  Of course, no one at the table understood Stacey’s sarcasm.  Next, Stacey asked, “How did your husband die?  Did he smother to death?”
    This time they understood Stacey’s sarcasm.  Eric and Lord Thomas almost choked on their wine and Rodric hid a smile behind his napkin. 
    “I beg ye pardon?” Isabelle said.
    Stacey snapped her fingers and said, “That’s who you remind me of, Dolly Pardon.” 
    “Pray tell, what is a Dolly Pardon?” Isabelle inquired.
    “Not a what,” Stacey said, “but a who. She is a very well known lady where I come from.” 
    “From where exactly, do ye come, Miss Scott?” Isabelle asked.
    Stacey shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oh, I don’t know, east of the sun, west of the moon, who