Claire Delacroix (24 page)

“Aye, my lady, I will not keep you waiting long at all,” he murmured. A smile tugged at those lips, then Alasdair bent to nuzzle her ear. His kiss sent an army of shivers down Morgan’s spine.

Yikes! Morgan jumped and spun more quickly than she should have. She caught the edge of the basket with one flailing hand and sent all the toiletries scattering.

Alasdair bent gallantly to retrieve them and Morgan saw her chance. She ran for the door but couldn’t resist the urge to pause for one second.

She had a look. A really good look because Alasdair without his shirt was worth more than a peek. His back was superbly muscled and tanned to golden perfection. He looked up, his hair tousled, those eyes flashing vivid blue as he evidently guessed her intention.

Or part of it.

He leapt for the doorway.

Morgan slammed it shut behind her in the nick of time and turned the little key in the lock. She backed away, the key safe in her grip, as Alasdair rattled the knob.

The lock held. It was one of those really old-fashioned locks with a churchkey that worked from either side.

Morgan really hoped there wasn’t a duplicate in the bathroom.

“My lady?” Alasdair said finally, his voice low and heavily disciplined. “What is this you do?”

“I think you need time to cool off,” Morgan said brightly. “I’ll go see about some dinner.”

Alasdair muttered his dissatisfaction and jiggled the door knob again, but Morgan beat a hasty retreat. It was only when she was safe in the corridor, both bathroom key and room key in her hand, well out of the range of Alasdair’s dangerous charm, that she let herself recall her fleeting glimpse of his powerfully muscled chest.

Oh, she would have to keep her distance. She knew that with her body defected to Alasdair’s side, she couldn’t trust herself to be alone with him.

But she couldn’t put the kibosh on Justine and Blake’s conception plans, either. Nope. Somehow Morgan would have to make it through one night with Alasdair in her room. That seemed a fair compromise to her. In the morning, she’d lay down the law.

Justine was going to owe her little sister a big one for this. At that thought, Morgan knew exactly how she was going to solve this dilemma. Justine had long ago unwittingly given Morgan the solution she needed on this night.

Sleeping pills that Morgan carried around but had never taken.

Perfect.

* * *

Alasdair was not amused.

The wily sorceress had tricked him again. The prison she had chosen was an artful one, for there was but a single tiny window – and this secured so firmly that Alasdair could not even open it for a proper view of the world outside. The rain beat against it now with cold intensity.

And a lot of good that rain had done him in the end. ’Twas true enough that there was more space here than in the Micra, but Morgaine’s bed was just as inaccessible to him.

In foul temper, Alasdair surveyed his prison, intrigued despite himself by the water steaming in the tub. He toyed with it a bit, then resolved he might as well see himself clean.

That such a deed would please the sorceress was more than clear. Alasdair set his lips grimly and set to work, wondering how much else he would do to win Morgaine’s approval before this battle was won.

His prospects did not appear to be encouraging, that much was clear.

Perhaps ’twas time again to indulge in a few more appeals to the laird above. The idea was not all bad, and Alasdair raised his voice to sing a hymn that was his gran’s favorite.

* * *

Alasdair had long been clean, the room had fallen into shadows and the metal on the wall had been radiating heat for a goodly while when he heard the room door open. He was on his feet in a moment, determined to take advantage of any opportunity Morgaine saw fit to grant him.

But the bathroom door remained locked.

“My lady?”

“Hi!” Morgaine called cheerfully. “How’s your bath?”

“Quite finished.” Alasdair couldn’t keep his tone from becoming wry.

Morgaine laughed, which could only be a good sign. “Sorry to have been so long,” she called again, much too loudly to Alasdair’s thinking.

A murmur of voices made him snap to attention. A male voice ’twas. Had she brought some minion to deal with him?

Or would she taunt him with the sounds of her lovemaking with another? Alasdair fairly growled at the prospect, although he told himself ’Twas only her own spell that fed his protectiveness of the tiny, perfect sorceress.

But a moment later, there was a rattle of crockery and a most intriguing smell wafted beneath the bathroom door. Alasdair’s stomach growled mightily at the promise of a meal.

Or was this yet another kind of torture?

“Thanks very much,” he heard Morgaine say. That man murmured in response as the door to the corridor closed once more.

Alasdair listened closely and heard only one pair of footsteps treading across the floor.

She was alone once more. Relief coursed through him and he dared to hope that all turned to his favor again.

He steeled himself to leap upon the door when first it opened. A thousand appeals for her indulgence had been composed and discarded while waited, and now he knew only two things.

He had to remain in the lady’s presence.

He had to persuade her to trust him, despite whatever had befallen her before. To that end, he snatched up a towel and wound it ‘round his waist that she would not be immediately confronted with the evidence of her effect upon him.

There was a great deal of banging and rustling on the other side of the door, and Alasdair pressed his ear against it to listen. He still could make little sense of what he heard, but ’twas clear that Morgaine did not immediately come to his aid.

Surely she did not mean to leave him trapped in here?

“My lady?” Alasdair asked, forcing his words to be polite. “Will you not release me?”

“In just a moment,” she called. Then to his relief, he heard her steps grow louder.

He checked one last time in the mirror, reassuring himself that he was cleaner than he had been in many a day, and summoned his best smile.

“They only had bangers and mash – it looks like sausages and mashed potatoes – and beer,” Morgaine confided cheerfully, her voice very close to the door. “But you have to take what you can get in these places, I guess.”

Her tone was so friendly that Alasdair marveled at it. Had he misread her earlier disapproval of him? Indeed, she sounded almost willing to continue as they had ended.

Had she only wanted him to be clean before they proceeded?

Had she only feared he might not await her return? Ha! Alasdair would set her straight on that poor thinking!

“Hungry?” she asked pertly, her voice close.

Immensely relieved that his fears of failure were not about to be realized, Alasdair nodded, even though the sorceress could not see the gesture. “Aye, that I am.”

And hungered he was for more than his dinner.

The key turned in the lock and Alasdair’s heart leapt.

Then the door swung open – to reveal an empty room.

Alasdair stared. A wee table was set before one window, a goodly quantity of food steaming upon it. A large bag stood beside the bed, an array of feminine frippery cast across its width. The rain pattered down on the windows and a low light illuminated the room. There was a cot set on the far side of the room, turned down with fresh linens.

But there was absolutely no sign of the sorceress.

Fearing a trick, Alasdair took a cautious trio of steps into the room, only to straighten in shock when something – or someone – darted past him.

He pivoted just in time to see the door slam and hear the key grind in the lock again.

Alasdair swore. He darted back and jiggled the knob, knowing even before he did so that ’twas futile. Finally, he strode across the room, folded his arms across his chest and glared at the door.

“You might as well eat,” Morgaine declared. “I’m not coming out anytime soon.”

“But you must eat as well! Will you not join me at the board?”

“I already ate. Enjoy.”

“And any further protest Alasdair might have made was drowned out by the rushing of water into the tub.

Outsmarted again! Alasdair’s pride rankled that he had been so readily fooled. Curse her!

Did she bathe as well? The prospect conjured a tempting image, and one that Alasdair would see in truth.

Unable to stop himself, he crossed the room on silent feet, crouched down, and peered through the tiny keyhole.

“Ha!” Morgaine cried from the other side. “I see what you’re doing!”

Alasdair blinked and sat back as she jammed something white into the tiny opening. “Do you come to the board after you bathe?” he dared to ask.

“I’m not coming out at all,” she replied. “You might as well eat and make use of that bed.”

She had beaten him on every front. Alasdair hung his head and examined his toes with disinterest. Breaking down the door would only undermine what little he had accomplished. When he heard Morgaine’s clothing hit the floor, his mood grew even more foul.

All women were filled with trickery, be they mortal or immortal. But Morgaine’s trick would not work thrice, Alasdair resolved as he stomped across the room and sat down before his meal. He took a long draught of ale, ignoring its peculiar bitterness, and frowned at the locked door in thought.

Aye, ’twas the key that gave her such power over him.

And ’twas the key that Alasdair would be rid of, at first opportunity.

* * *

Somehow Morgan’s bath wasn’t quite as relaxing as she thought it should have been. It should have been a perfect moment, with the rain beating down and the heat pumping out of the radiator. The bathroom itself was a delight, and the bath oil smelled wonderful.

But the lingering scent of a man was more than unsettling. It wasn’t as though she could forget Alasdair, with his laundry hung across the small space. Morgan had a hard time keeping herself from looking through the keyhole.

Especially when things got very quiet very fast.

She couldn’t have put too many sleeping pills in the beer, could she? But Morgan hadn’t had that many in the first place, since Justine wouldn’t trust her sister with anything near a lethal dosage.

What if Morgan hadn’t put
enough
sleeping pills in the beer? Alasdair was a lot bigger than she was, after all, and would need more of a sedative to fall asleep. What if he never went to sleep? She’d be trapped in here all night.

Morgan didn’t even want to think about what Alasdair would do to get even with her for tricking him. He’d think she didn’t trust him – when really, she just didn’t trust herself.

But confessing that would effectively give him a green light for seduction.

On the other hand, he would wake up eventually. And he wasn’t going to be very happy about any of this. Morgan splashed the bathwater in poor temper.

In retrospect, her plan didn’t seem to have been a very good one. At some point in time, she’d have to face Alasdair.

Or worse, share the back seat of the Micra with him.

And men, in Morgan’s experience, didn’t take well to being made to look or feel like fools.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that she had stepped right square into something one more time. Morgan bobbed in the bathwater and worried about the silence emanating from the bedroom.

Was Alasdair all right?

Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. Night was pressing against the little window, the chill of the highlands penetrating the cozy little room. It seemed a long time since she’d had a good sleep, that little nap in the Micra notwithstanding.

Morgan just wanted to snuggle in her bed.

She got out of the tub, tried to take her time pampering and moisturizing, but ended up spilling a great gob of cream on the tile floor. The rose-scented talcum powder billowed in clouds fit to choke a horse and Morgan started to cough. She flung on her nightgown and carefully turned the key in the lock.

There wasn’t a sound from the other side.

Morgan inched the door open.

No one jumped on her.

She opened the door all the way and looked out. On the far side of the room were the remnants of Alasdair’s dinner. There wasn’t very much left – it looked as if he had licked the plates clean – but Morgan wasn’t interested in the meal.

It was the highlander collapsed on the cot that snared her gaze.

Alasdair’s eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with the easy rhythm of sleep. He sprawled across the little cot, almost overwhelming it with his size, and looking as though he had practically fallen there. The towel that had been knotted around his waist had slipped free, revealing an intriguing stretch of hip. The glass of beer, now empty, dangled from his limp fingertips.

But was he really asleep?

Morgan took a deep breath and stepped out of the safety of the bathroom.

Alasdair didn’t move.

She took a couple of steps, then hesitated.

Reassured that he was asleep – or still pretending to be – she continued in that halting fashion. She felt like a mouse on a midnight prowl, avoiding a large, dangerous cat.

When she reached Alasdair’s side, Morgan was sure he would leap up and snatch at her. She braced herself to flee as she took that last step.

But Alasdair slumbered on.

She bent ever so slowly and lifted the glass from his hand. Alasdair’s fingers slid away from it as though he had no bones at all. She froze when he frowned slightly and murmured something in his sleep.

But then Alasdair rolled over to face the wall and began to snore.

Morgan took the chance to have a good look at his tight butt. Then she smiled. She had done it! She had actually managed to pull off a scheme.

Now, she just had to check how soundly he was sleeping.

Morgan put the glass down on the table with a victorious thump, but he didn’t move. She then gathered the dirty dishes onto a tray, taking no pains to be quiet.

The sound didn’t elicit any response.