Elizabeth nodded. “She left them to me because she knew how much I loved them. They had very modest print runs, so it’s hard to find copies unless you want to dig through used bookstores or musty trunks in barns.” She smiled. “Are you expanding into antique books now?”
“Might be,” he conceded. “At least for this one. I wouldn’t want to lose any sleep over the fate of the kitchen maid.”
“I’m sure that’s the case,” she said with a smile. She put the book she was holding back in its spot, then pulled out the one next to what he could see was an empty spot. “Take number eighty-three. The hero’s a Highland laird, so you might get extra points for it.”
“If there’s any time traveling involved, I’m not taking it with me.”
“Just phaetons and women named Fanny,” she promised. “Let me feed you, then you can trot right back to Moraig’s and get started. There are ninety-nine—well, ninety-eight more where that came from if you find yourself hooked.”
He was fairly certain he would need a distraction during his trip to the nail salon, so he wasn’t about to say no too quickly. He accepted a piece of wrapping paper in a manly shade of black, wrapped his treasure up—ostensibly to preserve the vintage quality, not for any other reason, no, not a damn one—and followed the lady of the hall from her library.
He had a quick meal with the family, assured the spawn that he was indeed holding firmly to the schedule with his sights on a jet-black Bugatti when the time came, then excused himself and made his way back to Moraig’s.
He found himself, honestly without quite knowing how he’d gotten there, standing on the threshold of her croft and suddenly wondering what he was doing with his life. It was absolutely absurd, but given that such seemed to be a decent description ofhis entire life at present, he didn’t fight the thoughts. He would certainly kick up a bit of protest at the outset, though, just to make himself feel better.
He was staring down the barrel of thirty-two in a couple of months, true, but he had a ridiculous amount of sterling piled up in a trio of Swiss bank accounts thanks to his hard work, he had a job he loved, and he had his health. He wasn’t entirely ugly, he dragged himself to the gym when he wasn’t simply outrunning—or running after—bad guys, and he could, when pressed, converse on several esoteric topics that should have impressed the usual rabble of birds he met over drinks instead of leaving them blinking at him owlishly before declaring a pressing need to visit the loo after which they invariably hopped up on the windowsill and legged it anywhere he wasn’t.
He stood there on that threshold and didn’t fight the ridiculous feeling of broodiness that swept over him, though that was only part of it. The other part, the more important part, was a woman to share his life with. The wave that swept over him atthatthought was substantially larger and more wrenching, particularly since he couldn’t seem to get a particular woman out of his thoughts even when she was obviously safely inhabiting her own time period.
Obviously he’d been unplugged for too long.
He let himself inside the cottage without a key just to make himself feel a bit more himself and set Miss Buchanan’s finest on a side table for later consumption. Those pressing tasks seen to, he considered the rest of his day and found himself back where he’d started. The checklist had to be attended to as quickly as possible so he could get back to his usual life as quickly as possible before he completely lost any sense of himself.
He exchanged a perfectly acceptable grey tracksuit for Highland gear and a sword, not because he had any intention of being anywhere he wasn’t supposed to be or seeing anyonewho should have been safely tucked back in her proper time. He just wanted any stray tourists wandering over MacLeod soil and looking for natives to gawk at to feel as though they’d been properly rewarded for the effort of ignoring Jamie’s No Trespassing signs.
He was generous like that, he had to admit.
He selected reasonable snacks from the largess in the kitchen along with a bottle of water… and then he hesitated.
There was no reason not to take a second one, was there? One never knew when one might become extra thirsty, especially when one had made a career out of always having every contingency considered and possessed the reputation of never being surprised. That casual command of every situation required careful planning.
He grabbed a second bottle—and a third to potentially share—then thought it nothing but prudent to select another undemanding snack or two. Those things collected, he decided there was no time like the present to be off and sniffing, followed immediately by sneezing and sketching. He would make serious inroads into his self-care scheme and feel very pleased with himself by the end of the day, he was certain.
He packed everything into a worn canvas satchel he found hanging on a peg by the door, helped himself to an obviously well-loved National Trust woolen blanket to keep his tender backside off any potential patches of nettles, then checked one last time to make certain everything was turned off. Moraig’s was reassuringly still in the current day, which he supposed was occasionally not the case, then took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold.
He jumped a little at the sight of a medieval clansman standing there under a tree. His relief at realizing that Patrick was in jeans and trainers was unhappily mitigated by the look his current swordmaster was wearing.
Oliver pulled the door shut behind himself, then patted his satchel. “Off to do constructive things.”
Patrick eyed Oliver speculatively. “You had a visitor, I hear.”
“Did Lady Sunshine tell you?”
Patrick slid him a look. “I do keep an eye on what goes on in my forest.” He paused. “That and aye, Sunny told me.”
Oliver wasn’t surprised and there was part of him that was perhaps a bit more grateful than he’d expected to be. Whatever Patrick’s flaws might have been when it came to his treatment of men in his circle, he was unfailingly kind to the women. Sunny—and Cameron, for that matter—would have been concerned that Mairead be looked after if she wandered astray and Patrick no doubt would have wanted to keep her safe as well.
“You can’t let her come again.”
Oliver returned Patrick’s look steadily. “She’s an adult.”
“Very well, youshouldn’tlet her come again.”
“I know.”
Patrick studied him for a moment in silence, then shook his head. “You poor sod.”
“Her life in the past is unpleasant.”
