Alberti frowned as he finished buttoning his shirt and yanked it wrinkle free. “Ale? Hmm . . . I’ll see what I can find.” He disappeared through a strange door that swung back and forth as though toyed with by spirits.
Graham followed. Raising a hesitant hand to the strange door, he clenched his teeth and pushed through it. The door swung back and thumped his arse once he walked through. He glared back at it, waiting for another attack from the wicked spirits. The door calmly settled in place. His fists relaxed at his sides. Aye. Just as well.Alberti had been a kind host. It would be a shame to destroy a part of his home.
Alberti hurried past him, pulled open the swinging door, and thumped down a strange-looking leg at its base that propped it open. “There now. As soon as Angus gets out of the loo, he’ll be able to hear us here in the kitchen. I do hope the man is not unwell. I couldn’t help but notice the toilet keeps flushing.”
The toilet keeps flushing.Recognition dawned. Graham stuck his head back into the hallway and bellowed, “Angus! Leave the wee chamber pot alone and get yer arse out here.”
Angus emerged; his face lit with amusement. “That there garderobe is damn fine. The spring running through the chamber pot carries away whatever ye put in it.”
“Oh dear heavens. Pray, what did you put in it?” Alberti rushed down the hallway, stopped at the bathroom door, then sagged against the door facing. “Thank heavens. It’s not clogged and overflowing.”
“I merely spat in it.” Angus shrugged, then wiggled a finger round and round. “’Tis like a whirlpool in the ocean. Everything goes round and round till it disappears.”
Alberti rolled his eyes as he hurried back into the kitchen. “I’m sure you gentlemen are famished. Come.” He hurried the men over to the narrow oval table waiting in the center of the room. “Have a seat and we’ll get you fed before I leave for work.”
Graham lowered himself into one of the cold uncomfortable chairs, nodding for Angus to do the same. He balanced his forearms on the hard smoothness of the table, frowning down at his reflection. Was there not enough wood in this century? Most of the furniture of this time appeared to be made of metal and this hard, clear substance that the Sinclair women had said was called glass. Mother Sinclair and Lady Trulie had not mentioned a scarcity of trees. He rubbed his hand across the tabletop. Lore a’mighty, they needed this substance back at the keep. ’Twould keep the winter winds from passing through the windows yet still allow the rays of the sun to light the rooms much better than oiled parchment.
Alberti set a tall glass of amber liquid in front of each of the men. “It’s not exactly ale but it’s the closest thing I’ve got.”
“Thank ye kindly.” Graham nodded as he took a hesitant sip. He held the liquid in his mouth, breathing in to appreciate the warmth of the alcoholic fumes. Aye. This would do quite nicely.
A square plate piled high with odd-looking breads followed. “Here you go, gentlemen. Enjoy some of Edinburgh’s finest pastries.”
Graham selected one of the lightly browned triangles, brought it to his nose, and sniffed. Yeasty. Buttery. Sweet.He took a hesitant bite, nodding as the flaky pastry melted in his mouth. “Verra fine. I thank ye again.”
Alberti smiled, poured some steaming black liquid into a white mug, then joined them at the table. His long slender fingers tapped thoughtfully around the perimeter of his cup. He was obviously struggling against some sort of inner turmoil.
“Out with it, man.” Graham shoved the rest of the pastry in his mouth, chewed twice and swallowed. He washed it down with a deep draw from his glass. He had no time to waste this morning so the man needed to spill whatever was troubling him. Graham needed to convince Mistress Lilia to be his wife. Precious time was a wasting.
“Lilia is my dear friend.” Alberti’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward. “I don’t know why you are here but I will have you know that I won’t stand idly by and allow her to be upset or hurt.”
Graham frowned. Confusion pushed him to the edge of his hard seat. “Are ye making a claim on the lass? ’Tis my understanding she is not betrothed to anyone.” Had Mother Sinclair erred? Was Lilia already taken? Now what the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t very well return to the wrath of the Buchanan but he couldn’t remain in this century unless he was bound to Lilia. And what about the fire when they touched? He squirmed in the chair at the memory. Nay. He would not let her go so easily out of his life.
Scowling over the rim of his coffee cup, Alberti remained silent overly long. He took several sips before lowering the mug and setting it on the table. “Lilia isn’t engaged . . . or betrothed to anyone. Why would that matter to you? Last night, you stated you’d been sent here to watch over her. Do be gracious enough to explain.”
“I mean to marry the woman.”
Alberti clattered his mug back to the table. “Marry? Surely you can’t be serious. The two of you just met.”
Graham stood, planted both hands on the table, and leaned across it. “Are ye challenging me then?” He’d not been in a good fight in quite some time. The thought was not entirely unpleasant although from the looks of the narrow-shouldered man, it would not be much of a tussle.
Rising from the table, Alberti set his cup down into the sink then turned and leaned back against the counter. “If it comes to protecting my friend, yes—I will challenge you. I will not stand idly by and see Lilia hurt. But if you’re speaking of vying for dear Lilia’s hand, trust me; the woman is quite capable of dismissing you herself.”
Straightening, Graham hooked his thumbs in his belt. “I would never hurt the lass but I do mean to marry her. I’ve been charged by her family to keep her safe and the only way I can stay in this century and do so is if I am bound to her by blood.”
“By blood,” Alberti repeated, a dubious expression wrinkling his nose. “What the devil do you mean when you saybound by blood?”
Graham tapped on his wrist. “Bound by blood. We cut our wrists, mix our blood, and say the oath. Do ye not do that anymore?”
“Not . . .” Alberti glanced over at Angus, still sitting at the table, totally oblivious to the conversation and calmly shoving pastries in his mouth until his cheeks bulged. “…usually.”
“Saint’s bone, man.” Graham reached over and thumped Angus on the back. “Ye’ve had enough. Come. We must be going.” He’d wasted all the time he was going to waste talking to this Alberti person. The man didn’t ken a damn thing about the ways and how things had to be.
Angus quickly stood, scooping up more pastries and tucking them into the folds of his plaid. “Thank ye kindly for the food and drink.” He bobbed his head at Alberti then scurried out into the hallway. His delighted chuckling echoed back into the kitchen as the toilet flushed again.
Graham bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. Keeping Angus MacKenna in tow was like fostering an ill-behaved lad. Leaning against the back of the chair, he wearily shook his head. “Kindly show me the way to Mistress Lilia’s home. I give ye my word I mean the lass no harm. I hold the MacKennas and the Sinclairs in the verra highest esteem. I’ll thank ye to take me to her.”
“Very well.” Alberti scooped a ring of keys off a hook by the window then motioned Graham toward the hall. “Her home is a few blocks over. I’ll finish dressing then give you both a lift there on my way to the shop.”
