Legends by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

find a grandmotherly little woman watching him from the pub’s door. “Disney World,” she repeated firmly, and snapped the jacket lapels of her sturdy dress suit for emphasis. “To see those mice. Mickey and Minnie. Yes. They’re kin of ours, you know.”
    “Mickey and Minnie?” Audubon asked dryly.
    “Elgiva and Rob, and don’t you be saucy to me, lad,” she retorted.
    “I apologize.”
    “This is Mr. Audubon, Mother,” the mayor said. “Would you happen to have heard when Elgiva and Rob might be coming back home?”
    “Oh, not for weeks! They were going on to that other famous American place. Hmmm … Tara. Yes! They were going to see Tara.”
    Audubon looked from the mayor to the mayor’s mother. Both smiled benignly. Now Audubon knew he was on the right track, but the track was getting crowded with more MacRoths than he’d ever expected.
    “You’ve been as silent as the mountains all evening, Douglas. What’s wrong?”
    Elgiva watched him lounge in a big upholstered chair near his bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his strong-jawed face carved into mysterious patterns in the firelight. He could have lighted his lantern and read one of the books on his shelves. She’d given him two-dozen American novels, ones she assumed he’d like, with lots of sex and violence.
    Or he could have worked crosswords in one of the many puzzle books she’d provided. She’d read that crossword puzzles were one of his favorite entertainments. When he couldn’t think of the correct words, he made up better ones. Resourceful and creative, that was Douglas Kincaid, though not particular about the rules.
    But all he did was scrutinize her. Elgiva lifted tense hands from the sweater she was knitting. Shornraised his golden head from her feet and looked around sleepily. “What’s the matter, Douglas?” she asked again.
    He chuckled, but it was more of a disgruntled growl than a sound of pleasure. “Nothing. I love being kidnapped.” He lifted one large foot, which was covered in a bright red wool sock and a sandal of wide leather straps. “I feel like a Celtic Moonie.”
    “You’ve no need for real shoes. You won’t be going outdoors.”
    He thumped his foot down and cursed softly. “I’ll enjoy proving you wrong.”
    She sighed. Tonight was not the time to begin telling him about his Scotch heritage, it seemed. “In the wooden box under your bed you’ll find a cassette player, Douglas, and a few dozen of your favorite tapes. All those jazz people you like so much. I put in some tapes of the great classics of the bagpipe as well. Why don’t you listen to some ancient
ceol mor
to calm your nerves?”
    “My nerves are still calm from dinner.”
    “You’re welcome. I’m a grand cook.”
    “I wasn’t saying thanks.” He muttered something she could barely hear, something about her husband probably looking like someone named Pee-Wee Herman before she began to feed him. “Your husband,” he repeated in a louder voice, speaking to her directly.
    “Hmmm?” Elgiva forced her attention on her knitting needles and tried to appear nonchalant. “Did he die of overeating?”
    Elgiva told him grimly, “It’s not gentlemanly to make fun of a widow’s loss.”
    “It’s not ladylike to shoot an innocent stranger in the butt with a tranquilizer dart.”
    “I liked you better when you weren’t talking, Douglas.”
    “I liked you better when you were a blond sex machine.”
    “How about having another big piece of Madeira cake?”
    “Stop trying to brainwash me with food.”
    “It’s not brainwashing. It’s hospitality.”
    “Did you learn hospitality from a terrorist?”
    “You could make this a pleasant month, if you’d try.”
    “Give me that bottle of whisky you mentioned.”
    “Not tonight. Drinking might put you in an uglier mood.”
    “That’s not possible.”
    “Be a good lad, Douglas, and
earn
the right to a nip of Scotland’s best.”
    “Dammit!” He glared at her from the shadows