Some Enchanted Waltz (31 page)

Encouraged, Tara told him about the carriages that moved about without horses, of street lamps that didn’t seem to need to be lit by a man every night and burned much brighter than the ones she’d seen in Cork recently. Of magic ovens you only had to push a button and in seconds your food was fully cooked, of cold drink machines that dispensed little red metal cylinders with wonderfully refreshing liquid. She told him about the big black rectangles in parlors that had moving pictures and sound in them that hung on the walls like paintings.

“Yeah, television. It’s a wonder, all right.”

“And the women wear pants--all the time. I asked for a pair here at first and the maid thought I was being indecent. Adrian said women wearing men’s clothing is unacceptable here. He said America had to be quite uncivilized if the women went about in sweaty shirts and men’s breeches.”

Deep laughter punctuated his response. Her father slapped his leg, chuckling with unrestrained glee. “Yep, the world went to hell in a hand basket when women started wearing pants.”

As she looked away with uncertainty, he squeezed her hand. “Sorry, kid. I promised you I wouldn’t laugh. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing with you. Yes, women wear pants in our world and it isn’t considered indecent. Tara, honey, the thing is--”

With a long sigh, he released her hand, glancing about him nervously to see if anyone was in the room. A servant stood near the door, waiting, should they need to be served another portion of wine. “Hey, you. Bring me my pipe, would you? I left it upstairs in my room, and bring the tobacco pouch.”

As the servant left, Father bent his head close to Tara’s, and whispered in a worried tone, “Listen, kiddo, this is going to sound strange, really strange; if your husband wants to believe we are from the land of the fairies--
let him
.”

Tara gasped, shaking her head as dizzying images assaulted it. “So he’s right, we
are
enchanted beings . . .”

“No.” Her father’s deep voice bellowed sharply, startling her a little. “No, dearest.” He patted her hand, and smiled to dispel her alarm at his outburst. “I said to let him
believe
it is true. It’s more conceivable to him then the truth. They would say we were witches. We could be burned alive if we told the truth here.”

“No, that’s not true. The last reported witch burning was back in 1720, in England. No one believes that anymore, Father. This is the Age of Enlightenment.” Tara corrected automatically, and then stopped, scowling. “Damn it. How do I know this stuff?”

“You’re a historian. You have a bachelor’s degree in history and you were working on your master’s degree when we left home.” Her father answered.

Tara sat back in the chair, awed by his words. Women didn’t attend college here, yet where she came from they wore pants and they had a college education. “Sweet!” She raised her fist in victory. One more piece of the puzzle was put into place.

“Yes.” Father murmured, adding, “My point is they won’t be able to accept the truth. Tara, we came from America, yes, but from two hundred years in the future.”

“
The future
?” Tara whispered with shock. “Did magic send us here? I do remember a man with long grey hair and a beard dancing about the room in a jig, with a strange gleam in his eye and a devious smile. We called him
The Gnome
. . . ?”

Her father chuckled heartily, rolled his eyes heavenward, and then waved his hand dismissively. “That was just
Steve
.” His face reddened as he continued to snicker and chortle, finally dissolving into deep belly laughter that echoed about the large chamber and brought tears to his eyes. “Christ, that’s a good one! We called Steve ‘The Gnome’ because he resembles the Roaming Gnome on the Travelocity TV commercial. He’s no wizard, just an old hippie who needs a haircut. What else to you remember?”

“A beautiful maiden named Arwen with pointy ears and long dark hair. And a man with long blond hair, Legolias, they’re either fairies or elves. And there’s a wizard dressed in a long robe and a pointy hat. Like you, he smokes a pipe all the time. And I remember a quirky dude with white hair in a lab coat. Everyone called him Doc. He kept talking to some kid on a skateboard about flux capacitors and screwing up the time-space continuum--”  Tara stopped as the man her before dissolved in a fit of unbridled laughter.

Not knowing what set him off she could only stare at him with helpless confusion.

“Oh-ho-ho.” He slapped the table, shaking the crystal between them. “Oh, God . . . He-he-he--gotta love Hollywood! Those are movies, my dear girl.
Television
--the black box with moving pictures. Grey haired gnomes, wizards and elves! Oh, you poor girl. No wonder you’re confused. Sorry, aside from Steve, all those people you just mentioned are fictional characters from books that were made into movies to entertain us. Gandalf and Legolias are from
Lord of the Rings
, your favorite movie. You had a serious thing for that Stryder fellow who plays the lead warrior.”

“Aragorn. He’s in love with Arwen.”  Tara informed him.

Her father shook his head. “Yeah, but--“ He raised his finger, as if to make an important point to her. “Not real. Remember that. They’re fictional characters. And Doc and Marty--from another movie entirely, Doc’s a scientist, not a gnome or a wizard.”

His explanations failed to untangle the jumbled images in her mind. Tara frowned at him. “What are movies?”

“Pfffff.” He exhaled slowly, sizing her up as if to measure her ability to comprehend what he was going to say. “They’re . . . sort of like books set to life---no. Scratch that. It’s more like Shakespeare’s plays, if you went to one, and had a device to capture the actors playing their parts, and then replayed it on the black screens---
oh boy
.” He placed a hand to his brow and closed his eyes, groaning. “I’d have to show you.”

“Is it like an iPod?” Tara tried.

“
Yes!
” His silver blonde beard split into a broad grin. “An iPod is like a little mini-computer-TV-music player thingy.”

“It sounds like magic.”

“Yeah, I guess it would around here. You’ve come to think like the locals while being stuck here in Oz, haven’t you?”

“There’s a wizard in Oz . . . well . . .  in the Emerald city.” Tara added.

“Uh-huh.” Her father’s eyes grew wide as he studied her with consternation. “And flying monkeys, too.” He said in a serious tone and then bowed his head, chuckling to himself. He placed a palm over his stomach as ribald laughter threatened to claim him again. He scrunched up his face, wiggling his lips a little, and forced the mirth back down. “That’s another movie, not real life. Let’s not go there, kid.”

A stumbling movement from behind them caught their eyes. Expecting the serving lad to have returned with his pipe, Papa started, unnerved by the dour presence of Lord Dillon standing just inside the dining hall.

“What is this talk of magic? What mischief might the pair of you concocting with your heads together?”

Papa rose with a majestic flourish and gave Adrian a stern look of reproof. There was no mistaking his condition with the fumes of brandy emanating from across the room. Adrian smelled as if he’d bathed in the fiery liquid.

“I was discussing something private with my girl.” Her father retorted.  “Sorry you couldn’t join us for dinner. If you intend to become a hopeless drunk, I think I’ll just take my girl and be off. Next thing you know, you’ll come to believe she’s evil and deserves a beating. Tara, pack your things, we’re returning to
Middle Earth
.”

“My lord, give me another chance. I love her. Please, don’t take Tara away.”

*   *   *   *

By God, he really believes all that fairy godfather crap!

Dan stared at his host. Well, so be it. He’d make the best of his new position as elf king and lay down a few rules to ensure their survival here. “Then mind you this, mortal; as far as anyone is concerned, we’re from America.  I’ll not have some superstitious rabble come breaking down the doors in their haste to burn us alive. We came from America, Dillon, remember that.”

The inebriated Viscount nodded meekly. Dan closed the gap between them with the intention of giving him a manly slap on the back, despite his theater robe. Dillon stumbled backward, probably fearing he was about to be vaporized or whatever he believed fairies did to mortals who crossed them. Dan caught him before he fell.

Hell, in his condition, he’d believe me if I claimed to be Obi Wan Kenobi.

Chapter Twenty

“There you are, my sweet.” Adrian entered the library. He moved behind Tara as she sat on the divan, wrapped his arms about her and nuzzled her neck. “I was hoping you might ride with me today. Tis a soft, fine day, my darling girl.”

“I would rather stay indoors, near the fire.” Tara replied. She liked being outdoors, but the constant gloom of rain or sleet that punctuated this region in winter was unappealing. She’d rather explore the countryside when she could do so without having to don heavy clothing.

Adrian caressed her hair. She’d left it down this morning, and he seemed entranced with it. His hands kept brushing over it and then lifting it. “We won’t venture far, love.” He whispered, disappointed by her refusal. “And the rain has stopped for a time.”

“The damp air makes me cold. And my sinuses are bothering me again today.” Tara informed him. She had a terrible headache today again. She tried a few times this past week explaining her chronic sinus difficulties to him, to no avail. He murmured a few sweet words of commiseration and dismissed it much as he would her period if she told him she were suffering from cramps. She expected it was because she did not have a fever, sniffles or any physical symptoms aside from the pain and pressure behind her eyes and along her cheekbones that everyone with sinus problems knew all too well.

Tara hated the damp, cold weather as it only brought her misery. And as she was cozy at the moment, enjoying the warmth of a roaring fire and an excellent book, she didn’t have any interest in following the handsome rogue out to the stables, or become entangled in a quickie out there, as was likely the outcome if she said yes, given their current intrigues. “Father is in the great hall reading the newspaper. Why don’t you ask him to go riding with you? He’s restless. He needs something to distract him.”

“I asked him yesterday. He declined. By the Saints, I’ve never heard the like, both father and daughter unable to ride a horse?” Adrian frowned, looking at her with quizzical eyes again. Since her father’s arrival he had become somewhat moody and silent, often regarding Tara or her parent with a perplexed expression that made Tara uncomfortable.

“Why do you look at me so? I don’t care for it.”

“I know not what you are implying.”

“You stare at me as if I’m a sideshow oddity you don’t understand or know quite what to do with.”

The gray orbs swept the room before returning to regard Tara with unveiled worry. “Truth, your father’s appearance has given me a turn, nearly two months after we believed him dead. And the man’s sheer size and girth is intimidating, even for me. The servants fear him. It brings disorder to the household. Forgive me if I seem anxious for him to return to the land of Middle. . .”  He stopped, sending an uneasy look at the portal, as if he feared they were being overheard. “To his
home
. It is difficult to feel at ease with him about, watching my every move, glowering at me in that odd way of his.”

“He thought he lost me, and I him. Do you expect me to ask him to leave? Good God, you are a cold blooded, selfish jerk!”

“I said nothing of the kind. ‘Tis you who imply things which are not intended in my speech.” Adrian leaned over the back of the sofa where Tara sat. “I only meant that I had been enjoying our solitary confinement before he came. We’ve scarce had a fortnight alone to savor between my mother leaving and your father arriving.”

Tara turned about with outrage, pulling her shawl up closer about her open neck as she did so. “Well, you might try to make him feel welcome rather than avoid him as you do. I had to endure your mother’s
cheerful
presence for weeks while you busied yourself in the shipwreck, the search for my father’s remains and the affairs of your considerable estate. Would taking him for ride about the countryside be such a trial?”

“
Women
.” The spiteful sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

“Oh--there you go, damning women again as the bane of your existence, you arrogant
caveman
.” Tara shoved her book aside, rose and marched out of the door.

“Perhaps I will take MacNeill for a ride.” Adrian murmured, making a face. “I’ve a few questions I should like to put to him.”

Nearly an hour later Dan found himself perched precariously on a docile old mare as he followed Lord Dillon’s mount through the woods.  The stilted politeness between them was a thin veil shielding Tara from the unpleasant truth. It didn’t make for much by way of companionship, with each man eyeing the other suspiciously and waiting for the sword of Damocles to drop.

“MacNeill, perhaps you would clear up a few questions I have.” Adrian began as he pulled his mount to a halt. He gave the hulking giant a curious look, surprised at finding Tara and her father were both so ill at ease in the saddle. The Tuatha an Danaan were reputed to be expert riders, coveting horses almost as much as they coveted gold and the companionship of attractive mortals.