Claire Delacroix Read Online Free

Day-Timer as he checked his watch.
    “It’s eleven-oh-nine. This tour should be finished by half past the hour. We’ll have an early lunch here in the castle so we don’t have to pay admission again to hear the one o’clock gun.”
    Justine walked her fingertips up her husband’s arm. “Then, we could go back to the bed-and-breakfast for a couple of hours to relax before dinner,” she suggested with a provocative smile.
    Finally! At least something was going to plan! And Morgan could have some time to herself. Three was definitely a crowd when conception was on the agenda.
    “Great idea,” Morgan concurred. The tour guide cleared his throat and eyed them sternly.
    Blake frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Justine. There’s not enough daylight in this country to risk wasting any of it. Besides” - he consulted his notes while the women exchanged a glance of exasperation – “we can zip down High Street and make the last tour of Holyrood House before teatime.”
    “Then, we’ll go back to the room and put our feet up?” Justine suggested more gently.
    Blake shook his head. “We have to have high tea at this hotel on Princes Street, Justine. All the books say so. Then, we’ll wander down to the Grassmarket...”
    Trust an accountant to make every moment count, Morgan thought mutinously. She had an idea that Blake’s understanding of “wandering through the Grassmarket” would differ enormously from her own.
    “And now, ladies and gentlemen, take a look down the rock wall of Edinburgh Castle,” their kilted guide instructed in his brisk brogue. The band of tourists looked as bidden and Blake craned his neck to see.
    Morgan, though, tipped her head back and watched the Scottish flag - the white cross of St. Andrew on a pale blue field - flutter overhead against the azure sky.
    She closed her eyes, dismissed the real world, and thought of medieval pennants and banners flying above fairy tale turrets. In her mind’s eye, Morgan saw knights in shining armor, riding proud-stepping horses with ribbons braided in their manes.
    “It was here in March of 1314 that a small band scaled the rock, then entered a hidden passageway,” the guide declared. “That night, they easily routed the English and reclaimed the keep in the name of Robert the Bruce.”
    The guide rolled the “r” of the Scottish hero’s name with gusto. “Not four months later, the English were soundly defeated at the Battle of Bannockburn. If you visit Stirling Castle, the battlefield and site of the reclamation of Scottish independence is not to be missed.”
    The guide cleared his throat. “As many of you may have heard, there was a referendum this month in Scotland. The Scottish people voted overwhelmingly in favor of re-establishing a Scottish National Assembly. This will effectively make Scotland an independent nation by the turn of the millennium, bringing the legacy of Robert the Bruce full circle yet again.”
    Morgan did not have to look to know that Blake was scribbling a notation in his Day-Timer. No doubt, they would soon be bundled into their teeny rental car and headed for Stirling.
    Blake flipped to a map of Scotland, frowned, then whispered confidently to Justine. “Up at six, out by seven, we could be in Stirling and tour the castle before lunch tomorrow. We have to go to Bannockburn!”
    He tapped his pencil decisively. “We’ll do Bannockburn in the afternoon - it probably has an interpretative center - hmmm...we could still make Perth for dinner.”
    “Blake!” Justine murmured through her teeth with a pointed glance to her sister. She dropped her voice, but Morgan still heard her words. “How will Morgan meet anyone if you keep rushing us on?”
    Blake blinked owlishly at Morgan, clearly not having considered this side of things. Morgan shrugged, assuming her sister was talking about the research for her book.
    It was to be a children’s volume of Scottish fairy tales, one that Morgan would both compile and