by Mariah Stone
Tears burned in Amy’s eyes.
But now she knew that girl had gotten the wrong idea. She’d taken the fault on herself when it was her father who’d been guilty. Having no resources and no capacity to deal with the death of his wife, he’d taken a destructive route. A route that had not only destroyed him, but also threatened to destroy Amy’s and Jenny’s lives.
Amy felt sorry for him. He’d been a good man, but he hadn’t dealt with the grief, with the loss. And instead of searching for strength in his family, he’d looked for escape in a bottle.
What would Amy have done, had she had enough resources not to panic? She’d have talked to him. And if he had still locked her up, she’d have calmly looked for a way out. Maybe she’d have tried to get through that hole in the roof, climb onto the roof and call for help from there. Maybe she’d have come up with some way to find water…
She could have tried a number of different things.
Just like she could now. Instead of giving into the panic, she could realize she was both the lost and abandoned girl in the barn and the resourceful girl she needed to be. And both were who she was, whole and complete.
And with both parts of herself united, she looked up and saw a clear path, free of snow and ice, that she could take. She would not wait for someone to come for her.
She would rescue herself.
Chapter 32
The battle was over. Craig watched the MacDougall forces turn around and walk away.
It had been a quick and bloody battle. The castle offered a great defense, even though still damaged. And the MacDougalls, confident that they’d have the advantage of sneaking in through the secret tunnel, hadn’t brought a battering ram or many siege ladders. Without them, and without access to the tunnel, they’d had little chance—especially in the snowfall.
Craig stood on the southern wall, watching the troops retreat through the snow.
He’d protected the castle with no casualties among his men, just a couple of small wounds and scratches. He’d fulfilled his duty.
He looked east, where the exit from the secret tunnel was, and where he knew Hamish had taken Amy.
The hole in his chest where his heart used to be ached and burned as though vinegar had been spilled into it. Was she all right? What had Hamish done to her?
His fists clenched. His sister had been taken away—and now Amy. His stomach tightened, and a sour taste rose in his throat.
He didn’t know anymore what was the truth and what was a lie.
There were many strange things in the Highlands. He’d grown up on stories of kelpies, faeries, and legendary warriors.
But time travel? Nae. That must be another lie.
Owen stood next to him. “We are safe, brother. What now?”
Craig’s fingers clenched against the ice-cold stone of the parapet. Owen followed his gaze.
“Ye want to find her, don’t ye?” he said.
Craig didn’t answer. The sinking, dark feeling crawled in his gut. Something bad had happened to her. He felt it. She was in trouble. He didn’t know where the feeling came from, but he knew it was true. Maybe Hamish would harm her. Maybe some of the MacDougalls had followed them. Maybe it was something else…
But Craig knew in his bones that if he didn’t go after Amy now, if she died or something bad had happened to her, he’d never be able to live with himself.
No matter how much she’d hurt him, he still loved her.
“Aye,” Craig said. “I want to find her.”
Owen clapped him on the shoulder. “Then let us go.”
Craig took Owen and two more men. They rode out and followed the remnants of Amy and Hamish’s tracks, which were still visible even under the snow. They went northeast, into the mountains, following the glen. In the falling snow, riding was treacherous, so they went slowly, the horses carefully picking their way along the slippery path.
He didn’t know how long they rode, but soon the tracks were hard to see, and Craig had to step down several times, using Amy’s trick with the stick to find the next sign.
The tension in Craig’s gut turned into spasms of worry.
Without knowing what he was doing, he silently prayed to God, please let her live. Please let her live.
Eventually, dusk fell, and the pre-evening darkness enveloped them. Craig knew he would no longer be able to follow the tracks in the dark, and his heart plummeted at the thought of Amy cold and scared in this lonely place. Then, from behind a pine, a figure appeared, black against the snow.
She was in a hooded cloak, but he’d recognized her anywhere. She limped and leaned on a long stick.
Raising her head, she stopped. Although he couldn’t see her face under the hood, he knew her beautiful eyes would be wide and bright.
He jumped off the horse and went to her on weak legs.
“Oh, Craig.” She sobbed and dropped in his arms.
He wrapped his arms around her and pressed her tight to his chest. She was cold and wet and heavy, her clothes saturated with melted snow and partly iced over. She shook slightly, her cheek cool and wet against his.
Relief mixed with heartache filled him and whirled within him in a confusing, head-spinning mixture. But whatever his feelings were for her, she was clearly hurt and frozen, and she needed help.
His instincts had been right.
“I have ye, lass,” he whispered. “Ye’re safe now.”
“Thank you for coming for me,” she said through tears. “I wasn’t sure I’d make it.”
“Aye, of course I came for ye.”
He’d always come for her, he thought. He’d always come for her no matter what she did to him.
“Come now, we need to get ye warm quick. On my horse.”
He lifted her onto his horse. She sat in front of him and he pulled her close to his body to warm her.
Amy lay peacefully in Craig’s arms, fire playing in the fireplace in their bedroom. Her fingers and toes ached as the warmth came back to them. But she was dry, she was alive, and she was safe in the arms of the man she loved.
Outside, the snowfall was turning into a storm, wind howling against the shutters and sucking warmth from the room through the gaps.
The last thing Amy wanted was to leave the cozy confinement of Craig’s body. They were still in their makeshift bed, unable to bring themselves to get into the real one. Craig had sworn he’d burn the bed down, but he needed a new bed, and that had to be ordered from a carpenter.
They kissed, but they didn’t make love—Amy was too weak for that. And what had happened between them, the unspoken, heavy weight of the lies and the pretenses, was like an invisible barrier.
“Do ye want more tea, lass?” he asked.
The pot with tea hung above the fire, ready to be poured and served.
“No.” She nuzzled against his chest with the back of her head. “I’m okay.”
He chuckled but didn’t say anything.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing. It’s just that word…‘okay.’”
“What about it?” she asked, although she suspected what he’d say. It was a word from the future. Which was a giant elephant in the room they both avoided discussing.
“I dinna want to talk about it, not while ye’re recovering.”
Her stomach clenched painfully, till it felt like a knife was stabbing her. The state of peaceful, happy drifting was gone. She sat up, wrapping the plaid around her shoulders, and turned to look at him. His face was calm but for the tiny wrinkles of pain and worry around his eyes.
“Spit it out, Craig.”
Of course, it was about her lies. About the time travel. About what was the truth and where she had just pretended.
He held her gaze with his, the dark intensity of a storm thundering in his eyes.
“Aye. Good. I want to ken, why did ye deceive me? How could ye not tell me from the beginning that ye weren’t the Amy MacDougall I thought ye were?”
“And have you kill me for witchcraf
t? How could I tell you upfront I’d traveled back in time? As though it’s such a normal thing to say. I didn’t believe it myself back then, and you would have never believed me. You’d have called me a lunatic and kicked me out of the castle, or just killed me.”
“I wouldna have killed ye,” he mumbled.
“But you wouldn’t have believed me, would you?”
“Nae, probably not. I still dinna.”
“Exactly. Because it’s crazy.”
He sighed. “How can it be true?”
“Didn’t you ask me where my accent came from?”
“Aye. Ye were dressed like no one I’d ever seen and talking strangely. Yer accent—never heard it before…”
“That’s because I’m American. My name is really Amy MacDougall, but I was born in 1989, in the country that doesn’t even exist yet, on a continent you’ve never heard of because it won’t be discovered for a couple of centuries.”
Craig continued staring at her. “Aye, ’tis hard to believe.”
“I know. Wait. Let me show you something.”
She got out of the blankets and furs, shivering from the chill in the air. She took her backpack and the clothes she’d come in out of the bottom of one of the chests standing by the wall, then came back to Craig, snuggling into the warmth of the blankets and his body.
She showed him her jacket. “See?” She pulled the tab of the zipper up and down. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
He frowned, studying the zipper. Then took it in his hands and tried zipping up and down. “’Tis a practical thing,” he admitted. He took the jacket in his hands and looked closely at the material, then brushed his fingers against it. “’Tis smooth and light, yet must be warm, judging by the thickness.”
“Exactly.”
She demonstrated the backpack and opened the zipper as well. She revealed the flashlight, which she’d retrieved, and switched it on. Craig jerked back a little.
“This is just light, Craig,” she said. “There’s no fire.”
He slowly stretched his hand out and took it. He looked into the light, then carefully touched it with one finger. “Aye, just a little warm. And doesna look like fire.”
“No. It’s electricity, something that will be invented at the end of the nineteenth century, if I remember correctly. It gives power to different objects and mechanisms, like this one. They can be used to produce light, to create heat for cooking, and to do mechanical jobs for people, like mixing or sewing or removing dirt.”
He directed the flashlight into a dark corner of the room. “Oh, aye, ’tis very convenient.”
He turned the flashlight to other sides of the room, the ceiling, the door. Then he switched it off.
“What else?” he said, looking at the backpack, curiosity ringing in his voice.
She chuckled and presented the first aid kit. She felt like Santa.
She undid the zipper of the synthetic red bag and showed the contents to him. With wonder in his eyes, he took out and studied the packs with dressings for burns and trauma, a vented chest seal, gauze, an eye pad, the scissors, packs with ibuprofen and aspirin, and other stuff. She quickly explained what those were and why they were there. Then she showed him her pack of tampons, the pack of tissues she always had with her, the dead cell phone, her passport.
When he’d looked through every single thing, he shook his head and stared into space.
“Well?” she said. “Do you believe me now?”
He looked at her. “Aye, lass. I do.”
But he said it as though by proving the truth, she’d somehow made it worse.
“I still dinna ken who ye truly are. Why are ye here? What was true about ye, and what did ye contrive?”
Amy nodded, the heat of embarrassment burning her cheeks.
“I’m sorry about that, Craig. I really am. I hated myself every time I had to lie to you. I wanted to tell you the truth so many times, but I was a coward. How I got here—I was on a school trip with my sister and her class. We visited Scotland, and I met this lady, Sìneag, who told me about you…”
She told him everything. Words poured out of her like water out of a tap. She found his hand and held it, and he squeezed hers. She told him she was born on a farm. That her real mother died when Amy was ten. That her father really did lock her up in the barn. And about her sister. And the years living with her aunt and uncle after her dad was charged with abuse and neglect. Then she told him about the vet school in New York. How she’d found that lost boy and knew she wasn’t born to be a vet but a search and rescue officer. Her marriage with Nick—how happy she’d been at first, and then how she’d started feeling trapped and suffocated when he’d gotten too close and she hadn’t been ready to believe that someone really loved her or that she deserved love and happiness.
Then the divorce.
And now this.
She shut up and watched Craig. He looked into the fire, his face thoughtful. He ran both hands through his hair and left them there, lowering his head between his knees. Amy had to physically restrain herself from asking his verdict. Did he believe her now? Did he forgive her?
But if he did, what then? Was there any future for them? And if there was, what was it?
She couldn’t stay here.
He could never go with her to the twenty-first century.
What was there for them?
He looked at her, shaking his head softly. “Aye, I believe ye now, Amy. I believe ye’re a good person. I believe ye thought ye had no choice and couldna have confided in me. And I am sorry I made ye feel that way.”
Her heart pulsed in her temples.
“And I love ye. Despite yer lies, I canna stop loving ye. I dinna think I ever will.”
With a shaking hand, Amy pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
“But?” she said. “You sound like you’re going to say, but…”
“But I canna forgive ye. I canna trust ye. And I will always be doubting ye.”
She nodded. The verdict was delivered. And it was as though a concrete building fell on her, crushing her body and her heart.
You knew he wouldn’t forgive you, and even if he did, what then? You’d have to stomp on his heart anyway and leave as soon as you had a chance.
Because staying in a time where she was so restricted, where she couldn’t be her true self, would be like a prison sentence.
“Because I lied?” she said.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, there was such desperate, bottomless pain, Amy choked. “Because loyalty is everything to me. I canna be open again to ye and let ye betray me again. I will watch yer every step.”
His mouth twisted mournfully. “Ye may be from the future, but ye’re still a MacDougall.”
Chapter 33
Craig moved out of the bedchamber to allow Amy the space she needed to recover.
The next day, she was strong enough to get up and walk.
In three days, she came to him during supper in the great hall.
“I’ll leave tomorrow,” Amy said as she put a bowl of fish soup before Craig.
She took a seat next to him.
He didn’t look at her. It would hurt too much. Having her near him, even in the same castle, was enough to make him breathe easier, for his heart to beat faster.
“Thank ye,” he said and brought the bowl closer.
“For the soup or for leaving?” Amy teased, her voice jumping.
“For the soup.”
“What about me leaving?”
He met her eyes. And choked from the sadness in them.
“We both kent it was a matter of time,” he said. “The time has come.”
She nodded, her eyes watering, her lashes fluttering. “Yes. Of course. It has.”
She began eating her soup. Silence hung between them. Craig physically felt the distance between them, the aching urge to touch each other, to talk.
To forgive.
“What if I stayed, Craig?” she said.
“Have you thought about that?”
He looked up from his bowl. “Aye. I have.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And?”
“And I wouldna be able to hold myself back from ye. But I’d never be able to forgive ye. Yer lies cost me dearly. If ye’d told me the truth from the beginning, I wouldna have marrit ye. Lachlan may be still alive. Hamish may have never discovered the tunnel. The MacDougalls wouldna have come storming the castle. The Earl of Ross must think Bruce and all of us liars.”
A frown of pain crossed her face.
“I would keep my heart close, Amy. I would doubt yer every word. Ye said ye felt suffocated with Nick. If we were together, I would suffocate ye, Amy. Again. More.”
She shook her head, tears in her eyes. “No. I don’t believe that.”
“Ye should. ’Tis better to be cautious. ’Tis my caution that saved my life and the castle. And ’tis my trust in others that led to Lachlan’s death, my grandfather’s death, and my sister being raped. ’Tis trust that led to my heart being shattered by the only woman I ever loved.”
Amy blinked. “So you’d rather be miserable and alone than to try to change? To give me the benefit of the doubt?”
“I’ll be miserable and alone either way.”
She nodded and stood up with her soup. “Then be miserable and alone, Craig. That’s what Sìneag said. That you’ll marry someone to strengthen your clan, but you’ll never love her. That you’ll die a lonely man.”
The words drove painful nails into the coffin of his hope.
Amy nodded. “I’ll go tomorrow before breakfast. Good night.”
Craig watched her hair sway, her beautiful round arse move as she walked out of the great hall.
Maybe, it was the last time he’d see her.
Craig lay twisted in his bedding, sleep eluding him that night as memories of Amy riding him, gloriously naked, lust and love mingled in her eyes, filled his mind. She’d be gone tomorrow. Only a night separated him from the biggest loss of his life.
Yes, he’d resolved he wouldn’t see her. But this was stronger than him, beyond what he was capable to resist.
He rose soundlessly from his bed in the lord’s chamber as Owen and the rest of his clan who slept there wheezed and snored. Climbing the stairs to the bedchamber, he opened the door carefully.