by Mariah Stone
Strangely, Manning had described precisely how it felt to Ian.
“’Tis what I deserve,” Ian said.
A weak breeze ruffled the almost still surface of the loch, bringing the scent of fresh water and fish. Crickets chirped, unaware of the human misery. Manning’s wrinkled face smoothed.
“’Tis a pile of horse shite if I ever heard one.”
Ian chuckled. He’d heard Manning swear countless times, but never had his words been supportive.
Manning spat on the ground between his bent knees. “Ye dinna deserve anything like that. ’Tis enough of suffering for this family.”
The old man sighed and shook his head.
“I’ve been in service to the Cambels my whole life. I havna marrit because of it—nae that I regret it, mind ye. I saw yer father as a lad, and then in his best years, and I saw him happy. But when God took yer mother, his misery began. Ye dinna ken yer father in his full strength and potential. But I kent him, and I ken ye.”
He paused as his voice broke, and he chewed on something. His eyes reddened and watered.
“And it isna worth it, lad,” his voice shook. “It isna worth it. Before ye ken it, ye’re as old as I am and stink like a fart. And all ye have is yer past. And if ’tis full of misery and loneliness and regret…ye realize nothin’ is worth it.”
He met Ian’s eyes, and Ian held his breath at the amount of pain in Manning’s gaze.
“I canna do anything about it now,” Manning said. “Yer father couldna do anything about yer mother in his time. But ye can do something.”
Ian studied Manning, speechless. Was he going mad, or was there truth in Manning’s words?
“But ’tis different for me, Manning. I let her go because I canna make her happy.”
“Why nae?”
“Because I’m broken. Some wounds are too deep and never heal.”
“Aye. I ken. And some people want ye nae matter what. Wounds, cracks, scars, and all.”
Ian shook his head. “Nae. I canna make her happy. I dinna deserve her.”
“Ye shouldna decide it for her, dinna ye think?”
Ian stiffened. Manning was right. Ian was deciding for Kate. Just like his masters in Baghdad had decided for him: who he killed; what he ate; when he went to piss. He was taking away Kate’s freedom to choose because he was convinced he would never be whole. But what if he didn’t need to be whole? Kate wasn’t entirely happy with herself, either, yet Ian loved her more than anything in this world.
What if he’d been terribly, terribly wrong? What if God had forgiven him for all the murders he’d done? What if his way to redemption was protecting his people, which he had done and continued to do?
The dreadful feeling that he’d done something irreversibly wrong bit into him.
“Nae, I shouldna decide for her,” Ian said. “But I did.”
How would his life be, had he let her stay? She’d cook him dinner. He’d get fat from all the delicious food. He’d make love to her every day until she forgot who she was from sheer bliss. He’d marry her—make her his and make honoring and protecting her his life’s mission.
Mayhap, that would be the best redemption for his sins that he could wish for. Making the best woman he’d ever known deliriously happy. Giving her children. Giving her her heart’s desires.
Ian’s eyes watered, and he pressed a thumb and index finger against his eyes to stop tears from spilling.
What had he done? Chased Kate away when she’d wanted to stay with him. When she’d said she loved him. When the happiness of a lifetime had been within his grasp and he’d just had to reach out and take it.
“I didna like the lass because she came so righteous into my kitchen,” Manning said, “but I do see what she meant about cleanliness. The food tastes better, and I am nae sick as often as before. She’s good for ye, Ian. Find her. Ask her to come back.”
Ian nodded. “I would. But I canna. She went home. And ye ken she’s from far away.”
Manning hung his head. “Aye, ’tis bad, Ian. Mayhap she’ll come back?”
Ian shook his head. “I’m afraid ’tis too late. After what I’ve said to her, she’s never going to come back. So mayhap I did get my punishment from God after all. Life without the love of my life.”
Chapter 33
New York State, late August 2020
Kate straightened the gray medieval dress she had from 1308 with trembling fingers. It had been so hard to put it on in the first place when she wouldn’t be wearing it to go back in time to Ian. She glanced at the gatehouse of the Renaissance fair. People dressed in bright medieval costumes and in regular modern clothes entered and exited the gates, faces relaxed, cheerful.
They enjoyed pretending they were in medieval times. If she told them she’d really made the trip, would they believe her? Would they be envious? Or call 911 to commit her to a psychiatric unit?
It had been about a month since Kate had moved to New York City and worked on opening a new restaurant. This one would be medieval with a modern touch. Inspired by her experience, she wanted to bring the historic and the modern together in a mix that would be beautiful and unforgettable.
Like her and Ian. Yes, that was what the restaurant represented to her. Her and Ian. The strange mix between times that had changed her whole life.
How was Ian? She thought about him every single day, hoping, praying he was okay and alive in his own time, and that he had survived those wounds.
She couldn’t be with Ian physically, but at least by cooking and working in her restaurant, she’d feel closer to him. Be able to think of him, pretend that she was cooking for him. Imagine his awestruck expression as he devoured her food.
Kate walked to the gates, checked in, and stepped into the fair. White German houses with dark-brown timber framing lined the central street. There was an inn, an apothecary, a “drinking house,” a tailor, and a shoemaker. All that looked more like a fairy tale than what Kate had seen in medieval Scotland, with its low, gray stone buildings and thatched roofs.
Nevertheless, her heart thumped in her chest. Behind every corner, she was looking for Ian’s tall, mighty frame, for the fire of his red hair, and her heart froze when she didn’t see him.
Why was she even here?
She’d told herself it was to get inspiration for the menu and for the restaurant, but now, having come here, she wasn’t sure if this modern representation would do anything but remind her of her heartbreak.
The truth was, she wanted to feel closer to Ian. She missed him so much it was hard to breathe. Her new life in the Bronx, the small apartment she shared with three roommates, her search for a place to rent and preparation of a business plan to show potential investors—all that distracted her for a short while from thinking of him. But eventually she’d have a second to herself, and her mind would flip to Ian.
Kate walked past the central street and into a market with different stalls and booths. People wandered around, drank, ate, and looked at belts, beaded necklaces, silver jewelry, dresses, tunics, knives, swords, and spices. The scent here was divine—freshly grilled meat that had been marinated in vinegar, baked goods, along with beer and wine, which were sold from giant barrels, much like the ones she’d seen in Manning’s kitchen.
The thought made anguish rise in her like heartburn.
Even in this fake medieval world, she felt more at home than in New York. She didn’t miss just Ian. She missed the sight of the loch and the mountains. The scent of a freshly baked bread in the open fire. The comforting feeling of honest work in the kitchen, where everything was done by hand not machines, and food was grown on the land, not bought in plastic packages from a supermarket.
Farther along, two small towers stood, not taller than two floors, and probably made of foam plastic. Kate thought of Inverlochy, its massive, impenetrable towers and walls, and chuckled to herself. There surely weren’t any Pictish time traveling rocks underneath the foundation of that castle.
But if there were, would she go?
Just as she thought that, her eyes fell on the tall broad-shouldered figure of a man with short red hair, dressed in a tunic and the leine croich, the heavy quilted coat Ian wore instead of armor. He stood half turned, with his back to her, fiddling with a knife in his hands. There was a claymore in the sheath at his waist.
Kate’s knees shook violently, and she locked them, but they only trembled harder. Her breath rushed in and out as though she were having an asthma attack. She walked on weak legs towards him.
She stood right next to him, still unable to see his face.
“Ian?” she said.
The man turned.
Blue eyes. Not brown.
The nose was short, and he was much younger, his face rounded without Ian’s strong cheekbones.
Her heart sank. Her eyes prickled from tears, and her throat convulsed in an attempt to stop them.
“I could be, my fair lady,” the man said with a crooked smile. “If you give me a kiss.”
He was American. No deep Scottish burr.
“Sorry.” She shook her head and walked away from him.
“Your loss,” he murmured in return.
Oh, how she missed Ian. Silly her, thinking he might find her here, at a Renaissance fair. Despite none of this being authentic, it had been the closest she’d felt to him since she’d left. And that alone made her want to check into the inn and live here permanently.
Her life was empty without him. All her attempts to re-create the connection she’d had with him were just that, attempts.
She’d never live a full life without love. Without happiness. Even that doppelgänger she’d met just now, had been merely a shadow of Ian—a shadow that had made her shake and tremble and almost have a heart attack.
Would she even be able to be happy with Ian given her issues, given that her whole life she’d been looking for ways to make herself worthy? But that wasn’t what she’d been doing with him. And it wasn’t what she’d been doing in New York.
She wasn’t looking for external approval through her restaurant. Not even from her new friends and colleagues.
No.
She was going her own way. She had her own idea and New York City was a great environment to realize it, without begging for anyone to accept her for who she was.
The feeling was new, and yet familiar. It was how Ian had made her feel. That she was okay the way she was.
She just hadn’t realized it. Now she knew she deserved to be loved and appreciated.
Kate turned and walked towards the castle, then stopped to look at a jewelry booth. A woman in a dark-green hooded cloak stood there, studying a beaded necklace in her hands. Kate couldn’t see her face, but she looked familiar. Curly dark-red hair was visible from under her hood.
She looked like…
The woman looked up.
“Sìneag,” Kate breathed.
Sìneag beamed. “Kate! I was hoping to find ye here.”
Kate went to Sìneag and pulled her a little away from the fuss around the tent.
“What are you doing here?” Kate asked.
“I came to see how ye’re doing.”
“But how did you know where to find me?”
“Oh, lass.” Sìneag giggled. “I ken many more things than ye think. Ye dinna think I’m just a woman, do ye?”
Kate narrowed her eyes. Had she heard the woman right? Not just a woman? “What do you mean?”
“Ah.” Sìneag sighed. “Ye mortals. Always so skeptical. Dinna fash yerself, lass. I came to help. Ye walk around like a dead kelpie. Yer eyes are empty. Yer stride has nae lively spring. Do ye nae think ’tis enough that ye torture yerself and Ian?”
She tortured Ian? She’d wanted to stay with him. He was the one who’d told her to leave. But before she got angry, she needed to know if Ian had survived his wounds.
“Have you seen him? Is he okay? He was so badly wounded when I left.”
“Aye, if ye can call that alive. He walks around in even worse shape than ye.”
Kate swallowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means, he misses ye.”
Kate’s stomach squeezed and filled with hummingbirds.
“Did he change his mind?”
“What if he didna?”
Kate inhaled deeply, then let out a slow breath.
“I know he loves me. He has shown it to me many times. Because he loves me, he tried to protect me and send me away. He didn’t think his love was good enough for me. But what he doesn’t understand is that he’s actually the only one who can make me happy.”
A decision cemented in Kate’s mind. It felt so right, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle settling into place.
“I want to go back,” she said. “I need to see him and open his eyes. I’ll make him see. I felt so much more at home back there.”
“What about yer restaurant?” Sìneag asked, her eyes shining slyly.
“Deli Luck is doing great. My sister does a fantastic job. And the new restaurant I had this idea for… Well, the only reason I wanted to open it is because it would make me feel closer to Ian. And what is closer to Ian than being right next to him?”
Sìneag smiled, satisfied. “I do love it when you mortals come to yer senses!”
“So, how do I go back?”
“Ye ken the way, lass.”
Kate hugged Sìneag, her heart beating violently. She’d been wanting to go back this whole time, and now she realized she could. Her place was there. She’d see Ian very soon. She just needed to make some arrangements, give notice at the apartment, and go see Mandy and Jax to say goodbye.
Then she’d change her life forever for the second time. And go live her happily ever after with the Highlander who’d stolen her heart.
Chapter 34
Dundail, September 1308
“Dinna jump back, Frangean,” Ian cried. “Just step aside and slash him from the left.”
Frangean glanced back at Ian and nodded, then resumed slamming his sword against that of his combat partner.
The courtyard before Dundail was full of shouts, knocks of wood against wood, and the ringing of metal against metal. Recent rain had turned the ground into mud, and men moved their feet with difficulty, sometimes slipping and falling, but continuing to practice. It was good to train in different conditions—just like battles in real life, you never knew what the weather would be.
Ian leaned forward and rubbed his stiff, aching leg. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever regain full control of the limb, but he wasn’t sorry for it verra much. He’d give his leg for the chance to change the past and make Kate stay instead of chasing her away.
The training went well, and he could see the men and the boys had made significant progress since the battle for MacFilib’s farm. The farm had burned to the ground, but Frangean, who was the only heir, was more interested in being a warrior than a farmer.
Ian wished the lad had chosen farming.
Still. Someone had to protect the land and the people. Such were the times.
He hoped Kate was living happily in more peaceful times. He was at more peace, as well. At least, he’d had no more nightmares of Baghdad or the ship. Not a single one. But the hunger for her presence was eating him alive. He dreamed of her every night. Her whispering “I love you.” Her warm, soft, silky body trembling from desire and pleasure in his arms. The taste of her, the smell that drove him wild lingered in his mind long after he woke up.
He couldn’t take it. Despite his wounds, he needed the relief.
The air was chilly, but he removed his tunic, letting the crisp air cool down his skin.
“Who wants the best damn practice of yer life?” Ian roared.
Men stopped fighting and looked at him.
“Three against one, who’s in?” Ian continued.
Mayhap, he was a savage after all, because this brought him relief, throwing all that tension, all that misery into a direction that would be useful. Three men stepped forward, including Frangean.
&nb
sp; “Arrrgh!” the lad cried and launched at Ian with his claymore raised high above his head.
The other two followed, and Ian took his position. Their swords at the ready, they attacked. Ian deflected them, spun, whirled, ducked. He breathed through the pain that was tearing his chest and leg apart.
Damnation. He was slower, much slower than he used to be. But he’d already fought through the wounds many times, and he knew how to spare his strength and use his body economically.
“Stop this at once!” a woman cried.
The voice was so painfully familiar it brought the immediate image of the bonnie blonde he was breathing for.
The men froze and Ian stopped as well. Panting, he turned around and almost dropped his sword.
It was her.
She stood by the Dundail house in a warm woolen cloak with a hood on. A big, full bag lay by her feet. Her golden hair shone under the hood. She looked thinner but just as bonnie, her blue eyes shining with anger.
Ian’s heart must have stopped. He must have ceased to exist for a split moment. The ground shifted under his feet, and he stopped feeling his body.
“Kate…” he said, and it came out like a whisper, like a secret prayer.
She walked to him with broad, angry strides and stopped in front of him.
“What are you doing, Ian? Are you insane? First of all, you’re clearly still recovering from your wounds.” She pointed at the ugly red scar on his chest. “Second of all, it’s September, for God’s sake! And you’re shirtless. Do you want to die of pneumonia, too? I just came back. I won’t let you die on me.”
She left his proximity, to Ian’s disappointment, walked to where his tunic was lying forgotten in the mud, picked it up, and came back to him. She shoved it into his hands. Speechless, he put the tunic back on.
“Did ye come to berate me?” he rasped. “Had I kent ’twas how to summon ye, I’d have walked shirtless every day since ye left.”
She smiled. A small, bonnie smile that she hid by pursing her lips.
“You were the one who told me to go,” she said.
“Dinna listen to me. I was a fool.”