Entwined

by Elizabeth Marshall

  “What do you suppose those two are using it for?” I asked.

  “Not to keep in touch with people,” Rose said with a laugh. “And they don’t look like they are playing games, so I’m kinda guessing they must be working.”

  “I hope they appreciate what a loyal friend you are,” I said, sending us both into laughter.

  “So, what plans you got for tonight?” Rose asked when at last we stopped laughing.

  “I thought I’d finish off here and then turn in. You?”

  “Pretty much the same to be honest. I ordered a new book and it arrived today. I think I’ll take it upstairs and have a quiet night with a cuppa.”

  “Don’t suppose you have a spare book I could borrow?”

  “As it goes I do. I’ve some in my room. I’ll give it you when we get upstairs.”

  “Thanks, Rose.”

  A mug of hot chocolate and a warm shower later and I was snuggled up in bed with the book Rose had lent me.

  I was so engrossed in the book that I didn’t hear my husband enter the room. It was only once he sat down on the bed beside me that I noticed him.

  “Good book?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at the cover.

  “Actually it is,” I replied.

  “A love story?” he asked.

  “I saw your face when you noticed the cover. You already know it’s a love story.”

  “Care to share the details with me?”

  “No. If you want to know, you’ll have to read it yourself,” I replied, bringing the book back up to cover my face.

  “I’m in the shower if you need me,” he said, clearly annoyed at being ignored.

  I continued to devour the book until my eyes grew heavy, and eventually I was forced to put it down and settle my head heavily on the pillow.

  It wasn’t long before Simon slid into the bed beside me. He reached out and pulled me towards him. “Learn anything worth sharing?” he said, with a cheeky smile.

  “Perhaps,” I said playfully.

  “Well then?” he asked.

  “Not now. I’m tired,” I replied with a wide yawn.

  “Can I ask you something?” he asked.

  “Mmm,” I mumbled, closing my eyes.

  “Will you go and see this doctor Rose was talking about?”

  “So she mentioned it to you too?”

  “Aye, lass, she did.”

  “Can we discuss it in the morning?”

  “We can, but I would like it very much if you would at least hear the girl out.”

  “Alright, I’ll hear her out tomorrow,” I moaned grumpily closing my eyes.

  “Thank you,” he said, resting his hand on my thigh. “I miss you, Corran.”

  “I miss you too,” I murmured, nudging closer to Simon so that our legs touched beneath the covers.

  His lips curved up in a smile as he rolled himself onto his side to face me. Resting his elbow on the mattress he supported his head in the palm of his hand and surveyed me quizzically.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t care to share the details of your book?”

  “I …”

  Before I had the opportunity to object he leaned over and covered my mouth with his, my hand instinctively reached out and our fingers entwined. His kiss grew ever more urgent and I could feel the weight of him against me, a solid mass of muscle, firm and strong. His hair hung around his shoulders like a thick black mane and as he moved it lightly brushed against the base of my neck. I could feel the rough stubble of his chin prickling against my face and quivered as a low groan escaped his throat. His lips teased my mouth, his tongue skimmed the edges of my lips and his teeth lightly nipped at my bottom lip. A shiver of excitement ran through me as his hands cupped my hips and he pulled me hard against him.

  “Would you like to hear about a book I read?” he asked, with a low chuckle.

  “Do I have much choice?” I asked, breathlessly.

  “Do you want a choice?”

  I swallowed hard and shook my head in surrender.

  The following morning, after Simon and Duncan had left for the shop, I sat across the table from Rose staring at some registration forms. The questions were endless and each one as unanswerable as the next. Name and address of previous G.P, date of birth, place of birth, previous address, family medical history…

  “So what do I do now?” I asked, throwing the ballpoint pen across the table in frustration. “I can’t answer a single one of these questions.”

  Rose picked up the pen and held it out in front of me.

  “Yeah you can,” she replied patiently.

  “How?” I asked, raising my hands palm up in front of me.

  “We’ll make up the answers.”

  “What?”

  “We’ll create a credible past for you.”

  “How I am supposed to come up with a credible reason for why I don’t exist?”

  I looked again at the pen, still held aloft in front of me and slid it from my friend’s hand.

  “Just tell me what to say,” I said, eventually, tapping the pen’s end on the table top.

  “We tell them you’re a traveler.”

  Despite the master plan, I still stumbled at the first question. Simon and I had never actually married. Even in our own time we had resisted the use of our real names and had therefore been unable to officially marry. Simon had asked me to be his wife and I had agreed. As far as I was concerned we were bound in marriage as firmly as if we had stood in a church and been declared married by a priest. Until this moment I hadn’t thought about our family name. I was, of course, born a MacDonald, and Simon a Campbell, but at one point we had borrowed the identity of a ship’s captain and gone by the name of Lamont. Now I stared at the question and wondered if perhaps the time had come to stop hiding from the past for the sake of the child I carried. Finally, I signed the forms Corran Campbell.

  ******

  CHAPTER 6

  In the weeks that followed, life became one frantic round of appointments, childbirth classes, and parenting advice. It was all annoying and invasive but also deeply reassuring.

  My thoughts turned inwards, filled only with the tiny, precious life that grew inside me. I saw little of Simon and Duncan, and didn’t argue when they banned me from the shop. Too easily I became too distracted to pay close attention to their lives. They indulged me, encouraging the natural instincts of a pregnant woman, until my grasp on reality had slipped so far that my only conversation and thought was for the baby. It became stifling and I began to suffocate under the mountain of mother and baby magazines, endless daytime television programs, housework, and cooking.

  I climbed the stairs to bed alone, my husband’s attention taken with laptops and books. Rose had gone out to meet her friend Kate for a drink, and Duncan sat beside his father, absorbed in the wonders of this new world. I lifted a book from my bedside table and flipped through the pages. It was sleep I needed, not words. Sliding between the duvet and sheet I settled myself with a pillow propped between my knees. My eyes closed and my mind cleared as I reached out to rest my hand on the cold cotton where my husband should have been.

  I opened my eyes and found myself floating in air, yet somehow still on the ground standing without effort. All I could see around me was a soft golden glow. I was warm and more comfortable than I had been in a long time. I could see the Stag in the distance, majestic and proud. He began walking toward me. As it gracefully walked, it transformed into a familiar face, a familiar person. I was suddenly face to face with my grandmother; she was somehow ghost-like.

  “But… how? Are you my grandmother?” I asked, confused, yet somehow reassured.

  “I am not who you think I am,” chuckled the spirit. “Last time we spoke, I was too injured to take this form.”

  I seemed to disregard how cryptic the answer was and I accepted it, moving on to another question. “Why are you here again?”

  “To guide you.”

  Every time the being spoke, it seemed to lift my soul up; it w
as a feeling I had never felt before. I wanted her to keep talking, so I paused, waiting for her to talk some more.

  “You’re the Stag, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “You have so much to learn. So much to experience,” she raised her hand to my face and stroked it, her entire body emitting a beautiful golden glow, one much stronger than our surroundings. “I have visited you before, have I not?” her words were spoken in such softness. I nodded in reply. “Oh, Corran. My sweet Corran. You have no idea of the sacrifice that will be made for you…”

  “Sacrifice?”

  “Yes my dear, one that should have been made the first time around.” The being sighed, “But unfortunately, consciousness can be a blessing and a curse.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “When someone is faced with a choice of whether to live or die, they will instinctively choose to live, don’t you think?”

  “I guess so…” I replied.

  “What about sacrifice then? Is the heart more powerful than instinct?”

  “I don’t know… Maybe,” I was unsure how to answer.

  “Things are not as they seem, my dear.” As the being said this, she transformed. She no longer looked like my grandmother, but now looked like Angus. A feeling of nausea came over me as I blinked, and everything had changed. I was back on the farm and Angus stood in front of me. Terrified, I ran to the window to see a young Duncan playing in the fields with Eilidh and Shannon. My instincts rose to the fore, and I screamed for them to run… But no words came out. I tried to go to them, but I could no longer move. I was powerless. Angus turned toward the door, staring at me, smiling wickedly. I used every ounce of strength in my body to try and move. It was useless. Tears of anger flowed down my cheeks. The fear of Angus hurting my family consumed my mind. I remembered the time the Stag had first spoken to me, when Simon’s body had lain lifeless on the floor of our home in York. It was this memory that enabled me to move. I flung myself at Angus, only to find my body thrown into another place.

  I hit the cold ground and I looked up to find I was back on the mountain. Snow pelted at my face as it had done the first time I had died. Was this it? Was I going to die again? I felt exactly as I had done all those years ago, drained, ready to give up. In the distance I saw the Stag, emitting its beautiful golden glow. Transforming, it took the form of a familiar face again. This time, it was my own. I quickly staggered to my feet. The snow ceased, and my surroundings changed once more. I was back in the warm place with the golden glow.

  “You are special, Corran. Your heart is far more powerful than your instincts. There are few people like you in this world,” my doppelganger said, brushing her hand over my cheek. I stared in amazement at the novelty of someone who was identical to me in looks.

  “What are you?”

  “I can be your worst nightmare, or I can be your most pleasant dream,”

  “Why are you doing this?” I asked.

  “To guide you.”

  “You’ve already said that! How is this guiding me?!” I shouted.

  “You have to see that for yourself.” The figure transformed again, this time into a tall well-built man, his golden glow as strong as when my grandmother stood before me. At first I thought he was Simon. He looked much younger but had the same hair, build and stance. The man stood proudly, with a smile on his face, looking into the distance. He seemed happy.

  “Simon?” I asked. The figure remained silent. I leant out to touch him, but as I did, he transformed again. This time, into the same man, but different. His long black hair was combed back in a tail, held fast by a thin leather thong. As my eyes studied his form I noticed a scar that cut diagonally from one side of his face to the other and a dark gaping hole where his right eye should have been. Memories of a cold Saturday afternoon flooded my mind taking me back to Grope Lane when this man had saved me from a dreadful experience by murdering a thug without a moment’s thought. His face was young, yet tired; as if worn by events long since passed. I reached out to touch him, drawn by him, but, as I did, his smile faded into a dark scowl and the glow was gone. What had happened to make him like this? I was startled when the figure turned abruptly to look directly at me. His eye locked on mine, staring, searching deep into my soul as if he had found something for which he had spent an eternity searching.

  “It’s funny,” the man spoke with a deep grumble.

  “What is?” I inquired.

  “It’s funny how events can change a person,” he said, casting his eye into the distance, this time his look was yearning. A sadness consumed me, tore at my heart but I didn’t understand the pain. I knew this man, I knew him well, as well as I know my husband. But this wasn’t my husband. This was a man with a different life; a past of which I had not been a part of.

  Was that it?

  Was this what the Stag was showing me?

  The product of things that could have been.

  Was this my husband at the mercy of a different fate?

  “Simon?” I asked again. The figure transformed, this time, back into my grandmother, regaining its warm golden glow back.

  “No, my dear Corran. You’ve already figured out that I’m the Stag,” she said, smiling at me.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “He is the victim in all of this.”

  “The victim of what?!” I shouted, irritated that she wouldn’t give me a straight answer. The smile faded from her face as she transformed back into Angus.

  “When instinct becomes more powerful than the heart,” he said.

  “I don’t understand…”

  “He is the victim of revenge, death and envy. Yet at the same time, he delivers all three,” Angus’ words were sincere and heart-felt. I was bewildered, afraid, drawn to this character yet repulsed by him.

  “What does this have to do with me?” I shouted. The figure transformed into me again, but something was wrong. I glared in horror as I realized that the figure standing before me was my own dead body. The lifeless eyes gazed back at me. Her arm, covered in dead rotting flesh, reached out and grabbed my wrist as she leant over and whispered, “You must always keep with you that fate is never certain. Fate does not dictate our actions - our actions dictate our fate.”

  My eyes sprang open, fixing on the cream curtains at the bay window. I was cold, shivering, my face was wet with tears. I moved my eyes to where my husband should be, his pillows dented and the duvet creased where he had slept. “It was only a dream”, I whispered to the empty room.

  I craved freedom, fresh air, sunshine, even the sound of traffic was a welcome distraction. I needed to leave the house, needed to stimulate my mind beyond thoughts of pregnancy and motherhood. In a moment of rebellious abandon I chose to leave the house unaccompanied. Gathering my coat from the under-stairs cupboard and pocketing the front door keys, I headed off in the direction of the city library. At least there, I reasoned, I would be able to choose something to read that didn’t involve birthing, breathing, counting or cooking.

  I made my way cautiously down the icy stone steps of Skeldergate Bridge and followed the river into the city. It was a grey, cold, winter’s morning. I caught the chill of a breeze through my sweater and made the decision to buy a coat that would do up over my swollen belly. I wondered idly where the past few months had gone. The baby had grown heavy and the short walk had left me exhausted, out of breath and aching. My body had changed beyond recognition and I secretly looked forward to the day when it would become mine again. The dream returned to haunt me as a vision of Angus filling my mind. I jumped as someone bumped into me.

  “Sorry,” I muttered instinctively, but the man ploughed on rudely ahead. “Oh well, be rude then,” I hissed under my breath. “I don’t know why I bothered apologizing!” I said, raising my voice a tad, but knowing he was out of hearing range.

  As I watched him stride ahead, his long winter coat lapping mid way down his calves and his black hair pulled back from his face and held in place with a th
in leather thong, I thought there was something vaguely familiar about him, and for a moment mistook him for my husband, but then dismissed the idea as ridiculous. I shook my head, annoyed at my paranoia, and took a few tentative steps forwards, but I was shaking and my heart thudded like a bass drum. It was the man from my dream, the man who was my husband – but wasn’t. The man with twisted features and a gaping hole where his eye should be. My eyes shifted nervously along the path. Feeling suddenly vulnerable, I turned to run home but paused. What I really wanted was my husband, my real husband. Not this contorted dream. With little conscious thought I drifted toward Ouse Bridge and the city, eventually finding myself walking through the door of the antique shop.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Simon roared, as the bell above the shop door alerted him to my presence. His features personified the thunder that had just bellowed from his mouth and his eyes glared dangerously across at me. I hadn’t anticipated his reaction. Without warning, my eyes welled up and tears flowed freely down my face.

  I didn’t notice him move, but suddenly he was at my side, his strong arms around me, holding me, comforting me. I could hear his voice, tender and soft in my ears, his breath warm and gentle on my neck. The sting of his temper had gone but still I cried until my head ached and my cheeks stung from the tears. When at last I looked up at him I saw the fury in his eyes had been replaced by a flash of fear.

  “Don’t look so worried, love. I had a bad dream last night and it’s unsettled me, that’s all.”

  He didn’t return my smile, his eyes still stared dark as a graveyard at midnight. “No lass, there are things you don’t yet know that cause my worry. You should not be out in the city alone.”

  My emotions flicked from guilt to anger. Between Simon and the doctors you would think no woman had ever delivered a baby before.

  “I have been watching women give birth since I was little more than a child myself. You are smothering me! I came to see you because I was upset. Yes, it was silly and I know that bumping into a man on the banks of the river is hardly cause to run to you, but I needed you.”