Needed By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 5)

by Rebecca Preston

  “Come on, Eamon. Let’s go talk to Da.”

  “Don’t want to,” he whined, pulling at her hand as he tried desperately to get to the beach. Niall looked over, frowning a little as he saw the storm brewing. Helen tried every trick she knew — distraction, pleading, even singing him a song — but within minutes, the little boy was in tears, howling and pointing at the beach, too upset to even use words anymore.

  “Oh, Eamon, come on, little man,” Niall said tensely as he reached them.

  She could see how upset he was — the tension in his body, the grief on his face. He’d been through so much that morning — watching the Kelpies he’d sworn to fight claiming the lives of two of the fishermen he’d sworn to protect, in broad daylight, as though actively daring him to try to do anything about it… it was downright awful. And now, on top of all of that, his son was throwing a tantrum. It’s not Eamon’s fault, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth as she lifted the squirming, screaming boy into his father’s arms. Niall was trying to reason with him — but it was to no avail. Helen gasped as Eamon clenched his tiny fist — and struck his father hard in the side of the head.

  “Eamon!” she gasped.

  He glared down at her, unrepentant — and she saw something in Niall snap. His jaw tight, he half-handed, half-threw Eamon at Helen — she caught the armful of angry child — and then Niall turned and walked away, his shoulders hunched, every line of his body emphasizing the fury he was controlling. Unfortunately, the direction he chose to walk happened to be the direction that Eamon so desperately seemed to want to go — the direction of the shore of the Loch. She could tell that Niall hadn’t chosen that direction consciously, that he was just walking somewhere to blow off the steam that had built up inside him, so he didn’t scream at his son — but the effect it had was immediate and absolute. Eamon seized up, his whole body stiff as a board as he screamed his rage to the sky. He was drumming his fists against her torso, kicking his legs out, his whole body thrashing like a fish — and the sound of his shrieking was echoing out across the Loch, drawing sympathetic looks from the guards on the wall. She wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear him clear on the other side of the Loch. Hell, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d woken the Monster, wherever she was resting, her wounds healing.

  She watched Niall stride across the beach with his head lowered, her heart sinking. Even from here, she could see how defeated he was, how broken. This was worse than she could have possibly imagined. And it had only been two days.

  Chapter 49

  One thing at a time, she told herself firmly. The first step was to calm Eamon down. And that was a much harder step than it sounded like. She’d seen Eamon’s tantrums before, but this one was breaking new ground — she’d never seen him so angry, so violent, so full of rage and fury. For a four-year-old child, he had a grown adult’s share of rage, and he was expelling it all, screaming and roaring, kicking at her, even lashing his head back and forth as though he was going to bite her if she gave him the chance. She didn’t — she simply hung on to him, holding him tight, not responding in any way to the violence, even though she suspected that some of his strikes were going to leave bruises. They’d have a conversation about the harm he was doing later — once he calmed down. Though a scared, angry part of her was worried that he’d never calm down… and a deeper part of her, a part of her she was anything but proud of, wanted to throw him off the edge of the dock and into the water.

  Instead, she just walked up and down the docks, holding him close as he screamed and cried. Eventually he’ll run out of energy, she told herself, drawing on inner reserves of strength she hadn’t known she had.

  This mood would break, the rage would fade, and he would settle down into the little boy she’d known. The little boy, she reminded herself with a pained smile, that she’d come to love over the last few weeks here. Because she did love him — she knew that the same way she knew the sky was blue. For all his trouble, he was a bright, wonderful child, and she wanted nothing more than for him to get through this rage and find a way forward. She had faith in him — she trusted him — she just needed to help him through this tantrum, this furious storm of emotion that had taken over him.

  In the end, he screamed for about an hour. Niall came back to them ten minutes later, but he could barely look at his son — he gave her a look as he walked past, a desperate shake of his head, a vivid look of apology in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” she said softly, meaning it. “We’ll be okay.”

  “I need to talk to the Laird about sharing supplies with the fishermen —”

  “Go,” she said simply. “Eamon and I will be alright.”

  He howled afresh at the sound of his name, but she just held him close, let him shriek. If it’s helping him get through the feelings, she told herself firmly, I can be strong for him and let him scream.

  Niall nodded gratefully and headed up the stairs. He’s been dealing with Eamon for years by himself, she thought wonderingly. No wonder he’d finally reached the point where he couldn’t handle it anymore. She was only glad that she was here to help… but she knew that she wouldn’t be able to do this very often. She and Eamon would need to have a good talk once he was a little calmer.

  Finally, she felt a slow easing in the intensity of the tantrum. Elated that the end was in sight, she held him close, letting him vent the last of his energy — and though it took another half hour, he was finally, blessedly quiet. She waited a moment, holding his limp little form close, just waiting to see if it was a false alarm, if he had any rage left… but it seemed he was done. His face was streaked with tears and his whole body was trembling — her first thought was that he must be dehydrated after a performance like that.

  “Let’s get some water, Eamon,” she said gently. And she carried him into his house, bracing herself for further protests… but it seemed he had lapsed fully into the sulky version of himself. Fine. She’d take sulky and silent over a screaming tantrum any day. She poured him a cup of water and they sat together at the table, Eamon’s eyes fixed on the floor and his expression mutinous even as the tears dried on his cheeks. At her instigation, he took a grumpy sip of the water, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it.

  Niall returned a few minutes later, a frustrated look on his face as he explained that he hadn’t been able to speak to the Laird. It seemed Donal had ridden into the village to ask around about Perry MacCullen. With the deaths of the two fishermen a direct result of his attack on the Monster, calls were getting louder to imprison the man. The surviving fishermen in particular wanted Perry’s hide.

  “And I don’t blame them,” Niall said, frowning heavily.

  Eamon was ignoring his father, still staring at the ground.

  “How’re you doing, Eamon?”

  “Bad,” he spat, looking up murderously at his father.

  “Me too,” Niall said straight away, looking back at him — that seemed to surprise him, and he shut his mouth, a confused look on his face.

  “Drink your water, Eamon,” Helen said, trying to diffuse the tension — but Eamon whipped around, his anger finding a new outlet.

  “No,” he spat, pushing the cup over. “You can’t tell me what to do. I hate you.”

  She’d heard that from her little brothers a million times… but never from Eamon. Somehow, it hurt. Niall was furious — he rose to his feet and pointed to Eamon’s door, thundering at him that he could go to his room and stay there if he was going to act like a baby. Eamon hurled himself out of the chair and stomped off toward his room, fresh tears running down his face.

  “I’m sorry about him,” Niall said, scrubbing at his face with his hands as he sat back down at the table. “I’m absolutely at my wit’s end. I have no idea what to do with him. He’s a monster.”

  “He’s not,” Helen said, rubbing her own forehead tiredly. With the worst of the tantrum over, she was feeling simultaneously more tense and more drained than she ever had. “He’s just confused
and upset. He doesn’t understand what’s happening — just that everyone’s upset, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He feels out of control.”

  “Aye, I know how he feels,” Niall said, gritting his teeth. “That damned fool Perry… I ought to have killed him when I had the chance.”

  She sighed, putting an arm around his shoulders and shuffling her chair closer to his. “Then we’d have a whole different set of problems.”

  “Maybe,” he said flatly. ‘But those two fishermen would still be alive. The Monster would still be doing its work. Who knows how many more people we’re going to lose? Who knows how bold these creatures could be? Even now, they’re probably stalking the villagers. What if they kill the Laird on his ride home?”

  Helen couldn’t think of anything to say to that. After all — he was right. They were in serious trouble. These monsters were getting braver, getting more powerful as time went by. There was nothing that either of them could do. All she could think to do was distract Niall — and so she reached up to claim his lips in a long, lingering kiss, hoping to plant the seeds of an idea that should serve to cheer them both up… at least for a little while. She could feel him responding, feel the passion in him rising as he deepened the kiss, his arm snaking around her back and holding her close. She tried to leave behind all her racing thoughts — her fear of the Kelpies, her worry about their powerlessness, her concern for Eamon…

  Before she knew it, she was in his arms and he was carrying her down the hall to his bedroom, to his bed, the bed she’d crept out of that morning… she tried not to think about that. The whole point of this was to distract them from what they were worrying about… from the Kelpies, from Eamon’s worsening tantrums, from their powerlessness, from the future of their relationship. But she couldn’t help but feel sadness twisting at her stomach as they kissed, as he pulled her clothing loose from her body, as she tugged his belt loose and drew him closer. What was their future, here? How could they be starting something new when so many people were dying, when chaos and despair were all around them? All we have is the present moment, she told herself, trying to find that comforting instead of terrifying.

  Still, they lost themselves in each other for a few hours, and when they finally rolled under the covers, exhausted and replete, the buzzing of endorphins in her body at least went some way to making her feel better about everything. She glanced over at Niall, whose eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his hair damp with sweat as his breathing settled. Like her, he looked worried. Less worried than he had been… but even explosive, passionate sex couldn’t chase away what was worrying them for long. She sighed, shifting over to pillow her head on his shoulder… but he shifted away, looking at her intently.

  “Do you think you might — move in here?”

  She blinked, thrown by the question. “What do you mean?”

  “The bed in the guest quarters… it’s fine, but it’s not nearly as comfortable as mine. You could — I mean, there’s space here for you. You could move your things in here. Live with me. Be with me. Properly, I mean.” He sounded unsure of himself, his eyes lowered — and she found her mind racing at the proposition. Hadn’t she been thinking about taking their relationship more seriously? Shouldn’t she be thrilled to hear that he was thinking this way? But in the wake of everything that was happening, she couldn’t focus on the feeling of joy she should be feeling. All she felt was anxious.

  “Maybe,” she said softly, trying not to let on about how much panic she was feeling. “I mean… I’ve thought about it. Staying in your guest room was only ever a temporary solution…”

  “Aye,” he said, frowning. “So — would you want to move here? Or up to the castle? You have a choice,” he said. “I don’t want you to stay with me if it’s not of your own free will —”

  “I’m thinking about it,” she said firmly, spreading her hands a little helplessly. “I’m sorry, Niall, that’s all I can offer you at the moment. With everything going on, I just —”

  “I understand,” he said shortly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up abruptly.

  She bit her lip, feeling awful. “Niall, it’s not that I don’t —”

  “We’ll revisit the conversation later,” he said shortly.

  She could see his shoulders tensing up again, and she longed to rub them for him, to ease some of that stress… but with how she was feeling at the moment, she didn’t have much spare energy to give.

  “I’d better go and see if Laird Donal is back from the village. Need to get supplies sorted for the fishermen and their families. And the widows,” he added bleakly.

  She sighed, reaching out to touch him as he got up, and he gave her a smile, but he was clearly distracted. Her answer hadn’t satisfied him, it was clear.

  She stayed in bed, unwilling to get up and wander the castle for no reason. She’d slept poorly the last few nights, for various reasons, and she needed the rest. But as she lay there, her mind raced far too much for her to get any sleep. The question of her relationship with Niall… it was a difficult one. She couldn’t stay in his spare room forever. Was she going to move into his room, as his partner? Was she ready to make the relationship that official? Anna had made it clear that there were plenty of spare rooms up in the castle, that she could make her home in any of those chambers… but would that hurt Niall’s feelings?

  It was hard to know what she wanted, in all of this chaos. So she decided to leave the question for another day. Still, it gnawed at her. There was just so much uncertainty. Time would tell, she supposed with a heavy sigh. It always did.

  Chapter 50

  She dozed a little, that afternoon. Not long… just long enough to feel distracted and out of sorts when she woke up later. She got out of Niall’s bed and dressed slowly, not especially sure what she was going to do. Was there any way she could help against the Kelpies? Anything she could do up at the castle? Perhaps she could help Blair in the kitchens… but the familiar sound of screaming distracted her from those thoughts thoroughly. The screams were coming from Eamon’s room, and she sighed heavily, anticipating that another tantrum was on its way. But there was something different about these screams — they weren’t sounds of anger, but of fear.

  She moved to the door, sudden irrational fear gripping her — there was no way a Kelpie could have gotten into Eamon’s room, but nevertheless, that was the image that rose up in her mind. When she opened the door, she chastened herself for that silly thought — there was Eamon, fast asleep in his little bed, tossing and turning in the grips of what looked like a terrible nightmare. The room looked like a hurricane had hit it — she sighed, looking around at the wreckage. He’d hurled all his toys around, and though they were all sturdy, well-built wooden toys, she could see that he’d managed to do some damage, with many of the toys showing chipped paint where they’d struck the wall. Still, that was the least of her concerns right now. She slipped to his bedside, frowning as he screamed again, his eyes flickering under his closed lids. It seemed like a nasty dream… and she had a suspicion she knew what had caused it.

  Should she wake him up? She was always worried about doing that — she’d heard it could make the nightmare worse to be jerked out of it suddenly. But she couldn’t just leave him there, tossing and turning, clearly terrified. She settled for sitting on his bedside, gently stroking the damp hair out of his face — and before too long, he began to stir, his eyes sliding open blearily as he came slowly out of his nightmare. Those eyes lifted to her, widened.

  “Mam?”

  She took a deep breath, taken aback by that. He was staring at her intently, clearly confused — but then he began to wake up more, and a frown began to spread across his face. He’d mistaken her for his mother, she thought dully, feeling heartbroken for the poor child. Hadn’t he said that she looked a little like her, that first day they’d met? She felt a strange pang of guilt that she couldn’t be what he needed — and she reached out to stroke his hair again, hoping to offer him some
comfort.

  “No, Eamon. I’m sorry. Were you having a bad dream?”

  But there were tears in his eyes now — and she could see anger beginning to build up in his little body, a familiar shadow of the tantrum. No, she thought faintly. She couldn’t do this again. Not another tantrum. Not so close to the other one — not with Niall still out, dealing with the Laird or whatever it was he was doing.

  “Please, Eamon. Please don’t —”

  “Want my mama,” he whispered, his teeth gritted and a look of absolute powerlessness on his face. “Want her! Not you!”

  “I’m so sorry, Eamon. I know you miss her —”

  “You want to be her,” he snarled, glaring at her as he sat up in bed, reaching up with one hand to strike her fingers away from his face. She withdrew her hand, feeling hurt by the strike. “You’re trying to replace her! Well, you can’t. You could never.”

  “I don’t want to replace her, Eamon —”

  “Yes you do! Everyone does. Da tries, everyone tries. But no-one’s as good as her and they never will be and she’s never coming back! I hate you,” he added, glaring at her — and she realized with a shock that he was trying to hurt her. Lashing out, trying to inflict his own pain on her… she recognized it, and it sent a burst of surprising anger through her.

  “I don’t want to be your mother,” she snapped — and though she felt a wave of regret the minute she’d said it, it certainly did a good job of silencing the boy. He sat bolt upright, a look of shock on his face. “I don’t want to be anyone’s mother, so get that straight.”

  He swallowed, trying to rally. “Yes you do,” he said, uncertainly — but the denial was weak.

  She stared down at him, still angry, still at a complete loss for what to say. She wanted to help him, but she didn’t want him to think she was trying to be his mother. But she couldn’t leave him — not after saying something like that. She didn’t want him to feel abandoned, either. And then, abruptly, his green eyes were swimming with tears — and he burst out crying, burying his face in her shoulder. These weren’t the screaming, raging tears he’d shed earlier — this wasn’t a tantrum. These were tears of abject grief… and she wiped them away again and again as he peered miserably up at her, the gale of grief shaking his tiny body.