by Eno, Laura
The only time she left Dad's side was for a brief trip to her apartment to grab some clothes and her passport. Nick wasn't there, fortunately. She glanced at her few possessions and realized they were only objects, easily left behind. Her perspective about life and what mattered most had changed forever—even if she didn't succeed in her quest to go back.
Her father had noticed the difference too, commenting on it earlier. That, more than anything had convinced him her experience was real. Not that he had doubted her in the first place but it infused the story with concrete evidence. Deanna smiled to herself as she recalled him saying how proud he was of the woman she'd become. No matter how old we are, she thought, we still seek the approval of our parents.
With a last glance around, Deanna left the apartment without regret, locking the door behind her with her head held high.
Nervousness gnawed at her stomach several days later as Deanna stepped onto the plane. She'd cleared out her savings account the night before, using most of it to write out a check to Nick. Her dad would mail it to him. Maybe it was guilt money but at least she could leave having made good on her promise.
Her nerves were another matter, not banished by throwing money at them. What if her plan didn't work? She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand, annoyed with herself for dwelling on it. Her father had told her to think positively about her actions. It was something she intended to do, even if she developed an ulcer while trying to heed his words.
***
Highlands, April 2011
Her heart lurched to her throat as the hotel came into view. Seeing it again, Deanna now realized how utterly different it was from the 16th century version. She jumped from the car before Mr. MacFegan had a chance to open her door and greeted him in a rush. All she wanted to do at this point was run to the graveyard.
"It's nice to see you again, Mr. MacFegan." Oops. He wouldn't be meeting her for another year.
A blank look crossed his face. "Have we met before? You are Ms. Cameron, right?"
"I'm sorry. No, we haven't." She left him baffled and shook his hand, not trying to explain her gaffe. "I want to wander around outside first before I come in, if you don't mind?"
"You do whatever you please." He gave her a puzzled smile, probably thinking she was deranged, Deanna thought. "Mind your step out here. There may be wee patches of ice. I'll get my coat and give you a tour, if you'd like?"
"No, I'm fine, thank you. I'll be in soon." Or not at all, if my plan works.
He tipped his head and took her bag from the driver as Deanna headed straight for the graveyard. She admonished herself to walk with care; it wouldn't do to arrive back in the 1500's with a broken leg.
The small gate stood open and she could no longer keep to a decorous pace, plunging toward the headstones at a dead run. Removing the brooch from her pocket, she held it up to the light like a high priestess seeking supplication. The gems sparkled in the cold sunlight but no funnel of air formed around her.
Dejected but by no means defeated, Deanna wandered deeper into the yard. It was only her first attempt, she told herself. Who knew what conditions had to be in order to make it work? She would keep trying until it finally happened.
And what if it never does? Are you going to beg for a job here? Become the Bean Sidhe to entertain the tourists?
"Shut up," she mumbled out loud, startling a raven from its perch in the tree next to her. It had to work. It did before.
Thinking of the Bean Sidhe, Deanna moved over to where she'd seen the washer woman kneeling in front of a headstone—one that hadn't been there five hundred years ago. The stone was weathered and chipped, with seemingly nothing at all on its face until Deanna realized she was looking at the back of it.
She sank to her knees and touched the lettering with her fingertips. Ian MacAoidh. Gaelic for Mackay. The dates were harder to read and Deanna used her coat sleeve to scrub at the dirt nestled in the engraving. 1482 – 1513.
A gasp escaped her throat. Ian had only been thirty-one when he'd died. Why so young? If she could get back there, would it change anything?
No headstone for her sat next to him, either. Because she hadn't gone back yet—or because she wasn't able to at all? So many unanswered questions.
Deanna rose, surprised to see the sun so low in the sky. Her knees ached, as if she'd been kneeling for a long time. Her fingers had stiffened around the brooch and she worked to get it back into her pocket.
She saw Mr. MacFegan's face peering out at her through the back windows as she made her way toward the hotel. He must think she was crazy. That made her laugh like a loon. She probably was. She certainly felt like it.
He didn't say anything to her as Deanna walked in, only ushered her into the great hall to stand before the fire. Tears accumulated in her eyes as Ian's portrait stared down at her from its place over the mantel, seeming to smile at her and question why she left him.
"I didn't mean to," she whispered, no longer caring what Mr. MacFegan thought of her bizarre behavior. "I'm trying to get back."
"Why dinna I show you to your room, lass?" Mr. MacFegan said kindly. "You can rest and talk to me about whatever troubles you over supper."
Deanna sniffed and took the tissue he offered. "I'd like that. Thank you." Maybe he would understand. After all, he'd told her there was magic here in Scotland. Perhaps he also believed in it.
Chapter Forty-One
"The Laird was last seen at Flodden Field and history says he died there." Mr. MacFegan struck a match to his pipe as they sat out on the back porch. Deanna inhaled the rich smells of cherry and hickory as the smoke swirled around her in the darkness. "His bones aren't laid to rest there, though. A team of archaeologists scanned the spot with their equipment when they were rebuilding this place. His grave is empty, like so many others that died that day. Someone added that headstone as closure."
Deanna thought about that and shivered in the cold air. She had to get back and prevent his death somehow. "I'm going back out there."
Mr. MacFegan nodded but didn't say anything. When they'd talked over dinner he'd listened without interrupting, not saying much afterwards except to trust in her instincts. Well, her instincts screamed at her to keep trying.
She rose and walked into the graveyard, shuffling around in aimless circles until the cold drove her back inside. Defeated, she picked up the phone. If Robert Thornton had anything to do with this, maybe he had the answer.
Disappointment beat at her temples when she hung up. He hadn't known who she was. It would still be another year before Deanna took the job. Of course he didn't know her, even though he politely invited her to send in her resumé. She took some aspirin and crawled into bed, wondering what to do next.
Ian came to her in a dream that night, asking again why she left him. Deanna wept as she told him she was trying to come back. He lifted his hand and dried her tears, then bent to kiss her. Deanna's body thrummed with desire as his hand slid down to her breast, leaving a trail of tingling energy behind.
"Hurry back, mo chridhe," he whispered in her ear. "I dinna want to live without you."
He removed her nightgown, kneeling to plant kisses down her stomach as Deanna stood in front of the fire, her knees trembling as his tongue licked her heat. Ian wrapped his arms around her thighs and they were outside, lying on his plaid amongst the heather, a full moon shining on their slick bodies as Deanna cried out in ecstasy.
She awoke in her dark room alone, the gas fire burning low as a reminder of the modern century. Tears tracked down her cheeks, dripping on the pillow she hugged to her chest. Echoes of Ian's voice stayed in her mind, as if he could call across the long years that stood between them.
***
Highlands, September 1505
Ian paced along the walk at the top of the curtain wall, the guards averting their eyes from his thunderous mood. Deanna had already been gone for a month but that didn't mean she couldn't come back at any moment, even if the others had given up hope.
/> He waited each day for his mother to tell him she'd seen something new about Deanna's return. Each day she gave him a little shake of her head, her sad eyes a reflection of his sagging spirit. Each night Ian argued with the Gods, waiting for an answer as to why they allowed this to happen. They gave him only silence in return.
***
"I'm going to see the Cailleach," he announced one morning after Deanna had been gone for almost two months. Isobel wrung her hands, her face turning pale with fright. Only his mother knew how dangerous forcing a meeting could be. She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it without a word and lowered her head.
"I'm riding with you," a firm voice said behind him. Ian turned to find Tomas standing rigid, his face a mask of stubborn determination.
Ian considered it a moment, then nodded. Perhaps it would be best to have a witness along…in case the Cailleach didn't let him return.
They left as soon as they could gather supplies for the journey and rode hard, reaching the standing stones of Clach an Righ before full night. Ian left Tomas outside of the circle with the horses, not willing to risk his captain to the Cailleach's wrath.
Ian stepped inside the stones and cleared his mind, waiting for the transformation of the secret place to be revealed to him.
Nothing.
He stayed inside the circle all night, vacillating between entreaty and threats. Still the Goddess ignored him, although why she didn't strike him down was a mystery.
Dawn blazed with a light that only autumn can bring, piercing his heart with its beauty. He remembered the way the sun glinted through Deanna's hair whenever she tilted her head…
"My laird." Tomas stood at the edge of the circle, heedless of the danger to himself. "Come away from there. You must eat and rest."
Ian knew that the guard had done neither himself, instead standing watch over his laird throughout the night. Knowing Tomas was right didn't make it any easier to admit defeat. Ian walked out of the circle with his head held high, though a sourness churned in his gut. He'd run out of ideas to bring Deanna back to him.
***
Highlands, April 2011
"The old stories say the walls are thinnest between here and the Otherworld at certain times of the year," Mr. MacFegan said as they sat eating supper together. "One of those days is Bealtuinn, which starts at midnight tonight."
Deanna was taken aback by the offhand way he said it, as if he were discussing the weather. Hope surged through her and she closed her eyes against the dizziness it brought.
How could she have forgotten that? It was on May 1—Bealtuinn—a year from now that she'd first disappeared.
"You're right. Thank you." She jumped up and leaned over, planting a kiss on his cheek. His face turned pink as he smiled at her.
"I've enjoyed your company, lass." His eyes shone with an odd light for a moment, so quickly that Deanna wasn't sure if she'd imagined it or not.
Seeing her puzzled look, he smiled wider. "Dinna fash yourself. Be happy."
"I will," she managed to stutter. Who was he really? She'd probably never figure it out and he didn't seem inclined to tell her. It didn't matter anyway.
Deanna rushed upstairs to stare at the clock and wait for midnight to approach.
Chapter Forty-Two
Deanna paced in her room, finally slipping outside bundled in a heavy coat fifteen minutes before midnight. At 12:01 a.m., she planned to be gone. Excitement raced through her veins, giving off its own kind of heat as she thought of her reunion with Ian. The last two weeks had battered her psyche. She wondered how he'd fared. Did he think she'd left on purpose? The thought turned her stomach at the betrayal he must have felt.
By 12:10 despair started to slither back down her spine. She'd been so sure of her plan. Pain cramped Deanna's fingers as the sides of the brooch bit into flesh. She eased her grip and stared at the cold-looking jewels, willing them to perform their magic. Still she stood there, surrounded by the dead as her only companions.
Her feet flew out from under her when a noise like a crack of thunder blasted behind her. Deanna landed on the ground, the impact jarring the brooch out of her hand. A raven mocked her from a nearby branch as she crawled on the ground, her hands flailing through the dirt in an effort to find the brooch again.
What if the earth had reclaimed its prize? Wasn't Cailleach the Goddess of the earth? "No! You can't do this to me. I demand the right to go back."
Her breathy sob came to a shuddering stop as her hand closed around the piece of jewelry and she clutched it to her chest, ignoring the bite of pain to her fingers. The cold of the night seeped into her body, weariness blanketing Deanna in a fog of disorientation. She couldn't stay out here all night, yet the thought of leaving and going back into the hotel was a decision she couldn't confront. Deanna stayed on the ground and hugged her knees to her chest, letting her forehead drop down to rest against her legs.
A wind lifted her hair and Deanna opened her eyes to peer into the darkness. Had she fallen asleep? It didn't seem likely but the cotton-stuffed feeling inside her head told her a different story.
A low howl vibrated in her ears, at first sounding like an animal before enveloping her with no way to escape it. The vortex was back, both frightening and welcomed. Deanna struggled to her feet and spread her arms wide, reaching for the wind as if to embrace a lover.
She fell into the abyss—turning, twisting, seeking no direction in particular except a way back to Ian. Deanna held onto the thought of him like a beacon as her body stretched and tumbled through the night. She landed with a thump that knocked the breath from her; the only light to reach her eyes that from the glow of a fire.
***
Highlands, November 1505
Ian sat staring into the fire, his mind adrift with memories. Deanna had been missing for three months now. The Cailleach still refused to grant him entrance to her world, despite repeated trips to see her. The only vision Isobel had was of the lass surrounded by a bright light.
He hung his head as the fire coughed and spit in front of him, not wishing to see the images any longer. Life must go on and he had a duty to perform. Ian stood and banked the fire before walking out the door and heading into the night. It was time to light the fires for Samhuinn and usher in the winter months. His people needed protection from any mischief the Fae might bring on this day.
Magic swirled around Ian as he lit the fires, growing stronger as the flames licked the air. Something didn't feel right. He whirled around with dirk in hand, startling one of his men. The feeling continued to pulse in his blood, bringing on the fever of battle.
"There is magic in the keep. Follow me," he commanded and his warriors fell in behind him as Ian set off at a run.
They entered the hall in time to see a great light explode in the room, blinding them all for a moment. Somebody groaned and Ian cast his knife away, calling for torches. He recognized the magic cloaking the person on the floor and his heart seized before falling back into rhythm once more.
"Deanna? Answer me!"
"Ian? Am I really back?" She coughed as if she couldn't catch her breath and Ian knelt down beside her. His arms wrapped around her, clasping her body to his chest lest she disappear from sight again.
"I've missed you, mo chridhe," he whispered into her hair. "These past months have tortured my mind, wondering if you'd never return again."
"Months?" She wiggled back to look at him but he stopped her with a kiss. There would be time to talk later. Deanna persisted, though.
"Months?" she repeated, mumbling against his lips.
He released her mouth with reluctance. "Aye. 'Tis been three months. Today is November 1, the Samhuinn."
"For me it's only been two weeks, although I traveled back to a year before I came here in the first place. I don't understand any of the dates." Deanna shook her head, her eyes two pools of light shining in the glow of the torches. "Did the brooch come back with me?"
Everyone helped search the hall but didn't find it. By
then, his mother had come downstairs and clutched Deanna to her, weeping as women do.
"I don't ever want to see that blasted brooch again," Deanna declared and smiled at him through a veil of tears.
"Raise the keep," Ian shouted. "The wedding's at dawn. I willna let the Immortals take my Lady from me again."
Pandemonium broke out as the men scattered, banging on doors and shouting the news. Tomas knelt in front of Deanna and took her hand in his.
"I pledge my life to you, Lady Deanna, the same as to my Laird." He bowed, touching his forehead to her knuckles.
"Thank you." Her voice wavered and Ian moved to her side.
"Are you feeling all right?" he asked as she leaned against him.
"I'm fine, just a little overwhelmed right now. I can't believe I'm really here." She grabbed his arm and turned her face up to him. "This isn't a dream, is it? Tell me I'm not going to wake up and find that none of this is real."
"It's no dream, lass. You're here with me where you belong." He gave her a kiss that ignited the yearnings he'd tried to suppress all these months. She was back to stay. He'd make sure of that.
Chapter Forty-Three
Boulder, October 2012
The figure arrived in a shaft of light, its robes concealing the face in shadow. Ian and Robert knelt before the Aeneas Council member for the unexpected visit. At least unexpected as far as Ian knew. Maybe Robert had an idea as to why the Council had picked this particular time.
"I bring you news of the kidnapped souls." The feminine voice spoke inside of Ian's head, picking through his thoughts while she was there. He steeled himself against the intrusion and heard a peal of laughter at his discomfort. "The Conrí have hidden the humans in the Otherworld, in a place warded against Aeneas magic."