Isolated Hearts (Legends of Love Book 2)

by Avril Borthiry

  Giselle merely frowned and looked away. “There,” she said, pointing to a nearby pile of stones with a makeshift cross at its head. “Ninian’s grave.”

  Hamish’s first instinct was to ignore his daughter’s blatant rebuff. It would have been the easier thing to do, which is why he decided against it. Barriers had to be breached. Understanding established. Boundaries set. The sooner the better. He halted his stride, causing Giselle to stop also, her expression questioning.

  She glanced at the grave and then up at him. “I’m so sorry. I know it must be difficult for you.”

  “Och, I’m no’ afraid tae approach my uncle’s grave, lass.” Hamish filled his lungs and lifted his gaze briefly to the sky. “But when it comes tae approachin’ my daughter… Now, there, I confess tae bein’ a wee bit nervous. I have a lot of ground tae cover. Seventeen years tae catch up on. I have nae other children and knew naught of yer existence till three days ago. I know ye’ve been through much and still goin’ through it, no doubt. But if it helps ye at all, I suspect my fear of how tae deal with all this is far greater than yers. Tae be honest, I dinna have a clue what I’m doin’, so I’m hopin’ ye can help me.”

  Giselle made an odd little sound, placed her hands together, prayer-like, against her lips, and closed her eyes. Hamish waited, willing her to answer. Dinna shut me out, lass.

  Soft with tears, her eyes opened and her hands fell to her sides. “For years, Mama refused to speak of you. At least, in any detail. I asked about you many times, but she always refused to say anything, so I eventually stopped asking. When I was old enough to understand the weaknesses of human nature, I just assumed she’d been seduced and abandoned by a man who didn’t care.” Her voice wavered. “I was horribly wrong. I now know Mama loved you and was punished for doing so. Punished for giving birth to me.”

  Hamish clenched his fists. “I swear I’d have come tae fetch her if I’d known, pet. I swear by all I hold sacred in my heart, I’d have come tae fetch both of ye. I canna fathom why she didna send fer me.”

  Giselle chewed on her lip. “You do not see me as a burden, then?”

  “A burden? Ah, Christ, is that what scares ye?” He cupped her cheek. “Nay, mo nighean, ye are no burden. Not in the least. Set yer doubts aside.”

  She sniffed and blinked at him. “What does it mean?”

  “Mo nighean?” He smiled. “It means ‘my daughter’.”

  A moment of silence followed in which she appeared to collect herself.

  “Thank you,” she said at last, a catch in her voice. She stood on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re right. We have much to catch up on. Much to share. You should know, first and foremost, that I wanted to come to Scotland. I wanted to be with you. But there’s something I need ask of you before we go home to Glenross.”

  That she referred to Glenross as her home warmed Hamish’s heart. A memory hurtled out of the past and hit him square.

  “Anythin’,” he said. “I’ll give ye anythin’ ye want. The moon. The stars. A puppy.”

  She laughed. “They all sound wonderful. And actually, I’d love a puppy. But it’s not what I want right now.”

  “What, then?”

  “I want to know what to call you. Is Father acceptable? Or Papa? Or maybe you’d prefer me to say it in your language? I don’t know the word.”

  “Athair.” Hamish smiled. “Och, lass, any of them is fine. Use all three if ye like, dependin’ on yer mood. It makes little difference tae me. I’m just beyond elated tae have found ye alive. Now, let’s pay our respects tae Ninian and be off. I’d like tae be home afore dark.”

  “Before dark?” Giselle cast a dubious glanced across the waves. “How long does it take to cross?”

  “Nae time at all. Ye’ll be at Glenross afore ye know it.” He moved to the side of Ninian’s grave. “’Tis, indeed, a fine spot fer a man’s bones tae rest eternal. Ye chose well, pet.”

  “I’ll never forget him.” Frowning, Giselle continued to stare at the far horizon. “Luc said it would take at least two or three hours.”

  “Aye, well, Luc is a wee bit off the mark.” Hamish touched the cross. Giselle couldn’t know, of course, that Ninian followed the old beliefs. “May ye rest in peace, Uncle.”

  “I know it’s a little crude,” she said. “Perhaps you can arrange to have something made from stone?”

  “I’ll take care of it, aye. Och, ’tis hard tae wrap my head around his passin’. Ninian was a fine auld man. No’ prone tae clumsiness, either. I wonder what he was doin’ on the beach?”

  Giselle’s cheeks reddened. “Um, we believe he was looking for us. Or at least, survivors.”

  Hamish sensed her sudden discomfort and wondered at it. Misplaced guilt, perhaps? “Ye think he saw the ship burnin’?”

  “He must have. That’s why he lit the beacon. How was it done, do you know? The mystery of it has all but driven Luc to madness.”

  Aye, the answer had already occurred to him. But it had little to do with Ninian. More to do with the lass standing before him, with the blood of the ancients running through her veins.

  “The mystery of it,” Hamish said, “lies in the magic I spoke of. I’ll explain it tae ye, but no’ right now.”

  He straightened, loath to broach another issue yet compelled to do so by what his gut told him. The light in Giselle’s eyes whenever she mentioned Luc’s name had not gone unnoticed. The two of them had been alone on the island for weeks. Isolated. Free from the fetters of decorum. Was it unrealistic to expect the knight had maintained an appropriate distance? Did rocks float?

  “He’s treated ye well, I take it?”

  “Luc?” Once again, color rose in Giselle’s cheeks. “Yes, of course. I owe him my life.”

  “Then I’ll be forever grateful tae the man.” Hamish feigned nonchalance. “I suppose now ye’ve been found, he’ll be returnin’ tae France.”

  “Um, yes, I suppose he will.” Giselle smiled, but it didn’t match the brief glimmer of pain in her eyes. Hamish bit back a sigh. By all things sacred, things were more complicated than he’d realized.

  As they approached the path to the cottage, a sharp whistle pierced the air. Hamish raised a brow and looked at Giselle, who grinned.

  “Wait and watch,” she said, halting her stride. Soon after, the earth shook with the telltale thud of hooves and a great, black stallion thundered past, tail raised.

  Hamish grunted. “I’m guessin’ that’s no’ the nanny goat.”

  Giselle laughed. “That’s Minstrel. Luc will hate to leave him behind. He loves that horse.”

  “Och, now there’s somethin’ I understand. ’Tis a special relationship, the one forged ’tween horse and man.”

  “Is your boat very small, then?”

  Hamish chuckled. “Let’s just say it willna take a horse.”

  Back at the cottage, Hamish waited with his men as Luc fussed over the stallion. Giselle, meanwhile, had fallen into a pronounced silence, her gaze wistful as it swept across the island. He watched her, noticing her surreptitious glances at Luc, the question unspoken, but quite plain.

  What were the knight’s intentions?

  “I shall miss this place,” she said, more to herself than Hamish, it seemed.

  “Ye can visit whenever ye like. ’Tis no’ as far as ye might think.” Hamish tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Fer now, though, if everyone is ready, we’d best be off.”

  He gestured to his men and started down the path.

  “Hold!” With Minstrel trotting behind him like a faithful dog, Luc caught up to them and grabbed Giselle’s free arm. “Where are you going? There’s naught but cliffs over there. No beaches to speak of.”

  Hamish raised a brow and shot him a questioning glance. “Aye, so?”

  “So, there’s no place to land a boat.”

  “’Tis the way off the island, nonetheless.” He frowned at Luc’s hold on Giselle’s wrist. “Let her go. Ye can stay here with yer horse if ye prefer, de
Warenne, but my daughter is comin’ with me.”

  “What you’re saying doesn’t make sense, MacRoth,” Luc said through gritted teeth. “There’s no way off the island other than the two beaches south of here.”

  “Were ye no’ payin’ attention when we arrived?” Hamish locked eyes with Luc. “We came this way, if ye recall. And ye’ll address me as Laird MacRoth unless I give ye permission tae do otherwise. Now, cease yer whingin’. The way tae Glenross lies over yonder. I swear there’s naught tae fear.”

  Giselle struggled against Luc’s grip. “I believe him, Luc. Why would he lie?”

  “I suggest ye let the lass go, lad.” Hamish’s brief smile did not lighten the somber tone of his voice, though in truth, he admired the knight’s vigilance. “I’ll no’ ask ye again.”

  A muscle twitched in Luc’s cheek as he released his hold on Giselle. “But how else could you come here if not by boat?”

  “’Tis a fair question.” Once again, Hamish set off down the path. “I’ll begin by sayin’ ye’ve had the means tae leave this bonny isle all along.”

  Giselle’s eyes widened. “We have? How so? Luc searched everywhere for a boat, but never found one.”

  “Ye didna need a boat. Ye had a gate. And ye had a key.”

  Luc scoffed. “A gate to where?”

  “A gate tae Glenross.”

  “What?” Luc gave a scornful laugh. “You’re speaking nonsense.”

  “Ye owe me an apology for that remark, de Warenne.” Hamish waved a hand. “Like I told my daughter, this wee morsel of earth is called Eilean Gheata. The Island of the Gate. And, like Glenross, ’tis is a place of great magic.”

  “Jésu,” Luc muttered. “The man is mad.”

  “Another apology owed tae me, de Warenne.”

  “I think it has something to do with the circle,” Giselle said to Luc. “My father told me about the silence. It’s called mòr sìth, which means ‘great peace’. The animals don’t like it, which is why Minstrel won’t go near.”

  Hamish nodded. “The stones were raised by an ancient race called the Tuatha Dé and given as a gift tae my clan.”

  “The Tuatha Dé?” Giselle’s eyes widened. “Who were they?”

  “Och, the answer tae that makes fer a fine tale, mo nighean, one best told by the hearth when the belly is full. Suffice tae say ye are descended from them.”

  “So, this gate you speak of has something to do with the stones?” Luc asked.

  “Aye.”

  “But what of the key?” Giselle shook her head. “I never saw a key of any sort.”

  “The ring,” Luc murmured. “It’s Ninian’s ring. The design matches the carvings on the stones.”

  “Very perceptive of ye.” Hamish cleared his throat. “Now, hear me well. Ye’re about tae experience somethin’ I guarantee ye’ve never experienced afore, nor could ye even begin tae imagine the like of it. And be aware, Luc de Warenne, ye are merely invited tae be a part of this, unlike the wee lass here, who has every right. If no’ fer her presence, I’d be leavin’ ye to yer fate.”

  *

  Be a part of what?

  The Scotsman spoke in riddles. Luc had yet to decide if he fully trusted Hamish MacRoth. Certainly, the man had an undeniable presence. A certain authoritative charm that belied an underlying strength. Like a lion with a gentle purr, whose teeth and claws were deadly. The connection between father and daughter, however, was already indisputable.

  MacRoth’s arrival on the island had shoved Luc’s back against an unyielding wall. Forced him to face a decision he had long feared facing; to return to France and claim his estate or stay with Giselle. He’d already seen the questions – and the uncertainty – in her eyes. And, curse his bones, he already knew what his answer would be. There was a third option, of course. Giselle could return to France with him. But then she would discover his secret. Know of his betrayal.

  His gut tightened.

  Behind him, Minstrel slowed his step and blew through his nose. They were drawing near to the stones, Luc realized. He halted and Minstrel did the same. All at once, he wondered if Bertrand FitzGerald had come by ship. If so, had he brought a horse? If the ship was not equipped to carry horses, Luc would have to leave Minstrel behind as well.

  He opened his mouth to ask MacRoth, who turned to him at that precise moment. “Ye should know FitzGerald’s ship is no’ equipped fer horses,” he said. “So, if yer intent is tae return tae France, ye’ll have tae leave the beast here.”

  Luc felt Giselle’s gaze on him, knew she was waiting to see how he’d respond. He chose to be noncommittal.

  “I understand.” He stroked Minstrel’s nose. “Once again, you’re on your own, my friend,” he murmured, “but this time I know you’ll be fine.”

  He felt a presence at his side and looked down into eyes the color of raw honey. Eyes that failed to hide Giselle’s anxiety as she searched his face. She knew tomorrow would be different, what they’d shared on Eilean Gheata had ended. His heart faltered and, for a moment, he inwardly cursed MacRoth’s arrival.

  “Minstrel won’t be alone for long,” Giselle said, a slight waver in her voice. “I’m sure my father will arrange to have him brought back to the mainland.”

  Luc forced a smile. “I know.”

  She tickled the horse’s muzzle. “Then again, I think he likes it here. It suits him, somehow.”

  Luc didn’t answer, although he silently agreed. He saw his distorted reflection in Minstrel’s eyes and turned away.

  They passed through the cool shade of the pine woods and started up the path. Hamish was deep in conversation with his men, their verbal exchanges and facial expressions indicating some kind of serious discussion.

  Luc tried to imagine what this ‘gate’ could be. Might it open to reveal a tunnel that led to the mainland? Not possible. It would have to be at least twenty miles long. To build such a thing would be an impossible feat.

  A secret entrance, then. One that opened to some underground cave where a boat lay hidden. Nay. Why go to such trouble to hide a boat? Besides, MacRoth denied arriving by boat. Maybe Luc’s previous declaration had merit and the Scottish laird was possessed by insanity. Perhaps this was all some kind of devious trap. Who knew what heathen ceremonies still took place in this desolate part of the world?

  They entered the mòr sìth and Hamish cast a somewhat amused glance at Luc.

  “Ye can cease with yer theorizin’, de Warenne, and empty that suspicious head of yers.” He beckoned Giselle to his side. “I need ye tae calm yer thoughts also, lass. Let the silence fill that busy space ’tween yer ears. And dinna be afraid. I swear there’s naught tae fear.”

  Luc looked about, seeing nothing untoward. “You cannot blame me for questioning your sanity, Laird MacRoth.”

  A corner of Hamish’s mouth lifted. “Ye’ll no’ be questionin’ it in a few moments, although ye might be questionin’ yer own. Now, stay where ye are and keep yer tongue and yer thoughts quiet.”

  He turned, bowed his head, and touched his ringed hand to one of the larger stones. For a moment, nothing happened. Luc resisted an urge to comment and, instead, suppressed a sigh.

  Then a sound filtered into the silence. A low hum, like the swarming of bees. It seemed to emanate from the earth beneath Luc’s feet. Frowning, he looked down, seeking the source. As he did so, a movement to the side caught his eye and he lifted his gaze.

  The hair on his neck rose.

  As if possessed of consciousness, a pale mist snaked its way between the stones. It threaded the gaps, expanding outwards and upwards until, in a matter of moments, it had cocooned those within.

  Moments later, the noise ceased and silence once again filled the space.

  “Are ye all right, lass?”

  Luc turned toward the sound of MacRoth’s voice.

  “Yes,” Giselle said, casting a bewildered glance at Luc. “I’m fine. Although I’m not sure I understand what just happened.”

  Luc snorted and gripped
his sword hilt. “Nothing happened. We’re still here, for Christ’s sake. What foolishness is this, MacRoth? Some kind of childish trick meant to impress?”

  Hamish gave him a grim smile. “I’ll no’ tell ye again, de Warenne,” he said, the quietness of his voice more menacing than any boisterous tone, “ye’ll address me as Laird MacRoth ’less I give ye leave tae do otherwise. Disrespect me one more time and I’ll have ye sent back tae yon isle.”

  “Back to…?” Luc sputtered. “What in God’s good name are you talking about? We haven’t left—”

  Giselle’s sudden gasp halted his remark. Eyes wide, she stumbled backwards. Hamish slid a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Easy, now,” he said. “I know. ’Tis a wee bit of a shock the first time. The second and third time, too, fer most folk. After that, it gets easier. Take a breath, pet. Try tae calm yerself. And welcome home, by the way.”

  Home? A chill crawled across Luc’s scalp as he followed Giselle’s wild gaze. As swiftly as it arrived, the mist receded, rolling away from the stones as if scattered by the wind. Already, the sky was visible, as was the view beyond the circle.

  Eilean Gheata had vanished.

  In its place stood a vast glen, a majestic expanse of green meadow and sparse forest, cradled between the slopes of lofty, granite mountains. At its heart, a dramatic stretch of water, its mysterious surface rippled by a brisk breeze. In the distance, a castle stood guard, its solemn gray walls looming over the lakeshore. On the far horizon, a hint of blue. The sea, Luc realized.

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, unable to believe his eyes. “What kind of madness is this?”

  “A glorious kind.” Hamish’s voice meandered into Luc’s ear. “Welcome tae Glenross.”

  “Glenross?” He closed his eyes and opened them again, half-expecting the scene before him to disappear. “’Tis surely an illusion. How did you do this?”

  “’Tis no illusion, and I canna answer yer question, since I dinna know how it works, exactly.”

  Luc’s gaze swept over the surrounding stones. “But, are we in… is this the same circle?”