Love in Ruins

by Erin Grace

  As much as she tried, she couldn't keep the sound of disappointment from her voice. Surely he didn't want to hear about her problems.

  "You were a maid, yet he didn't want to marry you?"

  He stroked along her ankle, and she sighed with a somewhat detached pleasure, like his touch was a comfort more than anything.

  Her mind began to spin, as she rested her head back against the tarpaulin sack, and gazed into the crackling coals. "For a while I allowed myself to dream he would, but catching him with one of the other women from our team cured me of that. You must think me a fool, huh?"

  "Nae, lass. He was the fool to let you go."

  She turned her head and met his smoldering gaze. "You don't have to be kind, Ewan."

  "'Tis the truth."

  She smiled, raised an eyebrow. "So. Now you know all about my pathetic past with men. Satisfied?"

  "Aye." The scorching touch of his fingertips tingled, as they traced along her lower calf.

  "Why?"

  He dropped a hot little kiss on her ankle. "I dinna want to take another man's woman."

  Tremors of anticipation sent shock waves through her body. Her mind reeled, ceased all rational thought as she struggled to speak. "T . . . Take?"

  He leaned in, brushed his cheek along her calf then kissed the spot where he'd touched. "I'm going to bed you, Ellie."

  "Really?"

  "Aye."

  "When?"

  "Now."

  "Oh."

  Chapter 7

  Ewan was going to make love to her.

  Or at least that's what she was sure would have happened if she hadn't passed out last night. The pint glass tumbled from her hand and rumbled upon the old wooden floorboards.

  "Oh, god." Her head hurt like hell. She raised a shaky hand and massaged her forehead. "Now, I remember why I don't drink. Cripes, how many did I have? One? Two? Ten?"

  Her eyes slowly opened to the onslaught of early morning light peeking through the plastic and tape where she'd mended the window. "Ergh."

  A sickly bubble gurgled from her stomach, climbed up her dry throat and deposited an unkindly taste in her mouth that reminded her of a bad curry she'd once had in London. "Damn MacTavish and his whisky."

  She blinked once, twice, then grimaced and groaned in despair.

  What a picture of feminine delight she was, sprawled over the floor with her robe gaped open, hair matted and falling over her face. One sock on, one—goodness knows where. As she yawned, the charming crust of drool that had gathered at one corner of her mouth crumbled onto her lips.

  Oh, hell.

  Propping herself up on her elbows, she surveyed the room. Bits of creamed rice still hung from the ceiling here and there. Lord, she’d almost forgotten about the mess. Ewan clearly didn’t know his own strength. She reached up, touched her chin where he had wiped away the sweet mess with his finger. Warmth rose to her cheeks.

  He clearly didn’t know the affect he was having on her.

  But where was he?

  She got up quickly and regretted it a second later. Her stomach roiled and threatened to relieve its contents in such a way it would have rivaled the exploding rice. Near tripping over her feet, she made it out the door and dropped to her knees at the old tree outside the cottage.

  That's it. No more drinking—ever.

  Half a pint of whiskey purged, she rested back on her calves, wiped her mouth, and took several deep breaths in through her nose as the memories of last night came back to haunt her.

  Poor Ewan.

  She'd opened to him up about everything. Her love life. Oh, shit. Now he knew about Michael, but just how much pathetic detail she gave, she couldn't recall. No wonder he's not around this morning. She must have sounded like on old set of whining bagpipes last night.

  With a shake of her head, she braced her arm against the tree trunk, got to her feet, and staggered back inside the cottage. There must be some aspirin in here somewhere—or a gun.

  She hadn't heard Ewan leave, though she doubted a freight train would have woken her. In fact, the man could have had his way with her, and she wouldn't have known.

  But nothing had happened.

  Perhaps he was a gentleman and didn't want to take advantage of her. Or, maybe he was gay. Oh, who was she kidding? Though, that would explain the macho sport and impeccable physique.

  Oh, good. Not only did she have to worry about him remembering a potential wife or girlfriend, now she might have to consider his 'significant other'.

  She tried to push the thought from her mind, forced herself to brush her teeth, get dressed, and swallow at least two mouthfuls of tea. Still, she felt like crud.

  There was nothing for it.

  She reached inside a bag, produced a large block of chocolate, took a big bight, and sighed as she chewed.

  At least she still had her dig. And bones and dirt didn't talk back, play with your emotions, or have special friends. Yes. She was back in control, in charge, and a total professional.

  She groaned, nearly gagging as she stuffed another huge chunk of the comforting confection in to her mouth.

  She was also a total mess.

  Aye, she was beautiful.

  He'd wanted Ellie last night. More than he cared to admit. He could keep her—he could. She was unattached and on his lands; he needed no further reasoning than that. But something held him back. Oh, hell, not something.

  Everything.

  This whole damn situation was doing his head in.

  He'd risen early and walked west to where he'd expected his training camp to be. Nothing. No sign of anyone ever having been there. It just could not be possible. Yesterday, when he'd bathed in the stream, he'd expected to see women from his clan washing clothes and talking about their menfolk when they thought no one listening.

  Morag was usually the loudest, forever boasting of her Harold's prowess in bed-play. The poor man was always getting a ribbing from the other soldiers. A smile met his lips then faded away. He ignored the sensation clutching at his gut that told him he would never see his clansmen again.

  Come, man. It has to be a dream. There couldn't be any other rational explanation. He had been in battle, no doubt injured. Aye. He'd seen men suffer terrible fevers from such things, each imagining they talked to people who weren't there or lashed out at demons that only existed in their poisoned minds.

  What if he was actually lying wounded on a pallet in his keep? Perhaps he had a fever too? Holy mother. If so, then just whose leg had he been kissing last night?

  If it was Angus, his second in command was a dead man.

  He shook his head to rid himself of the horrible notion.

  Perched on top of a rocky cliff ledge, he looked toward the lowlands. Dream or no dream, he must try to find a way back home. Perhaps he'd find help down there? He'd given the plan of travelling some serious thought, but leaving Ellie alone didn't sit well with him. Delusion or not, she was real enough to him, and clearly alone with no one to protect her if bandits attacked.

  He picked up a stone and threw it.

  Bandits? Or was it the thought that her Michael might return that bothered him?

  Hell. Could he really be furious over some Sassenach bastard who may not exist?

  He smiled and flexed his hands, which had been balled into tight fists. If nothing else, his anger felt bloody real enough. So did his honor. Just let the Englishman dare set foot on MacKinnon land. No sword. No club. He'd tear the man apart with his bare hands. And with his pent up frustration at leaving Ellie half naked and untouched in the cottage, he hoped the bastard would bring at least twenty English soldiers.

  He could do with the exercise.

  The clatter of timber falling to the ground took Ellie's attention to outside the cottage. Her stomach, still unsettled from whiskey and half a block of chocolate, relaxed in relief as Ewan's powerful frame came into view.

  Indeed, he did look like a warrior out of some movie.

  She paused in the open doorwa
y. He glanced up, but didn't appear to see her. Disappointment washed through her until she remembered their time by the fire last night.

  Nerves made her hands shake as she touched her hair, wiped the corners of her mouth, and prayed to God there wasn't a huge chunk of creamy nougat wedged between her front teeth.

  Lord, he looked amazing.

  Fog billowed from his mouth—the morning air was still frigid—as he let go another armful of thick tree branches.

  She smiled, crossed her arms, and approached him, unsure if the shivers racing along her skin were from the morning cold or the sight of steam rising from his barely-clad body.

  "Planning on a building a bonfire?"

  He brushed his hands together then gave her a strange look. "Nae."

  Okay. Stupid suggestion. "Then what are you going to do with all this timber?"

  "We need to start making some defenses around the cottage until the keep can be rebuilt."

  She couldn't keep the smile from her face—a sight that obviously annoyed him greatly. "Very funny, Ewan." Okay, probably not the best thing to say to a man who was delusional. "Seriously, what are you up to?"

  He stopped his task and turned to face her. His expression had become as dark as a stormy sky. What had she said wrong?

  "You'll nae question me, lass. But as you have been alone for so long, I'll make an exception for your behavior this time."

  She stepped back, shook her head. "Excuse me?" It was then she noticed all her excavating tools had been piled up to one side. "And what do you think you're doing with my equipment? Do you know how expensive this stuff is? Bad enough you borrow my kitchen knife without asking—"

  "Quit your whining, woman. I have a lot of work to do before I can go to the other clans. And I will nae leave you without some protection."

  "Protection from what?"

  He stood over her, so close the heat radiating from his skin made her cold face tingle.

  "If the other clans get wind you’re here alone they will try to claim you."

  She hiked her hands to her hips and glared up at him. Her patience with her confused guest had worn thin. "What other clans? Do you see anyone else around here?"

  She thought a glimpse of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

  "I'll tell you—no! There's no one within miles of this bloody place."

  "There will be other clans to the north—"

  "Stop it!" She flinched at the searing heat in his angry gaze. Her legs were like melting ice cubes, threatening to puddle on the ground. "Look, Ewan. As much as I've tried to go along with your fantasy, it's about time you woke up. We are not playing a game here."

  A tiny muscle in his clenched jaw twitched. Oh, why did she get the feeling he was going to explode?

  "You are the foolish one playing games!"

  His roar was powerful like a lion's. It made her jump, but she didn't give any ground. "Fine! And after you've 'secured' the cottage, what next? Are you going to make me cook and clean for you, walk around the place barefoot and pregnant?"

  "Don't be daft, woman." He turned away from her and picked up an axe. "I would nae allow you to go barefoot. 'Tis too cold."

  Incensed, she flung her hands skyward in annoyance, then glared at the pigheaded wretch. "Now you listen to me. This is my dig. Do you get that? You came here from God knows where, but . . ."

  "When."

  "What?"

  "God knows when."

  She glared at the man. "I don't understand what you mean."

  He took her shoulders, gripped them tightly. "Well, I dinna understand any of this, but I'm nae stupid. Listen to me now, woman. Ma name is Ewan MacKinnon. I was born at this keep in the spring, twelve sixty-six. Now, I dinna know what has happened here since I left, or why, but I can’t change what has been. Only I'll go to hell first before I stop defending ma land . . . and ma property."

  His gaze bored into her like a diamond drill, shook her to her core. Every word he'd spoken was etched with such determination and honesty, that for a brief moment, she actually believed him.

  Her body shook within his grasp. "Ewan, stop this. It doesn't make any sense. If what you're saying is true, then you would have had to come from the past. It's simply not possible."

  He sighed and let her go.

  Suddenly devoid of his firm grip, she staggered back.

  "I dinna know how to explain it. But I would never lie to you. Do you understand that?"

  Every instinct within her cried out to hold him, to believe in his nonsense, but she held back. "Of course, I don't think you'd lie to me, Ewan. Not intentionally."

  He ran his hand through his hair, obviously frustrated with her reasoning. "Dinna look at me that way. For god's sake, I'm nae daft, woman!"

  "Stop yelling at me!" God, how she hated him at that moment. "Of all the stubborn, pigheaded, delusional creatures I should have the misfortune to meet . . ."

  "He's telling you the truth."

  She jumped, shocked, as a woman appeared from the shadows of the ruins.

  The tall, slender stranger's thick brown hair was streaked with ribbons of gray. Her face looked weathered, though somehow familiar. Her ragged clothing was a blend of old and new.

  Ewan had gone completely still; his face pale, eyes wide.

  Ellie's gaze still fixed upon the stranger, she stepped closer to him and whispered. "Ewan. Do you know this person?"

  His hand tightened into a fist. "Aye."

  That singular word was said with such cold conviction it sent chills along her spine. She stared at the woman, as an uneasy feeling welled in her gut. "Who are you?"

  The woman half smiled, then stepped forward. "I'm Margot MacKinnon."

  "Nae!"

  She jumped as Ewan lunged forward, fist raised. Hell. He was going to hurt the woman.

  "Ewan, stop!" Ellie stepped in front of him, grabbed his wrist, then put her other hand on his chest. Her heartbeat raced and she held her breath, knowing he could easily brush her aside with a flick of his huge hand. But he didn't.

  He looked down at her, then back at the woman. His eyes blazed with fury. "Margot MacKinnon is dead. You are but a witch. This whole bloody place is nothing but the devil's work."

  "Ewan." The woman's voice was soft, yet laced with a steely determination. "You know who I am. I must talk with you."

  He pulled away from her touch and spat on the ground as the woman approached. "There will be nae talk. Ma mother is dead."

  Ellie's mouth gaped. "Mother?"

  Chapter 8

  "He is angry, I know." Her eyes misty, Ewan's mother stood alongside Ellie, and watched him disappear into the cottage."And he has every right to be."

  A lump rose in Ellie’s throat. "You're his mother?"

  The woman sighed and gave her a kind, though weary smile. "Aye. I am Margot MacKinnon."

  "If you are his mother, then I think you should know that he needs help. He's had an accident and believes he's some Laird from the thirteenth century."

  The woman nodded. "He is."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "'Tis as I said. He was telling you the truth just now."

  Ellie's shoulders sagged. "Not you too?" Lord, she was so co confused. "But if you are his mother, why does he think you are dead?"

  "He saw me destroyed by lightning." The woman must have seen Ellie's dazed expression. "Walk with me, Elspeth. I have need to talk with you."

  She stopped cold, turned to the woman. "Wait. How did you . . . No one but my parents ever called Elspeth."

  "Pity." Margot took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "It's such a pretty name. I know this must all come as a shock to you, Elspeth, and I can imagine how confused my son must be feeling . . . ."

  Confused? That was an understatement.

  "When I was a young girl, I found I could do the most unusual things. At first my talents frightened me, then I grew to like them. But in England, anyone with my gifts was deemed a heretic by the church, labeled a devil, or worse."

/>   "So, you're English?" Ewan was half English. "How did you end up in Scotland—I mean—Alba? Did you run away?"

  "My parents passed on when I was quite young, and I lived for a time between various cousins, none of whom saw me as any great addition to their already crowded families. By the time I became a young woman, I had learned to follow my instincts, and they pulled me toward Scotland. I could see that was where my future lay. In truth, I hadn't intended on meeting Grant MacKinnon. I guess, even with my gifts, I couldn't see everything that was to come."

  "So, you're clairvoyant?"

  "In some ways, but very different to what you may be accustomed to. In fact, I've yet to meet anyone in this time with similar abilities to my own."

  "But, Margot, you claim to be from the past. How would you know people of my time?"

  A faint hue of pink tinged the woman's fair cheeks. "I've been here before—several times. The first time I became stranded here, I used my abilities to survive, attending local fairs and reading futures for money. I admit, I was frightened, but I seemed to blend in without too much trouble. People of your time are much more accepting of others with strange ways."

  Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath. "You have to admit, this is all more than a bit farfetched. I'm not trying to insult you, Margot, but I'm a scientist, and what you're asking me to believe…well, it's impossible."

  She shook her mind clear and opened her eyes.

  Margot nodded and pursed her lips together. "In my time, Elspeth, the thought of travelling to the moon would have been heresy. Yet, people in this time have been there and sailed through the stars. Why, I have seen things that I still find difficult to comprehend. Machines that cook without heat, ships that travel in the sky, television."

  "Television? For someone from the thirteenth century, that must have been amazing."