by J. D. Robb
Fergus felt for a pulse at her throat. Finding none, he turned away, unable to even look at her.
Together Con and Laurel untied Donovan, and with tears of joy and relief, gathered him into their embrace.
Still weeping, Laurel crossed to Fergus, catching his hand in both of hers. “Forgive me, Fergus, for doubting you.”
“Knowing what I do about Dulcie, you had every right to believe the worst of me.”
“Mother!”
At Donovan’s cry, Laurel turned to see Con drop to the floor, his hand clutching his chest. Blood spilled in an ever-widening river from between his fingers.
“Oh, my darling.” Laurel used his plaid to mop at the blood, but there was no stopping the flow.
She stared in horror at the blood that spilled from his wound. So much blood.
Fergus dropped to his knees beside his brother. “What can I do?”
“Promise me that you will love Donovan as your own.”
“I swear. He will grow to be a Highlander you will be proud of.”
“I can ask nothing more.”
The two men clasped hands. As Fergus stepped away and drew Donovan with him, Laurel caught Con’s hands in hers. “There are things I must tell you, Conal. I’ve tried so many times, but now they can’t wait.”
“Aye, love.” Pain glazed his eyes. His skin had lost all its color.
“My name is Laurel Douglas. But I’m not your Laurel. I come from another world. The twenty-first century. Something happened. I don’t know what, but somehow I found myself here with you. I thought I was sent here to teach you all the things we’d learned in the past hundreds of years. I thought I could change the course of history. I didn’t mean to…” She paused, struggling to find the words. “I had no right to your love. And now, if you should die, it’s all been for nothing. Oh, don’t you see? None of this makes any sense if you die.”
Despite his pain, he managed a weak smile. “I care not where you came from, love. You’re my Laurel. My own true love.”
“But I…”
Though it cost him, he touched a hand to her cheek. “It matters not where you were, or how long we were separated, we belong together. As for all that you would teach me, think of this: Perhaps you were really sent here to learn.”
“To learn what?” She was fighting tears now. She could feel them, tightening her chest, struggling to break free of the hard, tight lump in her throat. She bravely swallowed them back.
“Perhaps over the centuries you’d forgotten what it is to be truly loved. Perhaps you came back, not to teach, but to learn.”
Her eyes went wide as she digested the truth of his words.
“But if that’s so, and if you truly love me, you can’t die. You can’t leave me, now that I’ve found your love.”
“I have no choice. My wound is mortal. But know this.” He stared into her eyes, willing her his strength. “Love such as ours never ends, even in death. It lives on for all time.”
She could no longer hold back the tears. They fell freely, spilling down her cheeks, running in rivers down the front of her shirt.
“I can’t bear to lose you, now that I’ve only just found you, Conal.”
“I’ll never leave you alone, my love. Will you trust me in that?”
She wiped her tears and clasped his hands. “But you’re dying. How can you be with me if you…?” She swallowed back the word she couldn’t speak, and managed to whisper, “I’ll try to believe, Conal.”
“You must believe it. I will be always with you, my love. Until the end of time. And beyond.”
She felt his hands go slack in hers. And though his eyes were still open, the light had gone out of them.
Shattered, Laurel continued to kneel beside him, her hands holding his in a death grip, as her tears mingled with his blood.
As if from a great distance she felt a touch on her shoulder, and looked up to see Fergus, his arm firmly around Donovan’s shoulders.
“The lad and I will fetch the women of the village to prepare the laird for burial, my lady.” He added softly, “They will stay with you, for you cannot be alone now.”
“Thank you, Fergus.” Laurel caught Donovan’s hand, squeezed.
He lifted her hand to his lips, before trailing his uncle from the room.
When they were gone, she pressed a kiss to Conal’s lips. Already they were cold and unresponsive.
Drained beyond belief, she stretched out beside him and gave in to a feeling of profound exhaustion and grief.
Ten
Laurel awoke from a deep sleep and looked around, hoping against hope to discover that everything she’d experienced was just a dream. Instead, she felt her heart sink as she realized she was in the fortress chambers, on the sleeping pallet she’d shared with Conal.
Conal. The pain of loss was like a knife to her heart.
In the other room, Donovan and his uncle were talking in low tones.
Bits and pieces of the previous day began flitting through Laurel’s mind, as if in a nightmare. The burial of Con the Mighty, with clan members from all over the Highlands arriving to pay their respects. The women offering her food, ale, quiet comfort. The whispers about Dulcie and the shame she brought upon her husband, whom she married only because he was kin to the laird.
Laurel could recall speaking softly to Fergus, determined to let him know that, despite her earlier misgivings, she trusted him completely. She’d told him repeatedly how much his brother loved him. He, in turn, assured her over and over that he wished to honor his brother’s memory by helping teach Donovan to be a brave and honorable Highlander.
When the villagers declared Fergus to be their new laird, he announced to the clan that he would remain so only until Donovan was old enough to claim the title. And he asked that Laurel continue to be regarded as mistress of the fortress. Though she was honored and touched by his declaration, she had refused, saying that one day he would meet a woman worthy of him to fulfill that duty, as would her son when he reached manhood.
Lying very still, Laurel thought again about the things Con had told her before he died. What a fool she’d been, thinking she’d been sent here to teach these poor, ignorant people all the fine things her world had discovered through the ages. She’d been the student, learning about the most basic of all lessons—life and death, honor, integrity, and most of all, love. Real, abiding love, not the stuff of movies.
“You’re awake, Mother.” Donovan hurried over and knelt beside her as she sat up, tossing aside the covers.
She was surprised to see that she was still wearing her clothes from the previous day. Why had she clung so tightly to her twenty-first-century uniform? As long as she was here, why didn’t she simply give in and wear the garb of the other women?
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Not long.” Fergus walked up to stand behind his nephew. “You insisted upon remaining with the others while they mourned the laird. It was only when we insisted that you lie down that you gave in to exhaustion.” He gave her a gentle smile. “You should sleep awhile, my lady.”
“Maybe later.” She got to her feet and offered her hand to Fergus. “Thank you for your love and loyalty, and for all that you’ve done for Donovan.”
“I give you my solemn vow, as I gave to my brother on his deathbed, that I will do all I can to serve you and the lad. And I will do all in my power to see that Donovan becomes a Highland laird worthy of the love of his clan, for I love the lad like my own.”
“I know you do. And that greatly eases my mind.” She drew Donovan into her arms and kissed him. “Your father died knowing you would live a life that brings him honor.”
“I will, Mother. I will make you and Father proud.”
“I’m already proud of you. I couldn’t be more proud.” She started toward the door, then paused and turned. “I need to go to Conal’s grave. Alone.”
“I understand, my lady.” Fergus drew an arm around the lad’s shoulders.
Laurel s
tudied the two of them and felt a sense of relief that Donovan had such a fine man to see him through the grief and loneliness that was bound to follow.
She walked along the passageway until she’d left the fortress. Conal’s grave was but a few short steps away.
As she knelt beside the fresh mound of earth, it occurred to her that one day a new castle would be built over this very spot. It seemed a fitting tribute to the man who had taught her about true love.
She thought of his words, on the night they’d made love.
As long as we have our love, nothing can ever separate us again.
And then came the realization that, though he’d told her often how much he loved her, she’d never said the words to him. At first, she simply hadn’t realized how much he meant to her. And by the time she knew just how deeply she loved him, there hadn’t been time.
“Conal.” She wasn’t aware at first that she was speaking the words aloud. She was simply compelled to say all the things that were in her heart. “I don’t know when it happened, or how. But I do know that I lost my heart to you. I tried not to. I didn’t feel worthy. But your love was so pure, so honest, and so all-consuming, there was no way I could deny it. I simply fell in love with you. Completely. Your life and your death have affected me so deeply, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. I love you, Conal. I will spend a lifetime missing you so…”
The words died on her lips as a wild rush of wind sent her hair flying about her face. A dark shadow seemed to blot out the sun. Darkness overtook the land, and Laurel shot to her feet, trembling in fear.
The darkness frightened her until she saw a bright light moving toward her.
Seeing it, she felt a strange sense of peace, along with a hint of anticipation. As though the light was a symbol of life. Of hope. Of all that she’d been longing for.
As the light drew near, she blinked against its brightness. At first she’d thought it was a torch, but this light didn’t flicker like a flame.
An electric torch, she realized. A high-powered flashlight.
She looked around, dazed and more than a little confused, only to realize that the ancient fortress was no longer towering in the background. In fact, it was nowhere to be seen.
She was back in the five-star hotel, which had been built over Conal’s gravesite. She was once again standing in front of the tapestry.
The voices of their tour and guide had faded away. The only sound to break the stillness was the tread of footsteps on the highly polished wood floor.
A man approached, surrounded by a halo of light. When she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from it, he lowered the flashlight away from her face.
“Sorry.” The voice was deep and cultured, with a hint of Scottish burr. “We’ve had a power failure, but only in this wing, apparently. An electrician is already working on it. Looks like you got separated from your tour group. They were ushered to the dining hall in another wing of the castle. Lucky for you, I thought I’d make certain no one was stranded in the darkness.”
Couldn’t he see that she’d been crying? Wasn’t he wondering about the bloodstains on her clothes?
Laurel glanced down at herself and realized that she looked exactly as she had when all of this adventure had begun. Her slacks and shirt as neat and tidy as if she’d only now put them on.
But not quite.
He pointed the flashlight toward her sandal. “Is that blood? Have you injured yourself?”
“It happened…” She wondered how she could possibly explain to him all that had occurred, when she couldn’t even explain it to herself. “It happened some time ago.”
“Are you certain? I assure you, if you’ve been harmed in any way, I’ll make it up to you. As the current owner of MacLennan Castle, it’s my duty to see to even the most minor of inconveniences.”
She peered at him in the dim light. “You’re the laird?”
There was a hint of laughter in his voice. “That’s what I would have been called in earlier times. Now I’m just plain Conor MacLennan, the eighth Earl of Heath, and Lord of the MacLennan Clan. Just a fancy way of saying I’m the innkeeper. And you are…?”
“Laurel Douglas.”
“Laurel.” He lifted the flashlight to her face. “That’s a special name in our clan. But I’m not surprised. With the light that dances in those eyes, you could be our very own mountain laurel, freshly picked from the Highland hills. We wear the laurel as our heraldic badge.” He pointed the light to his lapel pin in the shape of a laurel leaf.
His words, so like those spoken by another, had her head spinning. To settle herself, she reached out and touched a hand to the wall.
And then she thought of Conal’s words as he lay dying:
I will be always with you, my love. Until the end of time. And beyond.
Oh, Conal. You kept your word.
“I beg pardon. Did you say something?”
Laurel studied the way he was dressed, in a navy blazer and gray pants, the collar of his white shirt open at the throat. “Just thinking aloud. I’d have expected the lord of the castle to wear a kilt.”
“I do, for formal occasions.” He paused. “Since you’ve missed dinner with your tour, why not join me for a bite of supper in my suite?”
“You actually live here?”
“My family has called this place home for hundreds of years.” He offered his arm, and though her mind was reeling from all she’d been through, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to place her hand on his arm and move along by his side.
Within minutes they’d passed through the portrait gallery and had moved on to the private section of the castle, which was off-limits to the public.
They rounded a corner and blinked against the light of the hall sconces.
“Good. It seems the electrician has restored power all through the castle.”
Laurel glanced over at the man beside her. “Do you make it a habit to invite guests to your suite for dinner?”
“As a matter of fact, you’re the first.” He smiled down at her, and in the clear light she saw Conal’s eyes, Conal’s smile. Her heart did a series of somersaults in her chest, and she wondered that she could still breathe.
“It’s the strangest thing.” Conor paused outside the doors to his suite of rooms and tipped up her face, staring deeply into her eyes. “But I feel as though I’ve been waiting for you all my life.”
Laurel wondered at the lightness around her heart.
She would never know if all the things she’d experienced in the fortress were real, or if they’d been the result of some sort of extreme fear when the power went out, leaving her alone in the dark without the comfort of her tour group. But this much she knew. Because of her introduction to Conal MacLennan, and the adventure they’d shared, she was a different woman from the one she’d been before arriving here. Whether real or a figment of her imagination, Con the Mighty had taught her to believe in love.
Laurel returned Conor’s smile. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Well then.” Instead of moving aside, he remained just so, watching as the light in her eyes deepened.
The smile he gave her was absolutely dazzling. “I can’t wait to give you a proper Highland welcome.”
On the Fringe
MARY KAY MCCOMAS
This story is dedicated to my sister,
Karen Aris,
who gave it to me.
One
“Mauu-uum!” Susan bellowed up the narrow stairwell, her voice like a dental drill on the back of Bonnie’s neck. “Mom! Aunt Jan’s here.”
Great. Could this day get any better?
She stood, brushed dust off the denim that covered her knees and, stretching her back, looked up to the rafters, praying for patience…clearly the one thing sweet old Pim hadn’t stuffed in her attic. Her grandmother was an accumulator. Was, is now, and ever shall be, she supposed.
“Bonnie?” Her sister’s voice was firm and demanding, usually critical, sometimes ira
te…but always a comfort in its familiarity. “Come down. We need to talk,” she said, though her attention was riveted on her niece. “Does your mother know you’re answering the door in this getup, young lady? Do you even own a bra?”
Susan, Bonnie’s fifteen-year-old daughter, had two older brothers, a father, fraternal grandparents, and cousins—Janice was not the only family she had and so she tended not to…value her as much as Bonnie did.
“I own a few, if it’s really your business, and my mother bought me this getup, old—”
“Susan.” Her sister and daughter could have been old and new versions of the same person standing together at the bottom of the attic steps looking up at her: both long and lean, short dark hair framing their faces—one artfully gray-streaked, the other neon pink–tipped—eyes wide and blue, the same do-something-about-her expression on their faces. “Would you bring me two bottles of water from the fridge? Please,” she added when the stormy expression didn’t immediately dissipate.
Astutely noting that her afternoon off might well be in peril, Susan turned on her heel, cast one last resentful glance at her aunt, and stomped off in her low-rider stretch jeans and short knit cami.
“You’re just asking for trouble with that girl.”
“I’m picking my battles.” Bonnie sat on a dusty step halfway down and gave a weary sigh. “She’s okay. She’s just…being a kid.”
“She’s sassy, rude, and you can see her nipples through that…top, I guess you’d have to call it since it wouldn’t cover her bottom any better.”
“That’s all true, but she’s not a runaway crack whore; she’s hardly bitched at all about helping me out here at Pim’s this morning, and frankly, I’d rather die than inflict on her the insecurities that I had about my body at her age.”
“What was the matter with your body?” She frowned, trying to recall as her gaze skimmed over Bonnie’s thirty-pounds-too-heavy, five-foot-eight-inch frame; the spiderweb laced through her thick, shiny, auburn waves of hair; the dust on the dark lashes around her gray-green eyes. She looked to be exactly what she was, an almost-forty-year-old mother of three, a third-grade teacher’s assistant, and a newly lapsed Republican.