by Cindy Miles
He took her head in his hands and brushed a kiss across her lips. ‘‘Grú mo chroí,’’ he said, his rich accent washing over her. ‘‘Go síoraí.’’
Amelia smiled and tears burned her eyes. ‘‘I love you, Ethan Arimus Munro.’’ She kissed him back. ‘‘Forever.’’
Just then, a rustling sound started, and it grew louder in spite of the wind. She looked around, her ponytail slapping at her eyes and across her cheek, and as the sound came closer, Amelia peered down the trail.
Her heart leaped into her throat and she made a noise—not quite a scream, not quite a squeal.
Rats.
They crested the small hill by the hundreds, like a black cloud on the ground moving swiftly toward them. Amelia hollered, then literally crawled up the length of Ethan.
‘‘Hurry, lass!’’ yelled Gilchrist, who hated rats as much as she did.
Ethan balanced her. ‘‘Amelia, stop wriggling so. ’Tis a vision, is all.’’
Hanging off of Ethan’s side, with her legs wrapped around his waist and legs, she squealed. ‘‘The hail wasn’t a vision! These suckers are real!’’
As the rodents gathered around Ethan’s legs, he began to squirm. ‘‘Damn me, but you’re right.’’
‘‘Read the missive, lass!’’ hollered Gilchrist. ‘‘I beseech you!’’
Amelia looked over her shoulder. Guthrie stood, looking at them as though they’d all lost their minds.
Maybe they had.
‘‘Ah-meh-lay-ah!’’ shouted Gilchrist.
‘‘Okay!’’ She held on to Ethan, and with the other, pulled the verse close and read it out loud.
Nothing happened.
The wind turned gale force now, and Amelia wrapped her legs even tighter around Ethan. ‘‘Nothing’s happening!’’ she yelled over the noise.
‘‘Try it again!’’ yelled Aiden. ‘‘Louder this time!’’
‘‘Love, I’ve got to put you down. You canna come with us.’’
‘‘Oh, my God!’’ she said as Ethan lowered her. He unsheathed his sword and started swiping at the rats, which helped somewhat.
Amelia hurried and repeated it. Once more, nothing. She kicked and swatted at the filthy enchanted little rodents, and jumped up and down to try and keep them away. It wasn’t working very well.
She glanced at the guys. Hair and kilts were flying everywhere, rats went sailing through the air, and had it not been such a freaking crisis, she would have thoroughly enjoyed herself.
‘‘Let me see the missive, Amelia!’’ Ethan hollered over the wind.
She handed it to him, fought the urge to climb right back up his side, and watched his lips form the same words she’d just spoken.
Only, in Gaelic.
Suddenly, the wind stopped and the rats disappeared. The sky grew gray, and a thick, soupy mist rolled toward them from . . . somewhere.
Ethan looked at Amelia, and their eyes locked. God, she wanted to touch him so badly, but she wrapped her arms around herself and simply stared at him.
Just before the mist engulfed them, he mouthed the words I love you.
And then the blackness swallowed them whole.
Chapter 28
Amelia’s eyes fluttered open. Silence and darkness enclosed her, but slowly; the more she stared, the pitch lightened, and a heavy mist, so thick she couldn’t see anything but white, took the place of the dark.
Then, slowly, the mist faded. Not all the way, but only wispy sheets slipped by her.
She looked around. She stood right by the yew tree.
No rats. No wind.
No Ethan.
That funny spot inside one’s throat that burned when something drastic happened? When tears wanted to flow and the potential crier held them at bay? Hers burned now. Her insides ached. Her heart hurt.
Jesus, they’d really gone back.
For a second, all Amelia could do was stand there and try to breathe. Reading the verse in Gaelic— medieval Gaelic—had worked. Of course it had. The original enchanter would have been from Ethan’s time. She’d not have spoken English—which might be why the only time her spirit had gone all wacko had been when Ethan had spoken to Amelia in Gaelic.
Go figure.
Emptiness consumed her, like a big hole had been chiseled right out of her chest. Would she ever see Ethan and the guys again?
After several deep inhalations and exhalations, Amelia started back down the path, toward the keep. She wondered briefly how long she’d been standing out by the yew, in her weird blackout. From the filtered daylight, it seemed to be very early morning. She glanced around. Where the heck was Guthrie?
As she made it to the edge of the wood, Amelia stopped. Something felt different. Kooky different. She looked up and around. The treetops swayed, but she felt no wind on her cheeks. She took another big breath.
Not one single Highland scent came to her nose.
With a shake of her head, she continued on.
It wasn’t until she left the wood and stepped out into the meadow that she noticed something else bizarre, and stopped again.
Her rental was gone.
So was the path she’d driven in on.
All at once, she noticed several more things, and her heart started to pound faster and faster. A small stone church sat off to one side of the keep. An enormous stable was set back from the church. Another stone building, more like a pavilion of sorts, stood off in the other direction.
Her eyes widened.
No way.
She wasn’t supposed to go back to the fourteenth century. That hadn’t been the plan at all. She wasn’t from here. She hadn’t anything to do with the original enchantment, or the murder.
So why was she here? Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was having another of those weird dreams.
Amelia took off running. Good Lord, if she wasn’t dreaming, then she hoped no one else saw her first. She didn’t like the idea of smoldering on a big stick in an even bigger fire. She had to find Ethan, or one of the guys. She needed to let them know she’d come, too . . .
Just then a movement caught her eye. Her insides froze, and she dug her sneakers into the sod and stopped, wishing hard for a tree, a bush—anything to hide behind. But she was in the meadow, wide open for all to see.
Through the mist, a figure emerged. Dark cloak, big cowl pulled down far enough to see the face. The same cloaked figure from her dream . . .
The figure moved quick and fast across the meadow ahead, and then to skirt the side of the keep. Amelia took a deep breath, hoped with all mighty hope that the adrenaline in her body either flushed out or distributed so she wouldn’t have a heart attack, and then followed.
Amelia kept her eyes trained on the figure, and when it stopped, so did Amelia. Whoever it was went into the small church. Amelia eased onward to the keep, stopped, and before she could catch her breath, the cloaked person emerged from the church with another. A girl, very tiny from what Amelia could see, with auburn hair and wearing a long blue gown. The cloaked figure towered over the girl. And then they both started walking toward the mist-shrouded knoll.
A bad feeling crept over Amelia. The kind where one’s skin prickles and butterflies slap at the inside of your stomach. Not the sweet, happy butterflies, but the mean ones. That feeling.
Without hesitation, Amelia followed the pair. If she was having a dream, it definitely was of the informative sort. If she wasn’t dreaming . . .
Just before the pair reached the top of the knoll, they stopped.
Everything happened rather fast after that, as things do in dreams. The young girl reached out her hand, took something from the cloaked person, and—Amelia squinted her eyes—drank something? Drank or ate something. Either way, something went into the young girl’s mouth. What on earth were they doing? The young girl seemed perfectly at ease with the other.
More mean butterflies . . .
Just then, the pair began to move again, and it was at that exact same moment the mist thinned out at the
top of the knoll.
Exposing an upside down wooden L.
At first, Amelia’s mind froze. Then, as realization of what she was actually witnessing set in, her insides turned to ice, and then numb.
That tiny young girl was Devina, Ethan’s wife. Amelia knew it, felt it in her bones. She’d bet her own life on it. With a loud yell, she started to run toward them. ‘‘Hey!’’ she shouted, dodging the rocks and thick clumps of heather. ‘‘Hey, stop!’’
Neither person on the knoll heard; neither turned in Amelia’s direction. She pumped her arms and legs, running as fast as she could.
Then the young girl slumped to the ground in a heap, and as Amelia dug into the side of the knoll, running up the small, narrow footpath, the cloaked figure withdrew something—Amelia couldn’t tell what from where she was—and bent down at the girl’s very still body.
Sweet Jesus, she’d just witnessed Ethan’s wife’s murder.
With her lungs burning, Amelia continued to run and yell. ‘‘Hey! Get away from her!’’
The cloaked figure didn’t even flinch.
Finally, Amelia tumbled to the top of the knoll. She stood, and the figure had looped a rope around the girl’s neck. Amelia rushed forward, hollering, ready to fight. ‘‘What are you—’’
Amelia fell straight through the cloaked figure. It was then she realized she hadn’t felt the fall at all, not the damp earth beneath her palms, or the rock she’d landed on. Nothing.
Mist slithering around it, the person threw one end of the rope over the top of the upside down L, caught it, wrapped both hands around it, and began to pull. The girl’s body started to rise.
Oh Jesus! No!
Amelia, fury raging within her, repeatedly threw herself at the cloaked figure, every time she simply fell through. She jumped, waved her hands, and screamed so hard, her voice started to crack.
No one heard Amelia’s screams as the poor young girl—Devina Munro, Ethan’s wife—hung limp and lifeless from the end of a rope . . .
Tears of anger and frustration ran down Amelia’s cheeks, and she tried several more times to stop whoever from doing what Ethan had been blamed for. Amelia didn’t want to look, but forced herself to meet the lifeless gaze of Devina.
She was looking straight at her as she clawed at the rope around her neck, her body wriggling.
Panic struck Amelia, and she began to scream, punching at the figure, kicking—but it was like fighting air. All those years of martial arts training, multiple degrees in black belt, and none of it helped her stop the murder of Ethan’s young wife. Just a girl . . .
It was then the mist cleared, just a bit, that Amelia saw within the depths of the cowl concealing the murderer’s face. She blinked. A woman? Reddish hair surrounding a pale white face, definitely female. As big as the figure was, and with such apparent strength, Amelia had assumed the cloaked person was a man. Amelia didn’t recognize her, but she felt pretty sure it was the same person who’d enchanted Ethan and his men. But why?
The cloaked woman picked up a sword—Ethan’s, Amelia assumed, and a width of plaid cloth, and jammed them together into the wood. Just like Ethan had said his wife had been found.
With a curse, Amelia took off down the knoll, across the meadow, and around the loch. Completely breathless when she reached the keep, and surprised to see the great hall door opened. It may have been open before and in her haste she had missed it. Catching her breath, Amelia hurried inside, frantic to find Ethan, Aiden—any of the guys. She nearly slipped, and when she glanced down, she saw the floors now strewn with long, dried weeds, or hay, all pressed down. Bizarre.
At the far end of the great hall, where the sofas, love seats, and recliners usually sat, stood an enormous long wooden table with several chairs lining each side. At first Amelia saw no one. Then, through the kitchen archway toddled an older woman, wrapped in a plaid with a light-colored overlay, carrying a large, steaming pot.
‘‘Excuse me?’’ Amelia said, carefully making her way over the weedy floor. She walked up to the woman. ‘‘Hello?’’
The woman set the bowl down, regarded the table, and turned around and walked back to the kitchen.
She hadn’t even known Amelia stood two feet away.
Suddenly, a thundering sound just outside the great hall made Amelia turn, and just as she did, Rob came bursting through the door. His face was white as dough, and he ran toward the stairs.
Amelia, grateful to finally see someone she knew, ran to meet him. ‘‘Rob! Thank God you’re—’’
‘‘Ethan!’’ he hollered.
And ran straight through Amelia.
Amelia sucked in a breath, shook her head, and then followed Rob, who looked a bit rougher than usual, up the steps.
Just hearing Ethan’s name from Rob’s mouth made Amelia’s heart thump hard. They reached the second floor, and Rob burst into a room. Amelia ran right in behind him.
Somewhere, a voice carried through the small open window Ethan Munro stood at.
Rob ran through the door, hollered something in Gaelic, and then reached Ethan’s side, pointed out of the window, and yelled some more. Ethan answered in the same manner, a grave expression on his face.
He, like Rob, looked a little different. Raw, perhaps, or just rugged Highland male. She didn’t know which.
Amelia ran to the window, beside both Munros. ‘‘Ethan!’’ she yelled, and waved her hand before him. He continued to stare out the window.
Then they both turned, and had Amelia not jumped to the side, they’d have walked right through her.
And as she hurried after them both, a perplexing thought crashed over her. No one could see or hear her.
So this is what it feels like to be a ghost . . .
Chapter 29
Even as Amelia raced around, following Ethan’s every footstep, watching firsthand the vast confusion and rushing about in the Munro Keep, dodging as many warriors as she possibly could to prevent them from walking through her invisible self, one thing in her mind stood out, one thing she knew with assuredness.
The melee, the uproar of warriors, the swearing and hollering and hurrying about and gathering of weapons—was worse than a re-creation of the morning of Devina Munro’s murder.
It was really happening. And Amelia, as unseen as a spirit, stood in the middle of it all. Watching, like a silent witness in a dream. And unable to do a damn thing about any of it.
A sense of hopelessness washed over Amelia, the energy and fight from before draining out of her with each breath. She no longer tried to make the others see her. They wouldn’t. She was in the fourteenth century, but not really. The verse that sent Ethan and the others back in time had given Amelia a free ride. A nonobligatory trip to observe the senseless murder of a young girl.
Amelia wanted to sit down and weep.
As people hurried about the great hall, Amelia leaned against the wall and tried to swallow past the lump that grew larger by the second. Why had they come back if not to save Devina’s life? It didn’t make sense. And she’d been so sure . . .
Suddenly Ethan began barking orders at his men. Aiden, Sorely, Torloch, Rob, and Gilchrist all stood behind Ethan, along with several other warriors. Armed, their swords sheathed in big leather scabbards on their backs, they stood, faces drawn tight. Veritable medieval M-80s ready to explode. And then they filed out of the great hall and into the mist.
Amelia followed, and kept her eyes trained on Ethan. His mouth pulled tight into a fierce scowl, he surged forward with a determined walk. The sexy, twenty-first-century swagger was gone. Now fury fueled his gait. She all but held her breath as they crossed the meadow and skirted the loch, and then climbed the very same footpath Amelia had earlier.
This time, though, a line of warriors, their lit torches flickering in the mist, stood at the top of the knoll.
And just as Ethan had described, the Munros and the MacEwans clashed. Amelia’s heart surged, and her throat burned as she watched a man she assumed to be Da
egus push Ethan and then have him held. She glanced at the figure covered by a plaid on the ground, and she felt sickened, knowing it was Devina. Why, after all they’d gone through, had absolutely nothing changed?
And why was she being forced to watch it all?
When the fighting broke out, Amelia pushed back, out of the crowd. To watch a battle on TV, or at the movies, was one thing. Hollywood special effects could really make something look real and gory.
Nothing compared to watching it firsthand. To know these men were really killing one another . . .
Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia noticed movement. How, amidst a battle, she didn’t know, but from the top of the knoll, behind the horrible upside down L, a tall figure stepped forward. She was wearing a long black gown, red hair framing a deathly white face.
Amelia’s mind scrambled through the conversations she’d had with Ethan and the guys, specifically about the day Devina was killed. This day. They’d gone over a list of wedding guests. One of those guests had been Devina’s beloved cousin, whose husband had been killed not a year before.
Marynth. Wearing widow’s black. Before that, a cloak.
Devina’s murderer.
The Munros enchanter.
With her heart in her throat, Amelia made her way through the fight, skirting around the edge, keeping an eye on Marynth and Ethan.
Amelia gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth as she watched Rob stab Devina’s uncle, Daegus, just as he was about to attack Ethan. Gruesome as it was, it’d saved her beloved’s life.
Everything happened exactly as Ethan and the guys had described. While Amelia couldn’t understand any of the words, the actions fit perfectly. Devina had been murdered, Ethan had been blamed, and a battle had ensued between the two clans.
The only difference was Amelia had witnessed it all. She knew who the murderer was.
She also knew six Munros who had a sliver of yew bark in their belts.
She prayed fervently they still did.
All at once, a new set of warriors crested the knoll. As if in a slow-motion picture, the mist rolled in, and Ethan and his kin gathered in a circle. Through the blanket of white, Amelia saw something they’d not seen. Marynth, rushing out to their small circle, her lips moving fast, something Gaelic pouring out.