Staring at Chandler straight in the eye, Taylor took another deep drink from the mug of ale, licking her lips and silently noting they were becoming a bit numb. Uh oh…numb lips were a sure sign that she’d probably had enough, but she’d be damned if she’d give Chandler the satisfaction of admitting it. Besides, by all rights and reasoning he no longer had any say in how much alcohol she chose to consume.
“I believe I’m perfectly capable of handling my alcohol,” Taylor retorted tersely. “And yes, tomorrow we leave for Stornoway. Are you coming there too?” she blatantly asked.
His cheeks reddening slightly as he glanced around the room, Chandler ducked his chin a bit as he responded. “Well….yes…as a matter of fact, I’ve already got my tickets.”
Draining her mug completely, Taylor set the empty glass down on the table with a thud. Narrowing her eyes at Chandler’s critical glare, she waved broadly to the barkeep holding up two fingers, then pointing to herself and Chandler.
“Taylor…you’ve had enough,” Chandler whispered through clenched teeth, grasping Taylor’s elbow in an attempt to punctuate his statement.
Brows raised in feigned surprise, Taylor fixed Chandler with a cold stare. “I will decide when I’ve had enough…thank you. If you don’t want the drink I ordered you, then leave it…I’ll finish it once I’ve drank mine.”
His lips flattening into a grim line of frustration, Chandler sat silently at Taylor’s side as he watched her not only finish her own mug of ale but the one she had ordered for him as well. He couldn’t believe the way she was behaving. Since when had she become so fond of alcohol? Whatever this mysterious quest of hers was all about; it was obviously having quite a shattering effect on Taylor’s usually strict self-control.
Scooting both of the empty mugs away from her, Taylor leaned close, resting her chin on Chandler’s shoulder. “My bladder is about to burst…I’ll be back in a minute…okay?” she asked, the fumes from her breath clearly revealing the amount of alcohol she had consumed.
Rising from the table a bit too quickly, Taylor swayed rapidly to one side, quickly grabbing Chandler’s arm to keep from swerving clear to the floor.
“I told you you’d had enough,” Chandler muttered accusingly through clenched teeth. Standing to grasp both of Taylor’s arms, he supported her, half carrying her to the restroom, wondering how in the world she’d be able to navigate her way into a stall once he turned her loose. Opening the door to the ladies room, Chandler hesitantly let go of both her shoulders, pointing her in the direction of the toilets and praying she wouldn’t fall. Bouncing off the nearby sink, Taylor finally managed to stumble her way into one of the stalls. Chandler allowed the door to the restroom to slowly close, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed in disbelief.
After what seemed like forever, Taylor finally emerged from the ladies room, smiling broadly when her eyes met Chandler’s. “I’m all set to go now…You wanna walk me to my room?”
Shaking his head as he rolled his eyes heavenward, Chandler grasped Taylor firmly under one arm, quickly leading her outside. Standing on the side of the street, eyes narrowed in anger, Chandler curtly asked, “Where are you staying?”
The events of the day and the alcohol befuddling her memory, Taylor frowned as she tapped her chin with one finger. “I don’t remember…let’s walk a bit. Maybe the night air will clear my head!” Smiling and swerving to turn toward the river, Taylor headed back towards the canal at a fast pace. Shaking his head in aggravation at Taylor’s behavior, Chandler found himself having to break into a slight jog in order to keep up with her.
“You’re the only person I know who insists on running while they are drunk,” he panted as he finally reached her side.
Coming to a stop immediately, Taylor put both hands on her hips as she snorted, “I’m not drunk and I’m not running!” She rubbed her nose and lips with one hand as she continued, “I’m just walking really fast.”
Chandler crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at her in disapproval. “Let me guess…your nose is itching and your lips are numb…right?”
Staring up at him sheepishly through her eyelashes, Taylor smiled a bit as she replied, “Well…yeah, so what.”
“You know as well as I do that means your drunk. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten last year’s Christmas party?” Chandler scolded, his breath fogging in the brisk night air.
Staring up into the full moon shining over the river, Taylor pretended not to hear him. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she breathed, dreamy-eyed as she stood swaying and struggling to keep her balance.
Her flowing golden hair loosened and glistening in the moonlight, her parted lips wet and inviting as she stared up at the sky. Chandler couldn’t resist reaching out to stroke Taylor’s pale cheek with one hand, then pulled her roughly into his arms. “Absolutely irresistible,” he hoarsely agreed before covering her mouth with his own.
Just as his lips touched hers, Taylor was torn out of his arms. At first, Chandler thought Taylor had wrenched herself from his grasp. But as he opened his eyes to question her, his voice froze in his throat at the sight meeting his gaze.
Standing before him, Taylor crushed to his side with one arm, was one of the biggest men Chandler had ever seen. The dark haired man’s stature of nearly seven feet was made all the more menacing by the massive width of his broad muscular shoulders. The piercing blue eyes flashed with anger as the man held the side of his sword to Chandler’s throat. The muscles rippling in his clenched jaw, the man brought his face to within inches of Chandler’s. “Never touch this lass again,” he growled, his deep voice chilling Chandler to the bone.
Backing away from the edge of the sword, Chandler raised both hands in submission. “I wasn’t hurting her…she knows me…we were...together at one time. Taylor, tell him I wasn’t hurting you.” Chandler’s eyes darted from the icy stare of the sword bearing Scotsman to the frightened green eyes of Taylor.
“Chandler….you don’t understand,” Taylor whispered, placing a restraining hand on Quinlan’s sword. “This is Quinlan…the man from the painting.” Eyes pleading with him to understand, Taylor gently pushed the edge of the sword away from Chandler’s neck. “Quinlan…this is Chandler…I almost married him,” she started to explain.
“I know damn well who he is,” Quinlan interrupted coldly. “Ye may not have known of me until recently…but I’ve been watchin’ ye for years.” Shifting his weight to better support Taylor as he kept her crushed to his side, Quinlan looked down into her face as he continued to snarl. “’Twas bad enough, the times I had to watch ye held in this one’s arms. I’ll be damned if I stand idly by and watch him take ye when he stands upon m’own land. Ye’re mine, Taylor McKenna…dinna forget that…ever.” Pulling her even closer, Quinlan covered her mouth with his, his lips hard and unforgiving…his tongue pushing against her own….claiming her mouth to erase any evidence Chandler had ever been there. Eyes alight with fire, his face strained and wet with sweat, Quinlan pressed his forehead against her own, urgently whispering, “Come ta’ me, Taylor…I am your destiny and canna live without ye.”
Then Quinlan quickly faded in the wavering moonlight, clouds racing through the sky to cover it from view. Taylor dropped to the ground as he disappeared, her hand held to her mouth as she remembered the agony in his kiss.
Slowly raising her head to look at Chandler, Taylor’s eyes filled with tears. Rising from the ground she quietly held out her hand and whispered, “I remember where my room is now…would you please walk me home?”
Chandler stared at her, struck mute by all that he’d just witnessed. Backing away from her outstretched hand, he stammered, his hands raised in submission. “I th-think you’ll be perfectly safe, Taylor….I’ve got to get to the airport and get home.”
Watching Chandler run down the street away from her, Taylor raised a shaking hand to her face, recklessly wiping away the tears. Shaking her head forlornly, she wearily started back to her hotel. She was absolutely certain t
his time…that she’d never see Chandler again.
Chapter Nine
“Damn it, man! Have ye absolutely lost yer mind?” The fiery-haired Scotsman paced back and forth across the room, pausing in his fuming to stare down at Quinlan. Weakly lying upon a cot, his dark hair plastered to his temples with sweat, Quinlan wearily pulled his eyes open to angrily glare at his friend.
“Magnus…she’s afraid. She’s already skittish enough. He wouldha’ succeeded in stealing her from me.” Turning his face back to the stone wall beside the cot, he closed his eyes to Magnus’ preaching.
Pulling a stool up beside the bed, Magnus rested his elbows on the cot. Taking hold of Quinlan’s chin, he turned the warrior’s face back to his, forcing Quinlan to listen to his words. “Did it ever occur to that wee mind of yours, that if she doesna’ come to ye willingly…perhaps she isna’ meant to come to ye at all?”
Pushing aside Magnus’ broad body, a tiny woman clucked her tongue with dismay. “Zelda must tend to the Laird. Please be to let him rest, Great Magnus,” she murmured, shouldering her way to her patient. Squeezing fragrant liquid from the sponge into the wooden bowl, the white-haired matron shook her head with a worried frown. Glancing at Magnus, she arched her feathery eyebrows as she inclined her head toward Quinlan. Patting the tinge of sweat from Quinlan’s pale brow, she frowned in concern over her laird. “The Laird is afraid Her willna’ come…that all his waiting has been in vain. He nearly push the moonlight too far. His soul nearly lost to the winds.”
Patting Zelda’s bony shoulder, Magnus nodded his head in understanding. “I know Mistress Zelda…but ye must understand, he canna force her through the gateway. The Furies willna’ allow her to stay if her spirit isna’ willing.” Staring down at his friend, Magnus heaved a deep sigh, pulling at his reddish beard with a frown. “Quinlan…open your eyes and answer me…for I must know what it is that’s swimming about in that lovesick mind of yours.”
Pushing away Zelda’s hand as she gently bathed his face, Quinlan dropped his hand weakly to his side as he waited for Magnus to speak.
“Are ye going to tell the lass that the decision she makes will be one she can never change?” Magnus sat on the side of the cot, watching Quinlan closely for his reaction.
“If I do…she’ll ne’er come to me.” Clenching his teeth, his eyes narrowed, Quinlan raised his chin defiantly to Magnus. “D’ye mean to warn her…chase her away? Or will ye let her cross the cairn with no interference? Ye know the Furies have sworn that I mustna’ give her a clue on how ta’ reach me…or m’heart will be alone forever.”
Frowning, Magnus shook his head, running his hand worriedly through his fiery hair. “The Furies said ye couldna’ tell her the way to find ye. They didna’ say ye couldna’ tell her the crossing would be eternal.”
His troubled blue eyes feverish and wild, Quinlan shook his head weakly from side to side. Mustering what little strength he had left, he clutched Magnus’ sleeve in his hand. “Once she’s here…she willna’ regret it. She doesna’ belong where she is right now. I can make her happy…I did once. In time, she’ll remember.”
“And if she doesna’ remember? Then what?” Magnus asked, covering Quinlan’s hand with his own. “And are ye no’ the least bit worried about the crossing of the cairn? If she doesna’ make the crossing at the proper hour, if she happens upon the cairn the wrong day, ye know as well as I, her soul will be so shattered that e’en the Divine Brighid may not be able to mend her.”
“Go to her, Magnus. Keep her safe. Dinna let her cross until the proper time.” Quinlan released Magnus’ sleeve, flinching as pain shot through his body. “But swear to me, ye willna’ tell her that once she has crossed over…that she canna return to her time. Swear to me, ye willna’ warn her away…she belongs with me…ye know that in yer heart.”
Nodding slowly, Magnus rose from the cot, gently placing Quinlan’s hand to his chest. “I know the lass belongs with ye…she belongs in this time even more. But ye’ve watched her; ye know how headstrong she appears. D’ye think she’ll forgive ye for not telling her all she should know?”
“She has to,” Quinlan mumbled as he wearily closed his eyes. “For I love her,” he breathed wearily, as he faded off to sleep.
~*~
Adjusting her sunglasses to completely shade her eyes from any form of light, Taylor stepped gingerly up to the British Airways counter and handed over her boarding pass. The flight attendant examined her tickets, removed the stub and returned the packet to her with a smile. Walking carefully to move her throbbing head as little as possible, Taylor finally found her seat and thankfully sank into it.
Bumping down the aisle at her usual hummingbird pace, Mattie deposited her carry-on bag in the luggage compartment over head. Slamming the door with a thud that reverberated through every tendon in Taylor’s head, Mattie plopped her round body down into the seat beside her pale friend, proceeding to test all the air and light buttons with resounding clicks and whirs.
“Must you be so loud?” Taylor whispered painfully, the sound of her own voice echoing nauseatingly loud throughout her body.
“Eeyeew,” Mattie observed at the sight of Taylor’s haggard face. “I haven’t seen you look this bad since the day after last year’s Christmas party.”
Slowly rubbing the back of her neck with an alcohol soaked napkin; Taylor ignored Mattie’s observation, concentrating totally on not accessing the airsick bag stored conveniently in the seat pocket in front of her. The effects of the refreshing cloth wipe were quickly dispelled as the pilot started the engines and the plane began slowly bumping and roaring its way down the uneven runway.
“Really tied one on last night…didn’t you?” Mattie observed quietly.
“The ale from that pub on the corner must be brewed by the devil himself,” Taylor replied through her tight-lipped mouth. Leaning her head gingerly back against the headrest, she struggled against the rising wall of nausea.
“What time did you finally get back to your room? I checked in on you around midnight and you weren’t there.” Mattie unconsciously flipped through the tourist guide with her usual nervous energy.
“All I know,” Taylor painfully sighed as she reached over and vainly attempted to still Mattie’s twitchings with one hand. “Is that I got back there late…alone, confused and half scared out of my wits.”
“Half scared?” Mattie picked up on this last comment, ceasing her page flipping in midair. “What happened that frightened you?”
Taylor leaned the side of her head against the cool glass of the window, mumbling, “Laird Macleod.”
Fully interested in hearing the details of last night, Mattie grew impatient with Taylor’s fragmented answers. “Stop speaking in half sentences and tell me what happened!”
Raising her hand as though to shield herself from the sound of Mattie’s voice, Taylor grimaced as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “After I started feeling better, I decided to do a bit of sight seeing. I wasn’t sure where you and Drake were…so, I set out on my own. I ended up down by the river.” Taylor paused, licking her dry lips; her mouth feeling as though it had been stuffed with oil soaked cotton. “At sunset, he appeared to me…insisting once again that I needed to hurry and get to him….still being very vague about what would happen once I did find him.” Shifting once again in the narrow seat, she readjusted the sunglasses over her burning bloodshot eyes. “As usual, he disappeared quicker then I would’ve liked…something about his powers were fading or his time was over or something. Anyway, I went to the pub to be among real normal people and guess who shows up?” Taylor paused, waiting to see if Mattie would ask the next logical question.
“Who?” Mattie supplied on cue.
“Chandler,” Taylor finished with a sigh.
“Chandler?” Mattie’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “Chandler came all the way to Inverness? Why?”
“Well…why do you think? By the way…he said he’d been checking on me through you…is that true?” T
aylor inquired as more of the details of last night were beginning to break free of the fog within her head.
This time it was Mattie’s turn to shift uncomfortably in her seat. “Well…yes,” she finally mumbled as she nervously folded down the corners of the tourist guide. “He’s worried about you, Taylor and I didn’t have the heart to tell him to get on with his life.”
“Well…” Taylor muttered with a humorless smile. “You’re not going to have to worry about that anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Mattie asked, frowning as she inclined her head toward Taylor.
“Laird Macleod informed him quite clearly to keep his hands off of me,” Taylor stated bluntly, the churning of her stomach gearing up a notch at the memory of the confrontation.
“Quinlan appeared to Chandler?” Mattie asked incredulously, slightly jealous that she’d never even been introduced yet.
“Oh, he not only appeared to him…he threatened him with his sword.” Taylor’s heart quickened at the memory of the Scotsman clutching her to his side. She reached up, idly brushing her lips with the tips of her fingers, as she remembered the crushing kiss he’d used to claim her mouth. She felt a stirring at her very core, not from the alcohol-induced nausea but a stirring caused by the memory of the hard muscular body pressing tightly against her own.
“Taylor! Then what happened?” Mattie repeated, impatient with the fact that Taylor had slipped off into a reverie leaving Mattie dangling in the middle of the story.
“Then the Laird disappeared and Chandler ran away…I don’t think I’ll have to worry about dealing with any emotional issues with Chandler any more.” Taylor noted wryly with a sad smile, as she closed her eyes to the memory.
Leaning back against the seat, Mattie was uncharacteristically speechless. “Wow,” seemed to be the only response that came to her.
Twice Upon a Soul Page 13