by L. L. Muir
“I knew it!”
His horse stomped and complained.
Gerard held completely still, prepared to fall to his feet the instant the horse dissolved beneath him. But a full minute later, the beast was still waiting for him to make up his mind. He reached out and gently patted the animal’s neck.
Smooth. Firm. Alive.
He couldn’t resist crossing himself and saying a little prayer for poor Soncerae. Even if the wee lass was a witch herself, the Muirs seemed a frightening bunch to call family.
Demonstrating a great deal more faith than he possessed, he turned the horse back to the course he’d set. A quarter of an hour later, he was only halfway through his instructions when he came upon a large sign with pealing blue paint. The MacKay Hazelnut Company.
MacKay! He finally had her last name! Poor record-keeping or not, the vicar wouldn’t have found her name in the death records, or her headstone in the kirkyard, because Assa MacKay was alive and well and living in the twenty-first century.
And, for the moment, so was Gerard.
CHAPTER NINE
Through the swirling clouds of wishes and elusive haze of dreams, Gerard Ross’ voice found Assa.
“I kept my promise, lass. I told ye, if it were possible, I would come to Dingwall and find ye.”
“And so ye have,” she whispered.
“And did ye keep yer promise as well?”
The teasing voice sounded just above her and a warm, exciting chill shot through her body when a fleeting kiss landed on her collarbone, then was gone.
She stretched like a lazy cat and smiled, happy his ghost had taken the challenge and come to her. If he were so easily summoned, she might be tempted to sleep forever again.
“Yer promise,” he whispered. “Did ye keep yer promise?”
She shook her head slightly. “What promise?”
“To keep my forgiveness in yer pocket, aye? The pebble, lass. Do ye remember the pebble?”
Another kiss, this time on her lips, was a reminder of his glorious taste. The memory had been lost to her…forever…
“Assa, my love,” he murmured against her lips with his deep, rumbling baritone. “Dinna tempt me, aye? Sit up.”
She didn’t want to sit up. It was her dream, not his.
“Sit up, love.” His voice came from farther away.
“Don’t go, Gerard,” she implored.
“Ah. So. Ye do remember my name, then.”
There was something about the teasing in his tone that brought her wide awake, and she slapped the pillow, frustrated she’d been unable to keep hold of the dream.
“Here, now. No violence to the cushion, there’s a good lass.”
His voice, like his person, had crossed over into her waking world! And he was kneeling on the floor not two feet away from her!
She bolted upright. “You!”
“Aye, ‘tis me, Assa. And no one is about, so no need for pretense. Besides,” half of his face creased in a lopsided grin, “ye just called me by name.”
She tried to concentrate. “Gerard. Gerard Ross.” And she could still feel the tickle of his short, soft whiskers against her collarbone.
“Aye, lass. Though Gerard is enough.” He reached forward and placed his hand over hers where it rested on the edge of the couch.
She pulled hers back. “I know yer name, sir. And yer face. But maybe ye’ll be good enough to tell me where we met?”
Honest and true pain registered on his face for a full three seconds before he chased it away with a strained smile. “Ye don’t mean to tell me ye remember nothing of our time together?”
She shrugged gently. “I’m sorry to say it, but aye.”
He shook his head. “Ye remember my face. And my name. But nothing of the road between the Clootie Well and Inverness? Nothing of Dunvegan House?”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded quickly. “But ye do recognize me.”
“I suppose so, but…”
He scrambled closer and took her hand in both of his and forced it flat against his firm chest, over his heart. “Perhaps ye have a notion of how we feel about each other, then. Or how we felt…” He seemed suddenly confused and there was something desperate in his eyes. The man’s heart was breaking, and heaven help her, she was the one doing the breaking.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ross. I’ve recently been…unwell, and I’ve forgotten a lot of things.”
He ceased pressing on her hand, gently lifted it to his lips, and kissed her palm as if in benediction before handing it back to her. He leaned on the arm of the couch and got unsteadily to his feet. She wondered if he’d been drinking, but she could smell no hint of alcohol. It twisted her guts to think he might be reeling simply because she didn’t remember him.
“I am sorry—”
He stopped her apology with a raised hand. “No need, lass. In truth, perhaps I’ve mistaken ye for another lass from Dingwall… Named Assa…” He scrunched up his smile to force it to his watery eyes. “It was so long ago, ye see. There was really no hope that ye could be the same young woman.”
He backed toward the door. She stood, intending to see him out, but still a little reluctant to see him go.
“Ye look little older than myself,” she confessed. “Did ye ken this Assa woman when ye were just a lad then?”
He shrugged. “Too long a tale for the little time I have left. I’ll just be on my way, then—”
“Good luck to ye, Gerard Ross.”
He blinked, then closed his eyes, then blinked rapidly for a moment. “That’s right. I am Gerard Ross. A living, breathing Gerard Ross. And ye kenned my name and my face.” He came away from the door again and she took a step back. “And the sight of me made ye drop a tray of dishes, ye were that surprised to see me. That doesn’t happen with mere strangers, lass, does it?”
She shrugged and retreated farther.
“Ye may have forgotten a good many things, but perhaps this will jog yer memory.” He reached behind her neck and pulled her closer. His eyes dipped to her lips. She pressed a hand against his chest to resist him, and he stopped pulling, though he left his hand where it was. “Tell me, Assa, that you don’t want to find out just as badly as I do.”
She swallowed, then breathed deeply of the taste of him—not just the taste of his lips, but of him, the man standing before her. She stopped pushing on him and instead, wrapped her hand in the sash of his kilt to keep him from retreating.
Did she want to know?
Yes, and badly. But more, she wanted to keep him close—this man who was more familiar to her than her own home. Whether they had met before, as living, breathing people, or whether he truly had stepped out of her dreams, it didn’t matter. All that signified was that she not let him go again.
She lifted her chin. “Yes. I want to know.”
As he closed the short distance between their mouths, she finally understood just how wet his eyes were, and when a tear splashed on her cheek and trickled down between their faces, she didn’t know if it had come from his eyes or hers.
The kitchen door burst open. “Who left a horse—”
Jacky had obviously caught sight of them, but she didn’t allow the Highlander to pull away. With her hand still clutching his sash, she gave him a pleading look. “I don’t yet know what goes on here between us, but please don’t let them chase ye away. Doona leave me.”
His eyes crinkled with a happy smile and he gave her a wink, then kissed the tip of her nose and turned to face her brother.
“The horse is mine,” he said.
“Obviously,” Ian growled. Hughie and Jamie had come inside as well. They all looked ready to do violence.
“I’ll not have him hurt,” she said. She tried to step around the Highlander to stand between him and the angry-but-well-intentioned mob spread out in front of the doorway. But the man extended his muscled arm and urged her behind him. “Gerard,” she said, and tried again. “It’s not as if I need protection from them, aye? You’re the one
in danger here.”
He barked with laughter. “From these tit-mice?”
Standing behind him as she was, she could look her fill, and she had to admit he was right to boast. Though Ian was a bit taller, he hadn’t half the muscle of the Highlander, whose shirt strained across a well-sculpted back. The spread of his feet hinted at the size and strength of his thighs. His calves were carved from stone. And if he had the fighting experience to go along with it, as he’d proven at the pub, it was her kin who were in trouble here.
Her stomach twisted with that sickening dread, however, and she was suddenly desperate to flee.
Gerard quickly spun around to face her as if he’d sensed her distress. His brows pushed together with worry. “What is it, lass?”
She shook her head briskly. “No fighting! I’ll not stand by and watch so much as a drop of blood spilled. Do ye hear me?”
“Not a drop,” he said. “I swear it.”
“Nor a bruise.”
He nodded. “Nor a bruise.”
Jacky was suddenly at the man’s shoulder. His worry was clear. “We’ll not harm the man, Assa. I swear it. So long as he leaves and doesnae come back—”
“I’m stayin’.” Gerard gave her another wink. “So long as she needs me.” Then he frowned. “So long as I am able.”
CHAPTER TEN
The cousins weren’t too pleased to have been overruled, and it delighted Gerard to no end that the foursome had to play nice for the lass’ sake. When it started raining, Jamie volunteered to move the horse into the shed. Ian and Hughie drove into town to pick up Chinese food and a bit of fresh air. Gerard only laughed because they couldn’t be more specific with their insults without upsetting the lass.
It was a fact, he laughed a bit too much on occasion, and Assa needed only pucker her brows a bit, and he was put in his place as well.
An explosion of thunder shook the house and Assa flew onto his lap and cowered against his chest.
“Auch, lass. Nothing but a noise. No harm done, aye?”
But still she cowered.
This was not the same brave woman who sat calmly in a parlor and wove fanciful tales for a couple of Red Coats who would have seen her hanged at a moment’s notice. Not the lass who thought she could hold him prisoner with only a blade held across her knees with which to threaten him.
Not the woman who stood at the larder door and allowed him to go to battle, even though she believed he was going to his death.
But what had happened to her? What had changed her so much? Was the current century so much more difficult than the 18th had been? Or had she seen too many unspeakable things done in the name of King George, in the days after Culloden, to banish her brave face forever?
She was the spitting image of the Assa he’d known. Not a hair missing, not a new wrinkle to her brow. He couldn’t imagine she would have spent much time in the past before being brought forward. But there was no one about who would know the answers to the questions he wished to ask.
How was it her brother and cousins were brought along with her? Was it the workings of a Muir witch? Soni herself? Or had that uncle of hers, Wickham, gone back and plucked her out of the past to be part of Gerard’s own quest?
He suppressed the urge to cross himself and say a prayer. For he would never wish away this chance to have her back in his arms again, no matter who had brought it about.
Assa, from Dingwall. How am I to save ye?
Reunited with her in spite of logic, in spite of reason. What mighty deed had he already done, in truth, to deserve her? Or was he only being set up for a great punishment—to pay for the lives he took at Culloden? Was Assa being dangled in front of his eyes only to be ripped away again on the morrow? Was he allowed this indulgence, like an addiction, so the next separation would be more painful?
If so, he realized he didn’t give a damn. He would profess his love and hold her tight every minute he was able. And if he paid for it in the very depths of Hell’s fire, he would burn with a smile upon his face.
~
The cousins returned with supper and no matter how they tried to arrange themselves around the table, Assa simply ordered her brother to move so that she and Gerard could sit together.
“It’s either that, Jacky, or I’ll sit on his lap again. Which would ye prefer?”
Jacky rolled his eyes and moved over.
Chinese food, as it happened, was a strange and slippery meal made with an unbearable amount of salt. But some morsels were tasty enough to make up for the rest. As a newly reincarnated man, Gerard didn’t know how his body would handle actual sustenance, but he was happily surprised to find himself even stronger and more invigorated than before. It was a bit awkward to eat with just the left hand, but his right was occupied beneath the table exploring every detail of Assa’s left hand.
The other men didn’t seem to enjoy the meal at all. Their attention kept wandering to the same spot on the table, as if there were a window through which they were able to see his and Assa’s fingers entwining over and over again.
Finally, they picked up their plates and moved away. And by the manner in which Assa laughed, Gerard realized she’d been tormenting the lads on purpose. Since she kept hold of him even after the others had left the table, however, he was content to be so sorely used.
After a while, Gerard noticed Hughie glancing from him, to the door, and back again, in a clear message. Gerard nodded, like he understood perfectly, then got to his feet and stretched his arms away from him as if he had just realized how tired he was. Hughie gave him an approving nod.
Gerard held out a hand to Assa. “I believe I should go check on the horse, lass. Would ye like to come along?”
Assa grinned and took his hand. She completely missed the dark look Hughie had for him as she hurried out the door ahead of him. He hung back long enough to thank the cousin for the suggestion with a wink.
He lifted the end of his plaid over both their heads and they were only partially soaked by the time they hurried into the large shed that contained a small tractor and one sleepy horse that ignored them outright. Gerard was immediately sorry when he noticed how terribly the lass shivered.
“Auch, look what I’ve done. Yer chilled to the bone.” He shook the rain from the plaid and applied it around her shoulders. The fact that he needed to stand close in order to do so played right into his plans. “Stand as close as ye like. I vow not to bite ye.”
She chuckled and snuggled against his chest. The rain on the tips of her red curls sprayed onto him when she moved her head, and he considered it more helpful than anything. His thoughts needed a bit of cooling. After all, his memories of them together seemed to cluster around the time they spent in Dunvegan House…and what might have happened, eventually, if he’d never left her.
“What is it?” She watched his face closely.
He smiled and shook his head. “Nothing. Just remembering.”
“Brilliant. Tell me everything. I’m weary from trying to remember ye, when all I truly need is for ye to explain. Where is it we met? Ye said something about Clootie Well? And a place called Dunvegan House?”
He nodded and tried to decide what he could say that wouldn’t have her calling the police to have him carted away. If she had no recollection of Culloden, or her life before Culloden, she’d hardly believe him if he started there.
There was also the worry about Soni’s intentions. The lass had no memory for a reason, he assumed. So perhaps he wasn’t supposed to tell her much at all. Had he been given the chance to see her again—with a clean slate, so to speak—so that he could win her heart without the distractions of the Jacobite Uprising throwing them together? Forging them by fire?
Was he to prove he was worthy of her in the quiet of everyday life?
But to what end? If he only had a day or two, why toy with her heart at all?
He couldn’t help himself, however. Woo her, he would. And if Soni had other plans for him, she should have been more clear.
&n
bsp; He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles and was pleased when she shivered, believing it had little to do with the temperature. “We did meet near Clootie Well. Ye were there alone and three men were…teasing ye. And before I could come to yer aid…ye scared them off on yer own, daring them to harm ye. I admit, I was a bit intimidated myself.”
She laughed lightly. “Clootie Well? I wonder what I was doing there.”
“Ye left a pretty button, if I remember right. Perhaps he had sick family, aye? And ye asked the fairies to heal them?”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe. But why were you there?”
He shrugged. “I canna remember. I’d gone often enough it was a habit to stop and pay my respects.”
She nodded, satisfied. He wanted to stay away from politics completely, just in case it triggered a landslide of memories she wouldn’t be able to handle all at a go, though Scottish Independence was just as timely a subject in present day as it had been back in the 18th century. Only this time, folks didn’t have to discuss it in secret anymore.
Though some pubs banned such discussions to avoid brawls under their roofs.
“So, we met at Clootie Well. What else?”
He shrugged. “Then we walked to Inverness.”
She gasped. “Walked!”
Gerard panicked, not knowing where to steer the conversation next. So he pulled her close and looked at her lips. “What do the details matter, Assa? Ye’ll not remember them anyway. Isn’t it enough to remember that ye loved me once? And ye might again, if ye gave it a wee try…”
She looked at his lips too, but he suspected she was trying to remember them, not trying to get closer to them.
“We kissed once, on the Kessock Ferry. Do ye remember that?”
Her head wobbled slowly back and forth, her eyes still where he wanted them.
“It went something like this.” He lowered his mouth to hers and tried to remember just how they’d kissed while they jostled between the other passengers.
Oddly enough, he’d nearly forgotten anyone else had been on that boat…
She took a deep breath and sighed, then pulled back and lifted the plaid from her shoulders. “This is getting us nowhere,” she said.