by L. L. Muir
He laughed. “Speak for yerself.”
“I’m warm now,” she explained and pushed the wool into his hands.
“So am I.” He laughed again. She smiled, but behind it, he saw the sadness lingering in her eyes.
“Poor lassie. Dinna fash. I’m sure yer memory will return in a matter of days.” He swallowed the urge to tell her he would be long gone when she did. “Yer mind will heal from its wounds, and the doors will open again. Until then, ye must trust me.”
“Trust you?”
“Aye. Believe me when I tell ye that ye loved me more than life itself.”
She laughed and began walking toward the door. “More than life itself?”
“Aye.” He caught up to her, wrapped his hands around her waist, and swung her around, to keep her to himself just a little longer. “And if ye can’t quite believe that, then at least believe that I have loved ye more than Romeo ever loved Juliet.”
Assa rolled her eyes. “Romeo and Juliet only knew each other for a pair of days before they were ready to die for each other. Not realistic at all.”
He bit his lip and looked away.
“Gerard? Just how long were we together?”
He smiled. “I’ve loved ye forever, lass.”
She frowned, unhappy with his prevarication. “And how long did I love ye?”
“I dinna ken how long ye pined for me after I was gone, aye?”
“But how long before ye were gone, hmn?”
He felt like a child caught in a lie. But he wanted no lies between them.
“One day,” he said. “One day we had together, before we were parted. And I’ve loved ye every day since then.”
Her eyes sparkled with moisture before he had finished speaking, and he couldn’t allow it! He couldn’t let her doubt. If only she could remember, she would know just how passionately they’d felt at the end.
He took her hands and pulled her close. “Now, you listen to me, Assa. I don’t give a fig what ye believe about how long it takes to fall deeply and completely in love with a person. It doesn’t matter a whit. I’ll admit, I was slow at it. Possibly two whole minutes passed between the moment our eyes met and moment my heart jumped from my chest into yer hands, aye? But it only matters that it did. And it only matters that, when ye were standing at the larder door, giving me one last look at ye before I left, ye’d given me yer heart as well, to take with me. And to this day, I’ve never given it back, aye? It’s mine. And I’m keeping it!”
He dropped her hands and pulled her roughly against him, trying to show her how fervently he did love her, hoping the taste of his kiss would be enough to make her believe it all.
After a long minute, he pulled back and looked into her eyes, hoping for a flicker of recognition. But she was looking away, toward the door.
Someone was shouting.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gerard held tight to Assa’s hand as they hurried out into the yard and back to the house where someone was pushing his way through the door. They followed him inside.
The older fellow pushed his slicker off his head and shouted above the sound of the storm. “The dike’s failed! We’ve got a flood headed this way. And if it gets deep enough, the nets will be ruined!”
Ian slammed a hat on his head and reached for his coat. “We’ve got to move them to higher ground. Someone needs to hurry up the ben and slow the water! It’s probably too late, but it may keep us from losing them all.”
Gerard gave Assa’s hand a squeeze and released her. “I’ll take the horse. It will be fastest.”
Ian gave him a sharp look, then nodded. “Take Jamie with you. He won’t weigh the horse down.”
Gerard paused at the door long enough to throw the lass a wink. “I’ll be back.”
She put on a brave smile and nodded.
As he waited for Jamie to mount behind him, he realized he might be about to perform the deed he’d been sent for. And he worried he might be taken away as soon as he finished. But he’d promised Assa he’d return—not unlike the promise he’d made nearly two hundred and seventy years before.
Please, God, let me keep my promise.
~
The horse Gerard had borrowed from the Muirs was a powerful beast. With two full grown men on its back, it climbed as if it felt no weight at all. The trail was steep enough at one point they had to get off and climb separately. An ATV wouldn’t have been much help.
Sometimes, old ways were the best ways.
The path leveled out again and Gerard mounted. Then he reached down to help the drenched cousin. His hand moved through the lads arm without catching as if… as if he were reverting back to spirit form.
Jamie didn’t seem to notice. He simply grabbed the back of the saddle and heaved himself up with little effort. And with their pressing errand ahead, Gerard decided it best to worry after the task was finished. After all, he only needed to be substantial enough to fix a dike. But it hurt his heart to think he might never again feel the press of Assa’s lips.
They reached a large plateau where a small lake of water lay waiting to pour itself down the mountainside. A well-built dam held it back for the most part. Thick, foot-square railroad ties made an immovable wall, shored up by concrete pillars. But at the near edge, two boards had come loose and dangled in a heavy rush of water, releasing ten times as much as the rest of the dam allowed.
“If we hurry, we can catch them before they wash away!” Gerard pointed and Jamie agreed. They dismounted and Gerard’s attention caught on a coil of rope he hadn’t noticed before, as if God Himself had reached down and handed him the tools with which he could accomplish his task. But again, he had no time to question the gift, or the source of that gift.
He opened the small leather ties and freed the rope, then made his way to the edge of the dike.
Jamie held out a hand to take it from him. “I’ll climb across the top and drop the rope down to catch the timber.”
Gerard shook his head. “I’ll do it. I’ll not impress Assa if I lose her cousin, aye? You stand at the side and try to catch it if I fail.”
Jamie reluctantly nodded and changed positions with him. Climbing across the top wasn’t as dangerous as he’d expected, however. The rest of the dike held firm in spite of the force of the water washing through the gap. The rope God blessed him with was sadly a bit short, so he had to tie a lasso and squat down to toss it over the edge of the dangling log.
He tossed the lasso, but it closed to a small ring before hitting the end of the wood. He made the opening wider and tried again, but the weight of the water pushed it closed again. He pulled a length of leather from his sporran—the one he sometimes used to tie back his hair—and tied the lasso open with a loose knot that would come free with little more than a firm pull. Then he lowered the rope again. The water pushed it to the right and wouldn’t allow it back over the end.
He climbed down again and he and Jamie hurled large rocks at the opening, trying to change the angle of the spray. When they finally succeeded, Gerard climbed back onto the dike and lowered the rope again. This time it slid over the left side but caught on a rough edge. When he tried to pull it loose, the piece of leather fell away and the lasso closed again. But the rope was now well and truly caught on the wood and he couldn’t retrieve it.
“We’ve no time to think of anything else,” Jamie shouted. “Just hold tight to it. I’ll slip it over.”
“Careful, laddie! Ye’re worth more than the entire farm, aye?”
Jamie grinned, grasped onto a thick root growing out of the ground beside the dike, and climbed onto the concrete pillar. “I can reach it easily from here, aye?” He pushed at the rope until it came free, then he maneuvered it back and forth until it slipped over the square end. But as he did so, the log shifted. His hand was caught in the rope and his eyes flew wide and met Gerard’s.
If Gerard let go of the rope, the loosened log would fall and take the lad with it. If he pulled tight and brought the plank back into the gap,
Jamie would be anchored to the log and drown in the flow before Gerard might reach him and cut him free.
God help me!
His only choice was to pull both the lad and the log up out of the water, but did he have the strength to do it?
“I’ve got ye, Jamie! Hold fast!” He only hoped that when all was said and done, the lad would still have a hand.
He squatted low, pulled the end of the rope across his upper back, and straightened. He fought the drag of the water and lifted with all his considerable strength. He squatted quickly again and shifted the slack from his right to his left side and pulled again. Other than the weight of the wood, and the pounding rhythm of the water, the load rose more easily the second time. But he knew it could only be caused by a lighter load—Jamie was gone!
Barely able to breathe, he hefted the log the remainder of the way. He swung it easily around him and dropped it back into the water where the flow pressed it into its original place. The gush was instantly cut in half.
“Oy, if ye could see yer face, mon, ye’d think someone had died.” Jamie grinned at him from the side of the dike where he held fast to the thick root, his chest heaving with effort. “When ye gave it some slack, my hand slipped right out. Lucky I was to catch the side.” Then he laughed. “But doona worry. I won’t tell Assa how close ye came to killin’ me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Assa tried to appear calm and controlled when Hughie came outside the storehouse to knock on her window.
“We’ve got them up out of the water. Ten are soaked, but we’ve hung them from the walls. We’ll build a barrel fire in the center and dry them out. May just save them all.”
“Brilliant.”
“Are ye cold? Ye look cold.”
“I’ve got the heater on. I’m baumy. I can wait until ye’re finished.”
Hughie nodded. “I’ll stay with the fire, but Jacky and Ian can take ye back to the house by quarter of. Will that do?”
“No hurry.”
He looked up at the sky. “Still buckets out here, but the water level has fallen. Looks like Jamie and yer hiedbanger have found success.”
“Brilliant,” she said again, ignoring the insult to the man who might either save her from insanity, or take her along with him.
Hughie disappeared through the door and a loud clap of thunder had her all but cowering on the floor.
“Just a noise,” she repeated. “Nothing but a noise. No harm done.”
Gerard’s words supplied her with a bit of comfort even though she was alone. She could almost feel his arms around her, feel his chest against her hand. Of course, Jacky and the boys hadn’t been much of a physical comfort to her since the accident. But they’d never been much for offering a shoulder to cry on. They’d always just been in the background, watching over her, letting her know she was protected at all times.
But sometimes, a woman needed the comfort of a man who didn’t share so much genetic material with her.
She smiled in spite of the frightening rattle of rain on the rooftop, remembering just how different Gerard Ross was. She only wished that warm form was sitting in the lorry with her, with a warm arm around her shoulders, and his warm mouth pressed against her lips.
A snippet of a memory came to her then, of sitting on the man’s lap, in a fancy chair blocking a door. She was telling him he would have to stay put. He was trying not to laugh in spite of the dagger she held in her hands.
Thunder clapped again, and again, so loud it was like cannon fire. She could almost smell the sulfur. The sound of gunfire popped in her ears and she scrunched down in the seat, hands over her ears. What terrified her was realizing the sound was coming from within her, not from the storm outside.
Screaming, begging voices bubbled up from where she’d suppressed them long ago. She closed her eyes, but they only grew louder. Clouds filled her mind, parted, thickened again. Someone bellowed in defiance. It was Gerard! She would recognize his voice anywhere. He stood knee deep in mud, fighting more than one man, roaring with every effort as he took the Red Coats down, all of them. But when he sank to the ground himself, she knew he would not be getting up again.
Red Coats? Battle? What madness had her poor mind conjured? She wanted to go back to the last dream, the one where she’d been sitting on his lap! He’d been explaining why he had to go and fight, even if it meant he had to die…
“No!”
Her voice echoed back at her immediately. She was still alone in the cab of the truck…and going well and truly mad.
~
Gerard’s heart was worn out from all the breaking and mending it had done that day, but he rallied enough effort to help Jamie move the second log into place. The flow was slowed well enough they were able to leave it to better-equipped men to repair, then they sat and caught their breath for a moment before starting down the hill again.
Jamie gave him a curious frown. “What is it ye want with my cousin? That is, besides the obvious.”
“I love her. It’s as simple as that. From another place and time, perhaps, but I love her just the same as if we were still in that place and time.”
“And ye mean to…marry her?”
Gerard huffed out a frustrated breath. “At most, I only have a day more, ye see. All I can give her are the hours I have left.”
Jamie chuckled. “What are ye saying? That ye’re going to die or something?”
Gerard looked him in the eye and willed the lad to trust him. “Something like that, aye.”
Jamie rolled his eyes. “Ye’re a loon, is what I think. And I believe my kin and I were…put on this earth…to protect her from someone like ye.”
Gerard got to his feet and shook the rain from what remained of his pleats. “And I am certain I’ve been put on this earth to prove my love for Assa MacKay before it’s too late.” He widened his stance a bit, just in case. “Do ye mean to stop me?”
Jamie made a face and shook his head. “Oh, nay. I’ve promised her I wouldn’t harm ye. Even though I could, mind.”
Gerard laughed and headed for the horse. “Auch, but of course ye could. Of course ye could.”
Jamie followed slowly. “But I see no need for violence, Ross. I’m sure ye’ll go on yer way once ye realize ye’ve got the wrong lass.”
“Oh?”
The man grinned. “Aye. I’m sure of it. Because my cousin is no MacKay—she’s a Kennedy, just like the rest of us.”
“A Kennedy?”
Jamie’s answer was a wide, toothy grin.
A Kennedy…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Gerard mounted the horse for the simple fact he didn’t trust his feet to find the way blindly. His mind reeled. His eyes saw nothing but flashes of memories parading before them. And what his heart tried to tell him, his stomach rebelled against.
She could not be his Kennedy!
She was Assa, from Dingwall. A separate woman entirely. Kennedy was a common enough name in the Highlands. Was it such a coincidence that the two women he’d cared for in his nearly 300 years of existence bore the same surname? Certainly.
Certainly!
His heart pounded so powerfully, he was surprised the animal beneath him didn’t spook.
He was spooked.
Only two weeks ago, he’d told Nessa to let down her hair, and she’d refused. She’d resisted giving him her name as well. Had she only relented after she’d decided to give him a false one?
Nessa, the ruthless, instead of Assa, the mild? Was she laughing at him?
No! They could not be one and the same woman. He would have known. If Nessa had been Assa, he would have felt some charge of electricity when they’d touched on Culloden—
But they’d never touched!
No wonder he was angry with Wickham for laying his hands on Nessa’s arms before taking her away from him!
No! He shook his head vigorously to force the idea out of his mind, but the motion made the horse stumble, so he stopped. Instead, he tried another tack, hoping to
prove to himself they had to be two different women.
Assa’s eyes were golden brown. Nessa’s were… He couldn’t remember. The firelight had caressed her face, but her eyes had been in shadow. But her face… He tried to imagine Assa’s face if her hair were pulled up beneath a large cap, but his imagination failed him.
Height, the same. Weight was impossible to guess with Nessa’s loose clothing. Their voices? His ears remembered nothing.
Please, God, give me something!
His mind went back to that bedchamber at Dunvegan House. They’d argued. She’d begged him not to leave her. He remembered the dressing gown she’d worn, the blade she produced from the folds and laid across her knees, as if that would be enough to stop him.
She’d been so sure he would die at Culloden—but how had she known? How could anyone have known when the battlefield had yet to be chosen?
Unless she’d already seen the battle.
After so many years, he’d forgotten her prophecy, that the Highlanders would be routed from their homes and slaughtered, or be starved out. He remembered faltering on the moor, no longer able to lift a blade, and his last thoughts had been for the lass who had predicted it all, just as the battle had unfolded. And he would not rest until he knew how she’d known.
Auch, it was true, then!
He stopped fighting it. Though his stomach still ached, and he found it impossible to exhale without pain, his mind stopped struggling.
Assa, the mild, had become Nessa, the ruthless. She’d fought upon the moor, fallen, and risen to haunt it for centuries—no, to haunt him for centuries. But why? Had she truly been so angry with Charles Stuart that she refused to find peace? Or had she refused to find peace in favor of mocking him, watching him mourn the loss of her for decades, holding a secret that could make him happy?
She couldn’t have loved him, as she’d claimed to, and hide from him when they might have been happy all those years. Twenty-seven decades they might have had together!
There, at the bottom of the hill, was she laughing at him still? Was she only pretending not to remember so she could add another two days of insult to the hundred thousand days she’d already had?