by L. L. Muir
She didn’t stop, and, as he didn’t mind her touch, he allowed it.
Ethan returned from setting the gun on a rock a distance away, and looked him over. “I don’t see any blood. How are you not hurt? He was so close when he shot you.”
“Fortunately, Preston is a poor gunsman.”
Ethan nodded, and though his forehead furrowed, he finally shrugged. “He must be.”
“Thank heavens for that.” Zoey pulled up Aiden’s shirt, running soft hands over the bare skin of his stomach, his chest. Fine by him. It was pleasurable, indeed.
Preston slowly woke, and Aiden didn’t take his eyes off the snake. He’d hoped with all the rough handling the little worm had died, but no such luck.
Having been called by Ethan, the other searchers showed up, flashlight beams skimming the ground.
Ethan wrapped his arm around his daughter, waved them over, and explained what happened. “The police should be here soon.” The men, upset but relieved, eyed Preston with disgust as he struggled to sit, cradling his jaw.
Aiden stood guard over Preston as he sat in the dirt, leaves, and twigs. The vile coward would not escape him again, that was for certain.
Preston glanced around, fear pinching his face. He threw Aiden a searching glance, opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it before any sound emerged.
He wasn’t exactly looking at Aiden so much as at the hole in his shirt, directly over his heart.
And well he should. Aiden would like an explanation too. As he’d understood it, bullets worked even better than musket balls at tearing into a man. And musket balls had tore through him with ease but a few centuries before, broken his bones, and stalled his heart.
“How are you not dead?” Preston finally voiced quietly.
“You missed.”
“I didn’t miss. I couldn’t at such close quarters. And you have three bullet holes in your shirt. I can see them from here.”
Aiden glanced down. He’d not noted the last. “So I do.”
“What are you?”
“Zoey’s fated one.”
Preston stared in fascination. “Why you? Why not me?”
Aiden shrugged. “If ye ask Zoey, it’s to do with auras and such. I dinnae believe ’tis something ye can choose.”
Preston’s mouth tightened. “She met me first.”
Aiden lifted a shoulder. “’Twas not to be.”
“I’ll get her again, you know. No matter how long it takes, Zoey will be mine.”
Aiden studied the man and considered putting him down. When a mad dog wandered into your village, you killed it. You didn’t wait for it to hurt your loved ones, now or in future.
A police car careened around the corner, its lights bouncing crazily off trees as it hit bumps and dips. It pulled to a stop and two officers jumped out, slamming doors behind them.
Aiden glanced at Preston, considered the simple solution once more, and the man, seeing something in his gaze, cringed back. “Help! Help me!”
Others turned to look in their direction and the moment was lost. A few men wandered over.
Aiden’s chest felt hollow, a sensation that owed nothing to a bullet. He could feel this was all coming to an end. The witch was here, somewhere, and though he was beyond grateful for her help, at this point, it meant but one thing.
His time was up.
He glanced over at Zoey and his heart started to ache. Mayhap it would have been better if Preston’s bullet had pierced him, right through his heart. Then the pain would be quickly over. He would wait for her in the next life, and hope she wanted him still.
She smiled at him, a question in her gaze.
The police took custody of the gun, and of Preston, and placed him in the back of their car. They questioned Zoey as Aiden stood back and watched, memorizing her fluid features, the curve of her cheek, her mouth, and her lilting voice.
“All right,” one policeman closed his notebook after speaking to everyone. “We’re taking off. We’ll expect you at the station tomorrow to expand your statements.” They headed toward their car, and suddenly rushed forward.
“He’s gone!” One officer exclaimed.
“Where is he?” The other policeman rushed to search inside the car. “I have the keys.”
They turned to question the men, but quickly realized none had been close enough to free their prisoner, nor had they keys.
An accomplice?
The men exploded into action, some running into the trees, others up the road. The police called for backup.
Aiden headed straight for Zoey and clasped her tight within his arms.
The man was probably running, but Aiden didn’t dare leave her unprotected. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to her. Glancing around, he exhaled. He should have followed Preston to the police car, and watched him so he couldn’t slither off into a hidey-hole.
He heard the giggle of a young girl and his head lifted.
“Did you hear that?” Zoey glanced around.
He exhaled and all the fight left his body. “Aye, lass.”
The witchling had taken Preston.
What could Soni possibly want with the man?
~~~
Later that night, Aiden stirred the coals in the fire pit with a stick, and waited for Soni.
“Ready tae go?”
Though he’d been expecting her, when she spoke directly behind him, the small hairs at the back of his neck rose at her silent arrival.
He didn’t turn to look. “Why did I not die from the bullets, Soncerae?”
“Ye’re not completely mortal, are ye? Just close enough. I cannae have ye gettin’ hurt on yer quest, now can I? Wouldnae be fair after all this time.”
It didn’t matter anyway. He was stalling, and Soni probably knew it. Did the others, his brothers in arms, act in so shameful a fashion? He wanted to drop to his knees and beg her to let him stay, but remorse and dignity held him in place. He’d not done well in his quest to protect Zoey, had he?
And he’d already been given much.
A chance to know Zoey. A chance to fall in love. A chance to be loved in return.
“Number 75, I’m on a tight schedule. The others grow impatient. What’s it to be, then? Will ye stay here and make a life, or are ye after a shot at Charles Stuart? Ye’ll need to choose.”
Shock held Aiden immobile.
He’d thought to beg. Had been working up to it, shameful or no.
“Is yer back the last I’m to see of ye?”
Aiden snapped out of his stupor, threw the stick into the pit, and stood to face Soncerae. He swallowed. “Why, Soni? Why give me this chance?”
She giggled. “Ye jumped in front of yer lady and took a bullet or three. She tried to do the same for ye. Do ye not believe ye’ve earned each other?”
He didn’t respond, could only think she’d been in danger in the first place because of him. He’d not protected her properly.
“Besides. She’s yer fate. ’Tis so nice when people can see it and donnae fight it. And rare.”
“But…” Aiden didn’t know what to say, how to respond. He didn’t want to incriminate himself, but didn’t feel he deserved Zoey anymore.
Soni arched a brow, her lips tilting in an impish grin. “I see yer hesitant. Did I misread the situation? Ye’ve waited long and done hard time. Perhaps ’tis the bonnie prince ye’ve a mind to have at, after all?”
That snapped him out of it. “Nae!” He slashed a hand in a sharp, dismissive gesture. “I care not of the wastrel’s punishment. I choose Zoey. I will always choose her. Yer right, she’s my fate, and I feel it here.” He thumped his chest.
Soni turned her head. “She’s comin’. I’ve got to be goin’ anyhow.” She smiled at Aiden once more. “Be happy, Aiden MacGregor. Ye deserve it.”
He swallowed, loathe to admit his guilt, but compelled just the same. “What of Preston North? What of Zoey’s capture?”
“Oh, yer not to worry about him. I’ve borrowed a bit
of extra magic from Uncle. The villain won’t be botherin’ ye any time soon.”
Aiden nodded, his knees weakening in relief. She was to let his part go, he could see it in her gaze. She didn’t blame him and wanted him here, and happy.
“And my brothers? What of them?”
Zoey called out his name, and when he glanced back, Soncerae was gone.
He sank onto the chair on legs that would no longer support him. He swallowed. “Thank ye,” He whispered. “Thank ye from the bottom of my heart.”
Zoey, wrapped in a blanket, joined him and sank onto his lap. “Did you say something?”
“Nae, dearest.” His arms wrapped her close and tightened. Unexpected tears filled his eyes. “I was simply thankin’ God, and anyone else who had a hand in giftin’ ye to me.”
She snuggled her head into his neck and let him hold her as long as he wished.
Finally, he released her. “Zoey?
“Mm hmm?”
“I have a story to tell ye. ’Twill be hard for ye to believe, and I know this. Will ye at least try?”
She lifted her head and studied him. “Try to believe you?” She laughed gently and laid a soft palm against his cheek. “Aiden, I’ll know if you’re lying. Your aura will tell me.”
He inhaled, brought her palm to his mouth, and kissed it. “All right, then.” He nodded.
“Back in 1746, in Scotland, at a place called Culloden Moor…”
~~~
Preston fought his way through the thick woods. It was pitch dark, branches scratched at him, and he was terrified.
He had no idea where he was.
One minute he’d been in the backseat of the police cruiser, and the next, he’d escaped… somehow. The details were a little blurry.
In the distance he could see a light, so he made his way toward it. As he inched closer, he saw men gathered around a campfire, some of them rather large.
He wasn’t sure he should announce himself. What if they’d heard police were after him? What if they turned him in?
But what else could he do? He was all turned around. He had no idea where he was, or how to get back to the nearest city. He certainly didn’t want to go back into the darkness.
Blast these woods! They hid everything. He couldn’t even find the main road.
Moving quietly, he crept a little closer. The men looked rough, intimidating, and dressed in… kilts? Could they be MacGregor’s friends? Had MacGregor set this up?
Preston backed away.
Rough hands grabbed him from behind and he screamed, fear and panic flashing through him.
Pushed forward, his feet peddled for purchase. “Let me go! Let me go!” His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he thrashed and tried to keep his footing. He batted at the hard hands holding him by the back of his shirt, but he couldn’t reach. Another shove and he squealed, unable to believe the sound came from his throat.
He landed on his knees in the clearing.
The men spoke, but he didn’t understand the words. They sounded like dogs yapping in the forest.
And yes, they definitely wore kilts.
The guy who’d captured him searched Preston, presumably for money or weapons. His gun was gone. He could certainly have used it right about now.
The men around the fire stood, large and aggressive, bearded and bristling with knives, swords, and even bows and arrows.
Preston gulped. “I…I’m lost and could sure use some directions to the main road.”
“What are ye doing lurking about the woods, spying on us?” The man behind him switched to English. Hearing it, even accented, was a relief.
“I wasn’t spying! I got turned around. I couldn’t find the main road.”
A guy nudged Preston’s leg with a booted foot. “What main road? Where are the rest of yer men?”
“I’m alone. I’m searching for the road back to Seattle. I’m not with anybody.”
“Look at his clothin’.”
Studying him, they switched back to that strange language, obviously talking about him.
He considered standing, but feared getting shoved down again.
One man, hairy and ferocious, knelt to get a better look. “’Tis obvious he’s an English spy.”
“I’m not! I’m not even English! I’m American. Did MacGregor set this whole thing up?”
The men glanced at each other once more in some sort of silent communication. They talked amongst themselves again. Finally, one guy spoke. “Ye’d be friends with the MacGregors?”
Preston’s eyes darted. He didn’t know the right answer. He finally nodded.
“Too bad, we be Camerons.”
Preston didn’t know what that meant. ”Can you just tell me where I’m at?”
“Outside of Balquhidder.”
“Where’s that?” He looked at the thick trees, the firelight gleaming off branches. They seemed different than the pines in Washington State. “In Washington? Oregon?”
He was kicked in the side. “Scotland, boy.”
His mouth parted and he struggled to catch his breath. “Scotland?” Disbelief warred with shock and his body started to quiver. “How is that possible? Am I dreaming?”
No one answered.
Something prompted him to ask, “What is the year?”
They all laughed again. “Did ye hit yer head? ’Tis the year of our Lord, 1746.”
The eighteenth century? That was impossible. He shook harder. This was some kind of an elaborate joke, no doubt instigated to teach him a lesson. Or a dream. He refused to believe any of this.
“We’ll bring him along. If he’s no’ a spy, we’ll put him to work cleanin’ the cesspit. If he proves to be one, well, we know how to take care of those, dinnae we, boys?”
More laughter.
It was all too much.
Preston, eyes rolling back, passed out.
~~~
A few months later…
Aiden was in the blacksmith shop working on a piece of art. It turned out there was quite a desire for ironworks, he was quite good at it, and enjoyed it immensely.
Between blacksmithing the few horses, making sculptures, and making love to his wife, he was kept plenty busy.
Plus they had the new home they were fixing up. Zoey quite enjoyed the task, and he enjoyed indulging her every whim.
Thoughts of her must have brought his wife outside, because she came around the corner, glowing and happy, a strip of MacGregor plaid in her ponytail.
He still loved seeing it there. “How is the little one?”
“Wonderful.” Zoey’s hands moved to her stomach and rubbed. He loved watching her do that, and even more, loved doing it himself. The thought of a child, snug in her body, growing and already loved, filled him with happiness. No doubt he was glowing, as well.
“Nice shirt,” she grinned.
He ran a hand down the tie-dye T-shirt. “Your mum made it special, just for me.”
“I’m sure. She spoils you rotten.” Her eyes narrowed in mock irritation. “So, anyway, another customer called to place an order. She saw your Scottish warrior sculpture online, and wanted one of her own. When I told her it was sold, she wanted an original.”
“They are all original. I couldnae replicate them if I tried.”
She grinned. “I know, but they like to hear it.”
She was obviously proud of him, as he was of her. That she belonged to him, and he to her, still astounded him at times.
He would never forget the vision of her, on the arm of her father, walking toward him at their wedding, surrounded by family, and woods. He could still see the flowers in her hair, the straight white gown, and the sandals on her feet. A strip of plaid, MacGregor colors, had adorned her waist.
He might not have his home in Scotland anymore, nor his brothers, but having Zoey, her family, and soon their little one, made up for everything. They were his home now, his people, his clan.
She moved toward him and he set down his tools. She slipped into his arm
s, snug against his heart, right where she belonged. “You know, I’ve been thinking about your brothers.”
It wasn’t the first time it seemed she’d read his mind. Aunt Thea claimed ’twas because the child she carried was to be a gifted fortuneteller. That the babe was enhancing Zoey’s innate abilities.
He knew better. “Did my aura change again?”
She glanced up and grinned. “It did. I always see shades of blue, just as the edges, when you think about your brothers. Are you very sad?” She lost her smile. She looked sad now too, and that wouldn’t do.
“I do miss them. I probably always will. I just wish they could have what I have.”
“What makes you think they don’t?”
“We couldn’t find them, remember? They haven’t contacted me either.”
“And remember I told you things are always changing on the Internet. Somebody could post something new at any time. Or see the messages and the picture you’ve left on the website.”
He nodded. “Mayhap we should try to search for them again.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow! That’s a brilliant idea. I wish I’d thought of it.”
He grinned, cupped her cheek.
It was doubtful he’d ever see Gareth again. He knew that. There was no way he’d have released his anger and given up his shot at Bonnie Prince Charlie.
But mayhap Liam? With his light heart and laughter?
“All right, let us keep searchin’. We’ll look again, later tonight.”
She smiled, and warmth rushed into his chest and his arms tightened around her. She was his life, his everything. This beautiful lady, with her kindness, merry eyes, and her ability to reach inside and see his soul.
’Twas probably selfish, and he doubtless didn’t give her nearly the happiness she gave him, but he’d not give her up. Ever. After years of an emotionless existence, there was naught he wouldn’t do to keep her.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
“I’m thinkin’ about ye.”
“Your aura is pure silver. I think you must love me a lot.”
Emotion gripped him, tightening his throat. “That I do, Zoey. More than ye could ever know.”
She raised herself on tiptoes to kiss him softly, to cling, then leaned away. “It’s because you’re my fate,” she whispered.