A Highlander in Her Past

by Maeve Greyson

  Dougal. Ugh. Nessa would start the visit with that topic. Trish shucked off her jacket and turned a bit, checking for the toes of the boots under the tapestry. Nothing appeared but the clean gray slab of stone flooring stretching beneath the arch. Good boy. Stay out of sight until I can get rid of your mom and we can talk. Tossing her jacket onto an ornately carved wooden bench, Trish ignored the particulars of Nessa’s question. “You know me. I always travel light.” Maybe if she didn’t acknowledge the part about Dougal, Nessa would move on to another subject.

  Nessa didn’t. “Oh, Trish.” Nessa threw her hands up in the air. “I thought you and Dougal were serious. I already had a spring wedding envisioned for the private garden.”

  Well dammit. Nessa never did know when to butt out. Trish snorted a silent laugh. That’s one trait she and Nessa shared. They both enjoyed meddling in each other’s business. “Dougal was serious. Not me. You know settling down in one spot for a cozy family life isn’t my thing. There’s still a lot of world I want to see.”

  “But the way you love kids.” Nessa waved toward the staircase. “Don’t you want to settle down and have a few dozen of your own?”

  Trish swallowed hard against a sudden bitter lump rising in the back of her throat. She didn’t have the heart to tell Nessa the cold hard facts: long ago doctors had dashed her dream of having children and refused to give the slightest hope. Forcing a grin to her lips, Trish waved a hand toward the staircase. “Why should I go through the pain and aggravation of having my own kids when I’ve got the best of both worlds with yours?” Trish backed against the forest scene tapestry covering the archway and nudged against the child-sized lump protruding from the woven reddish brown buttocks of a slightly threadbare stag. Damn, the boy is stubborn…and reckless. She smiled wider and nodded toward Nessa’s stomach. “Besides, you look like the poster child for exhaustion. Think about it. I’ve got the best part of this deal. I get to play with the feisty munchkins while you have to be the mean old mom and make sure they’re properly trained to charm the world.”

  Nessa’s brows knotted over narrowed eyes squinted into a pair of irritated slits. “You’ve got such a way with words. With a friend like you—”

  “Now, Nessa.” Trish rushed over and wrapped an arm around her friend’s slumping shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “You know how much I love you. You’re the sis I never had.”

  Nessa huffed and grudgingly returned the hug. “So, out with it. What happened between you and Dougal?”

  “Nope.” Trish shook her head. She wasn’t about to get sucked into a relationship tell-all session until she found out what the boys had done to enact such a strict punishment. Besides, there wasn’t much to tell. Dougal had been a nice enough guy but that was it. After the initial excitement of the first meet wore off, any time spent with Dougal grated on her nerves. The man had revealed himself to be an insufferable bore. If she needed a path to unbearable yawndom, she’d bury herself in the college computer lab and code all her archeology notes for filing. Yuck. That thought triggered an involuntary shudder.

  Trish rubbed an elbow against the tapestry at her back. Good. Ramsay had finally retreated. Meeting Nessa’s gaze, she crossed her arms and patted a foot against the stone. The clicking tap of the toe of her boot echoed with a sharp report through the high-ceilinged hallway. “We’re not talking about my failed relationship with Dougal until you tell me what the marauding curtain climbers of Clan MacKay did to incur your wrath.”

  “Magic.” Nessa spit out the word as though it burnt her tongue.

  “Magic? Is that all?” Trish leaned against the doorframe, teetering back and forth while she peeled away the uncomfortable leather boot. She wiggled her toes and stretched out the uncomfortable seam of the tortuous sock that had embedded itself into her flesh. Trish groaned aloud at the instant relief her poor toes transmitted to her brain. Whew! She really needed to get rid of those heels. Comfort was so much more important than style. Lifting her gaze from her much happier toes, Trish motioned toward the shattered remnants of a crystal globe encased in a well lit curio cabinet. “Those boys have been doing magic since they were just a few weeks old. It’s their heritage. You’d think you and Latharn would be used to it by now.”

  “Not time travel.” Nessa hissed between tightly clenched teeth.

  Trish straightened, hopping on the remaining high-heeled boot and stumbling toward the wooden bench fitted into a stone niche beside the doorway. “Time travel? Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Wow.” Trish kicked off the boot and pulled both feet up into her lap, relaxing yoga-style against the back of the seat. “Um. Where…or I guess the more appropriate question would be when?”

  Nessa lowered her swollen body onto the bench beside Trish, closing her eyes as she leaned against the throw pillow threatening to squish out from behind her back. “No where…or when. Luckily, Ramsay botched the spell. He claimed his cousin broke his concentration.”

  “I see.” Trish frowned at the gently moving tapestry to her left. Hopefully, if Nessa noticed the wavering cloth, she’d think it was just stirring due to heated air flowing from the free-standing heater positioned nearby. Time travel. Ramsay had always been fascinated with the past, almost obsessed with the need to know every detail of his ancestor’s lives. “Not that it matters, but which cousin did he blame? Usually, Catriona is the level-headed one of the group that catches all the heat. Was she the one who ratted them out?”

  Nessa nodded without opening her eyes. “Yes. Thank goodness our little Catriona was once again the voice of reason.” Flexing her spine, a pained expression darkened Nessa’s face as she massaged her knuckles up and down her lower back. “Trouble is…when she forced her way into the boys’ magical ring, the energy of the spell had to go somewhere and they nearly blew the roof off the northern tower.”

  “Is that what caused that gray cloud settling across the entry bridge?” Trish massaged her thumbs into the balls of her feet. “I thought it was a little late in the season for an early evening fog.”

  “Yep.” Nessa slid to the edge of the seat and hefted her weighty girth up from the bench with an awkward hitching launch. Pausing once she’d gained her footing, she closed her eyes and flexed her shoulders, still working her fingers up and down the base of her back. “The roof of the library tower is now hanging by a thread and half the blocks from the farthest parapet have been reduced to dust.”

  An involuntary shiver stole across Trish’s flesh. Holy cow. Ramsay had outdone himself this time. Speaking a bit louder while she risked another glance at the now motionless tapestry, Trish slowly unfolded her legs. “Sounds like they definitely pushed the envelope this time.” Wiggling her toes back into the persecution of her boots, Trish grimaced as she forced the tight leather heels back into place on her aching feet. “I didn’t hear a second explosion so I’m assuming Latharn doesn’t know that in a single afternoon, his sons destroyed a part of the castle that’s survived centuries of enemy attacks and extremes of Highland weather?”

  “Oh, he knows.” Nessa waddled toward the wide stone archway connecting the entry hall to the larger main room making up the first floor of the keep. “According to Ramsay, his father’s angry roar shook the remaining walls of the room even before the dust settled. Apparently, even though Latharn’s currently meeting with historians in Ireland, he sensed the displacement of the energy blast and made certain his sons felt his displeasure.”

  “In other words”—Trish cringed as she danced her pant legs down in place over her boots—“they’re gonna get it when Daddy gets home.”

  “Pretty much,” Nessa agreed.

  Chapter Three

  Trish raised the battery-operated lantern higher, increasing the diameter of the glowing blue-white circle of light pushing against the darkness. She slid her feet in slow, searching steps, brushing the soles of her boots against the cluttered uneven flooring. Trish kicked aside odd-shaped chunks of debris from Ramsay’s blast earlier i
n the day. Hopefully, for the boys’ sake, Latharn would delay his return from Ireland. The man had a terrible temper when adequately provoked. He needed time to cool off before he witnessed all this damage and meted out additional punishment to his sons.

  “Dammit!” Trish stumbled back and lowered the lantern, revealing the jagged-edged block of immovable stone she’d just hit with her toe and whammed into the side of her knee. Latharn would tan Ramsay’s butt for wreaking so much destruction. Propping against the wall as she massaged the sting from her leg, Trish set the lantern atop the broken masonry. The glowing orb revealed the floor of the hidden tunnel leading to the scene of the crime was cluttered with various chunks of castle debris. Trish swallowed hard against the uneasiness drying out her mouth. Maybe Ramsay needed a good spanking. It was a wonder one of the children hadn’t been killed.

  The faint swish of a sweeping broom echoed with a hitching rhythm somewhere deeper in the darkness. Trish cocked her head and listened closer, smiling as the muffled sound of a child’s voice periodically interrupted the whooshing scrape of the broom. Nessa would tan the boy’s hide herself if she heard Ramsay using such colorful language.

  Scooping the lantern off the chunk of stone, Trish held it even with the level of her knees and concentrated on placing each foot in a safe spot among the wreckage. Geez, what a mess. How in the world did they expect an eight-year-old boy to clean up all this by himself? A soft popping hiss echoed through the tunnel followed by the distinct smell of sulfur.

  “Ramsay! I said ye were not to use your magic.” A deep voice shook through the walls of the tunnel, spilling stone dust down from the rafters.

  A trembling young voice quickly squeaked out, “Sorry, Da.”

  Trish couldn’t resist a smile. Apparently, Latharn didn’t have to return from Ireland to monitor his son’s progress with some sort of magical ward. Ramsay better tread lightly or Latharn would zap the boy’s mischievous little butt before returning from the emerald isle.

  The beam of light shining out from the lantern finally reached the end of the tunnel, revealing a black metal door barely hanging from the archway by a single bent hinge. White oxidation, as though the door had survived an extreme blast of heat, framed the edges of the thick metal slab. The gray-white scorch marks trimmed the inky black square like a border of ragged lace.

  Holy crap. Trish traced a fingertip along the ancient curlicues and intertwined whorls forming the endless Celtic knot welded to the center of the door. The signet of the ancient magical seal. Blown right off its hinges. Trish shook her head. Nessa was right. They had to get Ramsay under control.

  Trish inhaled a shaking breath. Ramsay was first born of Nessa and Latharn’s quadruplets. Not only had he always been the most stubborn, he was also the most gifted of the four in the ways of magic.

  Trish squeezed her way around the partially opened door, holding her breath as she moved to keep from brushing against its edges. The way the thing teetered against the one remaining hinge, it could crash to the floor at any time. Dammit, Ramsay. Trish brushed crumbs of stone dust from her hands and clothes then raised the lantern higher in the air. The rascally eldest son of the MacKay brood had always held a little tighter hold on her heart than the rest of the entertaining bunch. But this time, with all this damage, Trish doubted that she’d be able to sweet talk Latharn and Nessa into an early parole for the boy. Poor Ramsay was doomed.

  A blue-white glow from several strategically placed lanterns revealed the damage deeper in the room. Trish hooked the metal handle of her lantern on an iron rod extending from the first partition of the floor to ceiling bookcase creating one of the walls.

  Leather-bound books and partially burned sheaves of parchment littered the stone slab flooring. Ceremonial daggers, scrying bowls, and iron candelabras peeped out from between fluttering piles of torn yellowed pages. A biting blast of frigid night air invaded the dimly lit room. Trish hugged her jacket tighter about her body as she peered closer at the night sky-filled gaping hole where a solid stone wall once stood. Yep. Ramsay outdid himself this time.

  Speaking of Ramsay—Trish scanned what part of the room she could see from the weak light shining from the scattered lanterns. Where was the boy?

  “I’m over here, Auntie Trish.”

  “And how many times have you been told not to listen to other people’s thoughts?” Trish honed in on the sullen voice coming from behind an overturned work table.

  A despondent sigh echoed up from the rubble as a dust-streaked face slowly rose above the edge of a broken board. “Sorry, Auntie.” Ruffling his hands through spiked tufts of burnt orange hair, Ramsay shook off bits of plaster and stone like a dog shaking off water.

  “What happened, Ramsay?” Trish stepped over the broken spokes of a shattered stool and gingerly settled down onto an enormous chunk of displaced wall protruding from the hearth. “You know you’re not supposed to play with magic when your father’s not here to help you.”

  “I was not playing.” Clear blue eyes flashed beneath a pair of reddish-blond brows as Ramsay threw his broom to the floor. “I had everything all figured out until stupid Catriona spoiled it all.”

  Trish brushed bits of rubble from the spot beside her on the stone ledge. “Come. Sit down here.” Trish patted the stone and urged him forward. Maybe she could talk some sense into the frustrated little rascal. She and Ramsay had always been close, sort of kindred adventuring spirits. “You do realize what you did was wrong?”

  Ramsay nodded while wiping the back of his hand underneath his dripping nose. “I know that next time, I won’t tell Catriona where me and the boys are gonna be doing our spells.”

  “Ramsay!” Trish held her breath against the urge to laugh. This was serious. She admired the boy’s tenacity but he had to realize he could’ve killed them all. “You know good and well that’s not what I meant. Now, don’t you?”

  “I know.” Ramsay’s chest deflated with a dejected sigh as he scooted up onto the stone beside her.

  Trish curled her arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulled him close against her side. Kissing the top of his filthy head, she rocked him back and forth like she’d done when he was just a tot. “You could’ve been killed, Ramsay. What would I have done without my favorite minion?” Leaning back a bit and brushing more of the grayish hunks of rock and plaster from his hair, Trish tapped once on the end of his nose. “What would I have done without another fiery redhead at the table to even out the odds against the less colorful folk?”

  “Ye’ve cut your hair so short it doesna matter what color it is,” Ramsay glared at her with an accusing scowl as he edged out of Trish’s embrace. “And ’sides, ye’d be just fine either way ’cause yer never here anymore.”

  Ahh. So that explained Ramsay’s attitude toward her. Trish folded her hands in her lap and stared at Ramsay’s bowed head. She had been away longer this time. The dig on the Isle of Iona had kept her away from her favorite family in the Highlands longer than she’d anticipated.

  “I’m sorry, Ramsay.” Reaching out to feather her fingers through his hair, Trish’s heart lurched as the boy shied away. “Aww…come on, Ramsay. You let me hug you just a minute ago. Now you’re going to pout and not even let me touch you?”

  “Ye had a hold a me afore I knew what ye were doin’.” Ramsay thumped his heels against the stone as he sidled an angry glance in her direction.

  “I see.” Trish folded her hands back into her lap. So it was going to be like that. He was going to force her to choose sides and act like the adult. “You know I have to go away at times and tend to my digs. I can’t stay here and mooch off your parents all the time. As much as I’d love to dump all my responsibilities and spend every day with you, it wouldn’t be fair to everyone else. I’ve made commitments, Ramsay. You know I always keep my word.”

  “Ye couldha took me with ye.” Ramsay drummed his heels harder, the thunking cadence of his leather boots echoed through the chamber.

  Trish slid back and drummed
her own heels against the rock, matching her rhythm with Ramsay’s kicking bounce. “And what would your family do without you? Your mom would be totally lost. And who would Catriona pester? The rest of the boys are afraid of her.”

  “Ma’s fixin’ to have another bairn. She wouldna even notice I was gone.” Ramsay’s scowl remained locked on the tips of his boots, head bent, glaring at his swinging feet as if he was waiting for them to disappear.

  “You know better than that.” Trish cringed at the scolding tone creeping into her voice. Yuck. She sounded just like Nessa. Stilling her feet, she planted both hands on either side of her thighs, leaned forward and scanned the wreckage scattered across the floor. “Is the new baby the reason you were trying to go to the past? Are you afraid you’re not going to get any attention here once your little sister is born?”

  “Hell no!”

  “Ramsay?”

  “You say it. I’ve heard ye say worse than that many times. ’Specially when ye didna know I was around.” Ramsay puffed out his narrow chest, crossing his spindly arms over the grubby front of his shirt. “And I wasna tryin’ to get to the past. I was tryin’ to fold time and space and make it to yer dig before ye left. I was gonna surprise ye. Catriona’s a stupid nosy-butt. She peeks into Auntie Fiona’s paperback books. That’s where she got it in her head that I was tryin’ to travel back in time.” Ramsay shook his head, cutting his eyes sideways to lock an irritated glare fully on Trish’s face. “I hate girls.”

  “Really?” Trish clamped her lips into a stern flat line. If she allowed Ramsay to witness the slightest hint of her amusement, not only would it hurt his feelings but her planned lecture would fall on deaf ears. “So, does that mean you hate me? I’m a girl.”

  Ramsay’s smudged cheek shrugged deep into his collar as he stared down at the floor. No answer. Just the sullen thudding of two little boots banging against the stone.