“But she wasn’t.”
Alasdair shrugged. “’Twould seem not.”
“What happened when you took her dare?”
“She ran. She led me to the top of a tower, then granted me the gemstone from the regalia and a tuft of white heather. She bade me turn thrice while she chanted a Gaelic ditty.” He glanced at Morgan. “I believed I fell down the staircase, but I awakened at your feet.”
Morgan chewed her lip. “And everything changed. The men you were with must have abandoned the keep.”
“Aye. ’Twould seem so. They would be fair spooked when a man disappeared without trace.”
“And that turned the tide against Robert the Bruce.” Morgan tried to sound businesslike. “Well, we just have to figure out how to send you back.”
“My lady, I fear ’tis impossible.”
“It is not. You came forward, you can go back.” Morgan’s tone brooked no argument, and she heard a vestige of Auntie Gillian there. “We just have to replicate the circumstances. If it’s a spell, we just need all the right ingredients to make it work again.”
A twinkle lit Alasdair’s eyes. “For one who is not a sorceress, you sound an authority on such matters.”
“I watch Bewitched reruns.”
Alasdair frowned and his grip tightened on her elbow. “But, my lady, this is no jest…”
Morgan fixed him with a stern eye. “I thought you wanted to see your son again.”
Alasdair shut his mouth. He was obviously still skeptical but fighting valiantly against his impulse.
“Do you truly believe it can be done?’ he asked finally, his tone revealing his hope.
“Yes,” Morgan assured him. “And we’re going to do it.” She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the crystal, which sparkled in the starlight. “Look, here’s the stone. Which hand did you have it in?”
Alasdair hesitated, then took it in his left hand.
Morgan dug in her bag and found the battered scrap of heather, the one that Alasdair had given her on Moot Hill. She turned it in her fingers, letting herself remember that afternoon, before she handed it to him. “And this is white heather. Or at least it was.”
Alasdair’s eyes lit up and his conviction visibly grew. “And it grew near the Stone of Scone. The wee witch said as much of the piece she granted me. This might indeed be successful!”
“Well, there you go. Now, all we need is the Gaelic verse.”
Alasdair’s face fell. “I do not recall the verse.”
“Then, we’ll just have to do some experimenting. You must know some Gaelic verses?”
“Aye.” Again that glimmer of hope lit his eyes.
Morgan’s heart hurt at the evidence of how much this meant to him and she had to look away. All the same, she hoped that they could make it work. “We’ll just have to try them all. Maybe it’s the Gaelic itself. Was the tune familiar to you? Or did it remind you of one you know? Think hard – maybe you can remember at least part of it.”
Alasdair pursed his lips. “’Twas a merry chant. ’Twas not unlike a song my gran sang when I was a babe, though these words called to Morgaine.”
“You’ll just have to come as close as you can.”
What other variable could they control? He could turn three times in place easily enough, although they were far from Edinburgh’s towers.
The orb of the moon crested orange on the horizon and gave Morgan sudden inspiration. “What was the phase of the moon that night? Doesn’t that sort of stuff matter in these things? In the story of the smith, it was full.”
“Like this night,” Alasdair agreed, then thought for a moment. “Aye! On that night, it was full and riding high. I feared we would be seen because of its light.”
Morgan’s mouth went dry that things were moving so quickly. “So, if we don’t try tonight, we’ll have to wait another month.”
Their gazes clung for a potent moment, and Morgan finally averted her gaze. She took a step back and tried to sound encouraging. “Go ahead and do whatever you did then.”
Alasdair’s expression turned grim. “’Tis not so simple, my lady. There was something about the tower place – she called it a portal. We need to find a portal betwixt the times.”
“Like that to the domain of Morgaine le Fee.”
“Aye, a place where Faeries are said to gather. I have no doubt that there was a history of odd doings in that tower.”
“Like the hill in the smith’s story,” Morgan said.
Their eyes met in sudden understanding, and Morgan knew they were both thinking the same thing. They turned as one to eye the circle of standing stones not two hundred feet away.
“My gran oft said…” Alasdair began, his voice oddly strained.
“Somewhere Faeries dance,” Morgan breathed.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that one of the most magical places in the British Isles was right beside them. Morgan tried to swallow the lump in her throat without success. She couldn’t avoid the fact that everything was falling into place with dangerous ease.
This was the night that Alasdair would leave her for all time. Just the thought made Morgan feel empty inside.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s where we have to be.”
Without another word, they walked toward the standing stones of Callanish, Morgan fighting to hide her trepidation from Alasdair.
*
Chapter Sixteen
Morgan could not wait to be rid of him.
Alasdair fought against his instinctive dislike of that certainty. ’Twas clearly because he had never been unwelcome in a woman’s company before, especially one upon whom he had lavished his rough charm.
But ’twas something more than that irking him and in a secret corner of his mind, Alasdair acknowledged the truth.
He loved Morgan. Indeed, he had fallen irrevocably in love with his wee enchantress.
And he was not by any means ready to part her company.
Even for his son.
This might have been frightening enough - for Alasdair had never permitted anyone to have such an effect upon him - if the lady had not been so intent on sending him away from her side. What was more, the sooner that happened was clearly the better, to her way of thinking.
And that irked Alasdair. Was it just his pride that was wounded? Or was it a sense that there was something greater betwixt them, something that twisted his innards, yet something to which she was oblivious?
For a moment, he had hoped to spend an evening with Morgan, within the circle of stones, putting all the troubles aside. He would know the woman herself, without guise of sorceress. When Morgan took his hand, Alasdair’s heart had clamored with the rightness of his choice.
But it seemed the lady did not wish to put Alasdair’s troubles aside. ’Twas Alasdair himself she would send away, and that with all haste.
Alasdair trudged along beside her, disgruntled and not liking in the least that the Fates themselves seemed to be on the lady’s side. ’Twas a poor time to part, in his mind, but that seemed to be of little import. Not only had she the stone and the heather he had forgotten giving to her, but the cursed moon rose full on this very night.
And the stones were far too close for chance. They were the one thing exactly the same both in Alasdair’s memory and before his eyes. ’Twas not whimsy that made him conclude these stones could be the link between the centuries that he sought.
Alasdair had the sense that he was destined to leave this very night.
Yet he was not prepared to go.
The delicate marvel of Morgan marched beside him, a definite briskness in her step, and Alasdair knew he had made no error. The lady could not wait to see the back of him, whatever his feelings to the contrary.
Sorceress or nay, her thorough assessment and determination had Alasdair believing she could do this thing. And ’twas true enough what she said - he had done the feat once, and likely could again, were all circumstances right.
Would Morgan forget him once he w
as gone? The thought was startling, but Alasdair had to consider what had happened to the tale of Robert the Bruce. Would his departure leave Morgan with the sense that he had never been?
Alasdair was more troubled by that possibility than he thought he should have been. ’Twas clear enough the lady thought she lost naught by sending him on his way - and Alasdair wished he could somehow guarantee that she would at least recall him.
He knew full well that he would never forget her.
The standing stones of Callanish etched a great circle upon the land and though Alasdair knew they were not the only standing stones thereabouts, this gathering was the largest. A circle of thirteen massive stones stood on end, each one of them taller than he was. In the center of the circle stood an even taller stone, its crest angled in a distinctive manner.
Lines of stones extended in the four cardinal directions from the center, the northward avenue outlined by a double line of stone sentinels. The stones themselves were weathered and gray; the rising moon burnishing the rough surfaces with deep gold.
Alasdair and Morgan entered the avenue and approached the stones. A hush seemed to fall around them as they walked and Alasdair could near naught beyond the pounding of his heart.
It seemed they were sheltered even from the wind in this place. It had always been this way when Alasdair ventured close to the stones. The majesty of their height and the sense of ancient power contained here struck right to his very soul.
And he understood now that ’twas because his gran spoke aright. This place stood portal to domains beyond the eye. That those domains were more of this earth than Faerie was but a detail.
They halted beside the commanding center stone and Alasdair knew he did not imagine Morgan’s nervousness.
She would not look to his eyes.
“All right, you have the crystal and the heather, the moon is full and we’re here.” Her emerald gaze danced to him and away as she chattered. “Um, what else? You said you turned three times in place and oh! Wait! You said you were drunk! Maybe we should find some whisky or something.” She spun away as though anxious to find such a substance and send Alasdair from her side.
Alasdair gritted his teeth and stood his ground. “I will drink naught this night,” he said so forcefully that Morgan glanced back at him. When he noted her surprise, Alasdair arched one brow and let his voice drop. “You forget, my lady, that I granted my word to you.”
“But it might be part of your going home.”
“I shall go with my wits about me or not at all. I have told you oft enough, a man’s word must be worth something or he is as naught.”
Morgan stared at him, as though she was not certain whether or not to believe him. Alasdair could not tell whether his assertion pleased her or not, and irritation surged through him.
She might want to be rid of him as quickly as possible, but Alasdair had something to say first. He stepped forward and captured her chin with one hand, stared into her eyes and willed her to not look away.
Alasdair felt the lady swallow, but she did not flinch.
“My lady,” he said, his voice low yet filled with resolve. “Before we do this thing, I would have you know that I have never met a woman the like of you. Indeed, you might as well be an immortal sorceress, for your gentle beauty entwines with your strength of will to make a beguiling combination.” He smiled down at her. “And your kiss is no less bewitching than the reputed power of Morgaine le Fee’s embrace.”
“I’m just a…”
Alasdair slid his thumb across Morgan’s lips to silence her protest, not in the least interested in her modesty at this moment.
He would have his say, before he left her side forever.
“Do not dismiss my tribute, my lady. You are like the rose, which blooms in beauty all the season long, though few appreciate the challenges it overcomes to bring those blossoms to light. ’Tis a stalwart plant, a harbinger of fair weather, yet of sufficient strength to survive both poor soil and foul winters.”
The lady blushed. Alasdair felt his annoyance dissolve at the sight, and he could not have stopped himself from cupping her face in his hands. To his amazement, she did not pull away.
“Whereas I, my lady,” he continued with a rueful smile, “am but a lowly briar. Rife with doughty thorns, rough-hewn yet strong, of common persistence to the rose, but sadly without her beauty and grace. We are as unlike as two beings might be, my lady, but I would ask of you one thing ere I go.”
“What?” Morgan’s voice was soft and uncertain, and her eyes were wide.
“I ask only that you remember me,” Alasdair declared with low urgency. “As I shall remember you for all my days and nights.”
Before she could argue the matter – or decline – Alasdair bent and sealed her lips with his kiss.
As she had before, the lady trembled within his embrace, then tentatively placed her hands on his shoulders. Alasdair’s heart sang when she arched against him, and he dared to hope that he had fallen in love with a woman who held him in some esteem.
As the heat of her kiss unfurled in his loins, Alasdair faced the truth. He was smitten with a tiny woman whose life was fixed seven centuries ahead of his own. A part of him wanted to ask her to accompany him home to find his son, but a larger part of him was afraid to face her certain refusal.
After all, she had made it clear that she wanted him to go quickly. Alasdair would hold the possibility of her admiration in his heart rather than force himself to face her rejection.
’Twas not a characteristic choice, by any means, and Alasdair supposed that was a sign of how deeply she had affected him.
With that realization, Alasdair broke off the kiss and stepped away, refusing to acknowledge the shimmer that blurred his vision. Morgan wanted no more than to be rid of him. He had no need to hear the words.
Alasdair gripped heather and crystal, summon the first Gaelic verse that came to mind, and began to chant. He turned in place, telling himself that he closed his eyes so he might not see Morgan’s relief when he left.
His heart ached with the awareness of her watchful silence.
Once. Alasdair chanted with vigor and heard his voice bounce off the stones. He forced himself to think of Angus, not of Morgan, to think of his home and his gran and his debt to Robert the Bruce.
Twice. He felt the dizziness flooding through him as it had that night in Edinburgh, and his heart skipped a beat. Alasdair took a deep breath and chanted louder, telling himself he would see his own time when his eyes opened again.
One more step. He lifted his foot, turned an increment and made to step.
Thrice.
“No!” Morgan cried.
Alasdair’s eyes flew open just as Morgan launched herself at him. He dropped the gemstone and managed to catch her, but the force of her assault sent them flying back against the great central stone.
To Alasdair’s astonishment, she was crying.
“I don’t want you to go!” she wailed.
But had he gone? Alasdair scanned the hills beyond the circle of stones, and his gut writhed at the gleam on the roof of the Micra parked not far away.
He was yet in Morgan’s time.
He frowned down at her, trying to make sense of her dismay. “What is this? Of course, you would be rid of me. You are intent only on having me gone.”
“No! I never wanted you gone!
Her obvious horror that he had thought otherwise warmed Alasdair to his toes. Heartfelt tears streamed down her cheeks and ’Twas evident she could not stop their course. Humbled by her distress, Alasdair brushed the tears away with a gentle fingertip.
It seemed he had misjudged his lady’s heart.
“But you need to go. I understand that. Your son needs you.” Morgan clutched Alasdair’s shoulders as though she could not get close enough to him.
Alasdair’s pulse began to thunder in his ears at this marvelous change of events, and he could not think of a word to say.
Morgan had plenty to say.
“I thought it would be easier if we got it over with,” she confessed unevenly, her wondrous eyes welling with fresh tears. “But Alasdair, please don’t believe that I want you to go.”
Alasdair felt a cur for ever having doubted her. He leaned back against the stone and gathered her against his side, letting his hand slide through the ebony hair at her nape. He caressed her gently, his fingers losing themselves in the silky softness of her hair, and dared to believe what she told him.
She did not want him to go.
Morgan did not want to be rid of him.
Alasdair felt himself begin to smile. The stars winked overhead as though they had known all along. The moon sailed high and her face turned to glowing silver. Alasdair could hear the waves of the sea crashing in the distance. He gave the woman nestled against him a minute hug and touched her chin.
“Look there,” he said, pointing to vivid display in the northern sky. “The Merry Dancers would have you smile again.”
Morgan looked up and wiped the last of her tears, her lips rounding in amazement at the sight. “The northern lights,” she whispered in awe. “I’ve never seen them before.”
Alasdair snorted gently. “Dancers they are, as any wee lad knows, not mere lights.”
She turned a smile on him so enchanting that it fairly melted Alasdair’s bones. And he knew, as he had only guessed before, that this woman had not only cast a net around his heart but would hold it securely for all time.
“Alasdair,” she whispered, her eyes luminous. “I love you.”
Alasdair stared at her in wonder. The rose scent that she favored wafted into his lungs; the soft warmth of her pressed against his ribs; the delicacy of her hand rested on his chest. It seemed that they two stopped breathing in the same moment, and there was naught but the glow of love in his lady’s eyes.
In the wake of such a confession and all else that had happened on this day, there was only one thing a red-blooded man might do. His heart swelling with his own love, Alasdair leaned closer and kissed his lady fair.
*
Morgan thought her heart would burst when Alasdair kissed her. As always, his embrace was tender, giving her the choice of how they might proceed.
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 63