There had be something good about losing him.
When the sound of the car’s engine had faded from earshot and the silence of the hills pressed against her ears, Morgan felt as though she had decided much more than to stay on and work on her drawings here. It seemed so final, watching the last shred of the life she knew drive away.
At the same time, she was afraid to take a chance on the love she felt for Alasdair. After all, experience had shown that she could make mistakes in affairs of the heart.
Even if she could manage to follow Alasdair, what if she was wrong?
Morgan didn’t know what to do, but she did have a lot of work in front of her. She had so many of Alasdair’s stories still to illustrate with drawings, and in one way, she couldn’t wait to start. In another way, Morgan was afraid that once she made all the drawings, the memory of Alasdair’s resonant tones would fade from her mind as they had from nearly everyone else’s.
Morgan wanted to cling to every vestige of his memory that she could.
While Morgan lingered indecisively on the porch with her jumbled emotions, Adaira came bustling through the door. On this day, she was decked out in fuschia frills. “Miss Lafayette! I can’t begin to tell you again how delighted we are that you’ve decided to stay on to work. You simply must make yourself right at home here.”
Morgan smiled. “Thank you.”
Adaira fussed with the wicker chairs, moving them incrementally, even though Morgan couldn’t see anything wrong with where they were. “It’s a pity that your sister has taken the car, though I suppose they’ll need it to get back to Edinburgh.”
Adaira snapped her fingers before Morgan could say anything. “You know, the Captain is always saying that a bit of exercise does a body good, and there is a bicycle in the garage, whenever you want to use it. Of course, we’d be happy to drive you anywhere when we’re out and about, but the Captain does tend to just pop off for a pint at the oddest moments…”
“Thank you,” Morgan interjected, finding the idea of a bike ride enormously appealing. “The bike will be great. Maybe I’ll go for a ride now.”
Adaira smiled sympathetically. “A bit restless, are you? I always say as it’s hard to say good-bye, though the Captain insists that partings make the gatherings all the sweeter.”
Morgan couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Adaira’s indulgent glance revealed her thinking that Morgan was all choked up about Justine’s departure.
But it was another parting that was eating a hole in Morgan’s heart. Suddenly, she had to know that her pain had gained something for someone.
She had to know that Angus had lived longer.
She had to know that losing Alasdair had been worth something.
*
Frances Fergusson was only too glad to see Morgan, although her cats were fairly indifferent to the whole affair. The two women talked about paints and composition for a few moments, then at Morgan’s request, they dove back into the crowded room of records.
“Here’s the box you and that Scotsman had before,” Frances declared.
Morgan’s jaw just about hit the floor. “You remember him?”
Frances’s eyes twinkled. “Now, I may be an old widow woman, my hear, but I still have eyes in my head, and he was one fine young man. A MacAulay, wasn’t he?” She clicked her teeth and opened the box, popping her bifocals onto her nose. “That ledger should be right near the top. No one’s been past since you were here.”
Morgan sat down with a thump. “But no one remembers Alasdair except me.”
Frances peered over her half-glasses. Then she smiled and gave Morgan’s hand a pat. “Well, I saw the look in the man’s eye, my dear, and you may be sure that he is remembering you, wherever he is.” Her gaze brightened as she fingered the ledger. “In fact, I would suspect that only a very, very good reason would take him away from your side.”
With that, she handed over the book and smiled. “I think I’ll put on a pot of tea just now.”
And Morgan was alone with the book that recounted the first of the MacAulays. Just holding it in her hands made her think of the day they had all three packed in her, how anxious Alasdair had been, and the enormous quantity of shortbread he had consumed. Morgan took a deep breath, blinked away her tears and opened the book.
Olaf the Black.
Ismay of Mull and Ranald MacAulay.
Angus MacAulay and Fiona Campbell.
She looked at the ceiling, then moved her hand a little lower, knowing what she would see.
Alasdair MacAulay.
His name.
Morgan ran her fingertips over the spidery black writing and hid the date of his demise with her hand. She stared at the letters until her tears blurred them beyond recognition.
Alasdair MacAulay. Just the sight of his name summoned a vision of him that was almost tangible. Alasdair was in this book, as though he had been no more real than any of the others, but Morgan had held the heat of him inside her.
And now he was lost to her forever.
Did she really want to know what the book said? What if he had died young and alone? What if he hadn’t really made if back to his own time? A tremor of fear claimed Morgan’s heart and she almost couldn’t bear to look, couldn’t bear to know. She could think of a thousand possibilities, any of which would make her deeply unhappy.
Morgan called herself a chicken, took a deep breath, and moved her hand.
d. 1322 – in noble defense of Scotland’s borders, by the side of Robert the Bruce.
But Alasdair hadn’t wanted to fight anymore! How could that be? Morgan stared at the page, and her heart stopped when she read the line immediately below.
Angus – b. 1308, d 1315.
That line hadn’t changed.
A lump rose in Morgan’s throat. How could Angus not have lived longer? Alasdair had gone back to help his son!
Had he gone back only to watch his son die? Morgan could just imagine how that would have destroyed Alasdair. He was so determined to make up for lost time, and to compensate for the time he had spent apart from his son.
Yet Angus had died. Had Alasdair even managed to see the vestige of his beloved Fenella in his son one last time? What if he had gotten there too late?
Morgan looked to Alasdair’s epitaph again and her heart clenched. Alasdair’s return to his own time had made no difference to Angus’s life. Morgan could almost feel the anguish Alasdair must have felt, to be helpless against whatever had stolen away his only son.
She scanned the listing again and saw that Ismay of Mull had died in 1320. That must have been Alasdair’s gran, the one who told so many wondrous tales and who he so avidly admired.
Everyone in his life and died, and he had been left alone.
No wonder he had gone back to war. Had Alasdair ever forgiven himself for taking that witch’s dare? Or had he gone to his grave believing that he had failed everyone around him?
What a horrible fate for a man who was so intent on upholding duty and honor.
At just the thought, Morgan buried her face in her hands and started to cry. Had Alasdair been the one to plant the briar and the rose? Could Justine be right? Had Alasdair pined away – loving her? Justine was convinced, but Morgan wasn’t quite so sure.
All the same, she hated not knowing what had happened to him, and halfway wished she hadn’t come back here.
“Now, my dear, what can be so very wrong?” Frances came back with two steaming cups of tea, concern lining her brow. “Nothing could be so bad as that, could it? After all, everything there happened ages and ages ago! Your man and you are taking it all too personal like. Have a nice hot cup of tea, my dear, and everything will seem much better.”
But Morgan just looked up at her hostess. “Why do you remember Alasdair when no one else does?”
Frances smiled sadly. “You do.”
“I know, but that’s different…”
“Because you love him?” Frances suggested softly. When Morgan nodded, the
older woman sat down on the box beside her and sternly handed her a cup of tea. She gave Morgan a sharp eye until Morgan obediently took a sip.
“I don’t know why I remembered things other people don’t,” Frances admitted and shrugged. “But I do. That’s just how it is. And it always has been that way. For all the women in my family, actually. It goes back for ages” – she winked – “and you can be sure that there are plenty of stories of witches in my family tree. My Harold used to say…”
Frances’s voice faded, then she waved off whatever she had been about to say. “But that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I do remember your Alasdair. And even more important, that you remember him.”
Frances leaned over and tapped Morgan’s stomach as she looked into the younger woman’s eyes. “Because there’s someone who’s going to need to know all about him one of these days.”
Morgan straightened in surprise. “What?”
Frances smiled. “You’ve a wee bairn on the way.”
Morgan sputtered in astonishment. She was pregnant? But that was impossible. It had only been two days since she and Alasdair had been together. “You can’t know that!”
Frances smiled and sipped her tea. “Can’t I? Well, then I must be mistaken. Why don’t you let me know in about six weeks?”
There was a certainty in the older woman’s eyes that made Morgan wonder. Frances had said that she knew things she shouldn’t.
What if Morgan was pregnant with Alasdair’s child? A thrill raced through her at the prospect, and Morgan was filled with delight that she would have at least a vestige of him in her life.
Then her gaze fell to the book and its tragic contents. Morgan knew with sudden conviction that the child, if there was one, wasn’t for her alone.
No, she knew how much Alasdair’s son meant to him. She knew how much he valued the gift of fatherhood. If she and Alasdair had conceived, then Morgan owed it to Alasdair to seek him out, in the past.
It would mean taking a chance on her love for him. Morgan’s mouth went dry.
It would also mean losing all contact with Justine and Blake. It would mean never delivering on her book contract. It would mean stepped away from everything she knew – to find a legendary love.
If she could.
Morgan already knew that she felt more at home on this island than she had anywhere else in the world, even Auntie Gillian’s house. She liked the rhythm of the island and the way the people spoke. She loved the harsh lines of the land and the lyrical beauty of the tales they shared around the fire. It had changed so little since Alasdair’s time that even he had been fooled.
And she loved Alasdair.
What if he really did love her? Certainly he had said some things that were at least encouraging, and he had loved her with a tender deliberation that couldn’t have been accidental.
There was that red, red rose behind Adaira’s bed-and-breakfast.
What if her going back in the past could make a difference? What if she could do something to help Angus? What if she could give Alasdair another child?
What if her going back would ensure that Alasdair never went back to war, and never died lonely and broken-hearted?
If she was pregnant, didn’t their child deserve to know its father? At least, if Morgan could manage the trip through time in Alasdair’s wake?
But what about her book? Her sister? Her life?
Morgan was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped when Frances leaned over to give her hand a pat. “I also have a feeling you might need to know a little Gaelic,” Frances said softly. “Come and see me, dear, if you do. You never know how an old librarian might be able to help.”
In that moment, when Morgan looked into Frances’s knowing eyes, she made a decision. If she was pregnant, she would go to Alasdair.
Frances would help her.
In the time that it would take to get her pregnancy confirmed, Morgan would finish drawing Alasdair’s stories.
*
Justine had just finished losing her lunch on a sunny November Wednesday afternoon when the phone rang. As much as she hated to answer, it might be Mrs. Fitzgerald about Lorraine’s wedding invitations. They had to go out soon or not at all, but the Fitzgeralds could never decide about anything. Justine rubbed the perspiration from her brow and made her way to the phone.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Fitzgerald, or even Lorraine.
“Justine?”
“Morgan! How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Great! Well, actually, I feel like hell, but that’s a good thing.” Justine laughed. “Morgan, you won’t believe this, but I’m finally pregnant!”
Justine could feel her sister’s interest sharpen. “Oh! That’s terrific.”
“Isn’t it? Blake’s thrilled to death. You should see him. He’s a classic mother hen. And I’ve had all the tests and everything’s okay. They wanted to tell me whether it’s a boy or a girl, but I want to wait. Do you think that’s nuts? I mean, we could plan everything if we knew…”
“I think it’s wonderful,” Morgan said warmly. “You know, a little spontaneity never hurt anyone.”
Justine grinned. “I don’t know. Blake might have an allergy we know nothing about.”
“Blake?” Morgan chocked back what might have been a chuckle. “What about you?”
Justine laughed merrily. “So, we’re a little organized. The newest Macdonald will probably change all of that when he or she comes along.”
“When are you due?”
“June third.”
“I’ll think of you.” There was a somber note in Morgan’s voice that caught Justine’s attention.
Had Morgan decided what to do?
“Morgan, where are you?”
“Um, I’m still on Lewis.”
There was a cautiousness in those words that didn’t answer Justine’s unspoken question. “Oh. How are your drawings coming along?”
“Good. Good. They’re done.”
Justine twined the phone cord around her fingers. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Are you pleased?”
“Yes.” Morgan hesitated and Justine smiled affectionately. Her sister was so shy about her talents. “I think you’re right that they’re my best.”
“I guess you were inspired.”
Justine had made the comment lightly, but when Morgan gulped, she realized she’d said the wrong thing. “Oh, I didn’t mean Alasdair. I meant the scenery and everything…”
“It’s okay, Justine. I’m okay. Really.”
But Morgan sounded far from okay. Justine straightened, fighting against a sense of foreboding. “Good,” she said in her caterer voice. “When are you coming home?”
“Well.” Justine could just see Morgan shifting her weight from foot to foot, and she didn’t like the sound of uncertainty in her sister’s voice. “Well, that’s just it.”
Silence fell over the connection, but Justine held her breath and waited.
“I’m not coming home,” Morgan confessed in a very small voice.
Justine closed her eyes against a tide of mixed emotions. She had a very good idea where Morgan was going to go instead, and just the thought made her stomach feel queasy again, even though it was emptier than empty.
But the misery that had filled Morgan’s voice since Alasdair had disappeared tore at Justine’s heart.
“I’m pregnant, Justine,” Morgan confessed softly. “I have to go.”
Justine gripped the phone more tightly. She couldn’t think about medieval midwifery. Not for one minute. Alasdair would be the biggest and most fiercely protective guardian angel her baby sister could hope to have.
If Morgan could get to him.
“Do you think you can do it?” Justine’s voice sounded too strained to be her own.
Morgan sighed and doubt filled her words. “I don’t know. The stone is gone. I’ve learned a little Gaelic, but probably not enough.” Her words faltered a little, and Justine ached for what her sister was enduring. “But
I have to try, Justine. Tonight is the full moon and I just have to try.”
Justine bit her lip. “I understand.”
Morgan’s voice dropped. “I just…I miss him.” She paused and Justine waited for the confession she knew would come. “I love him.”
Justine felt the warmth of her tears tumble down her cheeks. The highlander had made a miracle happen. He had gently pried open Morgan’s protective armor and fitted himself right inside her tender heart. Morgan would never be happy without him at her side – especially now that she carried his child – and Justine couldn’t blame her for that.
She remembered how delighted she had been when Morgan had laughed for the first time in years. There had been something between them, right from the start. Something magical and powerful. Something that had drawn Alasdair across seven centuries to find Morgan.
It just wasn’t right that they should be apart.
Justine thought of the briar and the rose, eternally entwined as a testament of one man’s love for one woman, and her tears fell in a torrent. She was so very glad that Morgan had decided to take a chance on love – even though she was going to miss her sister terribly.
“I know,” Justine admitted unevenly. “Oh, Morgan, I know. And I’m sure that he’s missing you just the way you’re missing him.”
Morgan exhaled shakily. “I hope so, Justine. I really do.”
“Go,” Justine urged. “Go and find out.”
Morgan’s next words were so low that Justine had to strain to hear them. “I love you, Justine.”
“Yes.” Justine’s voice was uneven. “I love you, too, Morgan. I love you so very much.” Justine knew they were both very aware that they had never made such a declaration to each other before.
And she wondered why they had waited so long.
“Justine, don’t forget me.”
A lump rose in Justine’s throat with a vengeance, and her whispered declaration was nearly inaudible. “Never.”
“If you don’t hear from me by…”
Time Travel Romances Boxed Set Page 66