by Mariah Stone
Rub salt in the wound, why don’t you? The scent of lavender and freshly cut grass enveloped Konnor as she came near. She threw the remnant of the daisy away and looked at him with her shiny, sparkling eyes. The tiny freckles looked dark brown in the twilight.
“If she does, she shouldn’t,” Konnor said. “I’m leaving.”
She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head as though she couldn’t decide where to put a flower in a bouquet.
“Are ye sure about that?”
He ground his teeth and said with more confidence than he had, “Yes.”
“If ye leave, ye’ll only have one last trip left. Are ye truly sure?”
Was he? Isbeil’s words came to mind. Was she right? Was this not the end of his and Marjorie’s story?
Would she come after him? To forgive him and say goodbye? Hope bloomed in his chest at the thought, cool and soothing. He looked back into the gray woods. Watched the branches moving in the wind ever slightly.
Wait… Was it her face?
No. Just the shadow of a bush swaying.
She wasn’t coming. And even if she were, all he could offer her was more disappointment, because he would still leave. Wouldn’t he?
He let out a half-sigh, half-growl, angry with himself now, because he dared to consider another option.
No. No more lingering and hoping and waiting. GTFO.
“Yes, Sìneag,” he said. “I’m sure. This is best for everyone.”
Sìneag’s eyes grew sad. Without casting another glance at her, he marched towards the flat stone that had already started to glow and slammed his hand right into the handprint. A buzzing went through him and surrounded him like a tornado. The cool rock under his palm disappeared, and he started falling into the emptiness, but he still looked back, hoping to see Marjorie for the last time.
But there was no one there.
Chapter 28
Three days later…
“Mother, please play soccer with me,” said Colin coming to her with Konnor’s hay ball tucked under his arm.
There were no enemies here now. The waves of the loch splashed by her shoes, created by the breeze. Green, violet, and brown hills were calm under the leaden sky on the other side of the loch. Trees and bushes rustled in the wind behind her, and sheep grazed by the castle to her right.
Aye, she was alone with her son outside the castle walls. And she felt quite safe and secure. If she could protect Glenkeld against the MacDougalls, if she could defeat John MacDougall, what was there to fear in a wee walk outside the gates?
But despite the calm picture, Marjorie was in pain. Konnor’s dear face was in her mind. Oh, how she missed him. Oh, how his rejection stung. She took in a lungful of air saturated with the scent of sheep, and lake water, and greenery.
Playing soccer would plunge her right back into that beautiful day when Konnor, Colin, and she played together. And that would torture her, reminding her again and again of what she’d never have.
The man she loved. A family with him. Happiness with him.
But her son didn’t need to suffer just because she was. He deserved better, and she’d give him every happiness in the world.
She pressed on a smile. “Aye, of course I will.”
The strange bracelet that Konnor had left for Colin shone on his chest. The bracelet was too big for the lad, and he’d put it on a leather string around his neck and wore it together with his cross. Marjorie was pretty sure it was something like a wee clock or a sundial, but it looked like magic, with the wee hand moving on its own, producing the tick tick tick sound. The surface was the smoothest steel she’d ever seen, smoother than the blades of a new sword. The thing was beautiful, masculine, and brought a sense of wonder.
When she touched its cool, sleek surface, she felt she not only touched Konnor, she touched the future as well.
Colin had been ecstatic about the thing and called it “the ticker”. He even slept with it. He didn’t even take it off when he bathed, and the miraculous object still ticked even under water.
It was the last thing she’d ever have from Konnor.
“All right, son. Where shall we have the goal?”
Colin pumped his fist excitedly and picked a large rock from the shore. “Over there, look.” He pointed with his chin about ten feet farther up the shore. “That bush can be one part of the goal, and the boulder can be the other.”
“Aye, good,” Marjorie said and walked with him towards there.
She was the goalkeeper, again, and Colin turned out to be an excellent shot, it was also easier to kick the ball rather than the cluster of hazelnuts. They played for a while, until Colin suddenly stilled, his foot frozen mid-air over the ball as he stared at something behind Marjorie.
An icy shiver went through her, panic going through her in a paralyzing wave. Thoughts flashed through her mind like angry wasps.
She was alone outside the castle with her son.
If the MacDougalls had sent someone to kidnap them, the watchmen wouldn’t see them right away.
She’d rather die than let anyone take Colin.
Her hand shot to the dagger on her belt, and she pivoted to face whoever was behind her while unsheathing the dagger at the same time.
She pointed it at a man who sat on the horse and stared at her with wide eyes. He was giant. Tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and red-haired. He was dressed in a weathered tunic, his breeches dirty in places and with patched holes.
Where had she seen him? before His face was blank in astonishment as he watched her and Colin.
“Marjorie?” His deep voice cracked in wonder and relief.
She blinked. He dismounted and took a step towards her.
“Stop!” she cried, still pointing her dagger at him.
The men held his hands up and stilled. Why did he look so familiar? Those high cheekbones, the almond-shaped eyes of a warm-brown color… He had a long, almost shaggy beard and his hair looked like it hadn’t had a woman’s touch for a very long time. And his eyes… There was pain in them, and sadness, and a desperate, desperate hope.
She’d seen those eyes before, but the man they belonged to was dead.
“’Tis me, Ian,” he said.
The ground lurched under her feet and slipped away. She waved her free hand in the air, looking for something to lean on but found nothing. She stepped back and found her balance again.
“Ian…” she whispered.
She looked to her right, to where the small Cambel cemetery was, to where Ian’s grave was with a headstone dedicated to him.
But if time travel was real, there was more magic possible. She turned to Colin, who kept staring at Ian with a frown. She gestured to him, and he hurried into her arms. Once he was in the security of her hug, she looked at the apparition before her.
“Are ye Ian’s ghost?” she said.
His eyes clouded with an inner turmoil, and he pressed his lips tightly together in his beard. “In a sense, I am. The Ian ye kent died, Marjorie. But I’m flesh and blood.”
Her vision blurred with tears, and her hand holding the dagger shook violently. “Ye didna die?”
“Nae.”
She released the air in her lungs, but something in her refused to completely believe him, and she still held the dagger.
“Where have ye been?”
He swallowed. “The MacDougalls sold me into slavery to Caliphate. I’ve been a slave over there all these years.”
Her arm fell. A slave! Ian had been a slave… A tear left a burning trail down her cheek. Her dagger fell in the soft grass, and she left Colin and marched towards Ian.
He took her in his huge arms, and she fell into them, crying, inhaling his dusty, dirty, dear scent.
“Ye came back,” she whispered as he tightened his embrace. “Oh, thank God! Oh, thank God…” She leaned back. “Colin, come meet yer Uncle Ian.”
Colin came sheepishly, his eyes carefully estimating Ian. Marjorie let go of Ian and came to stand behind Colin and put he
r hands on his shoulders. “Ian, ‘tis my son, Colin.”
Ian’s eyebrows rose. “Yer…son?”
“Aye,” she said with her head raised.
Ian nodded respectfully as way of greeting. “Pleased to meet ye, lad. I’m so glad to have lived to see ye with my own eyes.”
“Hello, Uncle,” he said simply.
Marjorie sighed and felt a huge smile cut her face in two. “Come now, ye must be hungry and in need of a bath. I’ll order one for ye, and ye can sleep in—” Her voice stumbled as she almost said he could sleep in Konnor’s chamber. But it wasn’t Konnor’s any more. “In the guest chamber next to mine.”
Ian beamed. “Aye. Gladly, thank ye.”
As they turned and walked to take his horse and go into the castle, Marjorie squeezed his hand. “Ye must tell me everything that happened to ye.”
Colin kicked the ball towards the castle and ran after it. As Ian and Marjorie followed him, her cousin’s face darkened. “I canna tell ye everything. Some of it isna for a tender lass’s ears.”
Marjorie laughed. “Tender lass? I dinna ken of whom ye speak. I have just led a strong defense against a MacDougall army six times bigger than my forces. And I won.”
He looked at her with a blank expression on his face. “Ye? Alone?”
“I wasna alone. I had fifty men.” And one of them from the future, without whom she probably wouldn’t have made it. “But my father, yers, and Uncle Neil, together with all my brothers and many other Cambel men, are in the north-west, fighting for King Robert the Bruce.”
“Marjorie, I dinna ken what to say…” Tears welled in his brown eyes. “I remember ye broken, curled into a ball, with nae will to live or go out to see the sun. And now ye have a son, and ye fight the battles that nae every man can… Lass, I’m so proud to be yer cousin. Ye’re a true Cambel.”
Gratitude spread through her chest like the warm rays of sunlight. “Thank ye, Ian.”
They reached the castle and went through the gates. Colin took Ian’s horse and led it into the stables. Ian looked around and took a deep breath, then he let out a long, long exhale.
“I didna think I’d ever see Glenkeld again,” he said. “Have ye been to Dundail lately?”
Dundail belonged to Ian’s father, Duncan Cambel. It was about a day’s ride away. It was Ian’s home when he wasn’t fostered with the Cambels in Innes Chonnel or Glenkeld.
“Nae since we were children,” Marjorie said. “I ken yer father has been unwell recently. He hasna been on many battles ever since yer burial. He is in Inverlochy now. A rider came yesterday to say my father and brothers are there taking a brief rest.”
“Then ‘tis where I go on the morrow.”
Marjorie nodded and smiled. “Aye. I’d like to see my brothers’ faces once they see ye, but I must stay here to guard the castle.”
She took him to the tower with the bedchambers.
“Where’s yer husband, Marjorie?” Ian said.
“Husband? I have nae husband. Colin is Alasdair’s.”
Ian shook his head once. “Ye’re a remarkable woman. After what he’d done to ye, ye love his son.”
“Alasdair’s seed conceived Colin, but there’s nothing of that monster in my son. He’s a Cambel. And I’m proud to be his mother, no matter what. It only made me stronger, Ian. It made me who I am.”
And as she said that out loud, she realized her biggest fear, of being a coward, was gone, too. She wasn’t a coward. She never had been. The fact that she’d been kidnapped wasn’t a sign of her weakness. She’d fought as much as she could, and she hadn’t submitted to Alasdair, no matter how much violence he’d wrought upon her. She didn’t give up—not on herself, not on her child.
She hadn’t even given up on love. Only that had gone to shite.
“Aye, I dare say it did, lass,” Ian said. “Do ye nae want to get marrit?”
She looked at the courtyard thoughtfully. The men carried rocks up the towers and onto the northern wall. Now that they had time and peace to repair it, Marjorie wanted it done as soon as possible. They’d reclaimed the rubble from down under the wall to save money, and the clansmen who were normally engaged in sword training were doing the repairs.
“I didna for a long time. And then I met someone.” She nudged a small stone with the edge of her shoe and kicked it away. “I…fell in love with him, and despite the heartache of my experience, I started seeing the possibility of being happy. He did that for me.”
“Is he a good man?” Ian said. “Not that ye need my approval, but I will break his neck if he as much as looks at ye the wrong way.”
She sighed. “He is a good man. Colin opened up to him, too. He saved both our lives.”
“So where is he now, this good man?”
Marjorie hugged herself. “Far away.”
“And ye love him?”
“Aye.”
“And he loves ye?”
“I dinna ken. I thought he did.”
Ian ran his fingers through his long, shaggy hair. “I’ve been a slave for many years, Marjorie, and I thought every day might be my last. I saw the Highlands and ye all in my dreams. I faced death daily. The one regret I had about my life was that I never kent true love. Never had a woman to care for, a bairn to live for. If ye met yer true love, lass, dinna throw it away. Or ye may regret it.”
Marjorie bit her lip, fighting back the tears. He was right. If she didn’t have Colin to think of, she might have tried to find a way to travel in time to Konnor, but she had her son to think about first. And nothing was more important than Colin and his well-being.
“Aye,” she said. “Unfortunately, that isna possible. He’s so far away, he may as well nae exist.” She grasped Ian’s hand and squeezed it. “But it dinna matter. Ye’re here. Ye’re alive and well. Do ye ken what do ye want to do now?”
“Aye. Find my father and live my life quietly in Dundail.”
“Ye chose the wrong time to try to live yer life quietly, cousin. The kingdom’s at war.”
“Dinna concern me. I wielded my sword for too long in Caliphate. I promised I wouldna kill another man in my life.”
Marjorie nodded. It was his decision, but she doubted he’d be able to keep that promise.
“All right, go rest. I’ll ask the servants to bring a bath and hot water for ye, as well as a warm meal. I’ll send men out on a hunt, and we’ll have a feast tonight in yer honor.”
“Thank ye, cousin.”
As Ian went into the tower and climbed the circular stairs, Marjorie watched him thoughtfully and wondered if there was a way for her to be with the love of her life and still keep her son’s best interests at heart. She wished Konnor would change his mind and come back to her. Mayhap he could bring his mother with him. She was sure they would be great friends.
But wishing wouldn’t make it so. She needed to get used to living a life with a hole in her heart. Nothing to do about that.
At least she and her son were free, unlike Ian had been these past years. Thank God, her dear cousin was back from the dead.
Chapter 29
Los Angeles, two weeks later
“Konnor, son, dinner’s ready!” his mom’s voice called from the kitchen.
Konnor screwed a bulb into the chandelier and stepped down from the chair.
“Coming,” he said as he walked towards the switch.
He flicked it and light filled the room. He sighed, looking around. That was the last repair his mom needed. He picked up a glass with whiskey and downed the remaining liquid. Unlike the medieval moonshine, it tasted full and smoky. Just perfect. And yet he’d give anything to drink the rough uisge, because that taste would forever be connected to Marjorie for him.
He switched off the soccer match on TV. While he’d been doing repairs around the house, his mind had wondered, thinking of how else he could make a soccer ball in medieval Scotland. If he’d had more time, he’d have taken wood shavings instead of hay, make pentagons out of leather and sew them together p
roperly.
Yeah, right. He’d never get the chance to do that now, so what was the point of thinking of it?
He stood up and walked from his mom’s living room into the kitchen. Her house was a two-bedroom bungalow, with a shed in her back garden that served as the studio for her painting. The living room was colorful, with walls painted in rich turquoise and wooden paneling that shone almost golden. The brightest paintings hung on the walls—white orchids, and hibiscus flowers with yellow and pink petals, and orange and blue birds of paradise. The house stood on a hill, and Konnor could see the ocean over the roofs.
As he entered the brightly lit kitchen, the scent of freshly ground coriander and fried chicken filled his nostrils. Mom set two plates with burgers on the kitchen island, carrot and celery-root fries on the side. Her tablet next to the plates.
She flashed a nervous smile, though her blue eyes sparkled. Konnor’s stomach twisted in a nervous knot.
“Sit, sit,” she said. “I went to a cooking class on Thursday. We made chicken burgers with a Thai coriander dressing. I thought you’d like it.”
Konnor sat on the high stool and stared at the bun and the fried chicken breast that steamed between it. Mom poured herself a glass of red wine and took out a beer for Konnor. Then she took a seat as well. Her short hair was wavy today, something she hadn’t done for a long time, and turquoise earrings hung from under her locks. She also had pink lipstick on.
Lipstick? She doesn’t wear lipstick…
The light-gray blouse and big, turquoise necklace matching her earrings were new, weren’t they? And what about the makeup?
“Mom,” Konnor said. “What’s going on?”
She chuckled nervously. “Let’s eat first.”
His gut twisted. “No. Tell me.”
They had a usual Sunday routine. He’d come in the morning, bring her groceries and cash. She’d cook lunch, during which he’d do whatever small repairs she needed. They’d talk, she’d show him her new painting, and they’d go for a walk on the beach if the weather permitted. She never wore makeup, as far as he could remember, and she usually had something cozy on, like a jersey.