by Lora Andrews
“Else is my mother’s name.”
“It is true then. Mariota is your seanmhair.”
“Yes, but…”
Ewen stooped until he was eye level with her and brushed away a tear. “A different name does not change the sentiment in your heart.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, then rested his chin on the top of her head. “The love in our heart does not change. Your seanmhair loved you as is evidenced by all you’ve told me.”
But it wasn’t her grandmother’s name spiking her heartrate. It was the man that Mariota had claimed as her husband. Caitlin disentangled herself from Ewen’s arms.
“Iona said Duncan was my grandmother’s husband, right? My mother’s father?”
“Aye,” he said with hesitation. “That is what I heard her say.”
“Duncan Lamont wasn’t the man I knew as my grandfather.” Duncan Lamont wasn’t the man who had spent hours on all fours with a giggling five year old on his back despite her mother’s protests. “I saw the man I knew as my grandfather—the man I know as Douglas Walker—in that photograph, Ewen. He was standing right next to Reverend Patrick.”
The guarded expression on Ewen’s face softened. “His brother, Graham? Ah, lass.”
She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. “So, I guess he is not really my grandfather, is he? Because the man who fathered my mother died in 1967. My grandmother never breathed a word of it to anyone. Then again, she’s not really who she claims to be either, is she?” Even knowing her family wouldn’t lie without good reason, Caitlin couldn’t keep the bitterness from leaking into her words.
Why hadn’t they trusted her with the truth? If they had, then maybe she wouldn’t be standing on Iona Murray’s brick patio, piecing together the past in search of a mystical stone whose existence was becoming more probable with each passing day.
Ewen’s attention swung to the sliding glass door. The Murrays were standing on the other side, watching their exchange.
And so was Daniel.
“We’ll discuss your speculation another time, lass.” His tender tone tugged at the tears she struggled to contain.
“Okay.” Caitlin sucked in a breath. She was sure the Murray’s would have questions. Rightly so. It wasn’t every day strangers tore through your home after viewing old newspaper clippings you’d taken the time to share.
Goddammit. She should be standing in her classroom teaching combinations of ten, or integrating her lesson objectives with cute Halloween activities that would engage her students. She didn’t belong here, contemplating lies to conceal more lies her grandmother wove decades ago, standing beside a medieval warrior she liked way more than she should, while the Scottish sky threatened to hurl buckets of rain on her face.
Ewen brushed a finger along her cheek. “We will make sense of this news when we return to the manor. Have faith. What we’ve learned today has brought us one step closer to the stone.”
That was understatement.
A wave of his emotions flushed her skin, and she gave in to the pull. Leaning her head on his chest, she let the sensations caress her skin, a welcome distraction from the present. Empathy. Want. Concern. Her gift was like Pandora’s Box, tempting her to peek inside his heart to see the extent of his feelings when she knew better. God, she honestly knew better.
After their earlier discussion about magic, she was convinced he would be unreceptive to the truth. But if she could gain a better perspective of where he stood on the matter, maybe she could find the courage to reveal herself to him. Lord knows, her family had told enough lies to last a lifetime. She didn’t want to follow in those footsteps. Not anymore.
Not with Ewen.
Her Pandora’s Box rattled. What harm could there be in one peek?
Unsure of how to go about snooping into someone’s head, Caitlin opened her senses, tentatively at first, and reached out to Ewen. Her breath caught. His essence was as overpowering to her as his physical body. Swells of desire crashed against her, triggering her own to rush to the surface. She could drown in that ocean of want and die a happy woman, which made Ewen MacLean a lethal threat to her heart.
She shoved through the sexual attraction—so not ready to get caught in that firestorm—and focused on the ripple of thought streaming through the sensations. His emotions conflicted with his logical thought. Now isn’t the time to let this attraction cloud my judgment. No kidding. A sentiment she shared wholeheartedly. Her kin is tied to the stone’s disappearance. He didn’t know how, but he was confident Duncan Lamont’s death was a consequence of whatever had driven her family away.
She hadn’t thought of that.
She’ll betray you.
The thought slammed the link shut, and Caitlin jerked back, skin cold like she’d been showered in ice.
Ewen cocked his head, confused at her sudden movement.
“We better get inside,” she said, unable to meet his stare. With her back to the house, Ewen faced her, his massive chest and shoulders blocking her view of the Murray’s back yard.
He stepped closer, shrugged out of his jacket, and wrapped her in its warmth. “You’re shivering.”
She’ll betray you.
God, could she feel any worse? She had betrayed him. She had lied to him, and despite his misgivings about her, he protected her. But the truth? He’d view her as some kind of monster. She didn’t want Ewen MacLean looking at her like some freak. She wanted Ewen MacLean looking at her like he had at the church. Like he was right now.
Gah. What was wrong with her? She had no room in her life for a man, never mind a man like him. A man who would accept no less than all of her—mind, body, and soul. A man who would find her lacking and toss her aside for someone prettier, younger, and smarter.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing. Well, I guess everything.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes with her chilled fingertips. That at least was true. “I have to apologize to the Murrays. They look worried. We should head back in.”
Ewen tensed and whipped his head around to the Murray’s tree-lined backyard. Veins in his neck bulged. He shoved her toward the door.
“What the—”
“Get inside,” he growled.
As she neared the glass, the sliding door opened. Daniel stepped out and scanned the perimeter of the Murray’s property. His hand hovered over the holster at his hip. A wordless message passed between the two of them.
Was this a soldier thing? Or was someone out there? Caitlin stepped inside and ran her hands up and down her arms.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Murray’s kind face was scrunched with worry, while Stuart Murray’s gaze darted to the two huge, dangerous men scanning the trees that edged his lawn.
Ugh. More guilt. “I am. Else is my mother. Hearing about the fire—”
“Was upsetting. Of course, dear, how careless of me. Come sit down. I’ll warm the tea.”
“No, really, that’s not necessary.” Caitlin followed her into the living room.
Ewen and Daniel joined them. Ewen’s features were closed tight. Tension circled the tiny room.
“In regards to the MacEwens, know you of any legends related to the clan?” Ewen asked. “Legends pertaining to a stone, druidism, or a Fae talisman?”
Iona and Stuart exchanged confused looks.
“Naught comes to mind?” Ewen scrubbed a large hand across his face. “Think hard and worry not how trivial a notion you may believe it to be.”
“Well,” Stuart began, “there were the excavations that occurred several decades back.”
“Yes, we’re aware of those,” Caitlin said.
“Every now and then we hear of teenagers consuming alcohol at the site,” Iona said.
“Aye, and dancing in circles under the moon,” Stuart added.
Ewen stilled. “Circles?”
“Of course much of this silliness is tied to the television program.” Iona looked at Caitlin, “The one popular in the States with the nurse who travels thr
ough the stones into the past. Rubbish, all of it.”
Caitlin smiled weakly and ignored the brooding warrior pinning her with an inquisitive stare. Truth was stranger than fiction, as evidenced by the bizarre turn Caitlin’s life had taken.
Rubbish?
Iona Murray had no idea how wrong she was.
TWENTY-TWO
The Oyster?
Ewen flipped the menu and dropped the shiny placard onto the table. Who named a Scottish tavern after a shellfish? Probably the same oaf who decided to pair stunted chairs with tiny tables. Glancing around, he didn’t see the boards and benches that were common to the inns and taverns of home. At least there, a man could sit and enjoy a meal without his buttocks hanging off a wee stool.
To his right, Daniel sat stone-faced, his attention diverted between the front door and the animated chatter of the patrons scattered throughout the tavern. He’d left the other guard outside with instructions to watch the perimeter. Daniel wasn’t leaving anything to chance, and by the looks of it, he wasn’t thrilled to be watching his wards dine in a public tavern.
And neither was Ewen.
Where the bluidy hell was his ale?
When he readjusted his weight across the stool for the umpteenth time, he accidently bumped the table, knocking over a tin can stuffed with napkins and shiny modern utensils. Caitlin sprung forward and caught the rolling container before it crashed to floor.
“You don’t look comfortable.” She returned the can to its rightful place at the center of the table. “Let’s switch.”
Ewen eyed her seat—a long bench attached to a wall that formed a corner alcove. “No.”
“I honestly don’t mind the stool.”
She would sacrifice her comfort for his? The kindness alleviated some of the frustration he’d been feeling. “Stay where you are, lass. I am… okay.”
“Wow, look at you using twenty-first century vernacular.” She laughed and just as quickly, the humor faded from her expression. “What aren’t you telling me? You’re both staring at the door as if you expect someone to burst through. Does this have anything to do with MacInnes’s sudden departure from the church?”
“No,” both he and Daniel said in unison.
Caitlin arched a brow. “No? I see.”
They were in Otter Ferry, the former seat of the MacEwen clan before it was seized by the Campbells. Time shift or not, Ewen wasn’t about to sit with his back to the door in this century or any other.
Besides, he couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched.
Daniel glanced at his cellphone device. “Quit wasting time. Order your food. We should leave for Strathlachlan within the hour.”
“Wait, Strathlachlan? Where’s that?” Caitlin asked.
“The heart of MacLachlan territory.” Ewen turned to Daniel. “MacInnes suspects MacLachlan involvement?”
The guard shrugged. “My orders are to take you to the castle and the Kilmorie Chapel.”
“The old castle?” Caitlin made a face when Daniel nodded. “But, it’s in ruins.”
Ewen ran a hand across his face. In ruins like Castle MacEwen. Christ, for as long as he lived, he’d never grow accustomed to walking the ruble of structures that stood proud and tall in his time.
Caitlin’s eyes flared with irritation. “So, what? He’s choosing random locations to search? What’s the point of visiting another structure that’s been vacant and open to the elements for centuries? No one in their right mind would stash the stone there.”
“Are the MacLachlan’s allied to the MacEwen’s?” Ewen asked.
Daniel nodded. “Mariota’s sister was married to the MacLachlan laird.”
“Oh great, more relatives.” Caitlin clutched the menu in her hands, her fingertips turning white. “My grandmother never mentioned a sister or the MacLachlans.”
Attendants delivered plates of food to a nearby table. Despite his agitation, Ewen’s stomach rumbled as the savory aroma filled the air.
“Look.” Caitlin set the menu on the table. “Let’s pay for our drinks and go. We can eat later. We’re losing daylight.”
“My orders are to feed you, then take you to the site. After your troubles this morning, MacInnes was clear. You’re no use to him dead.”
For once, Ewen agreed with MacInnes.
“Lovely. This is a huge waste of time.” With her mouth set in a tight light, Caitlin continued browsing the menu.
Och, she was in a mood, but better her bad-tempered than heartbroken.
Daniel’s cellphone vibrated in his hand. He glanced at the screen and scowled. “I have to make a call.” He stood from the table and looked at Caitlin. “Hand it over.”
Caitlin’s face paled. “Hand what over? The menu?”
Her hand trembled.
There was no humor in the guard’s eyes. “The cellphone. Now.”
“I don’t—”
“Right pocket. Don’t cause a scene. MacInnes has very explicit instructions where you’re concerned. I don’t enjoy killing civilians.”
Caitlin reached into her trews, her face contorted with anger, and plunked an instrument on the table.
A communication device.
The lass had a warrior’s mettle. Pride bloomed in Ewen’s chest.
Daniel retrieved the cellphone. “MacInnes would have registered your attempt to use this the minute you tried to make a call on his property.”
Visibly irritated, Caitlin looked away without answering.
The guard leveled them both a hard stare. “I expect you to adhere to your arrangement. Are we understood?”
“It’s not like we have a choice, do we?” Caitlin’s voice shook.
She was right. Until they had the stone, their hands were tied. But, by god, he didn’t have to like it. Ewen’s throat smarted with fury. The helplessness she clearly felt—the same emotion slamming through his veins—drove an urge to heave the table across the room.
Daniel glanced at the people lost in conversation nearby, then nodded and moved to the front of the building. Once outside, Ewen could see the guard’s silhouette beside the window near the door. From that position, Daniel had a clear shot of the inn’s interior.
And Caitlin.
The guard raised the cellphone to his ear.
Caitlin’s eyes flashed with angry tears. Her fingernails dug into the flesh of her palm.
Ewen reached over, eased one of her palm’s open, and rubbed his thumb against her damaged skin. “One setback will not lose us this war.”
“Where am I going to find another phone. Dammit! I was so close.”
An attendant led a gaggle of chatty tourists to a table adjacent to theirs. Three silver-haired women with rouged lips and cheeks lowered their bodies into wobbly chairs across from their companions. One of the women smiled brightly and waved at Ewen.
He ignored the stranger, his mood darkening further.
“I stole the phone from the Murrays. I don’t even know if the stupid thing was charged, but I thought, I don’t know, if I could somehow manage the whole international exchange thing, then I could call my parents. Or Lila. And if that didn’t work, then I figured I could attempt to access the internet. Logon to my webmail, warn my parents, or at least let someone out there know what the hell happened to us.”
God’s bones. Her words made no sense.
She pulled her hand from his and threaded her fingers through her hair. “Now any chance of doing that is gone. I’m so mad I could spit.”
The barmaid approached. “Here we are,” she said with a too-cheery voice that set Ewen’s teeth on edge. Placing the ale on the table, she peered at them through red-rimmed spectacles. “Have we decided? I’d recommend the Cullen skink. It’s verra good and verra popular with our guests.”
Cullen skink?
Caitlin wiped her cheek and lowered her gaze to the menu. “Do you have anything simple, like a burger?”
“Aye, we do. The Oyster burger.” The barmaid pulled a wad of parchment from her apron po
cket.
“Is that the one with the lamb?” Caitlin made a face.
Ewen didn’t care for mutton either.
The serving wench laughed. “Yes, but it is mixed with the Highland beef which gives the patty a hearty flavor. Our American guests have never complained. You’ll like it. Trust me.”
Caitlin looked doubtful. “Fine.”
“And how would you like that cooked, dearie?”
“Medium.”
Medium?
The woman scribbled on the parchment. “With coleslaw and fries?”
Ewen grabbed the chilled glass and swallowed the ale, shocked at the bitter flavor that exploded on his tongue. He pulled away and examined the dark amber liquid. A layer of creamy froth lined the top. He sipped again. Damn. It was tasty. And refreshing.
“And you?” The woman turned to him and smiled. “What will you be having, handsome?”
The hell he knew. “The same as the lass.”
“Cooked medium as well?”
“Aye.” Whatever that meant.
“Easy enough. Enjoy your drinks.” The barmaid smiled and sauntered away.
“Like the beer?”
Ewen looked at the glass still in his hand. “Aye. ’Tis a different flavor than what I am accustomed to.” Chilled, less sweet, and not as thick a brew. An interesting flavor indeed.
“I don’t normally drink a dark beer, but this is local. Since we’re here, we might as well support the local merchants, right?”
Ewen frowned, but nodded. Was it not typical to have an alewife on the premises?
Caitlin brought the glass to her lips and swallowed. “God,” she said on a sigh, “that’s really good.” She licked the froth from her bottom lip.
His hand tightened around the chilled glass.
“I needed that.” She set the ale on the table and glanced to the front door.
He looked to the bar and adjusted his damn trews.
“Ewen, we’re not going to find clues on MacLachlan land.” She focused her vibrant green eyes on his face.
“Aye, this I know.” He swallowed a mouthful of the cool ale. The answer lay somewhere in the MacEwen ruins. He was sure of it.