A Highlander in Her Past (12 page)

The most delightful shade of rose he’d ever seen colored Trish’s cheeks as she ducked her chin. She squeezed his fingers and leaned forward, so only he could hear her whisper. “Thank you…for everything.”

Maxwell brought her clasped hands back to his lips again, lingering on the silky coolness pressed against his mouth. Words escaped him.
Lore
. He hoped the woman knew the joy filling his heart.

“Are you both ready?” Ciara stepped between the stone arches, her back to the glowing sun sinking into the ocean’s glistening waves.

Maxwell glanced at Trish. Her shy nod and quivering smile warmed him like a dram of fine whisky. Cradling her hands between his own, he turned them both toward Ciara. “Aye. We’re ready to pledge our lives and our souls.”

Ciara stared at him, unblinking, her head tilted slightly forward.

Maxwell beamed back at her as he snugged Trish’s hands against his chest.

Ciara cleared her throat, glanced down at Trish’s hands then returned a pointed gaze and an arched brow back to Maxwell’s face. “Now, Maxwell,” she finally whispered.

Realization hit Maxwell like a nudge in the ribs. It was time he revealed the ring. Freeing one hand and shoving it deep in his sporran, Maxwell gave Trish an apologetic smile as he searched the depths of the richly furred pouch. Where was the damn thing? He’d wrapped it carefully in a bit of soft hide to ensure it traveled well. A sense of relief flooded through him as his fingers touched the tightly wrapped bundle. Pulling the bit of yellowed hide from the pouch, Maxwell unwrapped the ring in the palm of his hand. Trish’s sharp intake of breath assured him he’d done well.

The silver band gleamed with carefully polished knots and whorls forming an intricate weave. A deep blue stone, an oval-shaped, sparkling sapphire nestled into the widest part of the band. Maxwell took Trish’s shaking hand and seated the ring upon her finger. Closing his hand over hers, he smiled into her eyes. “I canna imagine taking a breath without ye by my side. Ye own my heart and ye own my soul. I pledge all eternity to ye…my willful, beautiful bride.”

A deafening roar exploded around them, plunging them into an inky darkness. Howling winds tore through them, shrieking through the upright stones of the altar. The pyres of gathered wood burst into flames, blazes shooting high into the air. Maxwell staggered back against the altar table, hands raised against the onslaught of debris stinging against his flesh.

“Trish,” he roared into the gale, clawing against the blackness of the swirling cloud. A heart-wrenching scream reached him through the howling wind just before everything went black.

Icy raindrops plopped into his face as he rolled back against the base of the altar. The pelting drops shot faster from the clouds, melding into frigid sheets of water pummeling down the hillside. Maxwell squinted through the deluge, searching the gray, watery landscape for any sign of Trish. Crawling across the rain-slicked earth, he pulled himself to where Faolan and Ciara huddled in each other’s arms.

“Where is she? Where is Trish? I canna see her,” he roared to them, vying to be heard above the screaming storm.

Ciara shook her head and buried her face into Faolan’s shoulder as he pulled her beneath the shelter of the stone altar’s ledge.

“Tell me now!” Maxwell bellowed through the rain even though he feared the answer to his question.

Keagan shook his head as he elbow-crawled beneath the stone and crouched next to his mother and father. “They’ve gone back, Uncle Maxwell. They’ve both returned to their time.”

Chapter Fifteen

The air swelled then exploded between the stone pillars as though someone had squeezed the universe and popped that particular space like a delicate bubble. Drenched and shaking, Trish and Ramsay sprawled across the altar stone right where the universe spit them out.

“My baby!” Nessa rushed forward, pulling Ramsay into her arms and covering his closed eyes with kisses. “Ramsay, speak to me. Tell me you’re all right. Please, Ramsay, say something.”

“I’m okay, Mama,” Ramsay croaked before going limp in her arms.

Trish closed her eyes. This could not be happening. Not this. Not now. Raking the back of her hand across her wet face, she strained to raise her head and force her eyes to focus. Latharn’s concerned face swam into view. That was all it took. She collapsed back into an exhausted heap atop the stone, dragging a handful of the Sullivan tartan against her mouth to absorb her uncontrollable sobs. He was gone. She’d returned to her time and lost the only man she’d ever attempted to love.

“Trish! Are ye hurt? Can ye speak?” Latharn eased a hand beneath her shoulders and carefully turned her toward him. “Trish. Why are ye weeping? Are ye no’ glad to finally be home?”

Ramsay stirred in Nessa’s arms, coughing and spitting as though he’d just been resuscitated after drowning. Unwinding himself from his mother’s arms, he inched across the stone table and laid his cheek against Trish’s arm. “Ye shouldha left Auntie Trish back there, Da. Ye yanked her away from her wedding day.”

“Wedding day?” Nessa repeated in a horrified whisper. Pulling Ramsay back into her embrace, Nessa turned the boy’s face to hers with a trembling finger under his chin. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”

“Auntie Trish loved Maxwell. Look at her hand. She wears his ring.”

Trish curled her hand against her chest, cupping the precious ring against her heart. Rocking back and forth atop the stone, heart-wrenching sobs tore from her throat. Why couldn’t Maxwell have returned with her instead of the damn ring? Blinded by a torrent of tears, Trish shoved her fingers into her waistband until she found the cold metal snugged against her side. Working it free, she placed a man’s silver ring on the stone beside her and covered it with a shaking hand. Ducking her head, she clenched her ringed hand to her chest and rocked back and forth, keening her pain to the wind. She hadn’t given Maxwell his ring. Nor had a chance to repeat her vows.

“Send me back,” she hissed through her tears into Latharn’s startled face. “You’ve got to send me back right now. I’m in the middle of getting married.”

A sorrowful shadow darkened Latharn’s face as he slowly turned away. “I cannot, Trish. Please forgive me. I cannot reopen the portal.”

“Bullshit!” Trish screamed, tripping over her long skirts as she scrambled off the altar stone. Stumbling forward, she fell atop Latharn’s chest. Her clenched fists bounced against his body, fueled by her rage. “Don’t stand there and lie to me. If you opened it once, you can do it again!”

She had to get back. Maxwell had to know that she really loved him. Panic ripped through Trish’s heart. She’d never said the words. She’d never told Maxwell she loved him. Balling up her fists, she swung at Latharn again, screaming as he locked his hands around her wrists and held her blows at bay. “Send me back to him now, dammit! I don’t belong here anymore.”

“I cannot!” Latharn hissed between clenched teeth. “Each MacKay chieftain is granted the magic to open the portal once during his life time. I used my chance to recover you and my son.”

The painful truth hit Trish like a wall of ice water, knocking her to her knees. Ramsay was next in line to be laird and he’d used his one shot at the portal when he’d sent them back in time. Trish sucked in a shuddering sob as hopeless hysteria battered against the cruel logic unfurling in her mind. She’d never see Maxwell again. She’d used up her quota of MacKay chieftains. By the time Ramsay fathered an heir who could re-open the portal, a life with Maxwell would be a missed chance…like waking too soon from a lovely dream.

“Trish.” Nessa’s soft voice interrupted her misery, broke through the aching fog. “Even if you could go back, I don’t think you’d find what you expect.”

Trish twisted the ends of the drenched arisaid tighter about her shoulders. A bone-chilling weariness settled into her flesh, making every movement a struggle. Not bothering to look up from the cold hard ground, Trish forced the words from her mouth. Even breathing took too much effort. What was the point really? “Cut to the chase, Nessa. I don’t have the strength for your attempt to let me down gently.”

A despondent sigh sounded from somewhere just above Trish’s head, right before a pair of strong hands pulled her up to her feet. “Come on, Trish. There’s something I think you need to see.”

Somehow, her feet moved of their own accord as Nessa and Latharn pulled on her arms. Strange. How could a body continue to function and shift into auto-pilot when the heart and mind had been totally shattered? Trish shuffled forward, stumbling along the path as Nessa and Latharn led her down the hill.

“I know this will seem cruel but you need to know the truth. It would be pointless for you to return to the past, Trish. This is what you’d find.” Nessa pulled on Trish’s arms, stopping them just inside the gate of the family cemetery. Her fingers dug into Trish’s flesh, pointing her toward the corner of the headstone-filled garden. “Please don’t hate me, Trish. But you’ve got to know that he’s not there waiting for you. I’m so sorry but it’s just too late.”

Trish frowned at Nessa. What the hell was she babbling about? Of course Maxwell would still be there waiting for her. Only a few moments had passed. If he wasn’t here by her side, then he had to be back there standing beside that damn stone arch.

Nessa pulled her toward a taller headstone, slightly offset from the others. A dark foreboding squeezed icy claws around Trish’s throat, threatening to cut off her air. “I don’t need to see where he’s buried, Nessa. Don’t you think I’ve got enough sense to realize that if he didn’t follow me to the future then he’s long dead by now?”

Nessa’s mouth tightened into a determined line and she pulled Trish closer to the stone. “You need to see
when
he died. It will help you move on…I hope.”

Shrugging out of Nessa’s grasp, Trish stomped over to the gravesite nestled in the corner. The name
Maxwell Sullivan
was carved deep and dark into the face of the soft gray stone. Trish stumbled forward, falling to her knees as she read the inscription that followed:

A day without the warmth of her smile…

…is an eternity spent in darkness.

Life is nothing without her.

Trish didn’t understand how it could be possible. How could her heart hold so much pain and still beat within her chest? Below the inscription was the date. The numbers seemed to jump from the stone and slap her in the face. Trish hugged her body, rocking back and forth on the cold hard ground as tears blurred the engraving forever chiseled into her mind. Maxwell had given up. He’d died the same day she’d left.

Chapter Sixteen

“Auntie Trish.” Ramsay’s hesitant call wafted through the garden like a sultry summer breeze.

“I’m here, Ramsay.” Trish shifted positions on the stone bench, settling her chin in the crook of her arm propped atop the low stone wall. She had a clear view of his headstone from here—could just make out the words of the heart-breaking inscription. Perhaps it was silly but she always felt a bit closer to Maxwell whenever she sat here and watched over his grave.

“Mama says come to supper. Maitla’s set the good table in the main hall and everyone’s waitin’ there for ye.” Ramsay hitched back and forth along the stone path as though fearing his feet might take root if he stood too long in one place.

Without taking her eyes from Maxwell’s headstone, Trish waved the boy away. “Tell your mama I’m not hungry. Tell everyone to go ahead and eat.”

“Mama’s gonna be mad,” Ramsay replied in the age-old sing-song chant children always used to warn of impending parental rage.

Trish closed her eyes and took a deep breath, biting her tongue against the stinging retort she longed to hurl. She didn’t give a damn if Nessa got mad. As a matter of fact, Trish didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything anymore. But it wouldn’t be fair to take it out on Ramsay. After all, he was just a child. “If your mother gets mad, tell her…” Trish paused. No. She couldn’t very well have the boy tell his mother to fight her own battles and stop hiding behind a child. “If your mother gets angry, she’ll just get angry with me. It’s no big deal, Ram. The world won’t come to an end.” Trish swallowed hard. No. The world wouldn’t come to an end because it had already ended over a month ago when she’d lost the one she loved.

“I’m sorry, Auntie Trish.” Ramsay coughed and shuffled a bit closer to rest his small hand atop her wrist. “I’m verra sorry for everything and I never meant to make ye so sad.”

Trish pulled Ramsay into her lap and hugged him close. “I know you’re a big boy and not fond of cuddling, but I need you to know how much I love you, Ram. And you need to know that you’re not the one who made me sad. It’s not your fault.”

Ramsay sighed and settled against her chest, tucking his head beneath her chin. “I guess it’s okay for ye to snuggle me just this once, Auntie Trish. ’Specially if it helps ye not be so sad.”

Trish smiled and planted a kiss atop his head. “It helps, Ram. I promise it helps a lot.”

“Would it also help if I held ye, lass?”

Trish froze, afraid to breath or move a muscle. Cripes almighty, she must be losing her mind. How could she have heard that voice?

“Lemme go, Auntie Trish!” Ramsay wiggled free of her locked arms, stumbled a few steps away and whirled to stare round-eyed at a point just behind Trish’s shoulder.

“Ramsay,” Trish forced a croak free of her suddenly dry mouth. “Ramsay, who’s standing behind me?”

“Turn round and see for yourself, sweetling. Or have ye no’ missed me?”

With a choking scream, Trish whirled round on the smooth stone bench and launched herself upward into a pair of muscular arms. Wrapping her legs around Maxwell’s waist, she buried her face against the warmth of his neck and squeezed as hard as she could.
Please don’t let this be a dream. Please don’t let this be a cruel hallucination that’s going to evaporate into the evening fog.
Eyes tightly shut, Trish inhaled a deep breath, reveling in the familiarity of Maxwell’s spicy scent. If this was truly a trick of her mind, she prayed it would never end. “Please be real, please be real.” Maybe if she whispered it aloud enough times, the Fates would make it so.