Choosing the Highlander (7 page)

Darkness closed around her. As she felt her way back to the bed, a low moan met her ears. It came from somewhere nearby. Oh no. What if the girl was in labor?

Connie put one foot in front of the other and made her painful way to the door. Cracking it open, she listened. She heard a man’s voice. Down the hall a streak of light shone across the floor, showing the door to the room beside hers was open.

“Easy, lass. Breathe through it. Aye. Like that.” The voice sounded similar to Wilhelm’s when he was being gentle with her. But it wasn’t him. Could it be the cousin he’d mentioned?

“
Och,
are you a midwife now?” A feminine voice, soft and thready, but laced with humor.

A soft chuckle. “Nay, but I remember when my youngest brother was born. My da was away, so it was up to me to fetch the midwife and help my mother.”

“Mmm—ohhh. ’Tis a queer feeling. Not quite pain, but not nice either. I doona wish for it to grow worse.”

“Shhh. Think of somat else. Think of a happy memory.”

Whoever the man was, he clearly cared for the girl. Furthermore, it sounded as if he had things under control. Connie didn’t know much about giving birth, having never done it before, but she knew labor tended to go on for hours.

The bed beckoned her back. She tucked herself in, hoping for bit of rest…and that the midwife nun would arrive before the birth. Thoughts of kissing Wilhelm filled her head as she drifted off. She knew when she was asleep because she began dreaming.

A field of wildflowers spread out before her. Rays of pink, lilac, and gold reached skyward from the horizon, heralding sunrise. A figure, slender and still, sat a few paces away. Connie saw only the person’s back. Dark waves of hair shifted with a faint breeze.

“Leslie?” she asked.

The figure didn’t acknowledge her. All was eerily silent. No birds sang from hidden burns. Grass stalks didn’t rustle as she stepped through them toward the other person. She felt no texture of plant life beneath her feet.

Sensation was muted, like the colors of an old photograph.

The figure had hair similar to Leslie’s, but absent was the prickle of awareness she always felt when she saw her twin after a time apart. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

The figure turned, revealing an angled jaw and a proud nose. He exuded maleness the way the field exuded tranquility, yet he was beautiful in the way few men were, with the perfectly symmetrical features of a high-fashion model or a European stage actor.

“Greetings,
mademoiselle.
” He extended an elegant hand to her. Shirt sleeves of a light, shimmery material floated around an arm somehow both graceful and masculine. “Join me, if you will. I have been waiting for you.”

He’s French.
Hadn’t Leslie mentioned a French shopkeeper in Inverness?

“Do you know who I am?” The question leapt from her lips as hope sparked to life in her chest. Could Leslie be trying to contact her right now? It seemed crazy, but then so did time travel.

“But of course. You are the one so blessed.” He still held out his hand.

Something about the twinkle in his onyx eyes hinted at trustworthiness.

Leslie claimed she could see auras around people sometimes. If there really were such a thing as auras, this man’s would radiate secret knowledge and mischief, but also kindness. A knot of tension in her stomach relaxed as she placed him decisively in the category of people she approved of.

Maybe he knew how she could get home.

She took his hand and let him draw her closer. It was only then she realized she was clothed in the same material as he. On him, it shaped to his body in shimmering trousers and a tunic with billowing sleeves. His cuffs were embroidered with gold. On her, it draped to her calves in a weightless toga with a knot work belt that reminded her of the Celtic relics she’d seen on the cover of a museum brochure in the bed and breakfast.

“One so blessed,” she stated, in no mood for riddles, if that’s what this guy had in mind. “Not exactly what I was hoping for. ‘One who is but a step away from returning to her own time’ would have been my preference.” She didn’t bother pretending she was English. In the dream, it seemed obvious this man had knowledge of her situation.

A pinch of his lips sufficed as an expression of humor as well as a kissing gesture that didn’t quite make a landing on the back of her hand. “Tell me, do you weary of fulfilling the wish of your heart so quickly?”

She sat beside him and hugged her shins, fingering the fabric of her toga. It was softer and thinner than silk. With such insignificant weight, it should have been transparent, but when she looked at it, it shimmered between dove gray and the pale blue of a wintery horizon.
Like Wilhelm’s eyes.
 

She shoved the warrior from her mind to focus on the here and now. “You mean my sister’s wish. Leslie made the wish, not me.”

“If you say so.”

She snorted. “I know so.
So.
How do I get back?”

“You must choose your way.”

She glared at him. Riddles. Figured.

The glare slid off him like eggs off Teflon. Despite her best effort, she found herself taking pleasure in the twinkle in his eye.

“So, I’ll have a choice, huh?”

“
Oui.
”

“When? How?”

He wagged a finger at her. “Do not be so impatient to leave,
mademoiselle.
How do you know you are not needed?”

She thought about the pregnant girl. “I don’t know how to deliver a baby. I can’t possibly be of help.” She was willing to do what she could, but if the girl or the baby’s chances depended on her, they were all going to be up a creek without a paddle.

The man’s only response was to shrug one elegant shoulder.

She tried a different tack. “Have you spoken with Leslie?”

“
Oui.
She paid a visit to my shop.”

Connie forgot he was a stranger and hugged his arm in her excitement. “How is she? Is she scared? Will she be able to bring me back? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You misunderstand,
mademoiselle.
I saw her but the one time, before the solstice. I am sorry. I have not been to Inverness again since then, though I do open my shop from…time to time.”

Great. He hadn’t spoken with Leslie since her one and only visit to his shop. Wait. He’d just admitted to having a shop in Inverness…and opening it from “time to time.” Did that mean she might be able to find him while awake if she went to Inverness?

“Who are you anyway? How are you in my dream? Or is this just some random concoction of my mind and I completely made you up?”

He laughed the way an aristocrat might laugh, making even that seem elegant. “Oh, my dear, no. Your imagination is far too grounded in sense and logic to create something like me.”

Her back straightened. “Hey. I can imagine just fine, thank you.” She’d imagined a satisfying future with Milt, rising up to management in her firm, having children one day.

“Ah. But you do not dream from your heart. You make plans. From here.” He tapped her temple.

She batted at his finger, failing to make contact—goodness, the man was quick.

“Of course. Why not set goals that make sense?” He made sense and logic sound like bad things. “Why would I hope for things that might change with time, like love? Why would I hope for things I have no power to achieve? Life will be much more stable and rewarding if I plan it logically, set reasonable goals.”

She saw now that she needed to make some concession to chemical attraction in her plan. That’s where she had gone wrong with Milt. When she returned home, she would simply revise her goals and carry on basing the bulk of her choices on facts and logic, and making allowances for certain physiological and emotional requirements.

The man cocked his head, as if straining to hear something far away.

She listened but heard nothing.

“Ah, but I am being summoned. I must go.” He stood from his cross-legged position without pushing off with his hands, all grace and long limbs and strength. Taking her hand, he pulled her up too but didn’t let go. “Many mortals place high value on sense and logic. And yet, your world is filled with senseless acts of violence. Should there not also be senseless acts of love?”

A high-pitched moan shattered the dream. She salt bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. The baby was coming.

Chapter 6

The abbey’s kitchen faced to the north and was therefore one of the coldest rooms unless the monks were baking their morning bread. As it was mid-afternoon, Wilhelm must perform the chores Anselm had delegated to him without the comfort of warmth.

At the moment, he stood at a basin of frigid water rinsing bricks of cheese from which he’d just pressed out the whey. ’Twas while he rubbed his reddened hands together to warm them that Terran strolled in and tore off a chunk of the most recently rinsed brick and popped it in his mouth.

Eye twitching, Wilhelm returned the brick to the press to reshape it. “How fares Aifric?” he asked of the lass Terran had taken a liking to.

The twinkle he’d had in his eye when he’d stolen the cheese faded. Terran wiped a hand down his face. His cousin hadn’t slept a wink since they’d arrived in the middle of the previous night. Instead of seeing to his own rest, he’d been sitting watch over Aifric. It seemed he’d finally found a woman he might care about as more than a body to warm his bed for a night.

“Spent. Hurting,” Terran said. “’Tis killing me. Wish I could take it for her. Anselm’s been sitting with her so I could move about some.” He stretched his arms overhead, fingertips gripping the wooden beam above. Bracing on the pads of his fingers, he leaned forward with a groan. “
Och,
sore from the skirmish.”

Wilhelm nodded. His muscles ached, too, but in a way that was most welcome since they hadn’t done much training on their journey. As for Aifric, he was worrit she might not make it through the day let alone deliver a bairn, but he didn’t share his thoughts with Terran.

“I see Anselm put you to work.” Terran helped himself to some candied figs that Wilhelm had been grazing on while he did his chores. “I would offer my aid, but I just came for a bite. I doona wish to leave her for long.”

Wilhelm wrapped a freshly rinsed brick in cloth for stacking in the cellar, where it would keep for months. “You ought to rest. You’ll be no good to her weary. She needs you strong.” He reached for another brick.

“Have ye no faith in me, cousin?” He feigned offense. “You’ve seen me cut down foes on less sleep.”

“Aye. I have faith in you. ’Tis why you’ll be my second one day.” He clapped his cousin on the back. “Will she eat?” He offered Terran the rest of the figs before continuing with the cheese.

“Nay. Canna tolerate aught but sips of tea. Even that, she takes sparingly.”

Wilhelm prayed silently for the lass as he finished his task. He prayed for Constance as well. Mayhap she would be awake by now. An hour ago, he’d slipped into her room to assure himself she was sleeping comfortably. ’Twas a good thing she had been or he might have resumed their kiss from earlier.

Soon, he would have her sleeping in his bed. Of this, he was cert.

Terran interrupted his thoughts. “Any more news from Perth?”

Wilhelm shook his head. Ruthven’s men hadn’t given chase after the skirmish—he’d learned that much from his early morning trip to the village and already shared the information with Terran. It seemed the fire had spread and all Ruthven’s resources had been directed toward putting it out. The lack of pursuit, however, didn’t mean the baron hadn’t named them fugitives. Wilhelm figured ’twas merely a matter of time. Ruthven would never ignore an opportunity to crush a Murray.

“Havena been down to the village again,” Wilhelm said. “I’ll go before the evening meal and see what I can learn.”

“Did you send the letter to your da?”

“Aye.” It left in the hands of a young monk who promised to make the journey to Dornoch in three days. Wilhelm had not believed this would be healthy for any horse, but Anselm assured him the lad would change mounts when he reached the monastery in Aviemore. Apparently, the monks had become so skilled at delivering messages that they often did so for coin to support their orders. Anselm had refused to accept payment from Wilhelm, however.

“Ye asked to meet Kenrick in Inverness?” Terran didn’t normally ask so many questions. He must feel uneasy.

Wilhelm stopped what he was doing and gave his cousin his full attention. “Aye. In a week’s to ten days’ time, like we discussed.”

They had decided to ride for Inverness with Constance, as soon as she healed enough to travel, likely in two to three days. Aifric, if she survived the birth, would remain under Anselm’s care for her safety.

In Inverness, they would enlist Kenrick’s help in finding a magistrate to hear their confession—they had instigated a skirmish, after all—but they’d had good reason for doing so. Ideally, the magistrate would hear their confession and rule their actions justified before Ruthven submitted formal charges against them.

Even better, if the magistrate was a proponent of evidence-based justice, as Wilhelm was—and if he was a man of influence and courage, he might even file charges against Ruthven for abusing his power of local rule. ’Twas the sunniest of possible outcomes and not at all likely, but he’d learned to strive for things that seemed out of reach, for the only true failure was in not making the attempt. He’d described all this in the letter to his father and requested Kenrick meet them in Inverness.

“I’ll breathe easier when I lay eyes on the man.”

“I will as well.” Kenrick’s experience in advocating would surely aid them in thwarting of any petty schemes Ruthven might hatch.

Wilhelm was about to offer Terran some reassurance, but the opportunity was lost when Anselm burst into the kitchen.

“’Tis time.” Eyes wide, he nodded toward Terran. “The pains have increased.” He turned on his heel and disappeared again.

Terran raced after him.

Anselm’s acquaintance from the priory in Perth would not arrive for hours yet. After all the poor lass must have been through as Ruthven’s prisoner, he hoped for Godspeed in her birthing.