Highlander Unraveled (Highland Bound Book 6) (9 page)

“Missing… Vanished.” Moira frowned, but her mind connected the meaning behind those words a lot faster than mine had. Her gaze jolted upward to meet mine, and her visage paled another shade. “Oh, no…”

“Aye. We must go. Logan has requested our presence.”

She leaned forward to untie the cords at her ankles and I rushed to help her.

“I can’t believe this,” she murmured. “What about Shona? How is my sister? Is she still there?”

“There was no mention of Shona or her husband. Only Emma. But I should think if something happened to them, there would have been news in regards to that as well.”

Moira leapt from the bed and rushed to the wardrobe, tugging out a clean chemise and plaid gown. She looked good dressed in the costume of my time, though I sure did miss the tight pants she’d worn in the modern era.

“Logan must be devastated,” she said. “And poor Saor must be desperate for his mother.”

“Aye.” I couldn’t form any other words. I could only imagine what their pain was like, and it ripped at my insides.

Moira whipped around and ran toward me, throwing herself in my arms. She buried her face in the crook of my shoulder, wetness warming my skin. She was crying.

“I hope this doesn’t mean…” But she trailed off, not voicing the fear we both had.

“Ye’re still here,” I said. “I’m still here. We will make the most of every precious minute. Let this just be a reminder to us that we are not in control of our place in time. That we must cherish each other always.”

Moira nodded, shuddering. “I’m scared.”

“Me, too.” I rarely admitted fear. I was a man, a warrior, but this was the one thing that had always terrified me.

We held each other a few more minutes, both of us wound tight, and then quietly we parted, each of us packing a satchel in silence. Stealing long glances. We walked quietly, hand in hand, down the corridor, the stairs, and then out the front doors.

Our horses awaited us along with twelve grim-faced warriors and two pack mules and servants.

“We’ll not need the servants,” I said to Tomas.

He frowned, and rather than argue with him, I said, “Never mind.”

I walked Moira to her horse, but when I moved to assist her, she squeezed me tight and whispered, “Can I ride with you for a little while? Not for long, I promise. I just need to be close to you.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Aye, love.”

We mounted my horse and I nodded to Tomas.

“Where are ye going?” The shriek was far off, and shrill.

I glanced up at the tower to see Ranulf’s angry face peering from his window. I’d forgotten to tell him that I was leaving. There was no time now. Another thing the lad was going to hold against me.

I raised my hand in a salute, but he didn’t return my gesture. I wasn’t surprised, but his disapproval wasn’t something I could worry about now.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry over it either, for there was every chance I wouldn’t return.

Chapter Nine

Emma

The wine pouring red and slick reminded me of blood oozing from a wound. Perhaps the wound carved in my heart.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said to Mr. McAlister in regards to his comment about me knowing where Moira was.

That wasn’t
exactly
a lie. I didn’t know at this very moment where Moira or Shona were, I only knew the era, and even that was questionable given my own current situation.

The man who called himself a solicitor didn’t say anything, but continued to pour three glasses of wine. He held one out first to Mrs. MacDonald and then one to me.

I hesitated and his brows rose.

“Take it,” he said. Not a bit of consternation or threat in his tone. “The vintage is divine.”

I took the glass, trying to keep my hand steady. I swirled the wine in the cup, sniffed. It smelled good. Oaky and fruity undertones. Judging from the scent, it would be good. And I was struck then with such a sense of ridiculousness. I’d just been forced five hundred years in the future, leaving behind my husband, my newborn, all of my friends, and I was sniffing wine.

Mr. McAlister raised his glass in the air and said, “To new beginnings.”

But, I refused to cheer to that. I didn’t want a new beginning. I wanted my old life back. However, I couldn’t very well say that aloud, so instead, I raised my glass and thought:
To finding Logan
.
Reuniting with Saor
.

The wine swished over my tongue, as delicious as its fragrance. As divine as McAlister had said it was.

“Your stew smells mighty fine,” McAlister said to Mrs. MacDonald.

My stomach grumbled, evidently also believing it smelled good, though my mouth was dry. I took another sip of wine, surprised at how very good it really was, hoping that by wetting my tongue, I’d also whet my appetite. I needed to eat. To keep up my strength. It wouldn’t do to search for a way back if I had not the energy to stand.

“Oh, yes, let us eat.” Mrs. MacDonald set down her glass and rushed back to the stove.

She dished out three generous portions into bowls and I set out spoons, knives and forks on top of napkins at the very table Moira and Rory had been sitting at a couple weeks ago—if Mr. McAlister’s estimation of when Moira disappeared could be believed.

I flattened my hand on the surface, smoothing my palm over the wood, hoping to draw comfort from something a friend had touched.

My heart ached; a permanent lump resided in my throat. I swallowed around it, telling myself to remain strong through this meal; else, these two know the exact depth of my despair, leaving me at quite the disadvantage.

We ate mostly in silence, thank goodness. The stew was fragrant, but tasteless on my tongue. I was simply too numb to enjoy it. Even the wine had lost its luster.

When Mrs. MacDonald was clearing the table, the solicitor pulled out a picture and placed it on the surface, sliding it toward me.

“Recognize that?” he asked.

I gazed down at the snapshot, my friends’ faces smiling back at me. Shona with her fiery red locks and Moira with dark, unruly curls. They were dressed stylishly, and the background looked to be that of a flower storeroom. Probably their herbal shop. Puzzling though, was why he’d ask if I recognized
that
… “You mean, them, not that?”

“Nay.”

What the heck was he talking about? I stared at his wine glass, certain he must have had too much to drink.

“What do ye see around Moira’s neck?” he urged.

I stared at the same necklace I’d seen her wear at Gealach, the one we’d found out had been given to her by her true parents—the king and queen of Scotland, who’d lived almost two hundred years before 1544.

Did McAlister know what he was asking? What he was looking at?

“The necklace?” I managed to keep my voice from wavering.

“And ye recognize it do ye not?” He nodded, as if trying to prompt me to answer his way.

I met his gaze, seeing the intensity. I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I lied.

He leaned forward in his chair, flicking his eyes back to Mrs. MacDonald who’d turned on the sink and was humming as she soaped up the dinner dishes.

“Look, the two of us are going to have to work together,” he said.

“Or what?” Lord, what was happening? My head swam from exhaustion, fear, anxiety, wine.

“Finding Moira.”

I shook my head. “I’m looking for someone else.”

Oh, why had I admitted that? I guess I just wanted the man to leave me alone.

“Who?”

“Nobody,” I whispered, feeling guilty for having said that. Logan and Saor were everything me.

“I know ye’ve no reason to trust me. Less reason to trust me than the woman who is helping ye, I get that. But
I
need your help. Moira could be in grave danger.”

“Moira?” I knew she was in grave danger if she ended up in the wrong time, but she was nearly two hundred years in the future from the time when she was an heiress to the throne. And yes, there had been some fear when Rory’s son had brought the MacDonald to Gealach, and the man had nearly put two and two together, but with Rory and Moira making up a new identity and the necklace safely locked away, Moira was safe. And Shona, no one knew who she was. Her already established position as the Lady of the Wood kept her secure.

“Aye.” He sat back, looking with irritation in the direction of Mrs. MacDonald who was still washing dishes. I got the feeling he wanted her to disappear. “Have ye heard of the time jumpers?” he whispered.

I’d had to crane my neck to hear what he said; I wasn’t so sure I’d actually wanted to hear that. Time jumpers? I pressed my lips together and shook my head, dismissing him. “Sounds like a science fiction novel.”

He frowned at me and leaned forward again. “Let us both not pretend that I dinna know where ye came from, lassie. We both know ye’re not from around here.”

“I’ve made no pretense of hiding where I’m from. Even Mrs. MacDonald knows. I’m from the U.S., Washington, D.C.,” I said, still denying what I knew he knew.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and took a long swallow from his wine. “Let’s just say, for fun, that ye may have once been from the States, but now ye’re from somewhere else.”

“I came here today from Drumnadrochit.” I pushed the picture back across the table. “She drove me, you can ask her.”

Mr. McAlister visibly gritted his teeth. “What year is Moira in?”

Wow. I hadn’t expected him to just come right out with that. And I supposed I was getting nowhere denying it. He didn’t believe me and even though I didn’t trust him, maybe I could confide in him, as long as I tread lightly, because just maybe, he knew how I could get back there.

I waited a moment, letting the air between us fill with tension. By the sink, Mrs. MacDonald was still humming, though I could see she was working on the pot. Not long until she was completely done. I blew out a breath and blurted, “1544.”

McAlister sat back in his chair and let out a long, weary filled sigh. He crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head. “This is not good.”

“Why?” I asked.

“As I mentioned, there are time jumpers.” He looked exasperated that I didn’t seem to understand what the hell time jumpers were. “Ye’ve not heard of them, seriously?”

I shook my head, bristling. “Honestly.”

“They are the keeper of secrets. A society of sorts, with the ability to time travel whenever they please. They hold a dear secret of our mutual friends.”

This was too much; I just wanted to go home. “Behind the Ayreshire lassies’ birth?”

“Ye know of it?” he murmured, his gaze once more flicking to Mrs. MacDonald.

She hummed as she wiped the dishes dry, clinking them as she put them back in the cabinets.

I nodded, and murmured the poem I’d heard months before. “One of red and one of black, born at Ayreshire and swept back, lost forever the princesses of time, the last of the king’s most sacred line.”

Moira and Shona were the Ayreshire lassies. The firstborn—Moira—was given a pendant that belonged to her mother, a golden circle to represent the crown with a lion etched on top of it to show the joined houses of Scotland and England. Their blood could have united the countries, but their mother feared for their lives. Legend stated that their father was a prisoner of the English King Edward III. If Edward had known King David had children, he would have killed Moira and Shona to keep his crown.

“Aye.” Mr. McAlister let out a breath I’d not realized he was holding.

“But…” I shook my head and swallowed down the last dregs of wine in my glass. “They don’t know anything.”

“Everyone thought it was safer that way.”

“Who is everyone?”

“Their mother. Me.”

Their mother
… I still remembered to this day how devastated they’d looked when they found out who they were and that they’d never get a chance to meet their parents. “Who are you?”

He glanced at Mrs. MacDonald and then back at me. “I think it best we talk later.”

“Why?”

He moved his eyes back and forth, indicating the woman who’d helped me. I glanced at her and Mrs. MacDonald smiled, wiping her hands dry on a towel.

“Is everything all right?” she asked. “How about some dessert? I saw a pie in the fridge.”

“Apple,” Mr. McAlister said. “Moira’s favorite.”

I nodded, forcing a bright smile to my face, because I didn’t want Mrs. MacDonald to think anything strange was happening, but my mind was a jumble of confusion.

Mr. McAlister didn’t trust Mrs. MacDonald.

I didn’t completely trust either of them.

And I’d opened up and told McAlister things that were sacred. Secrets that if they got into the wrong hands could be damaging to my loved ones and me. And yet, it was a risk I’d had to take on the off chance he could help me.

The pie was served, and though it was delicious, I could barely eat more than two bites. I stood up from the table, carrying my plate to the sink. “I’m exhausted. If you’ll excuse me. Mrs. MacDonald, thank you so much for dinner, and Mr. McAlister, it was great to meet you.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Mr. McAlister said.

“There’s no need, really. I won’t be here long.”

“Sweet dreams, dear.” Mrs. MacDonald’s gaze shifted over me oddly, made me feel uncomfortable for a moment, as though she wished me the exact opposite in truth. A night filled with nightmares, which in all likelihood, unless I met Logan again upon the glen, a sleep filled with terror seemed very likely.

Her sinister glance was fleeting and I wondered if I’d just imagined it. Her eyes sparkled at me and she smiled sweetly.

“Good night,” I murmured, without energy to examine her strange behavior further.

I wandered up the stairs, a stranger in a house full of strangers. Inside Shona’s room, I locked the door. Definitely more conscious than automatic. I felt safer behind a lock.

A few moments later, I heard the front door open and close. I slipped from bed to peek between the blinds. Mr. McAlister stood in the dim shine of the lamppost. He was staring at Mrs. MacDonald’s car and then back at the house. He slipped something from his pocket, walked around the back of the car and keeping his eye on the house, ducked behind the trunk.

A moment later, he rose and jogged across the street, waiting a few moments in the shadows before climbing into another vehicle, which must have been his own.

What had he been doing to her car? What was the thing in his hand? A tracking device? That went way beyond simply not trusting someone to all out freaky stalking.

Definitely fishy. My earlier thoughts about him not trusting the woman downstairs were confirmed and then some.

Though he’d gotten into his car, he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even turn it on. Like he was hiding. Or waiting.

What was he waiting for?

I wanted to wrench open the window and shout that very question. What the heck was going on? What was all the mystery? Why did I feel so lost in a world that should be more familiar to me than the one I lived in?