Love Across Time (23 page)

“If ye be finished with yer meal, Rory has our horses ready.”

“Yes.”

With that one Sassenach word, he could feel the distance she tried to place between them. She set her silverware aside. He clasped her hand as she rose and escorted her outside where Rory waited with a contingent of warriors. He curved his hands around Margaret’s small waist and lifted her into the saddle. Mounted, he and Rory took the lead while the soldiers encircled Margaret. He led the way toward Loch Tay: his favorite place to think, to make hard decisions. If Margaret told him some farfetched story that involved time travel, he wanted complete privacy. He didn’t want the tale to fall on superstitious ears and put her in danger.

He threw his hand up to halt the riders in a small clearing near the loch. Dismounted, he reached up and plucked Margaret from her horse. Her soft hand felt tiny in his large calloused palm as he guided her to a downed tree at the loch’s edge.

Fluffing her skirts around her, she sat on the lowest part of the tree trunk. Her small, white teeth worried her lower lip while her trembling fingers continued to fiddle with her skirts.

Gathering his thoughts, he moved toward the water. Pebbles crunched under his feet as he paced the rocky shoreline. He halted at the water’s edge. Hands fisted on his hips, he gazed into the distance. He breathed deep of the fresh air skimming over the loch. The water’s calm surface seemed at variance with the turmoil inside him. Today the loch’s serenity failed to bring the tranquil peace he sought. The clan’s had lost their last chance to regain the throne for the Stuarts. His heart grew heavy at the thought of what the attempt had cost in lives. Scotland’s future lay decimated on the moors of Culloden. And Margaret had known before it had happened. How?

From the corner of his eye, he studied her. Her pose was different from a few moments ago. She appeared calm, composed. Hands folded in her lap, her gaze drifted along the far shore. What did she see? Another foretelling? Before they married, no one proclaimed Margaret a seer. If he had known, would he have married her?

The slight upward tilt of her dimpled chin as she captured the slight breeze in her soft hair, the quirk of her lips when she wiggled her pert nose to dislodge an insect, and the pink hue that tinted her cheeks, told him, yes. No matter what, he loved her. She was his life.

“Margaret.”

Her head turned in his direction. She remained quiet but had a determined look on her face. He could almost see her brace herself for an argument. Once, he wouldn’t have accepted her explanation. But that was before her prediction had proven correct. This time, he intended to keep an open mind. Somehow, she had known the future, and he wanted to know how.

He squatted in front of her. “Tell me how ye ken of Culloden.”

“Are you sure, Liam? My story is difficult to explain or understand.” She spoke with quiet firmness but twisted the Claddagh ring on her finger, revealing her nervousness.

“Aye.” He enclosed her nervous fingers with his hand, “And Margaret. I be willing to listen and to acknowledge something be afoot I dinnea understand. I know what e’er ye tell me, ye believe with all yer heart.” Her sense of conviction was part of her character, and he’d have to learn to accept it.

Her breasts lifted with each deep breath she inhaled. The movement caused his groin to tighten. One glance at her soft, willing body, and he felt as horny as a ram in a pasture full of ewes. He rose and moved away. This was neither the time nor place to allow his body to yield to the lure of temptation.

She patted the log beside her. “Come, sit.”

He grinned and adjusted the front of his trews. “I best stand, lass.”

He gaze flicked downward. “I see.” A grin twitched at the corner of her mouth.

Her gaze drifted to stare at the loch’s distant shoreline for a moment then returned to him. “I told you I lost my memory in a car accident.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line and nodded. How in bloody hell was he supposed to know what a car was? She talked of things he didn’t know existed.

“If someone had not found me, I would have died. My internal injuries were extensive, and the doctors operated for six hours to stop the bleeding.”

“Operate?”

Operations were an iffy thing and consisted mostly of amputations. The pain alone was horrendous without some type of painkiller to alleviate the agony. Usually patients died during surgery or soon afterwards. He knew with certainty that she’d not had surgery.

“The scar along my left side is where they removed my ruptured spleen.”

Her hand touch the area where he’d watched a bruise form and darken the night she’d fallen. When they’d made love, his fingers had traced the red line with dots on each side that extended from under her breast, down her ribcage, and ended at the lower part of her waist. He’d wanted to ask what had caused such an unusual mark, but he admitted to himself, he’d been afraid of the answer, so he’d remained silent.

Delicate fingers drifted below her knee, where he’d seen another scar, and an expression of pain pinched her features as if remembering the agony she’d endured.

“My leg was broken. I cannot remember the medical terms, but the doctors mentioned pins and plates. I had begun to walk without the aid of crutches the day before I traveled back through time.

“During my recuperation I became friends with Mrs. Bixby, an elderly history teacher. I learned about Culloden from her. Each day I went to her room, and she read from a book that her husband had given her called, Red Book of Menzies; a book of records and genealogies.”

His stomach knotted and his heart gave a quick jerk. How did she know of the large book where each chieftain kept a history of expenditures and gains from cattle and sheep sales? Clan marriages, births, and deaths were also recorded in the tome. A lack of time, and afraid he’d have to enter Margaret’s death, he had not updated the journal since her accident.

“One of her favorite stories was about a laird who lost his wife when she fell down a flight of stairs. The entries stopped at that point.”

Her hand reached out to him. When he failed to respond, her hand dropped back onto her lap. The hurt etched in her face caused him a pang of regret. He moved forward, lifted her hand to his lips, kissed the palm, and sat down beside her.

“Go on,
gaol
.” He encouraged with deceptive calm.

She gave a weak smile, gently squeezed his fingers, and continued. “The slaughter was great at the battle of Culloden. Mrs. Bixby thought perhaps the chieftain’s wife had died, and devastated he took his kinsman, rode off with Prince Charles and never returned. And that’s why there were no more entries.” She splayed her fingers on his thigh and stroked his leg. “Do you not see? That must be why I traveled back to the eighteenth century. I could not prevent what happened at Culloden, but my presence kept you from joining Prince Charles’ army.”

His thumb caressed her knuckles. “I had nae intentions of joining either army. The only reason I agreed to join Prince Charles be that I dinnae want to sacrifice me pride in front of the other chieftains nor did I want the word coward attach to the Menzies’ name. I intended to have a wee talk with the prince later that evening and suggest another arrangement. But all me fine plans proved unnecessary.”

“Oh.”

She spoke calmly, no light sparkled in her blue eyes, and her expression was one of extreme disappointment. As if the reason for her being here was not what she thought.

“This be all yer story?” Even though he’d promised to listen with an open mind, she hadn’t given him a good reason to change his opinion. She was his wife. There had to be another explanation for her knowing the future.

Her finely arched brows lowered for a moment then her chin went up, and she boldly met his gaze. “I will admit traveling through time sounds outlandish, and when we have time I want to tell you about all the marvelous inventions of the
twenty-first century
.”

Blue eyes grew round. Her previous gloomy mood vanished, and she practically bounced with excitement as she shifted sideways to face him. Fingers that had lain gently on his thigh, clenched. Tiny crescents would more than likely appear where her nails dug into his flesh.

“Oh, Liam, you could see those inventions if you came back with me. Television is a wonderful thing. You can see the most amazing things on the screen. See them exactly as they are, not just a painted picture of what things look like through someone else’s eyes.”

“Lass, lass. I nae ken much about head injuries and I realize ye cannae remember anything afore ye fell down the stairs, but this be where ye belong. Where I belong. Ye cannae go back to somewhere ye’ve ne’er been.”

“I must. That is where I will find my family.” She raised her hand and cupped his cheek. “I will always treasure the time we have spent together.” Her hand dropped back to his thigh as she turned to face the loch. “I have the gown and the ring. All I need is the brooch.” Her smooth jaw clenched into a hard line. Stubbornness glittered in her eyes.

“The brooch?”

“Yes. I remember tracing the lines, and it burned my finger. Right before I propelled back in time, I put on the gown, attached the brooch, and slid the ring on my finger. Everything blurred. Then the ring and brooch appeared to catch fire. The next time I woke, you sat at my bedside.”

“Ye still nae have the silver brooch with two entwined hearts I gave ye?” He’d begin to think she’d found the brooch and hadn’t told him because she refused to accept the fact it couldn’t transport her though time. Now that he knew she didn’t have the bloody thing, its existence hung over his head like the sharp edge of a sword.

“You gave me?” Confusion wrinkled her brow.

“Aye. And the ring, also. I put the ring on yer finger the day we married. I had the year inscribed inside the band. Did I nae tell ye the brooch be a family heirloom? The first baron bestowed it upon his bride in 1665. It be tradition that the laird present the brooch to his wife on the night they consummate their marriage. I presented it to ye the night ye fell down the stairs.”

“But I was found in Tulsa, Oklahoma with this ring and the brooch. How could you have given them to me?” Disbelief flickered across her face. The tense line of her jaw betrayed her frustration.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the ring. “All I ken is this be our marriage ring, and I would nae have removed it except I saw how it cut into yer wee finger as yer hand swelled.”

She tugged her hand loose and twirled the ring around her finger. Determination once again hardened her expression.

“Liam, I need the brooch.” Every taut nerve in her body spoke of her conviction to leave.

Sliding his arm around her stiff shoulders, he nuzzled the top of her head. Sunlight danced in the red and blond strands, and he yearned to loosen the golden mass and bury his face in the sweet smell as he had when he’d made love to her this morning. How could she still think of leaving him after the hours they’d spent loving each other? If he had his way, she’d never want to leave, and if it meant hiding the bloody brooch from her, to convince her she belonged here, he would.

“We’ll look for it,
gaol
.” The fact that she now knew he’d given her both items might make her realize she belonged here and hadn’t come from the future. He wrinkled his brow downward in a frown. But, if that were true, how had she known about Culloden. The question kept nagging him for an answer.

“Do ye nae wonder how ye have the ring and brooch I gave ye if ye came from another time?”

Lifting her head, she narrowed her eyes and stared at him.“If I did not come from the future, how do you account for me knowing the outcome of Culloden and that Prince Charles Stuart would stay at your home? That
....
Oh my, oh my. I forgot. How could I have forgotten?”

She jumped up and frantically whirled around. Her gaze darted up and down the shoreline as if she tried to locate an enemy.

At the hissing sound of swords drawn from their scabbard, he glanced at his men. Margaret’s agitation had alerted them. Rory scanned the area then turned his gaze back to him. He shook his head to indicate nothing had stirred his suspicions. Some men shrugged in confusion. If an enemy lurked about, she was the only one to see him.

“Come. We must hurry.”

She grabbed his hand and yanked. She’d gone two steps before she reached the end of his arm and came to a halt, causing her to swivel so fast her skirts flared.

“Why do ye tarry, we have work to do?” She glanced toward his men and tried to hide her annoyance at his delay.

There was that little slip of the tongue Margaret never seemed to realize she made when she became upset. Which proved to him how agitated she’d become.

“Why must we hurry?” Now that their conservation was over, without him gaining no new insights to her claim of traveling through time, he’d hoped to sit and enjoyed the sunshine and the beauty of Scotland with his new bride. They had spent very little leisure time together.

“The Butcher will come.” The words were clipped, her tone impatient.

“The Butcher?” Never had he thought a woman could be as confusing as his wife.

“Aye.” She jerked her hand from his and scowled at him. “Why must ye repeat everything I say?”

Impatience sharpened her voice. He bristled. Unaccustomed to anyone speaking to him in such a manner he thought his wee wife needed to soften her words. He scowled back at her.