Love Beyond Dreams (A Scottish Time Travel Romance): Book 6 (Morna's Legacy Series) (19 page)

She was the most stubborn lass he’d ever known, and he was accustomed to being around his share of strong-willed women. If she refused his help as she had done Fionn’s, there was little he could do about it.
 

Despite his worry, he moved through the forest at a slow pace. He couldn’t overtire his horse who had already put in a full day’s work. Besides that, it was so difficult to see that he wanted to make sure he didn’t pass any signs of her in the darkness.
 

It helped that he knew her patterns, knew from staying with her for so long the sort of place she would dwell in. It would be near the water, whether a stream or the ocean. Marion wanted to hear the sound of water moving across the earth. That, at least, allowed him to narrow his search significantly. He found the stream that ran through the forest and followed along its bank, watching for any unusual covering or caves where Marion might have holed up.
 

He searched all night. When the sun started to peak over the horizon, his heart felt like lead inside him. If Fionn thought her near death the day before, how did he expect to find anything more than her lifeless body now? He shook his head and pulled his horse to a stop, climbing down to walk to the edge of the river where he dipped his face down into the cool water.
 

It wouldn’t do for him to think that way, not until he knew for sure what had happened to her and where she was. Fatigue had the ability to turn even the most level-headed man mad. He couldn’t allow his own sleepiness to poison the hope he held for her.
 

He pulled his face from the water, allowing the droplets from his face to drip down his neck and beneath his shirt as he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, silently praying for the safety of his friend and the strength he needed to keep going until he found her.
 

 
A loud clap caused him to jerk and look up from where he sat hunched over the water on his knees. He turned in the direction of the noise to see a fawn darting away from an opening in the grass—a small hill with an opening, an opening covered by foliage until the fawn dared to near it.
 

It was just the sort of den where Marion would seek refuge. If she were badly injured, it would be an easy enough place to pull herself inside. Orick stood, tied his horse to a nearby tree, and pulled off his sack full of food before approaching slowly. Whatever her state, Marion could fend away the most unruly intruder. He didn’t wish to end up on the receiving end of her fishing spear.
 

“Marion,” he called out to her as he approached, hoping if she knew it was him, she would call for him.
 

When no response came from inside the small underbrush, he reached down to lift the foliage away with his arm. He saw her right away, lying on her side with her back against the inside of the small space, her eyes closed.
 

Sadness pulled at him, but as he reached inside to touch her, he pulled back at the warmth of her skin. She wasn’t dead, not yet anyway, and he quickly lay on his own side so that he could push his way in next to her.
 

She breathed, but her breaths came sporadically, each one a little weaker than the last. He could see no proof of injury, at least not right away. But as the sun rose higher and shined light onto them, his eyes caught sight of the sticky pool beneath her and the wide-open gash in her side. She had the wound pressed tightly against the ground. He could see then that she lay on her side for that purpose, to keep from bleeding as best she could.
 

He shook her gently, whispering her name and hoping with his every word that she would wake up in time to see him, that she would die knowing that she wasn’t alone. And die, she would. There was no potion nor stitch that would heal Marion’s injuries. They were too vast and had sat too long. A fever raged within her. He could feel its heat without touching her. He’d only just made it in time.
 

“Marion, Marion, wake up, lass. ’Tis Craig.” The name seemed much less uncomfortable to him now that he knew his real name. Now it seemed a reminder of the affection he and Marion had for one another.
 

Slowly, on a great intake of breath that caused blood to pool on the stained dirt beneath, she opened her eyes, taking a moment to register him before she smiled.
 

“Have I died, or is it truly ye, Craig? I dinna think I would see ye again in this life.”

Orick gathered Marion’s limp hands into his own and brought them to his mouth as he kissed them.
 

“Ye havena died yet. I’m here. I shall stay here with ye until the end.”
   

Marion chuckled just once before closing her eyes at the effort. Orick moved in closer and allowed her head to rest against his shoulder as he gathered her to him.
 

“Thank ye for no lying to me—for no saying I wouldna die.”

For some, such blunt words would have been inappropriate, but Orick knew that Marion would appreciate nothing less than the truth.
 

“Ye ken well enough the extent of yer injuries, Marion. What happened to ye?”
 

“’Twas foolish and my own doing. I pushed my spear into the ground whilst I climbed a tree to see where I was. I stepped on a rotten branch and fell from high onto my spear.”

“Marion.” Orick glanced down at the wound once more. He could scarcely believe it hadn’t killed her at once. “And ye pulled it out on yer own?”

“Aye. I couldna leave it in me, and I dinna see a choice. ’Twas early yesterday morn.”

“I’m sorry that I was no…”
 

She hushed him. “No. Doona be sorry for anything. Tell me. I can see ye remember, for ye’ve changed.”

Orick smiled and reached to brush the hair from Marion’s eyes.
 

“Aye. I remember. I told ye my name was no Craig. ’Tis Orick.”

Marion’s eyes changed at his words, and she lifted her head as much as she could.
 

“What did ye say?”

“My real name is Orick, but ye can call me Craig, Marion. I doona mind it.”

Marion closed her eyes and pulled her hands free of him, gently resting one of them on his chest as she took a strangled breath to gather her strength.
 

“No wonder I felt I could trust ye, to help ye when ye fell from that cliff and washed ashore at my feet. Do ye think ye can carry me, Orick?”

Orick shifted and lifted himself to an elbow, surprised at both her request and her use of his real name. If he lifted her from the ground, she would die in a matter of minutes.
 

“Aye. I can lift ye, but do ye truly wish me to? Ye know ye will go quickly if I do.”

Marion nodded.
 

“Do ye no ken where we are, Orick? I traveled this way so I could see the place I grew up. Allow me to see it before I die. And when I go, I want ye to bury me near it.”

He didn’t know where they were, not exactly, though the forest did feel familiar to him.
 

“Wrap yer arms around me as best ye can. I will have to slide ye out before I can lift ye. ’Twill cause ye pain.”

“The pain willna last long. Ye will wish to see what I do. Hurry.”

He did as she asked, sliding from beneath the small shelter and pulling her toward him before lifting her easily into his arms. She pointed in the direction she meant for him to go, and he climbed the short hill, every ounce of breath leaving him as he reached the top.
 

From the top of the hill looking downward, all he could see was an open expanse of grass forever burned into his mind. He knew right away why Marion had lived the secluded life she had. He’d grown dangerously close to living the same sort of life once himself. For the land they both looked down on led straight to his family home. The structure itself was long since gone, set on fire by his own hands after finding his parents murdered.
 

He looked down at Marion with wide, tear-filled eyes as he watched her breathing slow.
 

“Is yer name truly
Marion
?”

Marion turned her head toward the clearing, and Orick bent to kiss her forehead as she answered him with her last breath.
 

“No little brother, ’tis Maidie.”

He slumped to the ground as she died. Orick held his sister close as he wept for her.
 

CHAPTER 31

While the laird’s greeting was friendly enough, his phony charade quickly disappeared by nightfall when we all gathered for dinner.
 

Laird Macaslan sat at the head of the table and quickly directed his eldest son and his wife to sit to his left. Following the assumption that the left side of the table was for the married couples, Adwen and Jane filed in beside them, leaving me, Callum, and the laird’s youngest son, Drostan, to figure out our own seating on the opposite side of the table.
 

 
Unconsciously, I gravitated toward the middle but was quickly ushered to the end farthest from the laird by Callum’s guiding hand. It was the first interaction I’d ever had with Adwen’s brother, and I appreciated his guidance immensely.
 

“Best ye sit on this side of me. The laird has wandering eyes, and his son a wandering hand. I doona wish to see ye groped over yer stew.” I smiled and nodded in appreciation as I took my seat.
 

“Laird Macaslan, thank ye for the meal and for the hospitality ye’ve show me while Adwen was gone in search of what’s owed ye. I offer my apologies for the debt my Da and Griffith acquired. Adwen has gathered what ye are owed. I hope that this unfortunate incident willna affect relations between our clans.”

It surprised me for a moment to hear Callum address the laird, as Adwen was the eldest. But then I remembered Adwen and Jane’s quaint little home in McMillan territory and the brief mention that Adwen had released his title to Callum.
 

The position seemed to suit him. He spoke with confidence, and there was an authority in the tone of his voice I could tell Laird Macaslan didn’t appreciate.
 

The old man stared at Callum, taking a long moment to take a swig of his ale before plastering a phony smile on his face.
 

“I canna see why it would. Ye brought what was owed to me.”

Callum nodded and tipped his glass in the laird’s direction.
 

“Good. Then we shall enjoy this meal together, and ye will release my brother and Da so that we may all be on our way come morning.”

“No.” Laird Macaslan slammed his fist down on the table as he spoke.
 

Movement from across the table caught my eye, and I looked over to see Adwen reaching beneath the table to squeeze Jane’s leg in warning. She visibly twitched with anger at the laird’s response to Callum, and I wondered then why Jane felt the need to tell me not to speak to the laird. Clearly, she was going to have a much more difficult time keeping her mouth shut than I was.
 

Callum kept his voice level as he spoke, but I could see the tension in his jaw as I sat next to him. “I’m sorry. I doona ken yer meaning. The debt owed to ye is paid. Ye will release them.” The laird’s expression changed once more back to one of strained friendliness. He was as changeable as the wind, and I found being around him to be rather exhausting.
 

“Aye, o’course.
 
I only meant that I willna discuss such matters over dinner.”

The muscles on either side of Callum’s jaw bulged out as he refrained from saying anything further. Instead, he simply nodded and bent to shovel food into his mouth.
 

The laird quickly followed suit and changed the conversation to something about hunting. While he spoke to Adwen about it, Callum turned to speak to me.
 

“I’m pleased to meet ye, Gillian. Adwen spoke of ye when he arrived, though I dinna think ye’d be following the rest of them through. I’m glad ye did. Orick’s needed a match for a long time. Ach, I canna believe he’s alive. I canna wait to see him.”

“He will be happy to see you, I’m sure. He’s a bit of a blowhard, isn’t he?”

I nodded my head toward Macaslan, and Callum nearly spit up stew at the expression.
 

“Ye speak just as Jane does. Aye, the man is a fool and an arse, and it pains me that we are under his control here. I doona feel things will go as easily as they should. He is no the sort of man to keep his end of a bargain.”

As if Callum’s words summoned trouble, Laird Macaslan spoke up loudly from the end of the table. I could scarcely breathe when I realized the question was directed at me.
 

“Yer husband must be a fool to allow ye to visit yer cousin without him. Why is he no with ye?”

I responded instinctively before I had a chance to remember Jane’s advice.
 

“I’m not married.”

The laird turned toward Drostan, and I swallowed as I watched the way he grinned at his son.