The Inscription (24 page)

Water ran unevenly through the funnel-like opening Lachlan had rigged in the ceiling. Amber closed her eyes and put her head under the warm stream and smiled. She’d once believed a shower was the best way to start the day. Now, however, it ranked second.

A small gray bird chirped on the windowsill of the garderobe. She smiled at its music as the water flowed down the back of her neck and shoulders and into a gutter that drained into Loch Ness. She felt the tension release as her body relaxed.

Amber felt a draft in the small room and opened her eyes. Light streamed in as the curtain was drawn aside. Lachlan stood in the entrance.

His claymore was strapped to his back. Several knives were tucked in his belt. Amber felt the sudden rise and fall of her chest as the rhythm of her breathing increased. Lachlan was going out to practice in the courtyard, but he had sought her out first. It was a big step for him to put his obsession with fighting second. Now, if only she could get him to forget about it… at least for a while. She cupped her hands and let the water gather then tossed it in his direction.

He sidestepped out of the way and smiled. “Do you mean to drown me, lass?”

“Aye.”

His laughter filled the room. For some reason she felt more at ease with this man than any other. She couldn’t explain it, but it was true nonetheless.

Lachlan didn’t blink. His gaze seemed to be locked on her face as if he were afraid to look anywhere else, as if pretending she wasn’t standing in front of him, stark naked and dripping wet. He cleared his throat.

“ Tis a lot of trouble, merely to bathe.”

Amber turned off the lever that controlled the flow of water and wiped her wet hair off her forehead. He looked as if he was having trouble breathing. Perfect. She smiled and reached for the soap on the chair.

“Isn’t Angus expecting you in the courtyard?”

“I must be prepared for battle.”

She rubbed the jasmine-scented soap between her hands, feeling the rich lather as she washed her arms and shoulders. She could hear Lachlan’s irregular breathing. It matched the rhythm of her own.

“What would happen if you missed a day?”

A smile flickered across his lips. “The inhabitants of Urquhart will believe I am bewitched.”

Amber could feel the pounding of her heart as she put the soap back on the chair and took a step toward him. She started to unbuckle his belt, but hesitated. He brushed her wet hair off her shoulder and guided her hands to the clasp. Her fingers trembled as she unfastened his belt and pulled it from around his waist. The folds of his tartan loosened as he removed his weapons and placed them on a bench outside the enclosure. He threw his tartan and shirt to the floor.

Amber turned the shower back on and drew him under the drizzle of warm water. She reached for the soap. Lathering it into thick suds she washed his chest in slow, circular motions before moving closer to him until her nipples touched his bare skin. She heard his sharp intake of breath. His lips were wet and warm under the steady stream of water. Then he pulled her against him. The bar of soap hit the floor as her arms circled his neck. ‘

“What have you done to Lachlan?”

Amber looked out the window of Marcail’s chamber. Lachlan was playing soccer with Gavin. She smiled, hearing the two of them laugh as MacDougal joined in the game. Amber knew exactly what she was talking about and was just as surprised. Lachlan had actually skipped his afternoon training as well.

Marcail touched her shoulder. “That sounded harsh. I did not mean it so. It is seldom that Lachlan misses an opportunity to practice his skill with the sword. I find it curious.”

Amber leaned against the windowsill. She couldn’t read Marcail’s expression. The woman was as impassive as a porcelain doll. It usually made Amber uneasy, but not today. Today she was confident and fearless.

“I told him he needed to spend more time with his brother.”

“And he agreed?”

Amber could feel a wave of protectiveness. She couldn’t be the only one to see how obsessed Lachlan was with fighting.

“Why wouldn’t he agree? He should be spending more time with Gavin.”

“We are of the same mind. It is only that you are the first one to persuade him there is more to life than fighting.“ The somber expression on Marcail’s face began to crumble. ”But I fear that, in the end, people are incapable of change.“

Amber remembered what O’Donnell had said about the woman he’d slept with. She lowered her voice. “By ‘people/ are you referring to O’Donnell?”

Marcail looked up, startled, and then sank down on the bench beside the window. She nodded. “He betrayed me with another.”

“He said he loves you.” Amber sat down and put her hand on Marcail’s shoulder.

“Those words come easily to his lips.” The pain in Marcail’s voice was razor sharp.

“I don’t know all the details about what happened, or if you love him enough to give him another chance. But he said he would wait for you. In my experience, men are not patient creatures by nature. If someone I loved said he would wait for me… well, I guess I’m really not sure how I’d react, but I’d at least give it serious thought. Promise me you’ll do that much.”

Marcail nodded. The briefest shadow of a smile flickered across her face. “If I do not agree, I believe you will spend the remainder of the day convincing me otherwise. Perhaps you will have the strength to change Lachlan. You do not give up easily.”

Amber smiled. “I’ve been told that before.”

She glanced over at the hearth. Above it the mural of Tristan and Isolde seemed to take on a new life. The candles cast a warm golden glow on the wall. Writers were eternally creating stories of romance, because the human spirit was always searching for the perfect love. Many tales, such as the one depicted in the murals, ended unhappily.

Marcail spoke. “Lachlan told me that you were aware of the legend of the Lady of the Loch.”

“Yes.” Amber hesitated. “It’s an interesting story.”

Marcail smiled. “I have never heard it described in such a manner.” Her expression grew serious and her eyes held Amber’s. “I believe it has come true.”

Shouts of laughter filtered into the room from below. The sounds pressed in on her. The words O’Donnell had spoken whirled through her.
Barriers of
time will be broken… seasons will alter their natural course… a woman, with hair of burnished gold… pulled from the depths… waters will reclaim her
… She felt dizzy and leaned against the window for support. None of it made any sense, and yet…

“You think I’m the woman in the legend?”

Marcail nodded. “Has Lachlan told you nothing of this?”

Amber’s legs began to shake. She gripped the stone sill tightly and shook her head.

Marcail sighed. “Part of him still denies what he knows in his heart to be true. But to accept it, he must also accept that he can change. He is hardened against such a reality. I believe that you alone can guide him down that path.”

Marcail motioned for Amber to follow her. “Come, there is something I wish to show you.”

Following Marcail down a torchlit corridor, Amber recognized the direction they were headed. It was the hallway that led to the gallery of portraits. Shadows spread along the walls in the eerie light, their images ghost-like and watchful. She shivered.

“Where are you taking me?”

Marcail pointed to an alcove hidden in the shadows and handed Amber a torch. “His portrait hangs there.”

Amber brought the light closer to a massive oil painting of a Scottish warrior. He stood on a cliff that overlooked Loch Ness, holding a two-handed claymore. It was an excellent likeness.

The torch wavered in Amber’s grasp. She’d seen this picture somewhere before. She paused as the memory resurfaced. It was in the Iverness Museum. Her aunt had wanted her to see the exhibit. No, that was not exactly true. Aunt Dora had insisted she go. Once there, she remembered how nervous her aunt had become as she pointed to the man in the portrait and whispered that he was said to be immortal. At the time, Amber hadn’t thought much of it. Her aunt was intrigued with the legends of Scotland.

Marcail rested her hand on Amber’s shoulder. “You have seen this portrait before. Perhaps in your own time?”

Amber felt faint. “What?”

“
It is she who will bring the knowledge and the courage
of generations yet unborn
. The legend foretells of you. There is much you must know and little time that remains. Last night the moon reached its last quarter. Only days remain until the moon is once more full. Change will have to take place, or you will return and I know not the fate of our kind.”

Amber gripped the torch handle. “Slow down. Let’s take this step by step. You know I am from another time?”

Marcail nodded.

“How?”

“It was I who summoned the Guardian.”

Amber felt a shiver run through her. All the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. She remembered the lightning, and how she had swerved off the side of the road into the water. Something had swum by her as she’d lost consciousness.

“The creature in Loch Ness?”

“What else would it be?”

So Nessie was real. Diedra had been right. Amber wasn’t sure how she felt about being part of a legend. She straightened.

“And this… Guardian decided to pick me out of all the people who accidentally fall into the loch?”

“This was not a random choice; the creature chose you wisely.”

Amber realized she knew exactly how Alice felt when she’d fallen down the rabbit hole.

“Okay. Let’s assume, for the moment, this Guardian is responsible for my being here. Are you also suggesting Lachlan and I are linked somehow?”

In the torchlight Marcail smiled. “Precisely. And you must turn him from the insanity that holds his soul prisoner if he is to be saved. If we are all to be saved.”

The moon reflected on the waters as Amber made her way down the travel-worn path toward the place where Lachlan had first pulled her out of the loch. She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders as a breeze rippled over the water. She’d gone over everything Marcail had told her until her brain ached.

Even if there really were a creature in Loch Ness, it couldn’t possibly have the ability to pull her four hundred years into the past. And no one was immortal. There had to be a logical explanation that she was either too dense or too tired to figure out.

Her foot bumped something solid. Startled, she looked down. It was the still body of a wolfhound, half-covered with a pile of rocks. The animal’s eyes were glazed and unblinking. Please don’t let it be MacDougal, she repeated over and over. She knew what it was like to lose a cherished pet. Gavin shouldn’t have to go through that.

She was twelve when Shadow had died and she had slept with his collar for months after. Her hands trembled as she bent down and touched the body. He wore a piece of tartan cloth around his neck and he was solid and cold. She remembered when she’d presented this cloth to Gavin. She stumbled back.

A flash of lightning creased the sky, shedding light on the dead animal. Blood stained the rocks. Her breath caught in her throat. There was an arrow in MacDougal’s side, and dried blood caked on the wound. Her hands shook as she carefully closed the dog’s eyelids. How was she going to tell Gavin?

A twig snapped behind her, but before she could react someone grabbed her around the waist, covering her mouth with his hand. Her captor dragged her to a standing position, pulling her against him. Her stomach churned and her body trembled. She tried to pry his calloused, dirt-encrusted fingers away from her face.

The man pressed the point of a knife to her neck and started to drag her toward the shore. His breath was foul-smelling as he pressed his mouth to her ear. “You have time for a prayer before you die.”

The pressure of the blade burned against her skin. She concentrated on not giving in to panic.

There was the sound of footsteps rustling nearby. The man loosened his hold and turned toward the disturbance.

“Will, is that you?”

Amber seized the opportunity to shove her elbow into his stomach. He groaned, releasing his grip on her. She lurched forward, picked up her skirts and stumbled toward the pile of stones around MacDougal. Her cowardly attacker probably hadn’t given the dog a chance to fight back, shooting an arrow at him from the safety of the trees. Well, she wasn’t going to be as easy to kill.

She picked up a rock, turned, and threw it at the man’s head. He screamed and staggered back. Amber could see blood ooze from the cut.

Lachlan raced into view, his sword raised.

From a cluster of trees near the water an arrow whistled past her, hitting Lachlan in the right shoulder. He jerked back and his jaw tightened as he broke off the long shaft. She quickly gathered her skirts and ran toward him.

Lachlan switched his sword to his left hand and pulled her behind an outcropping of large rocks. “When I discovered you were not in our chamber, I went in search of you. It appears I have been doing that a lot of late. Marcail told me she saw you walk in this direction.”

Two more arrows whistled through the air, but deflected off the stone barricade.

Amber could hear shouting but in a language she didn’t recognize. Here she was, in the middle of a battlefield, and Lachlan was calmly telling her he’d been looking for her. He gave new meaning to the expression “nerves of steel.” Well, she had another name for it… idiot.

“Do not leave the protection of the shadows until I return.”

She grabbed his arm. “What are you talking about? You’re outnumbered. There are two, maybe more. You can’t go out there. They’ll shoot you full of holes. Did you see what they did to MacDougal?“

“Aye, and his death will be avenged.” Lachlan cupped her face. “They gave their word they would fight man to man.”

“And you believed them? They killed…” Her voice caught in her throat so that she couldn’t finish the sentence. She pushed him away. “Of course, I forgot. They gave you their word they would fight fairly. Well, I feel much better. Exactly how many are there? Three, four, ten perhaps?”