Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (89 page)

When the sound of the car’s engine had faded
from earshot and the silence of the hills pressed against her ears,
Morgan felt as though she had decided much more than to stay on and
work on her drawings here. It seemed so final, watching the last
shred of the life she knew drive away.

At the same time, she was afraid to take a
chance on the love she felt for Alasdair. After all, experience had
shown that she could make mistakes in affairs of the heart.

Even if she could manage to follow Alasdair,
what if she was wrong?

Morgan didn’t know what to do, but she did
have a lot of work in front of her. She had so many of Alasdair’s
stories still to illustrate with drawings, and in one way, she
couldn’t wait to start. In another way, Morgan was afraid that once
she made all the drawings, the memory of Alasdair’s resonant tones
would fade from her mind as they had from nearly everyone
else’s.

Morgan wanted to cling to every vestige of
his memory that she could.

While Morgan lingered indecisively on the
porch with her jumbled emotions, Adaira came bustling through the
door. On this day, she was decked out in fuschia frills. “Miss
Lafayette! I can’t begin to tell you again how delighted we are
that you’ve decided to stay on to work. You simply must make
yourself right at home here.”

Morgan smiled. “Thank you.”

Adaira fussed with the wicker chairs, moving
them incrementally, even though Morgan couldn’t see anything wrong
with where they were. “It’s a pity that your sister has taken the
car, though I suppose they’ll need it to get back to
Edinburgh.”

Adaira snapped her fingers before Morgan
could say anything. “You know, the Captain is always saying that a
bit of exercise does a body good, and there
is
a bicycle in
the garage, whenever you want to use it. Of course, we’d be happy
to drive you anywhere when we’re out and about, but the Captain
does tend to just pop off for a pint at the oddest moments…”

“
Thank you,” Morgan
interjected, finding the idea of a bike ride enormously appealing.
“The bike will be great. Maybe I’ll go for a ride now.”

Adaira smiled sympathetically. “A bit
restless, are you? I always say as it’s hard to say good-bye,
though the Captain insists that partings make the gatherings all
the sweeter.”

Morgan couldn’t think of anything to say to
that. Adaira’s indulgent glance revealed her thinking that Morgan
was all choked up about Justine’s departure.

But it was another parting that was eating a
hole in Morgan’s heart. Suddenly, she had to know that her pain had
gained something for someone.

She had to know that Angus had lived
longer.

She had to know that losing Alasdair had
been worth something.

*

Frances Fergusson was only too glad to see
Morgan, although her cats were fairly indifferent to the whole
affair. The two women talked about paints and composition for a few
moments, then at Morgan’s request, they dove back into the crowded
room of records.

“
Here’s the box you and
that Scotsman had before,” Frances declared.

Morgan’s jaw just about hit the floor. “You
remember him?”

Frances’s eyes twinkled. “Now, I may be an
old widow woman, my hear, but I still have eyes in my head, and he
was one fine young man. A MacAulay, wasn’t he?” She clicked her
teeth and opened the box, popping her bifocals onto her nose. “That
ledger should be right near the top. No one’s been past since you
were here.”

Morgan sat down with a thump. “But no one
remembers Alasdair except me.”

Frances peered over her half-glasses. Then
she smiled and gave Morgan’s hand a pat. “Well, I saw the look in
the man’s eye, my dear, and you may be sure that he is remembering
you, wherever he is.” Her gaze brightened as she fingered the
ledger. “In fact, I would suspect that only a very, very good
reason would take him away from your side.”

With that, she handed over the book and
smiled. “I think I’ll put on a pot of tea just now.”

And Morgan was alone with the book that
recounted the first of the MacAulays. Just holding it in her hands
made her think of the day they had all three packed in her, how
anxious Alasdair had been, and the enormous quantity of shortbread
he had consumed. Morgan took a deep breath, blinked away her tears
and opened the book.

Olaf the Black.

Ismay of Mull and Ranald MacAulay.

Angus MacAulay and Fiona Campbell.

She looked at the ceiling, then moved her
hand a little lower, knowing what she would see.

Alasdair MacAulay.

His name.

Morgan ran her fingertips over the spidery
black writing and hid the date of his demise with her hand. She
stared at the letters until her tears blurred them beyond
recognition.

Alasdair MacAulay. Just the sight of his
name summoned a vision of him that was almost tangible. Alasdair
was in this book, as though he had been no more real than any of
the others, but Morgan had held the heat of him inside her.

And now he was lost to her forever.

Did she really want to know what the book
said? What if he had died young and alone? What if he hadn’t really
made if back to his own time? A tremor of fear claimed Morgan’s
heart and she almost couldn’t bear to look, couldn’t bear to know.
She could think of a thousand possibilities, any of which would
make her deeply unhappy.

Morgan called herself a chicken, took a deep
breath, and moved her hand.

d. 1322 – in noble defense of Scotland’s
borders, by the side of Robert the Bruce.

But Alasdair hadn’t wanted to fight anymore!
How could that be? Morgan stared at the page, and her heart stopped
when she read the line immediately below.

Angus – b. 1308, d 1315.

That line hadn’t changed.

A lump rose in Morgan’s throat. How could
Angus not have lived longer? Alasdair had gone back to help his
son!

Had he gone back only to watch his son die?
Morgan could just imagine how that would have destroyed Alasdair.
He was so determined to make up for lost time, and to compensate
for the time he had spent apart from his son.

Yet Angus had died. Had Alasdair even
managed to see the vestige of his beloved Fenella in his son one
last time? What if he had gotten there too late?

Morgan looked to Alasdair’s epitaph again
and her heart clenched. Alasdair’s return to his own time had made
no difference to Angus’s life. Morgan could almost feel the anguish
Alasdair must have felt, to be helpless against whatever had stolen
away his only son.

She scanned the listing again and saw that
Ismay of Mull had died in 1320. That must have been Alasdair’s
gran, the one who told so many wondrous tales and who he so avidly
admired.

Everyone in his life and died, and he had
been left alone.

No wonder he had gone back to war. Had
Alasdair ever forgiven himself for taking that witch’s dare? Or had
he gone to his grave believing that he had failed everyone around
him?

What a horrible fate for a man who was so
intent on upholding duty and honor.

At just the thought, Morgan buried her face
in her hands and started to cry. Had Alasdair been the one to plant
the briar and the rose? Could Justine be right? Had Alasdair pined
away – loving her? Justine was convinced, but Morgan wasn’t quite
so sure.

All the same, she hated not knowing what had
happened to him, and halfway wished she hadn’t come back here.

“
Now, my dear, what can be
so very wrong?” Frances came back with two steaming cups of tea,
concern lining her brow. “Nothing could be so bad as that, could
it? After all, everything there happened ages and ages ago! Your
man and you are taking it all too personal like. Have a nice hot
cup of tea, my dear, and everything will seem much
better.”

But Morgan just looked up at her hostess.
“Why do you remember Alasdair when no one else does?”

Frances smiled sadly. “You do.”

“
I know, but that’s
different…”

“
Because you love him?”
Frances suggested softly. When Morgan nodded, the older woman sat
down on the box beside her and sternly handed her a cup of tea. She
gave Morgan a sharp eye until Morgan obediently took a
sip.

“
I don’t know why I
remembered things other people don’t,” Frances admitted and
shrugged. “But I do. That’s just how it is. And it always has been
that way. For all the women in my family, actually. It goes back
for ages” – she winked – “and you can be sure that there are plenty
of stories of witches in my family tree. My Harold used to
say…”

Frances’s voice faded, then she waved off
whatever she had been about to say. “But that doesn’t matter. What
does matter is that I do remember your Alasdair. And even more
important, that you remember him.”

Frances leaned over and tapped Morgan’s
stomach as she looked into the younger woman’s eyes. “Because
there’s someone who’s going to need to know all about him one of
these days.”

Morgan straightened in surprise. “What?”

Frances smiled. “You’ve a wee bairn on the
way.”

Morgan sputtered in astonishment. She was
pregnant? But that was impossible. It had only been two days since
she and Alasdair had been together. “You can’t know that!”

Frances smiled and sipped her tea. “Can’t I?
Well, then I must be mistaken. Why don’t you let me know in about
six weeks?”

There was a certainty in the older woman’s
eyes that made Morgan wonder. Frances had said that she knew things
she shouldn’t.

What if Morgan was pregnant with Alasdair’s
child? A thrill raced through her at the prospect, and Morgan was
filled with delight that she would have at least a vestige of him
in her life.

Then her gaze fell to the book and its
tragic contents. Morgan knew with sudden conviction that the child,
if there was one, wasn’t for her alone.

No, she knew how much Alasdair’s son meant
to him. She knew how much he valued the gift of fatherhood. If she
and Alasdair had conceived, then Morgan owed it to Alasdair to seek
him out, in the past.

It would mean taking a chance on her love
for him. Morgan’s mouth went dry.

It would also mean losing all contact with
Justine and Blake. It would mean never delivering on her book
contract. It would mean stepped away from everything she knew – to
find a legendary love.

If she could.

Morgan already knew that she felt more at
home on this island than she had anywhere else in the world, even
Auntie Gillian’s house. She liked the rhythm of the island and the
way the people spoke. She loved the harsh lines of the land and the
lyrical beauty of the tales they shared around the fire. It had
changed so little since Alasdair’s time that even he had been
fooled.

And she loved Alasdair.

What if he really did love her? Certainly he
had said some things that were at least encouraging, and he had
loved her with a tender deliberation that couldn’t have been
accidental.

There was that red, red rose behind Adaira’s
bed-and-breakfast.

What if her going back in the past could
make a difference? What if she could do something to help Angus?
What if she could give Alasdair another child?

What if her going back would ensure that
Alasdair never went back to war, and never died lonely and
broken-hearted?

If she was pregnant, didn’t their child
deserve to know its father? At least, if Morgan could manage the
trip through time in Alasdair’s wake?

But what about her book? Her sister? Her
life?

Morgan was so lost in her thoughts that she
jumped when Frances leaned over to give her hand a pat. “I also
have a feeling you might need to know a little Gaelic,” Frances
said softly. “Come and see me, dear, if you do. You never know how
an old librarian might be able to help.”

In that moment, when Morgan looked into
Frances’s knowing eyes, she made a decision. If she was pregnant,
she would go to Alasdair.

Frances would help her.

In the time that it would take to get her
pregnancy confirmed, Morgan would finish drawing Alasdair’s
stories.

*

Justine had just finished losing her lunch
on a sunny November Wednesday afternoon when the phone rang. As
much as she hated to answer, it might be Mrs. Fitzgerald about
Lorraine’s wedding invitations. They had to go out soon or not at
all, but the Fitzgeralds could never decide about anything. Justine
rubbed the perspiration from her brow and made her way to the
phone.

But it wasn’t Mrs. Fitzgerald, or even
Lorraine.

“
Justine?”

“
Morgan! How are
you?”

“
Good. You?”

“
Great! Well, actually, I
feel like hell, but that’s a good thing.” Justine laughed. “Morgan,
you won’t believe this, but I’m finally pregnant!”

Justine could feel her sister’s interest
sharpen. “Oh! That’s terrific.”

“
Isn’t it? Blake’s thrilled
to death. You should see him. He’s a classic mother hen. And I’ve
had all the tests and everything’s okay. They wanted to tell me
whether it’s a boy or a girl, but I want to wait. Do you think
that’s nuts? I mean, we could plan everything if we
knew…”

“
I think it’s wonderful,”
Morgan said warmly. “You know, a little spontaneity never hurt
anyone.”

Justine grinned. “I don’t know. Blake might
have an allergy we know nothing about.”

“
Blake?” Morgan chocked
back what might have been a chuckle. “What about
you
?”

Justine laughed merrily. “So, we’re a little
organized. The newest Macdonald will probably change all of that
when he or she comes along.”