Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (90 page)

“
When are you
due?”

“
June third.”

“
I’ll think of you.” There
was a somber note in Morgan’s voice that caught Justine’s
attention.

Had Morgan decided what to do?

“
Morgan, where are
you?”

“
Um, I’m still on
Lewis.”

There was a cautiousness in those words that
didn’t answer Justine’s unspoken question. “Oh. How are your
drawings coming along?”

“
Good. Good. They’re
done.”

Justine twined the phone cord around her
fingers. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Are you pleased?”

“
Yes.” Morgan hesitated and
Justine smiled affectionately. Her sister was so shy about her
talents. “I think you’re right that they’re my best.”

“
I guess you were
inspired.”

Justine had made the comment lightly, but
when Morgan gulped, she realized she’d said the wrong thing. “Oh, I
didn’t mean Alasdair. I meant the scenery and everything…”

“
It’s okay, Justine. I’m
okay. Really.”

But Morgan sounded far from okay. Justine
straightened, fighting against a sense of foreboding. “Good,” she
said in her caterer voice. “When are you coming home?”

“
Well.” Justine could just
see Morgan shifting her weight from foot to foot, and she didn’t
like the sound of uncertainty in her sister’s voice. “Well, that’s
just it.”

Silence fell over the connection, but
Justine held her breath and waited.

“
I’m not coming home,”
Morgan confessed in a very small voice.

Justine closed her eyes against a tide of
mixed emotions. She had a very good idea where Morgan was going to
go instead, and just the thought made her stomach feel queasy
again, even though it was emptier than empty.

But the misery that had filled Morgan’s
voice since Alasdair had disappeared tore at Justine’s heart.

“
I’m pregnant, Justine,”
Morgan confessed softly. “I have to go.”

Justine gripped the phone more tightly. She
couldn’t think about medieval midwifery. Not for one minute.
Alasdair would be the biggest and most fiercely protective guardian
angel her baby sister could hope to have.

If Morgan could get to him.

“
Do you think you can do
it?” Justine’s voice sounded too strained to be her own.

Morgan sighed and doubt filled her words. “I
don’t know. The stone is gone. I’ve learned a little Gaelic, but
probably not enough.” Her words faltered a little, and Justine
ached for what her sister was enduring. “But I have to try,
Justine. Tonight is the full moon and I just have to try.”

Justine bit her lip. “I understand.”

Morgan’s voice dropped. “I just…I miss
him.” She paused and Justine waited for the confession she knew
would come. “I love him.”

Justine felt the warmth of her tears tumble
down her cheeks. The highlander had made a miracle happen. He had
gently pried open Morgan’s protective armor and fitted himself
right inside her tender heart. Morgan would never be happy without
him at her side – especially now that she carried his child – and
Justine couldn’t blame her for that.

She remembered how delighted she had been
when Morgan had laughed for the first time in years. There had been
something between them, right from the start. Something magical and
powerful. Something that had drawn Alasdair across seven centuries
to find Morgan.

It just wasn’t right that they should be
apart.

Justine thought of the briar and the rose,
eternally entwined as a testament of one man’s love for one woman,
and her tears fell in a torrent. She was so very glad that Morgan
had decided to take a chance on love – even though she was going to
miss her sister terribly.

“
I know,” Justine admitted
unevenly. “Oh, Morgan, I know. And I’m sure that he’s missing you
just the way you’re missing him.”

Morgan exhaled shakily. “I hope so, Justine.
I really do.”

“
Go,” Justine urged. “Go
and find out.”

Morgan’s next words were so low that Justine
had to strain to hear them. “I love you, Justine.”

“
Yes.” Justine’s voice was
uneven. “I love you, too, Morgan. I love you so very much.” Justine
knew they were both very aware that they had never made such a
declaration to each other before.

And she wondered why they had waited so
long.

“
Justine, don’t forget
me.”

A lump rose in Justine’s throat with a
vengeance, and her whispered declaration was nearly inaudible.
“Never.”

“
If you don’t hear from me
by…”

“
Don’t say it!” Justine
took a deep breath, and the line crackled between them. “Don’t even
say it. I’ll find out. Trust me.”

Morgan then began to speak very quickly.
Justine realized she was probably in a post office or some other
public place and subject to a lot of interested glances. “Look, um,
say good-bye to Blake for me and take care of yourself, okay? Make
sure you drink your milk and go to the doctor and all of that, all
right?”

Justine smiled through her tears. Imagine
Morgan being protective of her! “I will. Don’t worry. Blake has a
chart on the fridge of everything I have to eat every day.”

Morgan snorted. “He would.”

“
Oh yeah, I’m his new
project.”

Morgan laughed shakily. “Well, listen to
him. I’m sure he’s done his research and knows more about having
children than old Mother Hubbard.”

“
No doubt.” Justine’s smile
broadened, and a golden moment stretched between the two sisters.
“You take care of yourself, too – and tell Alasdair that Blake
thinks Robert the Bruce is a hero. He’s ordered some damn statue or
something for his office.”

Morgan chuckled, then sniffled suspiciously.
“I will.”

A silence stretched between them, and
Justine knew that neither of them wanted to actually say
good-bye.

For the last time.

“
It’s okay, Morgan,” she
finally whispered. “Go and be happy.”

“
I will, oh, I will.”
Morgan vowed. “And Justine, kiss that baby for me, will
you?”

Justine barely had time to nod before the
line clicked.

She stared at the silent receiver for a long
moment, feeling as though setting it back in the cradle would
separate her from Morgan for all time.

But that had already happened. Justine’s
tears welled again and she sobbed inelegantly. She bit her knuckles
and cried like a child, sitting with the handset still clenched in
her fist. She felt torn in half, wanting nothing other than for
Morgan to be happy but at the same time hurting because Morgan was
gone.

Justine’s stomach rolled ominously, and it
occurred to her that the baby in her belly was going to give her
this feeling again, and probably more than once.

Loving was about knowing when to shelter and
when to set free. And Justine knew in her heart that Morgan was
going to be very happy. Alasdair MacAulay would make sure of
that.

She had personally picked him, hadn’t
she?

And Auntie Gillian would have liked him just
fine.

*

Morgan stood in the post office, well aware
that every eye was surreptitiously on her. She sniffled, blew her
nose heartily, then wiped her eyes. Even talking to Justine hadn’t
changed her mind. Morgan knew what she had to do.

She knew what she wanted to do.

But first things first.

She picked up the bound copy of her
drawings, each one now lovingly rendered in ink and carefully
colored. The bookbinder she had found in town had done a stupendous
job, turning her work into an heirloom volume that humbled her with
its beauty. The leather cover gleamed with subtle gold embossing,
and the endpapers were marbled paper from Florence.

It was exactly what she had wanted. Morgan
smiled as she recalled the countless hours she had spent on this
volume, her smile broadening when she thought of what Justine’s
reaction would be when it arrived.

If all went well, there would be only one
copy of Morgan’s book,
Scottish Faerie Tales
. She opened the
book carefully and wrote quickly on the cover page.

For Justine, Blake, and (mostly!) Baby
Macdonald –

With all my love,

For all time,

Morgan.

Morgan blew on the ink until it dried,
closed the book, and took it to the postal wicket. “Do you have a
padded enveloped that would fit this? It’s going to the States and
it has to arrive in perfect condition.”

The elderly postmaster peered through his
glasses at the book with a harumph. “A gift?”

“
For a new baby. A first
baby.”

“
Hmm.” He nodded approval.
“Powerful good luck that is.” Then he muttered to himself and
disappeared behind the counter as he sought the appropriate
packaging. Morgan ran her hand over the beautifully bound book and
knew she was doing the right thing.

In more ways than one.

*

The moon was full, a few errant clouds
scurrying across the indigo sky. The November winds were brisk and
Morgan’s skirt swirled around her ankles. She paused when she
entered the circle of stones, startled once again by the sense of
warmth emanating here.

Frances nodded matter-of-factly. “It’s
always this way, dear. A strong force gathers here, especially on a
night such as this.” She handed Morgan a twig of white-blossomed
heather and smiled. “I found this on my walk yesterday. It seemed a
portent of good fortune.”

Morgan’s heart skipped a beat and she
managed a shaky smile. “I’m afraid, Frances.”

The older woman sobered. “A good sensible
reaction, I would think, to the prospect of traveling through
time.” She eyed Morgan for a long moment, then cocked her head. “Do
you want to change your mind?”

“
No. I have to
go.”

Frances nodded. “Then we have work to do.”
She walked around the circle of stones as she began to sing softly
in Gaelic. The wind stilled, to Morgan’s astonishment, although she
still could see the grass beyond the circle of stones waving in the
breeze.

When Frances paused before Morgan again, her
eyes were uncharacteristically bright. “It’s time,” she
whispered.

Morgan gripped the heather and closed her
eyes. Was it going to work? She was stone-cold sober, she didn’t
have the stone from the regalia, they didn’t have any idea what the
Gaelic song was that Alasdair’s witch had sung.

But Morgan had a funny feeling she had found
a genuine witch in Frances. The woman had taken the entire story in
stride, and had been readily convinced to help Morgan when that
woman couldn’t wrap her tongue around a Gaelic verse to save her
life.

“
Turn!” Frances whispered
and Morgan did. The older woman’s voice rose in a chant that
stirred Morgan’s blood. In her imagination, a thousand spirits
gathered around the ancient place, their ageless eyes bright with
curiosity.

Once
.

Morgan felt the dizziness rise within her,
hardly news after the month of morning sickness she had had. But
this was a thundering in her veins, like the pounding of the sea,
that swelled up inside her and flooded her senses, making her lose
track of every vestige of the world around her.

Twice
.

The rhythm of the chant infected Morgan and
she had a sudden soaring certainty that this could be done, that it
would
be done, that she would be with Alasdair and that he
would love her for everything she was. She started the third turn
with a buoyant heart and a death grip on the heather.

And just before she made the last step, cold
hands framed her face. Morgan’s eyes flew open to find herself nose
to nose with Frances.

It was Frances and it was not Frances, her
normally placid features overlaid with the shadow of a woman with
wild eyes and hair. Her eyes widened, she leaned closer and she
hissed. “
Wish!”

And Morgan wished with all her heart and
soul to be with Alasdair MacAulay.

Thrice
.

Morgan fell then, stumbling away from
Frances, but didn’t hit the ground for a long, long time. Morgan
tumbled through a blackened void until she thought she could fall
no more, then came to a stop with sudden thump that had her
clutching at her belly.

She opened her eyes and gasped to find
golden sunlight painting the standing stones of Callanish. Morgan
jumped to her feet and spun around, her heart pounding
erratically.

Frances was gone.

Adaira’s bicycle was gone.

There wasn’t a house within sight.

And on the grass, not a dozen paces away, a
heartwrenchingly familiar man with golden hair slumbered in a
wrinkled kilt.

*

“
Alasdair!”

He was having the dream again, the one that
tormented him every night, the one that never let him sleep when
the moon was full. Alasdair fought against it, uncertain whether he
would truly rather be without these dreams of Morgan.

Because then, he feared, he might completely
forget her.

But the small hands that latched on his
chemise and gave him a hearty shake were a new element of this
recurring dream. Alasdair did not dare to hope as he cautiously
opened one eye.

But he found his lady love crying all over
him, the morning sun picking blue lights out of the joyous tangle
of her hair.

Morgan!

Alasdair did not care for the details of how
she had come here. He simply scooped her up, gathered her close and
kissed her with abandon. Morgan curled against him perfectly, her
hands slid into his hair, she sighed beneath his embrace in a way
that made Alasdair’s heart race.