Highlander in Her Bed (35 page)

Sure enough, when they finally reached the base of the heathery knoll, there was Ben scrambling excitedly over the tumbled, lichen-blotched stones.

He looked at them and barked, then resumed leaping about the knoll, thrusting his nose into one rabbit hole after another, his tail wagging furiously.

Then he disappeared.

"Ben!" Mara ran forward, dropping to her knees in the heather where Ben had been but a moment ago.

Alex hurried after her, scanning the hills as he ran.

But Ben was gone, nowhere to be seen.

Fear for the old dog tightened Alex's chest. Seeing his lady ripping at the heather, searching for Ben, tore his heart.

"The blue cloth!" she cried then, whipping it into the air, waving it at him. "It was stuck in a crack between two of the boulders."

"Don't move!" Alex warned her, ignoring how his wounds were beginning to twitch and burn. "Don't even breathe. Ben must've fallen into one of those heather-covered crevices I warned you about."

"Yes, he has! I can hear him whimpering." She twisted round to look at him, her eyes wide with fear. "Oh, what can we do? We have to get him out."

"We'll get him. Dinna you worry," he called to her, the words sounding distant. "Just be still until I can get to you."

"Oh, no! Something's wrong with you, too!" She stared at him and clapped a hand to her cheek. "You're so pale."

"It's the lightning bolt scars," he said, his voice sounding even fainter. "The pain will pass."

But he needed all his strength to climb the knoll. Claws of fire raked him with each step, searing and slashing at his innards as if his scars had grown talons and were ripping him, tearing him apart.

He forced himself to move, kept putting one foot in front of the other until he made it to his lady's side.

Then he threw back his head and looked up at the liquid-silver sky, drew a deep, lung-filling breath to strengthen him. But when he grabbed Mara's arm and yanked her away from the stones, the effort near brought him to his knees.

It
did
make him dizzy.

But he couldn't risk her falling into an underground crevice or cave. And Ben needed him, too. The old dog was barking now, bless him.

Sounding more excited than anything.

Certainly not injured.

Such relief swept Alex that he almost felt himself again. "Ben's well," he called to his lady as he yanked at the heather covering the crevice. "He'll be fine so soon as I make an opening large enough for me to scramble down inside there and get him."

But Mara said nothing.

Understanding her fear, he kept tearing at the heather and bracken, tossing aside loose stones. "It must be an underground cave," he said, working faster now, his strength returning. "I can see Ben's eyes looking up at me."

Ben's eyes, something bright and glittery, and old, moldering bones.

A rusted sword and bits of what looked to be a shirt of mail.

"Jesus wept!" His eyes flew wide. "It's not a cave. Ben's fallen into a tomb. My own sainted grave!"

The earth tilted and spun, the beautiful night blurring around him, its silvery-blue hues turning an ethereal green that swirled and caressed.

Soothing caresses that took his pain but also sharpened the sound of Ben's loud barking.

And Mara's silence.

He twisted round to face her. "Did you not hear me? Ben's fallen into my tomb! There can be no mistaking. My own old sword is down there. And the Bloodstone of Dalriada. I saw its glitter winking up at me!"

But she only stood frozen, staring at him.

Not saying a word.

And, Alex finally saw, not looking at him, but past him.

Whipping round, he saw what lamed her.

"It's my green lady," she said then, her voice glazed with fear.

Beautiful and glowing, the apparition shimmered on the far side of the knoll, the whole of One Cairn Village clearly visible through her luminous green gown.

"That's not a green lady, lass." Alex pushed to his feet, humbled. "She's one o' the fey. I'd bet my life on it."

"And so you did once," the woman said, her voice a song. Like sweet, tinkling music on a breeze. "And so you shall wager again, if you come to this side of the knoll and retrieve your poor dog."

"Ben!" Mara grabbed Alex's arm, gripped tight. "He's there, with her."

And he was.

Bright-eyed, dirt-streaked, and swishing his tail.

"I'm not sure I want to come close to you, lady of the fey." Alex eyed her, too wary of the tricks of the sidhe to approach the woman without caution. "I'd be grateful if you unspell our dog and let him come over here."

"You are a prudent man, Sir Alexander. And a good one," she said, releasing Ben. "I but wished to show you the most conspicuous way into your tomb."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because you might have cause to seal it." She smiled when Ben loped across the rocks toward them. "Or would you wish your children to fall into such a place?"

"
My children
?" Alex's blood began to hammer in his ears. "Children with Mara?"

The fey beauty glowed a shade brighter. "If you so choose."

"If?" Hope near split Alex. "I desire nothing more fiercely. Save having and keeping my lady."

"Oh, God!" Mara looked at him. "What is she saying?"

"Simply that the choice is his." She held up a magnificent ruby brooch. "The Bloodstone of Dalriada carries three wishes," she said, suddenly standing before them. "Long ago, he cursed himself with the second wish. But a—"

"A third remains?" Alex stared at the brooch, the roaring in his ears deafening now.

The woman nodded. "Make your wish, Sir Alexander, and I shall take the brooch back with me to my own realm. We have waited long for its return."

"As I have waited—" Alex snapped shut his mouth, looked at his hand.

The brooch rested in his palm, its pulsing warmth sending chills all through him.

Chills and hope.

"Mara." He turned to her, saw the same dream beating all through her. "It might not work," he cautioned. "Dinna be sad if it doesn't, if something happens to me."

A tinkling laugh chided him. "Only what you desire will happen. The Bloodstone's magic is strong—as you ought know!"

And that decided it for him.

He did know.

So he pulled Mara into his arms, holding her tight, his heart squeezing when Ben pressed against them, his fool tail still wagging.

A tear rolled down Alex's cheek and he looked down at the dog, for one split second seeing not Ben but Rory.

And then he made his wish.

But nothing happened.

The hills didn't shake and the heavens didn't split wide. Nor did the world spin and contract as it sometimes did.

Everything felt perfectly normal.

Ordinary.

And then he understood.

"Mara, look!" He unclenched his hand, stared down at his naked palm. "It's gone. The brooch is gone and your green lady with it."

"And you are whole again!" she sobbed, yanking up his kilt, staring not at her favorite part of him, but at his scar-free thighs. "The scars are gone, too."

But Alex was undoing his shirt, opening it wide to look at his chest. It proved free of the scars. His pain had vanished, too.

Every last bit of it.

All that remained was his happiness.

And the woman he loved more than a thousand eternities. He could now make her his in truth. In name, as well as body. But she'd moved away a bit, stood with her shoulders slumping.

He went after her, catching her to him. "Mara, sweet Mara, what is it?" He rained kisses on her face, smoothed back her hair. "Are you not happy for us?"

She looked away, her lip quivering. "I-I have never been happier," she said, her voice breaking. "But I am shamed for not believing you in the beginning. Tomorrow is the unveiling ceremony, and"—she broke off to swipe at her tears—"my dad will read words from a memorial tablet honoring the very people who damned you!"

She hugged herself, almost convulsing. "I will stop the ceremony," she vowed. "I'll have the cairn dismantled and the plaque thrown into the firth."

To her surprise, he laughed. "You will do no such thing. I forbid it."

"You what?" She blinked.

"I said, I forbid it," he repeated, taking her hand and leading her off the knoll. "Only unlike that time in Dimbleby's when I tried to forbid you from buying my bed, this time I mean it."

"But how can you?" She hurried to match his long strides. "Knowing what we do now."

"Exactly." He stopped, kissing her hard and swift. "The ceremony goes on as planned because of what we know. How hard you've worked. How many innocent people are looking forward to tomorrow. And how happy the day will make your da."

He started walking again. "Do you think I would have given him a MacDougall sporran if I hadn't put the past to rest? Nor will I deny him his day to shine."

"So you're doing it for my dad?"

"And for myself." He slid a glance at her. "Dinna think I am so selfless."

"Then what do you mean?"

He flashed her a dazzling smile. "Simply, that when we return to the
ceilidh
and if I can catch him alone, he'll have a very special announcement to add to his duties tomorrow."

"Oh, Alex!" she cried, her heart bursting. "You're going to ask him for my hand?"

"In the right and proper Highland way, aye." He looked at her, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "As if you didn't know."

But she couldn't answer him.

This time it was her world that careened and spun. And the wonder of it took her breath away.

The next morning, Mara stood in the very heart of One Cairn Village surrounded by so many MacDougalls, McDougalls, and other assorted Highlanders, ghostly and otherwise, that she strongly suspected she might dream in tartan for many weeks to come.

Not that she would mind.

She'd come to love the Highlands with a passion she would never have believed possible. Just hearing the soft lilting voices and rich, rolling laughter of the clansmen and friends come to celebrate the memorial cairn's unveiling filled her with warmth and joy.

As did the praise of her London solicitor, Percival Combe, when he'd arrived earlier that morning to witness the ceremony and assure her that Ravenscraig was hers, all stipulations well met and satisfied.

And that, many months before the required year had run its course.

The day's weather blessed her, too, for another cloudless blue sky smiled down on the celebrants. And a soft wind sighed across the heather, sweetening the air with the pleasant scent of birch.

Even Euphemia had spared her a cordial word, claiming she'd rested well in her thick-walled cottage, secure in knowing Alex's friends were but a help cry away should her sleep have been disturbed by ghosts.

One less ghost now haunted Ravenscraig, and Mara could not remember ever being so happy.

Hottie Scottie looked happy, too.

And surprisingly at ease in MacDougall tartan, his handsome clan sporran catching all eyes.

She reached for his hand as her father droned through the cairn's dedication.

"… in reverent memory of Sir Colin MacDougall and the Lady Isobel, those who went before and laid a path for those who came after…"

She closed her ears to the words, hearing instead the happiness in his voice.

"… more proud than I have words…"

"… will burst my heart to see him place his ring on my little girl's finger…"

She whirled to face Alex. "What did he say? I wasn't really listening."

"I can see that," he said, smiling.

Then he was pulling her toward the cairn, where her father, Murdoch, and Percival Combe stood beaming like peacocks. He sank on one knee, but rather than reach for her hand, he unclasped his sporran, producing a topaz and diamond ring.

"Mara MacDougall, I told you I meant to ask for your hand in true Highland tradition and I am doing so now," he said, lifting his voice above the cheering. "With your father's blessing and these witnesses, I am telling you that I want you for my own."

His eyes brimmed with love. "Will you have me, Lady of Ravenscraig?"

"Oh, yes!" Mara watched him slide the medieval-looking ring onto her finger. "I will love you this day, this night, and for all our tomorrows unending,
Laird
of Ravenscraig."

The skirl of Erchy's pipes ended the poignancy of the moment when he materialized beside them, a twinkle in his eye and his red cheeks puffing. Amidst the stir, no one noticed his unconventional arrival or that Alex and Mara seized the opportunity to slip away.

"So," Mara said a short while later on a less-frequented path to the castle, "where did you get this ring?"

"You do not like it?"

"I love it," she said. "But it looks medievaly. Is it?"

He nodded. "Conjured at the
ceilidh
," he admitted, looking pleased. "I fashioned it the instant I knew your da would be pleased by our union."

"You really do like him, don't you?"

"Och, aye," Alex admitted. "It was good to see him in such high fettle. He has big dreams and sees with his heart. A true Highlander even if he wasn't born on Scottish soil."

He glanced at her. "You were kind to call me
laird
. He'll weave tales about that. A Highland laird as a good-son!"

"But you
are
Laird of Ravenscraig," she said, sounding as if she meant it. "Did your king not give you a charter granting you this land and its holding?"

"Och, lass." He drew her into his arms. "That is done and by with. Forgotten."

"Well, I haven't forgotten it." She pulled away to retrieve a slender packet from inside her jacket. "My betrothal gift to you."

"Lass! What is this?" Alex's hands began to shake, his vision blurring as he opened the packet and withdrew an official-looking parchment of modern making, but fashioned to look of his day. Complete with red wax seals and ribbons.

It was a deed.

The same as his medieval charter—granting him full rights and titles to Ravenscraig and its lady.

Alex's heart split. "All saints, Mara, what have you done?"