Immortal Desires (Well of Souls) (20 page)

He steepled his fingers under his chin and smiled. It should work.

***

San Diego, April 2011

Deanna walked into the house she'd grown up in, enveloped by the warmth of the small Spanish bungalow. The dark wood furniture against the whitewashed plaster hadn't changed in all the years she'd lived there but Dad kept it neat and tidy.

As always, Deanna moved to the shelf full of framed photos, bypassing her school pictures in favor of older ones. Her mother and father on their wedding day drew her eye first, then the picture of Mom standing proud in her uniform while holding Deanna on her hip. She was five years old at the time and it was the last photo of the two of them together.

"Hi there." Dad interrupted her train of thought as he came out of the kitchen. "I thought I heard you come in."

Deanna gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Something smells wonderful." Dad's world-class spaghetti was a joke between them, nothing more than noodles and a jar of store-bought sauce. They'd eaten a lot of it over the years. It held fond memories for her.

They ate first, talking about inconsequential things during dinner while Deanna struggled with what she had to tell him. Finally, Dad gave her a pointed look and she could delay no longer.

She curled up on the sofa and Dad sat in his favorite chair, reclining back and settling in to listen. His hands were folded in repose like he wasn't about to hear anything extraordinary. Deanna hated to burst his bubble.

"What would you say if I told you I'd been to the future…and the past?" She waited for him to mull over the question.

"I'd say you'd lost your mind but since that's probably genetic, I'll go ahead and listen to your story instead." He gave her an easy smile but snapped the recliner shut and moved over onto the sofa next to her.

"A few months from now I took—will take—a job in Colorado with Light Street Corporation. They sent me to Scotland to investigate a luxury hotel in the highlands." She pulled the brooch out of her pocket and handed it to him to look at.

"On May 1, 2012 I found this brooch in the Mackay graveyard and suddenly found myself back in 1505—but without the brooch. To make a long story short, I fell in love with Ian Mackay and we were to be married on August 1. A witch named Cailleach put that brooch in my hand and it sent me back here to this morning, standing in front of the mirror in my wedding dress." She scrubbed at her face, afraid to look in her father's direction.

He handed the brooch back without a word and Deanna peeked over at him, wondering what he might be thinking. She found him staring off into the distance, a slight frown on his face.

"It did happen, Dad."

"What? Oh, I believe you. Sorry, I was thinking about the stories my grandfather used to tell me. The Cailleach isn't a witch. She's the Goddess of winter, a death Goddess—some say she's one of the Fae. She was one of my grandfather's favorite tales from the old country, with a single eye and living in a world of frost. Ugly creature, as I recall."

"That would be her." Deanna sucked in a breath. This was the hard part and she hated telling him. "I don't know why she sent me back here but it was against my will. I have to go back to Scotland, Dad. I want to try to get back to Ian…in 1505."

Silence hung in the air for a few minutes before her father's gaze lifted to her face. His eyes shimmered in the light from the lamp but he smiled at her. "I'd always hoped you'd live somewhere close enough to visit." He cleared his throat and started again.

"If there's one thing I hope I've taught you, it's to follow your dreams wherever they may take you. Life isn't worth living if you're marking time, taking the path that someone else laid out for you. Go with your heart. I did and I've never regretted it, even if it didn't work out as planned."

Deanna flung her arms around his neck and sobbed. When she'd regained her composure, she accepted the box of tissues he handed her off the side table. "My main regret is leaving you here all alone. The first time was an accident but this time—if it works—I'll be leaving deliberately."

"Don't worry about me." He pulled a tissue of his own and dabbed at his eyes. "Maybe I'll look up some of your great-great—however many greats—grandchildren."

Deanna laughed through her tears. "That gives me a headache just thinking about it." She hoped he would, though. It eased her conscience the tiniest bit.

"When are you leaving?"

"As soon as I can book a flight. Can I spend a few nights here?"

"I was hoping you would. Your room's always open to you. Maybe you can tell me more about the life you led?"

"I can do that but I don't think you'll be too happy with some of your ancestors," Deanna said and spent the rest of the evening telling him about life in the 16
^th
century.

Chapter Forty

Deanna spent the next day walking the beach with her father, enjoying his company before she had to leave. The Pacific Ocean glittered in the sunlight. She stood with her face to the sun and let the cool water dislodge the sand from beneath her feet with each passing wave. It embodied how nothing remained the same in life. An ever-changing flow from one moment to the next created a different pattern, even in something as simple as sand. Deanna felt the ache of loss and renewal with each step she took.

The only time she left Dad's side was for a brief trip to her apartment to grab some clothes and her passport. Nick wasn't there, fortunately. She glanced at her few possessions and realized they were only objects, easily left behind. Her perspective about life and what mattered most had changed forever—even if she didn't succeed in her quest to go back.

Her father had noticed the difference too, commenting on it earlier. That, more than anything had convinced him her experience was real. Not that he had doubted her in the first place but it infused the story with concrete evidence. Deanna smiled to herself as she recalled him saying how proud he was of the woman she'd become.
No matter how old we are,
she thought,
we still seek the approval of our parents.

With a last glance around, Deanna left the apartment without regret, locking the door behind her with her head held high.

Nervousness gnawed at her stomach several days later as Deanna stepped onto the plane. She'd cleared out her savings account the night before, using most of it to write out a check to Nick. Her dad would mail it to him. Maybe it was guilt money but at least she could leave having made good on her promise.

Her nerves were another matter, not banished by throwing money at them. What if her plan didn't work? She dashed the tears away with the back of her hand, annoyed with herself for dwelling on it. Her father had told her to think positively about her actions. It was something she intended to do, even if she developed an ulcer while trying to heed his words.

***

Highlands, April 2011

Her heart lurched to her throat as the hotel came into view. Seeing it again, Deanna now realized how utterly different it was from the 16
^th
century version. She jumped from the car before Mr. MacFegan had a chance to open her door and greeted him in a rush. All she wanted to do at this point was run to the graveyard.

"It's nice to see you again, Mr. MacFegan." Oops. He wouldn't be meeting her for another year.

A blank look crossed his face. "Have we met before? You are Ms. Cameron, right?"

"I'm sorry. No, we haven't." She left him baffled and shook his hand, not trying to explain her gaffe. "I want to wander around outside first before I come in, if you don't mind?"

"You do whatever you please." He gave her a puzzled smile, probably thinking she was deranged, Deanna thought. "Mind your step out here. There may be wee patches of ice. I'll get my coat and give you a tour, if you'd like?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you. I'll be in soon."
Or not at all, if my plan works.

He tipped his head and took her bag from the driver as Deanna headed straight for the graveyard. She admonished herself to walk with care; it wouldn't do to arrive back in the 1500's with a broken leg.

The small gate stood open and she could no longer keep to a decorous pace, plunging toward the headstones at a dead run. Removing the brooch from her pocket, she held it up to the light like a high priestess seeking supplication. The gems sparkled in the cold sunlight but no funnel of air formed around her.

Dejected but by no means defeated, Deanna wandered deeper into the yard. It was only her first attempt, she told herself. Who knew what conditions had to be in order to make it work? She would keep trying until it finally happened.

And what if it never does? Are you going to beg for a job here? Become the Bean Sidhe to entertain the tourists?

"Shut up," she mumbled out loud, startling a raven from its perch in the tree next to her. It had to work. It did before.

Thinking of the Bean Sidhe, Deanna moved over to where she'd seen the washer woman kneeling in front of a headstone—one that hadn't been there five hundred years ago. The stone was weathered and chipped, with seemingly nothing at all on its face until Deanna realized she was looking at the back of it.

She sank to her knees and touched the lettering with her fingertips. Ian MacAoidh. Gaelic for Mackay. The dates were harder to read and Deanna used her coat sleeve to scrub at the dirt nestled in the engraving. 1482 – 1513.

A gasp escaped her throat. Ian had only been thirty-one when he'd died. Why so young? If she could get back there, would it change anything?

No headstone for her sat next to him, either. Because she hadn't gone back yet—or because she wasn't able to at all? So many unanswered questions.

Deanna rose, surprised to see the sun so low in the sky. Her knees ached, as if she'd been kneeling for a long time. Her fingers had stiffened around the brooch and she worked to get it back into her pocket.

She saw Mr. MacFegan's face peering out at her through the back windows as she made her way toward the hotel. He must think she was crazy. That made her laugh like a loon. She probably was. She certainly felt like it.

He didn't say anything to her as Deanna walked in, only ushered her into the great hall to stand before the fire. Tears accumulated in her eyes as Ian's portrait stared down at her from its place over the mantel, seeming to smile at her and question why she left him.

"I didn't mean to," she whispered, no longer caring what Mr. MacFegan thought of her bizarre behavior. "I'm trying to get back."

"Why dinna I show you to your room, lass?" Mr. MacFegan said kindly. "You can rest and talk to me about whatever troubles you over supper."

Deanna sniffed and took the tissue he offered. "I'd like that. Thank you." Maybe he would understand. After all, he'd told her there was magic here in Scotland. Perhaps he also believed in it.

Chapter Forty-One

"The Laird was last seen at Flodden Field and history says he died there." Mr. MacFegan struck a match to his pipe as they sat out on the back porch. Deanna inhaled the rich smells of cherry and hickory as the smoke swirled around her in the darkness. "His bones aren't laid to rest there, though. A team of archaeologists scanned the spot with their equipment when they were rebuilding this place. His grave is empty, like so many others that died that day. Someone added that headstone as closure."

Deanna thought about that and shivered in the cold air. She had to get back and prevent his death somehow. "I'm going back out there."

Mr. MacFegan nodded but didn't say anything. When they'd talked over dinner he'd listened without interrupting, not saying much afterwards except to trust in her instincts. Well, her instincts screamed at her to keep trying.

She rose and walked into the graveyard, shuffling around in aimless circles until the cold drove her back inside. Defeated, she picked up the phone. If Robert Thornton had anything to do with this, maybe he had the answer.

Disappointment beat at her temples when she hung up. He hadn't known who she was. It would still be another year before Deanna took the job. Of course he didn't know her, even though he politely invited her to send in her resumé. She took some aspirin and crawled into bed, wondering what to do next.

Ian came to her in a dream that night, asking again why she left him. Deanna wept as she told him she was trying to come back. He lifted his hand and dried her tears, then bent to kiss her. Deanna's body thrummed with desire as his hand slid down to her breast, leaving a trail of tingling energy behind.

"Hurry back, mo chridhe," he whispered in her ear. "I dinna want to live without you."

He removed her nightgown, kneeling to plant kisses down her stomach as Deanna stood in front of the fire, her knees trembling as his tongue licked her heat. Ian wrapped his arms around her thighs and they were outside, lying on his plaid amongst the heather, a full moon shining on their slick bodies as Deanna cried out in ecstasy.

She awoke in her dark room alone, the gas fire burning low as a reminder of the modern century. Tears tracked down her cheeks, dripping on the pillow she hugged to her chest. Echoes of Ian's voice stayed in her mind, as if he could call across the long years that stood between them.