Immortal Desires (Well of Souls) (24 page)

"Deanna!" Isobel grabbed her arm, wrenching her focus back to the present. "You were swaying."

"I'm all right," she gasped, reigning in the galloping horse that was her heartbeat. She'd let Isobel's words spook her. That was all it was. No one was here. Ian and the guards were training within shouting distance. She touched her stomach like a talisman, smoothing her hand over the bulge. The foreboding feeling stepped back a pace but didn't completely leave.

A flame of wild hair rounded the corner of the keep and Deanna made a face. The girl had taken to making obnoxious remarks whenever Deanna was around and so she avoided Alyth whenever she could.

"I love you," Isobel said softly, jerking Deanna's attention away from the girl. "I couldna have asked for a better mate for my son."

"Thank you." Deanna was startled when Isobel suddenly stepped in front of her, flinging her arms around her in a crushing hug.

A scream of rage shattered the peaceful bailey. Isobel slumped against Deanna, growing heavy in her arms. Time moved slowly after that. She saw the knife protruding from Isobel's back and Alyth take a step toward them.

Deanna remembered shouting for help but her voice seemed distant, the sound not penetrating through the rush of blood in her ears. A powerful cramp seized her belly and she slid to the ground, Isobel falling along with her.

She sensed a commotion, heard feet running and bellows of angry voices. Alyth moved into her field of vision, cursing before twisting to look behind her.

Blood bloomed from a spot on Alyth's chest, the color shining brighter than the sunlight on her hair as she plunged face-first onto the ground at Deanna's side. One eye glared at her without blinking, peeking out from a tangle of copper curls.

Hands folded around Isobel, lifting the woman off of Deanna before Ian swung her into his arms. She buried her head into his chest, knowing Isobel was gone without having to hear it.

"Are you all right?" Ian spoke quietly enough but Deanna could hear the rage fighting to burst out and consume him.

She nodded her head against him, too afraid to speak any words. Her mind chanted a litany of remorse in time with the pains in her stomach.
We should have gone back inside
the only thought she could string together as Ian carried her to their bed and laid her gently upon it.

He kissed her forehead, his tears dropping onto her cheeks. "Rest, mo chridhe. I'll be back soon."

Deanna gathered a pillow to her chest and sobbed into it, frightened of the pains that were too early. Would she lose her baby as well on this terrible day?

Isobel, did you know this would happen? Why didn't you say something, instead of sacrificing your life to protect me?
Tears continued to leak from her eyes as Deanna stared at the ceiling searching for answers. None appeared and she finally fell into an exhausted sleep, tears and blood running in rivers through her dreams.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Highlands, September 1506

Spots danced behind her eyelids as Deanna tried to breathe through another contraction. She'd be so glad to leave this damned bed. Although the false labor had stopped a few hours after Isobel died back in July, the midwife from the village had suggested bedrest. Ian sided with the stubborn woman, damn the man. At least she followed Deanna's orders to boil everything in hot water for the birth without complaint.

She missed Isobel with a vengeance right now. A tear slid down to mix with the sweat on her face. Ian rushed to wipe her forehead with a damp cloth, his hand trembling as it lingered.

"Are you in much pain?" His troubled eyes swept over her, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know where to touch without hurting her. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying, laughing, cursing him.

"It will be over soon," the midwife answered for her with quiet authority. Deanna couldn't speak anyway, as another contraction hit her barrel-like body.

Time ceased all meaning as Deanna's muscles followed a rhythm she couldn't control. At last her yelling was replaced by the squall of a baby.

"You have a son!" the woman proclaimed at last.

Ian dropped to his knees beside the bed and stroked her cheek with soft fingers. "Thank you, mo chridhe."

She saw the triumph in his eyes and gave a weak laugh at the proud da.

He took the baby from the midwife and carried him stiff-armed over to her, his expression anxious, as if he might break a delicate bit of china. The babe began to suckle as soon as he laid him on her chest and Ian watched, transfixed, one finger caressing the head of dark hair.

"You are loved, William," he whispered. "Welcome to the family."

Deanna smiled at the name, chosen to honor their good friend William Munro.
You have a grandson, Dad.
She hoped that somehow he'd know, five hundred years in the future.

"Out with you now," the midwife informed Ian, "while we get the Lady and bairn cleaned up."

Ian lingered for a moment longer, unable to tear his gaze away from his son.

"It won't be for too long," Deanna said softly. "Go tell everyone."

That got him out the door and Deanna heaved a sigh of relief. She was so tired. With the women clucking around her, she fell asleep.

When Deanna woke up later, she found Ian sitting on the bed beside her, their son nestled in his arms. He sang a soft tune in Gaelic, the melody a bit too rousing to be a lullaby.

"That sounds rather energetic to put a child to sleep." She hid a smile as his cheeks grew pink.

"'Tis a warrior's tune, sung the night before a battle."

Her heart contracted with his offhand words and she fell silent as he started to sing again. This was a hard life but she'd chosen it with her eyes open. Now she had to learn to deal with it.

Every mother wishes the best for her children and seeks to protect them, regardless of the century. All she can do is love them and raise them right. In the end, she has to let them go. They'll have their own lives to live, their own destinies to fulfill.

A certain peace stole over her, a reminder to live in the moment and be thankful for today. When she'd first come back, Deanna had tried to tell Ian about the headstone in the graveyard and the history that said he'd die at Flodden Field in 1513. He'd shushed her, telling Deanna to enjoy today, as no one knew what tomorrow would bring. She'd been resentful at first but came to understand what he meant. Since then, she'd kept his words in her heart, a bright flame of joy to reflect on in times of trouble.

Ian stood up with exaggerated care and slipped William into the cradle by the bed. Deanna smiled at the memory of Ian dashing in here two weeks ago with the tiny bed, proudly displaying the finished product. Her heart had melted at the sight of his enthusiasm.

"I love you," she whispered and Ian turned to her with so much love in his eyes that she thought she'd burst with emotion.

"And I love you." He crawled back onto the bed and held her against his chest, the beat of his heart thrumming through her body until hers kept time with his as one rhythm born of hope.

Yes, she belonged here, no matter what tomorrow may bring. They would always have this moment to share. The rest could wait.

***

Boulder, November 2012

Ian rushed into Robert's office carrying two cigars. "I have a son! I canna believe it. A son." He handed a cigar to Robert who took it with a grin.

"Congratulations. Uh, what do we do with these, smoke them or keep them?" He studied the cigar in his hand and took a sniff of the rolled tobacco.

"I dinna ken. It's a somewhat modern convention to pass these out at births. I guess we smoke them."

"Strange concept, considering they can kill you," Robert murmured then laughed. "I suppose that doesn't apply to either one of us, though. What's his name?"

"William. We named him after Munro. I wish my mother had lived to see him. She lived beyond me in the other timeline." Ian still felt the devastation of that memory. It was hard to believe that Alyth had gone to the extreme of trying to kill Deanna. If it hadn't been for his mother's sacrifice, he wouldn't be celebrating his son's birth today. He sent a silent prayer her way and hoped that she heard him.

Robert startled him out of his reverie by handing him a glass of brandy. He raised his own and offered a toast. "Here's to William's and Deanna's health."

They popped out to the field to try the cigars and celebrate friendship, both past and present.

***

Highlands, September 1506

Five days after William's birth, Deanna made her unsteady way down the stairs. Ian, carrying the baby, walked beside her, matching her pace. Two months of bedrest had knocked the stuffing out of her and she vowed to get back in shape quickly.

Deanna clung to Ian's free arm for more than physical support as they made their way out to the graveyard. This was her first chance to say goodbye to Isobel—the mother she'd gained, then lost, between one moment and the next.

Her throat burned and eyes stung as she knelt in the soft dirt, her mind racing with things to say but uttering none of them. "Why?" managed to shove its way past the constriction, wheezing the question to the heavens, her tears falling to earth.

Shame laid its foul mantle about her shoulders when Deanna admitted her anger toward Isobel, the weight bowing her spirit and threatening to crush her. William chose that moment to gurgle and the terrible pressure lifted, replaced by a mother's fierce need to protect.

"I understand." Deanna kissed her fingers and laid them on the headstone.

Ian helped her to stand. She gazed at the babe in his arms, then looked him in the eye. "Teach me to throw a knife."

His eyes searched hers. He nodded once and they turned in silence, leaving the dead to their rest.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Highlands, November 1507

"Riders approaching," the guard at the gatehouse bellowed from his post.

Deanna picked William up off the ground and swung him onto her hip, the squirming bundle protesting and pointing to the bug he'd been inspecting.

"Ma, ma, ma." His pink cheeks puffed in outrage at the interruption.

"Later, sweetie." Deanna hurried back to the keep, unsure of who might be coming but not taking any chances where William was concerned. Her hand reached reflexively for the knife hanging from her waist. The days of being a hapless bystander to her own fate were gone.

Ian escorted three Mackenzie riders into the great hall. They didn't break stride, instead continuing into his office and closing the door. Deanna caught a glimpse of the dour looks on the men's faces and a tendril of fear left her knees weak, a warning of trouble beating frantic wings against her ribcage. She sat with William and hugged him close, his drowsing face a tonic against the creeping silence that spread through the room like a midnight fog.

The men emerged a scant few minutes later and Deanna's hope that she'd only imagined trouble was dashed by the sorrow in Ian's eyes. He stared down at William, his gaze lingering before scrubbing at his face with one hand.

"Mairi and her bairn have both died from a fever." His quiet words echoed around the hall before gasps filled the empty space with sound.

No!
Deanna's mind crumpled, centered on the horrific news. Sorrow lashed its way through her psyche as she pictured Mairi's smiling face on her wedding day. It seemed so long ago now…

She rose from her seat, running into her husband's arms with William nestled between them. He bowed his head onto her shoulder, his grief palpable as he gathered his small family to him.

Deanna mourned for the lively girl she called sister and the son they'd never met. William would never have the chance to bond with his cousin as they grew into manhood.

That night, after William fell asleep, Ian allowed his tears to fall. He kissed her with a certain desperation, as if by loving her he could keep her safe from harm. Deanna understood. They both needed the comfort only the other could give.

She drew her hands through his hair, kissing his eyelids, lips, the stubble on his jaw. He took her in a fury that she matched, their bodies shuddering in tune with the need to feel alive, each trying to absorb the other and become one flesh.

Hours later, she awoke to an empty bed. Ian stood by the window, his silhouette splashed against the wall by a shaft of moonlight. She rose and padded over to his side, grateful for the rug beneath her chilled feet.

"You're cold." Ian encircled her body with his arms, hugging her against his warm chest.

She breathed deeply, inhaling his masculine scent, wondering if now was the right time to tell him. His lips sought hers, adding sweet warmth to her soul in the lingering kiss.

"You're going to be a da again," she whispered.

His eyes glinted in the light and he picked her up, carrying her back to bed. "Thank you for such a precious gift, mo chridhe. I know Mairi would have been happy for us."

"Yes, she would have." Deanna stroked his chest until Ian fell asleep. She hoped Mairi and her son were smiling down on them now.