Somewhere My Lass (16 page)

“She lit into you. Blackened your eye.”

“Aye,” Anna said. “In a fit of temper.”

Mora seemed to sense the change in Calum and lowered her arms, but warned, “He’s about to git another taste of ’m poor humor.”

Calum let this pass and eyed Neil. Wonder mixed with the mistrust lingering in his scrutiny. “How do ye know this? Did she tell ye?”

“No. I remember.”

Calum stared at him. “What name did she gie me when we were bairns?”

“Calum
Balum
.”

He searched Neil’s eyes. “What did she call ye?”

“Niall
Gial
. She was but five years old and loved to rhyme.”

Shaking his head in disbelief or dawning recognition, Calum asked, “Niall? Are ye truly he?”

“Aye.”

Their mother heaved a shaky breath. “Did I not say?”

Calum wiped the back of his hand across his glistening brow. “What became of ye? Were ye knocked o’er the head?”

Actually Neil had cracked the back of his head after coming through the portal and it still ached, but he doubted this reply would suit Calum. He simply nodded.

It appeared they’d reached a sort of truce. Calum sheathed his blade over his shoulder in the back scabbard. “Were ye carried off by Englishers?”

Sort of. If his life in America counted, but Neil reckoned the blame lay with another. “First by the Mac—”

Before he finished his reply, Calum surged forward and caught him in an embrace. An earthy maleness mingled with heath and turf smoke surrounded him. The scent of his brother.

In a hoarse whisper, he said, “Forgive me, Niall, I swear I did not know ye.”

“I am changed,” Neil grunted, in Calum’s fierce hold.

Calum relented and held him at arm’s length. “Yet, ’tis yer ain eyes a watching me.”

Without demanding further explanation, Calum did something even more unexpected. Loosening his grip, he dropped to one knee on the floor before Neil. He bowed his head. “I pledge my loyalty and sword to yer service, Niall MacKenzie, our rightful laird.”

Neil didn’t know whether to clap Calum on the back, extend his hand in a solemn shake, or offer him a knighthood. Words failed him. Mora looked as stupefied as he felt.

Aunt Margaret spoke for the first time since their duel. “Niall accepts your tribute, Calum. Come to the table, all of ye,” she beckoned. “There’s food and drink aplenty. I’ll send for some spiced ale. We’ve a battle to plan.”

Calum rose to his feet. “With who?”

“The MacDonalds. If ye’ve done with fighting among yerselves.”

Whether they had or hadn’t, Neil had one vital task to complete before any clan battle, or he’d not be here to wage it. Likely the astute woman also knew.

“Calum, there’s something I must do.”

Chapter
Twenty-Four

Wind howled. The loch must be whipped to a foaming frenzy outside the walls of Donhowel. It would be a poor night indeed for venturing beyond the castle and Mora prayed the weather calmed by the morrow for their journey. A tremor traveled through her middle at that intimidating thought.

Despite the fierce draft, she did not remain in her chamber. Hoping no one noted her silent presence any more than they might a spirit’s, she stole along the darkened passageway in the second story of the keep. The floorboards chilled her stocking feet in the thin slippers.

So cold. Her teeth chattered.

Smoke from the many castle hearths tinged the frosty air in the corridor. Here and there flickering torches lent some light to her stealthy progression past closed doors, but much was hid in shadows. Mora trusted she was as well.

Shivering, she buried icy fingers beneath her plaid. The wool wrap helped shield her as she crept through the breezy passage, but the frigid current blew across her legs and found its way up under her shift. She should’ve worn the faux fur, such warm pelts that mysterious creature possessed, but she hadn’t really intended to come at all, and then didn’t want to appear as if she were journeying out of doors. It was just…she had to be with Neil.

Her bedfellow, Margaret MacKenzie, hadn’t moved or made a sound when Mora slipped from beneath the covers and tiptoed across the chamber they shared. Nor would Margaret likely protest the impropriety of Mora stealing to Neil’s bedchamber given the extraordinary circumstances. He might, though, being mindful of her honor, and doubtless slumbering in exhaustion. No matter, just as long as she could curl at his side.

Calum would most certainly object. That he’d accepted Niall as his brother and rightful laird was a staggering revelation. Still, he was reluctant to surrender his intended bride. Even after Mora’s outrageous behavior, Calum adamantly professed to love her. Mora didn’t wish to further wound him and hoped he wasn’t roaming the castle tonight.

God let Calum slumber. Let them all. Dear Lord, allow her a few precious moments with Neil. His hours on this earth were drawing to a close unless they prevailed  and  found  a way to preserve  him. Everything depended on what transpired at the MacDonald’s chapel. Absolutely everything.

Dark thoughts of the crypt beneath the chapel sent a wave of revulsion rolling through her. ’Twas blacker than the blackest night in that vile chamber. Not a ray of sunlight shone, no breath of Hielan air ever refreshed its musty age. Not that she’d seen this crypt, but she’d heard of such
holy
places from her tutor, redolent of death and old men’s bones, sacred relics, but to whom?

All that mattered to her was Neil. Both of them. She grieved for the old Niall and his suffering in that dreadful cell while making her way toward this new one she’d fallen so deeply in love with.

What would tomorrow bring? If they were too late to save Niall, did that mean this Neil’s life was also forfeit? The fate of both men seemed entwined with her life, also.

If they did not succeed, she might never leave the crypt alive. There in that moldering blackness beside what remained of Niall, she would take her final rest.

****

The fire in Neil’s chamber burned low. He’d raked the coals and added more kindling, but was too weary to have another go. Nor could he rouse himself enough to summon a servant. The orange glow remaining in the hearth faintly illuminated the room where he lay in the great canopied bed with its immense carved headboard. The sheets and coverlets were scented with lavender water, a sweet contrast to his grim mood. His mother had graciously surrendered this, her and his late father’s room, to take a smaller chamber with her maid.

Rather than remaining with Neil, Fergus had insisted on bunking fully dressed and in his coat on a pile of furs and blankets before the massive hearth in the Great Hall. Servants kept that fire burning religiously, and Fergus declared it the only tolerable spot in this ice castle as he referred to Donhowel.  Besides, Fergus was blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere.

Not so, Neil. The cold didn’t bother him so much. He wore only his boxers beneath the covers and was comfortable, as much as was possible given the aches of his mind and body. But despite heavy fatigue and the generous bed large enough to accommodate three, thoughts of tomorrow pulled him back to ominous wakefulness.

Resolve he had in abundance and the fighting spirit of an army of Highland warriors. However, the immense challenge that lay before him and the narrow window of opportunity to carry out his quest troubled him. Finding the Holy Grail might be easier than the undertaking that awaited them.

If Neil didn’t survive, he prayed Mora and Fergus made it out alive.
Dear God.
What would become of her without him? Fergus could travel back to the future, but what of Mora?

Neil could not leave her to Calum. Although, if the worst came, at least Calum loved Mora. He wouldn’t mistreat her and she’d be safe in his keeping. Maybe the two would settle into a tolerable marriage eventually. They must have done so once. But Neil couldn’t bear to envision them together.

Troubled thoughts make a poor bedfellow, and he tossed from side to side. Oh, for a sleeping potion.

Shouldn’t he have wished for a sleeping pill, he wondered, his mind slipping back and forth between the past and present, between the Neil he was and the man he’d been before. The old adage about pinching himself to be certain he was awake did no good. All seemed a dream.

Once he dozed, for how long he had no idea, but awoke at a creaking sound, the door to his room opening. It closed and he sensed, rather than saw, Mora slip inside.

His heart surged. She’d come to him. She shouldn’t have. He might not even be here by this time tomorrow. But he was unspeakably glad.

“Mora.” Whispering her name, he rose to greet her. His knee caught slightly as he got to his feet.

Before he took a step, she darted across the room and flung herself at him. The scent of Moss rose emanated from her like the fairest June day in the midst of bleakest winter.

Her arms encircled his neck. “I could no stay from ye.”

“I know.” He pulled her close and held her to his chest. “You’re like ice, sweetheart.”

“Yer as warm as a summer night. Niall, my love, my own.”

Pushing her hair aside, he pressed his lips to her cold neck. More goosebumps spread across her smooth skin, and she sighed. She lifted her face, dimly seen in the firelight. “Promise ye’ll niver leave me again.”

He cupped his hand at her cheek. “If there is any way on earth to remain with you, I swear I shall.”

Tears filled her eyes and slid over her face and wet his fingers. “And if there is not? I swear, I will not leave ye ever.”

“Then I must only go where you can follow.” He pulled her back into his chest and stroked her long hair, glinting in the fire’s glow.

She clung to him. “There can be no heaven without ye. What if ye cannot find the way?”

“Heaven is simply another portal. All I need is Fergus’s energy field detector to find it, or one of his many colored lights to guide me.”

She gave a tearful sniff with the barest hint of laughter muffled against him. “Even now, ye have yer good humor.”

“Would you rather laugh or weep?”

She blotted her cheeks with her sleeve. Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands and looked long into his eyes, transfixing him. Such eyes as hers had never been seen since the dawn of time. Even in the pale light, they were luminous, and gave him the most exquisite pain, of wanting with his entire being while fearing to lose all.

Arching on her toes, she pressed her lips to his in a soft slow kiss. Infinitely sublime. If they could remain in this moment…

She whispered against his mouth, “Niall I will no let ye go from me again.”

“I’m in no hurry to escape you.”

Again, a soft laugh from Mora, a delightful sound and one he’d heard little of since their initial meeting at his home in Staunton. “Come under the covers and warm your toes,” he invited, and drew her down onto his bed.

“Only my toes?” Leaving her plaid wrap behind, she slid with him beneath the scented blankets.

“Ah, Mora.” He gathered her against him in her shift, so wonderfully rounded beneath the cloth. Bending his head, he covered her mouth and kissed her with tender urgency then slowly, reluctantly, released her lips.

“You are utterly desirable, the essence of womanhood. And I would pour myself into you, my dearest darling. But it’s too strange a time. Niall suffers. As I remember more and more, I feel his anguish deep within me. Until he and I are free from this peculiar fate, we must be one or none.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Then I will keep vigil with ye this night.” Her cheek nuzzled his neck, her breath a silken whisper on his skin. “But if ye feel his pain, might not he also feel yer solace and take comfort?”

Wrapping her arms around his chest, she burrowed against him. “Hear me, I love ye, Niall.” Over and over, she murmured his name.

And it seemed to Neil that the dark bedchamber took on the blackness of a tomb long hid from the light, reeking of despair and ancient graves. And he was imprisoned within its dank stones. He had no memory of coming, must’ve been senseless, and details of the battle were muzzy, though not Red MacDonald’s anger and triumph at his prisoner.

Now, Niall was in this accursed crypt. For how many days, he wasn’t certain. Wretched hours ran together in a river of anguish.

No way out. No help. No one he could tell of his suffering. At least, no one who gave a damn if he lived or died, and preferred he swiftly depart this life. His kin must fear him dead by now. He soon would be. Scant food and water had passed his lips, and the MacDonalds beat him, curse them. As King David said in the
Psalms
, tears were his food.

Had he been arrogant before? Did God think to humble him? Truly he was brought low.

God had forsaken him in this ghoulish pit. The spirits of the damned cursed him. They mocked him from the blackness.

“Mora!” His racking cry echoed on uncaring stones.

He had desired her but not fathomed the depth of his love until now. In his mind’s eye he carried her beloved image and clutched the memory of their short time together in his heart.

A hoarse sob choked him. She was forever lost. Calum would wed her. And she would never know just how much Niall adored her, that his heart was hers alone.

He hung his head. His plaid was taken away and his leine rent. Trews were not sufficient to keep the cruel chill from eating into his marrow. He had no strength, no will to resist the racking cold. Dread churned in his gut. Sound sleep eluded him, but he drifted in and out of torment.

Death was preferable to this hell. Mayhap he should just let go and drift away. That wouldn’t be so hard. Nothingness beckoned to him, a flickering candle in the distance. Just fly toward it—

“Niall.”

He heard his name as a whisper in his ear, uttered in Mora’s dear voice, but that was impossible. A fevered dream. Nothing more.

“Niall.”

He jerked up his head. She’d called him. He was certain. But it could not be her. Bitter blackness encased him as before.

And yet, golden warmth seeped through his battered soul,  honeyed light  carrying with it the sweetness of the Hielans, of life, and hope. “Mora.”

“Do not despair, dear heart. I am here.”

How, he did not know. But she’d come, transcended time and space to penetrate the forces of Hell as a dove might fly though the chink in a stone wall. With the feathered softness of angel wings, she spread her love around him. Precious kisses, as sacred as anything in heaven or earth, anointed his weary brow and covered his bruised cheeks. Her supple lips pressed his throbbing shoulder. Gentle hands caressed his battered arms, cut from straining against the relentless bonds.

Mayhap he dreamed of her in delirium, but if this be a fevered dream, he prayed it never cease. She soothed him far better than the finest balm.

Softly, her mouth found his and lingered there with a holy kiss. “My love, my own,” she whispered, her tones a melody of aching beauty.

There were no words to speak his love. Niall covered her lips with the only answer he could give. Into that kiss he poured his very being.

A sigh escaped her imbued with the essence that both soothed and seared him. “If ye do not escape this vile place of death, here I shall remain.”

“Nae, ye must live. I’ll find ye again, somewhere my lass.”

Her arms enfolded him, her head curled on his chest, lengths of hair spilled over him in a glorious cascade. “Do ye not ken, ’tis I who found ye, and I’ll not forsake ye. Together, we shall live or die.”

Further protest would avail him nothing. She had sealed their fate. Niall could but pray for a miracle from the God who’d left him here, but who also brought him Mora’s timeless love.

The vision, if that’s what it was, dissolved and Neil came back to himself, only more united with the old Niall than before. They were drawing closer together, crossing the boundary between them.

Her dear head nestled against his shoulder, Mora said, “Neil or Niall, all I know is you. Love me, as I do you, with all my being.”