The Inscription (32 page)

“Fiona, that will be all. Tell Dan to show the class the video about the Pharaoh Queen Hatshepsut until I arrive.”

The door shut so hard it rattled the panes of glass in the window. Amber flinched. Her nerves were shot. ‘Visiting Lachlan had sounded like a good idea at the time. She rubbed the scar on her hand. She glanced at the door. He might not be interested in Fiona. He was not the type to take vows of celibacy… but he had waited.

Or maybe not. This man who stood behind the desk could be some look-a-like relative, with a voice that matched Lachlan’s, familiar with an improbable story. She pressed her fingers to her temples. The walls of the room felt as though they were pressing in on her, threatening to crush her.

“I dislike haggis.” Lachlan’s voice broke the silence.

“Really. I think you’d better tell Fiona.”

“I have.” His eyes darkened. “Amber, I love you.”

He looked so good to her. Tears stung her eyes. “Are you real? I mean… I got your flowers.”

“Did you hear me?”

She smiled. “Yes, I heard you.”

He vaulted over the desk, scattering papers and pencils, and stopped uncertainly only a short step away. Amber laughed, the weight of the questions that pulled at her lifted. “You’re crazy.”

“Aye. Did you also find the inscription I wrote in the book?”

She opened the cover to where his message was scrawled boldly across the page. She nodded.

The phone rang on the desk and Lachlan answered it. The harsh sound jarred her back to her purpose for coming to the university. Her intention had been to tell him that it couldn’t work out between them. But seeing him brought back a flood of memories: the time Lachlan told Gavin that he could be whatever he wanted, watching Lachlan eat Elaenor’s burnt shortbread, or how complete she felt whenever he was near. These things were more important than her concern over aging. Weren’t they?

She walked away from him over to the shelves lined with books and wooden carvings, remembering the replica of Nessie that he’d carved for Gavin. She found the piece and reached out to touch the smooth wood. Memories of an afternoon in the autumn sun rushed back. Lachlan had tried to teach her how to carve and the piece of wood she’d fashioned into a nebulous bird lay beside Gavin’s Loch Ness monster.

He had kept it She wasn’t just some pleasant memory neatly organized on a shelf. He still wanted her, she could see it in his eyes. But loving her and obligation were two different things. Obligation was a terrible word.

Amber glanced over at him and felt a flood of love so strong and bittersweet it took her breath away. She ached to hold him, to feel his skin against her, if only for one more time. Maybe she could go about her life with this one last memory. It would be like saying good-bye.

The door burst open and Fiona waltzed in. She glanced at the debris of paper on the floor. “Dan is losing control. The class is ready to revolt. You’d better come to his rescue.”

“Tell him to pull it together or dismiss the class. I don’t care which one he chooses. I am busy. And please do not slam the door when you leave.”

Silence fell on the room as the door clicked shut

Amber replaced the carving on the shelf. “She doesn’t give up.”

“Neither do I.”

“I need you to tell me something about myself that only Lachlan would know.”

“But I am Lachlan.”

“You look like him and sound like him, but immortality is something you read about in books or see on a movie screen. It’s hard to believe it’s real.”

He leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. “Proof? All right, lass. So it is proof you need, to decide if the man standing before you is the same one who bedded you in the sixteenth century. Do you want me to take a bullet to the head or a stab wound to the heart? You choose.”

“Neither. Just tell me something that passed between us. Something that only you and I would know. Not an event that might have been retold over and over.”

“You like chocolate.” He walked over to her.

The air in the room seemed to heat up. There was no way she could forget the goblets filled with warm liquid and the platter of oranges. “Many people like chocolate.”

He reached for her hand and kissed the mound of flesh on her palm. He whispered in her ear, his breath was warm against her skin. “We found other uses for that concoction.”

He gathered her in his arms. Her lips parted. She felt the warmth and pressure of his mouth against her skin. His searing kiss made her limbs feel as though she were floating in the air with only his strength to keep her from falling.

Lachlan reached for her hand and guided her toward the desk. He tossed the remaining items on the floor and then lifted her onto the smooth wood surface.

“On your desk? You can’t be serious.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Aye, lass, I am.”

Amber opened the door at the end of the hallway of Lachlan’s office, and stepped out on the concrete porch. She paused and smiled. She hadn’t broached the subject mat she’d wanted to discuss because other things had taken over in importance. It was a topic she admitted she was reluctant to talk to him about. She would grow to be a shriveled up old crone and he would look like Superman. He may not think it was a problem, but she compared it to climbing Mt. Everest without equipment.

She buttoned the collar on her coat and continued down the path. On the steps to the auditorium building was the marquee, advertising the lecture of Steven Hawking that she’d attended. He’d said the laws of science supported the theory that time travel was possible. Of course, a person might not survive the trip, and it would be a wild ride.

“Interesting theory, don’t you think?”

Amber turned toward the man. He was tall, lanky and dressed in a fisherman-style sweater and jeans. Something was familiar about his smile and his eyes.

“Do I know you?”

The man made a casual salute and bowed. “Gavin MacAlpin, at your service.”

She swayed on her feet and felt him grab her arm. She reached up and touched his face. The laughter and carefree spirit that had marked him as a boy still remained in the man he’d become. She shook her head and put her hands in her pockets.

“I feel as if I’ve walked into a world where all the laws of nature are broken.”

“Maybe not broken, but certainly bent.” He threaded his arm through hers and he nodded toward the picture of the physicist. “Hawking is closer than he thinks to unraveling the theory of time travel. As for the rest… my race did what they could to survive. Our scientists didn’t set out to make us immortal. It was a violent time. We faced extinction at the hands of our enemies.”

She felt his fingers tense on her arm and put her hand over his. “It’s okay. That’s in the past.”

“Is it?”

A blistering wind stirred the trees overhead and she pulled her coat tighter around her.

“Let’s talk about something else. O’Donnell and Marcail, did they ever marry?”

Gavin laughed. “Aye, and he insisted that a passage from
Canterbury Tales
be recited at the ceremony. He said he’d never remembered reading the book before, but he had a fondness for it nonetheless. He mentioned that you would understand.“

Amber smiled and rubbed the scar on her hand. “And Angus, is he still Lachlan’s right-hand man? And Elaenor…”

“Wait, I almost forgot.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out several pieces of folded paper and handed it to her.

Xeroxed copies of an old handwritten letter crinkled as she opened them.

My dearest Amber,

If you are reading this letter I hope it will mean that you and my brother are once again united, destiny is such an overused word, but truly, the two of you are destined to be together.

Now, where should I begin? ‘Perhaps by telling you the real reason that I went to see Elizabeth so long ago. It was to dissuade her from thinking it possible that anyone could travel through time, you see, by then I knew you were the person her astrologer spoke of.

Amber began to read the second page. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “Elaenor named one of her children after me.”

“You meant a lot to her, a lot to us all. Come, let’s find a place out of this wind and I’ll answer all your questions. Whenever I began to take myself too seriously, you found a way to shake me out of it. No wonder my brother loves you.”

Amber closed her eyes and drank in the full measure of the words he’d spoken. She opened them as a group of students passed by, no doubt in a hurry to class. Their conversation and laughter were hushed, their young faces full of hopes and dreams. If d been a long time since Amber felt that way. But Gavin’s words, casually spoken, had brought back the emotion. Lachlan MacAlpin loved her, after all this time, and God help her, she loved him as well.

The smell of vanilla, brown sugar, and chocolate filled the compact kitchen. Amber turned the burner under the saucepan on medium. She yawned and stretched. It was late. Maybe two or three in the morning, but it'd been worth it.

She stirred the dark liquid with a wooden spoon. Ten more minutes and it would be ready to pour into the oblong pan. In a short time after that it would be walnut fudge. She needed a distraction after seeing Lachlan yesterday. Amber wiped the perspiration from her forehead. She was incapable of rational thought when he was around. There were issues she needed resolved. An image of the large mahogany desk slowly appeared in her mind. She smiled.

The hallway door opened. Aunt Dora shuffled into the room in her rose-print, flannel nightdress. She removed the crocheted shawl she always wore and draped it over the chair by the round oak table.

“It is as warm and muggy in here as a July day in London. What have you been doing, child?”

“Baking. By the way, we’re out of semi-sweet chocolate and cocoa. I’ll make a trip to the store in the morning. What are you doing up so late?“

“Couldn’t sleep with all the racket.” Her aunt smiled, reached for the teakettle and carried it to the sink. “It’s been a while since you’ve fussed in the kitchen.” She filled the kettle with water. “Are we expecting guests?”

Amber shook her head. “No, I just made a few desserts.”

Her aunt nodded, brought the pot back to the stove and then sat down. “I thought, perhaps, you might have invited your professor for a visit. What was his name?”

“Lachlan MacAlpin. No, I haven’t invited him to the cottage.”

Aunt Dora wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and drummed her fingers lightly on the table.

Amber frowned. “Don’t give me that look.”

“I can’t imagine what you mean. A man sends you two dozen, long-stemmed, red roses and you don’t as much as ask him over for a cup of tea. I understand perfectly. You’re American. But the man should be thanked properly for his thoughtful gesture.”

Amber concentrated on the fudge, grateful her aunt was not a mind reader. She hadn’t thanked him, but…

“Is it warm in here? I think I’ll let in some air.”

She felt her aunt’s gaze as she opened the window over the sink. A breeze from the River Ness drifted into the room.

“His name is curious.”

Amber turned. “Lachlan is a common name in Scotland.”

“Maybe so, maybe so. I have heard numerous stories about a man who called himself Lachlan. Such tales have long been a part of the local legends. A popular choice in a name.“

Amber bent over her pot and stirred the chocolate. She did not like the direction of their conversation.

“It is said he pulled more than one woman out of the waters in his search for the lass he loved and who would save him from his curse.” Aunt Dora rubbed her chin. “I can’t seem to remember what that was.”

“Insanity.”

“Yes, that was it. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Lachlan of the Loch, he was called. It was believed to be good luck to name a firstborn after him.”

Amber licked chocolate from her finger and looked over at her aunt. “Why are you telling me this story?”

“Your man’s name is Lachlan, as well, is it not? A good name, a good man, I always say.”

“You just made that up. I’ve never heard you say that before.”

“Well, no matter, it sounds as if it should be true.”

The sticky chocolate in the pan bubbled. Amber turned the burner to low. At three in the morning cooking had seemed like a good idea to occupy her time. She could not sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she thought of Lachlan. Her aunt was not helping. She was not prepared to tell her about him. Not yet.

The kettle whistled. Amber took it off the stove and reached for the cups. As she made tea she could see her aunt fidgeting.

“There is another legend. Closer to home, one might say.”

Amber handed Aunt Dora a cup of steaming tea and returned to the chocolate on the stove. “Sometimes I think there are as many legends in Scotland as sheep.”

Her aunt poured milk in her tea. “This one should interest you. I always assumed you were named after an Amber who lived in the sixteenth century. An odd name for those times. She was loved greatly by a man named Lachlan and it was he who put the inscription in the book
The Canterbury Tales
. I do believe there is a connection between this man and the one we spoke of earlier.” She took a sip of tea before she continued her story.

“When this woman fell into the loch, it was believed she did not drown. She was taken to an enchanted place by the beastie that haunts the dark waters, until a time when Lachlan of the Loch would be worthy of her.”

The wooden spoon in Amber’s hand slipped into the thick fudge and slowly disappeared. She opened the drawer. The utensils clattered noisily as she fumbled for metal tongs. She began fishing for the submerged spoon. Aunt Dora was too close to the truth. Most people had relatives who had trouble with memory loss, but not Amber. She was blessed with an aunt who never forgot a thing.

Pulling the spoon out, she tossed it in the sink and reached for another one. The thick syrupy confection started to boil up the sides of the pan. Amber stirred until the muscles in her arm burned. Concentrating on the fudge, and not on her aunt’s words, was the best plan. She didn’t want to talk about Lachlan. She’d said good-bye to him. It was time to start over.

“Want some more tea?”

“I’m fine, dear. Anyway, as I was saying, this man put an inscription in
Canterbury Tales
. It was said to be the lass’ favorite. He believed she would return to him one day.” Aunt Dora’s voice lowered as though

she were confiding a secret. “You see, it is said the lad was enchanted and could live forever. A lovely story, just lovely. Because the girl was a MacPhee, he gave die book to the head of the clan for safekeeping. You can imagine how pleased our ancestors were that a laird had taken such an interest in them and so they named each firstborn girl after his great love.”

“I’ve never heard that story.”

Aunt Dora picked at the fringe of her shawl. “You were not to be told. It was one of the conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Aye, the laid takes good care of us.”

Amber wiped her hands on a dish towel and gazed at her aunt.

“How long have you known?”

“I knew, for certain, when he sent you the flowers. But you haven’t answered my question. Exactly how many sweets have you made, dear?”

Amber threw the towel on the drain board. “You should have told me.”

“About being out of cocoa? How was I to know you were going to bake?”

“You know what I’m talking about. If I’d known about this stupid legend I wouldn’t have been so frightened when I zipped back to the sixteenth century.”

Aunt Dora laced her hands in her lap. “Dear, I’ve never seen you afraid in your life. I’m sure you handled it well. By the way, is fudge supposed to smell that way?”

The gentle rolling boil had escalated out of control and the pungent odor of burnt sugar hung in the air. The fudge was ruined. Amber took the pan from the burner and turned off the stove.

“Lachlan likes his food burnt. I have to know one

thing, when you sent me off to the medieval reenactment at the Abbey, did you know what was going to happen to me?“

Aunt Dora did not answer directly. “Do you love him?”

“It’s not that simple. Lachlan’s immortal.” Amber didn’t mean to blurt it out, but there it was. Anyway, she’d like to see how her aunt rationalized that concept.

“Of course he is, dear. How else could he have waited four hundred years for you?”

“You can’t be serious. How can you talk about it so casually? This is not a legend or tall tale. This is real.”

Aunt Dora sat looking at her as though Amber had announced Lachlan was good in arithmetic, instead of the fact that he lived during the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, straight through the Elizabethan period, Napoleanic wars and both World Wars. She combed her fingers through her hair.

“Okay. Tell me why you can talk about his immortality as if it was on the same level of importance as a person’s height.”

She frowned. “You are missing the point, lass.”

Amber straightened. “Missing the point?”

Aunt Dora set her cup on the table. “You have been away from the Highlands too long.”

“What has that to do with it? I have a teaching job in the States, a life there, and friends.”

“Of course, and I’m sure it is a fine position. However, don’t you see, in America, you believe only in what you can explain. Give them a few hundred years and everything will be as it should be.”

Amber took a deep breath. At least her aunt hadn’t called America “the Colonies.”

“Are you telling me that immortality is an easy thing to understand, just because Scotland has been around since before Rome invaded the place?“

“Precisely, and there are legends to prove it. There are stories of clans who had the gift of long life that date back to the Celts, and beyond.”

Sheets of gray rain washed against the window. In the hall, the grandfather clock struck four times. The chimes vibrated through the snug cottage. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll ask you again. Do you love him?” Amber set the pan with the scorched fudge in the sink. “I can’t talk about this right now.” She turned the water on to soak the pan. “Raspberry chocolate butter creams and chocolate mousse are in the refrigerator. Chocolate chip cookies are cooling on the rack and there are brownies in the oven. They should be ready in about ten minutes. And, of course, the fudge. In the morning I’ll make a chocolate layer cake. What do you think?”

Aunt Dora brushed imaginary crumbs off her flannel sleeve. “I remember at least two other times my kitchen was reduced to such a state. Chocolate was the main ingredient then as well. However, this time you’ve really outdone yourself. What I think is that you have no business traveling back to the States when you have a perfectly good man who, shall we say, has passed the test of time right here. And I think you answered my question.”

Amber turned over in her bed. Her aunt had agreed that she could resume her marathon baking spree in the morning. But Amber couldn’t sleep. The light of the moon cast a soft glow across her bed. She looked at the florescent numbers on the clock. 5:00 A.M. Amber wondered if Lachlan had the same problem.

She rolled onto her back and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. She certainly hoped so. Maybe it didn’t matter to him that she’d grow old and he wouldn’t, but it bugged the hell out of her.

A floorboard creaked. It was probably Missy, Aunt Dora’s cat, exploring the house again. Amber closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her shoulder. She hear the sound again. This time it seemed to be coming from inside her room. That was odd. Usually Missy announced her entrance with a loud meow.

She felt a hand over her mouth and the point of a knife touch her throat. Startled, she jumped. Her heart raced. Sharp pain shot through her as the blade pricked her skin. She grabbed for the hand that held her. A man stood over her, blocking the light from the moon. His features were unclear in the dark shadows.

He pressed the blade against her skin. “Scream and I’ll slice your throat as easy as warm butter. The phone line’s cut, don’t get any smart ideas.”

Amber froze. The voice was familiar. Her thoughts focused on her aunt. She’d better be all right.

The man removed the knife from her neck and stared at her.

She rubbed her throat. “Who are you and what do you want?” She sat up, grateful she slept in sweats, and peered at her assailant in the shadows. Medium build and height.

He flicked on the switch to the lamp beside her bed. “Don’t you recognize me?”

She stiffened as memories flooded back. “Bartholomew.” She grabbed the lamp and threw it at him. “You pushed me in the loch.”

He ducked. “Clever girl.”

She remembered him coming toward her on the cliff. His tunic had been soaked with blood. “Why?”

His breath smelled like stale beer. “Because Lachlan killed my brother and I wanted him to suffer. I suspected you might survive and return to your own time. So I waited. When I read about your miraculous rescue by the famous Professor MacAlpin, I knew I had a second chance. I’m going to kill you in front of Lachlan and then cut out his heart.”

Amber shrank against the headboard. She had to warn Lachlan.

“You, lady, are bait. Nothing more. They say the great warrior, Lachlan MacAlpin, will no longer raise a sword to fight. That will change.” His laughter was high-pitched. “Cooperate and I’ll spare the old woman sleeping in the next room.”

He turned the knife in his hand. The blade caught the light from the window. “Don’t cause me any trouble.” He reached behind Amber for her pillow and stabbed it several times. White feathers floated through the air. “You can be in one piece when I present you to Lachlan or many. Either way it will have the effect I need. Get dressed. We journey to Loch Ness.”

“Why there?”

He twisted the knife in his hand. “Because that is where the great Lachlan MacAlpin will be. I sent him a message that I was using underwater bombs to kill the Guardian.”

Amber’s legs trembled beneath her. They barely held her weight. She scrambled off the bed. Her fingers felt stiff as she pulled on a sweater. She took a deep breath. She needed to remain calm if she and her aunt were going to survive. Her hands shook as she reached for her shoes. Stay calm, she repeated over and over to herself. Think.

She stood. “I have to leave Aunt Dora a note. She’ll be worried and might call the police.”

He stepped toward her and grabbed her arm. “Write it plain.”

Amber grabbed a pen and an envelope from the dresser.

Aunt Dora,

I’ve gone for a swim in the loch, be back in a few hours.

L
ove, Amber

Jostled into the backseat of a car, which was badly in need of a tune-up, Amber lay on her stomach. Her hands were tied behind her and her mouth was gagged. Bartholomew was a dead man. Her aunt would understand the hidden message in her note. She had to.