“Yes,” she said. “I’ll tell you. But I need you to listen to every word.”
Chapter 15
Eadan sat in stunned silence, trying to comprehend what Fiona had just told him.
She'd told him she was from the twenty-first century, and she’d arrived through some sort of portal in the ruins of a castle in the village of Tairseach. She used strange terms to describe the time she was from—cars, technology, airplanes—words that barely penetrated his stunned haze.
Now, her beautiful eyes were locked on his, a silent plea in their depths. Eadan had to look away from her. Christ, he thought. Is the lass mad?
Though he should have been concerned, a sense of betrayal flowed through him. If she wasn’t mad, she was a manipulator. Could she be one of Dughall’s spies after all?
“You don’t believe me.”
He forced his gaze back to Fiona. Her eyes had filled with tears, splintering his heart. He got to his feet, tugging on his clothes with shaking hands.
“Of course you don’t,” she continued, her voice wavering. “I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t believe me either.”
He turned to face her, trying to form words, but he needed to determine which Fiona was—mad or manipulative. She was the picture of loveliness, looking at him with utter sincerity in her eyes, clutching the bedcovers to her luscious breasts.
He forced himself to look away from her, clenching his fists at his side, his heart hardening. This was why he didn’t have relationships; he never should have allowed himself to care for her.
“Eadan?”
“I’ll arrange transport for wherever ye want tae go,” he said tightly, still not looking at her. Mad or manipulator, he still wanted to keep her safe, fool that he was. And if she was indeed a spy, it was best he sent her off sooner rather than later.
“Eadan—wait—” her voice choked on a sob as he strode to the door. He faltered, his hand on the doorknob. She’s already made you weak, a phantom voice whispered. Still, he lingered, waiting for her to continue. “I—can tell you something. Something that will make you believe me.” She took a breath. "King Robert. He's ill, isn't he?"
"Aye," Eadan said, confused. Why was she bringing up King Robert? "But he's expected tae get well, and—”
"He won't get well, Eadan. Tomorrow’s the nineteenth of April. He will die, and his son will take the throne as King Robert III. I went to a history museum before I—arrived here."
"Museum?" he echoed blankly.
"It's like a library. It keeps historical records. They're common in my time," she said. "That's where I learned this." She paused, studying his tight expression. “It—it’s important to me that you believe me.”
Eadan studied her, a chill coiling around him. She was lucky he was not a superstitious man, and that he wasn’t particularly fond of the king, who hadn’t come to his clan’s aid when they’d needed him in years past. It was dangerous to speak of the death of the king.
But there was something in her eyes, a keen desperation that made him hesitate. He told himself he was a fool for believing her, for falling into what could be a trap. But there was a part of him that wanted—needed—to believe her. Because, God help him, his feelings for her went beyond desire. He’d never cared for another woman the way he cared for her. And he suspected he never would.
He tried to keep his voice rough as he said, “I’m putting a guard on this door ’til I can confirm yer story. Ye're not tae leave.”
Fiona paled, but she nodded. And Eadan forced himself to leave the room.
When he met with several trusted men of his clan in his private study, he kept the discussion centered on his suspicions about Dughall and his connection to Naoghas’s disappearance. But Eadan could barely concentrate, his thoughts still consumed by Fiona and her mad story. Ronan noticed his preoccupation, giving him long looks.
After he’d given his men their orders to look into the disappearance, Ronan lingered behind. Eadan considered telling him of Fiona’s story, but decided against it. He’d think Eadan was mad for even considering it.
“Ye all right, Eadan?” Ronan asked.
“Aye,” Eadan lied. “I just want tae get this business with Dughall taken care of.”
Ronan kept his gaze trained on him, as if detecting his cousin wasn’t being truthful, before leaving him be.
It was difficult to stay away from Fiona for the rest of the day, but he needed to keep his distance until he could confirm her story.
To his irritation, Magaidh came to the hall for supper. She sat at his side, giving him a demure smile, but he could see the hatred that glinted in her eyes. Eadan clenched his teeth; he’d hoped that Dughall would keep her away from the castle.
“Where is yer wife?” Magaidh asked with feigned innocence, her eyes sweeping the hall.
“She’s not well,” he said tightly. He wanted to confront her about her lies to her father about Fiona’s visit but held his tongue. There was no use getting her riled up, not when he was secretly investigating her father. Soon, God willing, the pretense of their betrothal would be over.
“Forgive my jealousy,” she said, lowering her gaze. He could tell she was trying to appear contrite. “’Tis hard for me. There’s a lass living in the castle that ye care for.”
This time, when she looked at him, her eyes were almost sincere, but Eadan knew better.
“She’ll be gone soon.” It was difficult to say the words, and a spiral of pain filled him as he spoke them. Even though she may be mad, or a spy, he didn’t want to send her away.
He managed to get through the rest of the meal, forcing himself to make small talk with Magaidh, though tension danced beneath every line of conversation. He couldn't help but compare the two: Fiona was generous and kind, Magaidh cool and manipulative. Fiona had a natural beauty that was only enhanced by her wide, open smiles, while Magaidh's beauty was severe, her smiles tight, and full of cunning. He recalled the genuine awe in Fiona's eyes as she'd taken in the landscape outside the castle; he'd never seen Magaidh look at anything that way. But there was no contest between Magaidh and Fiona—not even close. He'd never felt the slightest need and desire for Magaidh, nor any other woman, the way he felt for Fiona.
Warmth and desire swept over him as he recalled the way she'd whimpered and moaned beneath him as he made love to her. He clenched his fists at his sides, expelling a breath.
Ye need tae stay away from the lass, he told himself. Until ye ken she's being truthful.
But he didn't heed his own directive. After he excused himself from the table before the customary drinking began, he headed to Fiona’s chamber, unable to stop himself. One of his men, Osgar, stood outside her door, and gave him a look of surprise as he approached.
“Ye can take yer leave,” he told Osgar.
Fiona sat at a table in the center of her chamber, painting on a piece of parchment. She looked up when he entered, and his chest tightened when he saw the look of wariness in her eyes. Her eyes usually lit up whenever he entered the room.
“Did—did Una send yer meals in?” he asked gruffly.
“Yes,” Fiona said, standing. The corners of her mouth twitched in a smile. “She gave me too much food, actually.”
Eadan couldn’t help but smile. Una had taken a liking to Fiona, he could tell. His smile faded as he approached, taking her by the arms and searching her eyes.
“Are ye lying tae me, lass?” He knew he was weak for asking, but he didn’t want to believe Fiona was capable of such deceit.
“I wish I was,” Fiona whispered. “But you’ll see. Tomorrow, the king will die. Confirm the news however you can.”
He searched her eyes, but he only saw sincerity there.
Eadan stayed with her that night, just holding her in his arms as she drifted off to sleep. He’d told himself he would stay way until he confirmed her story, but it was as if some force kept drawing him to her. His eyes swept over her lovely features, and his heart clenched. What have ye done tae me, lass?
> Chapter 16
It was late the next evening when a messenger arrived from the king’s castle in Dundonald with the news that King Robert had died, and his son was to succeed him.
Eadan read the letter with shaky hands, but it wasn’t surprise that filled him. It was guilt. Some part of him had known, as impossible at it was, that Fiona spoke the truth. She’d told him the truth and he’d doubted her.
He recalled with a chill a question she’d asked the night he met her. What year is it? With everything that happened with Dughall, he’d forgotten about that odd question; buried it in the corner of his mind. But now it came to him with the force of a sword’s blow.
He tore down the corridor to Fiona’s chamber. When he found it empty, panic coursed through him. Had she left and returned to her own time? Or worse, had one of Dughall’s men gotten into the castle and taken her?
He turned when he heard footsteps, and relief filled him at the sight of Fiona approaching the chamber from the far end of the corridor, Ronan at her side. She stiffened at the sight of him, and the defensive look that came across her face splintered his heart.
“I needed air. Ronan took pity on me. I—”
“It’s no matter,” he said, striding forward to take her hand. “Ronan, leave us.”
Ronan obliged him, but he saw an irritating look of amusement in his cousin’s eyes as he pulled Fiona into the chamber, closing the door behind them.
Unable to stop himself, he pressed her to the door, leaning in to kiss her, breathing her in. Fiona remained stiff for only a moment before responding, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her beautiful body close to his. He wanted to hold her close to him forever, but he made himself pull back.
When they broke apart, they were both breathless. She studied him, hope filling her eyes.
“You believe me?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he whispered. “Just got word from the king’s castle. But even if I hadn’t, I should’ve believed ye. I’m a fool. I should’ve believed ye as soon as ye told me. I’m sorry.”
“You do now,” Fiona said, relief flooding her expression as she gave him a wavering smile. “That’s all that matters to me.”
But the elation of Fiona forgiving him quickly faded. She didn’t belong in this time and he had no right to keep her here. He took a breath, forcing himself to say his next words.
“Now it’s even more urgent that we get ye out of here and back tae yer own time. I can accompany ye tae Tairseach.”
Conflict flared in Fiona’s eyes. Eadan reached out to cup her face.
“Ye’re safe in yer own time. It's tae dangerous for ye here.”
Fiona bit her lip, looking as if she'd protest, but she gave him an abrupt nod.
“You’re right,” she whispered.
A heaviness settled over Eadan as he and Fiona slipped from the castle. They left through the rear, and he made Fiona place the plaid cloak around her head to conceal herself.
As they rode away from the castle, his tumult increased. An ache had begun to grow in his chest, one he suspected would continue to expand after she’d gone. This mysterious lass from the future had embedded herself in his heart and he didn’t know how he’d remove her. He didn’t want to.
Eadan tried to focus on the feel of her hands around his back as they rode, her natural honeyed scent that he hoped to memorize. He forced himself to ignore the tightness in his gut, gripping the reins with such force his knuckles turned white. Eadan had to remind himself, repeatedly, that this was for the best, that Dughall could harm her; it didn’t matter that once she'd gone, his heart would return to its cage of isolation, likely never to emerge again.
They soon arrived at the abandoned village of Tairseach, and a chill crept down Eadan’s spine. Like many who lived in the area, he’d heard tales of Tairseach, how people went missing here. Many believed there was dark magic at play, or that ancient druid witches had something to do with the disappearances. Eadan hadn’t fallen prey to the same beliefs, but unease filled him whenever he heard rumors about the village.
But now he knew the reason for the disappearances. Tairseach was a portal through time.
Behind him, Fiona’s grip tightened on him as he guided the horse through the empty village, past the old crumbling cottages and workshops until they reached the ruins of the castle on the edge of the village.
They dismounted, and Eadan tied the horse to a tree while Fiona stiffly faced the castle. She turned to glance back at the village, a look of quiet amazement on her face.
“It looked similar in my time,” she murmured. She turned, pointing to the base of the castle with trembling hands.
“That’s where it happened,” she said. “In my time. I was following a woman, I ended up in the cellar, there was a wind—and I arrived in your castle somehow.”
Eadan again cursed himself for not believing her right away. There was a genuine haunted look in Fiona’s eyes.
“Then this must be the way back,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Fiona stiffened as she looked at him, her eyes filling with . . . pain? Longing? But the look was quickly gone as she turned back to face the castle, taking a shaky step forward.
“Do you hear that?” she breathed. “That wind?”
Eadan frowned, shaking his head. The day was perfectly still, not even a light breeze stirred the grass.
“No.”
Fiona swallowed, still studying the castle. “It must be the portal.”
Eadan nodded, trying to keep his expression stoic even as the ache in his heart grew. Leave, he silently urged Fiona. Before I do something foolish like trying to convince ye tae stay.
But it would be selfish to convince her to stay. He had to return his focus to gathering evidence against Dughall, finding his steward, keeping his clan safe from Clan Acheson. Fiona didn’t belong in this time. Didn’t belong with him.
“Then ye should go,” he said, hating the way his voice trembled.
Fiona’s eyes glistened with tears when she again looked at him. She opened her mouth to say something, before falling silent again.
He stepped forward, forcing himself to give her just a brief kiss.
“Be safe and happy, Fiona,” he whispered.
“You too,” she said shakily, blinking back tears.
Fiona turned and approached the castle. Eadan watched her go, clenching his hands at his side, forcing himself to stay still, to not run after her . . . until she disappeared inside the castle.
He wasn’t expecting the sudden pain that seared his chest like a scorching fire, and he had to expel a sharp breath and close his eyes.
’Tis for the best, he reminded himself, but that didn’t ease his pain. The world around him already seemed dimmer with her absence. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel the natural joy that filled him every time she was around.
He started to turn back to his horse, but froze when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
It was Fiona. She stalked out of the castle toward him, a determined gleam in her eyes.
“Fiona—” he began, startled.
“We made a deal,” she said. “I help you, then you help me get back.”
“Ye have helped me,” he said, even as hope and delight spiraled through him. “Ye posed as my bride, and—”
“But you still don’t know what Dughall’s up to. We still have time before his deadline. You can still gather evidence he’s working against you and your clan. I can help—by doing more than just posing as your bride. Only then will I leave. I don’t know about this time, but in my time . . . a deal’s a deal.”
Fiona raised her head with defiance as if expecting him to protest. Admiration, joy, relief, and an emotion he couldn’t identify coursed through him. He stepped forward, taking both her hands.
“Aye,” he said, smiling. “A deal’s a deal.”
Chapter 17
When Fiona had entered the ruins of the castle, she’d heard the vortex of wind from its
base—the same wind she’d heard the day she was transported here. But something stopped her; it was like her feet were anchored to the ground.
This is what you wanted, she’d told herself. To return to your own time.
But she wasn’t ready to leave this time. She’d turned and stalked from the castle, determination rising within her. And while the words she spoke to Eadan were true—she did want to help him—she also knew they were an excuse. She wanted to stay with him for as long as she could. The connection she had with Eadan went beyond the physical; it was as if a part of her craved his presence. His deep, rumbling voice, his cerulean blue eyes, the way he looked at her when he didn’t think she was aware—with not just desire, but with affection and a hint of longing. She knew in her heart she’d never have such a connection with anyone again, and it was just her luck that her perfect man was a Scottish laird from the fourteenth century.
But Fiona tried not to think of this as Eadan led her back to his horse. She leaned forward, relishing in the feel of his strong body against hers as they rode back to Macleay Castle. There was no part of her that felt an ounce of regret as the ruins of the castle and Tairseach faded into the distance behind them. Instead, as they approached Eadan’s castle, she felt as if she were returning home.
Back at the castle, Eadan led her to her chamber, where he closed the door behind them.
“While I’m here, I think I should work in the kitchens,” she said, turning to face him.
“Why?” Eadan asked, looking puzzled.
“If Dughall already hired one of your servants to spy, I’m guessing he’s approached others. If I ingratiate myself with the servants in the kitchens they might be more apt to confide in me.”
“I doonae ken,” Eadan said, shaking his head. “I may treat my servants well, but they’d not be comfortable making friends with the laird’s wife.”
“Not friends, exactly,” Fiona said, “but comfortable enough to eventually confide in me. If I ask. All it takes is one.”
[Highlander Fate 01.0] Eadan's Vow Page 8
