Cottage in the Mist

by Dee Davis

  "Are you certain that I won't be intruding? I mean, Val said they'd only just arrived. They might not want a stranger in their home. Is there another inn somewhere close by?" She actually hated the idea of leaving, but she equally hated the idea of imposing where she wasn't wanted.

  "They were delighted to know you were coming. After all, they're only a wee bit older than you. And I expect they'll be happy to have someone their own age about. Mr. Abernathy and I aren't exactly spring chickens."

  Lily was fairly certain Agnes Abernathy could keep up with the springiest of spring chickens. "Well, I'll look forward to meeting them, then. And I am happy to be here."

  And surprisingly, she realized, she spoke the truth. Despite everything, she was glad she'd come. Glad that she'd wrecked her car. Because if she hadn't, she'd never have found the cottage. And even if it had been a figment of her imagination, she had no regrets.

  Bram Macgillivray was more than worth losing a little bit of her sanity. And the memory of their night together—real or imagined—was something she'd always cherish.

  Smothering a yawn, Lily pulled her attention back to her hostess. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm a bit more tired than I realized."

  "And me going on like a chatterbox," Mrs. Abernathy said. "Let me show you to your room. What you need is a good sleep. Everything will be clearer in the morning. You'll see."

  Lily was too tired to ask how Mrs. Abernathy knew there were things that needed to be cleared up. As she followed the older woman up the stairs to her room, she had the crazy thought that maybe Mrs. Abernathy already knew about the cottage.

  About Bram.

  Although that was hardly possible.

  Still, this was the Highlands. And as Mrs. Abernathy had said—there was magic in the air.

  *****

  "Is she here?" Bram asked, striding into the small room where Katherine was hanging dried herbs.

  "Is who here?" Katherine asked as she tied a piece of twine around a bunch of dried leaves. Rosemary, if he was smelling right. His mother had kept a room much like this one, ready with the herbs and poultices she needed to heal various ailments.

  "Lily." Bram tried but failed to keep the impatience from his voice. "She said she was coming to see you. And when I couldn't find her this morning, I'd hoped to find her here."

  Katherine frowned. "I'm not acquainted with anyone by that name. And as far as I know, no one has arrived today. I think with all the concern over your situation, Fergus would have told me if they had."

  Bram dropped into a chair, his heart constricting. "Then where can she be?"

  "Where can who be?" Iain Mackintosh's voice filled the room as he entered, Ranald Macqueen following on his heels. Iain was a giant of a man with inky black hair and intelligent eyes. There was little he missed. And nothing he couldn't handle. Especially when he was with Ranald. The two men had been best friends since they were just wee boys and Bram counted their kinship among his most cherished.

  "Bram seems to have lost someone important," Katherine said, crossing over to her husband.

  The joy reflected on both of their faces made Bram's heart twist even more. Before last night he would have admired their commitment. Maybe even been envious of their obvious devotion. But it now… now he had some inkling of how powerful their love really was. And how rare.

  "I'm so glad you're back." She rose on tiptoe to kiss him, her arms sliding around his neck.

  "I was only gone a few days." Iain's laughter filled the room. "But I missed you as well."

  Ranald cleared his throat. "Not that I dinna appreciate the fact that the two of you canna stand being parted, but I think we have more pressing matters to deal with."

  "Aye," Iain said, his arm still around his wife. "We came as soon as we got Katherine's message."

  "Is Ailis not with you?" Katherine asked.

  "Nay," Ranald said. "She's with my mother. She's no' been well, and Ailis wanted to stay until she's feeling better."

  Bram's Aunt Ealasaid had always been a favorite and he hated to hear that she was unwell. "Is it something to worry about?" he asked.

  "Nay." Ranald shook his head. "She's only caught a wee chill. But Ailis insisted on staying."

  "Well then, your mother is a lucky woman. She'll be in good hands with Ailis." Katherine smiled.

  "That she will," Ranald agreed. "But of course it means you'll have to suffer my presence here. I canna imagine going back to Tur nan Clach without her." It was no secret that Ranald wasn't as fond of his wife's holding as he was of the lady herself.

  "So tell me, then," Iain said, his gaze moving to Bram, "who is this woman you have managed to lose?"

  "I dinna know much about her, really. Her name is Lily," Bram said, leaning forward on a sigh. "And I found her by my fire last night. She got caught in the storm. Soaked to the skin, she was. With a knot on her head the size of a bannock. I took her in. And I took care of her."

  Ranald covered his mouth with his hand and smothered a laugh.

  Bram shot him a quelling look, and at least his cousin had the good sense to look chagrinned. "'Twas no' like that. She was hurt and she needed my help."

  Actually Ranald was right, but he wasn't about to admit it. God's truth, he'd taken advantage of Lily, there was no getting around it. Which might explain why she'd run away. But he'd be damned if he'd let her go so easily.

  "So when you woke this morning she was gone?" Iain asked, obviously sensing the note of desperation in Bram's voice.

  "Nay. She was there. Sleeping. So I went to get more wood for the fire. And then I heard her call for me. Or at least I thought I did. But when I got back to the cottage, she was gone."

  "Poof," Ranald said, snapping his fingers. "Like a fairy."

  "That's no' funny," Bram snapped. "Something could have happened to her."

  "I know, lad. I'm no' making sport of your plight. 'Tis just that the three of us have had some experience with the fairies." He shot a smile at Katherine, who blushed as Iain grinned.

  "Well, if you're saying that I'm imagining her, I can prove otherwise." Bram reached into his sporran, removing a piece of folded leather. "I have her slipper. She left it in the cottage." He held it out and Iain took it.

  "'Tis very fine." He frowned, staring at something on the inside of the sole. "There's something written here. To-ry Burch," he read, then looked down at his wife. "Do these words mean something to you?"

  Katherine took the slipper from her husband as if needing to see the words for herself. Then with a quiet nod, she sat down, the color draining from her face. "It's a name. A woman who designs shoes."

  Ranald and Bram moved closer, the four of them staring down at the leather slipper in Katherine's hand. Bram's stomach was churning. Something in Katherine's face made Ranald's talk of fairies seem suddenly less offhand.

  "And this woman," Iain said, his gaze moving to his wife's, "this designer—" He stumbled a bit over the word. "—is she from your world?"

  "Yes." Katherine nodded, handing the slipper back to Iain. "She is."

  "Which means, cousin o' mine," Ranald said, this time his voice somber, "that your Lily is no' of our world either. Which goes a long way to explaining why she simply seems to have disappeared."

  CHAPTER 7

  "SO YOU'RE TELING ME that Katherine—your wife—is no' from our time." Bram drew in a deep breath and released it. Just saying the words out loud seemed ludicrous.

  "Aye." Iain shrugged. They'd moved from Katherine's keeping room to the great hall and were sitting on the benches by the fire. Iain's arm was around Katherine. "We dinna know the how or the why of it, but 'tis the truth."

  "Ach, come now, man," Ranald said. "You know the why of it." He turned this attention to Bram. "Their love binds them together. It was the strength of it that pulled Katherine through to our time."

  Bram's head was reeling. Their tale was as fanciful as any he'd ever heard, and yet, looking at the two of them, he knew it had to be true. Some of it he'd even heard himself
. He'd known that her appearance had seemingly come out of nowhere, and that some of the people who'd met her doubted the story of her coming from France.

  But no one dared force the issue. Not with Iain.

  And Katherine was well loved by the Mackintoshes. Not much chance of anyone taking issue with her supposed history when she had all of Clan Chattan behind her. And besides, those who'd met her had nothing but good to say. She was a strong woman, a perfect match for Iain.

  And here he was again thinking about love and marriage as if it were important to him. Two days ago he'd have laughed at the notion. But now…

  "So did this Lily say anything that made you think she dinna belong here?" Ranald was asking.

  They hadn't done that much talking. But he wasn't about to share that, not even with his cousins. "There were words that were a bit odd. She told me she wasna from the Highlands, but somewhere far away. Conn-ec-ti-cut, I think she called it."

  "It's a state," Katherine said. "In America. And you wouldn't have heard of it. It won't exist for another two hundred years or so."

  "Were you from Connecticut, too, then?" he asked, still trying to wrap his mind around the enormity of what they were saying.

  "No." She shook her head. "At least not anymore. I was living in New York. But it's nearby."

  "But York is in England," Bram said, his tone suspicious.

  "Seems in this new world, they're keen on using old names." Iain shrugged again, as if it was nothing at all to be talking about a future that was yet to exist. But then again he'd no doubt had practice.

  "Anyway," Ranald inserted, bringing them back to topic, "the point is that if your Lily is from the future, she's most likely been pulled back there again. Just like Katherine was the first time she met Iain."

  "And how long was it before you were together again?" Bram asked, not certain that he wanted to hear the answer.

  "Eight years," Katherine and Iain said almost in unison. The two of them smiled at each other, but Bram grimaced.

  "Bloody hell. How did you stand it then?" Bram fought against frustration.

  "They didn't," Ranald offered with a wry grimace. "At least not easily. Iain refused to consider any other woman even though he feared she'd only been a figment of his imagination."

  "And my brother, Jeff," Katherine offered, "always called Iain my fantasy man. He was convinced I'd made him up."

  "Jeff was the one who came here to find you?" Bram asked, remembering the story they'd told.

  "Yes." Katherine's eyes grew misty, and Iain squeezed her hand. "We were really close."

  "But now, you're here," Bram said. "And nothing is going to pull you away again?"

  "No." Again the two of them answered as one.

  "How can you be sure?" he asked.

  "Because they share one heart," Ranald answered for them.

  "We had to overcome a great many obstacles to be together. But we never doubted our love," Katherine said.

  "And when did you know for sure?" Bram thought again of Lily and the powerful connection they'd shared. "That you were meant to be together?"

  "From the first moment he touched me," Katherine said. "I never forgot. Even with all the time we were apart." She twined her fingers through Iain's. "And here we are. Just like any other old married couple."

  Ranald snorted.

  "I'd watch who you're mocking," Iain said. "I seem to remember a certain silver-haired lass bowling you over with merely a smile."

  "I'll no' argue with that," Ranald acquiesced. "I make no' secret o' the fact that I adore my wife. But she happens to hail from our very own century—which doesn't make as interesting a tale."

  "So you think that Lily will come back to me?" Bram asked, hating the pleading note in his voice. "For I have the notion that she's taken my heart with her back to this Connecticut."

  "I canna say anything for certain," Iain said, "except that the heart is a powerful thing. And what it wants canna be easily put aside. Even when separated by the boundaries of time."

  Bram nodded, feeling a stirring of hope and fear.

  "Perhaps 'tis best that she's no' here now," Ranald said. "With your father dead, and your enemies hunting you, she'd surely be in danger."

  Again Katherine and Iain exchanged a look.

  "You're thinking of Alisdair," Ranald said.

  "Aye." Iain nodded. "May the bastard rot in hell."

  "But we survived," Katherine said, her fingers tightening around Iain's. "And so shall you, Bram. And with luck you'll find your Lily as well." She stood up. "I'll leave you now. I know you have important things to discuss."

  The men stood.

  "You're a lucky man, Iain," Bram said as he watched her walk away.

  "Ach, don't I know it." They sat again, and Iain leaned forward. "But Katherine's right. We need to talk. What happened at Dunbrae?"

  Bram told them everything that had transpired. About his father's death. The Comyns. And the idea of a traitor in their midst.

  "What have you heard?" Bram asked, after finishing his tale.

  "You're no' going to like it," Ranald said, his grim expression foreboding.

  "Tell me."

  "They're saying you were the traitor." Iain's expression was inscrutable, and Bram felt anger rising. "That you were the one who killed your father."

  "They lie," Bram rose to his feet, reaching for his dirk.

  Ranald held out a hand in supplication. "Of course they do. The question being who exactly they are."

  "It has to be the Comyns," Bram insisted. "They're our closest enemy. And Alec Comyn would gain much by taking our holding."

  "Dunbrae wasn't taken, Bram," Iain said. "If it was Comyn, it wasn't because he wanted the tower."

  "Then why the attack?" Bram asked.

  "I dinna know." Ranald shrugged. "But revenge seems the most likely explanation. Had your father done something to anger the man?"

  "Not that he told me. But I'd only just arrived, and there had no' been much time for talking. If he dinna take the tower, then are my father's men in charge again?" His thoughts turned to Frazier and Robby.

  "Nay." Iain's eyes were filled with regret. "There were no survivors."

  Rage threatened to overcome him, and Bram's fingers closed around the dirk, the faces of his friends running through his mind. "I swear on my life, Alec Comyn will die for this."

  "You know I'll stand with you," Iain said. "But you must also know that Comyn is denying his involvement. And for the moment, your great uncle has chosen to believe him."

  "Because he values peace over his own kin." His words echoed his earlier conversation with Katherine. But it was the truth.

  "You know as well as I do that there was no love lost between your father and the Macgillivray chief." Iain's tone was firm but there was a note of sympathy as well. "And though the holding 'tis a bonny one, 'tis of no strategic significance to the clan."

  "Well, surely he canna hold with the notion that I killed my father. We were no' at odds. And besides, as I said, I'd only just returned to Dunbrae."

  "True enough. But you wouldn't be the first son to grow restless playing second fiddle." Ranald wasn't trying to goad him, but Bram reacted anyway, his tone harsher than he'd intended.

  "But 'tis no' true." He drew a breath and forced himself to calm. Nothing was gained in losing control. He was among family. Family he could trust. Iain and Ranald would help him. Of that he was most certain. "If I had killed my father, why then would I have run? The tower was taken. I surely would have stayed to celebrate the victory." The words choked him, but it was still a point well made.

  "I agree." Iain nodded. "There is much to the story that doesn't ring true."

  "But Ian Ciar believes the lies."

  "Your great uncle hears what he wants to hear." Ranald shrugged.

  "Right now, emotions are holding sway," Iain said. "Anger and fear are ruling the day."

  "And so now I am hunted not only by my enemies but by my kin as well?"

  "
We heard nothing that would indicate that the Macgillivray is taking action against you," Iain was quick to assure.

  "But we heard nothing to the contrary either," Ranald added. "And in light of the accusations against you, Malcolm petitioned your great uncle for Dunbrae."

  "Which he, no doubt, granted." Bram blew out a frustrated breath. There was a long history of anger between Bram's uncle Malcolm and his father. And their uncle, Ian Ciar, had always favored Malcolm.

  "Aye. He did," Iain said, anger sparking in his eyes.

  "Then my great uncle believes I'm a traitor." Bram fisted his hands. "And what of Moy? Does your uncle think I am a killer?"

  Iain sighed, his expression apologetic. "My uncle has more important matters to deal with. He's been called to Stirling to meet with the king. There's talk of a marriage between James and Margaret of Denmark. James is seeking support from the chieftains."

  "Support he's no' likely to get," Ranald mumbled.

  "So I'm on my own, then," Bram said, not surprised. Great men were interested only in the things that made them greater. And his father's holding was but a small one on the far edge of both the Macgillivray and Chattan lands. And, as Iain had said, the remote mountain valley was of little strategic use.

  "Nay, you're no' alone," Iain said, his tone commanding. "You've got the two of us and the men under our command."

  *****

  He kissed her neck and then the hollow between her breasts. Lily sucked in a breath, his touch sending shards of electricity arcing through her. Slowly, so very slowly, his lips caressed her skin, moving up the soft slope of her breast to pull the nipple into his mouth.

  Her body contracted as he tugged, desire threatening to tear her apart. "You're real," she whispered, her heart singing with the realization. Bram was real. She arched upward, wanting more. Wanting him…

  But suddenly the room faded and he was gone. Instead she stood high on a rocky precipice looking down into a narrow gorge. The wind whipped through her hair, its frigid breath leaving her uneasy. Across the way in the distance she could see Duncreag, the stone walls white in the pale moonlight, mere extensions of the rock surrounding them. From this vantage point it was easy to imagine its former grandeur.