He rubbed his eyes, leaning forward, his hand stretching out toward her. She looked down at his hand, looking scared before finally letting him hold it.
“It is the most beautiful tribute I could ever imagine,” he said quietly. “Ah thank ye.”
He held onto her fingers for another moment before letting go, shutting the emotions down that threatened to bubble up inside him. “Is that fish ready yet?”
“Huh?” she said, blinking as if unsure what he was talking about. “Oh, yes. Here you go.”
As they ate he kept stealing glances at her. She’d not only listened to him talking about his mother. She’d carved a tribute to her and to all those who’d died in the village.
Had she known she picked the chapel entrance to lay down the bluebells? No, of course not, that was impossible. All the same, something had guided her there. Quinn was right. There was something special about her.
At that moment he made a vow to himself. He would not rest for a single moment until he had repaid what she’d done for him. Whatever it might be, whatever it might take, he would repay her for the tribute to his childhood and his home.
Together, they ate their breakfast in silence.
9
The look on Tavish’s face told Lindsey everything she needed to know. He was clearly a tough man who had lived a hard life. His gruff exterior hid a depth she hadn’t expected.
When she’d first met him he seemed rude and abrupt but that was just on the surface. Underneath was something she hadn’t expected.
The miscarriage of justice had almost crushed him but somehow he’d found the strength to keep going, to keep living even when everyone else had given up on him. Behind the pain, there was a boy who’d loved his mother, who’d loved the place where he’d grown up. A boy like any other.
She’d seen the look when he was giving her the tour of his house, but she hadn’t understood it then. She saw it again when he fell into his chair after discovering her carving.
She hadn’t whittled the statue for him to find. She’d done it because it seemed like a fitting tribute to his mother and to a village vanished forever. She had no idea who’d lived there but she knew about the plague. Those who died did so in pain and fear.
The bluebell wreath and the carving represented everyone who’d gone, her tiny little tribute to a place and time she would soon be leaving forever. In a way, it was also her thanks to whatever force had brought her back through time, a way of showing her gratitude for what had happened.
She was grateful. Despite nearly drowning and initially thinking a brutish Highlander might kill her, despite the fact she was going to try and sneak into a castle and become a thief for the first time in her life. She was glad it had happened.
She had come back and would be able to do at least one good thing while she was in the Middle Ages in Scotland.
When he’d walked in after finding the carving, she was terrified of him. He no longer looked like the man she’d gotten to know over the last couple of days. He looked like a wild animal.
It took a moment to see past it. When she did, she was able to regain control of herself. She saw the tremble in his lip, the way his eye glistened as he sank into the chair. It wasn’t anger, it was something much deeper that was powering him.
Then the truth came out and they had held hands. Although she didn’t say it out loud, that was the moment she realized the true reason she was doing this.
It was the same reason why she’d decided to collect the bluebells she saw on the shore of the loch. A small patch of them under an ash tree, no other flowers anywhere to be seen. She looked at them whilst shivering from the effects of cleaning herself in the icy cold water. They spoke to her.
Kneeling down to collect the bluebells, she spotted a lump of wood next to them. It was out of place, looking like a freshly cut log rather than a fallen branch. It was the perfect size for her to carve.
She gathered it up while thinking of working on the Celtic design she’d seen inside Tavish’s house. It was while carrying the bluebells into the village that the idea came to her to carve something very different.
She had no idea what Tavish’s mother looked like. And yet when she heard a woman’s voice in his room the previous night, she could picture her perfectly.
Flaming red hair, tall, ethereal like an elf queen out of a Tolkien novel. The knife had moved in her hand with little conscious effort of her own, the figure emerging from the wood simply and without any effort.
She left the bluebells with the figure, her little memorial to all that had happened in the past.
She hadn’t planned for what would happen if he saw it. She had no clue he would return and end up holding her hand, showing her a softness hidden inside him. The look in his face as his warmth spread into her fingers was everything.
“I brought something with me,” she said when they’d finished breakfast, making a decision to share something she never thought she would. “From my time, I mean. Would you like to see?”
He nodded without saying anything, sitting bolt upright in his chair.
She reached into the folds of her cloak and brought out the photos. The water from her near-drowning had damaged them but she had still kept them, fearing they might be her only link to the present if she was unable to get back.
Although the colors had shifted and the images blurred it was still possible to make out the contents. She handed them to Tavish.
“What are these?” he asked, examining them closely. “Is this…is this ma hoose?”
She nodded. “We took them on a Polaroid camera when mom first got the place. Look, that’s her with the key.”
He stared in shock at the photos, touching the paper as if he thought they might come to life. He smiled. “She’s laughing. Why is she laughing?”
“Because she was given a key but there’s no front door left.”
He looked closer at the picture. “You look like her.”
“Do you think so?”
“Aye. I never knew what my mother looked like.” He handed the photos back, his fingers lingering on hers for a moment. “Ah could only wish for something such as that. How do you create a drawing so lifelike? It’s like witchcraft.”
“It’s not witchcraft. It’s…” She paused, realizing she had no idea how a camera actually worked. “It’s complicated but it’s not witchcraft.”
“Why are you showing me these?”
“Because you had a mom same as me. I want you to see mine and to know I want more than anything to make your house look like it does now to make both of you happy.”
“What? Have it filled with weeds and dust?”
She laughed. “No, filled with life. With a proper roof and walls and those Celtic marks your grandfather made.”
“What for?”
“To remember you when I go back.”
“Because I’m dead in your time, I ken.” His voice was quieter than before. “Tis strange to think of a world so far in the future yet so nearby.”
She put the photos away again. It wasn’t quite the reaction she’d been expecting but then she had somehow not been able to say what she wanted.
She wanted him to see she had nothing to hide, no secrets she was keeping, no matter how small. She trusted him and wanted him to trust her. He had hidden the locket when he hadn’t had to, he had looked after her from the moment she’d arrived in the Highlands.
She wanted to tell him something she was keeping to herself and that had been the perfect moment to do it but now the moment had passed and instead she’d talked about doing up the house. She’d been able to introduce him to her mother, in a sense, but she hadn’t been able to say the one thing she wanted to.
“Come on,” he said, getting out of the chair and crossing to the doorway. “Before our steed decides to make his own way to MacIntyre Castle.”
Later that day Lindsey encountered real penury, the kind she had never seen in her life. She and her mom might have been short of cash at tim
es, but nothing could have prepared her for the wretched hovel they passed in the late afternoon.
They’d just about worked their way through a broad valley surrounded by thin looking cattle and come out the other side to waste. The ground here was unused, no farms or signs of life anywhere.
They were high above sea level having gradually climbed for most of the day. Surrounding them in the distance were high mountains that cast the valley into shadow. At the far end of the valley, the land began to rise again.
Halfway up the hill, there was a glen that dipped toward a small pond. Beside it was a tumbledown building that looked one stiff breeze away from collapse.
At first, Lindsey thought the hovel was abandoned but then she heard a crying baby from inside. “We have to stop,” she said.
“Why?” Tavish grunted behind her.
“It might be alone in there.”
He didn’t say anything else, but he did turn the horse off the trail and toward the building. The nearer they got the more Lindsey’s nose began to wrinkle.
The smell rising from the place was awful. The stones were crumbling, rotten wood all that was holding up the roof of moldy straw. The baby’s cry continued as she slid from the horse and ran to the door, knocking loudly. “Anyone in?”
It opened at once, sending a darker smell out that was so strong she staggered back. From the gloom inside a figure emerged, a wraith, so thin her bones were visible through her ragged clothes.
“We’ve nothing to steal,” the figure said, not looking Lindsey in the eye. “Be on your way.”
A second figure emerged, leaning heavily on the doorframe. “Whit dae ye want?” It was a man, skin so pale it was almost see-through, eyes watering as he stared through her into the distance. Was he blind?
“Have you anything for the bairn?” the woman asked. “She starves and the crop was burned by the MacIntyre laird. They took ma husband’s eyes and all the food we had. Please, I beg you, help us.”
“Wait there,” Lindsey said, running back to Tavish who was still sitting on the horse. “We have to go back,” she said.
“What? Go back where? To the well?”
“Not the well, your house.”
“Why? What for?”
“To get the locket.” She was managing to hold back her tears but only just. “They need it.”
“Here,” he said, climbing down from the horse and slipping something into her hand, folding her fingers over it.
She looked down as he moved away. In her palm was a heavy gold coin. She ran back to the house. The man had vanished back inside. Lindsey could hear him attempting to shush the baby. “Take this,” she said, pressing the coin into the woman’s hand.
“And this,” a voice said behind her. She turned to see Tavish standing next to the horse. He looked at her and shrugged. “We’re nearly there, we can walk the rest of the way.” He spoke in a clear voice as he turned to the woman. “Take this beast and ride with your bairn to Castle Sinclair. Tell them Tavish will return with the sacred stone. They will feed you and your child for a lifetime in return for such news.”
The woman was still staring down at her hand as if she thought she might be dreaming. “This is more than ah’ve seen in ma life,” she said quietly. “I cannae take it. It is too much.”
“Ah willnae take it back,” Tavish said. “Leave the MacIntyres to their fate and take yours in your hands as we do our own. Come, while the light lasts. Get on.”
Lindsey stood to one side, watching as Tavish carried the baby out of the hovel. He held it while the man dragged himself up onto the horse.
It was hard to see people living like this. She’d read of Highlanders starving to death during the wars between the clans but this was the reality of it. Death leaning on the shoulders of three people who deserved so much more.
She wept quietly as she watched the man take the baby while Tavish helped the woman onto the horse.
“God protect you,” the man said as Tavish whispered into the long ear of their steed. The horse listened, understanding every word before turning and heading back south.
Lindsey wiped her eyes before Tavish reached her. “Ye must walk the rest of the way,” he said.
She threw her arms around him and burst into fresh tears. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder.
His arms held her tight while she cried until she could cry no more. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” she said when the tears finally began to ease.
“The war brings hardship upon those who can least bear it,” he replied. His hands were still on her back, their faces inches apart.
“You are a good person, Tavish,” she said quietly, blinking up at him, feeling his hand in the small of her back.
She could feel his breath on her cheek. He looked as if he might be about to kiss her but then he didn’t, pulling away.
“Time is short,” he said. “And without a steed, we must make haste if we are to reach MacIntyre Castle by tomorrow.”
“We are that close?”
“Aye. One more night’s rest and we’ll be there. Home to those that would blind old men and burn crops out of nothing but spite.”
That night Lindsey was glad to stop. They had marched long into the dark, settling deep in a wood where there was little risk of being seen. As she sat rubbing her aching feet, Tavish strung together a basic shelter made of leaves and branches.
Though it looked little better than sleeping in the open Lindsey was surprised when she climbed inside. It was roomy, warm, and kept out the night chill far better than she expected.
“It’s so warm,” she said, making space for Tavish to lay down next to her.
“Lots of leaves under you,” he replied as if that explained everything.
“You did a good thing today,” she said, reaching out to touch his shoulder in the darkness.
“As did you,” he replied, leaning up and squeezing her hand. “Ah wouldnae have stopped.”
They lay together in the darkness as outside an owl hooted loudly and then a twig snapped. Lindsey shuddered without knowing why. Before she knew what was happening Tavish had taken her into the cruck of his arm, holding her close to him.
“What was that?” she asked, the sound of rustling growing closer.
“You are safe,” he replied. “I will let nothing hurt you.”
“But something’s out there.”
“It’s only a boar and he’s after truffles, not you.”
“How can you tell?”
“I can smell him. Listen, he moves away.”
The rustling sound died but Lindsey remained where she was, her head on Tavish’s chest. Her eyes began to close. There was something warm and comforting about hearing his heartbeat, slow and steady compared to her own pounding thud.
She was no sooner asleep than she was at home. She stood beside her mother who was tapping her foot, trying to ignore a hammering on the front door.
“Open up,” a gruff voice was shouting. “You can’t hide in there forever.”
“I’m game,” Rhona shouted back. “Let’s see who gets bored first.”
“We’re going to repossess whether you like it or not, Mrs. MacMillan. You have to let us in.”
Another voice beside the first. “You owe us. Open up.”
“Mom,” Lindsey said, reaching out to tap her mom on the shoulder. Her hand passed straight through and her mom became nothing more but mist. The sound of hammering fists on wood continued but fainter, eventually fading into silence.
“Shush, just a bad dream.” Tavish’s voice, quiet, his hand stroking her forehead.
She lay still, no longer sure what was a dream and what was real. His hand was comforting and she yearned for him to kiss her. It made her whole body ache with desire but she said nothing.
She mustn’t allow herself to get too close to him. She had to concentrate. Getting distracted by falling for him was a bad idea. She’d end up staying here if he felt the same and that was what the dream was trying t
o remind her. She needed to focus on what mattered.
If she fell in love and he felt the same she still had to go home. Otherwise, her mom wouldn’t know where the locket was. The repossession would still go ahead, and she’d be homeless, living on the streets, never knowing what happened to her daughter.
Not that it mattered. He’d shown no signs of wanting to kiss her. She was reading too much into him comforting her as they lay together. He was just trying to calm her fears, that was all.
She rolled away from Tavish, pretending she was still asleep, hearing nothing else from him other than a slight rustle of the leaves that served as his bed.
She had agreed to do this, and she would. She would get the stone to help him, but she would not fall for him. It could never work. He was a loner anyway, used to being on his own.
He might have looked like he was going to kiss her, but she’d hugged him, not the other way around. She’d probably just read too much into things.
The swirling doubt in her mind felt like the mist in the dream. She settled back into an uneasy sleep, hoping to speak to her mother again, tell her she was coming home.
She did not dream for the rest of the night. Seven hundred years in the future Rhona MacMillan awoke in the middle of the night to a strange tingling feeling on her shoulder as if it had just been touched by someone.
She was so sure Lindsey had been standing right there behind her but of course, she wasn’t. She was still on vacation at Loch Tay, hopefully meeting a nice man somewhere and having a great time.
She had quite the story to tell her when she got back. Her boss was in trouble with the tax office. Someone might have rung them to suggest they look into his habit of banking staff tips for himself.
The story had ended up in the paper. Cafe owner under investigation. It might not go anywhere but then again maybe he’d start paying his staff properly.
Rhona settled again. That story could wait until Lindsey got back. For now, let her enjoy herself.
10
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