Immortal Desires (Well of Souls)

by Eno, Laura

  "I don't speak Gaelic," Deanna mumbled through clenched teeth, her lip already swelling. She swallowed blood and wondered if she could keep from throwing up.

  His eyebrows rose but he repeated his words in English. "If I leave ye untied, do ye promise to behave?"

  His question would have been funny if Deanna wasn't so terrified. She doubted she could even walk at this point. "Yes."

  He nodded, satisfied with her answer and helped her to sit up. "I'll get ye something to eat."

  The man returned with a cup of oats floating in cold water. Deanna choked it down, not knowing when—or if—they'd decide to feed her again. Her bladder shrieked for release as well. As if being aware of her discomfort, the man lifted her up and set her down behind some rocks. He didn't leave but turned his back to her and waited.

  "Why have I been kidnapped?" Deanna asked as she hobbled over to lean on the man again.

  "Kidnapped? Nay. Rescued be more like it." He spat on the ground and looked at her again with kind eyes. "We're reuniting ye with your kin. Although it troubles me that ye dinna speak the Gaelic. Where are ye from?"

  "Far away." Deanna grunted as he scooped her up in his arms again. She hurt all over. These men must be Cameron, thinking she was kin. "I don't belong in the place you're taking me to. Please let me go."

  "I canna do that, lass, though I'm inclined to believe ye." He carried her over to the horses as the other seven men mounted.

  The one that originally dropped her on the ground and tried to rape her started toward her with the ropes in his hand and a leer on his face. Deanna clutched at Kind Eyes' chest. She had a feeling she was better off with this man than the others. He waved the other away with a guttural spiel of words.

  "I dinna think it's good for ye to be tied up and tossed about like a sack of neeps. Give me your word you'll behave and ye can ride with me."

  "I promise." Anything was better than lying over a horse with her head about to strike the ground. A tremor traveled through her body at the thought of it.

  He sat her on his horse and mounted in front of her, breaking into a run almost immediately. Deanna wrapped her arms around his chest and hung on for dear life, terrified of sliding off the back end. Her shoulders twisted with pain but she didn't dare relax her grip. How long would she be able to keep this up before falling and getting trampled by the horses behind her?

  Her chest tightened at the thought of Ian having to come rescue her after she'd ignored his warnings of danger. What if he got hurt…or killed? Deanna almost hoped that he wouldn't come. This was all her fault. She wept against the back of the stranger and tried to block her imagination from running wild.

  They were within sight of another castle when someone at the back yelled and everybody stopped. Kind Eyes pushed her off the horse and whispered, "Go hide."

  She didn't need to be told twice, scrambling up the bank and into the trees, her muscles burning with both pain and adrenalin. Deanna collapsed into a ball under a large bush and tried to will her body into running some more but her limbs froze in position. The Cameron men drew their swords and wheeled the horses around, blood-curdling cries sounding savage to her ears.

  Was it Ian who they were going to attack? Deanna bit the inside of her swollen cheek to stem the shiver of fear. Now was not the time to freak out. She had to get to him somehow.

  Easing out of her hiding spot, she limped toward the sounds of yelling while keeping to the trees. It was a futile gesture—she could see them now, half a mile away—but she had to do something. Men were dropping to the ground as swords swung against each other but Deanna couldn't tell who was who. All your fault, her mind shouted at her in an endless litany as she trudged toward the sounds of agony and death.

  A few riders galloped back her way and Deanna ducked out of sight. It was the Camerons. They didn't stop to search for her, continuing on at a dead run. Her heart shuddered with an icy chill. What if they were going for reinforcements? She scrambled down the bank as soon as they were gone, falling and tumbling down the hillside as she headed in Ian's direction.

  A lone rider charged at her. Ian. Deanna locked knees that threatened to buckle and ignored the pain of being pulled up to straddle the horse behind him.

  "Are you hurt?" Ian shouted into the wind as his horse turned and ran back in the other direction.

  "No." She doubted he could hear her but one hand briefly clasped hers as she hugged his chest. Deanna knew they weren't safe yet.

  Ian pulled her off the horse when they reached his men, examining her anxiously. Deanna reached for his blood-soaked shirt, moaning at the sight of the cuts he'd received.

  "Dinna worry, most of the blood isna mine." His fierce tone was a direct contrast to the tender way he held her close to him. "I know you've been rough-treated but we need to leave quickly."

  Deanna nodded and wiped her nose on her sleeve, stemming the breakdown she knew she'd have later. A body on the ground caught her eye and she crumpled, crawling over to lay her head on his chest with a sob in her throat.

  Munro stared up at the sky through sightless eyes; his chest no longer rose to fill his lungs with sweet air. All her fault.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Boulder, June 2012

  Ian grieved for Munro, the good friend who would have lived two more years in another reality. The new memories held joy at getting Deanna back unharmed and sorrow for the deaths of good men who fought bravely by his side. The double-edged sword twisted inside his gut. How many more lives would be affected as his history was re-written? He asked Robert that question, unsure now of his path.

  "There are many timelines," Robert said. "Alternate realities, if you will. Each time one of us makes a decision—yes or no—the timeline branches in different directions. You are stepping between them now. I know it's disconcerting but don't be too alarmed by it."

  Ian didn't know if he'd ever be able to see things as Robert did but the Guardian's words gave him some comfort. "I met a Conrí out in the foothills this morning as well. A man named Donell, who looked like kin although he didna give me a last name."

  "Really?" A slight frown creased his forehead but Robert didn't seem surprised by the news.

  "Do you know who he is?" Ian persisted. "For five hundred years you've had me assisting you but I havena understood why. Dinna you think I have the right to know?"

  "Let events develop in the manner they were meant to be," Robert chided him in a gentle tone. "Has being an Immortal taught you nothing about patience?"

  Ian considered his words in silence. To an Immortal, this timeframe meant nothing. He supposed he still thought of things in human terms. Knowing that didn't lessen his frustration, though. "I want to speak to the Council."

  Robert actually laughed, the sound so infectious that Ian felt his face relax into a smile. "Soon, my young friend. All in good time."

  That was all the answer Ian was going to get. He blew off his irritation and left Robert's office. A little time spent in the yard having sword practice with the other Guardians would help him get rid of his tension.

  ***

  Highlands, June 1505

  Ian lifted Deanna away from Munro's body as she wept over him, sharing her sorrow but knowing they were all still in danger if they stayed here. "Come, lass. He would want to see you safely away."

  She trembled as he placed her in front of him on the horse, even with his plaid wrapped securely around her shoulders. Ian could smell the blood and fear that embraced her more tightly than he ever could. If only he could wipe away this memory for her.

  "No." She hiccupped and leaned closer into his chest. "I need to remember…all of this."

  Did he say that aloud or had she surmised his thoughts? There was no time to think on it now. He brushed his lips against the top of her head and started moving.

  During those frantic hours of not knowing whether Deanna lived or not, Ian's life had taken on a clarity he'd not experienced before. He loved this woman, heart and soul. She would be his
wife and their home would be blessed with bairns to bond them further.

  Her travel back through time was a gift from the Gods that he'd been too arrogant to see at first. Ian whispered prayers to Lugh and Brìghde, thanking them for sending his soul mate to him. He swore to honor and cherish her, in this life and beyond.

  Isobel swept Deanna into her arms when they arrived back at the Mackenzie keep, nudging Ian out of the way with her hip. "Are you well? Let's get you into a bath and tend to your wounds."

  Deanna dashed the tears from her eyes and glanced over at him, as Ian still had his hand wrapped around her arm. "It's okay. I'd like to talk to your mother for a while."

  Ian nodded and let go, minding very much as he watched the women of the keep take charge of Deanna. He wanted to comfort her himself—to tell her what a fool he'd been and how much he loved her, to kneel at her feet and ask her to be his wife.

  His mother had the right of it, though. The lass needed healing and a good soak for what must have been a brutal trip for her. He could afford to wait. They'd be here for a couple of days before his guards returned from their duty to Munro's clan—a trip he should have made with them. Ian hoped Munro's son would understand his absence.

  Mackenzie offered him a tankard of ale and motioned him to sit by the fire. "I'm sorry to hear of Munro's death," he said after Ian told him what happened. "He was a good man and will be sorely missed."

  They drank to Munro's memory but Ian's thoughts kept straying to the woman upstairs. After awhile he excused himself and followed a girl carrying a tray of food, asking her which room Deanna was in. She blushed, stammering that the Lady was just out of the bath.

  "'Tis no a concern. We are betrothed." He hoped. She handed him the tray and hurried away with her head down.

  Ian sucked in a breath as Isobel opened the door. Deanna was wrapped in a bathing sheet, her creamy skin mottled by bruises everywhere he looked. Rope burns ringed her wrists and ankles; the lass grimaced in pain as she tried to stand upright. Hatred threaded its way around Ian's heart and squeezed as he thought of those who did this to her.

  "Are you going to stand there and gawk at me?" Her voice teased but her eyes remained bottomless pits of sorrow. She was trying to be brave, expending effort she should be saving for healing.

  "I'll stare after you've eaten," he said and set the tray down on the table. His mother threw him an exasperated look and walked past him.

  "I'll have more food sent up, if you're staying?" She shot him an inscrutable glance and left.

  He crossed the room in three steps and gathered Deanna in his arms. Their lips met and Ian's anger gave way as his love dominated his psyche. Deanna was safe in his arms where she belonged. That was good enough for now. The rest could wait.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The somber guards arrived back at the Mackenzie stronghold two days later. Munro had been well liked amongst Ian's warriors. He watched as Tomas entered the keep and knelt before Deanna, taking her trembling hand.

  "My Lady, the son of Munro sends you his regards. He's honored that his father died fighting for your safe release and hopes one day to meet with you."

  Ian saw the tears trickle down her face but she seemed composed otherwise.

  "Thank you for letting me know," she said and sank onto the bench behind her as Tomas rose and glanced over at him.

  Ian smoothed the hair out of Deanna's face with a tender touch, leaning over to kiss the bruise on her cheek. "I'll be back soon."

  He followed Tomas out the door, grateful that his mother moved to Deanna's side. The lass was strong but still needed a woman's comfort. She grieved, blaming herself for Munro's death.

  "You have news of the Cameron?" Ian asked once they'd stepped outside.

  "Aye. Munro's son says there have been raids in his village and a couple of horses gone missing. He thinks the Cameron are behind it."

  Ian's fists clenched at Tomas' words. He didn't need this kind of trouble. "Did you tell him we are willing to offer aid?"

  "Aye. I anticipated your reaction but he declined your offer with thanks."

  Ian sighed and the tension in his chest loosened. For years, he would have welcomed any excuse for a fight—but not now. There were too many other concerns that took precedence in his life and that of his clan.

  "He wanted to know when you'll be wedding the Lady." Tomas gave him a sly glance.

  Ian roared with laughter. "As soon as possible. Dinna fash yourself on that account." Nothing would stop him from claiming Deanna as his own.

  They stayed another sennight, until Deanna was well-rested and able to sit a horse without discomfort. Mairi hugged her family in farewell, her tears mingling with Isobel's and Deanna's as they said their goodbyes. Ian knew that her new husband treated her well. She would soon not miss her family so much as she forged a new life here. He could leave Mairi in place with no regrets.

  The journey back home was in marked contrast to their previous trip. On the way to the Mackenzie keep Deanna had slept with Isobel and Mairi. This time she spent the nights tucked safely in Ian's arms where she belonged. No one would take her from him again, he thought with a fierceness that left an ache in his heart.

  Once they were safely home, Ian swept Deanna up to his room, ordering hot water for her to soak in. He insisted on washing her, despite her protests that she could manage on her own and was pleased to note the bruising had faded from her skin. He hadn't done more than hold her in his arms since the kidnapping, afraid of bringing more pain upon her.

  He patted her dry as she tucked her arms around his neck and gave him slow kisses along his throat. The cloud of remorse that had settled over Deanna since Munro's death still lurked in her eyes, no matter how many times he'd tried to reassure her that she wasn't to blame. Ian meant to lift it today.

  After lowering her to the rug in front of the fire, Ian knelt down beside her and clasped her hands in his. "Would you do me the honor of being my Lady and the mother of my bairns?"

  Her eyes widened as she looked at him, the darkness lifting until he saw a summer sky in her gaze. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

  "Aye, I am. We are soul mates, you and I. Will you have me, mo chridhe?"

  She nodded and a tear slid down her cheek but she smiled and leaned in close to him. "I wish…"

  He stroked the hair away from her face as she rested against his chest. "I know. Believe me when I say he's happy for us. Dinna grieve anymore for him. It's no what he would have wanted."

  Deanna wept then, her body slowly relaxing as he continued to hold her. After she'd quieted and lifted her eyes to his face, Ian could see that the shadows had lifted from her soul, finally accepting the tragedy without shouldering the blame.

  They spent the evening laying in front of the fire, stroking and kissing each other in an affirmation of love—and being alive to share it. Sex with Deanna was sweet that night and Ian rejoiced in the thrill of her touch. He would do anything to make her happy…anything except give her up. That he could never do.

  ***

  Highlands, July 1505

  Isobel drifted toward Deanna in the graveyard, where she'd come to seek a few moments of peace from all the wedding preparations. The older woman looked rather like a ghost herself, a pensive expression on her face as she moved closer that spoke of something troubling her.

  "Are you hiding out here?" Her head tilted to one side in question as Deanna smiled. Leave it to Isobel to come right to the point.

  "I guess I am. It's all happening so fast." The wedding banns would be posted for the next four Sundays, just in time for the ceremony to be held on August 1st. Ian had called it Lunasdál.

  "Are you having second thoughts about marrying the Laird?" Isobel spoke formally, calling Ian by his title and Deanna sensed a deep worry in her future mother-in-law.

  "No, not second thoughts…" She trailed off as Isobel's frown deepened. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing." Ian's mother took her hand and patted it absently, her eyes roa
ming the graveyard. "I canna see clearly, 'tis all. My vision is clouded, as if different paths converge at that point."

  Deanna knew Isobel had visions that didn't always explain the event. She didn't know if she could cope with such a frustrating talent and admired Isobel's calm acceptance.

  Isobel focused on her face, causing Deanna to shiver when she found she couldn't look away from the intent gaze. "I see death all around me. Mayhap you'll change that outcome."

  She turned without further explanation and strode away, leaving Deanna standing amongst the dead. Suddenly, she didn't feel quite as comfortable walking over the bones of the departed and hurried back to the keep, where the light and laughter of the living would drive the chill away.

  Alyth stepped into her path just before Deanna reached the door of the keep. "Ye willna keep him as yours for long. I'll have him in my bed when he tires of ye." The wind blew her copper hair, the last of the sunlight striking her curls and creating a fiery halo. She looked like a demented angel.

  Deanna pushed past the girl, not dignifying her threat with a response, but her words twisted in Deanna's gut as she walked inside.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Highlands, August 1505

  Lunasdál dawned with a fierce sun. Competing, Deanna supposed, with the two great bonfires burning since midnight. Ian had told her the fires were part of the ritual performed on the days when the walls between the worlds of human and fae were at their thinnest. She remembered the bonfires burning the day she'd first arrived on Bealtuinn, the first of May. Only three months had passed but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

  So much had changed for her—so much lost forever but even more gained. She felt complete in this time, surprising herself by the easy acceptance of her new life. Who would have imagined that a city girl from the 21st century would feel so content in the 16th century?