A Bride for a Day

by Pam Binder

“Only ghosts watch us, old friend,” Liam said, clasping the older man on the shoulder. “The dead never rest near a battle, and Urquhart has seen more than its share. You drove like a banshee. No one followed us here.” Liam pressed his hand against the wound as he tested his ability to move, rotating his shoulder. “Feels like the bullet went clean through.”

  Fiona examined his injury. “Stop doing that. You’ll open the wound. When we get back, we’ll have a doctor look at it.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I’ve survived worse.” He kept his expression closed as he reached to take the rifle from C.C.

  Bells from a nearby monastery began to toll the midnight hour. The sound vibrated through the frosted air. The door in the tower opened, seemingly by its own accord, as the faint sounds of a clock began its countdown.

  One strike.

  The church bells and the clock’s deep-throated countdown joined together in warning.

  A mist wound around C.C.’s ankles, chilling her to the bone.

  Fiona cast her a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” Fiona motioned toward C.C. and Michael. “We have to reach the twenty-first century before the clock is done striking. The two of you will go through first. Liam and I will follow close behind.”

  The clock’s second strike chimed.

  As C.C. approached the tower door, the mist rolled over the ground and seemed to push her forward. The glow over the entrance pulsated and grew brighter. She stepped over the threshold. The deep notes of the clock counting down the hour to midnight grew louder. It struck its third tone, and the mist rose higher, shutting out the light.

  The temperature dropped. Teeth chattering, C.C. took another step and was engulfed in blinding white: white walls, white ceiling, and white floors. Disoriented, she couldn’t tell which direction she should walk. Panic seized her. Was the floor moving?

  Someone nudged her from behind. “Follow the sound of the grandfather clock.”

  The clock struck a sixth time. The sound pulled her forward.

  C.C. stumbled into a room lined with mahogany paneling, red carpets, and wall-to-wall doors of every size and shape. Her mind registered that she’d returned, but she felt numb, and so cold she questioned if she’d ever feel warm again. She was back in the sisters’ mansion.

  Dizzy, she took another step and pitched forward.

  Lady Roselyn caught her. “You’re safe now.”

  “Safe?” C.C. regained her balance. The question went unanswered.

  Michael was the next to appear, and he received a hug as well. William followed, with Fiona close behind him. Lady Roselyn’s questions went unanswered as everyone else focused on the door as they waited for Liam’s return.

  The grandfather clock continued its countdown.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Nine.

  Seconds ticked by. Fiona shouted Liam’s name, her voice edged with panic.

  Ten.

  Fiona took a step toward the threshold. William and Lady Roselyn held her back. “He will make it,” Lady Roselyn said.

  Eleven.

  But C.C. noted the uncertainty in William’s and Lady Roselyn’s expressions. William had said that he believed they were being watched. Liam had dismissed the idea, joking about ghosts. What if William had been right? What if Liam had been attacked?

  Twelve.

  The door slammed shut, plunging the room into silence.

  Fiona turned toward Lady Roselyn, a stricken expression in her eyes. “Open the door again. Liam hasn’t returned.”

  Lady Roselyn shook her head slowly. “You know I can’t. This door only makes itself available on New Year’s Eve, and that time has passed. Liam is lost to us. Trying to bring him back now is too dangerous.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  C.C. caught Fiona before she collapsed on the floor. She wished she could comfort her and say Liam would be all right, but the truth was that C.C. didn’t know for sure. Traveling back in time wasn’t supposed to be possible, yet the three sisters had somehow unlocked the secret. The expression on both Fiona’s and Lady Roselyn’s faces said more than words ever could. Liam wasn’t coming back.

  “There has to be something we can do,” C.C. said.

  “My sister is right. It’s too dangerous.” Fiona straightened, her face broken with grief. She was a different person from the laughing barista C.C. had first met at the Matchmaker Café. Fiona shot Lady Roselyn a glance and said evenly, “We have rules.”

  Lady Roselyn reached for Fiona. “Liam knew the risks.”

  Fiona ignored her sister’s outstretched hand as Bridget rushed into the room. Bridget was flushed, her hair piled on top of her head in wild disarray. Even her long gown was askew. One shoulder strap was broken and the other missing. “The reporters are right behind me,” Bridget said under her breath. “I couldn’t stop— What happened?”

  Lady Roselyn frowned, taking in Bridget’s appearance. “First, tell me what happened to you.”

  “One of the reporters was a little too grabby.” Her mouth edged up in a smile. “I pushed him into the River Ness.”

  “Good for you,” Lady Roselyn said. Her gaze drifted over to Fiona, and she sighed. “We have very bad news. Our dear Liam didn’t make it back in time.”

  Bridget gasped and covered her mouth to stifle her scream. Suddenly a wave of reporters flooded into the room. She stepped quickly aside to avoid being trampled.

  Camera flashes lit up the already bright area. The next wave brought Tatiana, her mother, and Harold. They moved over to stand by a bank of windows. Their whole focus was trained on Michael.

  Another round of flashes intruded. C.C. held up her arm to shield herself from their glare.

  A reporter shoved a microphone toward Michael. It was the same man who had crashed their wedding. “Back so soon? We were told you were headed on your honeymoon to someplace warm.”

  “We missed the snow,” Michael said.

  C.C. knew the speech Michael had rehearsed. It would hint there was trouble in paradise, but that they were trying to work through their issues. The usual cliché. A woman reporter shoved a mic toward C.C. with a battery of questions, repeating the same ones a reporter had asked Michael. C.C. had no chance to say anything, even if she’d wanted to, before the woman reporter moved on to what was really on her mind: “Is Michael good in bed?”

  Michael stepped between C.C. and the reporter. “Leave my wife alone. Ask me all the questions you want. Questioning my wife is off limits.” He signaled for Harold, who whisked C.C. out of the room.

  C.C. was thankful. She wanted it to be over. She wanted to go home.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The next morning, Michael stood looking out the third-story window of the MacBride mansion, fingering the wedding ring C.C. had returned. He wished she hadn’t. Somehow it felt right that C.C. should have his grandmother’s ring.

  A black taxicab pulled into view and parked in front of the entrance. A soft dusting of snow had begun to fall. The morning was gray and would only darken as the day aged.

  C.C. was leaving today.

  She emerged from the mansion and headed toward the taxi.

  He and C.C. hadn’t spoken since they’d returned from Scotland’s distant past. There was really nothing they could say. Words wouldn’t change the facts. Tatiana was pregnant with his child, and he wouldn’t abandon her. He wouldn’t do what his father had done. Michael would acknowledge the child as his. If Tatiana wanted them to get married, that’s what they’d do. If she didn’t, or if she wanted to wait, that was okay with him as well. The most important thing right now was what Tatiana wanted and what was best for their child.

  Below, C.C. paused beside the open taxi door and glanced over her shoulder, lifting her gaze in the direction of where Michael stood at the window.

  He wouldn’t beg for her to stay. That wouldn’t be fair to either one of them. He’d made good on his promise, and Harold had taken care of the financial details. C.C. an
d her family wouldn’t have to worry anymore about their father’s care. As promised, there was also enough for C.C. to open her sandwich shop.

  Everything had worked out the way it was supposed to. Not exactly a fairytale ending. In fairytales Cinderella married her prince and lived happily ever after. This was not that kind of story. Maybe not everyone deserved a happy ending.

  C.C. gave him a wave and a thin smile.

  He pressed his hand against the cold windowpane and watched her climb into the taxi and drive away. For once in his life he wished he really were made out of stone.

  Chapter Thirty

  A month later, Michael entered the Matchmaker Café in Inverness, shutting the door against the biting snowstorm outside. There weren’t many customers today. No doubt people didn’t want to brave the cold weather. New Year’s Day had brought a series of snow-storms that seemed to have little intention of leaving anytime soon.

  As he gazed around the café, he knew intellectually that this was the twenty-first century. There were times, however, when he almost expected to see Bonnie Prince Charlie sitting at one of the tables.

  He blew on his hands, delaying his meeting with Harold and the barrage of questions that would begin with, “How are you doing?” and end with, “If you love C.C., fight to win her back.” Michael considered Harold’s questions inappropriate. His best friend knew Tatiana was pregnant. What was the man thinking?

  In the end, he and C.C. had agreed to an annulment. It was the easiest and, considering the circumstances, the fastest.

  Michael heaved a sigh, brushed the snow from his coat, and headed toward the counter to order his coffee.

  “Hello, William,” Michael said.

  William smiled. “Good to see you, lad. What will it be? The usual?”

  Michael nodded.

  “I haven’t seen much of Tatiana,” William said, pouring Michael’s coffee.

  Michael reached into his wallet. “She and her mother went to a spa in Paris. I think that’s where they said it was.”

  William handed Michael his cup. “The ladies do love their spas. Your friend Harold is already here.” William motioned to a table in the corner. “He wanted me to tell you it was too cold to play football today.”

  Michael took a sip of coffee. Harold complained about the weather, but he never missed a chance to play. The ritual kept them grounded. Michael and he agreed it was a link to their past. He took another sip, sensing a change in the air. “Where’s Fiona?”

  “Good question. I haven’t seen her in over a week. Every time I ask, Bridget and Lady Roselyn change the subject and ask me for more boxes. They leave for America soon, to open a café in the Northwest. I volunteered to help out until their cousins arrive. They’ll run the café until the sisters return.” He refilled Michael’s cup. “Congratulations. I heard you got the part. What is the name of the movie?”

  “Highland Rebel. I start tomorrow. The studio wants to take advantage of the snow while it lasts.” Michael paid for his drink and took another sip. “Hopefully, the sisters’ cousins have the same gift of creating the perfect combination of a good cup of coffee and a welcoming atmosphere.”

  William smiled, wiping down the counter. “Time will tell,” he said with a wink. “Time will tell.”

  “Well, it was great meeting you, William.”

  “The pleasure was all mine, lad.”

  Michael smiled his thanks and headed to where Harold was bent over a stack of papers. Michael slid down opposite his friend. “Do you ever take time off?” he asked with a smile.

  Harold looked up. “Why are you smiling? You’re freaking me out.”

  “I’m trying something new. You didn’t answer my question. You need to take some time off. Maybe you should try one of the sisters’ adventures. It could change your life.”

  “Travel back in time? Not on your life.”

  The door to the café burst open. Snow blew in on a swirling mass of wind. The few people in the café looked over at the commotion. Tatiana and her mother swept into the café, looking as different as night and day. Tatiana wore loose-fitting winter-white slacks and sweater under a pink wool cape, while Alba was dressed in black, with thigh-high boots, leggings, a cropped sweater, and a fur coat.

  “I forbid it,” Alba shouted. Alba’s voice was shrill and as cold as the wind that had blown in. “Did you hear me?” Alba said, pulling off her leather gloves.

  Tatiana spun around to confront her mother. “I heard you loud and clear. In fact, I’ve heard every word you’ve spoken to me from the first moment you realized that I was your meal ticket.”

  Customers in the café shrank back and concentrated on their beverages, trying not to look as though they were listening to the noisy confrontation.

  Michael leaned over to Harold. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  Harold wore the classic Cheshire-cat grin. “A hunch. A very strong hunch.”

  Alba sucked in her breath. “How dare you refer to yourself as my meal ticket! After all I’ve done for you! All I’ve sacrificed…”

  Tatiana’s voice was calm. “I’m grateful. You know I am. You’ve been repaid a thousandfold. You know that as well. It’s time for you to let go and realize that I can manage my life on my own. I’m not saying I don’t want you in my life. I just want you not to hold on so tight.”

  “You need me,” Alba pleaded. “I know what’s best for you. I always have.”

  Tatiana backed away from her mother. “I love him, and I won’t give him up.”

  “We’re back to him? So that’s what this is all about.” Alba pointed her finger at her. “He was a steppingstone. That’s all he was, no more. He served his purpose.”

  Michael leaned over toward Harold. “Do you know who they’re talking about? Are they talking about me? Am I being replaced?”

  “Would you care?” Harold had a twinkle in his eye. “That’s what I thought. No, they’re talking about that husband she’s never divorced, Darrell Grant.”

  “She still loves him?”

  Harold’s smile lit up his face. “Why do you think the both of them kept delaying signing the papers?”

  “How long have you known?”

  “More of a suspicion. While you and C.C. traveled back in time, I went to talk to Tatiana. There was something odd about her performance at the wedding that didn’t ring true. When I found her, she was sobbing and clutching the divorce papers. Darrell had messengered them over to her. She said he’d given in to all of her demands. She also said that he’d written a note that said he wanted her to be happy.”

  “But she’s having my child.”

  “Are you sure?” He motioned toward Tatiana.

  “Listen to reason,” Alba said. “You’re having a baby.”

  Tatiana glanced at Michael. She paused for several heartbeats before she smiled, mouthed a thank you, and turned back to her mother. “I’m no longer going to lie to Michael.”

  “Think of your baby.”

  “I am. My child deserves to know who his father really is. I love Darrell, and he loves me.”

  “But the divorce papers…”

  “I ripped them up and called him. We talked for hours. He arrives tonight. Do you hear me, Mother? I’m not going to give him up.”

  “But he’s penniless. You could do so much better. Michael is…”

  “I don’t care how wealthy Michael is. I love Darrell. Now that Darrell’s football career is over, he plans to go back to school. He wants to be a teacher and coach high school football.”

  “High school?” Alba said with scorn. She folded her arms across her chest. “You, a teacher’s wife? I doubt on a teacher’s salary Darrell could afford your brand of lipstick.”

  Tatiana leaned toward her mother. “Again, you’re not listening. I. Don’t. Care. Thanks to Harold, I’ve made good investments with the money I earned as a model. Plus, my shoe company is doing well. Even if all that went away, it wouldn’t change how I feel about him.”

  Harol
d started chuckling.

  “What’s so funny?” Michael said.

  “I also manage Darrell’s finances. I swear the man must have some Scottish blood in him. He’s as tight as you are sometimes. He doesn’t care about fancy cars or owning homes on every continent, like some of the professional players. Darrell invested the lion’s share of what he earned playing football. Darrell Grant is worth a fortune.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Six months later, on a warm sunny summer’s day and far from the Highlands of Scotland, C.C was putting the finishing touches on her shop, Sandwich Land. The shop was located in a thriving sales location just outside Seattle, and the grand opening was only a half hour away. Homemade bread cooled on racks, and the refrigerated cases were filled with a variety of cheeses, meats, and vegetables. C.C.’s dream had become a reality. Except that the saying from Michael’s nana kept popping into her thoughts, like clouds that threatened to dampen a sunny summer day…

  Dreams become real when they are shared with someone you love.

  C.C. climbed up another rung on the ladder to hang the green-and-blue plaid curtains that were the same pattern as Michael’s family tartan. She may have gone a little overboard with the Scottish theme, but if it weren’t for Michael and her adventure in Scotland, her dream might never have become a reality. True to his word, Michael had given her a generous bonus, and along with the money she’d already saved, it had made it possible for her to open her shop.

  But saying Michael’s name, even in her thoughts, brought a lump to her throat. People got over relationships all the time. What was her problem? Why was it taking her so long? On the positive side of the ledger, she had purposely dived into not only making her dream a reality but had invited her sisters to be partners too. She’d also begun repairing her relationship with her dad. It hadn’t been easy, and it was still ongoing, but they were making progress.

  She and her sisters had found this retail location by accident. It had been created in the 1960s by a visionary who had a unique idea of how to preserve homes that had been built in the 1920s. He’d purchased and restored a variety of cottage-style homes, a few barns, and even a chicken coop, from all over the Seattle area, and moved them to this location, creating a popular retail village.