The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  She was mortally wounded, but her stupid heart kept pumping.

  How was she supposed to live without him?

  She’d been deceived by platitudes and clichés. Time did not heal all wounds. Time didn’t do a damn thing. Truth was, time had stolen her lover away, and if she lived to be a hundred—heaven forbid she suffer that long—she’d never forgive time.

  That’s silly, the scientist sniffed.

  Gwen groaned, rolling over on her side and pulling a pillow over her head. Leave me alone. You’ve never been any help to me. You didn’t even warn me that saving him would make me lose him.

  I tried to. You didn’t want to hear me. And I’m trying to help you now, the scientist said stiffly. You need to get up.

  Go away.

  You’d better get up, unless you want to sleep in that three-day-old slice of pizza you just ate.

  Well, that was one way out of bed, a shaking Gwen decided a few moments later as she weakly brushed her teeth. Seemed to be the only way she got up lately. Squinting, she braced herself before turning on the light so she could see to wipe off the toilet. The light hurt her eyes and it took her several moments to adjust. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she gasped.

  She looked awful. Her hair was dull and tangled, her skin pale, her eyes red and swollen from crying. Her face looked gaunt, her eyes defeated.

  She really needed to get herself together, she thought dimly.

  If not for you, then for the child, the scientist agreed.

  “Wh-what?” Her voice, so long unused, cracked, and the word escaped in a hoarse, disbelieving croak.

  Child. The child, you idiot, the scientist snapped.

  Gwen gaped, stunned, staring at her reflection. She peered at herself a long while, brows furrowed.

  Shouldn’t her skin look radiant or something if she was pregnant? Shouldn’t she have gained a little weight? She glanced dubiously down at her flat stomach. Flatter than it had ever been in her life. She’d definitely lost weight, not gained.

  Don’t tell me you can’t do the math. When’s the last time we had our period?

  Gwen felt a tiny bud of hope blossom in her heart.

  She squelched it firmly. A dangerous feeling: hope. No way—she was not going that route. She’d hope she was pregnant, only to be doubly crushed when she found out it wasn’t true. It would destroy her. She was in bad enough shape already.

  She shook her head bitterly. The scientist was wrong this time. “I’m not pregnant,” she told her reflection flatly. “I’m depressed. Big big difference.” It was simply stress making her period late, nothing more. It had happened before. During her Great Fit of Rebellion, she’d skipped two periods.

  Fine. So crawl back in bed, keep eating stale pizza, and refuse to wonder why you’ve been getting sick. Blame it all on stress. And when you lose our baby because you won’t take care of yourself, don’t blame me.

  “Lose our baby!” she gasped. Fear knifed through her and her eyes flew wide. If there was even a remote possibility that she had a child of Drustan’s inside her, there was no way she was losing it. And afraid though she was to hope—because of how awful the potential disappointment might be—she acknowledged that there was more than a possibility. There was a probability. They’d made love repeatedly, and she was not on birth control. If she hadn’t been so lost in misery, she might have considered it sooner. If she was pregnant and did anything to jeopardize the baby, she would just die.

  Stricken, she stumbled back into the bedroom, turned on the light, and took a good look around, thinking hard. Counting days, looking for clues.

  Her bedroom was a pigsty. Pizza boxes, with half-eaten slices dotted the floor. Glasses with milk-encrusted bottoms were forgotten atop the bed table. Cracker wrappers were strewn across the bed: crackers she’d been nibbling in the morning to calm her queasy stomach.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, please, oh, please let it be true.”

  The wait to discover if she was pregnant was interminable.

  No at-home pregnancy test for Gwen Cassidy—she needed to hear whatever news it was directly from a doctor.

  After giving both a urine and blood sample, Gwen tapped her foot and sat tensely in the crowded waiting room of her doctor’s office. She felt wired from head to toe. She shifted position a dozen times, changed chairs, fanned through every magazine in the office. She paced. Periodically made sure the receptionist knew she was still alive.

  The receptionist scowled each time she passed by, and Gwen suspected the woman thought she was mildly unbalanced. When Gwen had called earlier, nearly hysterical, insisting on seeing the doctor immediately, the receptionist had brusquely informed her that Dr. Carolyn Devore had no openings for several weeks.

  Gwen had pleaded and sobbed until finally the frustrated receptionist had put Carolyn on the phone. Her dear, wonderful doctor since childhood, who’d become a friend over the years, had squeezed her in.

  “Sit,” the receptionist snapped, exasperated, as Gwen paced by again. “You’re making the other patients nervous.”

  Mortified, Gwen glanced around at the roomful of people and slunk back to her chair.

  “Ms. Cassidy?” A nurse poked her head around the corner.

  “That’s me!” She shot back up and trotted after the nurse. “That’s me,” she informed the receptionist brightly.

  A few moments later, she took a seat on the examining table. Hugging herself in the chilly room, she sat, feet swinging, waiting.

  When the door opened and Carolyn Devore stepped in, Gwen said breathlessly, “Well?”

  Carolyn closed the door, smiling. “You were right. You’re pregnant, Gwen.”

  “I am?” she breathed, scarcely daring to believe it.

  “Yes.”

  “Truly?” she persisted.

  Carolyn laughed. “Absolutely and unequivocally.”

  Gwen hopped off the table and hugged her. “I love you, Carolyn,” she exclaimed. “Oh, thank you!”

  Carolyn laughed again. “I can hardly take credit for it, but you’re welcome.”

  For several minutes, all Gwen could do was repeat “I’m pregnant,” a delighted smile on her face.

  “You need to gain weight, Gwen,” Carolyn chided. “I squeezed you in this afternoon because you sounded so awful on the phone. It worried me.” She paused, as if searching for a delicate way to continue. “I know you lost both your parents this year.” Her brown gaze was sympathetic.

  Gwen nodded tightly, smile fading.

  “Grieving takes its toll. You’re ten pounds lighter than you were at your last checkup. I’m starting you on supplements today and putting you on a special diet. It’s fairly self-explanatory, but if you have any questions, call me. Eat. Feel free to stuff yourself. Go overboard for a while.” She gave Gwen a folder of menu suggestions and a bag of sample supplements to tide her over until she went to the drugstore.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Gwen promised. “Scout’s honor. I’ll gain, I promise.”

  “Will the father be helping you?” Carolyn asked carefully.

  Gwen took a deep breath. I am strong, she told herself. My baby is depending on me. “He’s…um…he, er…died.” The word escaped in a soft rush of air; merely saying it hurt her to the marrow in her bones. Five hundred years ago, she didn’t say. Carolyn would have packed her off to a cushy, padded hospital if she’d said that.

  “Oh, Gwen,” Carolyn exclaimed, squeezing her hand, “I’m so sorry.”

  Gwen glanced away, unable to meet Carolyn’s sympathetic gaze. Simple kindness could undo her, make the tears come. Carolyn must have sensed it, because her voice changed, became briskly professional again.

  “I can’t stress enough that you must gain weight. Your body is going to need special care, and I’d like to schedule an ultrasound.”

  “An ultrasound? Why? Is something wrong?” Gwen was alarmed and her gaze flew back up to Carolyn’s.

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” Carolyn hasten
ed to assure her. “In fact,” she added, smiling, “depending on your outlook, you might think it’s something wonderful. Your hCG levels lead me to believe you’re carrying twins. An ultrasound will give us a definite answer.”

  “Oh, my God! Twins!” Gwen cried. “Twins,” she repeated disbelievingly. Twins just like Drustan and Dageus. A chill raced through her—not just one of his babies, but two! Oh, Drustan, she thought, lanced by piercing sorrow. Twins, my love! How he would have rejoiced in the news, how he would have celebrated the birth of their children!

  But he would never know, would never see his sons or daughters. She would never get to share this with him. She closed her eyes against a wave of pain.

  Carolyn watched her closely. “Are you all right, Gwen?”

  Gwen nodded, her throat tight. After a long moment, she opened her eyes again.

  “If you need to talk, Gwen…” Carolyn trailed off, waiting.

  Gwen nodded stiffly. “Thank you, but I think it’s just going to take some time.” She forced a weak smile. “I’ll be fine, Carolyn. I’ll take care of myself, I promise.” Nothing would jeopardize her babies.

  “I’ll squeeze you in again on Friday,” Carolyn said, walking with her to the door. “I’ll have my receptionist call you this afternoon with a time.”

  Gwen thanked her profusely. “You have no idea how much I needed to know this.”

  Carolyn gazed at the dark circles beneath her eyes. “I think I do,” she said softly. “Now go home, eat and take care of yourself. There’s more than just yourself to think about now.”

  Gwen waved good-bye to the receptionist as she left.

  She was pregnant. She had a part of Drustan inside her. A child of his, possibly two, to raise, to love, to cherish.

  Walking across the parking lot to her car, she was briefly stunned by how blue the sky seemed, how bright the sun, how green the grass.

  Color. There was light in her soul again.

  27

  A week later, Gwen was back in Scotland.

  She sat at the base of the MacKeltar’s mountain, perched on the hood of her rental car, gazing up, filled with trepidation.

  When Carolyn had confirmed she was carrying twins, a surge of energy had flooded her. She’d cleaned her apartment, put the phone back on the hook, gotten her hair trimmed, treated herself to an eyebrow waxing, and gone grocery shopping. Then she’d called Allstate to tender her resignation, only to find they’d already fired her for not showing up for so many weeks. No loss there, she’d shrugged philosophically.

  She’d called a Realtor and placed her parents’ house on the market. The ostentatious showplace had been paid off years ago, and the sale of it would give her more than enough money to make a fresh start. She was done with Santa Fe. Done with insurance claims, done with it all. She was thinking of moving to the East Coast, maybe Maine, near Bert and Beatrice. She’d buy a lovely house with a darling nursery. Perhaps get a job at a local university teaching math and making it fun.

  But before she could do any of that, before she could move forward, she had to somehow make peace with the past.

  And the only way to do that was to lay to rest the questions that drove her mad at three o’clock in the morning when her heart felt heavy and her soul was inclined to brood.

  Questions like: Had Drustan died from the arrow wound, or survived? And if he’d survived, had he ever married? She hated considering that one, because it left her feeling so torn. She would be crushed if he had remarried, yet at the same time, she would be crushed if he’d spent the rest of his life grieving. She loved him so much that if he’d lived, she wanted him to have been happy. It hurt her to think that he might have grieved for thirty or forty or fifty years. She realized that she was the lucky one: They’d both lost each other, but she alone had the precious gift of their babies.

  More questions: Had Dageus had children? Had any MacKeltar descendants survived to the twenty-first century? The answer to that question could be a blessing, for if MacKeltars still lived above Alborath, she would feel as if they hadn’t failed completely. One of the things Drustan had wanted was to ensure the future succession of his clan, and if by saving Dageus they had guaranteed survival of his clan, she could find some small measure of satisfaction in that.

  Even more than finding answers, however, she needed to go sit by his grave, to lay sprigs of heather atop it, to tell him of their children, to laugh and reminisce and weep.

  Then she would go home and be strong for their babies. It was what Drustan would want.

  Steeling herself, she slipped back into the rental car.

  She didn’t delude herself, she knew that whatever she found atop the mountain was going to be excruciating. Because this was going to have to be the final good-bye…

  As Gwen topped the crest of the mountain, her eyes misted.

  The perimeter wall had been torn down, and the majestic stones of Ban Drochaid towered against the brilliant, cloudless blue sky.

  There she had made love with her Highland mate. There she had traveled back into the past. There she had become pregnant, according to her due date.

  She’d known that seeing the stones again would hurt, because a part of her was tempted to hole up in a laboratory and try to figure out the formulas that danced so far beyond her comprehension. The only thing that held her back was that Gwen knew—even as brilliant as she was—that she could devote the rest of her life to it, only to die a bitter old woman, never gaining the knowledge. She would not live her life like that, nor would she subject her children to it. The few times she’d pondered the symbols, she’d realized how far beyond her understanding they were. She might be a genius, but she just wasn’t smart enough.

  Nor would she plead—if modern MacKeltars still lived—with them to break their oaths and send her back, and unleash a dark Druid upon the world. No, she would be the woman Drustan had loved, honorable, ethical, loving.

  Thus resolved, she accelerated past the stones and lifted her gaze to the castle. She sucked in a breath. Castle Keltar was even more beautiful than it had been in the sixteenth century. A sparkling, many-tiered fountain had been constructed on the front lawn. It was surrounded by a lush tumble of shrubbery and flowers and stone walkways. The facade had been renovated, probably many times over the centuries, and the front stairs were no longer stone but had been replaced with rosy marble. An elegant matching marble banister framed both sides. What had once been a huge wooden door was now double doors fashioned of burnished cherry trimmed with gold. Above the doors, a stained glass window detailing—her heart leaped—the MacKeltar plaid, shimmered brilliant purple in the sunlight.

  She parked before the steps and sat gazing at the door, wondering if that small bit of MacKeltar heritage meant the castle was still inhabited by descendants. Suddenly the door opened and a young child, blond curls tumbling about a delicate face, stepped out, peering at her curiously. Inside the rented Volvo, Gwen squinted against the bright sunlight at the lovely little girl, who was followed closely by a boy of similar age, and an older pair of twins.

  The eldest boy and girl took her breath away and eradicated any question in her mind about whether any descendants had survived.

  They most certainly had.

  Pure MacKeltar blood was apparent in both of the older children—in the rich dark manes, the unusual eyes and golden skin. The boy could have been Dageus’s own son, with similar golden eyes.

  She closed her eyes briefly, fighting tears, feeling both joyous and sad. They hadn’t failed completely, but the visit was going to be excruciating, she realized, massaging her temples.

  “Hello,” the little girl called, knocking on the car window. “Will you be getting out, or will you be sitting in there all day?”

  Gwen snorted lightly, the pain easing a bit. She opened her eyes and smiled. The little girl was absolutely darling, peering in expectantly. You’re going to have two of those soon, a comforting voice reminded her.

  “Cara, get back from that car!�
�� a blond woman who looked to be in her early thirties called, hurrying down the front steps.

  She was heavily pregnant, and Gwen instinctively touched her own abdomen. Turning off the ignition, she tucked her bangs behind her ear and opened the car door. She realized, as she stepped out, that she’d not thought this far ahead: She had no idea what excuse she would offer for dropping in on perfect strangers. She would have to play it by ear, claim to be taken with the castle, then beg a tour. She was grateful that the woman was pregnant because she was willing to bet she would invite her in to visit without asking too many questions. Gwen had recently discovered that pregnant women were a breed unto their own, with a tendency to forge an instantaneous, deep bond. A few days ago, she’d chatted for over an hour with a pregnant stranger in the ice cream aisle of the grocery, discussing baby clothes and tests and methods of birth and all kinds of things that would bore a nonpregnant person silly.

  “I take it these lovely ones are yours?” Gwen said, offering her friendliest smile.

  “Aye, my youngest are Cory and Cara,” she said, gesturing toward them. Cara said hello again, and Cory smiled shyly. “And these”—she waved a hand at the dark-haired teenage twins—“are Christian and Colleen.” They chimed hello together.

  “Plus I’ve two on the way in a few months,” Maggie added. “As if it weren’t obvious,” she said dryly.

  “I’m pregnant with twins myself,” Gwen confided.

  Maggie’s eyes flickered strangely. “ ‘Tis easier that way,” she said. “You get them over with two at a time, and I always wanted a dozen or so. I’m Maggie MacKeltar and my husband should be out in a moment.” She turned to the steps and shouted, “Christopher, do hurry, she’s here!”

  “Coming, love,” a deep baritone voice replied.

  Gwen frowned, puzzled, wondering what Maggie had meant by “she’s here.” Had they mistaken her for someone else? Perhaps they were expecting someone, she decided, maybe they were hiring a nanny or a maid and thought Gwen was that person.

  Cara tugged impatiently at Maggie’s arm. “Mama, when are we going to show her—” Cara began.