by Erin Grace
Margot called out after her. "You spend your life digging up the past, Elspeth, while you hide from your future. I know of your desire for the old ways, love. And I sense your passion for my son, no matter what you say. Would it be so bad if your future was in the past?"
Her throat tightened, eyes misted.
It wasn't fair. She shouldn't have to make these kinds of choices.
But Margot had been right. Ellie did want nothing more than to bury herself deep in her work, to forget about her emotions, her pain, about her parents, Michael, her career—and now Ewan.
Everything was such a mess.
If, in a hundred years, someone were to dig up her life, what would they find? A record of a rich life fulfilled or merely a notation in a science journal about other, more interesting lives she'd discovered?
The distant hum of an engine drew her weary attention. "For frig sake, now what?"
A familiar blue blotch grew nearer. MacTavish's truck.
A twinge of suspicion gripped her chest, as she held her hand above her eyes, and tried to focus on what appeared to be not one, but two people sitting in the front seat. Oh, hell. Not Michael! He wouldn’t dare . . . .
Ewan.
"Margot. Please go inside the cottage right now and keep Ewan there."
"But, lass, the storm will be here soon. You must prepare…"
"I can see it. Look. Listen to me. There's no time to explain. I'll try and get rid of MacTavish. Just make sure Ewan doesn't come out . . . ." She turned and walked toward the approaching vehicle. ". . . or I'll have a new gravesite to add to the MacKinnon ruins."
Chapter 11
As the truck drew nearer, the second figure became steadily more familiar, confirming the pang of angst that curdled in her stomach.
Michael.
"Hello, lass!" MacTavish waved his arm out the window as the lorry ground to a halt before her. "Good to see you all in one piece, eh?"
She gave him a curt nod and stared daggers at his passenger. "MacTavish, you're early. Why is he here?"
The farmer averted his eyes and motioned for his passenger to join him.
"Why, this is your boss, isn't it? Aye. The day after you left, Professor Wade here called me and said he’d sent you. He was worried about you and wanted to see how things were going."
She couldn't stop the snarl that curled at her top lip. The usurping bastard! "So kind of him." Her blood boiled at the sight of her old flame.
Michael stepped down from the truck, removed his sunglasses, gave her a crooked smile. "Ellie."
"Aye." MacTavish continued, clearly oblivious to the tension around them. "I told him all about the pin, and what you're hoping to find."
She shot MacTavish a heated look, as disbelief dissolved into anger. "You told him everything I'd prepared?"
"Of course. He's your boss, isn’t he? Why wouldn't I? Besides, he said this find was of major importance, and that he'd sent you because you're his best associate."
"Associate? My. I am flattered. I've obviously moved up in your ranks, haven't I, Professor?"
Michael swaggered toward her in a way she used to find attractive – now it repulsed her. "Come now, Ellie. There's no need for that. We're both professionals here. Let's show our host some decorum, shall we?"
Her hands clenched until her nails threatened to drawn blood from her palms, and anger shook her entire being. "You son of a . . ."
He ignored her defiant stance, produced a small pair of binoculars, and turned toward the ruins. "Ah. I see you've already begun the preliminary sites. Good work, Ellie. I always could count on you. Now, let's see. We'll bring in three teams, I think. And that little cottage—I'll make that my base of operations. You won't mind, will you Ell?"
"Bastard!" He stared in shock at her abuse. "Touch one stone, dig one hole, and I'll personally plant you in it!"
A wide grin spread across the creep's face. "My, my. Haven't we become the feisty one? I think I like this side of you Ellie. You've got spirit I've never seen before." He grasped her arm, pulled her close to him, leered at her body. "You're more woman now than I recall. In fact, I do believe it might be time to rekindle some old flames, don't you. And that little cottage . . ."
Michael jumped at the sight of a sword blade next to his cheek. "What the . . ."
My God, she'd never seen Ewan so angry.
"Let her go." Ewan's icy tone sent shivers coursing through her, even though she wasn't the one at risk.
"Do as he says, Michael."
"The hell I will. Now, what is going on?" Michael turned to face Ewan and froze in the Highlander's enormous shadow.
MacTavish had disappeared, most probably hiding behind his truck.
Ewan glanced at her, raised an eyebrow. "This is your Michael?"
She pulled away from Michael and stood next Ewan, touched his arm. There wouldn't be enough sutures in all of Scotland, let alone her first aid kit, to repair what would happen to Michael if he didn't shut up. But getting Michael to do anything sensible was easier said than done. "I already told you. He's not my Michael. Besides, it's nothing, Ewan. I'm fine, really. Pay no attention to him."
Ewan clearly wasn't about to take her word for it. He held the tip of his sword mere inches from Michael's nose. "You dare touch ma woman?"
A smug expression coated Michael's face.
Oh, dear.
"Ma woman. You like that authentic brogue, huh, Ellie? A local, eh? How nice. Listen, my dear fellow, I'm not aware of Ellie having a boyfriend. In fact, I think you'll find she and I might have plans for tonight, so you can be on your way. I'm a professor you know. World famous. You may have seen me on the television? You are a strange chap, aren't you? Nice costume though . . . ." Michael reached out to touch Ewan's plaid, but never made it.
Ewan struck the man with a flick of his hand, sending her old professor hurtling backward to land on the ground with a loud thump.
Michael didn't move.
Ewan strode toward him, sword still in hand.
She raced ahead of Ewan, knowing what he intended to do. "Don't kill him, Ewan. Please. Yes, he's a bastard. But I don't want his blood on our hands."
A deep roll of thunder echoed through the darkening sky. Michael stirred on the ground.
"You’re ma property, Ellie. Ma wife. No one ever lays a hand on you. It's ma honor to protect you." He raised his weapon.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Risking possible death or worse—Ewan's wrath—she stood between him and the injured archaeologist. "Look. I understand you see killing him as your duty, and I'm very flattered, but we really have to talk about this whole marriage thing."
Large, heavy drops of rain began to fall about them.
MacTavish, who'd emerged from the safety of the truck, raced over and helped Michael from the ground. MacTavish stopped and stared up at Ewan, his mouth open.
Eyes narrowed, Ewan scowled at the man. "Aye, he's a MacTavish for sure. He even looks like Douglas."
"Who in God's name is he, lass?" With his gaze fixed upon the giant warrior, panic lit MacTavish's pale face, as the old man held Michael and steadied him on his feet.
"It's a very long story, Mr. MacTavish.” Ellie wiped her brow and shook her head. Though she’d sworn off drinking, a shot of whiskey sounded good about now. “I suggest you both get out of here. I'll explain later."
Michael pulled away from his host's grasp, wiped blood away from his lips with the back of his hand, and dusted his pants. Unsteady on his feet, he looked ready to fall down again. "I'll sue for this, Ellie. I'm going to make sure your friend here is left with nothing, do you hear me?"
Ewan stepped forward, sword raised.
She held him back. "Just get out of here, Michael."
Her ex-boss limped toward the waiting truck. MacTavish didn't have to be told twice and had already jumped ahead of Michael and started the engine.
Michael rolled down his window. "Don't think I'm going to let this go, Ellie! I'll be back tomorrow, and I'm brin
ging two teams with me—police too."
She kicked the truck tire as it rolled past. "Get the hell away from here, you bastard."
Oh, Hell. She was gutted.
Ewan watched the vehicle depart, a look of wary astonishment on his face. Christ. He'd probably never seen a lorry before.
Well, too bad. She wasn't in the mood to play tour guide to the twenty-first century.
No. She was well and truly pissed off.
Ewan turned to meet her angry glare, then stepped toward her.
She raised her hand. "You stay away from me, too. In fact, don't even talk to me."
Fury pumped through her veins as she climbed up the stones of MacKinnon keep, then sat and stared at the truck moving into the distance. A loud crack of thundered ripped through the sky before heavy rain hammered down all around, but she didn't care.
Her life was in ruins.
Once again Michael had come in and hijacked her site, and she could do nothing to stop him – short of letting Ewan skewer the man.
All her years of hard work and sacrifice—for nothing.
Damn Michael, and damn Ewan too!
She'd never agreed to be his wife. Yes, she wanted to be with him, desired him more than she cared to admit, and thought he wanted the same. But marriage?
The cottage door flung open and knocked against the stone wall with a bang that penetrated the clatter of the rain.
Bright forks of lightning streaked across the sky.
Ewan stepped inside briefly, then re-emerged and stood in the downpour, his expression the very picture of determination. Margot followed him, the amulet in her hands.
Ellie stared at the pair, drenched as streams of icy water ran down her face and back, her glasses fogging up and making it hard for her to see.
For the love of God. He was going to try to go back.
Part of her leapt inside, wanted to go with him. The rest of her held back.
Frightened, confused, angry. Too many emotions fought within her, all vying for supremacy.
A bright flash made her jump. The lightning had been close, reminding her of when it had struck next to the cottage.
The night Ewan had arrived.
Maybe he had come through time after all.
She stood and paced, her heartbeat keeping time with the pummeling rain.
What if Margot was right, and she was meant to go back? What if her future did lie in the past?
But going with him meant leaving everything she knew . . . was there no one else she truly cared about?
Her heart ached with the truth. She had nobody.
Ewan leaned on his sword, knelt in the mud before his mother, bowed his head.
Above him, Margot held the amulet between her finger tips in the driving rain, then glanced at Ellie with a pleading look.
Her shoulders sagged. Oh, Hell.
As if running through a mine field, she dodged a sudden hail of lightning strikes all around her as she raced to Ewan and dropped into the mud by his side.
With near crushing force, he threw his arm around her waist, held her against him.
As a blinding flash of light engulfed them, Ellie buried her head in his chest, closed her eyes and held on tight.
She was toast.
Chapter 12
Damn crickets. Couldn't they just shut up?
Hell. Even her thoughts sounded too loud.
She felt like she was in front of an enormous Chinese gong, and someone had banged it hard. The ringing in her ears was almost much too much to bear. Her mouth was shut tight, and as she forced it open, a rush of cold air was sucked into her greedy lungs, making her cough.
Had she stopped breathing?
Every fiber of her body ached, muscles burned and threatened to collapse if she dared even think about moving. Her stomach tightened, but she didn't feel ill.
Great. Trust time travel to be the only form of transport where she didn't throw up. Pity, that intense pain and suffering had replaced the motion sickness.
Tough trade.
A throbbing wave of torment continued to rampage through her listless frame as if making sure it hadn't missed anything. Total annihilation. If there was a God, he should have mercy and finish her off now.
No such luck.
Her logical mind attempted to take control, and before she could ask the stupid question of what happened, she realized the answer.
She'd been struck by lightning.
Or some strange form of natural energy. Somehow she doubted this strike was the same as those that exploded trees and took out entire town power grids.
If not, this was purgatory, and she was nothing but a painful pile of dust.
Must have been the amulet's doing.
She remembered piercing white light had surrounded her and Ewan. Everything after that was a blur, but she wouldn't have been surprised if she had a crispy brown head and resembled a toasted marshmallow.
She sure as hell felt melted and gooey on the inside.
The moment the lightning struck, her body rippled with relentless waves of static electricity. At first it had reminded her of the pins and needles sensation she'd get when her foot fell asleep, only much more painful. It grew in intensity until she'd felt like a human pin cushion. The supercharged air around her crackled and became like a searing-hot vacuum.
Then nothing.
Or almost nothing.
She couldn't recall even breathing—just being.
And now she also felt incredibly dehydrated, her throat raw and parched. Please, someone tell her that the whole idea of time travel had been a farce, and that she'd been tasered instead as a joke. Okay. Not a very funny joke, but it would mean she could crawl back into the cottage, cover her head, and go to sleep.
Killing Ewan would have to wait until later.
Forcing her eyes open, she squinted and allowed her sight to adjust. Oh, God. Stabbing pain overwhelmed her mind, made her eyes close once again. So much for that idea. What she wouldn't give for a couple of aspirin. There were some in her back pack . . . .
Ergh.
She must have passed out.
Blinking slowly, she stared at the darkening sky. It had been bright when she last looked. How long had she been lying there? Must have been half a day at least. And where the hell was Ewan?
With a deep, mournful groan she rolled onto her back, soft grass crushed beneath her hands.
"Where are we, Ewan?" Something inside her warned she wasn't about to like his answer. She breathed in and out slowly through her nose, as the pain gradually abated. "Ewan?"
Muscles ached in protest as she sat up and looked around, her neck sore and stiff. Christ, even her teeth tingled and felt on edge.
She'd once been zapped by an exposed lighting wire on a dig. The force launched her back about five feet into the air before she hit the ground. The incident had left her shaken, but that was nothing compared to how she felt now.
"Ewan! Where are you?" Yelling wasn't a good idea, her head still tender, but she didn't care. This wasn't where they'd departed from. At least, she didn't think so and Ewan was gone.
The cottage wasn't in sight, the ruins either. In fact, nothing looked familiar. She was in the middle of a forest—that much was certain. Trees, birds, bugs. Nothing unusual so far. Except, no Ewan. Maybe he'd gone for water?
She hoped so.
Her legs ached and burned as she got to her feet. Boy, did he owe her one for this. She took a few wobbly steps then leant against the trunk of a tree, her coordination shot.
Everything seemed to be moving as if she were on the deck of a ship. "Oh, great. I feel like a serving of overcooked bubble 'n' squeak with a side of vertigo. Bloody lightning, crap! Couldn't have dropped us off at the front door of Ewan's keep or anything."
Lord, she was grumpy. She didn't mean to be, and the last thing she wanted was for him to brand her as a whining woman. No. She was stronger than that. An archaeologist, a professional—that's who she was.
Oh…an arch
aeologist with a monster headache.
The faint sound of a male voice drew her attention.
After taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the tree and began to stumble toward the noise. She brushed a fallen lock of hair from her face, then touched the bridge of her nose. Hell. Her glasses. They were gone.
Probably got fried as well.
If she was somewhere in ancient Scotland, she doubted there would be an optometrist anywhere nearby. Damn it. She knew she should have bought those contact lenses. For the time being, she'd have to get along without them. She could see most things, depending on the distance. Her headache didn't help.
As she made her way through a thick grove of trees, the soft rush of water and the male voice and grew louder.
"Thank god. He's found a stream. I'm dying of thirst."
Despite her pain, she stumbled to the river bank, knelt down in the wet soil, and scooped handfuls of icy water into her mouth.
Heaven.
Fresh and clean, it was better than any bottled water she'd ever tasted.
She splashed some on her face, rubbed her eyes, and surveyed the stream. Lush and green, the foliage looked so different from the desolate land surrounding the ruins. A little further up from her, the figure of a man sat crouched beside the bank. She couldn't quite make out his features, but he appeared to have noticed her and stood up.
"Ewan?" She smiled and waved at him. He waved back.
An awkward tension mingled with relief in her stomach.
Since their argument at the cottage, she hadn't spoken to him about the "marriage". Hell. His mother had approved. The woman knew nothing about her. And now, since Ellie had in fact returned with him, her historical knowledge told her there'd be little chance of evading the impending matrimony.
But what he expected of their relationship and what he got were two different matters.
A sudden smile spread across her lips. She recalled Michael's face when Ewan appeared behind him. Priceless. And the way Ewan had sent him flying through the air. She understood the old Highland code of honor, and held little doubt her husband would kill for her. Die for her.
Her husband?
