by Willa Blair
He’d hoped he would find her by the loch. They’d gone there together many times during their time together. Sometimes they’d ridden along the loch or picnicked under the oak tree. One time, they’d gotten so caught up in their passion for each other that they’d made love on an old blanket under that old oak, completely forgetting that someone could walk by at any time. Even thinking about it four years later made his blood run hot.
But whether they’d indulged their passion for one another, or simply enjoyed the scenery, Abby had always taken pleasure in gazing out at the loch, had always found peace there.
He’d felt so triumphant when he’d found her sitting there. When she looked up at him, he’d barely managed to stifle a gasp of dismay. She was ghostly pale, the shadows beneath her eyes like purple bruises. Her eyes had none of their usual vibrancy. He’d thought that she looked pale when he saw her at the castle, but hadn’t noticed just how pale she was.
When she whispered his name, her face crumpling, it had nearly torn his heart out. She hadn’t resisted when he’d pulled her into his arms; instead, she’d turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed as if her heart was broken. He’d wondered what kind of awful tragedy would drive her into his embrace after all this time.
Now, as he drove away from her, the tears welled in his eyes as he imagined her heartbreak. She had been so close to her parents, calling them faithfully every Sunday during her entire time in Scotland. They and her older brother Adam had come to visit for a week that summer, and she and Ian had taken them all over, showing them Edinburgh, Glencoe, the Isle of Skye, the Highlands.
To lose either of them was tragic. To lose them both at once was unthinkable. His heart clenched at the thought of losing his beloved parents that way—the very idea of it making him sick to his stomach.
As he drove along the quiet road, lost in his thoughts, he realized he was passing MacNab’s farm. He found himself wanting to talk to his old friend, and smoothly whipped the Jaguar down the tree-lined driveway.
As he got out of his car, he was met by Duff, MacNab’s Scottish deerhound. The enormous gray dog bounded over, greeting him with an enthusiastic bark and a thorough lick of Ian’s outstretched hand.
“Hiya, Duff,” Ian muttered, scratching the wiry head. Duff regarded him with gentle brown eyes under an elegantly arched brow. Ian was convinced that the dog had an old soul. Duff studied him for a moment and then nuzzled his hand, his wise eyes sad, as though he felt Ian’s pain. He laid his hand on Duff’s head, which was level with his waist, and walked towards the farmhouse, the dog at his side.
The door opened, and Alistair MacNab emerged, a smile on his face. He was in his seventies at least, but he carried himself with the bearing of a much younger man. His gray hair was thick and full, his blue eyes twinkling as he pulled Ian into a bear hug.
“Ian, my lad! It always gives me a wee chuckle to see you get out of that flashy car dressed as though you stepped out of the pages of history. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Come in, laddie, I’ve tea and scones waiting.”
Of course he did. Mac always had this uncanny way of knowing when Ian was stopping by, even when Ian thought he was being spontaneous. After all the years he’d known the old man, he finally stopped questioning this and just accepted that Mac “knew” things.
He followed Mac into the house, and took a seat at the table. Mac began to pour the tea. He looked up and stared at Ian for a moment. Without a word, he returned the full kettle to a trivet on the counter and pushed aside their teacups. He opened a cabinet and withdrew a bottle of scotch and poured a generous amount into two tumblers, which he set on the table along with the bottle.
“You look like you need this more than the tea, judging by the color of your face. Slàinte.”
They tapped their glasses together and then sipped. Ian closed his eyes, savoring the smooth taste of the fine scotch as it glided down his throat, leaving pleasant warmth in its wake.
Mac gestured to the bottle. “Eighteen-year-old Macallan single malt,” he sighed appreciatively. “Smooth as a lassie’s cheek. And a better cure for what ails you than almost anything else. Even now, I see some of your color creepin’ back.” He sat back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “I haven’t seen that look in your eyes since yon lassie broke your heart all those years ago. Tell me what’s ailin’ you.”
Ian swallowed more scotch than he’d intended, his eyes watering as it burned the back of his throat. He set his glass on the table. “‘Yon lassie,’ as you just referred to her, is here.”
MacNab’s eyes widened in surprise, and in spite of his own inner turmoil, Ian felt a small measure of satisfaction in surprising the seemingly all-knowing old man. “Abby is back, you say? This is not what I was expecting…you saw her?”
“Aye. She showed up at this fundraiser I attended at Urquhart. I thought I was seein’ things.” Ian took a large swallow of scotch before telling Mac about what he’d said to Abby and the awful news about her parents.
“I was cruel to her, Mac. Cruel to her when she was grievin’ for her parents. What kind of man am I?”
“You’re a man who was deeply hurt by the woman he loved, who never found out what caused her to sever all ties with you. ’Tis only natural that you would have been cold to her when she suddenly showed up. But when you realized she was sufferin’, you comforted her as best you could, in spite of your differences. That tells me exactly what kind of man you are.”
“I wanted to stay with her, to do more, but she sent me away. Said she wanted to be alone. She said she’d call me, and I know I should give her some space, but all I want to do right now is go back to her.”
MacNab sat back in his chair. “I always wondered what happened between you two, but I didn’t want to pry. There’s something in your eyes now that hasn’t been there since Abby went back to New York. Don’t give up, Ian. She came back to the Highlands. Back to you. Nay, don’t you be shakin’ your stubborn head at me, laddie.”
“She didn’t come back to me, Mac. It was completely by chance that she saw that sign for the fundraiser.” Even though her story had seemed implausible before, as he said the words aloud, he realized he believed them.
“Was it?” Mac asked cryptically. He studied Ian’s face for another moment. “Tell me what else is on your mind.”
Ian hadn’t told anyone about his dreams, but maybe Mac could offer some insight. “I’ve been dreaming quite a lot lately. Not those kinds of dreams, Mac,” he muttered, spotting the devilish glint in the old man’s blue eyes. “It’s the same dream, over and over again. And Abby’s in it.”
“Go on, lad.” All trace of humor was gone from Mac’s face as he gestured for Ian to continue.
Ian closed his eyes and began to describe the dream, so familiar to him now that the words just spilled out.
He was following Abby as she strode angrily away from him, toward the loch. He called her name, but she wouldn’t stop. He started to run after her, but he couldn’t seem to get any closer. The wide expanse of the loch loomed before him, the midnight blue water shimmering in the sunlight.
The cold mist rose up out of nowhere, blocking out the sun, enveloping him instantly in its cold embrace.
“Abby? Abby, where are you?” She did not answer. He couldn’t see anything, was disoriented in the fog.
Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the mist dissipated. Now he was astride Jack, the horse prancing nervously beneath him. He laid his hand against Jack’s sweaty neck, trying to calm him. He felt a draft on his legs and glanced down, shocked to discover that he was wearing a kilt—a full-length plaid, complete with a sporran and a dirk in his belt. Was he at a re-enactment?
The sudden clanging of swords startled both of them. Jack reared, his powerful forelegs thrashing in the air. He barely managed to stay on the frightened horse, gaping at the sight before him.
Not twenty yards away, kilted men were engaged in a vicious battle, hacking at each other with enormous claymores.
&n
bsp; He could hear the screams of the wounded and dying. The scent of blood was everywhere. The metallic taste of it was on his tongue. But he could not move. The reins slipped from his frozen fingers as he watched the men kill each other.
One of the men slew his opponent, and as he yanked his sword from the lifeless body and kicked it aside, a woman shrieked in terror. Ian could only watch in silent horror as the man called to his comrades and strode towards a woman who was huddled on the ground. She screamed again as the men approached, their swords dripping with blood as they leered menacingly.
He would know her voice anywhere. It was Abby.
“And that’s when I wake up,” Ian concluded. “At the same point in the dream, every time. It never changes. I never find out what happens to her. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Ian opened his eyes, expecting to see MacNab laughing at him.
Instead, the old man was staring at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Nay, lad, it’s not daft. But I’m standing by what I said before. Your lass came here for a reason, whether or not she knows it yet.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That Abby ‘came here for a reason’? I thought you’d have more insight than that.” Ian knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he had hoped for more from the old man. With all his eerie foresight, with all his uncanny knowledge of things, that was the best MacNab could offer?
Mac smiled indulgently. “Isn’t it enough that I think she’s here for a reason, rather than a random decision to go on holiday in Scotland? Don’t fash yourself, laddie. I’m bettin’ you’ll see her sooner than you think.”
Ian narrowed his eyes at his old friend. “And do you know this in the same way that you always know when I’m comin’ to see you, or are you just tryin’ to make me feel better?”
MacNab just smiled and sipped his scotch.
CHAPTER 2
Abby sat by the loch for some time after Ian left. But as she stared out at the blue water and the ruined castle, she felt different. The ache in her chest was still there, but she no longer felt as though an iron weight was pressing down upon her. She no longer felt cold in her bones, and it didn’t hurt to breathe as much as it had before.
Was it just that she’d needed to cry, to let out all the grief that had been bottled up for the past two months? Or was it being in Ian’s arms again after all this time?
No, she couldn’t allow herself to think along those lines, wouldn’t let herself fall for him again. That path would only lead to heartbreak, and she couldn’t go through that again.
The sun felt nice, and she removed her sweatshirt, folding it and placing it on the boulder. She lay back and closed her eyes, intending to bask for awhile in the warmth of the sun’s rays before heading to her hotel in Inverness.
She stood on a windswept hill overlooking the huge loch. Across the dark water, the ancient castle stood sentinel, the last of the day’s light shining through the ramparts.
Strong arms came around her from behind, pulling her back against a hard body. His breath stirred her hair as he pressed his warm lips to her neck, sending shivers of anticipation down her spine. She started to turn in his arms, wanting his mouth on hers, but just then the sun began descending towards the water, leaving an explosion of crimson, violet, magenta, and orange in its wake.
Captivated by the glorious sight before her, it took her a moment to realize he was no longer holding her. He stood before her, his face in shadow as he took her into his embrace. She reached up to run her fingers through his long silky hair as their lips met in a heated kiss.
He lifted her into his arms and laid her down in the soft grass. He stepped back, and she felt a sudden draft on her skin. She looked down to see that she was naked except for a chain with a silver pendant hanging between her breasts. She had but a moment to wonder where her clothes went when he returned to her, the heat of his bare skin against hers chasing the chill away.
She reached up to touch his face, and felt…nothing?
Abby’s eyes snapped open and she sat up so quickly her head spun, her outstretched hand dropping limply to her side. She checked her watch and discovered that she’d slept for over an hour. It was the most restful sleep she’d had in months, even with the sexy dream. It was the first time since her parents’ accident that her dreams had not been riddled with images of mangled metal, the awful shrieking of cars grinding against each other, the wails of the injured and dying.
Abby pulled on her hoodie and hiked back through the trees to her car. As she drove north along the quiet road, she approached MacNab’s farm. She and Ian had spent a lot of time with the old man, whose knowledge of local history was legendary in the Highlands. They had spent countless evenings enjoying tea and scones and the occasional dram of single malt scotch, while MacNab regaled them with local legends and anecdotes dating back hundreds of years. It was as though he had lived side by side with the people he’d spoken of. She smiled faintly at the memories and made a mental note to pay the old man a visit in the next day or two.
A short while later, she checked into her hotel in Inverness and tossed her suitcase on the bed, unopened. She looked around the small room and suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of being alone on her first night back in Scotland.
Before she could second-guess herself, she washed up and changed into a sundress. She brushed out her long hair and pulled the sides back with a barrette, then put on some makeup. Within fifteen minutes of her arrival at the hotel, she was in her rental car heading to Nairn. To Ian.
Halfway down the road, she pulled to the shoulder and rested her head against the steering wheel. “What am I doing? I can’t go there…I can’t just show up unannounced at dinnertime! Yes, he invited me, and he probably meant it at the time, but what am I thinking? We haven’t been together for four years! Just because he let me cry on his shoulder doesn’t mean anything. I have no idea what he told his family about me—how can I face them?”
She reached into the neckline of her dress and withdrew her mother’s Celtic pendant, fingering it as she often did when distressed. It was a design commonly found among Celtic art and jewelry—a silver disk with three intertwined horses—but it differed from others of its kind because it had a tiny purple stone for each horse’s eye and one in the center of the disk. Her mother had worn it often, and when Abby had finally worked up the strength to go to her parents’ Long Island home two weeks after the accident, she’d found it on the dresser. Wearing it made her feel closer to her mother somehow, and she hadn’t taken it off since.
Her parents had loved life, loved to laugh, loved each other. They would be horrified if they saw her now, wallowing in her grief and looking like a hollow shell of herself. They would want her to start healing, to enjoy life again.
She could see the firth from where she was parked, the blue water sparkling in the afternoon sunshine. And in spite of herself, she thought back to the first time Ian had taken her riding there. She’d been riding Bonny, a huge black-and-white mare, and he was astride Blackjack, his magnificent stallion.
Her heart pounded even now at the stunning image they’d presented: Ian with his long black hair loose and tumbling around his shoulders, his big, strong body perfectly poised on the saddle of the enormous, jet-black steed. Blackjack had been proudly prancing, the feathering on his lower legs fluttering with every step, his elegant neck arched with equine pride.
They rode along the firth, their horses wading through the water. Ian was gazing at the choppy surface of the water, evidently searching for something. Suddenly, he pointed. “Abby, look over there! Do you see them?”
She reined in and tried to follow the direction of his gaze, but could not see what he was looking at. He rode around to her right and leaned over in the saddle, putting his arm around her shoulder and taking her hand. He moved her arm so it was pointing to the right spot and when he spoke, his deep voice was right in her ear.
“Just there, about thirty meters out. Look closely.”
She couldn’t b
reathe, let alone see anything, with Ian holding her like that and murmuring in her ear. She forced herself to focus, and then she saw them.
“Are those dolphins?” She turned to look at Ian and stifled a gasp when she saw how close his grinning face was to her own.
“Aye, Moray Firth has a resident population of bottlenose dolphins. Look, they’re jumping!”
She gleefully watched the dolphins frolic. She turned to smile at him, and the breath went right out of her. He was so close. She licked her suddenly dry lips. His gaze dropped to her mouth, and when he looked up again, a jolt went through her at the hunger she saw reflected in his eyes. Hunger for her. She opened her mouth to say something—what, she had no idea—and in a blur of motion, he leaned over in his saddle, his mouth swooping down upon hers.
Abby touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the touch and feel of his mouth against hers, the taste of his breath as it mixed with hers, the salty tang of the sea air on her tongue. She giggled suddenly, remembering what had happened next.
As his lips tasted hers, he cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned closer. Then there was a startled neighing sound. Ian dropped his hand with a shocked curse as Blackjack took off down the beach with him listing dangerously to the left. Abby stared after them in horror, praying he wouldn’t fall.
He was a skilled horseman, though, and within moments he had righted himself in the saddle and was heading back to her. He smiled sheepishly, his face hot with embarrassment.
“Well, I have to say, that wasn’t one of my smoother moves. Next time, we take the car.”
He’d always loved sharing his favorite places with her, things that were not usually major tourist attractions, whether it was dolphins in Moray Firth, a small fairy ring of stones on a quiet residential street, or a crumbling ruin of a castle on the sea.
How she missed exploring those places with him and sharing laughs when one of them did something silly! If only she could go back in time…
