Beyond the Highland Mist

by Karen Marie Moning

  Easing himself back down by the fire, Hawk unwrapped the bandage and cleansed his wounded hand with Scotch and water. Carefully, he untied the leather pouch and wondered curiously at the assortment of stoppered flasks that fell out. He picked up the poultice and laid it to the side, sorting through the rest.

  Just what had the seer seen? he wondered grimly. For she’d given him two other potions, one of which he’d sworn to never use again.

  Hawk snorted. One was an aphrodisiac he’d tried in his younger days. That one didn’t worry him too much. The one he despised was the potion that had been created to keep a man in a prolonged but detached state of sexual arousal.

  He turned the flask with the vile green liquid in it this way and that, watching the sun reflect off the faceted prisms of the stoppered bottle. Shadows rose up and taunted him openly for a time, until his obdurate will banished them back to hell. Quickly he spread the poultice, which eased the pain and would speed recovery. In a fortnight his hand would be well knit.

  Adam. Although he hadn’t outright said it, Rushka had insinuated that it was Adam who had brought Esmerelda to them last night. Which meant Adam knew Esmerelda had been trying to kill Adrienne.

  What else did Adam know?

  And just what had made his friend Rushka, who had never once shown terror in all the thirty-odd years Hawk had known him, betray visible fear now?

  Too many questions and not enough answers. Every one pointed an accusing finger toward the smithy, who even now was probably trying to seduce Hawk’s wife.

  My wife who doesn’t want me. My wife who wants Adam. My wife who didn’t care enough to even ask about me when I was wounded.

  Esmerelda was dead, but Rushka had made it clear that the real threat was still there, and close enough to Dalkeith to drive the Rom away. Apparently Adam was involved. And he’d left his wife in the thick of it. Keep close and closer …

  The Hawk’s mind whirred, sorting the scarce facts and hunting for the most feasible solution to his myriad problems. Suddenly the answer seemed impossibly clear. He snorted, unable to believe he hadn’t thought of it before. But the lass had a way of getting so far under his skin that his mind didn’t work in its usual logical fashion with her in the vicinity. No longer! It was time to take control, rather than allowing circumstances to continue to run amok.

  His pact with Adam entailed that he could not forbid Adrienne to see the smithy. But he could make it damned difficult for her to do so. He would take her to Uster with him. Far away from the mysterious, compelling Adam Black.

  So what if she hadn’t asked about him? She’d made it clear from day one that she didn’t want to be wed to him. She had vowed to hate him forever, yet he would swear her body responded to his. He’d have her all to himself in Uster and be able to test that theory.

  Just when had he become passive? When you felt guilty for burning her queen, his conscience reminded. Trapping her here, in spite of her wishes, if she is indeed from the future. But guilt was for losers and fools. Not for Sidheach Douglas. There was no guilt involved when she was at stake. “I love her,” he told the wind. “And so I’ve become the greatest kind of fool.”

  A nice one.

  Time to remedy that. Guilt and passivity dropped away from him in that clarifying instant. The Hawk who turned his steed around and headed for Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea to claim his wife was the true namesake of the Sidheach of yore, the Viking conqueror who had run ramshod over any who dared oppose him. I commit, I attain, I prevail.

  He leapt to his mount and spurred his charger into a full run. Seel and jess, my sweet falcon, he promised with a dark smile.

  Beneath a bough of rowans, Adam stiffened. Not fair! Not fair! Get thee hence! But fair or not, he’d seen true. The Hawk had turned around and was coming back to take Adrienne away with him. That was simply unacceptable. He obviously had to do something drastic.

  “How could this be?” Lydia paced the kitchen, a flurry of claret-colored damask and concern.

  “I don’t have any idea, Lydia. One minute I was in the gardens and the next thing I knew I was in my bedroom back in my own time.”

  “Your own time,” Lydia echoed softly.

  Adrienne met her gaze levelly. “Almost five hundred years from now.”

  Lydia cocked her head and fell still, as if having a brisk internal debate with herself. The silence stretched into a protracted length of time while she pondered the limits of her beliefs. Lydia had always thought that women were more open-minded and adaptable than men when it came to inexplicable happenings. Perhaps it was because women experienced firsthand the incomprehensible and astonishing miracle of childbirth. To a woman who could create life inside her own body, why, time travel seemed like a minor miracle in comparison. But men … men were always trying to find a rational explanation for things.

  When the Hawk had told her what strange news Grimm had discovered at Comyn keep, Lydia had studied Adrienne closely, watching for any signs of instability or peculiar behavior. Through her close observation, she had only become more convinced that Adrienne was just as sane as a person could be. She had concluded that while something had hurt Adrienne deeply in her past, whatever had hurt her had far from weakened her mind—Adrienne had been strengthened by it, like tempered steel. Oh, Lydia knew there was a very lonely young woman behind some of Adrienne’s caustic humor and sometimes cool façade, but Lydia had found that stern walls most often guarded a treasure, and a treasure her daughter-in-law was indeed. Lydia cared for her enormously and had every intention of having grandchildren from her son and this lovely young woman.

  The idea that the entire Comyn clan was suffering some strange madness didn’t make sense. Lydia knew Althea Comyn well from time spent at court together, years past. She was a practical, worldly-wise woman, and although over the years Althea had grown more reclusive, she still remained pragmatic and levelheaded.

  Lydia had long suspected the Laird Comyn of acts of twisted violence. Could she believe he had killed his own daughter in an act of senseless violence? Easily. He’d had his youngest son slaughtered like a lamb to the sacrifice for crossing clan lines and taking up with one of the Bruce’s grandnieces.

  Through all of the Red Comyn’s acts of twisted and petty vengeances, Althea Comyn had managed the aftermath to the continued benefit of her clan. She was an extraordinary woman, holding her children and grandchildren together with sheer will and determination.

  And so to Lydia, the thought of the pragmatic Lady Comyn suffering a fit of fantasy was more difficult to believe than the possibility of time travel. Simply put, Althea Comyn was too much a cold realist to indulge in any nonsense.

  Having reached her conclusions, Lydia smiled gently at Adrienne, who had been waiting in tense silence. “Hawk told me what Lady Comyn said, Adrienne. That you’re not her daughter. That you appeared out of thin air. Indeed, I have heard your brogue ebb and flow like a stormy, unpredictable tide.”

  Adrienne was momentarily chagrined. “You have?”

  Lydia snorted. “When you were ill your burr disappeared entirely, my dear.”

  Adrienne blinked. “Why didn’t anybody ever ask me about it?”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, things haven’t been exactly calm since you’ve come to Dalkeith. Not a day has passed that hasn’t brought new surprises. Murder attempts, unwelcome visitors, not to mention the Hawk behaving like a besotted lad. Besides, I hoped that one day you would confide in me of your own choosing. Now, the guards tell me they watched you disappear and reappear several times before their very eyes.” Lydia rubbed her palms against the skirt of her dress, a far-off expression in her eyes. “From the future,” she murmured softly. “My son believed it was some trauma that made you believe such madness and yet …”

  “And yet what?” Adrienne urged.

  Lydia met Adrienne’s clear steady eyes. They stared at each other a long, searching moment.

  Finally Lydia said, “Nay. Not a hint of madness in that gaze.”


  “I’m from another time, Lydia. I’m not mad.”

  “I believe you, Adrienne,” Lydia said simply.

  “You do?” Adrienne practically yelped. “Why?”

  “Does it really matter? Suffice it to say, I am convinced. And when things finally return to normal around here, if they ever do, I want you to tell me all about it. Your time. I have many questions, but they will wait. For now, there are things we must be clear on.” Lydia’s brow furrowed in thought. “How did you get here, Adrienne?”

  “I don’t know.” Adrienne shrugged helplessly. “Truly, I have no idea.”

  “The Hawk thought it was the black queen. The Lady Comyn said it was bewitched.”

  “I thought it was too.”

  “So it never was the black queen … hmmm. Adrienne, we must be absolutely clear on this. Exactly what were you doing at the moment when it happened?”

  “The first time, when I wound up at the Comyn keep? Or this time?”

  “This time,” Lydia said. “Although we should investigate the first time as well, and look for similarities.”

  “Well … I was walking in the gardens and I was thinking about the twentieth century. I was thinking about how much—”

  “You wanted to leave,” Lydia finished for her, with a trace of bitterness.

  Adrienne was equally surprised and touched. “No. Actually I was thinking about how nice it is here. In the 1990s, my God, Lydia, people were just out of control! Children killing parents. Parents killing children. Children killing children. They’ve all got cell phones stuck to their ears and yet I’ve never seen such distance between people trying so hard to be close. And just the day before I left you should have seen the headlines in the papers. A boy strangled a little girl when she wouldn’t get off the phone and let him use it. Oh, I was thinking bitter thoughts of that time and comparing it to home and home was definitely winning.”

  “Say that again?” Lydia uttered softly.

  “What?” Adrienne asked blankly. “Oh, headlines, papers, they’re—” she started to explain, but Lydia cut her off.

  “Home.” Lydia’s face lit with a beautiful smile. “You called this home.”

  Adrienne blinked. “I did?”

  The two women looked at each other a long moment.

  “Well, by the Sanhain, Lydia, give her the coffee, I’ll say.” Tavis’s gruff voice came from the door. “Popping in and out like that, surely she’s got a thirst on.”

  “Coffee?” Adrienne perked.

  “Ah.” Lydia smiled, pleased with herself and doubly delighted with her daughter-in-law who had called Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea home without even realizing it. She quickly filled a porcelain mug with the steaming brew and placed it proudly on the table in front of her.

  Adrienne’s nose twitched as her taste buds kicked up a sprightly jig and she reached greedily for the mug. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and drank.

  And choked.

  Tavis pounded her on the back and looked accusingly at Lydia. “I told you!” he said.

  When Adrienne could breathe again, she wiped the tears from her eyes and peered suspiciously in her cup. “Oh, Lydia! You don’t leave the coffee grounds—no, not grounds quite … more like a paste, I think. What did you do? Mush the beans and mix them with water? Ugh!”

  “Didn’t I tell you to run it through a sieve?” Tavis reminded. “Would you want to drink it like that?”

  “Well, with all the hubbub I forgot!” Lydia snatched the mug. “Since you’re so certain you know how to do it, you do it!” She thrust the mug at Tavis, sloshing thick brown stuff on the floor.

  “Fine. See if I don’t, I’ll say!” With a supercilious look he made off for the buttery.

  Lydia sighed. “Adrienne, I know it hasn’t been a very good morning so far. I so wanted to have coffee for you, but in lieu of coffee, how about a cup of tea and a chat?”

  “Uh-oh,” Adrienne said. “I know that look, Lydia. What’s wrong? Besides my being tossed through time portals?”

  “Tea?” Lydia evaded.

  “Talk,” Adrienne said warily.

  How best to start this? Lydia was determined to hide nothing from her. Lies and half-truths had a nasty way of reproducing and breeding distrust. If Adrienne could see the Hawk clearly, the truth would hopefully not do damage; but lies, somewhere down the line, assuredly would. “Esmerelda is dead.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Adrienne offered instantly. “But who’s Esmerelda?”

  “The Hawk’s … er … well, ex-mistress probably explains it the best—”

  “You mean in addition to Olivia? And where was he keeping her, by the way? In the dungeon? The tower? The room next to mine?”

  Lydia winced. “It’s not like that, Adrienne. He’d ended it with her months before you came. She lived with the Rom who camp on our fields in the warm seasons. According to what her people told Tavis this morning, she’s the one who had been trying to kill you. The good news is, you’re safe now.”

  “Haven’t I been saying it all along? I told you it was probably one of that man’s ex-girlfriends, didn’t I? Oh!” She leapt to her feet.

  “Adrienne.”

  “What now?”

  Oh, bother, Lydia brooded. Well buck up, she told herself, knowing from the look on Adrienne’s face that she was just spoiling for a good fight with the Hawk, and that she would be mad as a spitting banshee when she realized she couldn’t get one. “Hawk left for Uster at dawn.”

  “For how long?” Adrienne gritted.

  “He didn’t say. Adrienne! Wait! We need to sort out what brought you here!” But Adrienne was no longer listening.

  Lydia sighed as Adrienne stormed from the kitchen mumbling nonstop under her breath, “Arrogant pigheaded pain-in-the-ass Neanderthal …”

  CHAPTER 23

  JUST WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM, ADRIENNE DE SIMONE? SHE asked herself furiously.

  She shrugged and sighed before forlornly advising a nearby rosebush, “I seem to have a bit of a thing for the man.”

  The rosebush nodded sagely in the soft summer breeze and Adrienne willingly poured the whole of it upon her rapt audience.

  “I know he’s been with a lot of women. But he’s not like Eberhard. Of course, probably there’s nobody like Eberhard except maybe a five-headed monster from the jaws of hell.”

  When the rosebush didn’t accuse her of being melodramatic or waxing poetical, she summoned up a truly pitiful sigh and continued. “I can’t understand a blasted thing about the man. First he wants me—I mean, come on, he burned my queen to keep me here, which didn’t really work apparently, but the intention was there. He saves my life repeatedly even though it was kind of indirectly his fault it was in danger to begin with, and then he refuses to see me. And if that’s not enough, he just up and leaves without so much as a fare-thee-well!”

  Adrienne plucked irritably at the rosebush.

  “I don’t think he quite understands the full necessity of clear and timely communication. Timely meaning now. Where exactly is Uster, anyway?” She fully considered trying to find a horse and go there herself. How dare he just up and abandon her? Not that she minded entirely being where she was—Dalkeith-Upon-the-Sea was certainly lovely, but what if she got zipped back to her own time for good and never saw him again?

  Damned if that didn’t put things in an entirely different perspective. A few soldiers of the war raging within her breast got up and traitorously switched camp on the heels of that thought.

  How had she failed to realize that she could disappear and never see the man she was married to again? That she had no control over it whatsoever? Twenty more soldiers marched over to the Hawk’s side of the fracas raging inside her. Holy cow.

  Don’t you wonder, Adrienne, what it would feel like to lie down next to him in the sizzling heat of magnificent passion?

  Okay. She had one soldier left on her side and his name was Mr. Suspicious N. Fearful.

  Traitors! She frowned at the Hawk’s new camp. Just thin
king about him made her feel hot. She trailed her fingers in the fountain’s sparkling, chemical-free water.

  She couldn’t imagine never seeing this beautiful fountain again, never smelling the lavender virgin air of 1513. No Lydia, no Tavis. No castle by the sea. No Laird Hawk, man of steel and blazing passion. Just Seattle and bitter memories and fear keeping her inside her house. The 1990s, bargain packaged with smog and ozone holes.

  She doubted Hawk would ever try to send her on vacations alone. He seemed to be the kind of man who would treasure his wife and keep her close to his side if the woman allowed it. Close to that beautifully muscled side, and under that kilt …

  “Dream a wicked dream,” she sighed softly. Adrienne squeezed her eyes tightly shut and dropped her head in her hands. A long eternity of questions tumbled through her head, and slowly but surely Adrienne helped the last little soldier to his feet, dusted him off, and let him lean on her as she walked him over to the other side of the war. She had made her decision. She would try.

  She raised her head from her hands slowly to meet Adam’s piercing gaze. How long had he been standing there watching her with worship in his eyes. Dark eyes, black as hate. Now where had that come from?

  “You hate the Hawk, don’t you, Adam?” she asked in a flash of crystal-clear intuition.

  He smiled appreciatively. “You women are like that. Cut to the quick of it with a canny eye. But hate attaches a great deal of importance to its predicate,” he mocked as he dropped himself beside her on the ledge.

  “Don’t play word games with me, Adam. Answer my question.”

  “This would please you? Honesty from a man?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged a beautiful, sun-kissed shoulder. “I hate the Hawk.”

  “Why?” Adrienne asked indignantly.

  “He’s a fool. He fails to cede appropriate due to your beauty, Beauty.”

  “To my what?” The least important thing about her.

  The smithy flashed a blinding smile. “He seeks but to spread them, to slip between your thighs, but those love-slick dewy petals I would immortalize.”