Dawn Marie Hamilton - Highland Gardens

by Just in Time for a Highland Christmas

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Archibald held the ruby ring in a clenched fist, the large stone jabbing his palm. “She’s gone? What do you mean she’s gone?”

  “Keep calm, my Chief.” Aine was not intimidated by his bluster. “Dinnae fash. ’Twill make you ill.”

  Munn wrung his big hands, gaze lowered to the stone floor. “She ran away.”

  “I gathered that. But why?”

  “She refused to stay with a man she hates. Who she foolishly believes did harm to her clan. That father of hers filled her head with lies.” Hands on hips, Aine glared at the brownie. “Best be tellin’ him the all of it.”

  Munn released a loud sigh. “I put a potion in her wine to make her forget all the bad things her da told her about you. When you drank from the cup you…”

  “Go on.”

  “You passed out. But before you did, you shook Isobell awake and accused her of poisoning you. The forgetting spell had worn off, and she ran away.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  “Since before midnight,” Aine said. “You will bring her back. Aye?”

  Archibald scraped a palm over stiff whiskers. “How long have I slept?”

  “’Tis’ nearly time for the even’ meal.”

  He paced to the window. Heavy snow pummeled the castle, making it difficult to see the bay clearly and naught beyond. Isobell kenned she hadn’t tried to poison him. Why would she risk her life, traveling through a raging storm?

  “Anything could have happened to her out there alone, lost in the snow.”

  “You will find her.” Aine had more faith in him than he did.

  Isobell could be anywhere. They’d never be able to track her in the snow. He paced back to the hearth. “If the potion wore off for her, if it was nae longer potent, why did it make me pass out?”

  Munn frowned and scraped a foot over the floor. “My potions dinnae always work as expected.”

  “Great! And now my lady-wife is lost in a blizzard.”

  The brownie hung his head.

  “You never should have interfered. ’Twas wrong to give Isobell a potion to forget. With time, I would have convinced her that I am not the evil man her father made me out to be.”

  “She would have run before you had the chance,” Munn shot back.

  There was some truth in that. Isobell wouldn’t have given him the time he needed. She’d planned to bolt from the beginning. Archibald ran both hands through his thick hair, wanting to tear the strands from his head. Had it not been for the potion, she never would have signed the contract and said the vows.

  Though she wouldn’t have run during a raging storm. She had more sense than that.

  No matter what she did in the past, she was legally his wife, and thereby he had every right to find her and bring her back. He had to believe she would survive her folly of running away into the storm and that he would find her and bring her home where she belonged. With him.

  The lull to which Archibald woke was short lived. By gloaming, the storm intensified with high winds screaming over Loch Fyne and battering the castle walls. Visibility outside became nil, inside the mood of the clan downright gloomy.

  The fierce weather lasted two more days and nights. On the third day, dawn greeted the castle with a calm, clear, sunny sky. The air much warmer. Melting snow dripped from roofs and slush made the courtyard and paths slippery. Ropes used to pull boats back and forth over the slushy ice of the bay had been secured prior to the storm, but weren’t needed. Archibald and a small contingent of men, including Munn, crossed to the mainland with little difficulty and set out after Isobell on horseback.

  With no tracks to follow, Archibald could only guess as to where she would go. If she thought to be accused of poisoning him, she’d need to hide well. If he were on the run, avoiding a probable death sentence, he would head to Glasgow and seek passage to France.

  Would she do the same?

  The burgh was as good a place as any to start the search. ’Twas also a great place to hide.

  Drifts of melting snow and mud on trails made traveling difficult. Scouts trudged ahead, swept the area to the left and right, and returned with naught to report. With each step, Archibald prayed she’d found safe haven from the storm.

  “There is a large animal moving yonder.” Duncan pointed to a massive thicket.

  Archibald signaled two of the lads forward. They disappeared from sight, but shortly one reappeared and whistled for the others to proceed. The second lad led Isobell’s black stallion from behind the gnarly clump of bushes and small trees, and Archibald’s stomach and hopes plummeted.

  “Is there any sign of my lady-wife?”

  One lad struggled with the agitated beast. The other shook his head.

  The curse came from deep within Archibald’s soul—guttural and vile. He stomped away from the lads and cursed some more.

  A series of birdcalls signaled the return of a scout. The lad approached, carrying one of Archibald’s plaides.

  Archibald squeezed the wool in a clenched fist and brought it to his nose. The scent of lavender lingered on the cloth. Isobell had certainly crossed this area. She must have taken the plaide before leaving their bedchamber. “Where did you find this?”

  “On far knoll.” The man pointed and frowned. “A hill of greenest grass that looks as if ’twas never touched by the storm.”

  “The accursed Sithichean Sluaigh?” Archibald shot a stern look at Munn. “What do you ken of this?”

  He shrugged yet knowledge and guilt shone on his weathered brown face.

  Archibald pivoted to face Duncan. “Return with the lads to the castle.”

  “Aye, I will send them back, but permit me to remain. I am well aware of fae activity in this area.”

  Archibald’s eyes widened. “Are you now?”

  Duncan solemnly nodded. “Lady Laurie demanded I escort her to the Sithichean Sluaigh when she ran from Patrick’s planned marriage for her to another. She claimed from there she could return home. At the time, I thought her a faerie. Now I ken otherwise. Still, there is something magical about that damned knoll. Perhaps Finn MacIntyre’s claims are truth.”

  “That is difficult to believe. The lad lived in a fantasy world of his own making.”

  “Aye, difficult to be sure. Yet…”

  “Send the lads home and we will explore the knoll.”

  With Munn standing on the back of Archibald’s horse, they rode to the Sithichean Sluaigh, the infamous faerie hill. They dismounted, and searched the area, avoiding stepping onto the knoll itself, but found naught to prove Isobell had been there.

  “Look at this.” Duncan squatted and picked up a nicked arrow.

  Archibald’s throat thickened, making it difficult to swallow. Had the reivers found Isobell and had she ran onto the knoll and... He glowered at Munn. “How does the knoll work?”

  “Dinnae ken. Only the fae ken its secrets.”

  “Yet Lady Laurie believed she could magically travel from this spot?”

  “Aye. But not at will.”

  “And where exactly would a person travel to from here?”

  Munn’s throat worked. He scanned the hill and the surrounding area as if he thought others might be near. He stepped close to Archibald and whispered, “To other realms, to the past, to the future.”

  “Ach, I must be as mad as the village idiot to consider this.” Archibald handed his reins to Duncan. “If I can make this work, send a messenger to Glasgow requesting Suibhne return home from university at the earliest opportunity. Until he arrives, you are in charge of the castle and clan.”

  He strode to the center of the knoll, shoulders back, jaw set. Waited. Naught happened. He made fists and waited. Naught. “What am I doing wrong?”

  Munn shrugged. “Workings of the faerie hill are a mystery.”

  “Perhaps ’tis the weapons,” Duncan offered. “Mayhap they put off the fae.”

  “Grrrr! I dislike traveling unarmed.” Archibald glanced around. �
��Dinnae see Isobell’s sword anywhere.”

  With a tilt of the head, Duncan held his hands up, palms forward.

  Archibald shrugged off the scabbard securing the claymore to his back and handed them to his man. Then he removed the dirk from his waist and the multiple blades hidden upon his person and dropped them at the edge of the knoll. With a brisk pace, he returned to the center. Still naught happened to take him to Isobell. “Now what?”

  “’Tis said the fae have a dislike of iron.”

  “Duncan, you possess an uncanny wealth of faerie-lore.”

  The man grinned at the sarcasm, which increased Archibald’s frustration, but he removed the pouch from his belt anyway, placed the brooch from his shoulder into it, and removed his belt with its heavy iron buckle, handing the lot to Munn.

  He stood, legs apart, hands fisted on hips, in the center of the cursed mound wearing leine and trews, draped in his plaide, and counted to one hundred. Still naught of a magical nature occurred.

  “Mayhap you cannot take anything from this time.” Archibald didn’t care for Duncan’s suggestion. Not in the least.

  “You jest?” Yet he removed the plaide, leine, and trews, leggings and boots then stood in the center of the knoll butt-naked. And naught happened except his feeling an arse. “’Tis not working.”

  “Perhaps the timing is wrong. Lady Laurie had wanted to arrive at the knoll by nightfall and on a full moon.”

  Munn’s eyes rounded, then he spun and vanished.

  Damn brunaidh! Archibald cursed something fierce while dressing and rearming.

  “Why dinnae you mention this timing theory before? Though it was not visible because of the storm, there was to be a full moon the night of the wedding. I took it as a good omen. I was wrong.” He banged a fist on his thigh. “Grrrr! Nearly two fortnights must pass before the next moon grows full.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Present day

  Anderson Creek, North Carolina

  Isobell froze at the sound of the familiar, brusque voice. Eyes of the coldest blue bore into her. Eyes she thought to never see again. Patrick MacLachlan.

  How could he be here in this place of magic?

  Archibald’s twin, the man from many an anxious dream, strode forward, wearing the strangest garments. Blue trews of an unusual cloth and a black tunic, stretched tight over a broad chest, leaving thick arms mostly bare, even though it snowed.

  How much he looked like Archibald. Isobell took a step back, clutching the sword.

  “Easy.” He approached, hands and arms hanging loose at his sides. “Put the sword down, lass.”

  “Patrick, who’s there?” Lady Laurie, also wearing unusual garments though with a plaide wrapped around her shoulders, brushed past her husband and stopped abruptly. “Isobell?”

  “W-why are you in f-faerieland? I thought you lived in France.” Isobell’s teeth chattered and then she started to shake. The sword dropped from numb fingers and the lady she once despised for stealing her betrothed enveloped her within comforting arms and hugged her close.

  “We need to get her out of the cold, Patrick. Take care of that, will you?” Lady Laurie pointed at the sword lying in the snow. “Come, Isobell, you’ll be warmer inside.”

  They entered a small structure with walls made of glass, full of verdant foliage of an unusual nature, and blooms of many colors—white, green, yellowish-green, cream, yellow, brown, pink, and even red—a marvel for the senses filled with enchanting fragrance.

  Moist warmth melted the icy cold of her skin. Isobell snapped shut a gaping mouth. “What is this place?”

  Patrick joined them, minus the sword. “Before we go into that, perhaps you can tell us how you came to be here.”

  “’Tis a long story.”

  “I am sure.” Patrick arched a brow.

  “Well, I…” Isobell ran a finger over a smooth leaf, wondering where to begin. Unsure of how much to tell. Perhaps she shouldn’t tell them anything. “I think you should tell me where we are first.”

  “Wait. Let me call my father.” He retrieved a strange device from within a fold in his trews and held it to his mouth. “Da, we have a situation here. Isobell just walked through the garden gate.”

  Isobell grabbed hold of Lady Laurie’s arm and whispered, “Is he addled?”

  Lady Laurie uttered a very unladylike snort and shook her head.

  Patrick glanced at his wife then returned attention to the device he held. “Aye. We are in the orchid house. Aye. Bring Mairi and, ach, well, she should bring one of Elspeth’s baskets. She will ken the one.” The thing he spoke into disappeared to whence it came.

  “Now for your tale, Isobell.” He hadn’t changed much, his tone demanded as it always had, as if he ordered his warriors.

  Lady Laurie’s arm came around her. “Don’t let him intimidate you. Come and sit.”

  She ushered Isobel into the center of the chamber to four iron chairs with green cushions circling a low iron table with an amazing glass top, and then encouraged her to sit. Patrick sat on the other side of the table, Lady Laurie to her left.

  “Well.” Patrick leaned forward, hands on knees.

  “Stop growling at her. Remember what it felt like when you first came here.” His wife squeezed Isobell’s hand. “Take your time and tell us what you can.”

  Maybe she should just tell them and get it over with. “My father betrothed me to Archibald, but I did not want to wed him so I ran away.”

  “I thought you wanted to be his wife,” Patrick snapped.

  His wife sent him a glare. “If you can’t be pleasant, you should leave.”

  “I am sorry, Isobell. ’Tis just your presence here has left me unsettled.”

  She inclined her head, accepting the apology. Patrick had changed much. There was less tension around his eyes. And he apologized. Incredibly unexpected.

  “My father had told me of horrible deeds Archibald inflicted on our clan.”

  “Archie?” Lady Laurie and Patrick asked in unison.

  “Aye. Crimes perpetrated against the clan. Raids. Killings. Rapes.”

  “That does not sound like Archie,” Patrick said.

  “Do you think perhaps your father lied?” Lady Laurie said, in a gentle, non-accusing tone.

  Da would never lie to her. Or would he? Was it possible? Da had been in a rage over Patrick’s marriage to Lady Laurie. Could she have been wrong to listen to Da’s ranting? He had forgiven Archibald rather quickly once he received the signed betrothal contract.

  “I was horrified. I ran. Archibald found me, and they tried to force me to the altar, but I refused, and they locked me up.”

  “You poor thing.”

  Isobell squirmed. She didn’t deserve Lady Laurie’s sympathy. “The MacLachlan clan brownie—”

  “Grrrr!” Patrick glowered. “What did Munn do?”

  “Well, he gave me wine to drink that made me forget things. Made me forget I hated Archibald. I signed the contract and said the vows and we consummated the marriage.”

  The wine made her forget about the numerous raids too. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn’t remembered.

  “So you are Archibald’s wife,” Patrick said. “Does he ken how you came to be here?”

  “Oh, nae!” She rubbed tired eyes.

  “You must be exhausted,” Lady Laurie said.

  “Aye.”

  “We should retire to the house.”

  “Da and Mairi are on the way.” Patrick leaned back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head, feet crossed at the ankle.

  “There is more. Archibald believes I poisoned him,” Isobell blurted. “I did not.”

  “What? My son poisoned?” The gruff voice made Isobell jump. The scowl on Iain MacLachlan’s face made it difficult to swallow.

  “You are supposed to be dead.” She clasped a hand over her mouth, horrified.

  “Hah. Never felt better.” He slapped a fist to his chest. “Does my son live?”

  “Aye.” She
nodded, feeling a wee bit dizzy.

  “Hello, my dear, ’tis lovely to see you.” Lady Mairi bustled into the room with a basket hanging over a wrist and wearing a short, blue gown with a shorter, matching jacket over top. My goodness, more than her ankles showed.

  Isobell hopped up then dropped into a curtsy and held. “Thank you, Lady Mairi.”

  “Get up, lass. And just call me Mairi. We dinnae hold much with formality here.”

  “In faerieland?”

  “This is nae faerieland.” Iain scoffed. “What of my son?”

  “He snored loud enough to wake the dead last I saw him.” Isobell swallowed uneasily. “What do you mean nae faerieland?”

  Mairi patted her hand. “Nae worries. We will take care of you.”

  “If I am not in faerieland, where am I?” Her gaze leapt from one person to another, seeking an answer yet fearing what it might be.

  “The future. The twenty-first century,” Iain said.

  “You will get used to it,” Patrick said.

  Isobell looked to the right. To the left. Her heart raced. She wanted to run, but to where?

  “Leave be. You’ve got her panicking. Isobell has had a trying experience.” Lady Laurie clasped Isobell’s hand. “We should let her rest. She can tell us how she came to be here in the morning. And she’ll share all the news from Castle Lachlan. Won’t you, Isobell?”

  She nodded.

  “We’ll take her to the inn.” Mairi smiled sweetly.

  “I don’t think a ride in a car is a good idea yet. She can have something to eat and stay in our guest room. Will that suit, Isobell?”

  “Aye.” What other choice did she have?

  Lady Mairi held out the basket to Lady Laurie. “One of Elspeth’s remedies is in here. Something calming for Isobell to drink.”

  “Nae. I dinnae want another potion.”

  “Another? Hmmm.” Patrick’s forehead furrowed and he rubbed his chin.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine without it,” Lady Laurie said.

  Lady Mairi and… What should she call Iain? Since he is alive, is he the MacLachlan or is Archibald chief? This whole affair was too confusing. The older couple left through one door, and she, Lady Laurie, and Patrick through the door to the garden. They crossed the snow dusted courtyard and entered a much larger structure into a small chamber with coats hanging on hooks and boots on a mat on the floor—some bairn-sized—and into a…kitchen perhaps.