Immortal Warriors 01 - Return of the Highlander

by Sara Mackenzie

  "So it's possible you may soon become a man again?" Bella asked curiously, trying not to imagine how she must look, talking to an empty room.

  "I will be myself again," he said proudly, "the Black MacLean, Chief of the Fasail MacLeans."

  "Except there are no Fasail MacLeans left."

  She was sorry for her words; his sigh was the saddest sound she had ever heard. Bella's soft heart fought with her good sense, and she clenched her hands again so that she didn't reach out to comfort him.

  "You are making a book about me," he said with quiet pride, but there was an edge in his voice that spoke of desperation. "I can help you with that."

  "Oh? I know quite a lot already—"

  He snorted. "I have read the lies you write on your machine. Mabbe you dinna want the truth, is that it?"

  Now she had made him angry. Bella edged away, but when he spoke again his voice was soft and persuasive rather than the ranting of a bully.

  "You said you wanted to know what happened, Bella. I can tell you what I remember, and mabbe together we can learn the truth."

  Bella was aware of her growing sense of excitement. What other historian could say she had a direct link to her subject? MacLean could tell her so much, things no one else knew. Always assuming it was the truth, of course, she reminded herself. But even so… this was a unique opportunity.

  MacLean didn't wait for her answer. "I had a sister," he said loudly. "She died when she was wee. You said in your book that I was my parents' only child, but I had a sister, though I canna remember her name."

  "You have trouble with your memory, then?"

  "Aye, it has holes in it. I remember unimportant things, but the rest is… difficult."

  Convenient, said her cool common sense. Was he saying he did not remember what he had done two hundred and fifty years ago? "Tell me something unimportant, then," Bella dared him, and held her breath.

  MacLean gave it some thought. "The tutor I brought to Loch Fasail to teach the children was my kin—a cousin of my father's cousin. He dressed in clothes more suited to an Edinburgh dandy, and he wore a wig. When he arrived to begin his work he had so much luggage the children believed he must be a king, and ran about screaming with excitement."

  Bella smiled at the image.

  "But it wasna just his clothes that were above his station, his ideas were verra grand as well. He thought I was a fool, and that he could order my people about and encourage them to go against me, all for his own benefit. It seems he had some misguided notion that Fasail was his by blood right, when the truth was I only invited him because I was asked to by his father. He was no' a good man. When I heard all he had done, I came for him and dragged him out of his house. He was cursing me, and using words I had certainly ne'er heard a schoolmaster use. I threw him in the loch."

  "Could he swim?"

  "The place I threw him in was shallow enough. He was spluttering and splashing, and when he climbed out he looked like a slippery eel, his lace sleeves all dirty and his high heels full o' muck. He packed up all his trunks and off he went home to Edinburgh."

  The picture he conjured, and the satisfaction in his voice, were a little shocking, but to Bella it was just like the Black MacLean she had always imagined.

  Bold and larger than life, dangerous and arrogant, dispensing his own brand of justice upon the hapless schoolmaster.

  "You like that," he murmured in that husky, sexy voice. "I thought ye would."

  "I must be going mad," Bella rubbed her hands over her arms again, but now the goose bumps weren't from fear. "You're offering to help me write my book?"

  "Aye, I am."

  "And you won't hold back, even on the bits that put you in a bad light?"

  "I swear to you I willna hold back, Bella, but there are things I do not remember."

  An idea was forming in Bella's mind, a way of testing the truth of MacLean’s convenient memory.

  "I give you my word I will do my best," he said.

  He was making her an offer too good to refuse, and it gave her an excuse to say yes. She nodded. "All right. You can stay here. As I said, my lease runs out in four weeks, though perhaps I can ask about extending it. But if you stay, you have to let me know where you are, and you can't go sneaking around when I'm getting dressed or sleeping. I agree it was very… nice, just now, but I didn't ask you to do that and I don't think you should touch without consulting me."

  "It was verra nice," he murmured thickly.

  "Tomorrow," she said hastily, "I'm going into Ardloch. I have to shop and see about my laptop. You can come with me if you like," she added blithely, hoping again he couldn't read her mind.

  "Walk, do ye mean?"

  "No, drive in the car."

  He shuffled. "Ah."

  Clearly he was nervous about the car, and who could blame him? It must have been quite a culture shock to wake up two hundred and fifty years into the future.

  "Maybe you're wrong, MacLean. Maybe someone else can see you. If you come into Ardloch we might be able to find out."

  "Aye." He was tempted, just as she hoped. "Verra well, I'll come in the… car."

  "Do you want something to, eh, eat? To drink? A cup of tea, perhaps?"

  "Cat's piss," he muttered with disgust. "I wouldn't mind a dram of whiskey, but I canna seem to eat or drink anything."

  "Oh. Do you sleep?"

  "No, but sometimes I dream."

  Bella was suddenly reminded again of the nightmare she had been having before MacLean woke her up. The hag in the green arisaid and the each-uisge, and the magic bridle, and the hideous loch monster panting behind her. Dear God, what next?

  "Okay." She pulled herself together and managed a smile. "You dream down here and I'll go and… ah, dream upstairs."

  She moved past him to the door, but he touched her hand. Big warm fingers, slightly callused, brushed over her skin. If she closed her eyes she could see him standing there looking down at her, big and handsome and barely tamed.

  "Thank you," he said quietly.

  As Bella made her way upstairs, she had the feeling he had not said that to many people. Maybe it was even a first.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  To MacLean’s relief, Ardloch was still thirty miles across the hills, but to get there meant driving on a single winding road with passing points. He would much rather have walked.

  They hadn't left as early as Bella would have liked. Gregor had sent a man to hammer and swear at the machine that worked the heating and the hot water. MacLean knew Bella was worrying he might speak, so he said and did nothing. At least it answered the question as to whether others could see him—they couldn't.

  The man was there for a long time, and then Bella gave him tea, and bread with thin slices of meat inside it, and ate some herself. It wasn't until he was gone that they were able to set out at last for Ardloch.

  Now MacLean sat in the car beside her, stiff as a poker. Being inside such a thing was much more frightening than he had imagined it would be, but he didn't want her to know how he was feeling, despite the fact she could not see him. The Black MacLean was afraid of nothing; he had a reputation to maintain.

  "Are you all right?" She seemed to know anyway.

  "Perfectly."

  The road rushed toward them through the glass wall, and the rocks and gorse and heather skimmed by so fast they were a blur. His eyes ached from trying to make sense of it, and in the end he shut them tightly and prayed for it to end.

  Two hundred and fifty years ago, Ardloch had been a small fishing village on the coast that held a cattle market every month—a gathering point for fishermen and crofters, shepherds and thieves to come and buy and sell their wares, meet up and get drunk and eye any women less than eighty years old for the position of future wife or lover. Try as he might, he could not imagine it as other than a smoky cluster of dirty stone cottages with sagging peat roofs, smelling of fish, with animals running wild in the streets.

  He wondered what Bella
hoped to achieve in such a place. If she showed her laptop, as she called it, to the people of Ardloch they would laugh in her face. Or burn her for a witch.

  She was a sort of a witch. Not like the Fiosaiche. Bella was his witch. He had thought on her long into the night, remembering how she had responded to his touch, and wondering if he would ever have the chance to do it again. She had enjoyed it, he knew she had, but she was frightened of him. How could he blame her for that? And yet it frustrated him. He was the MacLean and he was used to obedience. Bella had been prepared to send him away last night, and although he had no intention of going, he had felt a sense of anger and helplessness previously quite alien to him.

  She was a woman and he was the MacLean, yet she held the upper hand. He had to coerce her by agreeing to help her with her accursed book, the last thing he wanted to do. Of course, he could have used physical force, but MacLean could not bring himself to do that. He had never used force on a woman before.

  What about Ishbel? Dinna ye force her to your will by taking her hostage?

  He shivered.

  There was something wrong; he sensed it. In his dream last night the hideous old woman who claimed to be the doorkeeper to the between-worlds said the door was open. And later, during their conversation in the kitchen, Bella had asked him whether he was certain the door was closed and he hadn't answered her. Because he just wasn't sure.

  If it was open, what did that mean? It would certainly explain the origin of the rider who had tried to attack Bella, but it did not explain why he had done so. What else was waiting on the other side?

  "We're here."

  Her voice startled him into opening his eyes, and at first he was too surprised to answer. This was Ardloch? Before him was a sprawl of houses against the blue waters of the bay. Ardloch had changed a great deal since he was last here. As they drove down into the center of the town, he could see that the buildings were strongly made with square lines and glass windows, and the streets were paved in gray and there were motorcars everywhere.

  "It must be market day."

  "They still have a market here?" He was comforted to know that at least some things hadn't changed.

  "Yes. I'll just find a place to park."

  Bella slowed to dodge around something she called a van, and passed a shop that sold bread. The warm, mouthwatering smell of it caught MacLean’s attention briefly, but he couldn't concentrate. Ardloch had changed in other ways as well. It was bigger and busier. There were people in the streets, and they were dressed similarly to Bella, though some of them far more outlandishly.

  There were strangers in his country.

  Or maybe it was MacLean who was the stranger.

  Bella had found her place to park and now she angled her car into it, turning the wheel as she inched her way back and forth until she was satisfied. MacLean felt his heart beating hard and did not breathe until she was done. She turned and smiled encouragingly at the place she presumed he was, as if she knew how he must be feeling. MacLean had discovered since they set out this morning that Bella had made up her mind to accept his presence completely and not argue over what was possible and what was not.

  He just wished she'd stop treating him as if he were coming down with something, just because he was invisible.

  "Now, I thought that I'd take the laptop into the electronics shop to be repaired, and then we can go to the museum. What do you think?" Her voice was high, as if she were even more nervous than before.

  "Verra well," he replied cautiously.

  She nodded, went to get out, and then hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. "MacLean, I'll open your door, okay? In case anyone notices if you do it by yourself. And I won't be able to speak to you when we're with other people. It wouldn't look good, you know. And you shouldn't speak, either, just in case they can hear you. You'll frighten them. Just stay close to me and we'll be all right."

  Orders from a woman! But this was Bella, he reminded himself, and he didn't mind so much. "Verra well," MacLean repeated stiffly.

  She opened her car door to climb out.

  The noise flooded in, unfamiliar and distracting. He could hear the engines of other cars and some sort of loud music—was it music?—from an open doorway across the narrow street. A bell was ringing persistently from another shop doorway, and a group of children with an adult at their head walked in line, their clothing all the same.

  Bella came around to his door and opened it, pretending to look for something in the passenger side of the car. Hastily MacLean climbed out and she slammed it, and then she did something with her key that made the car beep. Finally, with a warning glance in his direction, she set off.

  As he walked close by Bella's side, peering at the faces he passed, he realized with a sense of relief that they weren't really strangers. These faces were the same as, or similar to, the faces he had known two hundred and fifty years ago. Scottish faces, Gaelic faces, Highland faces.

  There were a few that startled him, faces of different colors, but MacLean had read of countries far away, and the possibility that people from these countries had traveled to Ardloch was not beyond his ken.

  A woman was walking toward them talking into a small black box like Bella's, but this one had no cord attached. MacLean stared at her, completely bemused. The woman knocked against his arm and bounced back, a look of shocked surprise on her face. She turned and glared at Bella as if it were her fault, and hurried off.

  "MacLean," Bella hissed anxiously.

  He was stunned. The woman had felt him. He was still invisible, but now he was solid and real, something he had definitely not been a few days ago. Was he becoming a mortal man again? Whatever he was doing, the Fiosaiche was pleased with him. He knew it had something to do with Bella. If only he could pinpoint exactly what it was…

  Bella spoke again, sounding panicky. "MacLean? Are you there?" Several people glanced at her questioningly as they walked by.

  MacLean shook himself out of his stupor and reached out a hand and clamped it around her arm.

  She jumped.

  He leaned in close, his front pressed to her back, and bent his head so that his lips were against the sweet shell of her ear. "I'm here."

  "Oh. Yes."

  She sounded dazed, standing perfectly still, as if afraid to move. Or maybe, like MacLean, she was just enjoying the moment.

  "I feel like I know ye, Bella," he went on quietly. "Ye are no stranger to me."

  "Yes, I feel like that, too, MacLean," she admitted reluctantly. "It's very odd."

  Passersby stepped around them and the noise went on, but MacLean did not see or hear—he and Bella had made a special place amid the chaos—and besides, her body felt so good against his. He slid his arms about her waist, beneath her pink jacket, and enjoyed that, too. The top of her head came to his chin, just, and her bottom nestled very nicely against his groin.

  Aye, verra nicely indeed.

  "You are a fine woman, do ye know that, Bella?"

  Bella wondered if this was really happening. Here she was, standing in the middle of busy Ardloch High Street being groped by a ghostly Highlander, and he was obviously very happy to see her.

  "MacLean!" she hissed. "I didn't think ghosts could… could…"

  He chuckled and made goose bumps up and down her arms. "Neither did I. Proves I'm not a ghost."

  An old man in a kilt wandered past and gave her a curious smirk. Bella blushed, realizing how odd she must appear, and gave MacLean a little jab in the midriff with her elbow. He huffed in her ear and let her go.

  "Stop it," she said loudly as she stepped away, and then froze.

  What on earth was she doing? Apart from the series of uneasy looks she was getting from the people around her, she had just jabbed MacLean in the stomach. The Black MacLean, the black-hearted villain of legend who was in league with the devil. He could kill her… couldn't he?

  And then she heard his laugh, so soft she had to strain to hear it. She amused him. He wasn't angry with h
er, his male pride wasn't hurt, he didn't feel the need to strike out at her or threaten her. He had laughed at her, but it was a friendly teasing laugh, and she realized with surprise that MacLean liked her.

  Just as she liked him.

  It made her feel even guiltier for what she had planned for him in the museum. The plan had seemed to make perfect sense last night. He had told her he couldn't remember his past, so this would be a sort of test, to see if he was telling her the truth. Now she was wondering if it was such a great idea after all.

  The electronics shop, as Bella called it, was like a cave, full of machines with moving pictures on large and small screens or boxes with flashing lights and loud, jarring sounds. MacLean squinted his eyes and wished he could do the same with his ears. How could the people in here put up with such a din? And yet they seemed immune to it, even enjoyed it, if he went by the blissful looks on their faces. MacLean shook his head in amazement as he followed Bella to an alcove at the back, where there was a counter and behind it a man in a shirt the color of mud. She handed over her writing machine.

  "I don't know what happened," she said, and proceeded to blather on, making herself sound more foolish with each passing minute.

  MacLean wondered what was wrong with her; this wasn't the Bella he had come to know.

  The man was frowning. A man? More of a lad, really, barely old enough to shave. And he didn't like the way the lad was looking at Bella, with his lip curled, as if she were just a silly woman and a waste of his precious time. MacLean wanted to shout at him that this was Bella and he'd best treat her with respect if he knew what was good for him.

  "Could it be something simple, like a fuse?"

  The lad gave a scornful laugh.

  Bella's cheeks colored, but she bit her lip as she watched the lad fiddle with the machine, taking bits off it and peering inside.

  "Hmm," he said, and then he darted a sly glance at her breasts.