Graham backed his arse into the tiny vehicle, whacked the back of his head on the doorframe, then shoved himself back into the seat. “Dammit ta hell!” He curled forward, scrubbing the back of his skull as he folded in his long legs. Knees nearly up to his chin, Graham sat hunched forward, one arm wrapped about his bent legs. A grunt squeezed free as he stretched sideways, hooked the door handle with his fingertips, and pulled it shut.
“I don’t think it’s closed properly.” Vivienne tapped on a glowing glyph on the panel in front of the tiny leather steering wheel. She gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, lovie. See the little door what’s lit up a bright red? That means ye’ve got to give it another go.”
“Surely ye jest.” Graham grunted and huffed as he squirmed about to better fit in the tiny space.
“Sorry.” Vivienne tilted her head and tapped on the glowing board again.
“Never in all my days did I ever dream I’d be trapped inside a godforsaken metal box by choice.” He wormed his hand down beside his right leg, found the handle, opened the door then yanked it shut again. Hard.
“That’s it, lovie! Light’s out.”
The vehicle roared to life. Graham squinted his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. I willna grow ill, he repeated over and over to himself. This was no time for weakness. Lilia needed him.
They picked up speed and careened around what seemed like an endless stretch of sharp turns and curves, his body swaying from side to side with every turn. His stomach gurgled and lurched. Graham tightened his gut and swallowed hard. God a’mighty. This woman will surely kill us both. Vomiting became the least of his worries.
“I’ll have ye there in no time flat.”
“Just have me there in one piece,” he muttered through clenched teeth without opening his eyes.
The humming beast squealed and growled as they swerved and bounced through another set of turns, then came to a screeching halt with a hard jolt.
“Open yer eyes, my brave beastie. We have arrived.”
Graham risked cracking open one eye and looked around. Aye—I ken this place. ’Twas the cave Lilia had called the parking garage attached to the building where Mistress Eliza waited for death. “Thank the gods.” He shoved open the door, whacked his forehead against the frame, then rolled out to the ground beside the infernal contraption. “Sons a bitches!”
“Lore a’mighty, lovie. Now the front of yer noggin’ has a knot to match the one in the back.” Vivienne grabbed his arm and helped him stand. She frowned as she shoved a hand into the pocket of her jeans. “I just got another text. Pray we’re not too late.”
Graham didna wait to hear what the wee contraption reported. Ta hell with texts. Lilia needs me. Now. Ignoring Vivienne’s shout to wait, he loped through the maze of metallic beasts, found the magical sliding doors, and pushed his way through them before they’d fully opened. The metal doors wi’ the buttons. Where the hell are the double metal doors?
He careened down a vaguely familiar hall of gleaming white tiles and metal plaques bolted into the walls. There. The metal doors. The silver portals with the glowing buttons and the arrows. Several people stood in front of his target.
“Beggin’ yer pardon.” Graham eased through the small group and bounced his fist against the button with the up arrow. ’Twas already lit. He scowled down at the button with the down arrow. The down arrow was lit too. What the hell did that mean? He needed to go up. Aye. Up seven levels. He clearly remembered Lilia saying she would hit the “7” button when last they visited Mistress Eliza.
A sharp ding sounded and the metallic doors finally whooshed open. Graham plowed inside, growing more frustrated by the second as more and more people crowded into the wee box with him and jostled him to the back. What the hell did they play at? He’d ne’er get to the panel of buttons wi’ this many folk stuffed around him. “I must get to the panel. Beggin’ yer pardon. I hafta reach the ‘7’ button.”
“Seventh floor?” A young man who greatly resembled a ruddy-coated Highland cow chewin’ its cud stood beside the wall of magic buttons, his finger poised as he waited for Graham’s response.
“Aye, lad. Please hurry. ’Tis quite urgent.” He flexed his hands open and closed against the roughness of his jeans as he waited for the doors to shut and the damnable box to move.
Several of the other people called out different numbers to the shaggy-haired lad beside the wall. He obligingly jabbed a finger against the corresponding buttons until several of the numbered circles glowed with their tiny lights. The doors slid shut and the box jerked with the same stomach-thumping bump as it had the first time Graham had visited the strange place.
They didna travel but a few seconds before the box shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. Graham shoved his way to the front. He had to get out before the doors closed again.
“Nah, mate.” The pimply-faced lad pressed a hand to Graham’s shoulder. “Ye said seventh floor. This here’s just the second level.”
Son of a bitch. Why the hell did I no’ wait for Vivienne? “I thank ye.” Graham stiffly bobbed his head. Damn, if this didna sorely grate on his pride. “I canna make out the strange glyphs. I thank ye for yer help.”
“Forgot yer glasses, eh?” The young man smiled and nodded. “Me da has the same problem. Can’t see a feckin’ thing without his specs.” Whatever the boy was chewing popped and crackled with his toothy smile.
“Aye.” He didna have a clue what the lad had just said, but apparently the kind boy was offerin’ a wee bit o’ balm for his bruised pride.
The box shuddered to a stop again and the doors shushed open. Graham glanced over at the lad and waited.
“This is yer floor,” the boy whispered with a wink.
“Thank ye kindly.” Graham rushed out, filled his lungs with a deep breath then slowly hissed it out between clenched teeth. Thank the gods. He glanced around. Aye. This is the place. He hurried down the gleaming hallway. An eerie quietness filled the air. The few people standing about softly murmured to one another in low reverent tones. Even the beeping of the strange machines seemed muted. Death walks these halls. Graham stifled a skin-prickling shudder. This place must surely be the gateway to the other side.
He gently pushed open the door to Mistress Eliza’s room. His heart fell at the scene revealed as the door slowly swung aside. The tiny old woman lay curled on her side in a tight knot as though she were still in the womb. Lilia had pulled a chair close to the bed, her face pale and shining with tears as she hugged one of Eliza’s mottled, blue-veined hands tight against her cheek.
Lilia’s eyes were closed. She’d rested her head on the bed, tucking her shoulders up beneath Eliza’s thin arm in a heartbreaking attempt at gleaning one last frail cuddle. Eliza’s other hand rested atop Lilia’s head, the knotted arthritic fingers barely twitching as though struggling to find the strength to stroke the tangle of golden locks flowing across Lilia’s shoulders.
“Lass…” Graham eased forward. “I’m here.” It was all he could think to say. Words couldna begin to convey how badly he wished he could shield her from this sorrow.
Lilia slowly opened her red-rimmed eyes, her lower lip quivering as she tearfully whispered, “She’s leaving me, Graham. Please…please make her stay.” She hiccuped out a silent sob and a new onslaught of tears streamed down her face. “Please,” she whispered. “I can’t take it if she leaves me now. Don’t let her—please, not yet.”
Lilia’s pain tore at him, cutting him deeper than any length of steel ever could. It grabbed hold and twisted his heart until he was consumed with how terribly she was suffering. Nothing else mattered but getting his Lilia through this darkness.
Graham knelt at Lilia’s feet, gently wiping the backs of his fingers across the curve of her wet cheek. God a’mighty. Please take this pain from her and place it on me instead. Let me bear this sorrow for her.
When Lilia finally met his gaze, he nodded back toward Eliza. The rattle of the dying woman’s labored breathing was
growing more pronounced. “Mistress Eliza will always watch o’er ye, m’dear sweet love. She’ll ne’er really be gone from ye—not ever. Ye ken that—aye?”
“But I want her here.” Lilia’s voice quivered, hitching in and out, weak and trembling as she gave way to more tears. “I need her. I’m so afraid of life here…without her.”
“Ye’ve nary a thing to fear, m’darlin’ one.” Graham drew closer, gently combing his fingers through Lilia’s tousled hair and smoothing it behind her ear. “I swear to ye, ye’ll ne’er be alone. I swear it upon every breath I take and with every beat of m’heart.”
A harsh rattling wheezed free of Eliza. Her thin pale lips twitched. “Bind.” One word. Exhaled in a barely heard whisper. Her thin form shuddered, death rattling within her shallow breathing as she struggled to speak louder. “Witness ye bind.”
Lilia pressed a kiss to Eliza’s cold, bent hand then tucked it gently atop the pillow. She slowly rose from the chair, her hand lightly caressing Eliza’s colorless cheek as though branding the feel of those last moments permanently in her memory. She straightened the covers across Eliza’s thin sagging shoulders, her fingers trembling as she smoothed back the sparse, cottony bit of hair surrounding the failing woman’s drawn face.
Tears streaming down both cheeks, Lilia sadly shrugged. “She keeps saying that and I don’t know what she means. ‘Witness ye bind’?” She turned to Graham, coughing out a choking sob. “How am I supposed to make this easier for her if I don’t know what the hell she wants? Why can’t she just stay?”
Graham ached for Lilia. Lore a’mighty, he’d ne’er felt so helpless and he hated that damn feelin’ worse than anything he’d ever encountered before. He took Lilia’s hands and gently pulled her closer. He turned her toward Eliza, hugging her back against his chest as he pointed down at the dying woman. “Look at her. See the existence she now has. Would ye wish her trapped in such a prison a minute longer? I’ve learned ye well by now, m’love. I ken ye’d ne’er wish Mistress Eliza’s suffering prolonged just so ye could keep her by yer side.”
Lilia rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, staring sadly down at Eliza. In a small voice, so very soft and low Graham had to bend closer to hear her, Lilia replied, “No.” She barely shook her head. “I don’t want her to suffer any longer. But I don’t understand her request. I don’t know what she wants me to bind.” Her face crumpled as she pulled aside and stared forlornly up into his face. “I can’t live with myself if I can’t grant this wonderful woman her last request—not after all she’s done for me.”
Graham brought Lilia’s knuckles to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the coolness of her fingers. Slowly bending, he eased his dagger out of its sheath inside his boot, held out his wrist, and rested the edge of the blade against it. “She wishes us bound. Joined in the old way. Eliza shall be our witness. She’ll carry our vows with her and record them in eternity’s book on the other side.”
Lilia looked up at him, her deep green eyes glistening with yet-to-be-shed tears. She trembled, furtively glancing down at his extended arm, then back up to his face. Graham waited to make the cut, fearing she would collapse. He didna wish to foist anything upon her that she didna want, but this was right—this was how it should be. He felt the pure truth of it deep in his soul with more certainty than he’d e’er felt about anything.
“Bound forever?” she finally whispered. “Married?”
“Aye.” Graham held his breath. Say yes, m’love. Say it will be so.
She looked to Eliza, then looked back to him, a maelstrom of emotions and tears shining in her eyes. “Joined,” she said with a note of finality.
“Aye, love. Joined for all time.” Graham held out his hand. “Ye ken our souls were matched long ago. Yer mine as I am yours.”
Without another word, Lilia placed her wrist in his palm, staring forlornly down at her arm. “Bind us,” she whispered without looking up.
With a quick slice, Graham drew his own blood first then swiped the razor-sharp blade across Lilia’s pale skin. Slipping the dagger into his belt, he pressed their wrists together, holding them tight with his free hand. A sense of peace filled him—a contented warming like he’d ne’er known before. This woman was his other half, the true match he’d never dared hope to find.
“Say ye will be m’wife. In this life and the next. Say ye’ll gladly bind yer soul to mine. The words will come t’ye—just as they did centuries ago when our souls first met and we pledged our love for the verra first time.” A sense of completing his destiny washed over him, strengthening him as he bent and kissed her trembling fingers again. Aye. This was meant t’be. The Fates had matched them well. “Tha gaol agam ort, mo nighean bhan.”
At her quizzical look, Graham leaned forward, kissed the tip of her nose, and repeated, “I love ye, m’fair-haired one.”
Lilia caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The corners of her mouth drooped even lower as she blinked hard against the spilling of more tears and stole another glance over at Eliza. She squeezed Graham’s hands, closed her eyes, and pulled in a deep, hitching breath.
Graham waited, holding his breath, all the while sending up a silent prayer that she’d grant him the priceless gift of her love. Please let it be so.
“I will be your wife in this life and the next, if you swear to be my loving husband. I will join my soul to yours for all eternity, if you swear to guard me against the darkness that threatens to steal me away.” Lilia sniffed, eased forward, and looked sadly up into his eyes. “I already love you more than I ever thought possible and I’m trusting you with my heart and soul.” She wet her lips, looked back at Eliza, then returned her gaze to Graham. “Let these words forever bind us. Let our blood seal our souls. As time and fate are our witnesses, let us forever be as one.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued, “For the good of all, with harm to none, so mote it be, so let it be done.”
“I swear to all those things and more,” Graham responded. “So mote it be.”
A sudden gust of wind whooshed and moaned about the room, billowing out the bed curtains and scattering papers across the floor. The windows rattled in their casings. Tinkling laughter and lilting music—a tune as bawdy and loud as a barroom song filled the air.
“I love ye, m’dear sweet child, and I’ll be a-watchin’ o’er ye,” echoed from somewhere near the ceiling as the howling wind died down. “Dinna fash nor waste another minute with tears. I’m free now and ye ken well that I shall always be with ye.” The windows rattled one last time as Eliza’s laughter softly faded away.
The boxes at the head of the hospital bed beeped and blared out their alarms. Graham scowled at the biggest of the black screens—the one with the bright green line running flat across the center of the screen. “What does the line mean?” he asked as a pair of nurses burst into the room.
“It means she’s gone,” Lilia whispered with a sad shake of her head.
Chapter 17
Lilia smoothed her fingers across the satiny grain of the polished wooden box. So smooth. So cool to the touch. So…serene. She embraced the emotions with a sad smile. Even from beyond the grave, Eliza watched over her and sent her bittersweet hugs. She felt it as surely as if Eliza were standing right beside her.
She traced a finger around the box’s beveled edges. No bigger than a simple dresser box made to hold bits and baubles of a young girl’s jewelry, the small gleaming box of golden oak held all that remained of the most enigmatic woman Lilia had ever known. How odd that such a larger-than-life, loving person could somehow be reduced to a plastic bag of dust that wouldn’t even fill a shoebox.
“Ashes to ashes, lovie. Ye ken well and good that Mistress Eliza isna in that wee chest. ’Tis only the remnants of the shell that once housed her lovely soul.” Vivienne pulled a chair up to the table and gently laid her hand atop Lilia’s, where she held it pressed to the lid of the box. “Just a shell. Nothin’ more than a temporary vessel for a fiery, awesome-sauce spirit that cou
ld ne’er be stopped whene’er she made up her mind about what was t’be done.”
“The house is too quiet. It feels hollow now that I know she’s never coming back.” Lilia glanced up at the horrendous black-cat clock Eliza had placed on the kitchen wall. Its eyes twitched back and forth in time with the pendulum motion of its tail counting off the seconds. And it ticked. Loudly. Echoing through the somber air of the entire house.
Alberti set a steaming cup of coffee in front of her, took her hand off the box, and wrapped it about the cup. “All of us will be staying here with you—” He paused as Graham sounded off with a possessive huffing snort. He cleared his throat and settled down at the kitchen table beside Vivienne. “We’ll all stay here until after the services. Did Eliza advise you of her wishes?”
“She didn’t want a memorial service—or a funeral.” Lilia could hear Eliza’s voice right now as though the feisty woman were sitting right beside her. Fancy funerals and la-tee-da memorial services are no’ for the sake of the dead, dearie. They’re just a way of filchin’ money from those too filled with grief or guilt t’have enough sense to espy the skinnin’ they’re takin’ from the undertaker.
Lilia sipped at the scalding hot brew, breathing in the steam and closing her eyes as Eliza’s lecture continued inside her head. Scatter me ashes t’the winds. Toss me out into the sea along the shoreline of me girlhood. Eliza would always chuckle and wink as she finished the instructions. And when ye feel the rain upon yer cheek or the breeze blowin’ through yer hair, ken that I’ve come t’visit with ye and let ye know I’m always watchin’ o’er ye.
“Sweetling?” Graham gently stroked her hair, his light touch soothing as a healing balm. “What would ye have us do to honor Mistress Eliza?”
“She wanted her ashes scattered across the part of Scotland she knew as a girl.” Lilia rose, went to the coffeepot, and refilled her cup. “The Highlands she loved—down next to the sea where she used to play when she was a child.”
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