by Jessi Gage
“We made our peace,” Timothy said with a grimace. “Had to. There was another, uh, incident at the shop, and if Monsieur Gravois hadna been keeping an eye on me, I might have been found out.”
“Another incident? That sounds like a story, and I’d like to escape the house before my wife’s guests arrive and try to dote on me. I’ve got whisky up at the mill. Come. I’ll pour while ye talk.”
* * * *
Over a dinner of mutton, boiled radishes, and buttery rolls, all of which Fran had taught her to make, Melanie hooted with unladylike laughter while Darcy recounted Timothy’s tale of cutting himself on a bill of sale and making a fire hydrant appear on the toe of a customer at MacLeod’s shop.
“Oh, my,” she sighed. “What did you do?”
Timothy had initially appeared uncomfortable with talk of magic at the dinner table, but he had eventually relaxed and even laughed along, though his manner remained reserved. “Well, to be honest, I was too stunned at my own stupidity to do aught–I kent better than to take off my gloves, but the paper was sticking, you see.” As he spoke, he displayed his hands, covered with sturdy leather gloves that he hadn’t even removed for dinner. “But Monsieur Gravois was there lickety-split, as if he forekent somat was about to happen. A nose for magic that tinker’s got.” He tapped his nose for emphasis. “He played it off as a jest and took a bow. Then he swept out of the shop with the–what did ye call it? A hydrant?–on a wee wagon and his screeching monkey on his shoulder. Those in the shop didna ken whether to applaud or run him out of town, so they just went back to their business as if nothing had happened.”
They all laughed some more, and she got a sense of the young man’s earnest nature. It wasn’t hard to see why Darcy had taken to him so readily.
“So that’s when you reacquainted yourself with Gravois?” she asked.
“Aye. ’Twas last winter. He’s taught me a great deal since, even though we only meet when his troupe travels near Inverness. In fact…” He cleared his throat, and his eyes darted from her to Darcy. “I brought your wife somat Gravois thought she would like. ’Tis a piece we worked on together.”
She exchanged a look with her husband. Judging by his furrowed brow, he didn’t know what Timothy was talking about.
“Another gift from Gravois?” he asked, his tone darkly serious. “Does this mean one of us is in danger?”
Timothy shook his head. “No, no. Nothing like that, least not that I’m aware. It’s just, well, Monsieur Gravois supposed my bloodmagic was like a child with no discipline, and he thought giving it some direction would help it to no’ be so wild. He was right.” Timothy’s smile transformed his face. He’d smiled shyly before, but this smile was a soul-brightening one. He seemed lighter, as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders. “I dinna ken for sure if it will work as we planned, but I think it will. We did several tests first, you see.” He looked back and forth between them expectantly, but she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Tests of what?” Darcy asked.
“To determine if I could put magic into somat and get it to do what I wish. I can. I have.” He shook his head as if his thoughts were getting ahead of his words. “I’ll bring ye the piece and then explain.” With that, he pushed away from the table and went outside.
Five minutes later, he tramped through the door bent under the weight of something heavy fixed to his back with thick leather straps. Darcy helped him lower it to the floor, and for once, she didn’t scold him for the exertion. She was too shocked, because there on the rug in her parlor sat her grandmother’s rosewood hope chest.
She heard voices, but they didn’t penetrate. She went to her knees in front of the chest and ran her fingers over the stained and polished wood. There were the intricately carved roses at the corners, and there the inlaid, curving strips of mother of pearl–some of them would chip over the centuries–and there the black stain lending contrast to the tooled details.
Memory washed over her, bringing her to her grandmother’s lilac-scented bedroom. She had been eight years old, and her grandmother was showing her the hope chest for the first time. “’Tis a very special antique, my dearie. One of a kind, for cert. It’s gone to each eldest female in the family. When I’m gone, ’twill be your mother’s, and when she goes, ’twill belong to you. ’Tis how it’s been since the auld days.”
“Malina! Are you ill?” Darcy hauled her off the floor and into his arms. He ran his hands over her face and head, as if looking for a fever. “Speak to me.” He shook her gently, but her tongue wouldn’t work.
“You recognize it,” Timothy said, his voice filled with wonder. “Monsieur Gravois said ye might.”
She nodded, her eyes fixed on the chest.
“Say somat,” Darcy urged, putting his face before hers and capturing her gaze. The concern in his dark brown eyes broke the spell of her stupor.
“It’s my grandmother’s hope chest.” Her slow smile stretched her cheeks. A little laugh bubbled out of her. “How?” she asked Timothy. “Why? I mean, you don’t even know me. This is such a beautiful, valuable piece. Is it really the chest I know from my time?”
“What magic did ye put in it?” Darcy asked, cutting to the chase.
Timothy beamed, obviously pleased by her reaction. But when he answered Darcy’s question, he sobered. “None yet. But with your permission, I hope to charm it tonight before I leave.”
“Why would I want ye to do that?”
“It wouldn’t be for you,” Timothy said. “But for your wife.” Turning to her, he said, “When I accepted Monsieur Gravois’s offer to mentor me, I made a choice. I chose to cease running from what I have inside of me. But Monsieur reminded me that once the choice was made, I’d committed to a path that would lead to ye being pulled from your time into ours. I dinna pretend to understand what magic brought ye here, and nor does Monsieur. But I ken now that the magic was mine.
“Between now and the date on your box, I’ll have learned enough to make somat that changed the course of your life. I canna imagine I’ll ever have unworthy intentions where my bloodmagic is concerned or that I would let loose a piece with such power, but I shall take responsibility for your unexpected departure from your time.
“The chest has a secret compartment.” Timothy lifted the lid and fixed it in the open position. The entire panel lining the inside of the lid was braced open, revealing a recess about an inch deep.
She had dug through her grandmother’s treasures a hundred times and had never suspected there might be a secret compartment in the lid. She stared in awe as Timothy continued.
“I would like to charm the chest so the compartment opens on the date of your choosing. That ye recognize it is a relief. It means that any message or mementos ye wish to leave inside have a good chance of finding the ones ye left behind. Ye may add whatever will fit, but once the compartment is closed, it will remain closed until the day you choose. ’Tis a small thing, but all I can do at present to ease what suffering ye’ve had because of me.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She might have a way of saying goodbye to her parents.
Timothy toed the rug and looked at the floor at her feet. “We’ve tested the magic, and it should work. I just need to prick my finger and smear the blood on the release mechanism while I speak the date.”
Her knees felt weak. She would have sunk to the floor if Darcy’s strong arms hadn’t already been around her. She steadied herself by breathing in his scent of saddle leather and man. Her heart was bursting at the seams with joy and love. She didn’t regret coming to the past one bit. If she could go back to Charleston, she wouldn’t. She’d do everything the same to end up here in Darcy’s arms, his wife, the mother of his baby girl–Darcy was the only father Janine would ever have. And she hoped she’d have more children with him.
She’d be able to write to her mother and father and tell them she was happy. She’d tell them about Janine, about the wonderful man she’d met, all the things she’d wished she
could have shared with them over the past year. They might not believe her, but she’d do her best to make them. She’d pour her love for them into a series of letters, and they’d be able to read them again and again whenever they thought of her.
The chest was the missing piece of her happiness. That missing piece had shrunk over time until it occupied only a small corner of her heart, but no matter how small the pain became, the puzzle of her life was always going to feel incomplete. Now the puzzle was whole, and the picture was more beautiful than she could have imagined.
She sagged against her husband as she said in a hoarse voice, “Thank you. Thank you so much, Timothy. This is–” She shook her head. “Thank you.”
Epilogue
One year later
Melanie pushed through the door of the north-most mill, an almost two-year-old Janine on her hip. “They named the baby Rosalisa!” she called, placing Janine down so she could toddle to her daddy. Up at the keep, Ginneleah was recuperating from birthing a precious baby girl the night before.
Darcy cooed a jubilant greeting as he hoisted their little girl in arms that were as brawny and tanned as ever. He’d fully recovered from his snake bite, packing on every last inch of muscle he’d lost and then some by operating his mills and building a waterwheel with Edmund based on the design of the one he’d made with Wilhelm Murray.
“A bonny name,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, coming to her and planting a kiss on her lips. “And have I told ye how lovely ye look pregnant?”
“Only every day for the last eight months,” she answered, resting a hand on her enormous belly. Hooking her other hand around his neck, she pulled him down for a slower kiss.
He only broke it off when Janine started squirming and saying, “Up-down! Up-down!”
“Put me down, please, Daddy,” she corrected as he set their daughter on the floor.
Since Timothy had given her the hope chest, she had been writing weekly letters to her parents. Darcy had proven quite the artist, sketching amazingly detailed pencil-drawings of Ackergill and Fraineach, her and Janine. He’d even done a portrait of himself at her urging. Writing the letters had been a catharsis, but one little thing had still worried her. How would the chest find its way into her grandmother’s hands? Even though the piece was a family heirloom, she refused to consider that her grandmother might be a distant descendant of hers. It was just too weird. She couldn’t possibly be related to…herself, no matter how much time had passed. But now she didn’t have to worry any more.
Rosalisa was not a common name. Except in her family. It was her middle name. And her grandmother’s name. And Ginneleah hadn’t known that.
“A bonny name, indeed,” she agreed. A giggle escaped her as Darcy folded his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.
“So, I take it you’ll be passing the chest to the lass one day, Malina Rosalisa Keith. Does it put your mind at ease?”
“Aye.” She rubbed her hands up and down his back, pushing her fingers under the shoulder-wrap of his kilt to caress his warm skin. “Do you know what would put my mind even more at ease?”
“What’s that, mo gradhach?”
“If you came back to the house with me for a long lunch break.”
“Och, but I’m so busy today,” he teased.
“Suit yourself,” she said, pulling out of his embrace and heading for the door. “Come along, Janine. Your daddy needs to get back to work.”
Darcy rushed her and lifted her into his arms as if she didn’t weigh a ton and a half. He easily scooped Janine up as well and carried them both up to Fraineach, their home.
About Jessi Gage
Jessi Gage has taught archery, cleaned ears, fed penguins, mucked stalls, sized shoes, scanned bones, run statistics, and arranged flowers. Her favorite job of all has been changing diapers, kissing boo boos, and jotting down a scene here and there between bouts of chaos. She lives with her family in Seattle and believes happily ever after comes from a thankful heart. To learn more about Jessi and her works, visit her blog at http://jessigage.wordpress.com/
Wishing for a Highlander
9781616504311
Copyright © 2013, Jessi Gage
Edited by Piper Denna
Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.
Cover Art by Renee Rocco
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: January, 2013
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
http://www.lyricalpress.com
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
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Table of Contents
Cover
Cover Copy
Highlight
Wishing for a Highlander
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
About Jessi Gage
Copyright
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