by Pam Binder
Lachlan unsheathed his sword and let out an ancient war cry. It carried to the warriors below. Those nearest the castle began to chant his name until it seemed the very air trembled. The need to join his men flooded through his veins. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and forced himself to focus. He must find Subedei and defeat him. Without their leader, his enemy’s men would run like rats before a flame.
He surveyed the field. Some distance away he located his enemy. Subedei carved a path through the battlefield which was littered with the bodies of Lachlan’s clansmen. Anger heated his blood. Reaching down, he drew his dirk from the holder by his calf and headed along the narrow path that overlooked the loch.
A full moon shone in the black sky. Beneath it lay the bloodstained field in shades of gray. Lachlan jumped from the crest of the path to the ground below only to be attacked by one of Subedei’s men. He blocked the thrust with his claymore, then stabbed the man with his dagger. Blood seeped over the man’s chest. His opponent cried out before crumbling to the ground and surrendering to death.
Lachlan turned from the fallen man as another ran toward him. It took one practiced blow to pierce his assailant’s chain mail. He ignored the man’s pleas for mercy as he dealt the killing blow. He felt the blood pound in his veins. Turning, he welcomed the next man who attacked him.
The roar of the loch, as its waters crashed against the rock-strewn shore, thundered in his ears and drowned out the sound of screams. He pushed forward through the waves of blood-soaked men who surged toward him. Faces blurred; only their weapons were in focus. The full moon glimmered white-hot against the dark skies. With each kill he felt his strength grow.
Screams and war cries rang in his ears. They seemed to urge him to quicken his pace. He could feel his heart thunder in his chest. He had never felt this strong, this alive.
Through the deafening cries of battle Lachlan heard his name. He recognized the voice. It was his enemy. He withdrew his sword from the body of a man he had just slain. The body collapsed to the ground amongst the others.
Subedei’s war cry rang above the screams of the battle. As with Lachlan, he stood surrounded by those he had killed.
“Don’t keep me waiting. My blade grows cold.”
Lachlan sheathed his dagger and gripped the hilt of his claymore with both hands. He held the sword out before him. He could feel the rapid beat of his heart The need to fight and kill surged through him. He moved toward Subedei.
“Prepare to die.”
The Mongol’s laughter was dark. “Ah, it is clear to me that the very thing you accused me of runs hot in your blood. After a kill the power surges through you. It is addictive, is it not?“
Lachlan clenched his jaw and felt the truth of his enemy’s words. He could deny them no longer. “If what you say is true then you will know that I will not stop until my sword is drenched in your blood.”
His blade clashed against Subedei’s. The force vibrated through Lachlan’s hands. His enemy’s strength matched his own and his eyes reflected the same need that Lachlan felt.
Sidestepping, Lachlan turned and lunged forward. His sword sliced a deep gash in Subedei’s chest.
The man grimaced, then growled low before he attacked. “Angus was an able teacher. I shall be sure to kill him, after I have finished with you.”
Lachlan blocked Subedei’s weapon. The fever inside him had built with the sight of fresh blood, and his vision blurred to all except his enemy and his sword.
Subedei cursed as Lachlan arced his blade high and brought it down with all his strength, severing the mongol’s head.
The euphoria of victory surged through him. All his senses were heightened. Suddenly he could hear the rustle of the animals in the forest beyond the battlefield, the sweet smell of heather on the rolling hills and tine sound of a bird’s wings as it soared above. And then silence. He looked around. The battle still raged, as before. The need rose within him as strong as the need to breathe. He would have to kill again.
Lachlan heard someone approach from behind. He waited. The victory of a kill was sweeter if there was challenge to it. He would wait until he could hear the man’s heartbeat The sound of a tumbling rock, disturbed from its rest echoed in the night. His enemy was within an arm’s length from him. It was a bold man to approach him so carelessly, but foolish as well.
He clenched his jaw and turned, lunging as his blade wounded the man in the chest. The man dropped his weapon and fell back. Lachlan raised his sword for the killing blow.
Someone grabbed him from behind. Blade raised, he turned toward the new enemy and heard his name through his mist-clouded mind. It seemed to be coming from a great distance away. He blocked the disturbing cry that asked more of him than he was willing to give and lunged toward his assailant. His attack was deflected. He drove this new enemy toward the edge of the cliff. It would be easy to defeat this one. The man only defended.
The cry he heard grew clearer. It was a woman’s voice. She called his name. Like the haunting notes of the bagpipes it pulled him through the bloodred haze. He knocked the sword out of the man’s hand and stole a quick glance in the direction of the woman. Amber. She stood on the crest of the hill, overlooking the battle. The fear he saw in her eyes made him shudder. He held tighter to his sword to keep from dropping it to the ground. She raised her arm and pointed to the man he fought
His brows drew together. Why was she here? It was too dangerous. And why was she concerned about his enemy? Distracting him might cause his death. Lachlan forced himself to focus on the man he fought He turned toward his attacker, who stood with his arms at his sides. The man’s eyes mirrored the horror he had seen in Amber’s expression. It was Angus. Lachlan stumbled back. He had tried to kill his friend.
He dropped his sword. Silence surrounded him. He looked around. The battle had ended. Subedei’s men had fled.
On the ground lay O’Donnell’s unconscious body. He felt the weight of Angus’ hand on his shoulder.
“The lad was no match for your skill and only tried to stop you from the bloodlust that imprisoned your soul. He will survive.” Angus chuckled. “But he will be as furious as the spirits from Hades.”
Lachlan felt the strength drain from his body. He sank forward to the ground. He had not recognized O’Donnell or Angus. All he had seen were their weapons; all he had felt was the overwhelming need to kill.
“I have become what I feared most.”
He heard Angus take a deep breath. “Aye.”
Lachlan opened his eyes and stood. His arms and plaid were covered in the blood of the men he had killed. How many had been his own clansmen?
He looked at Amber in the light of the full moon. Her long hair blew free in the wind and her eyes held a sadness as deep as the waters of Loch Ness. A shadow appeared behind her, swallowing her. She disappeared from his view.
Her screams pierced the silence. Ice seemed to flow through his veins as he stood. He heard his own voice cry out her name. The sound echoed in his ears. Had one of Subedei’s men sought revenge for what he had done or had the gods who had brought her to him taken her back?
A flash of lightning lit the sky. He reached the crest of the hill in time to see Amber plunge into the dark waters of Loch Ness. His cry of anguish drowned out the thunder ranging overhead.
Amber felt a spasm of pain as an icy chill rippled through her layers of wet clothes. It was as if she’d been struck by a battering ram. It hurt to breathe and her head throbbed. She remembered feeling someone push her into Loch Ness.
Where was Lachlan? She’d seen him turn toward her after he’d fought O’Donnell. He’d seemed like a different man on the battlefield, his face was an expressionless mask as he killed all who crossed his path. A fresh spasm of pain vibrated through her. Her teeth chattered and she clamped down on them. She wasn’t sure exactly, but somehow she’d deal with what had happened to Lachlan later on tonight. Right now she was freezing and every time she moved the muscles in her body voiced t
heir objection. What was keeping Lachlan?
A bright light clicked on and she saw the outline of people standing in front of her, but their faces were lost in the shadows. She turned to get up. The effort made her feel sick to her stomach. There was something familiar about how she was feeling, but she couldn’t recall what it was.
The images of the people came into focus. A man encased in neoprene bent down toward her. He took off his scuba mask, knelt beside her and covered her with a blanket.
Scuba mask? She rubbed her eyes. The man wore a dry suit meant for diving in cold waters. She swallowed and forced herself to identify how she felt. Her body had reacted this same way when she’d traveled back to the sixteenth century. Her mind struggled to absorb what was going on. She tried to sit, but her head pounded so hard she couldn’t think or make her body respond.
The ground felt cold and hard. Small rocks poked against her skin and time seemed to crawl as her eyes slowly began to focus on her surroundings. Spotlights lit the shore. A man in a dry suit emerged from the water and she could hear whispered conversations. The sky lightened to gray and wisps of rose-pink color lined the horizon. Birds chirped in the alders and a breeze rippled over the dark waters of Loch Ness. If felt as if she was observing a movie instead of what she feared. Her rescue.
The man in the dry suit motioned to a small, elderly woman clutching a wool shawl, and then pointed in Amber’s direction. She recognized her aunt’s purposeful walk, a sight she’d never thought to see again. Tears clouded her vision. If Aunt Dora was here, Lachlan was not.
The familiar smile lines creased the old woman’s face as she drew closer. “You gave us such a fright.”
A tall man in diving gear and wearing a scuba mask lifted her in his arms. Warm tears traveled down her checks as the realization struck home. She was no longer in the sixteenth century. She shivered against the cold material of his suit as a fresh wave of pain traveled through her. The ache in her muscles didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
The first man spoke to her aunt, and then motioned in the direction of the parking lot. “You’ll find dry clothes in the backseat. When she’s changed I’ll drive you both to the hospital.”
“You’re such a dear to help us.” Aunt Dora turned to Amber and patted her cheek. “These men never gave up. You’re safe now.” -
Amber’s tears flowed. “I want to go back.”
She felt the man who cradled her against his chest tighten his hold around her. She closed her eyes. Maybe he thought she was going to make a run for the water. When she regained her strength, that was exactly what she was going to do. Risk to her life or not, it beat the alternative of a world without Lachlan.
Rain drizzled against the window in Aunt Dora’s sitting room as Amber looked around. A blue, Laura Ashley print covered the walls. A fire crackled in the hearth. Crisp, white woodwork framed the door and there was a view of the River Ness through the trees.
She took a deep breath. This had always been her favorite room, guaranteed to bring her world into focus. This time it was not working. She’d endured an overnight stay in the hospital while doctors had said she was lucky to have survived the thirty-two degree temperature of tine waters of Loch Ness. Then they had pronounced her fit. She wanted to tell them she wasn’t fine, she still felt numb and cold inside.
Outside the warm cottage the gray morning melted into a gray afternoon. She sank into a winged back chair by the window and tucked her legs beneath her.
Her body still felt stiff and sore, but at least the headaches had lessened and soon she would be back to normal, whatever that was. A steady afternoon rain pelted against the glass panes. The smell of cock-a-leekie soup drifted from the kitchen. Since she’d returned, her aunt had fixed all her childhood favorites.
She looked at the book, The Canterbury Tales, on the table beside her and traced her finger over the patterns etched into the leather in gold leaf. Amber and Gavin had read “The Knight’s Tale” together. The book had been new then. Now she was afraid to touch the brittle pages. She carefully opened it. On the inside page, the ink faded with age, were the words:
Amber took a deep breath, fighting back the tears. She’d learned the meaning of those enchanted words as a child, but never truly understood them, until now. She straightened. If her aunt caught her crying again she’d call a therapist. This was stupid. She had a teaching job back in Seattle, there was the recreational soccer league she played in, and she’d always talked about getting a pet. Maybe she’d buy a tabby cat and each day would blend together again. Everything would be perfect. She hugged the book to her chest and felt a tear travel down her cheek. Amber loved a man who lived four hundred years ago and claimed to be immortal. She’d begun to believe him, but now… she sighed. Even if it had been true, he had been a warrior. It wasn’t possible he could have survived all those centuries.
To Amber,
Time is an illusion and love the only reality.
L
Aunt Dora entered the room hunched over the tray she carried. The cups and saucers rattled as the elderly woman set them down on the table. The noise made her wince. Amber put the book down carefully, wiped her face and stood. If she didn’t focus on something other than herself she’d be a shredded mess. She helped her aunt to the chair opposite hers.
“I should be waiting on you.”
“Nonsense child.” Aunt Dora poured the tea and added cream to each cup. “I can’t remember a time when you weren’t taking care of me. You were barely old enough to go to school when you first came to live here at River Cottage. Even then, you wanted to do everything on your own.” She reached for a handkerchief tucked in her sleeve and wiped her eyes.
“When I heard you had fallen in the water, I blamed myself. You always hated the water which was why I never insisted you learn how to swim. I thought you’d been taken from me.” Aunt Dora leaned toward her and touched her cheek. “Promise me you’ll not go near that wretched loch at night, ever again.”
“I promise.” Amber watched her aunt breathe deeply and sit back down in the chair. It was not this room mat had brought her life into focus, it was her aunt.
The old woman took a sip of tea, then rested the cup on the saucer in her lap. “While those men were searching the loch, I remembered the years you spent putting my needs and your brother’s above your own. I couldn’t turn on the stove or fluff a pillow without you beside me making sure I didn’t overdo. Your teachers said you always went out of your way to make sure everyone was happy. I had forgotten those little snippets, until you disappeared.“
The sound of the rain against the window seemed to echo in the room. “It was something I wanted to do.” Amber reached for her cup and looked at die steaming tea.
“Not at the price of your own happiness.” Dora set her cup down and patted Amber’s arm. “Dear, we can’t always control everything around us. Excitement comes from the unexpected.”
Her aunt knew her too well. Thoughts of Lachlan gently filtered through her mind. She closed her eyes briefly, in an attempt to squeeze away the tears and took a swallow of tea. “Wanting predictability is not an easy habit to break.”
“ ‘Cold Turkey,’ I believe, is the expression you Yanks use. Drink your tea and I’ll fetch warm soup. It will cheer you up and make you feel as good as new.”
Amber did as she was told. She and David had learned early it was easier to give in. Once bent on a course of action, their gentle aunt would never change her mind. Amber smiled and sipped the cream-laced tea and watched the river from her window. She’d guessed she’d only been in the water for a few seconds before breaking the surface, but the icy currents had chilled her to the bone. She wondered how long she’d been away.
The cup rattled in die saucer on her lap___But the waters will reclaim her once again if, after the passage of one full moon …
Her voice trembled. “Aunt Dora, how long was I gone?”
“Well, it is not certain when you fell into the Loch, but you were missing a
bout six or seven hours altogether. When you did not come back, I called the police. They notified the medical team and the divers.“ She sighed with relief. ”The lads knew exactly where to look.“
A shiver tickled the back of Amber’s neck. There was a knock on the door. Amber set aside her cup and hurried to answer it.
A stone-faced deliveryman waited. He held a long flower box tied with a thick gold ribbon. “Delivery for Amber MacPhee.”
“I’m Amber. Who could be sending… ?”
He shoved a clipboard at her, pointed at the line where he wanted her to sign and then handed her the box.
“Who’s out there, dear?”
Amber turned toward the kitchen. “Someone sent me flowers.”
“How lovely. Shut the door and let’s have a look.”
The large thick ribbon slipped off easily. Amber tossed it on the chair as she lifted the lid and folded back the green florist tissue. She heard Aunt Dora’s sharp intake of breath. Inside were at least two dozen long-stemmed red roses, their perfume soft and fragrant.
“Your parents did not mention they would be sending you flowers and your brother would never think of it.” Her aunt stood beside her. “Do you have any idea who sent them?”
Amber shook her head. “I haven’t a clue.” She set the flowers on the table and reached for an envelope tucked under a rose. Inside was a ticket to a lecture by the physicist Steven Hawking. “The Nature of Space and Time” was the title of the talk. There was also a white card. Written in a bold script across it were the same words inscribed in Canterbury Tales. It was signed Lachlan MacAlpin.
Lachlan was alive. A mixture of joy and shock ran through her. She felt overwhelmed. Too much to absorb, too much to take in. It was true, all true. Her hand trembled. The card and ticket fluttered, turning round and round on their journey to the floor. Somewhere in the distance she heard her aunt’s voice.
“Child, what’s come over you? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Aunt Dora reached down and picked up the slips of paper. She read them, then put them back on top of the roses. “Odd, that it is the same phrase written in Canterbury Tales. And the address… is he a professor? The address is on the University of Edinburgh campus.”
