by L. L. Muir
The devil take it, if it was.
~ ~ ~
Lilly’s gaze followed the tall Scot’s sweeping gesture as he identified a section of the moor where her grandfather would have fought. The tone and cadence of Rory’s voice drew her in until she felt as if she’d witnessed the battle herself. She couldn’t deny the overwhelming horror of that fated hour of history, nor the sorrow that still seemed to saturate the very air and ground around them.
Rory took a shaky breath and blew it out as if the telling itself was painful. “Exhausted we, uhh, they were, from days of marching, their stomachs clenched from hunger. The sky itself was angry, as though sensing the coming bloodbath, and dispensed its displeasure with rain and sleet and a bitter, cutting wind that pelted their faces.”
She watched and listened as Rory continued to weave a tapestry of despair. He all but vibrated with it, as if he’d personally lived each wretched moment. There was no mistaking his anger, but it was the anguish so clearly straining his handsome features that tugged at her heart.
Did the visitors center train their guides to become the warriors that fought for life and country that day? But…Rory had said he wasn’t a guide. A reenactor, then? There was no question he personified the patriots who’d fought here.
He could have stepped directly out of one of her grandmother’s fascinating tales. The brogue, the costume, the passion when he spoke about Scotland, even the strength barely contained in his broad chest and arms, seemed larger than life and belonging to a time long past.
Something about his raw passion, or the pervading sense of loss the moor evoked, or maybe just sentimentality about her own grandfather’s involvement, made her feel anchored to Culloden’s history and inexplicably drawn to the tall Scot with the burnished copper hair and penetrating gaze.
He made her feel safe. Protected. From what, she wasn’t sure, but she liked him, a lot, and that didn’t happen to her often. And never, so quickly. She’d only found a few people in her life she cared to spend an extended amount of time with. Surprisingly, Rory Patterson was turning out to be one of them.
As grateful as she was for the time he’d allotted her, she still wanted more, and for the first time since leaving New York, she regretted setting such a tight schedule.
“ ’Twas a sight, they were, waving their weapons in the air,” he continued as if the events of the battle were a memory instead of a history lesson. “Some, like yer grandfather, were no’ enlisted, but came straight from their fields with naught but the weapons of their daily lives. Some with only peat spades or dirks. But to the last man, they came with heart and purpose.”
She watched the muscles of his jaw clench and the edges of his mouth tighten. “There,” he gestured into the distance, “were the English. A line of red and white, long and deep like a bloody gash. Just the sight of them stole a man’s breath, mayhap even his courage, but no’ his resolve.
Lilly waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. His eyes were clouded and distant as if watching a movie only he could see. “And then what?” she prompted.
“An’ then we waited.”
“For what?” she asked, fearing he wouldn’t continue.
“For Charles Stewart. For the Bonny Prince to give the order to attack. We were ready. But the order dinna come.”
His fists curled at his sides and she noted the change in his breathing. “Thunder rose from the English cannons, and grapeshot rained down like hailstones. The sky so laden with it a man couldna do more than shriek his own desperation. And still no’ so much as a gesture from the Prince. Hidden, he was, behind the rise. He didna stand nor fight with us.”
Lilly hardly dared breathe. Rory’s account of the battle was so powerful, she feared destroying the moment.
“Forward, we surged, without him. The screams and war-cries of the clansmen made a terrifying sort of music, but no’ enough to wipe out the moans of the dying as they bled their lives into the ground.”
He sighed and Lilly saw a faint tremor ripple through him. “ ’Twas over in less than an hour. Over two-thousand of Scotland’s bravest, slaughtered.” He folded his arms, tight to his chest. “Scotland was lost that day. It died along with the war cries of its people.”
On impulse, Lilly tucked a hand beneath his arm. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would be enough. He tensed at her initial touch, then relaxed and she realized how badly she’d needed him to allow her to share that loss.
Moments later, she felt the light brush of his thumb across the back of her hand as they stood in silence, staring across the battlefield, sharing a centuries-old pain.
She prayed the visitor’s center would open late so Rory wouldn’t hand her over to someone else. She loved listening to him. But if he wasn’t a guide, what was he doing here? And in period costume? It hadn’t escaped her attention that he’d relayed the details of Culloden’s battle, referencing ‘we’ as if he’d actually been there. Impossible, of course. Obviously, a slip of the tongue, or his passion for the battle, or…was he a bit delusional?
That prospect should frighten her, but it not only didn’t, it made her want to know more about him. Besides, what man didn’t vicariously become part of whatever sports team or piece of history they were passionate about?
She wished to know him better. A rare and confusing anomaly, since she’d spent her life keeping people outside her circle of trust. Yet, here she was holding the arm of a total stranger, wishing to suspend time. She sensed a deep grief, even vulnerability in him, despite his apparent physical strength.
Oddly enough, she wanted to unlock the reasons behind all of those things.
Goodness, she chided herself, slipping her arm free. How had she become so fanciful? Apparently, she’d allowed this place, with its strange, pent-up energies, to thoroughly mess with her reasoning skills. She stepped back and tucked her hands into her back pockets, needing to stay focused on her task and timeline.
“I appreciate you sharing your knowledge with me. Your insight really helped me understand a good deal of what my grandfather faced that day.”
“Ye’ll get a much better version inside the visitor’s center.” Rory’s penetrating gaze held her like a magnet. “I wish ye well, Lilly Carver. ’Tis an honor to have met ye.” He thrust his broad hand out to shake hers.
She tugged a hand loose and shook his, quickly pulling back before the urge to hold on overtook her. “I…I’m glad I was able to see the battle through your eyes and…heart.” She looked away, feeling foolish. She’d sounded more like a moony teenager than the clear-headed advertising agency exec her father had invested large sums of money to educate.
Despite her embarrassment, and her better judgement, she was not quite ready to walk away. “I wonder…” she hesitated, biting her lip. “I have a ton of questions about places and things that happened beyond the battle itself. Specifically, about the area where my grandparents lived. I need to locate a specific piece of property and I want someone to translate the landscape from what it is now, to how it might have looked then. I want to see what my grandmother’s world looked like, before and after Culloden. I’m hoping, in the short time I have, to trace something of her life. Could you recommend someone I could hire, who knows the area and might be willing to show me around for a few days? I have to be back in New York in a week, so I need someone who’d be able to devote their days, and maybe even nights, to me while I’m here.”
At Rory’s surprised look, she realized how she must have sounded.
“Strictly professional, of course,” she added before realizing that didn’t sound right either. “I mean, I may want to do some research in the evenings, since I’m so rushed for time.”
Lilly released a miserable sigh. Her major in communications was falling flat. Wasn’t she about to get paid a very lucrative sum for knowing the perfect word or phrase for every occasion? She wasn’t stepping into a position of power in her father’s firm just because she was the boss’s daughter. She’d earned her way the
re. Top of her class. Overachieving in every possible way.
Too bad it was the last thing she wanted to do with her life.
Unfortunately, she had one short week to devote to the project she was passionate about and she’d allowed a handsome face and hard body in a sexy kilt, to distract her. Although, it certainly would have been lovely to combine both the project and the kilt.
“A week ye say?” Rory dragged a thumb along his lower lip, drawing her gaze to his mouth.
“Unfortunately, a week is all I have.” She brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I have the location of the property. My grandparents had a cottage, or croft, I believe it was called. Of course, I realize any chance that it’s still standing after nearly three centuries is nonexistent.”
She shrugged, dismissively. “I’d settle for locating a rock pile, or a piece of bare ground if that’s where my grandmother actually lived. I want so much to physically touch something of her, even if it’s just a patch of bare soil.”
Looking at Rory, she couldn’t shake the notion that he was the link that could make the impossible, possible. “Do you think it’s conceivable for people to connect in some inexplicable way, across centuries?”
~ ~ ~
If only she knew, Rory thought, as he pretended to consider her question. “Aye, lass. I do,” he finally answered, watching Lilly with more than a wee bit of interest, wishing she felt the same uncanny connection between them that he did.
Though he knew she was referring to a link with her great-grandmother, the attraction manifesting itself in his newly physical body couldna be denied. An invisible thread seemed to connect him to Lilly.
He’d been charmed by the blush that colored her cheeks when she realized she’d mistakenly insinuated night work to be more than just research. More’s the pity she hadn’t meant it. He’d have accepted her offer, for certain. There was no denying the tingle of her touch or the softness of her skin beneath his thumb when she’d tucked her hand beneath his arm, nor how intensely he’d been affected by her silent compassion.
But he dinna have a week to give the lass. “I’m no’ acquainted with anyone at the visitor’s center, so I canna recommend a guide to ye.” He glanced behind her at the cars gathering in the car-park. His time with Lilly was slipping away. “So I doona ken how well any of them know the area from centuries past.” He was more than a little surprised at how much he disliked the idea of someone else spending a week in her company.
Soni’s two-day deadline weighed heavier than ever, and for the first time, he felt frustrated by the limitation.
“As knowledgeable as you are about Culloden’s past, I’m guessing you know a lot of the history of this area, as well. Am I right?”
He shifted, disconcerted by the sly expression on her face. “Aye. Some. Where is this piece of land ye’re seeking?”
“Not far. Just beyond Inverness. Tucked in a pretty, little glen, I’m told.” Her eyes lit up with what he assumed to be anticipation. “Apparently, there were three farmsteads when my grandparents lived there. The McCallums, of course, the Canfields, and Kintrays. But, only the Kintray’s remain, today.”
Rory felt a kick deep in his gut. Surely, after all these years…
“I’m to meet my solicitor in Inverness who’ll give me directions,” Lilly continued, “but as I said, it’s the detailed history of the area I’m really looking for. He suggested I hire a historian to help me.”
Canfield. McCallum. Kintray. A shiver danced across Rory’s shoulders.
’Twas impossible.
Life, even a long dead one, dinna hand anyone this kind of coincidence. Unless… Could it be possible that meeting Lilly was no’ a random coincidence at all? Had Soni placed him here, at the cairn for just this purpose? Could she really be that cunning? That deliberate? But why only give him two days? She’d made that limitation very clear.
A spark of anger ignited at the unkindness of Soni’s actions, if they were, indeed, intentional. Such a thing was unlike the gentle, wee witch. Would she really place Lilly in his path and permit such an immediate, undeniable attraction, only to snatch her away? Rory accepted that he must eventually give up this brief mortality, but what harm could a few extra days with the lass, do?
Even as the thought manifested, he knew the futility of trying to justify giving Lilly his mortal time. Unfortunately, there was nothing heroic or exceptionally noble about guiding a lass to a patch of land. Such a thing would no’ win him, his boon.
“Ahh, lass,” Rory sighed over the painful yearning in his chest. “Ye canna ken how much I wish to help ye, but ’tis impossible to give ye a week. I truly wish ’twas in my power to do so.”
“Well then.” She openly challenged him, not even trying to hide her excitement. “What can you give me?”
By the saints, he wanted to help her! He ached to spend more time with her. But as strong as that urge was, could he stand to go back to that glen and face all the painful memories? He was still reeling from the knowledge that Lilly’s ancestors were the very people his Uncle Jascol had feuded with his entire life.
Lilly raised a teasing, tempting eyebrow, reminding him she waited for an answer.
“A day,” he blurted before logic or reasoning could stop him.
Panic kicked his unpracticed heartbeat up a notch as he tried to gauge the damage he’d just done to himself and his quest. He’d be cutting it dangerously close, but mayhap a day could help Lilly at least begin her quest and he’d still have a day to search out the heroic deed required of him. ’Twas a gamble to be sure, with naught but his eternal existence on the line.
But he couldna deny the pleasurable sensation building within him at the thought of an entire day with Lilly.
Her stifled squeal and look of elation quickly changed to one of frustration. “One? Only one?”
“ ’Tis all I have, Lilly, but I give it to ye, freely.” That was true. He did give it freely, even though he had a strong premonition the price may indeed be high.
Her wide smile brightened her lovely, blue eyes. “I’ll take it. Gratefully,” she added, making no effort to hide her excitement. “Now that that’s settled,” she glanced quickly at her watch, tucked an arm beneath his and tugged him up the path, “I’ve more than an hour before I need to be in Inverness and I’m famished. Since you’re now officially working for me, why don’t I buy you breakfast before we hit the road? We can discuss your wages and how much of my itinerary we can cram into one day.” She pressed closer and squeezed his arm. “Are you hungry?”
Despite his growing anxiety over going home, and his one day with her already ticking away, Rory looked at Lilly’s glowing face and her perfect mouth, and felt her warmth seeping into his side. “Aye, lass. I’ve a hunger long denied.”
CHAPTER THREE
Rory climbed into Lilly’s car, awash with fresh sensations. His breakfast of bacon, eggs, blood sausage, haggis, black pudding and tattie scones, sat like a heavenly weight in his long-empty belly. He’d all but moaned his pleasure throughout the meal even though he’d felt a wee bit gluttonous while Lilly nibbled at a paltry egg and biscuit-and-jam. He’d struggled to keep his gaze on his plate instead of watching her lick tiny bits of jam from her upper lip. ’Twas almost a relief when they’d finished their meal and left the eating establishment.
Contending with the demands of a mortal body not only had its pleasures, but its trials, as well. Although the feel of a full belly and the touch and scent of a beautiful woman had never been entirely forgotten, after a couple of centuries, the sharp edges of longing for them had eventually dulled. Now, here was Lilly Carver, bringing back all the forbidden yearnings with nothing more than a pleading look, an arm tucked beneath his and a smudge of jam begging to be licked away.
He’d been called rogue during his first abbreviated stab at mortality, but never a gentleman. What was it about Lilly that made him want to be a gentleman for her and a rogue with her?
Lilly started the engine, shifting his atten
tion to the faint vibration moving through him. Stuck on the moor, only able to watch cars come and go, he’d wondered what it would be like to sit inside one and be whisked away at a swift pace. Though he’d yet to experience such speed, he liked the purring sensation the churning engine created. In fact, thus far, he’d liked everything about his newborn mortality. Not the least of which was the woman sitting beside him.
Ready?” She eased the car out of the parking space. Before he could respond, she’d stopped again. “I’m sorry. I completely forgot to ask if you needed anything from your home, or anywhere, before we go. Do you live far from here?”
Rory automatically glanced in the direction of the moor. “Nay lass.” There was a bit of melancholy to his voice, even to his own ears. “My home is nay far from here, but ’tis nothing there to aid us.” He turned to face her, wondering if she might regret asking for his help. “I’ve no family, nor any attachments. I fear I’ve naught but myself to offer.”
A flash of something undefinable crossed Lilly’s face, quickly replaced by a teasing smile as she pulled onto the road. “I have confidence in you, Rory Patterson. My instincts tell me you’re going to be my lucky charm.”
’Twas difficult not to get caught up in the enthusiasm all but sparking from Lilly’s eyes, as they sped along the road toward Inverness. She glowed as she spoke of her excitement at finding a tangible connection to her long-dead grandmother. Watching her was even more captivating than the startling changes to the countryside he’d once known so intimately.
He tried to ignore the growing sense of unease at the thought of stepping onto his uncle’s land again. He’d sworn he’d never go back. Even after all these centuries, he could feel the heavy cloud of doom that had always dominated it.
Kintrays and McCallums had fought over the rightful ownership of their disputed border as far back as he could remember. But, surely, after almost three centuries, the feud had been long settled. He hoped Lilly would encounter nothing to spoil her naive enthusiasm.
