Duet (27 page)

B
ILLY
took the stairs two at a time to the chamber located at the very top of the tower, nervous tension increasing with each leap. He found the room once more washed in candlelight, and briefly wondered if the candles had been lit by non-human hands. He placed his violin case on the bed, and searched until he found the loose stones above the mantel, where Neil said to look.

The first stone came out easily, but it took several moments to remove the remaining interlocking pieces. Soon, the hidden compartment lay open, and he reached in and pulled a rough-woven bag free of the cramped space. Remarkably, the cloth, while old and dusty, showed little sign of decay. He held the precious object with two hands, placing it very gently on the desk.

He loosened the neck of the bag, working it down over what had to be the violin of Aillil Callaghan, and soon revealed an exact replica of his own instrument. From far away the sweet sound of piping called. He opened his case and removed the violin he no longer played, replacing the spare with Aillil’s. While Billy stared down at the matching set, lying side by side, the words whispered through his mind:
They’re brothers.
He shook his head. No, not brothers—lovers. Case in hand, he followed a haunting melody down the stairs and out of the castle. Just like at the shop in Edinburgh, an unseen force directed his steps.

A nearly full moon lit the path, leading him through the wood and into a clearing. In the distance, a tin whistle played, accompanied by chanting and what sounded like a bagpipe. Far from being frightful, the odd combination offered a comforting mix of sounds.

The path took him near a ring of trees, illuminated by a bonfire. Sparks flew high into the heavens, and fragrant smoke hung thick in the air. Possibly a dozen people stood nearby, faces hidden by hooded robes. Their voices mingled in a chilling combination of chant and harmonized singing, in a language that, while he wasn’t able to fully understand the words, he caught the gist of their meaning. A ceremony or ritual of some kind. The music faded when one robed figure stepped forward and held out a hand.

Instinctively playing his part, Billy relinquished Aillil’s instrument. Limping slightly, the figure stepped within the circle of trees and placed the violin on a rock. Moonlight reflected off the stone’s gleaming surface. “Play,” a voice commanded when the figure returned to the other singers.

Billy removed his violin from the case, beginning one of the songs from the concert. The second violin joined in. While visions weren’t unusual during a performance, these were different from the recent ones, for they didn’t star the dark-haired man.

In the first, Billy stared down at a young man who looked like himself, too weak to fight when spirit broke free of body. The next image also looked like him, lying on a cot in what might have been a doctor’s quarters. Judging from the room’s furnishings and the clothing of the man in attendance, a good deal of time had passed since the first vision. He stood by helpless, watching an alternate version of himself crying “Aillil!” with his last breath.

The third vision showed another man in the last moments of life. A soldier’s uniform draped a nearby chair, and Aillil’s disembodied form hovered by the bed.

Tears flowed freely down Billy’s cheeks when the images faded. The voice from earlier instructed, “Step into the circle.”

A crackling like an electric current crawled along his skin, growing stronger with each step he took; moonlight and bonfire illuminated the surrounding trees. Hours of playing began to take their toll. Billy’s bow slowed and finally ceased, the chanting of the robed figures growing louder.

He fought when a hand tugged at his violin. “Don’t worry,
Mael Caluim
,” a woman’s voice said, “I’ll guard the violins with my life. You have to finish this.” Too tired to argue, Billy nodded.

Unable to stand any longer, he collapsed onto the shining rock, falling into a restless slumber. His last coherent thought was,
This was where we first kissed.

Four heads bent over schoolwork. A noise drew Billy’s attention away to the doorway, where he feasted his eyes on the enthralling figure of a Scottish Highlander, staring with a hunger mere food couldn’t satisfy. Compellingly dark eyes locked with and held his, and he couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried. A single moment, a single heated glance, sealed his destiny for all lifetimes to come.

He revisited the scene at the stream where the water spirits laughed merrily at two men courting on their shores, singing approval over the stones lining their shimmering waters.

Billy saw himself and the dark-haired man coupling within the ring of trees, the wind in the branches sighing out a blessing, the yews glowing with arcane magic to seal the union, as surely as if they’d spoken vows.

Next he saw his lover, face a mask of pain and suffering, unwittingly beginning an incantation to guarantee the renewal of Billy’s soul, paving the way for their eventual reunion.

And finally, he witnessed the Druid priestess, rendering Aillil’s body a spirit, tied to a piece of polished wood to wait.

A new day dawned when Billy’s eyes snapped open, the rock cold and unyielding beneath him.
Malcolm, my name is Malcolm
.
I lived here, loved here, died here….

The comforting sensation from the tower room embraced him from behind, solidifying into a tangible presence. He struggled against the hold until a hushed voice whispered, “Quiet, my little fox, you’ve no need to fear.”

A hairy arm rose enough to allow him to turn. Chestnut-colored eyes filled with yearning met Billy’s, and enticing lips, surrounded by dark whiskers, tilted up into a smile. Billy stared into the face from his dreams.

Aillil! Aillil was alive! Lifetimes’ worth of memories crashed down and vertigo swept through Malcolm in a heady rush, wave after wave of memory replacing logical thought with something so fantastic, yet so real, they left no room for doubt.

Throughout the ordeal, the protective arm held him close, a constant, reassuring anchor. When at last the earth stilled, Malcolm Byerly opened his eyes and gazed with full knowledge at his lover, who’d been imprisoned for ages in a violin while trusting in a Druid’s promise of reunion.

When they’d first loved, Malcolm had been afraid to take the necessary leap of faith, terrified of the consequences. Now…. “In this time, men can love other men with little fear of reprisal,” he said, gazing in wonder at the man he now realized he’d searched for his whole life. Or, more accurately, several lifetimes.

“Aye.”

“You can play your bagpipes and speak Gaelic.”

Aillil’s open admiration stirred things within Malcolm that he hadn’t known existed in this life, and he leaned in, crushing their lips together. Aillil remained still, allowing Malcolm to lead. “You’re exactly the same!” Malcolm exclaimed, running trembling fingers over the prickly mass of dyed wool that made up the Highlander’s clothing. “Your kilt, your hair. It’s like no time has passed at all. It’s been….” He trailed off, what his eyes told him warring with what he’d previously assumed impossible.
It can’t be, it can’t be!

“I’ve been waiting for you for over two centuries,” Aillil confirmed, rough palms cupping Malcolm’s face.

“Two centuries!” Realization set in, bringing a blush. “Oh!”

Aillil grinned.

Two centuries’ worth of pent-up passion descended on Malcolm, and he spared a modest glance toward the edges of the grove. The absence of robed figures shattered any resistance. His tuxedo, now rumpled beyond redemption, took far too long to struggle out of, and Malcolm briefly entertained the notion of performing in a kilt in the future, for easy access’ sake.

In a move nearly too fast to follow, Aillil shed his tartan, spreading the plaid on the ground for a blanket before discarding his linen shirt.

All obstacles removed, Malcolm reveled in the skin-to-skin contact. Today marked the first of November. The temperature should have been freezing, yet only a mild chill penetrated the grove. The Highlander’s warmth chased away the remaining cold, one muscular thigh easing Malcolm’s legs apart to rub provocatively against his groin. Hissing pleasure against Aillil’s shoulder, Malcolm pushed his cock against a solid mass of muscle.

Aillil pulled back, taking the glorious contact with him. “Not so quick, little fox. I’ve waited too long for this to end before it’s properly begun.”

Aillil’s lips trailing against his neck kissed the sting from the words. Malcolm shimmied downward, pushing Aillil back onto a mound of green and red. Aillil’s cock rose hard and dark with need, and Malcolm took his lover’s flesh between his lips, moaning at the musky, comforting scent remembered from another lifetime. He worked Aillil’s uncircumcised flesh with lips, tongue, and, very lightly, teeth. The catch in the Highlander’s breath made the sweetest of sounds.

Wanting nothing more than to make up for lost time, Malcolm drew back, cheeks hollowed with suction, pulling a moan from his lover. He flattened his tongue against the underside of Aillil’s erection. Finesse flying out the window and lust taking over, Malcolm licked, sucked, and nibbled until Aillil’s ragged pants settled into a series of steady grunts and the man’s hips bucked rhythmically in time with Malcolm’s sucking.

“No!” Aillil yelled, pulling away. “I want you too!”

Determined to finish what he’d started, Malcolm declared, “Then you shall have me. We were promised a lifetime, were we not?”

“Aye, we were,” Aillil agreed. “More than one.”

Malcolm suddenly found himself turned, Aillil’s mouth engulfing his engorged member. “Ah!” he cried, startled by the unexpected maneuver. Aillil moaned, rocking up toward Malcolm, who took the hint and returned the favor.

Time stood still in their little glen; they might have loved minutes or hours, Malcolm lost all track of time. When they moaned out their passion, they sealed the ritual begun over two hundred years before.

Afterward, Malcolm lay resting against Aillil’s chest, wrapped in wool and feeling more at home than he’d ever felt anywhere. The things he’d show his lover. The places they’d go. The lost time they’d make up for. “Wait until I get you into a modern bed.”

“I’m sure I cannot wait,” Aillil murmured, words slurring as he drifted off to sleep.

Yes, a whole big world waited to be shared—later. For now, Malcolm was too comfortable to move.

His eyelids drooped and finally closed to the hypnotic sound of wind through the trees, so like the harmonized lullaby of two violins.

Epilogue

M
ALCOLM
timed the orchestra’s measures, waiting for his cue. Counting backward from three, he stepped onto the stage and into a spotlight, eyes averted from the glare while tucking his violin beneath his chin. Guided by the strains of the piano, he found his mark, closed his eyes, and let the music take him away.

The sweet melody of a love song filled his mind, every note springing from the heart. The welcome sound of a second violin joined in.

The harmonies of two instruments tentatively touched then backed away like nervous lovers, only to rejoin, the joyous meeting of kindred souls. The distinct sounds entwined and merged, the violins becoming lovers just as surely as the men who played them. The melody soared, painting a vision of a bright spring day, perfect for lovemaking in grassy meadows.

The story darkened: the sorrow of parting, of loneliness and despair. Malcolm knew from the reviews Neil carefully collected that there were now few dry eyes in the house. The weeping of his violin faded, as did the lights. To his left, in the muted spotlight, appeared the vision of a Scottish Highlander. The design had changed over the years, but the red-and-green plaid was the same, as was the fall of midnight hair that contrasted starkly against a white dress shirt.

Aillil’s violin told of years of longing and waiting, though the audience would never know, or believe, exactly how long he’d waited. The cadenza peaked, and even Malcolm’s eyes were filled with tears at the thought of his lover’s lonely vigil.

The tune softened, as did the spotlight yet again. A moment of darkness followed; a tribute to the dark days when Aillil and Malcolm’s souls had come so close, only to be torn apart once more.

A moment later the hair raised on Malcolm’s arms, the trill of Aillil’s bagpipes filling the auditorium. He stood in the background, smiling, imagining his lover’s enraptured face. Soon the tune faded and died, followed by a moment’s silence, in honor of Niall, Dughall, Dughlas, Rory, and Old Maeve, who’d seen them through their several lifetimes’ journey, even though the current incarnations didn’t recall the past. Aillil still felt them, reassured in his family’s continued existence.

Malcolm didn’t need light to know that his partner was nearby; he could sense the soul forever joined to his. The lights slowly raised and shifted back to him, as Malcolm poured out all his longing from that time before finding Aillil.