Immortal Desires (Well of Souls) (6 page)

Ian met him in the private dining room they often shared to discuss matters over a meal. The younger man's green eyes flashed with suppressed excitement although his exterior remained calm.

Robert gave him a nod. "She's leaving in two days so she'll be in place on Bealtuinn."

Ian twisted his hands together, a pained expression on his face. "I hope she'll forgive me."

"You're having second thoughts?"

"Nay! I dinna want to hurt her, 'tis all. It will be a shock but she'll come around." Ian glanced down at his hands and flexed them, rubbing his knuckles as if they hurt.

Robert raised his glass. "Here's to a successful trip."

Ian nodded and downed his drink in a single gulp.

They ate in silence, each one lost in reflection. Robert wondered if Ian was reliving the years of his mortal existence. He got his answer toward the end of the meal.

"Why dinna I have any memory of Deanna? If she went back, shouldna I already have those memories?"

"It doesn't work that way," Robert replied carefully. He'd already been prepared for this question. "She'll be re-writing your history. I'm not sure, but I think you'll be living the moments along with your younger self, albeit at an accelerated pace."

"I dinna understand."

Robert smiled, thinking back to the words Ian spoke to him the first time they met—words that Ian didn't remember because they hadn't happened yet. "That's all right. Neither do I. Some things aren't meant for us to know."

***

Later that night, Ian searched his memories again in a fruitless attempt to conjure up Deanna in his past. Nothing. Of course, she hadn't gone back yet but the absence of her made him nervous. Wasn't time circular or something like that? It didn't make sense to him. His throat thickened and he struggled to swallow. The thought of losing her—in either time period…

He waited until Deanna was asleep and then slipped into her dream. "Come back to me, Deanna. I dinna want to live without you."

"I will," she mumbled, turning her lips to kiss his phantom self.

He stood before her in his tartan, careful not to reveal his face. She traced the tattoo on his arm with her fingertips and a rush of pleasure coursed through his body.

It wasn't at all the same as being able to hold her in his arms, but it was enough for now. After she made the trip, he'd have that pleasure for years.

Ian left her then, allowing her to sleep in a natural state as he reveled in the memory of her touch. Her voice, promising to come back to him, soothed his disquiet thoughts and eased his guilt. For a while anyway.

Chapter Eleven

Highlands, April 2012

A driver met Deanna at the Inverness airport to take her to the hotel at Mackay Castle. Despite her intentions to soak in the rugged beauty of the highlands during the drive, Deanna dozed off until she had almost reached her destination. The unintended nap did her some good though, and she kept her eyes glued to the scenery outside as they approached the area of Strathnaver where she'd be staying for a week.

The castle sat on a hill surrounded by a green valley and overlooked the River Naver. Despite the parking lot off to one side of the property, the castle itself looked ancient. She imagined the people who occupied it hundreds of years ago would still recognize parts of it.

Stone walls towered against the backdrop of blue sky, its round towers at each end rising higher still above the landscape. She wondered what life must have been like for the Mackay clan so long ago. Was there once a small village situated at the base of the hill, as there was now?

Sheep dotted the fertile river valley, a reminder of past times when things weren't so idyllic. During the Clearances of the 1700's, the people had been driven from their homes in preference to pastureland for sheep.

A bony man ran out to greet her as the car pulled up to the front entrance, his long gray hair pulled back from his face into a neat ponytail.

"You'd be Ms. Cameron? Welcome to Mackay Castle." He clasped her hand as she stepped out of the car and smiled broadly at her. "I'm Andrew MacFegan, the proprietor of this fine establishment. Dinna hesitate to ask for anything you desire during your stay."

"I'm happy to be here, Mr. MacFegan." And she was. Her breath caught at the wild beauty surrounding her. She still couldn't believe all this was a part of her job. "It's beautiful here."

"Aye. Wait till you tour the castle." Mr. MacFegan beamed with pride. "Dinna fash yourself with the bags. Someone will see them to your room."

He led her through the heavy wood doors and into an entryway with a rough stone floor. "The stones are original to the house."

Deanna coughed to stifle a giggle. "House" came out as "hoos" and struck her as utterly charming—in a hilarious sort of way.

They walked into a grand room with a fireplace that took up half the wall. A huge portrait hung above it and Deanna's heart tripped as she stared at it. The man posed in a white shirt and blue, green and black kilt, his long dark hair flowing freely halfway down his chest. Emerald-green eyes gazed out at her, seeming to beckon Deanna to step closer. He looked dangerous, delicious and so much like the man in her dreams that Deanna wanted to fondle the painting.

"Aye, startling portrait that." Mr. MacFegan grinned at her and Deanna felt her cheeks grow hot. "That's Ian Mackay, the last laird of the castle. He's said to haunt the grounds here, although I've never seen him myself. Other ghosties abound but none as bother the guests except to entertain them."

Deanna yanked her eyes away from the gorgeous hunk on the wall as Mr. MacFegan ushered her into the dining room. Broad windows opened onto a view of the river, giving each table a stunning vista to gaze at.

A bar sat at the far end of the room and Deanna wandered over to it. The stout bartender asked if she wanted something to drink, his older face full of cheer. Declining, she spotted a sign on the wall behind him, either very old or fashioned to look that way. It said:

Here's tae the heath, the hill and the heather,

The bonnet, the plaid, the kilt and the feather.

She turned back to Mr. MacFegan and smiled. "This place is charming. I love it here."

"Aye, it's bonnie. There's no place like the highlands. Let me show you to your room and come see me whenever you want to have a blether."

Deanna followed him up the stairs, struggling with the word
blether
for a minute before she remembered it meant to have a chat.

He opened a door about halfway between the stairs and the end of the hallway on the third floor and stepped aside. "I'm sure you'll enjoy your stay with us."

"Thank you. I already am." Deanna headed for the window as the door closed behind her. She had the same view of the river as the dining room downstairs. A few white clouds scuttled by, doing nothing to block the sun from highlighting the water with a thousand sparkles.

With the small town out of sight on the other side of the hill, it was easy to imagine the medieval history of the place. No telephone poles or cars hindered her view to spoil the fantasy. Her hands grazed the rough stone of the outer wall as she tried to picture who might have once lived here.

An image of Ian Mackay floated in front of her face. Why had he been the last laird of the castle? What misfortune befell the inhabitants? Deanna rested her cheek against the cool stone trying to sense those calamitous times. The images of the man from her dreams blended with the portrait hanging downstairs until she was almost convinced they were one and the same.

Nonsense.
She shoved away from the wall with a nervous laugh and looked at the rest of the room. A beautifully carved four-poster bed dominated it, the bedspread in blue, green and black plaid—the colors of the Mackay clan. A large crest lay in the center of the pattern, a hand holding a dagger within a circle with the words
Manu Forti
above it. Below the circle was written:
Bratach Bhan Chlann Aoidh
.

A very masculine room but she liked the feel of it. It suited the venue quite nicely.

She checked the clock and realized why her stomach felt hollow. Changing clothes in a hurry, Deanna went downstairs for dinner and an interview with Mr. MacFegan.

***

Dinner was a delight, although Deanna passed on trying the haggis and stuck with the salmon. Mr. MacFegan regaled her with tales of ghosts and other folklore common to the area, including the selkies she might encounter if she traveled up the coast to Bettyhill.

"If you meet a verra beautiful man up there," he said with a wink, "make sure he's nae a selkie come to steal your heart."

Deanna laughed, sure that her heart wouldn't be stolen by anyone. "Robert told me to investigate the graveyard while I'm here too."

"Aye, there's hundreds of Mackays in the ground." His face grew solemn. "Promise me you'll nae go there at night."

A tremor worked its way up her spine at his words. "Why? Will I trip over headstones or something?"

"That would be the least of it, lass. There's still magic in these hills. Mind what I'm telling you and go when the sun is out."

Deanna gave him her word and shivered all the way back to her room.

Chapter Twelve

Highlands, May 2012

Deanna checked herself in the mirror, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. The jeans, long-sleeve shirt and heavy pullover sweater should be enough to combat the morning chill—as long as it didn't start drizzling. The low clouds this morning promised rain later in the day. She pulled on her hiking boots and set out to investigate the castle's ancient graveyard.

The cemetery sat down a ways on a slope, out of sight of the castle and beyond the gardens. She took her time wandering through the plant beds that showed the first buds of different flowers. It would be spectacular during the summer months.

She caught glimpses of the river from time to time between the clumps of trees growing along the riverbank. Their leaves rattled a friendly greeting to her in the breeze, a song of welcome to a stranger and new friend. Something about this place called out to her to settle and put down roots. Deanna could see why the Scots fought so hard to keep their land.

The long grasses groped her pant legs as she stepped through the broken iron gate some distance from the castle. Heavy dew dampened the earth, adding its own smell to the richness of decaying leaves. Only the tops of the towers were visible from this lower section of the property. Deanna shivered as she imagined the ghosts of old clinging to the place where they'd once lived. During the night she'd awakened several times to various noises but whether they were haunting or ancient plumbing she hadn't decided. The experience had her jumping at shadows now.

Headstones crowded around her, drawing Deanna into their midst, squeezing the air from her lungs. Dizziness washed over her, a cloying feeling as the dead reached out to tell their tales of sorrow and woe.

A bird screamed overhead and she ducked, watching it soar in a straight line as if aiming for her head. At the last moment it veered off, but not before it'd looked deep into her eyes.

You're being stupid. It's just a graveyard
. Deanna shook off her spooky thoughts and looked up at the leaden sky until her heart quit pounding. A single ray of sunshine broke through the clouds and she smiled, following the path of light to see where it landed.

It fell at the far end of the cemetery, on an old woman who knelt in the dirt. Deanna started walking toward her, wondering if she was a guest or someone from town. The woman held something in her hand that looked like a bloody rag. She glanced up at Deanna and cackled, then disappeared.

Deanna moaned, her breath hitching as she spun around to leave. She tripped over a rock and fell, the ground digging into the palms of her hands and scraping the flesh. Something sharp pricked her skin and her fingers closed around it, intending to toss it away.

The metal warmed to her touch and she couldn't let go of it. The beautiful brooch claimed her attention, its intricate Celtic metal knot shining silver as if it had never been lying in the dirt. The pin on the back had cut her hand. Turning it over to look at the front, all thoughts of the woman with the bloody rag vanished as the gorgeous heirloom captivated her attention.

The center held a large sapphire, surrounded by ten smaller rubies. Deanna let out a whoosh of breath. She didn't know much about jewelry but this was beautiful. If it wasn't a fake, it had to be worth a lot of money. She wondered who might have lost it out here. Maybe Mr. MacFegan had a claim written up for the piece.

Her hand closed around it, reluctant to return the brooch. It felt like it belonged to her. The sapphire began to sparkle and she tried to close her eyes against the glare but found she couldn't look away.

The wind picked up as she stood, tearing her hair loose from the band she'd tied it in. Though the air chilled her cheeks, her body grew warm, as if a hot summer day had descended.

A vortex closed in around her and changed to a deep blue color. Deanna tried to yell for help but her voice came out mute against the maelstrom she now found herself caught in. What was happening? Tears stung her eyes, drying instantly on her skin with the blast of air. She fell to her knees, unable to withstand the pressure exerted against her.