Just Wait For Me (Highland Gardens Book 3) (18 page)

Stephen popped his eyes wide. Maclay charged toward them, a
claymore gripped within his hands, intent on striking a killing blow. Stephen
pushed the
bairns
away and in one brisk move, twisted to the side,
freeing his sword and dropping its sheath and his
plaide
to the ground,
ready to counter the attack. He couldn’t allow Maclay to travel to the future.

Anderson Creek, North Carolina

Jillian set aside the long water-wand and turned off the
spigot. Water droplets dripped from hanging petunia baskets hooked on racks
suspended over rows of plant benches containing a kaleidoscope of colorful
bedding plants. She inhaled the mingling floral scents and savored the quiet of
the greenhouse, glad the spring rush at
Foxgloves
had mellowed to a
manageable pace. Tomorrow, the mid-summer gardening classes would begin and she
was scheduled to teach several including her favorite,
Landscaping with
Containers
.

If she gave her situation more thought than probably
prudent, an emptiness within whittled away the false perception of wellbeing.
She should feel better about her life. She made a good living at the garden
center and enjoyed the work. Others in her position would at the least be
content. More likely happy. But an anxious urgency rode Jillian daily. Inhaling
a deep breath, she slipped past deserted potting benches—the staff having left
early for the day—and out into the display garden where the scent of roses near
to intoxicated the senses. Navigating one of the winding paths, she headed for
the rear gate.

Sidestepping the pink foxgloves still blooming in the shade
despite the heat, she gripped the metal of the grille with two hands and stared
beyond the gate to the faerie mound, to the place where Stephen had vanished
from her life months ago. He’d sacrificed so much to return to the past and
make things right with Calyn, even though, as Jillian knew in her heart, he’d
wanted to stay here with her. He was a good man.

They had both seen Calyn plump with child. The chances
something else made the woman fat—a tumor perhaps—were slim at best, and it was
wrong for Jillian to wish such a horrible thing on a person. She released a
heavy sigh. When would she give up the daily pilgrimage and admit Stephen had a
child with Calyn and would never return?

“Hey, sis, you need to stop torturing yourself. He’s not
coming back.”

Jillian swung around, a palm clutched to her chest. “Kyle,
you scared the bejesus out of me. What are you doing here?”

“I have a week’s worth of vacation time I need to use or
lose.” He grinned and brushed strands of sun-bleached hair out of his
not-so-innocent brown eyes. “Come on. Forget your vigil of the mound. Let’s go
to the inn for a beer.”

“In a few minutes.” She turned back and peered through the
gate.

“Jillian.”

“Yeah.” She glanced at her brother again, surprised by his
unusual tone of voice and the strange look on his face.

“I’m thinking about taking another bike trip along the
Greenbrier River Trail in West Virginia. Wanna come?”

“Can’t. Gardening classes start tomorrow.” Not that she
would want to go anyway. She didn’t want to go anywhere near that old train
tunnel.

Kyle tilted his head, an even odder expression scaring her.

“No,” Jillian pleaded. “You can’t intend to check out that
time well. You just can’t. I would be devastated if I lost you, too.

“It was just a thought. I’m curious about how the portal
works.”

Jillian shivered and looked away from her crazy brother to
stare beyond the garden gate. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the
mound. Kyle was likely right; Stephen wasn’t returning, but still—

Wait! She edged the grille open. There was something there,
on the knoll. Someone. No. A watery image of three figures.

“Look!” She extended an arm and pointed. “Do you see them?
Over there.”

The golden glow turned pinkish. A trick of the sun?

“What the hell?” Kyle moved to stand beside her and cupped a
hand over his eyes. “I see something. I can’t make it out.”

“Must be Stephen and the children.” She raised a foot to
step through the gate.

“No you don’t!” Kyle clasped her upper arm in a tight grip,
halting her momentum. “I’m not losing you to this nonsense again.”

She wobbled, unsteady on her feet before catching her
balance. The shimmer of color vanished, as did the image.

“There is something on the ground that wasn’t there before.”
Her voice rose. She could hardly contain the excitement.

“Don’t even think of going onto that damn faerie hill.”
Kyle, once again, stopped her from bolting through the gate. “I’ll go see what
it is.”

Jillian bit her lip, waiting, eager to see what had
materialized before their eyes.

When her brother returned, he held a plaid weaved by a
MacLachlan craftsman.
Stephen’s?

“My. God.” Jillian clutched the familiar tartan of red and
green crossed with yellow against her heart. Brought it to her nose and
inhaled. The wool fabric smelled of Stephen. Her mouth went dry. Had he tried
to return, only to be thwarted by an unwilling gate?

A large hand settling on her shoulder made her scream.

“What is with you guys, creeping up on a girl when she least
expects it?” she glared at Douglas who seemed to appear out of thin air.

He displayed no chagrin. “Where did you get Stephen’s
plaid?”

She pointed to the mound. “We thought we saw him there and
then he was gone.”

“
Shite!
” Douglas frowned. Fisted hands on hips.
Strode off toward the trail for Finn and Elspeth’s house.

“What was that all about?” Kyle asked.

Jillian nipped the side of her bottom lip. Might Stephen be
lost somewhere in time? “I think it had something to do with Stephen. Everyone
is worried about his future in the past.”

“And you?”

“It is hard to put into words the many fears tightening my
stomach when I think of what might be happening to Stephen.”

* * *

Fir-wood, Scotland

Stephen dropped his sword to a forward position warding
Maclay’s cut with the flat of the blade. The resulting vibration shot up Stephen’s
arm, stressing already bulging muscles. He twisted his wrists and
counterstruck.

The men separated. Circled. From the corner of an eye,
Stephen risked a swift check on the
bairns
. Keita huddled in Munn’s
arms. Thanks be to the saints, the wee brownie deemed to make an appearance.
Duff stood apart from the other two, straight as a rod, watching the fight with
wide eyes, a heavy stick clutched in tense hands.

The distraction almost cost Stephen the fight and perhaps
his life and that of the
bairns
. ’Twas only the practiced reflexes of a
warrior that saved him when the next blow came. Stephen edged his hips back,
avoiding a vicious slice to his gut.

“I kilt your wife, MacEwen,” his opponent taunted.

Stephen couldn’t allow the goading to affect him. ’Twas
likely Maclay spoke false.

“And what of your son?” he retorted.

The bastard’s face remained stoic. Cold. Unfeeling.

Could he have hurt Calyn and her
bairn
? Men who
harmed innocents didn’t deserve to live.

Stephen reached within for a warrior’s calm and returned to
the fight with a gruesome brutality. The clash of steel against steel echoed
over the nearby hills as they each used their blades to find a weakness in the
other. The metallic scent of blood rose from a slash on his arm. His strength
began to wane.

Maclay tired, too. He panted. His chest heaved heavily with
each breath.

Stephen needed to end this and soon. Releasing his left hand
from the hilt of the sword, he struck his opponent in the throat with a fist—a
move he learned from Finn several years prior. Maclay staggered backward, and
Stephen plunged his blade into the man’s belly. Maclay made a gurgling sound;
crumpled to the ground. Duff jumped in and bashed the fallen man on the head
several times.

“Easy, lad.” Stephen grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “The
bastard is dead.”

The lad dropped the stick and lunged into Stephen’s arms.
Stephen held him close. Patted the lad’s back. Murmured words of comfort.

“Better?” Stephen asked when the lad calmed.

Duff sniffled and stepped away, cheeks flushed. Keita joined
them, wrapping her little arms round one of Stephen’s legs.

“Are you well, lass?” he asked, rumpling her tousled curls.

She gave an abrupt nod.

“Then let us leave this place.” Stephen gripped the
bairn’s
hands ignoring the sting from the injury to his arm, and they walked to the top
of the knoll to where Stephen had left the sheath and his
plaide
. The
leather sheath was there, but not the
plaide
. No hum of magic vibrated
in the air.

Munn stood off to the side, shaking his head.

“
Faeries dance round me, faeries sing to me. Upon this
hill I am free of strife. From this sacred place I will ascend to a new life.
”
Stephen said the words, desperate for them to work magic.

“Too late. This gate is nae longer open to you,” Munn cried,
spun in a circle, and vanished.

Stephen swallowed disappointment. He’d suspected as much,
but had hoped—

Keita tugged on his hand. “Did the bad man really kill Calyn
and the
bairn?
”

“Dinna worry, lass. He probably just toyed with me, hoping
for an advantage in the fight,” he assured her, but harbored an uneasy feeling
about what they would find upon returning to the cottage in Dunadd.

Munn’s essence whirled over peak and glen, narrowing in on
the wee loch in the wood he’d visited with Stephen and the
bairns
a
couple days prior. He landed on his butt on the hard ground in front of the
weathered wooden door of the witch’s dilapidated hut. A biting wind whipped his
face.

“Witch, my arse,” he grumbled. “More likely a charlatan.”

The feminine giggle of a young woman came from within the
structure. Huh? Odd. Yet he sensed the
witch
was alone.

Munn stood, straightened his garments, and pushed into the
hut without knocking. He didn’t fear the old hag even if she had the ability to
mimic another. What was a mortal witch to a seasoned brownie? To a brownie
who’d survived the wrath of the Fae Queen? To a brownie who’d traveled to the
future? Munn’s chest expanded with pride.

The old woman continued to giggle like a much younger lass.
Like a female faerie…

“Should have guessed ’twas you,” Munn groused.

The hunched body before him stretched and thinned. Coarse
gray hair lengthened and took on an auburn sheen. A smooth pert nose replaced a
malformed one. The only thing the woman standing before him retained of the hag
was the distinguishing emerald eyes. He should have recognized Caitrina sooner.

The mingling scents of peony and freesia and sandalwood
wafted from her exquisitely garbed form. How had she concealed that cloying fae
perfume while in the form of the hag so he hadn’t suspected ’twas she the
previous time they visited? He should have smelled her from a great distance
and certainly from the edge of the woods where he’d waited for Stephen with
Keita and Duff.

“What are you doing here, wee man?” Caitrina stretched slender
arms over her head—a gauzy, emerald silk gown molded to pert breasts—as if
trying to grow accustomed to her true form.

With a frown, Munn adjusted his
trews
, not that he
was attracted to the faerie or anything about her. Nor any other female.
Definitely not.

“I came to seek help from the hag.” His voice came out
higher pitched than usual.

“For what, pray tell?”

“The spell she…
you
gave to Stephen. It only sent his
plaide
forward through time.”

“Flaming balls of hell!” Her fingertips sparked. “How could
you let that happen?”

“’Twas not my fault. Maclay arrived filled with blood lust.
He claimed to have kilt Calyn. Stephen kilt him.”

“And Maclay’s
bairn
?”

Munn shrugged with a shake of the head. He didn’t ken what
happened to the
bairn
. Nor did he care. The evil man’s son could come to
no good.

“Grrr!” Caitrina paced to and fro.

Munn edged toward the door. There would be no help for him
here. Caitrina’s glare stopped him with his hand only halfway to the latch.

Hands fisted on hips, her eyes narrowed. “How is it a wee
brownie learned to sift time?”

Munn wrinkled his brow. “Nary a one amongst my kind kens the
ways of the mound.”

“Yet you guided Stephen back through the time gate, away
from Jillian.”

“Nae.” Munn opened the door, ready to spin out into the yard
and to vanish.

Anger distorted Caitrina’s features. “Then who?”

He gulped. Her tone of voice was more frightening than that
of the Queen of the Fae when having a temper tantrum. He shook his head. He
didn’t ken who had interfered. He’d thought Caitrina had brought Stephen back
through time.

“Never mind.” Her facial muscles relaxed as quickly as
they’d soured. “’Tis only a matter of time before I learn who keeps thwarting
me.” She rubbed her chin, shoulders relaxed. “There is another way to reunite
Stephen and Jillian in the future. Take him to the spot in the forest where
Jillian arrived and met the
bairns
of the wood. Push him into the time
well, and I will see him through the portal to West Virginia.”

“Ach, aye.” Munn should have thought of the other time gate
himself. He didn’t care for Caitrina bringing its existence to his attention.
Not one bit. She would gloat over him for years. He kicked the dirt floor.

“Dinnae make this into more of a disaster,” she warned and
disappeared into the nether.

Damn faerie always had to have the last word. Munn would
show her; he’d see Stephen to the future and maybe he’d stay there himself. He
liked the place when he visited with Archie.

Uh-oh! He didn’t actually ken where to find the time well.
Shite! Munn spun in a circle, dissolved into specks of dust, and rode a bitter
wind in search of Stephen.

* * *

Snowflakes dusted the ground as the two horses neared the
village outside Dunadd Castle. Stephen signaled Duff to halt. “Stay hidden in
these trees until we learn the truth of Maclay’s claims.”

The lad nodded, and Stephen handed over his reins. ’Twould
be better for him to travel the remainder of the way to the cottage on foot.
Keeping to the shadows, he darted from structure to structure, his extra
plaide
wrapped around his upper body and over his head both to ward off the cold and
to hide his identity.

The door of the cottage hung open. Stephen crept close. No
one seemed to be about. He slipped across the threshold. An acrid stench fouled
his breath, leaving no doubt as to what he would find. The place showed signs
of violence. Tables and benches were overturned. A chair had been smashed
against a wall, leaving a hole in the surface and shards of wood on the floor
amongst pieces of broken crockery.

With unease, he stepped behind the curtain separating one of
the sleeping quarters from the living area. The bed where Calyn slept remained
unmade. The cradle empty. The foul smell strengthened and he covered his nose
with the wool of his plaide. He rounded the wood frame of the bed, stopping
short of the battered body on the bloody rush mat. Maclay had obviously
tortured the lass before dispensing the final death blow.

A sour taste rose in Stephen’s throat, but he didn’t turn
away. He tugged a sheet free of the bed and covered the poor lass. She might
have lied to him and wrongly forced him into a handfasting, but nary a soul
deserved to die in such a violent manner.

He wished he could kill Maclay again. Slowly and with as
much pain as the lass had suffered. Or perhaps more. Payment for the man’s many
sins.

Stephen shook off the bloodlust. Maclay’s punishment would
come from the hand of God.

Where was Maclay’s bairn?
Stephen lifted covers and
sheets and pillows, but found naught.

Grinding his teeth, concerned he wouldn’t find the wee
bairn
,
he strode into the main living area of the cottage. With hands on hips, he
surveyed the carnage. A whimpering came from the second curtained off sleeping
quarter. The one Stephen shared with Keita and Duff. He dashed across the
chamber and shoved aside the hanging cloth. Naught had been touched within.

Silence. Nary a sound indicated the presence of the
bairn
.
Stephen could have sworn he’d heard—

A murmur of a cry had him crossing to the wooden chest
covered with one of his
plaides
. When he pulled the wool fabric away, he
found a basket containing the
bairn
hidden behind.

Thank the good Lord, Maclay hadn’t harmed the
bairn
.

Pale blue eyes stared at Stephen before the wee
bairn
let loose a high-pitched wail.

Stephen wrapped the lad in the
plaide
and cradled him
in his arms. He’d take the
bairn
to the castle and hand the lad over to
Calyn’s family. Then Stephen would compel the faerie mound to hurl him, Keita,
and Duff to Jillian in the future.

The clatter of someone rummaging through the debris in the
outer chamber made Stephen twist his body in a manner to protect the
bairn
.
Calyn’s da tore open the curtain. Her two brothers stood behind their da,
blocking the threshold—the only way out of the cottage except for the bolt hole
under the floorboards. If there was trouble, Stephen would have to push past
them while protecting the infant in his arms.

“So you learnt the brat was Maclay’s and kilt the wench.”
Calyn’s da spit the words.

“Maclay killed your daughter.” Stephen spoke calmly,
refusing to be goaded by the older man. He hoped to get out of the cottage
without a fight.

“Says you?” Ciaran joined his da. “The sheriff may see it
differently.”

Stephen ignored the veiled threat and held the
bairn
out to his grandfather.

The man stared at the wee lad with disgust. “I dinnae want
Maclay’s bastard. I dinnae want anything born of the slut.”

How could the man be so cold? “So you admit Calyn was with
child before the handfasting.”

“Said nae such thing. She was your wife, the
bairn
is
your problem.” The older man cursed under his breath. “More than likely ’tis a
changeling.”

“You cannot mean to abandon the wee lad.”

Calyn’s da shoved his sons aside and hurried from the
cottage, a hobble to his gait.

“We will seek reprisal for Calyn’s death.” Ciaran raised a
fist in the air. “I swear it. We will see you destroyed, MacEwen.”

“Not now. The man is too well-loved by the chief.” The other
brother tugged on Ciaran’s arm. “Come. Let us be away from here before we are
blamed for any of this.”

Ciaran tossed off the grip and stormed from the cottage, his
brother at his heels.

Now what was Stephen to do with the
bairn
? He glanced
at the innocent within his arms. Could he take him to the future too? Would
Jillian accept the lad?

She had such a kind heart. A love for
bairns
. She
wouldn’t want the wee one to be deserted in the wood. Nae. But if Jillian
refused to accept the lad, Stephen would need raise the child alone. Could he
manage?

What if Iain and Patrick cast them out when he arrived with
Maclay’s spawn? Nae matter. Stephen would convince Jillian they should raise
the
bairn
as their own, with or without the clan’s approval. That was,
if he figured out how to get the lot of them to the future.

Determined the lad shouldn’t pay for the means of his birth,
Stephen bundled the
bairn
for warmth and placed him in the basket then
strode out into the cold night air. A waxing moon lit the yard, and he bounded
for the darkened area provided by a nearby structure. Once again sticking to
the shadows, he stole into the trees where Keita and Duff waited.

Before he secured the
bairn
to his horse, a large man
of tall stature stepped from the gloom cast by a dense fir grove. Stephen
froze. The inability to reach for a weapon with the basket in his arms left him
at a disadvantage.

“’Tis the man who gave us the pretty garments for Jillian to
wear to Castle Lachlan,” Keita blurted.

If he helped them before, perhaps…

The stranger wore black leather and a dark mask covered most
of his face. He approached at an unhurried pace, arms hanging loosely at his
sides. He might pose a threat. Why wear a mask, if he did not?

“I mean you and the
bairns
nae harm.” The man stopped a
short distance away.

No visible weapons draped the man, but that didn’t mean a
blade or thrice weren’t hidden within his garments. The stature of the man
seemed familiar, though Stephen couldn’t offer a guess as to why, or from where
he recognized him. Maintaining a cautious guard might prove best.

He made quick work of lashing the basket containing the
bairn
to the horse, keeping the stranger in view while working the hemp.

“Come with me,” the man offered when Stephen finished. “I
shall see you and the
bairns
safely to the future.”

* * *

Caitrina emerged into substance at the well a half-day’s
trek from the Caves of the Gray Women. The very spot where Jillian arrived in
the past. Excitement surged within Caitrina’s fae breast. Naught remained to
stop her from winning the queen’s challenge. Soon, her freedom would be won.

She spun in a circle of bliss. To finally realize her
heart’s desire. To once again frolic amongst other faeries in
Tir-nan-Og
.
To enjoy the royal status of a Princess of the Fae.

An unexpected ache over her heart slowed the rotation of joy
to a stop. Douglas, her human lover, could never join her in the faerie
paradise. She wiped a teardrop from a moist cheek.

She couldn’t think about the loss of her love now. She
needed to see Stephen and the
bairns
through the portal to the future
and ensure he and Jillian conceived a child of their own.

Where was Munn anyway? Stephen’s wee party should have
arrived here by now.

As if she’d conjured the brownie, he appeared in a whirl of
snowflakes, spinning and spinning until the frenzy petered out.

“What took you so long?”

“Not my fault. Took time.” He lowered his gaze, nudged a toe
into the mud. “Needed to find the well.”

“And where are the others?” she demanded. “If you have
screwed this up on me, I will see you banished to the Sands of Time forever.”

“Gone. Disappeared.”

“Impossible.”

A violent shudder shifting the forest floor forced Caitrina
and Munn to collapse to their knees. The ground quaked and split. Smoke fouled
the air.

Within the smoldering haze materialized three fae horses
carrying Stephen and the
bairns
and…
Dugaid
. Oonagh’s son. The
Prince of Darkness.

“Danu be damned!” Caitrina rubbed tired eyes, wishing her
vision mistaken.

She rose to her feet as the Dark Prince strode forward, his
face still masked. He grasped a lock of her hair, twirling the curl around a
finger before she had the thought to pull away. The rogue leaned in close and
murmured, “Be careful who you curse, princess. The goddess is always watching.
As am I. Remember that.”