Love Across Time (16 page)

“Aye. I nae remember anything.”

Morag scooted back when her mother leaned over to kiss Maggie’s cheek. A gentle finger traced the scar on her forehead in much the same way she had Liam’s. She knew what raw emotions lay behind the soft touch: agony over the pain suffered, hope that the hurt had been short lived, and most of all, a wish that it had never happened.

“I be fine, truly.” The assurance sounded weak, but she didn’t want this loving mother upset.

“I ken that now.” Concern darkened the woman’s blue eyes. “As Morag said, we have been very worried about ye.” She tossed a glare at the man at her side. “Ye can’t blame a mother for worrying o’er her barin when she be sick and far away, and with no brave, strong mon to escort her to that ailing barin’s bedside.”

A small smile touched Margaret’s father lips before he leaned against the wall and feathered an affectionate hand over the back of her head. A few strands of hair caught on his callused palm. The love lavished on someone they believed their daughter softened her heart toward these strangers. Here was a family devoted to one another, parents who loved their children. Unlike her relatives, who had never reported her missing, this family would put forth every effort to locate their lost loved one.

Oh, Margaret do you realize how lucky you are?

When she tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle another yawn, Margaret’s mother ushered everyone out, vowing to visit again after Maggie had rested.

~~~

Eyes half open, Maggie scanned the room for the cause of the uneasy sensation that had rippled over her skin, disturbing her sleep. Morag sat in a chair, legs crossed, staring at her. The intensity of her gaze must have been what woke her.

“Good afternoon, Morag. What are you doing here?” She rolled to her side and braced herself on her bent elbow.

“Mother’s busy, and father went riding with Liam. Ian and I came to keep ye company.” Morag nodded downward and to the right. Ian sat on the floor, his arm around Mongrel.

Since she’d been asleep, she didn’t know why the two thought she needed company. They had probably slipped away from their parents and sneaked into her room to hide from some chore. Why did she have the uncanny feeling they often committed such a stunt?

“Aye. Mongrel wanted to see ye,” Ian agreed.

Nothing like having a silent companion to blame, she thought. “Aren’t you cold on the floor?”

“Nae. Mongrel keeps me warm since ye left. He misses ye.”

The dog lumbered to his feet, came over to the bed, and nudged his large nose under her hand. Giving into her natural instinct, her thumb rubbed the animal between his eyes. His mouth lifted in what Ian called a grin. She chuckled.

“He always enjoyed it when ye did that.” Ian got to his feet and leaned against the large dog.

Margaret had rubbed Mongrel in such a manner? How odd that she would do the same thing. “Don’t ye rub him, Ian?”

“Aye, but he likes it better when ye do it.” Excitement sparkled in the boys eyes. “Liam used Mongrel to help find me.”

“He did?” By the eager tone in his voice, she knew he relished the idea of relating all the details to her.

“Aye. He gave Mongrel a piece of me clothes to smell, and Mongrel sniffed me out where the McGregor’s hid me in an empty crofter’s hut, and Da dinnae have to pay the ransom.”

“A very good idea.”

Ian nodded. “Aye. Da said Liam be a clever lad. That’s why he let him take ye away.”

By the grim expression on the boy’s face, he had been glad to return home but unhappy that he’d lost his oldest sister in the process.

The Deerhound lifted his head, whined, then trotted to the door.

“Ian, ye best take Mongrel outside,” Morag said and rose to stroll toward the bed.

Ian looked at Maggie and said, “Mongrel gots to piss.”

Morag rolled her eyes. The dog whined again, and his massive paw scratched the door.

“See ye later,” Ian said over his shoulder as he opened the door and slipped into the hallway, Mongrel at his side.

Morag made herself comfortable at the foot of the bed. Legs bent with her ankles crossed, she braced her elbows on her knees, propped her chin on interlaced fingers and begin to talk. An hour later, her endless chatter hadn’t ceased. She now knew so much about Margaret’s life, she felt like she knew the woman personally.

“Oooo.... I wish ye could remember.” A dreamy expression crossed Morag’s face as she clasp her hands together and pressed them against her budding breasts. “Yer wedding was sooo lovely. It had rained every day for a sennight, but for yer special day the sun came out and shone on ye all day.

“Liam waited on the church steps, while father led yer dappled grey horse with ye atop.” She reached down and took Maggie’s hand. “Mother’s ivory wedding dress that ye wore draped over the saddle and the back of the horse like fog o’er the moors in the early morn. Yer loose hair fluttering in the wind reminded me of spun gold, and the string of gold beads woven through yer hair sparkled in the sunlight. Ye were most magnificent.

“Anxious for yer arrival, Liam raced off the church steps, took ye off yer mount, and led ye to the priest.”

The enraptured expression on her face caused Maggie to regret she hadn’t been present. “Do ye nae remember anything.” An expression of wistfulness crossed Morag’s face.

“Sorry, nae a thing sounds familiar.” Listening to her words, she realized each time she spoke, it became easier to slip into a brogue.

Morag dropped her hand and leaned back against the foot of the bed. “Weel, I’ll have a wedding exactly like yers. Ye will come to mine, and then ye’ll know what yers looked like.”

Maggie choked backed laughter at the haughty expression on the young girls face. Morag was determined to make her remember. All day she had filled the lonely hours with stories of Margaret’s childhood
—
that is, what part she was old enough to remember.

“I want me husband to look at me exactly as Liam looked at ye the first time he saw ye. Father spoke his name twice afore he answered.” A giggle escaped Morag. “Ye said ye loved him at first sight.”

“I did.” Why had she thought Liam and Margaret’s marriage had been arranged, as so many had in these turbulent times?

“Oh, aye, and he loved ye, too. I see yer illness has affected him deeply. He would do anything for ye.”

Morag’s eyes grew round, and her lips parted in a gasp. “I wonder if he sought the washer woman to grant him a wish.”

“Washer woman? Who she be?”

“Nae a she. A fairy creature that can transform into a woman. If ye can call it a woman.” Morag leaned close and lowered her voice to a bare whisper. “The fairy has one nostril,” one forefinger tapped the side of her nose, “a single long tooth,” she pointed to her top incisor, “webbed feet” she uncrossed her ankles and wiggled her stocking feet, “and one long breast,” she pushed both small breasts to the center of her chest.

Morag’s story sounded ridiculous. Mrs. Bixby had acquainted her with several folk lore legends, but none this outlandish. Oh how she would love to discover she had a sister like Morag.

With her father’s dark, brown hair and her mother’s bright, blue eyes, she was a lovely mixture of both parents. But, a glimpse of the mischievous imp inside was all Morag.

“’Tis true.” Her young body stiffened in indignation. “She will grant one wish to anyone brave enough to sneak up on her and suckle her breast.”

Maggie burst out laughing. “I don’t think I would appreciate my husband suckling another woman’s breast.”

A flash of humor glittered in Morag’s eyes, and her lips twitched in amusement. “Aye, ye may be right.”

Caught up in Morag’s story and their amusement, she failed to hear the door open and close.

“What ye lasses be up to?”

Liam strode across the floor and gazed down at them, a crooked smile on his face. Morag was right. Liam appeared less haggard than he did when she’d first awakened. The dark shadows under his eyes had faded, and his smile came more readily.

Morag stood on the end of the bed and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. With a mischievous grin, she said, “I be telling yer wife what a brave mon ye be.”

She leaped to the floor, grabbed her slippers, and rushed out the door. The girl acted as if she were old enough, she’d have swiped the man right out from under her sister’s nose and married him herself.

“What that be about?”

The bemused look on Liam’s face as he watched Morag dash from the room made her laugh. A woman’s spontaneity somehow always scrambled a man’s methodical thought process.

“Morag explained the washer woman legend to me, and she wondered if ye had sought the fairy out to grant ye a wish.”

He threw back his head and rich, deep masculine laughter filled the small chamber. His eyes sparkled as he teased her.

“Lass, I love ye, and since ye’er here alive and well, glad I be that I wasnae put to the test of the washer woman’s condition of being granted one wish. But if I had thought of it, I’d have gone in search of the beastie weeks ago.”

Love her. No. As much as she wished it were true, he loved Margaret.

Oh, Margaret do you realized how lucky you are to have the love of this unique man?

“I’ve come to see if ye wished to dine downstairs. Yer family leaves on the morrow, and I ken ye’ll miss them sorely. This be yer last night together.”

They weren’t her family, but she’d come to love Margaret’s parents, Morag, and Ian in the short day they were here. Each minute she spent with Margaret’s close-knit family an affinity blossomed in her heart.

“Aye.”

She climbed off the bed and shook the wrinkles from her skirt. The sudden movement caused her to become dizzy.

“Easy, lass.”

Liam caught her when she swayed. Wrapped in his arms she laid her head on his chest. The beat of his heart drummed in her ear. She breathed deeply, and his masculinity engulfed her. His scent had the power to weaken her knees and send her emotions into a tumultuous eddy of desire. Her body turned fluid, and she felt like water hurled over a great cliff into a deep, swirling pool of lust.

Calloused fingertips lifted her chin. His heated gaze held hers for a moment before he sealed her lips with his. The gently tug of his thumb on her chin demanded she open her mouth. His tongue swooped in to caress the inside of her bottom lip. Her breathing became erratic. The distance between their bodies felt too great. She squirmed deeper into his embrace. Breasts, swollen with arousal, ached. The ache increased when his large hand slid up from her waist to cup her breast.

“I thought Morag still be here.”

Liam instantly released Margaret and whirled to stare at the doorway. Ian, his hand on Mongrel’s neck, stood in the entrance watching them.

“Why were ye kissing Margaret?” Nearly nonexistent lines creased Ian’s brow into a tiny frown.

Liam chuckled and led her toward the door. “I’ll nae need to explain when ye get a wee bit older lad. Then ye’ll be wanting to kiss the lasses, too.”

“Nae me.” Ian’s nose wrinkled up in disgust.

Liam’s large hand ruffled the small boy’s hair. “We’ll see. Come on laddie, ’ere the food be gone afore we sit at the table.”

Maggie studied Margaret’s family as they rose from the dining table. Normally, Morag and Ian would have eaten in the nursery, but since they had only one night to visit with her
or whom they thought she was
their parents had granted them permission to dine with the adult members of the family.

Dugan and Conner had gone to Weem on business. She suspected the trip provided them a reason to avoid the Campbell, a man loyal to the crown. Claiming illness, Eleanor had excused herself from the evening meal. Maggie was glad. What few times she’d been in the woman’s presence she’d sensed a deep loathing directed toward Margaret.

Gathered in the great hall, Maggie lounged before the fireplace in the chair opposite of Margaret’s mother and watched Morag and Ian play tug-of-war with Mongrel. The dog’s powerful jaws held tight even with both children pulling on the length of rope.

A soft hand touched hers. “The bairns have missed ye sorely, as yer father and I have. ’Tis good to know ye are well.”

Bright blue eyes traveled over Maggie making her aware of the deception she had instigated by not contradicting Isobel’s assumption that she was her daughter. There was something strangely disquieting about the family’s earnest acceptance.

“Nae need to worry, Liam has taken good care of me.”

“Aye, the lad loves ye dearly. I be afraid what yer father might do since the accident happened on yer wedding night, but I can see by the way ye stare at the lad, I need have no fear in that realm. Yer eyes fair glow with desire when ye look at him.”

Did the strange sexual magnetism that flowed between her and Liam actually show on her face? She lifted her fingers to touch her cheeks that burned with embarrassment.

“’Tis good for a wife to lust after her husband.” A trace of laughter tinged Isobel’s words. “Now off to bed with ye. Ye grow more weary by the moment. We will find our own way to our chambers.”

The second she rose from her chair, Liam hastened to her side. Each of Margaret’s family hugged her before Liam led her away. Hand braced on his forearm they ascended the stairs, which he refused to allow her to negotiate alone.