The Return of Black Douglas (32 page)

Transfixed, she might have cried out in fright, but the figure bore an uncanny resemblance to the Black Douglas. As he approached, she was spellbound by his twinkling blue eyes and his floating hair as he spoke to her
.

Why grieve ye? He lives still.

He has lost too much blood. I have done all I can to save him
, she said, not with words but with thoughts.
Even now his body temperature falls dangerously low.
She wiped away tears, which were soon replenished.
If his condition doesn’t change, he will be dead before we reach Màrrach.
She began to cry softly
. I fear I have failed him… Isobella… myself.

Have ye no faith, lass? Do ye no’ believe in the impossible?

Yes, but…

Are ye consumed by fear o’ the night the moment the sun goes doon? Be of good cheer, lass. This night, he shall not drink the milk of Paradise.

You don’t understand. He…

Touch him! Is he not warm?

With a confused frown, she went to check. She crouched down beside Alysandir and placed her hand across his brow. It was as warm as mother’s milk. With a bewildered expression, she turned toward him
. You have healed him with magic?

Nae, lass, he heals not from false enchantments, for ’tis written that naught of man created shall harm him.

But how…

Ye stand upon holy ground, for once a priory stood here and the fervent prayers of the righteous availeth much.

A scripture-quoting ghost? I don’t understand what is happening. Or why.

I have found ye a solution, lass. I am no’ obliged to find ye an understanding o’ it.
His image became more and more transparent, growing fainter and fainter still until he was gone.

Wait! Please come back!
But he was swallowed up into the night. Still not trusting what had happened, she sat nearby, watching Alysandir, her head resting upon Ronan’s shoulder. Alysandir slept fitfully and as if in a delirium, and he kept repeating himself over and again.

She went to his side and knelt beside him. Her hand went to his forehead, and she found it was still warm. She leaned closer and listened.
Marcy?
No, that wasn’t it.
Darcy?
No, that couldn’t be right. She leaned closer. Her heart began to pound.
Darcy
. That was it.
Darcy!
The realization sent a chill rippling over her. How could he possibly know of Isobella’s longing for her own Mr. Darcy?

She stayed there, pondering, until Ronan came and crouched down beside her and covered her with the plaid. “’Tis too cold for ye to be in nothing but yer gown. How fares he?”

“He is warmer now and talking in his sleep. He keeps saying ‘darcy.’ Is that a Gaelic word? What does it mean?”

“Nae, ’tis only a name. Our father’s name was Darce Mackinnon.”

Fear na ye…

A whisper of wind blew through the roofless ruins. She glanced at Ronan, but he apparently had heard nothing. Nor had the men behind them, for they were up and about, rolling up their plaids and gathering the horses. Somehow, she knew that the Black Douglas was still nearby, and she found the knowledge comforting.

Elisabeth stayed right by Alysandir when they moved him. “He cannot ride alone. Someone will need to ride with him. He will need support.”

They helped Alysandir into the saddle and Drust mounted behind him. Ronan helped Elisabeth to mount, and then he gathered Gallagher’s reins and handed them to one of the men. She turned her horse, and her gaze rested for a moment on the place where Douglas had appeared
. Thank you.

A breeze stirred. A sweet fragrance settled around her, and the ears of her horse pricked forward as he snorted, the bit ringing against his teeth. As she followed the men in front of her and began her journey back to Màrrach, she listened to the soft wind breathing through the trees and over the rippling grass, and she wondered if she had, indeed, heard the sound of angels taking flight.

Chapter 34

All, everything that I understand,

I understand only because I love.

—
War and Peace
, 1869
Leo Tolstoy (1828–1910)
Russian writer

A month after he was wounded, Alysandir declared himself healed and life at Màrrach returned to normal. It was a warm, sunny day, and Elisabeth and Isobella were working in the cave while Bradan played in the sand below with Artair and Margaret. Gavin and Grim had left only moments before to return to Màrrach as they had promised to go fishing for salmon with Alysandir, Colin, Barbara, and Drust.

That left the two Douglas girls alone, organizing the collection of artifacts they found that day. Isobella was humming gaily as the sisters packed their finds in peat to preserve them. The artifacts would be hidden to rest for centuries until some fortunate archeologist stumbled upon the stash and the letter in the oiled pouch left with them.

The sisters were deep in conversation as they worked, and Elisabeth’s blue eyes were alive with laughter. She was once again telling Isobella about the night Alysandir had rescued her from the clutches of the Macleans. They had more than one good laugh when she described what a beautiful nun he made and how he had frightened the wits out of her.

The laughter faded and her tone turned solemn when she said, “If it had not been for the volley of arrows that followed our departure from the castle, we would have made the perfect getaway. Alysandir was the only one who was wounded because he waited until the others were out of the castle before he followed them. He risked his life and those of his men to rescue me. I owe him a great deal.”

The humming stopped. A mood of pensive reflection settled over Isobella, filling her mind with remorseful awareness. She was filled with guilt.

“I am so ashamed.”

Elisabeth almost dropped the magnificent eighth-century Celtic cross she was holding. “Well, talk about a mood swing! Did you accidentally dig up some old Druid curse?”

“No, just a bad case of R-E-M-O-R-S-E.”

Elisabeth was smiling. “Hmmm… wasn’t that a song?”

“It isn’t funny!”

“Izzy, you were always funny when you got a case of the glums. So what caused it?”

“My selfishness almost got Alysandir killed.”

Isobella watched Elisabeth as she carefully put the cross down on a bed of straw. Isobella clapped her hands on her hips, as if about to start singing “I’m a Little Teapot” without realizing she was posed as a sugar bowl.

“Yes, it did almost kill him, and I’m glad you finally realized that. Here’s something else you might realize: From what you’ve told me about your relationship with him, it’s been pretty one-sided.”

“How do you mean?”

“Listening to you talk about it is like looking at a painting with no depth. It has no center. It lacks breadth and proportion like a close-up photo, when it should have been painted from much further away. Put yourself in his boots. He saved your life by bringing you with him that day in the glen. He brought you into his home and treated you like family.

“When you asked him to wait for an explanation about your past, he granted it. And when you finally did tell him, he accepted your story. He let you educate Bradan. He let you move him into the castle. And he accepted Bradan because he knew it would please you. When you told him you wished to be reunited with me, he explained why that would not be easy, yet you kept complaining about it until he almost died doing it.”

“But…”

“Yes, I know he was unrelenting in wanting to bed you. And although I’m guessing here, I think he was quite persistent in overpowering your resistance. But at some point you relented, and that was your choice. I know Alysandir would never have raped you.”

“No, he would never do that.”

“I’m not painting him as totally innocent by any means. Obviously, he did not take into consideration that you could get pregnant. He put his own needs before yours. He wanted you and was determined to break down your defenses no matter the cost to you.” She paused. “Izzy, I’m not saying these things to make you sad or to make you feel guilty or bad. I am simply hoping to help you to see there are two teams here on the playing field, and the score is not even.

“He’s done an awful lot to please you, but aside from what may go on beneath those wolf-pelts in the bed, I haven’t seen much along the same line from you. However, to your credit you have united him with his son. You have saved Bradan from a life of drudgery, and more importantly, I think that, in the end, you will be instrumental in showing Alysandir how to love again. And that is a good thing, because if I’ve ever seen a man who should pass on his genes, it’s Alysandir.”

Isobella sat down on a large rock. She stared at the hands folded in her lap. “I feel terrible, but I’m glad you told me. I guess I couldn’t see the forest for the trees. I see now that I had a lot of preconceived ideas about how things should be.”

“Well, you were working with a handicap. I mean, who has ever had a romance with an age difference of five hundred years?”

Isobella stood up and gave Elisabeth a hug. “Thank you for telling me, and thank you for saving Alysandir’s life so I have the chance to change things. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Isobella gave a start. “You certainly said that with a lot of confidence.”

“Let me tell you about a strange thing that happened after I removed the arrowhead from Alysandir. We had plied him with drink before the surgery, and then he slept most of the night. I was not far away, in case he awakened. Sometime during the night, he woke up and I heard him talking. When I went to see about him, he kept murmuring, ‘Darcy.’”

Isobella’s head jerked around, and she looked at Elisabeth.

“I asked Ronan about it, and he told me it was his father’s name. And, get this… it isn’t spelled D-a-r-c-y, but D-a-r-c-e.” She paused, as if giving Isobella time to absorb what she was telling her.

“In case you’re interested, Darce is an ancient Celtic name that means dark,” Isobella said. She held a small clay lamp and dusted it carefully.

Elisabeth picked up a pair of bronze earrings and began to wipe them with a cloth. “You know, I found it odd that the name of Alysandir’s father was Darce and here you have this thing about Mr. Darcy. Uncanny, is it not?”

Isobella gave her a puzzled look. “Uncanny? Why? Are you thinking there is some connection?”

Elisabeth almost dropped the earrings. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. I don’t see the connection. It’s just a coincidence, that’s all. The names aren’t even spelled the same way.”

“Well, maybe you should try seeing it from my perspective. Remember when we left St. Bride’s Church, driving back to Edinburgh, and your comment of ‘I think I was born a few hundred years too late’ almost made me run off the road?”

Isobella nodded, not certain at all where this was going.

“I asked you what you meant, and you said, and I quote, ‘I long to find Mr. Darcy, and he does not exist in the world I live in.’”

Isobella was still looking puzzled when she replied, “I still don’t get the connection between that Mr. Darcy and the name of Alysandir’s father.”

“Okay, forget it. I’m starving. Let’s call it a day and round up Bradan.”

It wasn’t until later that night, when she was back in her room after dinner, that Isobella gave the matter of Darcy and Darce considerable thought. She thought back to that day they had been driving to Edinburgh, and she recalled that she had asked herself, “Just what do you want?” Her answer had been,
My very own Mr. Darcy.

And hadn’t she wished for a “darkly handsome man, heroic, upstanding, and moral, with a heart filled to overflowing with love to come to her rescue and sweep her off her feet and into his arms?” She nodded to herself.
Yes, I did.

And didn’t that fit Alysandir, right down to the rescue and sweeping her off her feet and into his arms?

This was really starting to get a bit creepy, but she couldn’t let it go…
a man of deep feeling, inner struggle, and fiery pride… a man of strength and quiet reserve, a man of brooding countenance, who, instead of drawing attention to himself, would play the hero in the background.

Fear na ye…

She looked around the room, searching for the greenish glow or the wind rushing down the chimney or a fragrance filling the room, but none of these things manifested themselves. But that did not mean he wasn’t here. She knew that voice.

And her own thoughts came back to haunt her.
To find Mr. Darcy, she would have to go back in time…

“Oh, my God!” she said, her mind spinning backward to recapture a moment from the past. She closed her eyes and saw herself that day in the glen when she had asked the Black Douglas why he had brought them to the Isle of Mull.

“Ye are here because ye asked to be.”

Isobella understood now that they had been taken to Mull because Alysandir Mackinnon was the one man who truly fit her dream ideal, her very own Mr. Darcy.

She glanced at the fireplace and smiled. “Well, I suppose you are feeling pretty happy with yourself about now,” she said, not expecting an answer.

“Och! The time for celebrating will be when the two of ye reconcile your differences and realize ye have more to hold ye together than ye do driving ye apart.”

She turned around quickly. “I thought you were in the fireplace.”

Douglas laughed. “A ghost, like a woman, never likes to be predictable.”

A smile born of her fondness for him settled upon her lips. “You always manage to sneak up on me and give me a fright. One would think I would have become accustomed to it by now.”

“I hope ye are not begrudging me that wee bit o’ enjoyment because o’ it.”

She laughed, feeling warm at the sight of his merry eyes. “No, you can sneak up on me whenever you like. I suppose that means you know how things have been going for us of late.”

“’Tis a troublesome world ye are in, that is for certain. Full of misgiving on one side and bullheaded determination on the other. Necessity will make ye seek a common ground. Courage grows best when watered with occasion.”

“I don’t see how we can ever come together. We cannot agree on anything.”

His face seemed to light up. “’Tis good for a man and a woman to disagree now and then.”

“What is good about it?”

“The making up.”

She had to smile.