Time Travel Romances Boxed Set (92 page)

Morgan looked into the fathomless blue of
his eyes and put her hand in the warmth of his.

*

The first stars were out, the view to the
sea still streaked with orange and pink. Alasdair led Morgan behind
the cottage with a surety of purpose. She caught her breath when
she saw two freshly planted vines, one rife with thorns, the glossy
green leaves of the other very familiar.

Alasdair had planted the briar and the
rose.

But for whom?

Morgan glanced up to find Alasdair’s blue,
blue gaze steady upon her, and her heart gave an unruly thump.

But he didn’t say anything, just guided her
closer to the plants. He paused beside them, bending to tuck the
dirt carefully around their roots, her fingers still firmly
captured within his hand.

“
These I planted but
yesterday,” he confessed hoarsely. “And though there were those who
doubtless thought it foolish, it suited me well to mark the loss of
a love, a love that still burned bright in my heart.”

Morgan didn’t dare to breathe.

Was he talking about Fenella?

Alasdair’s thumb slid across the back of her
hand, then set to tracing little circles around her knuckles.

“
My lady, I am not a man
who surrenders any matter readily, but I must confess that this was
to be my last night at the circle of stones. This was to be my
final tribute to the ache in my heart before I left this place for
all time.”

He was going to leave here?

“’
Twas when the healer came
and gave her ill portent for Angus’s health that I know I could
remain here no longer and dream of what might have been.” Alasdair
impaled Morgan with a look. “She said he would die, and I vowed
then that if he did, I would return to battle with the
Bruce.”

“
But you’ll die!” Morgan
burst out. She clutched at his hand. “You can’t go! I read it in
the bo-”

Alasdair placed a resolute thumb over her
lips to silence her and his lips quirked. “My lady, I have no
intent to go,” he assured her softly, his eyes glowing. “All has
changed this day.” He raised one hand and stroked her cheek, his
smile broadening. “You have saved my son, and for this, you have my
eternal gratitude.”

Gratitude was a far cry from what Morgan
actually wanted. “But he’s not your son,” she felt obligated to
point out.

Alasdair shrugged. “It matters little. The
boy rests as securely in my heart as if he were my own blood, and
in my mind he is. My gran’s tales change none of that. Angus is my
son.”

Because Angus was Fenella’s son, at least,
and Alasdair was still in love with Fenella, regardless of her
faithlessness.

Disappointment flooded through Morgan. She
had been a dope to come back here, an idiot to imagine that her
pregnancy or even she herself made any difference to this strong
and gentle man.

They were of different times, and Morgan
knew now that she should have stayed in her own. She turned away,
not even caring where she went. Maybe somehow she could find her
way back to Justine, but Morgan wasn’t sure.

One thing was for certain – she had bet the
farm and lost.

“
My lady! What is this you
do?”

Morgan looked back at Alasdair and tried to
smile. “I’m leaving. Of course.”

“
Of course?” Alasdair
frowned as though he could make no sense of this. “But you have
only just arrived.” He gestured to the entangled plants behind him
in frustration. “Does this mean naught to you?”

Morgan shook her head sadly. “I’m sure
Fenella is delighted, wherever she is.” She turned once more to
leave. “I’m sure she’s thrilled that you’ll love her forever.”

“
Fenella?” Alasdair’s voice
sounded strained, but Morgan didn’t stop. “This has naught to do
with Fenella!” he declared hotly.

No, Morgan admitted, it probably had more to
do with Angus. Alasdair’s son. She thought about the tiny baby in
her own belly and her tears rose. She forced herself to just keep
walking.

Until the cry of a mad boar made her jump in
fright. She pivoted to find Alasdair closing in on her.

Fast.

“
My lady Morgaine, if you
imagine for one clarty moment that I will stand by while you walk
away, then you know naught of the measure of man I am!” he
bellowed.

Morgan froze. Alasdair’s eyes flashed, and
he flung his hands skyward as he stormed toward her. “Does it mean
naught to you that I love you beyond all else? Does it matter
naught to you that I have no reason to wake each day without you by
my side? Did your pledge of love to me mean naught in the end?”

Morgan went all cold, then felt a flush rise
over her cheeks. She gaped at the furious highlander as he came to
a stop before her, his eyes blazing sapphires.

“
You love me?” she asked
incredulously.

“
Aye, that I do!” Alasdair
roared. “Have you listened to naught I have told you this
night?”

“
But you love
Fenella.”

“
Fenella?” Alasdair looked
horrified by the concept. “Never did I give a care for that flighty
besom! A sound whack on the bahookie was what she deserved, but so
long left undone ’twas not so easy to fix.” His expression turned
wry. “My gran speaks aright in this, at least.”

“
But you married
her.”

Alasdair arched a fair brow and folded his
arms across his chest as he regarded Morgan. “’Twas my duty,” he
said quietly. “I have told you this afore.” He stepped closer while
Morgan absorbed this and took her chin in his hand, his tone
turning gentle. “And did I not tell you when last we were together
that you were as fine as a red, red rose, and I no better than a
doughty thorn?”

Morgan nodded.

Alasdair smiled. “Then how can you doubt the
meaning of the rose and briar, my lady? My heart is as securely in
your keeping as ever a man’s could be.” He leaned down and brushed
his nose across hers, his voice husky. “I love only you, Morgan. Do
not leave me.”

The truth shone in his blue, blue eyes, as
always it did.

“
Oh, Alasdair! I don’t want
to leave.” Not sooner had Morgan made that confession than Alasdair
scooped her up into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. She reveled
in his touch, secure in the knowledge that she had made the right
choice.

And then she began to cry that she had ever
doubted him.

“
Tears, my lady,” he
whispered, wiping them away with an indulgent thumb. “Is it so dire
as that to pledge to me for all eternity?”

“
We didn’t make a
pledge.”

Alasdair snorted. “An omission to be
righted, to be sure.”

Morgan smiled through her tears. ‘I suppose
that would be the right thing to do,” she mused. “Since I’m
pregnant.”

“
Pregnant?” Alasdair’s eyes
widened with joy and then alarm. “And what foolery is it that has
you out in such chill air? And nary a morsel for your supper to
warm the babe’s belly?” He growled as he carried her directly back
to the cottage. “My lady, did I not know better, I should think you
had need of a keeper.”

Morgan kicked her feet playfully. “Good
idea. Know anyone who might be interested?”

Alasdair looked at her intently, and his
grip tightened possessively. “There will be none taking that task.
’Tis mine and mine alone, and well do I intend to fulfill it.”

“
Are you giving me your
word?” Morgan teased.

Alasdair’s eyes gleamed as he stared down at
her. Morgan felt as though the world stopped when he paused on the
threshold of his cottage to gather her closer.

“
Aye, my lady,” he murmured
with a smile. “Aye, that I am.”

And he bent to kiss her with a thoroughness
that made Morgan’s heart sing. She wrapped her arms around his
neck, thinking of the rose and the briar tangling each about the
other, the vines becoming as one.

Inseparable for all time.

And Morgan liked the sound of that just
fine.

*

Justine’s fingers tightened on the envelope
when she saw the postmark and she tore it open without another
thought. She dropped onto the stool beside the phone in her sunny
white kitchen and read hungrily.

May 23, 1999

Dear Mrs. Macdonald,

Thank you so very much for your lovely
letter. The Captain and I were delighted to hear that you are
expecting a child. Know that all of our warmest congratulations are
with you.

Per your request, I did trot over to Frances
Fergusson’s and have a look for the record of your forebears. You
will be pleased no doubt that Frances does have a thorough record
in her files and may wish to see it yourself whenever you are back
this way.

It seems your ancestor Alasdair MacAulay did
indeed marry twice, as you had suspected. His first wife was a
Fenella Macdonald who gave to him a son, name of Angus. By the
dates, Frances guesses Fenella died either in childbirth or shortly
thereafter.

How blessed we are that such matters are less
risky in our times! I trust that all will go well on your day and
that you will be feeling quite yourself again shortly
thereafter.

But to return to the tale, this Alasdair did
wed again and remarkably, Frances knows quite a bit of his second
wife. Her name was Morgaine, though there is no clan listed for her
so we cannot tell from whence she came. Named for the great
sorceress herself, if you can imagine the cheek of that! But all
the same, she seems to have been uncommon lucky - the pair of them
had four bairns, two boys and two girls, not two years between any
of them. The man must have been smitten with her charms indeed!

Then it is that Alasdair had five children:
first Angus in 1307 by that first wife, then a boy Caillen in 1316,
then you’ll no doubt be surprised to learn that the first girl has
your own name, though it was uncommon enough in those times.
Justine was born in 1318, followed by what appear to be twins,
Niall and Isobel in 1320. All the children lived to a doughty age,
as did their parents, living as they did until…”

Justine firmly put her thumb over the dates.
She didn’t want to think about Morgan being dead for several
hundred years. She pulled out a calendar and tried to figure out
the dates of the babies’ births instead.

Well, Morgan had been pregnant when they
last talked and that baby had presumably been Caillen born in 1316.
So, for Morgan, right now, it was sometime in 1316.

Justine patted her ripe belly and smiled.
Morgan was probably just as pregnant as she was right now. Justine
could just imagine how Alasdair would fuss around her.

He’d probably be even worse than Blake had
been.

She bit her lip, told herself not to cry,
then read on.

“
But what is truly
remarkable is that there are several letters preserved at the
monastery between Morgaine and the abbot there. It seems that she
had a gift for painting miniatures. The abbot’s letter makes it
clear that although this is most unusual, a lack of talent within
the monastery had him hiring Morgaine’s abilities to illuminate the
Bibles and gospels that they copied there. Several sentences lead
Frances to believe that Morgaine was not allowed within the
perimeter of the monastery because of her gender, but that she had
a rare and mutually profitable relationship with the monks of the
abbey.

Isn’t that remarkable? I must confess that
curiosity sent me myself down to the town library where the last of
the monk’s illuminated books are preserved and the librarian let me
have a wee look. Mrs. Macdonald, if ever you can come back this
way, I would strongly suggest you treat yourself to a look at these
marvelous books. She may only have been named for a great
enchantress, but it is more than clear that your forebear could put
magic on the page. Not surprisingly, her spouse Alasdair had
somewhat of a reputation as a man of letters - some of those
between himself and the abbot are also preserved.

As for your question about the briar and the
rose behind the hotel, well, frankly I cannot imagine why you need
to hear that tale again. Goodness, Mrs. Macdonald, how often did I
tell it to you?! But here it is again, as you requested.

There was once a man living in this very
valley who loved his wife with all his heart and soul. One day, she
bore him a son and it seemed to him that nothing could be more
right in his world. To commemorate his lady’s struggle to bring the
babe to light - for in those days, it was no easy task - he planted
a rose and a briar behind their home. The plants twined together
and grew ever stronger and taller, as the man proclaimed did his
love for his lady fair.

They lived long and well together, happy all
their days, and when they passed, that very son tended the briar
and the rose, so that the legacy of his parents’ love might
continue on in the garden as it did within his own heart. And so,
through the years, each master of this house has tended the plants,
ensuring that always there is a briar and a blood red rose growing
together on the selfsame spot that the man chose to salute his
beloved wife.

I hope this has answered your questions.
Again, all the best from the Captain and me. We look forward to
seeing you again whenever you are back this way.

Sincerely,

Adaira Macleod

Justine read the letter again and folded it
carefully. Adaira was right - Morgan did have a rare gift and the
body of her strongest work was bound and waiting in a cheerful
yellow nursery upstairs. One day, Justine’s child would learn to
read magical tales of Scotland, tales illustrated with the fairies
that had tumbled out of Morgan’s pen.