Highlander Unraveled (Highland Bound Book 6) (5 page)

I checked behind the stones; parted gorse bushes; looked behind trees.

But I was utterly alone.

And very awake. I didn’t remember waking up. I didn’t remember falling asleep either. Who knew what kind of state I’d been in, a fugue, but I was positive Emma had been there with me. I could still smell her. Still feel the heat of her touch on my skin. Hear her moans fill the air.

I glared up at the dark sky. Hours had passed since I’d first arrived. The moon shone overhead. The sacred rune stone in the middle of the grove was dark. The glow that had emanated from it when Emma had been here was completely gone. I jogged toward it, pressed my hands to its cold face and shuddered.

“What do I do?” I shouted at the sky. “How can I bring her back to me?”

But there was no answer.

Only mocking silence.

Chapter Five

Emma

I woke with a start, sitting straight up in a strange bed, sucking in air as though it were the last breath I’d ever take.

My hands pressed to my chest and I had to resist the intense urge to claw away the flesh and bone so I could breathe.

Where was I? What was happening?

I blinked, afraid and unnerved. But then, everything slowly came back to me. The time travel. Steven. Mrs. MacDonald.

My dream.

I slid my hands down over my legs, my skin cold to the touch. And yet, my body was still alive with tingles and shivers, scorched from making love with Logan.

Oh, how quick and cruel Fate had been to rip me away from him. The deep ache that had settled in my chest the moment I woke at Mrs. Lamb’s to see Steven towering over me, returned with a vengeance.

The room was dark, chilly. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, smelling something delicious cooking downstairs. Rather than enticing me though, the scent of the spices and onions turned my stomach. I felt hungover. Beat up. My head was still pounding, my limbs heavy and sluggish.

My bare toes touched the cold wood floor. I must have kicked off my shoes while I napped.

I rubbed at my temples, but that pressure didn’t seem to alleviate the pounding in my skull even the tiniest bit.

The dream… It had been real.

I could still feel Logan’s touch; the sizzle of his kiss, the excitement of being with him, the desperation as I’d slowly watched him fade away. How I’d tried to swim back through the ethereal tunnel I was being sucked back in.

Oh, I knew I hadn’t been transported anywhere physically, but I’d been there all the same. Logan had been there. Just like years before. Our souls had found a place to meet. A place to beat Fate at her own game.

Was this a sign that Fate thought we belonged together? Had she allowed it to happen? Or was it only a sign that we were strong enough to force our spirits together and Fate had other plans? Finally gaining control when she brought me back here.

My mouth was dry, cottony. I stood up slowly, holding out my hands to steady myself, and then bent toward the floor, sliding my hands over the planks and beneath the bed until I found my shoes. I put them on, having forgotten the pinch in my toes. They weren’t exactly my size. I made my way toward the door, fumbling in the shadowy dark for the handle, grateful for the small golden sliver of light from an outside lamppost shining through the blinds.

How long had I been asleep? Couldn’t have been too long if Mrs. MacDonald was still cooking. I opened the door, and made my way toward the bathroom to splash water on my face.

Running water.

There had been a lot of adjustments I’d had to make living in the 1540’s, things like plumbing, that I’d now taken advantage of several times since being back in the modern era.

The cool water slid over my skin, dripping from my chin onto the black, borrowed dress, and a shiver passed over me. I looked into the mirror, my red hair in disarray, having fallen from the tight bun I’d pulled it into at Mrs. MacDonald’s house after my shower. Dark circles filled the space beneath my blue eyes. Eyes that looked faded in the flickering yellow light of the bathroom.

My skin was pale, jaundice almost from the light, but filled out, attesting to my usual health. I looked tired, though. And my face did not nearly give away the anguish that I felt.

I squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto my finger and rubbed it over my teeth, swishing with water. The mint was strong, bitingly so, compared with the tooth powder at Gealach.

With a long, drawn out sigh, I opened the bathroom door and eyed the narrow flight of stairs. I wanted to climb back into bed, but guilt at having left a perfect stranger, who’d done me the biggest of favors, alone for as long as I had already, ate at me. The least I could do was eat the meal she’d cooked and then go back to bed.

At the bottom of the stairs, voices floated from the kitchen and I froze. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could very distinctly hear the male undertones. And it wasn’t the television. Because the responses came from Mrs. MacDonald.

Was it a trap?

Had she let Steven in?

I pressed my hand to the wall, bracing myself, and trying to draw an even breath. My feet were glued to the floor. I wasn’t taking another step. I turned around, prepared to leave. To just walk out, even without the purse full of money that Mrs. Lamb had given me, which was upstairs where I’d left it.

Maybe somehow I could find a way to contact my Aunt Sheila back in the States. That was if she was still alive, or not on a bender. She’d never been reliable a day in my life. Why did I think now, when I’d need her most, that she would be?

I frowned. Didn’t matter. I was going.

As soon as my palm touched the doorknob, Mrs. MacDonald called out, “Emma, dear, is that ye?”

I bit my lip hard enough to wince. Dammit. I turned the handle, prepared to make a run for it.

“Emma?”

I turned around, stiff and slow, to see Mrs. MacDonald and an older gentleman standing right behind me in the archway toward the kitchen.

“Where are ye going?” Mrs. MacDonald asked, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, her expression concerned.

The man beside her had a full head of graying hair. His face was clean-shaven; wrinkles lined his eyes and mouth. He wore a dark suit, navy blue or gray. I couldn’t tell in the light. He looked like a businessman, but not one of those I’d seen Steven meet with when we’d vacationed in Scotland.

I didn’t recognize the man from anywhere, and yet, the way he looked at me, was as if he knew who I was.

Perhaps he was a friend of Mrs. MacDonald’s that she’d called to keep her company while I napped. Maybe she’d told him about me, and that was why he looked at me so familiarly.

“I need some air,” I managed to say.

“There’s a lovely patio in the back,” Mrs. MacDonald said, hooking her thumb over her shoulder. “More private.”

Concealed is what she meant. No one, including Steven, would see me, and that must mean the man with her was a good friend—else why would she suggest it and he be nodding his agreement?

“All right, “I said, walking toward them, and they backed up to allow me to pass. But I stopped halfway down the corridor, and eyed the man. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

He grinned, gazing at me knowingly. “Apologies for not introducing myself earlier. I’m Shona and Moira’s guardian, Albert McAlister.”

“Guardian?” I winged a brow, keeping myself still though I wanted to take a step backward. “They are well past the age in which they need a guardian.”

Who was this guy? How had he convinced Mrs. MacDonald to let him in? The old woman gazed at him, nodding. What the hell? Had he somehow drugged her?

Albert McAlister chuckled. “Not that type of guardian. I was appointed to keep watch over them and their estate when they were children. I have continued to do so in their adulthood. I’m their solicitor.”

“Ah.” A lawyer, a financier. I didn’t completely understand, and the way he glanced at me, I was certain he had some questions—such as, where were Moira and Shona?

I cleared my throat, hoping we could just move past that part. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said, walking past them and out the sliding glass door at the rear of the house.

Mr. McAlister gave me a look that said we weren’t finished, and I didn’t doubt it. I was just glad he didn’t follow me outside.

The cool blast of autumn evening air felt marvelous on my skin, which had gone from cold to hot upon seeing the man with Mrs. MacDonald.

I moved out to the small grassy area of the yard. The plants in the rear were also drooping, as had the ones in the front. If McAlister was the one to have taken care of the inside of the house, as it seemed someone had, then he’d also been the one to let the front and back go to crap.

I don’t know why I found that to be so offensive. Maybe it was because Moira and Shona both had amazing skills with plants. And didn’t they own an herbal shop here? Shona took such pride with the gardens at Gealach. I think she’d be heartbroken if she saw the state of things in her own backyard.

The air suddenly felt too constrictive. I turned around and went back inside. The need to yell or scream or stomp or
something
burned within me.

I stared Mr. McAlister right in the eye, Mistress of Castle Gealach taking front and center to all the miserable shit I’d been put through in the past dozen hours. I stabbed my finger toward him, then at the glass door.

“If you are supposed to take care of their estate, you’ve done a poor job of keeping up with their property.”

He glanced around taking in the interior of the house, and I shook my head.

“Moira and Shona are exceedingly proud of their green thumbs. They’d never leave their yard to ruin.”

Mr. McAlister’s mouth fell open, he looked surprised.

“And I would think as their
guardian,
you would know such a thing.” I crossed my arms defensively over my chest, suddenly unsure exactly where I stood with these people.

If I’d been able to travel back and forth in time, who was to say they hadn’t done that very same thing themselves?

Perhaps the fact that I was standing before a MacDonald wasn’t a coincidence after all.

My blood ran cold. God, how I wished Logan was here to give me strength.

“My dear,” Mrs. MacDonald said, a questionable light coming into her eyes, her mouth parting in shock. She wrung her hands and looked back and forth between the both of us. “We are both here to help ye.”

I cocked my head studying her. I wanted to believe her, what reason did she have to lie—other than the fact that she could very well be my enemy?

I suppressed a shudder, recalling to mind the image of Laird MacDonald standing in our great hall. The vicious look in his eyes, the venomous words.

“I’m not certain I can believe you,” I said.

Mr. McAlister held out his hands in surrender. “I understand your situation is a bit frightening.”

“What do you know of my situation?” I asked, interrupting.

Did they know
all
of it? Or just what Mrs. Lamb would have relayed about me running away from Steven? Mrs. MacDonald had not questioned my attire, though she had to have taken note that I was not dressed in modern day clothes when she called me into her house. Then again, she could have simply guessed that Steven made me dress that way. One never knew when it came to controlling men what exactly they would have their wives do.

Or maybe she’d just assumed that it was a cultural or religious decision. I’d seen that before.

“I know ye’re a friend of Shona and Moira’s.” His eyes were honest as he met mine, nodding slowly as if hoping to subtly convey that he wanted my agreement.

I narrowed my eyes.

“I came by the house to check and see if they’d yet arrived. I come by every day around this same time, usually when I’m finished at my office. I keep their place stocked with food. There is a cleaning lady that comes once a week to make certain the house doesn’t fill with dust in their absence.” He shook his head, looking slightly ashamed. “I’d not thought about the yard, which I should have, and I appreciate ye pointing out my shortcomings there.” He stuck his hand in his pocket and I winced, expecting to see him pull out a weapon despite his convincing words, but all he did was pull out his cell phone.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked, picturing the man signaling to Steven that he had me and then watching my ex-husband storm through the door.

We might still legally be married in Steven’s eyes, and perhaps even the eyes of the law, but to me, he was a stranger. My ex. Never would I allow him control over me again.

I’d been gone for years, divorced him in my mind and moved on.

I was Logan’s wife. In love with Logan. We had a child.

But I was more than that; I was also my own person. Steven had never wanted me to be anything more than a possession. A robot. A plaything.

I couldn’t belong to Steven anymore.  A plaything that he kept locked up and only let out when he wanted to jab at me with his words or body.