Laird of the Mist (3 page)

―W hat in heaven‘s name is he still doing here?‖ Cat stood rigidly in the deck‘s doorway, outraged at the sight of her grandfather enjoying what appeared to be an amiable breakfast with Carrick.―What the hell is going on here?‖

―Now Caitriona…‖ Her grandfather began to rise from his chair. ―Just calm yerself, lass. That is no way to speak about our guest.‖
―Our guest?‖ Cat snapped with a backward step. ―Guest! You must be joking! And I suppose you fixed him breakfast, too?‖
Hamish MacPhail put a friendly hand on Carrick‘s shoulder and leaned to whisper in his ear. ―I told ye she‘d be furious. Back in a minute. Enjoy yer food, lad.‖
Carrick smiled and nodded as Hamish made his way to Cat, stretching an arm around her waist.
―Aye, I gave him food. The poor man was starving near to death. We can be hospitable, Cat, surely. After all, he is a MacDonald, as are we. Come now,‖ he said, leading her back into the house.―Let‘s have a little chat.‖
―But...‖ Cat began as Hamish pulled out a kitchen chair for her.―I don‘t understand, granddda. What is going on? Is he injured or not?‖
―Now, Caitriona,‖ he answered as he sat at the table with her. ―Ye need to calm yerself and listen. No, he isna injured at all. He is a healthy, braw man with nowhere to go.‖
Cat‘s eyes widened in disbelief.―Nowhere to go? Surely he has friends or someone in the area. He‘s a reenactor from the games. You can check with the Caledonian Society or Clan Donald and find out who he is. And I don‘t buy the amnesia bit, either.‖
Hamish reached for her hand and let out a sigh.―Nay, Cat, he hasna got the amnesia. And he hasna a soul in this time or place, I assure ye. He is a good and decent sort. I spent all the night talking with him. Ye must trust me in this. I intend to help him. ―
Cat stood up abruptly.―Help him? Help him go home, yes. And what do you mean, in this time and place?‖
Hamish steeled himself. He knew his fiery granddaughter well.―He is a time-traveler, Cat. He came here to find ye.‖
―He‘s a what?‖ Cat laughed. ―You are as daft as he is! There is no such thing as time-travel.‖
―Aye, Cat.‖ Hamish grew serious.―There is such a thing. ‗Tis a tricky business, granted, but ‗tis true. I knew a traveler when I was a young man back home. In my town, we all knew it was a reality. And that is how Carrick came to us.‖
―Right, and he traveled here to find me?‖ Cat smirked at him.―So you‘re telling me he is a kind of time-traveling stalker, are you? Granddda, you are a doctor, a man of science. You know better. This is ridiculous nonsense.‖
―I‘m afraid not, Cat,‖ Hamish answered emphatically.―I would ask ye to hear his story before ye pass judgment. ‗Tis all I ask, Cat.‗Tis a remarkable tale.‖
―I‘ll just bet it is. Fine.‖ Cat wanted an end to this insanity.―If I listen to what he has to say, can we then be rid of him? I don‘t plan to harbor a mad man forever.‖
―I‘ll make no bargains with ye, lass.‖ Hamish smiled patiently.―This is my home as well, and he has no place to go. I‘ll no toss him out in a strange time. He‘d no survive a week.‖
Exasperated, Cat started toward the door.―I give up.‖ She raised her hands in defeat.―Fine. Let‘s get this over with. But I warn you, if you insist on keeping this stray fruitcake, I may go stay with Olivia until he‘s gone. Got that?‖
―Fair enough,‖ Hamish answered as he followed her. He couldn‘t wait for her to hear the whole story, he thought with a secret smile.

― So you lost your pregnant wife at Culloden, then went to your local witch and she told you I was the reincarnation of—Jenny, was it? Then she did a kind of spell and sent you through time to us here in 2010 Florida?‖ Cat recounted, glaring across the table at Carrick.

Carrick leaned forward a bit and stared back at her. ―Aye, right so far, lass.‖
Cat set down her coffee with a bang. ―And you expect that, in time, I will somehow recall you and this past life, fall into your arms, and live happily ever after?‖ Cat‘s head was beginning to pound in rhythm to the surf breaking behind her.
She turned on Hamish.―I think I have the full picture now. I‘m off to Olivia‘s. You two nutters try to stay out of trouble while I go book my flight.‖ Cat began to rise when Carrick reached out and gently grabbed her hand.
―Cat,‖ he spoke with a confident calm as their eyes met.―‗Tis true, all of it. Ye‘re truly Jenny in every way. Ye will remember, I ken it. Just give it a wee bit of time. It will come back to ye.‖
Damn those beautiful eyes, she thought. The most intoxicating eyes she had ever seen. They were deep and full of passion as he spoke. And his touch—oh Lord—it sent a subtle electricity to every part of her body. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once, and part of her wanted more.
Was it really so unreasonable a request? Give it a wee bit of time? But he was a crazy man, she reminded herself. Who listens to a lunatic? Maybe give it a day or two to be certain, the other part of her piped up; the surprising part that suddenly wanted to believe in all of this, wanted it to be true. And most of all, suddenly wanted to be loved with the fierceness that drove and possessed him.
―All right.‖ Cat relented a little.―I‘ll give you a day or two for your memory to come back.‖ She turned to Hamish. ―But you promise to help find where he belongs, okay?‖
She realized Carrick was still holding her hand and slowly pulled it away. She felt an instant loss when contact broke.
―As ye say, Cat,‖ Hamish agreed with a smile. He had noticed the energy between Carrick and his granddaughter when he had taken her hand. A powerful connection which left him in no doubt as to the validity of Carrick‘s tale.―But he is exactly where he belongs,‖ he murmured to himself.

Cat had spent most of the day in her third floor studio reviewing selections to record for her upcoming CD. She had two weeks before she would become immersed in its production. Playing various Scottish tunes to finalize her decisions, she lowered the violin in satisfaction. It would be a departure from classical music; a new avenue to explore, and she was enjoying it.
Hamish had taken Carrick off for the day to shop and orient him to the 21
^st
century. She watched through the window long enough to see her grandfather explaining the car to Carrick, his obvious enthusiasm for the Mercedes as he got into it, and his electric smile as Hamish drove them away. Cat had known many who had a passion for cars, but this was extraordinary. You would think he had never seen one before...
―Cat, darlin‘‖ Hamish‘s voice rang through the house.―Do ye come down and join us.‗Tis nearly dinner time and I want to treat us tonight.‖
―Coming, grandda,‖ she called down to him. She placed the violin in its case with great care and closed the lid securely. Guinness loved to play with the strings, brushing his fat paws over them, creating dissonant music.
Cat stopped abruptly at the last stair before the foyer, her eyes riveted on the figure with his back to her. She barely recognized Carrick without his kilt. He was exquisite in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and shirt accentuating the lines of his muscular frame. No man had ever looked that good in a pair of jeans, she thought as her gaze lifted to his thick hair tied down his back. Thank God his back was turned so he couldn‘t see her expression. It had to be one of open lust and appreciation.
―Aye, Cat, there ye are.‖ Hamish had seen the fire in her eyes, but kept his counsel.―Shall we go to dinner? Ye must be hungry by now, squirreled away in yer studio all day.‖
Cat quickly composed herself and took the last steps down the stairs and across the foyer.―Sure, grandda,‖ she smiled, in control now.―I‘m ready. You two must have had a good time shopping. New clothes, Carrick?‖ She turned to him at last.
―Aye, they are,‖ Carrick answered, waving toward some bags on the sofa.―Yer grandda was kind enough to procure some breeches and shirts while my kilt is attended to.‖
―I see.‖ She wondered what had become of the tattered tartan. ―Who is attending to it?‖
―Dropped at the cleaners,‖ Hamish hastily interrupted.―Shall we go then?‖ He nudged Cat toward the door.―We can tell ye all at Magnolia‘s.‖

― No, not at all.‖ Cat surprised herself as she smoothed the blanket beside her in invitation.―Sit if you like.‖
―I didna wish to interrupt yer thoughts.‖ He sat at the edge of the small blanket so as not to seem threatening.―But I did wish to thank ye for yer fine hospitality. Tis verra generous of ye.‖
Cat wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked softly.―You‘re welcome,‖ she answered, her former agitation with him soothed by the companionable dinner and the beauty of the shore and stars. ―Carrick,‖ she began, still looking out to sea.―Did Jenny really play the violin?‖
―Oh, aye,‖ he said with tender remembrance.―A fine fiddler she was, indeed. Accomplished in the classics as well. When I heard ye playing today, ‗twas as though she were...‖ He broke off the thought. He was learning to be careful in making comparisons.
―I‘m not Jenny,‖ Cat said quietly, placing her hand over his.―I‘m not.‖ More gently, ―I may look like her, we may have had things in common, but it‘s just coincidence, Carrick. Nothing more.‖
―Perhaps.‖ He nodded.―I never believed in coincidence. I have seen too much to begin now.‖
―Have you? It seems that grandda gave you quite an intense tour of our century today,‖ Cat said, without a trace of her usual sarcasm. ―What do you like best so far? Grandda talked so much over dinner, I had no chance to ask.‖
―Hmmm...‖ Carrick reflected on the extraordinary day.―I s‘pose it must be the car—no—it needs must be the, uh, TV, is it?‖
―The TV?‖ She smiled.―I suppose I can understand that.‖
―And the aquarium with the lovely trained fishes jumping over poles, although I did enjoy the Indian Temple Mound. It reminded me of mounds in Scotland. But then there was....‖
―I get the general idea.‖ Cat laughed.―You enjoyed it all, I guess?‖
―Aye, so I did.‖ Carrick laughed with her.―So many things to see and learn. Aye.‗Twas a good day.‖ He sat silent, reflecting on the wonders he had seen.
Cat was silent too, letting the breeze and Carrick‘s masculine presence wash over her. She was definitely softening toward him, and she liked the feel of his hand under hers. It was comforting, and she began to imagine what it would be like to feel his hands touching her elsewhere.
―It must have been terrible for you.‖ Cat attempted to divert her thoughts, but didn‘t take her hand away from his. She had heard a bit about Jenny‘s murder over dinner, and compassion welled in her throat. ―Losing your wife, I mean.‖
―Aye.‖ Gently, he pulled his hand away from hers. He had been holding Jenny‘s locket since he sat down.―I have this. It was hers.‖ He closed it tenderly in her hand, and placed a light kiss on the back of her knuckles. It occurred to him that showing her the wedding ring, which he always carried, might be too much for her.
The kiss put a rippling shiver through her and, fascinated, she began to examine the locket closely. It was warm in her palm, and seemed to be growing steadily warmer.
―It‘s lovely.‖ Cat couldn‘t take her eyes from it.―Such fine work...‖ Her voice trailed into silence. She was feeling as warm as the locket, and her vision was fading at the edges. She must have had more wine than she thought.
―Cat.‖ She could vaguely hear Carrick through a developing fog in her head.―Are ye well?‖ He reached an arm around to steady her.―Ye dinna look aright.‖
Her stomach lurched and dropped as she saw herself in a Highland wedding dress; a flowing tartan skirt and silk bodice. Her hair was wreathed in roses and sprigs of heather, and her heart overflowed with more love than she could ever have imagined possible. Carrick was standing next to her, dressed in his finest kilt, his clan tartan draped over his shoulder and held in place with an enormous jeweled brooch. He was beaming with joy at her and saying something...
―Caitriona?‖ Carrick‘s voice grew stronger in her ears.―Cat, can ye hear me? Come, lass, say something, I beg ye.‖
Carrick‘s deep and urgent voice reached her and, at last, she surfaced back to normality.
―I‘m all right,‖ she murmured hesitantly.―I—I think I‘m fine.‖ She stared at Carrick, trying to focus on his face through the mist in her mind.―I had the strangest vision.‖ She shook her head to clear it.
It suddenly occurred to Carrick that the locket had been the cause of her distress, and he quickly took it from her hand. He had innocently kissed her hand with them both holding the locket. Surely this had brought memories to her as Morag had promised.―What did ye see?‖ he asked anxiously.
Cat lay back on the blanket to steady herself.―I saw a wedding. You were there. I think you were the groom.‖
I must be losing my mind
. The vision had been identical to her haunting dreams. But dreams don‘t come when you are wide awake. Do they?
―Is there more?‖ Carrick felt a surge of hope and elation, but dared not show it lest he frighten Cat.
―Not really.‖ She contemplated, frowning.―I was in a tartan skirt—a wedding gown—with flowers in my hair. Roses and heather. It was so intense, I could actually smell the roses. I felt—I felt—like I have never felt before.‖
Carrick knew the roses and heather. He had given them to Jenny the day before in the garden for her bridal wreath.―My favorite flowers are thistles,‖ she had teased him.―But they‘re too prickly to devise a wreath. Perhaps,‖ she cast him a sly look, ―ye‘re too prickly to be a husband.‖
―And perhaps my prick is exactly what ye need.‖ He had pulled her into his arms and kissed the breath out of her.
―Why would I have visions of you?‖ Cat was saying, pulling him back to the present.―None of this makes any sense.‖
―Aye,‖ he said, ―it makes perfect sense. Ye are remembering.‖
―That must be it,‖ Cat humored him.―I hold Jenny‘s locket and suddenly I am having her memories in my head.‖
―So the witch told me it would.‖ Carrick nodded.―And they are yer memories...‖
―From when I was Jenny.‖ Cat sat up in protest. ―Don‘t be absurd. Do you really think I would believe that crap? Do you really think I am that...‖
Carrick abruptly pulled her to him and kissed her with a pent-up fury that stole her resolve. Never had she been kissed like this. His lips were hot against hers and his muscular arms cocooned her to his chest. She didn‘t bother resisting. She was melting like the Wicked Witch of the West. As his kiss deepened and explored her mouth, every muscle turned into wet rags, and she was defenseless against a flood of feelings for Carrick that came like a tidal wave.
Carrick ended the kiss and brushed lighter ones over her forehead and eyes, then pressed her close to him. He sat silent, holding her, stroking her hair, and soothed, ―‗Tis fine,
mo cridhe
. Dinna fash,‖ he whispered.―All will be well.‖
―Carrick,‖ Cat began softly, still in his arms.―I want to believe you. I do. But I just don‘t believe in time-travel and reincarnation. I want to, but..‖
―Perhaps ye should take the leap,‖ he said, touching her cheek.
―What leap is that?‖ Cat looked up into his sparkling eyes.
―Ye know…‖ He smiled back.―The leap of faith.‖
―Perhaps,‖ Cat said and fainted straight away.