Love Across Time (22 page)

“Sit and eat.” Ursula gave her a stern look. “Nae let Eleanor’s bad humor keep ye from the nourishment ye need to regain yer full strength.”

“Thank ye.”

Now that her fear had subsided, she felt famished. She sat down and filled a plate with tiny morsel of meat, cheese, and bread. Ursula sat in the opposite chair and grinned indulgently as Maggie devoured the food.

She swallowed the last bite of lamb and wiped her mouth with the cleaning cloth. “I nae realized I be so hungry.”

“I saw how ye reacted to Eleanor’s grumbling. Ye ne’r trembled. Ye nae mind what Eleanor has to say. Liam be right, ye need to take yer rightful place as lady of the keep. Eleanor has set herself above her station for far too long.”

“I ne’er meant to cause any hostility between Liam and his family.” She shifted uneasily in her chair.

“Trouble be brewing long for ye came.” Scooting to the edge of her chair, Ursula reached over and squeezed Margaret’s hand as her gaze bore into hers. “This be where ye belong, lass.”

“Ursula, I
” Her fingers twitched under Ursula’s tight grip.

“Nae, lass. Keep yer secrets. I nae ken what happened to ye while ye slept, but I ken ’twas something peculiar. I nae told the lad, but I watched as yer bruises faded afore me very eyes. Bruises that should have been there for weeks took only days to disappear.” A self-deprecating smile lifted the corner of Ursula’s lips as she patted her hand and leaned back in her chair. “I ken my healing skills nae be that good. Yer leg too healed without leaving ye to limp yer way through life. I truly believed if ye’d lived, ye’d be a cripple. Ye healed well and ’twas none of me doing.”

Ursula heaved herself from her chair, took the tray, and headed for the door. At the open door, she paused. Her dark eyes flashed Maggie a gentle understanding.

“Sometimes fairies carry a person’s spirit away until they be healed, then brings them back. Mayhap, that is what happened to ye.”

The door closed quietly leaving Ursula’s words echoing in the empty chamber of Margaret’s memory.

Maggie couldn’t help but scan each shadowy corner of the room. Fairies? No. But was that idea any more absurd than her tumbling back through time.

A hand on his shoulder shook him awake. “Laird, come quick.”

Instantly awake, Liam reached for his sword that stayed within reach as he slept. It took only a moment, before he realized Rory’s summons was not a warning of danger and a call to arms.

“What be wrong?” No candle lit the room to bring Rory’s features into focus, yet he knew exactly where the man stood.

“Sssh. Ye must be quite. No one else must ken. Come.” The nuance in the timbre of Rory’s voice warned him that an ill wind had blown their way.

Liam rose from bed fully dressed. It had been far into the night before he’d sought his bed, and he’d stretched out on top of the covers only to rest for a while before he resumed his hunt for the brooch. He had searched everywhere yet still hadn’t found the heirloom.

“Bring yer cloak. There be a chill in the air this night.”

He grabbed his cloak from the end of the bed, draped it around his shoulders, and followed Rory. Thankfully, he knew Menzie Castle by heart. Otherwise, without a candle, the hallways could be treacherous.

Since Margaret occupied the master chambers, which contained the main secret passageway, Rory headed down the hall to the old part of the castle. He touched the latch, and the wall receded to create an opening barely large enough for a man to squeeze through.

Entering the small passageway stale air filled his nostrils. He resisted the urge to sneeze. Rory secured the door and lit a candle. The light flickered as they zigzagged through the narrow, winding tunnels. The musty smell of mildew hung heavily in the stagnate air. Cobwebs slithered across his face and he raked off the gossamer like threads.

At the fork in the tunnel, a rat scurried down the passageway leading to the inner bowels of the castle. Rory turned left, which would lead them outside. What waited outside? Rory must consider the matter extremely important to awaken him from a sound sleep. Questions would have to wait; noise carried in the hollow tunnels, and they were passing his aunt and uncles chambers. The brittle silence grew taut with each scrape of his boots on the rock littered passageway.

Moments later, Rory stopped, placed the candle in a sconce on the wall, and pushed the heavy wooden door open. A rush of fresh air whooshed into the opening. He inhaled deeply to clear away the dank smell of the tunnel. Rory did the same.

“Leave the candle,” Rory said when he reached to take it with them. “I ken there be little light but ye’ll nae want anyone to ken what you’ve seen this night.”

They hurried across a small clearing and entered the woods. Moonlight trickled through the leafy canopy overhead. Twigs snapped underfoot. An owl hooted in the distance. The muted clank of swords, and horses stirring restlessly, whispered through the forest. Several men stepped out from behind the trees and surrounded them. His fingers curled around the hilt of his sword.

“Nae, Laird.” Rory touched his arm. “Ye’ll nae be needing to fight these men. They have fought enough.”

One man stepped forward. Dark clouds drifted across the moon’s glow casting an eerie light on the man’s face. He appeared to have gone through hell and back. Blood coated his clothes. Weariness pinched his sharp features and caused his tall body to slump.

“George Murray?”

“Aye, ’tis me.”

“What has happened? Where be Bonny Prince Charlie?” Liam glanced around expecting the prince to step forward.

“We lost, Liam. At Culloden. It be a slaughter. The prince fed our clansman to the English artillery like fodder to the swine.” He spat the contemptuous words out with barely controlled rage. “Whoever dinnae fall on the moor were hunted down and butchered as they surrendered. Even the wounded were shown nae mercy.”

Liam heard the anguish in Murray’s voice at the needless loss of life. Margaret’s prophetic words slammed though his mind with the percussion of a drum roll. If he’d taken part in the rebellion, and not remained neutral, he and his men could have suffered the atrocities George described.

“What of the others? Donald of Lochiel?”

“The Gentle Lochiel be injured. His men be taking him to France. The prince be on his way back to the continent, also. The Drummonds’ be with him. James’ brother, John, be sorely wounded and may nae survive the voyage.”

“Fraser?”

“The Fox had ridden out to muster more volunteers before we engaged the English. I imagine he’s heard of our defeat and be racing for the continent along with the rest.”

“And what about ye? What will ye do?”

“As soon as I see me family, I’ll be heading for the continent, too. I met with ye privately because I dinnae want ye involved anymore than ye be. Take care me friend. The English will exact a great price from those they consider a supporter of Prince Charles.”

“Aye, I will. Let me bring ye food and drink for yer trip.”

“Nae. Yer man has seen to our needs. Be safe.
Mar sin leat
.” Murray’s calloused palm grasped his in a tight grip.

“Goodbye, Lord Murray.” Liam returned his clasp of friendship. He knew with the Duke of Cumberland hot on their trail it would be a long time, if ever, before they saw each other again.

Men crept away to blend in with the shadows. The soft tread of horse’s hooves on the forest floor faded into the night. The woods grew silent. They were gone. And he knew within his heart that with their departure, a new way of life would begin for Scotland.

Angry over the great loss of Scottish lives, Liam led the way back through the forest to the bolt door. The sun had barely slipped over the horizon when they entered the tunnel. Nothing needed said about keeping the meeting secret. Rory knew the danger to the Menzies clan if Lord Murray’s visit became public knowledge.

“Rory, set men to watch. If soldiers be hunting Lord Murray, he may have led them straight to our door. Notify me at once, if troops ‘ere spotted near the castle.”

“Aye, Laird.”

Rory took the left fork that led to the kitchens, and Liam went to the right. He didn’t seek his bed, but Margaret’s room. Her maid wouldn’t arrive for at least another hour, and he needed answers. Lord Murray said the chieftains had never anticipated the battle to be so fierce, or expected such slaughter, carnage, butchery. Their defeat had taken them completely by surprise. The dispirited expressions on the Murray men’s faces and Rory’s shock as Lord Murray related the brutal details of Cumberland’s victory seared his mind as he released the hidden latch.

One person had predicted how Culloden would end, and he wanted to know how she knew. He eased the secret panel open and slipped inside.

Dawn’s pinkish tint filtered through the curtains to cloak the small figure sprawled on the bed. On her back, one hand lay palm up beside her head. Her slightly curled fingers flexed. Eyes flitted beneath her lids, and a moan escaped her parted lips. Did another nightmare haunt her sleep?

Her legs shifted, and the covers fell to one side to reveal the shapely length of her leg. His heart thumped heavily in his chest, and he longed to trace the delicate skin upward until he cupped the shadowy junction barely visible between her legs.

Squinting in the dim light, he leaned closer and stared at the thin scar that ran from ankle to knee on the leg she had broken. Where had she received such a mark? Ursula had set the leg as best she could, but there had been no exposed bone to cut the flesh.

He eased down on the edge of the bed. The ribbon that held her nightgown together in front had loosened. Answering temptations lure of her naked shoulder, he trailed a finger down the delicate skin to where the gown gaped open. Against his calloused finger, her creamy flesh felt soft, smooth. Desire coiled low in his gut. The shadowy cleavage between the supple mounds of her breasts begged for his touch. His finger tracked the length of her collarbone then dipped down to caress the tips of her breast as gently as a butterfly’s kiss. The nubs peaked. The pulse throbbing at the base of her neck drew his gaze upward and her hot gaze snagged his. Caught in the depths of her blue eyes burning with passion, his staff hardened. The invitation in her eyes left no doubt that his play had aroused her.

Sunlight had not fully chased the shadows from the room. She turned to gaze out the window then back at him. Apparently, she sensed something amiss because of the early hour. Desire quickly faded as if he’d doused her in a cold stream. Scooting up to brace herself against the headboard, she retied the ribbon on her gown. Her gaze drifted over his face as if trying to judge his mood.

“Margaret, how did ye ken how Culloden would end?” He stove to keep his voice calm, steady.

“Is it over then?” The warble in her voice echoed the grief the tear in her eye revealed.

“Aye. Nae one must ken, but I spoke with George Murray.”

Her eyes grew round and her knuckles clutching her gown whitened.

“Aye,” she whispered. “I understand how dangerous that knowledge would be in the hands of yer enemies.” Her hand reached out to squeeze his forearm before trailing down to interlace their fingers. “The King of England will severely punish those who sympathized or gave aid to Prince Stuart in this war.”

“How do ye ken such things?” His voice held a hint of challenge.

She gently raised their hands to her cheek. An expression of sadness etched her features. “Liam, I told you Mrs. Bixby recited Scottish history to me each day.”

“History be an event in the past. But ye ken it afore it happened. How?” Still in awe that her prediction had come true, he felt a sliver of apprehension crawl up his spine. If he were honest with himself, a touch of fear trailed close behind.

“I am a time trav....”

He touched a finger to her lips to silence her. “Nae here lass. It be full morning afore long. After we break our fast we’ll ride to the loch and have a wee talk.”

Her tongue flicked out to touch the tip of his finger. Air left his lungs as blood rushed to his groin. He moved forward and covered her mouth with his. Tongues dueled as he tugged her forward to strip the gown down her slender arms to pool around her waist. He dotted tiny kisses down her neck, across her collarbone, and latched onto a puckered nipple. The sweet sound of feminine enjoyment filled the air.

He eased her back against the pillows, then kissed and licked his way to the other mound straining for his attention. Delicate fingers slid into his hair and clasped his head closer.

Sunlight flickered through the curtains to dance a duet with the shadows until each corner knew the full force of the sun’s rays as he lost himself in Margaret’s sweet body.

Their release was quick and explosive. The glow of their lovemaking faded and Margaret snuggled against his side. Her eyelashes fluttered closed and a soft snore emitted from her perfectly shaped mouth.

Quietly, he rose, dressed, and left her to sleep while he went downstairs to arrange their ride to the loch.

Liam scooted back from the table. The chair legs scraped across the floor and grated against his taut nerves. His half-eaten meal lay cold and congealed on his plate. Margaret had made a pretense of eating by pushing food from one side of the plate to the other. But by her wary glances and nervous twitching, he knew she dreaded their coming conversation as much as he did.