My Highland Lover (26 page)

The pegged hinges of the wooden garden gate groaned as it creaked open. The iron latch clattered back into place as it shut. Someone had just entered the garden. Trulie didn’t have to turn to know it was Gray. Her body tensed as her senses shifted into high gear. No one else affected her that way, and up until their disagreement about the night of the fire, the ripple of energy had always been pleasant.

Trulie wiped her damp palms against the folds of her dress and nervously shifted in place. Ever since the day of their disagreement, the flash of energy whenever Gray neared was more of a sting than an acknowledging caress. It was as though the energy slapped her, reprimanding her for not striving to make things right between them.

“Calm down, Trulie,” Granny ordered. “Jitters don’t solve anything.”

“I can’t exactly control the jitters,” Trulie retorted through clenched teeth. It wasn’t like she had a switch she could flip to shut off her emotions.

A rush of yearning warmed her as Gray walked toward them. The set of his wide shoulders, the strength in his stride—damn, the man looked good. Trulie nervously wet her lips. Lordy, she hoped Granny’s plan would clear the tension between them. Judging by the determined set of Gray’s jaw, he was wound as tight as she was. This had to work. If it didn’t, Trulie didn’t know what would.

“Ye called.” Gray forced the words out as though the very act of showing up in the garden displeased him beyond measure.

Granny’s eyes narrowed and her thin lips flattened into a determined line.

Uh-oh.
Trulie glanced uneasily between Granny’s scowl and Gray’s thinly masked insolence. Gray was about to get hit with both barrels of a Granny tongue-lashing, and he was too wound up in his own little world to know it.

“I knew your mother,” Granny said as she slid her bent thumbs around the waist of her apron and spread her feet into battle stance. “If you took that tone with her, she would’ve thumped a knot on that hard head of yours.”

“Yer no’ me mother,” Gray bit out before Granny finished speaking. His chin inched a bit higher. His narrowed eyes clearly showed what he felt about Granny’s revelation.

“I may not be your mother”—Granny’s
I have had enough of your crap
tone shifted into warp drive—“but you’re gonna listen to what I say and you’re gonna listen good. I’m tired of Trulie moping around this place because you’re so wrapped up in what you think you know and how you think things should be. The two of you should be planning your life together, but instead you’re damned and determined to drown in your past. You’re too thickheaded to realize what’s for your own good. How the hell can you be a good chieftain when you walk around with your head so far up your ass?”

Trulie pressed a hand against her mouth. Holy crap. If Gray’s face turned any redder, he’d burst a blood vessel.

“Out of respect for Trulie…and yerself,” Gray growled, in a deep-throated warning, “I shall overlook yer insults.”

“Hmpf.” Granny blew out an unimpressed huff of air. “Don’t do me any favors.” She jabbed a bony finger toward the reflecting pool centered in the garden. “If you think you can yank yourself away from wallowing in self-pity for five minutes, I have something I think you should see.”

Again, Trulie glanced to Granny and then back to Gray. The man’s stance said he was thoroughly pissed. If he clenched his fists any tighter, the corded muscles in his arms were going to snap. Had Granny pushed him too far? Trulie hugged herself against the nauseating roll of her butterfly-filled stomach.
Please don’t leave
echoed over and over in her mind.

“Ye go too far, old woman.” Gray’s tone rang with deadly warning. He eased forward in a smooth lethal motion like a predator about to lunge. “I could banish ye for such disrespect against the MacKenna.”

“Then do it,” Granny dared him. She threw out her chest and squared her narrow shoulders. “Or show how wise your mother raised you to be by learning from what I’m about to reveal.”

Gray’s furious, unblinking stare slid back to Trulie.

“Please,” she whispered, her clasped hands begging him to try.

The corner of Gray’s mouth twitched. His frosty glare seemed to thaw a degree or two. “Proceed,” he finally barked.

It took every ounce of self-control Gray had ever known to keep from stomping out of the garden. Damn that old woman and her disrespectful tongue. If any of his clan had witnessed her behavior, he would ha’ been forced to oust her from the keep permanently. Gray swallowed hard and allowed himself another glance at Trulie. The soft yearning of her eyes glistened wet with pleading. He would do it for her, go through whatever ridiculous ritual the old woman seemed hell bent on doing. But he only did it for Trulie.

“Over here, Gray.” Granny pointed to a moss-framed flagstone positioned close to the low rock wall surrounding the reflecting pool. “Stand right there.”

Aggravation pounded through him with every beat of his heart. The old woman spoke to him as though he were a mere lad. Thank the gods it was just the three of them within the privacy of the garden. With one long stride, Gray moved to the spot Granny indicated.

“And you stand here.” Granny nodded to Trulie and motioned to a spot beside Gray.

Trulie’s pallor concerned Gray. She looked decidedly unwell. A twinge of guilt twisted through him. The strain of the last several days had no’ been easy on Trulie either. Gray stared down at the water of the reflecting pool, wrestling with his conscience. It wasna his fault, he silently argued. If only the lass had seen that terrible night, she would understand why he felt as he did.

Granny turned toward the outer gate. “Tamhas, you may enter now. They’re both ready.”

“What game is this?” Gray gritted his teeth at Tamhas’s aloof expression. Surely, the old demon didna side with the women? Lore a’mighty, the man’s own beloved sister had died in that fire.

Tamhas walked toward them with surety reflected in his swaying stride. His polished staff marked each footfall, sliding easily through his gnarled hand. “There is no game this day, MacKenna.” Tamhas took his place beside Granny with a sharp nod at Gray. “ ’Tis time ye saw the truth of the night that changed yer life.”

Gray ripped his gaze from Tamhas and turned to Granny. The pale blue of the old woman’s eyes had taken on an eerie golden glow. Her lips barely parted as she stared down at the waters of the small pond and slowly lifted her hands.

“Show us the truth,” Granny commanded in an eerie whisper.

An unholy chill rippled down Gray’s spine. The very air tingled across his flesh. A sense of uneasiness crackled in the wind.

“Wash away smoke and flame. Dust away time gone by. Connect us with those we seek. Show us the reason why.” Granny pressed her hands together against her chest, then shoved them away as though releasing a stream of energy out over the reflecting pool.

Gray glanced back and forth among Granny, Trulie, Tamhas, and the shimmering surface of the water. All looked to be imbued with an unexplainable luminosity. Three sets of eyes and the gently rippling pool burned with inner fire.

A hissing sizzled around the water’s edge. The wind picked up. High-pitched moans echoed through the garden.

Gray crouched low as something brushed past his shoulder. He unsheathed his sword as another force shoved him to one side. What the hell was going on? Gray squinted against the debris-filled wind whipping all about them. Where the hell were the others? The air was thick with…what? He couldna make out what swirled about him. All he felt certain of was that he couldna see a damn thing.

Then all went silent. Suffocating darkness crashed in around him. Gray waved his sword through the air. He groped through the darkness with his other hand. There was nothing there. It was as though nothing he had ever known existed except darkness.

A flash of light jolted through his awareness. Gray made out the unmistakable crackle of flames somewhere in the distance.

“Alastair!” A frightened voice called out—a woman’s voice.

Gray’s heart nearly stopped.
Máthair.
That was
Máthair
crying out for
Athair.

“Isabeau!” his father shouted back.

“Máthair!
Athair!”
Gray groped deeper into the darkness. The sickening stench of suffocating smoke forced his arm across his face. Terror surged through him. It was that night. The night of the fire. What unholy power had Trulie’s grandmother used to send him back to that terrible night?

As Gray fought against rising panic, his parents appeared before him.

“Alastair.” Gray’s mother held out her arms to his father. “Come t’me,
mo luaidh.
Take me hand afore it is too late.”

“
Mo chridhe,
” his father whispered as he took her hand. “Are ye sure? Is there no other way?”

“ ’Tis time.” Isabeau smiled while clutching his hand to her breast. “Gray is strong. He will be all right. Tamhas has promised to guide him.”

“Then I am ready.” Alastair nodded.

As one, they stepped out onto the narrow balcony jutting out from his mother’s bedroom window high above the jagged stones of the moat surrounding the tower. A narrow banister, barely ankle high, surrounded the shelf meant only for housing pots of herbs and flowers when the weather grew kind enough to grow them.

“Nay!” Gray shouted into the vision. Neither of his parents turned. “Halt!” Gray shouted again. He tried to rush forward, tried to reach out, but his arms and legs wouldna move. Gray roared against the paralyzing darkness. “Leave me go! I must stop them!”

Alastair and Isabeau looked into each other’s eyes, smiled, and stepped off the ledge into the arms of the darkness.

“Nay!” Gray screamed, his cries catching in his throat.

Gray’s mother and father floated past the edge of the balcony. Instead of plunging into the stone courtyard below, their bodies slowly evaporated into shimmering clouds of golden particles soon scattered by the wind.

Gray’s knees buckled. He collapsed into a huddled mound cradled by the velvety darkness. What the hell had he just seen? What the hell did it mean? He raged against the raw pain of renewed loss ripping through him.

A soft touch brushed against his face.
“An toir thu dhomh pòg?”

Gray scrubbed the back of his hands against his eyes. He had surely lost his mind.

“An toir thu dhomh pòg?”
his mother’s voice echoed again.

“How the hell can I give ye a kiss,
Máthair
?” Gray didn’t bother opening his eyes. Why should he? All that surrounded him was darkness. “Yer dead,
Máthair.
Ye left me. Or have ye forgotten?”

“Gray,” his mother softly chided. “Ye ken better than to speak to me in such a way.”

“Ye best listen to yer mother, lad,” his father rumbled. “Ye may be grown, but I can still give ye a swift kick in yer arse.”

Gray opened his eyes and nearly choked at the sight of his parents standing arm in arm before him. “What is this?” He stumbled to his feet and turned about, railing against the darkness. “What cruel trick have ye played, Nia Sinclair? Have ye no’ an ounce of compassion?”

“Gray,” his mother called again. “Stop yer caterwauling and listen. Yer father and I are no’ dead. We both live and breathe just as surely as ye do.”

“I saw ye die…the first time. And then…just now, I saw ye disappear. How the hell can ye stand there and tell me ye both yet live? Is this some wicked cruelty spirits do for amusement? What witchery is this?” Gray stumbled sideways, searching for a means to escape. He had to get free of this infernal darkness.

Alistair MacKenna clapped a broad hand atop Gray’s shoulder and clamped down. Hard. He yanked his son back over to stand in front of Isabeau. “Ye always were a hardheaded lad. Ye get that from yer mother.”

One of Isabeau’s dark brows arched a notch higher than the other. “Ye err, m’love. Yer son is just like yerself.”

Gray sucked in a deep breath. Even as ghosts, his parents playfully bantered, as they had in life. Gray took little comfort in this realization. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed the corners of his burning eyes. “If ye swear yer no’ dead, then where are ye…living?” And why, by all the fires of hell, had they allowed him to believe they were dead? Gray didn’t voice that part. One question at a time.

Alistair rolled his eyes and looked toward where the heavens might be if they weren’t all floating in some strange field of darkness. “Talk to the boy, Isabeau. He always seemed to listen to ye better.”

Isabeau moved forward, took Gray’s hand in her own, and smoothed it against her cheek. “Ye see, m’son? Warm flesh. I am no ghostie.”

“How?” It was the only word Gray could force out through the chaos churning through his mind and emotions.

“Yer father joined me in the last leap,” Isabeau explained. “Most think the bodies are left behind, but it doesna have to be so. If we are content with our forms, we’re allowed to take them with us.”

She really lived? Gray reached out and barely touched the tip of his finger across his mother’s smiling lips. Warm flesh. Aye. She lived. A sudden rush of resentment shoved aside the relief that his parents were truly alive. “How the hell could the two of ye put me through such suffering? Do ye have any idea or even give a damn about the sorrow ye both caused?” Gray whirled until he stood nose to nose with his father. “Ye might no’ give a rat’s arse if yer son suffered, but did ye no’ give a thought to what all this would put yer clan through?” Gray shoved forward, bumping his father back a step with his chest. “What the hell were ye thinkin’, man?” Gray bumped his father again. “What the hell were ye thinkin’ with?”

Alistair’s fists shook against his side, and he squared off like a bull about to charge.

“Now, Alistair,” Isabeau said in a soothing tone as she barely touched his shoulder. “Mind yer temper. The boy has been through a great deal.”

Alistair’s face darkened to an enraged shade of purple as he knotted a fist tighter and slammed it with an upward thrust squarely under Gray’s chin.

Gray flew backward through the darkness. He rolled over, knees over head, and landed on his stomach.
Damn.
Gray rubbed his jaw and blinked hard against the pain. Dead or alive, the old bastard still gave one hell of a punch.