Chapter Six
“Of joys departed, not to return, how painful the remembrance.”
~Robert Blair
A light tapping on wood woke Angus from a deep, disturbed sleep. He scanned his surroundings when a woman called his name again, and he landed with a resounding thump back into his wakeful nightmare.
“Brian, are you awake? May I enter, please?”
A quick scan of his half-dressed state in loosely fitted knit pants and a thin white shirt that Granny had called a T-shirt could hardly be called proper dress to receive a lady. However, he’d long left propriety on a distant foggy hillside.
“Enter.” he called sharply, as he swung his legs off the bed.
Angel slipped into the room carrying a tray holding a glass, two cups of steaming liquid, and a plate piled with pastries exuding a strong scent of cinnamon and other exotic aromas. “I thought you might require a bit of strong coffee and a sugar boost to get your feet under you.”
She sailed across the room; bared toes peeked out from the bottom of a clean pair of pale-blue flared-bottom pants, and a brightly colored flowing top with elbow length billowing sleeves. Those exposed toes and tight-fitting pants roused indecent images. She set the tray on his bedside table and pulled the chair closer to him.
“Dad said you might have a headache and lingering aches and pains.” She handed him two tablets and a glass of water. “Take these and drink all of the water, then you can have your coffee and a sweet. Although, mother will be angry if I spoil your dinner, so this will be our little secret. In fact, dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, which is why I came to wake you.”
Without question, he acquiesced to her command, took the pills, and drank the entire glass of water. “How are ye feel’in, lass? I didnae see ye after cleaning up and having my injuries tended. I hope ye’ve no’ sustained any injury assisting me. My apologies fer no’ inquiring after ye sooner.”
“Oh, I’m perfectly fine, only a few scratches. See,” She lifted her arm, and the wide filmy sleeve of her shirt slipped to expose a length of naked skin bearing a long abrasion from wrist to elbow.
He barely restrained his hand from reaching to glide down the soft expanse of exposed flesh.
Previously consumed with his own fears and injuries, his lack of chivalrous concern for Angel shamed him. “Ach, m’lady, I didnae ken ye’d been injured. My apologies fer no’ protecting ye better.”
A peel of laughter rang from lips he wanted to taste again. “Don’t be silly. It’s just a scratch, no stitches or even bandages required, unlike your injuries.
“Dad said you needed forty-five stitches in all. Not to worry, my father is a fine surgeon, and those stitches should leave minimal scars. The pills you just took should help with any remaining discomfort.”
Her succulent lips curved into a wide grin revealing white teeth with one incisor slightly overlapping its companion tooth. He could almost feel his tongue slide across the edge of that tooth as he dipped into her sweet, perfect mouth. Blue-green eyes full of mischief and merriment flashed sparks of light. Her head tilted, and the amused yet thoughtful expression on her face suggested she could peer into his thoughts. “Would you care for cream and sugar?”
Cream and sugar—yes, those words perfectly described her. He knew her skin would taste sweet and would heat under his tongue like a silken dream.
“Sugar?” he questioned. He’d only tasted the sweetener on a few occasions. Its exorbitant cost made it attainable by only the wealthiest of his countrymen. Yes, both. Thank you, m’lady.”
“Angel, please, none of this m’lady nonsense.”
The plump fullness of her mouth made him want to bite it. Jesus, but he’d lost all control, and lust rode him hard. Angus straightened his shoulders and picked up the steaming cup. He swallowed a mouthful of the delicious hot coffee and allowed the burn in his throat to distract his wayward urges. His thoughts drifted to his home. Coffee had arrived in the Highlands a few years ago. God, not a few years ago, hundreds of years ago, if their tale was true.
Lairds of great wealth might serve it to their most exalted guests. He recalled his first taste of coffee when he’d traveled to Paris with his brothers. He quickly blinked away a sudden welling of water in his eyes. Highlander’s dinnae cry! Good lord, I’m becoming maudlin after less than one day in this cursed land.
He turned his head back to Angel. Her perusal of his face and form intensified, along with the color of her cheeks, which flared like fire’s first flame. Breaking eye contact first, she scanned the room, then rose from her chair. As she moved from spot to spot, the tips of her fingers trailed over furniture until she landed in front of a tall dresser adorned with an array of images in gilded frames. Similar to miniatures he had seen, but so detailed as to infuse every face with life. He had briefly noted them before he’d fallen into a deep exhausted sleep. Donning the robe at the foot of the bed, he moved beside her.
One long, delicate finger, its nail glazed in pale pink, lovingly touched a slightly younger image of her with a man a few years older. There were several other pictures of them together at different ages. Images of a growing family, some with the young man, others with her father and a woman he assumed was her mother, and others with Granny M.
“Is he yer brother, lass?”
Silent, weighty moments had passed before she answered. “Yes, this was—is my brother’s—Daniel’s room. These are photographs taken of us over the years.”
Photographs? Unsure of the meaning, he easily understood that the word in some manner referred to these exquisitely detailed images.
“Och, if it disturbs ye that I’ve taken his space I ken move to the carriage house until my wounds are healed.”
“Oh, no, don’t be silly. Daniel would have given you the room himself if he were here. He always offered his room to visiting guests, even though there are several empty rooms upstairs, because his room, this room, has its own entrance out to the garden. As does mine, which is just above.” She waved her hand toward the glass doors he’d noted earlier. A pale stream of light exposed golden dust motes in the air. Angel turned away with a heavy sigh.
“De ye wish to talk aboot him, lass, or is it too painful?”
“I miss him, is all.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away with the back of her hand.
He did not wish to cause her grief, but hoped to offer whatever comfort he could. He too kenned the pain of losing brothers. If this time-travel business had happened, then his brothers would have been dead for over three hundred years. A wave of dizziness overcame him. Since when did he become dizzy over disconcerting thoughts? He shook his head, running his fingers through the hair falling over his forehead. He couldn’t think about that right now.
“Is he—did something happen to him?”
Angel opened the glass double doors that led to the patio and walled garden beyond. Slashes of orange, red, and pink speared the sparse overhead clouds. “We don’t always get to see such brilliant sunset shades because the fog rolls in and blankets this area.” An adroit avoidance of his question.
A rosy glow glazed her face and suffused light created burnished highlights in the long hair that tumbled down her back. Angus could almost feel his fingers sliding through the rich, thick waves. He ached to pull her into his arms, but stayed motionless unwilling to disturb her remembrances.
“After he returned from the war, he didn’t like the noise of the city. He tried, but then he’d have an episode and turn to drink or drugs until he passed out.” A quick glance in his direction revealed deep worry lines bracketing her sweet mouth before she rushed to finish an explanation that obviously caused her great distress.
“Nothing too bad, mind you, mostly pot or mushrooms, maybe some other psychedelics, but he told me those drugs often made things worse, so he stopped using them. The behavior was very out of character for Daniel, at least the Daniel I knew before war messed him up.
“Eventually he started to disappear for weeks at a time, hiking into the wilderness, camping under the stars.” She leaned into the door frame as though all strength had slipped from her limbs.
“He told me it was the only place he found peace, so we all indulged his need for space. We bought him the best camping gear for his birthday and Christmas last year. Then one day in early February, long before the slightest hint of spring hit the mountains, he hiked off and never came back. Every few months we get a battered postcard from some ho-dunk, in-the-middle-of-nowhere town, but by the time we send a message to the police or sheriff’s office in an attempt to reach him, he has already traveled on.”
He didn’t understand most of what she said, but he understood how the horrors of war could drive a man to seek solitude. He too had experienced the need for seclusion after battle. That urge to detach from all human engagement and escape into heather-covered hills and dense shadowed forests had driven him into the wilderness on more than a few occasions. Before his brothers died, they’d go out together, understanding the need for companionship while maintaining total silence. After their deaths, he’d found solace riding out on his horse, Galahad, a huge, snappish dapple-grey that never shied in battle.
It suddenly occurred to him, he’d not seen a single horse. A sad thought indeed, should there be no horses in this new land.
She dashed a few more tears from her cheeks, then turned toward him, a stilted smile on her lips. “Enough maudlin moaning for one night. You’d best dress for dinner. If the jeans are too uncomfortable against those leg stitches, just wear your sweat pants and put on one of the shirts hanging in the closet.”