Chapter Eight

 

 

Callum did feel angry but his rage was not aimed at Kerry. It was aimed at the so called man, Edward, the imbecile who could take someone as delicate as her and crush her in his fist. The thought made him furious.

He knew he would never see the man. If the doorway to the future did miraculously turn out to be true, there was no way he could accompany her to her own time. He had an entire clan to look after and if he were to die there would be no heir to take over. The MacCleod name might vanish with him.

That knowledge didn’t stop him wanting to go with her, track down Edward and run him through for his crimes against such a perfect woman as her.

For she was perfect. He had known that since he had set eyes on her though he had attempted to convince himself it was not the case. He had tried to pretend he did not want her, that he could survive perfectly well once she returned to her own time.

It was not true.

It had already been too long. The chance for her to go and him to forget her, if it ever existed, was gone. He would never forget her. For the rest of his life he would retain her image in his heart, taking a place that could belong to no other even if he lived to be a hundred.

When she told him her story, he felt closer bonded to her than he ever had to anyone. He could tell she was sharing secrets she had told no one before. He felt honored.

Why had she chosen him? That he could not say. He was just glad she had at least unburdened herself of some of the mental anguish she carried.

What could he do about it though? She was going back to her own time and leaving him behind.

He thought hard.

They sat together by the fireside in the inn, waiting for the innkeeper to bring their food out to them. The fire was alive with light, the glow illuminating the smoky interior of the tavern. There were many shades of tartan on display and more accents than he could count. French, Norse, even English. No doubt every person there had a story to tell from the one eyed Saracen in the corner to the English white beard holding court with his pack of tarot cards over by the beer barrel.

Callum was only interested in one story and she was sitting opposite him and staring into the fire.

“Does the MacCleod name still live in your time?” he asked, drawing her from her reverie.

“It does,” she said, turning to look at him.

He was glad. Once again he was struck by her beauty. Every time she glanced at him he was surprised, as if he had never seen her before. His desire for her grew with every passing minute. He yearned to plant a kiss on those soft lips of hers, to hold her in his arms and protect her for the rest of their lives.

He found himself hoping that perhaps the doorway was a fable, that she would have no choice but to stay with him. He could bring her back and introduce her to his parents as the only bride he would have. They would either accept that or he would ride to the ends of the earth with her and settle on a farm somewhere where no harm would come to either of them. If the Saracen could travel thousands of miles then so could they.

She smiled as he continued to look at her. “There is even a book about you.”

“About me?” He couldn’t hide the surprise from his voice. “Och, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m not. There’s an entire series called The Saga of Callum MacCleod.”

“And what does it say of me?”

Her brow wrinkled momentarily and he was again struck by the desire to kiss her. “I can’t remember.”

“But the name still lives. Do MacCleods still live in our castle?”

She shook her head. “That is a ruin apart from the east tower.”

“The castle is a ruin?” He tried to picture it. The enormous walls that looked like they could last forever gone, the stone in moldering piles, the place empty of life. He could not do it.

“It might not be.”

“What?” He looked at her closely. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure exactly but I think maybe I came back here to change something. I mean, what’s the alternative? That a person can randomly go back through the centuries? If that were true it would be enough to drive a person insane. I get the feeling I’m here to do something and if I manage it, maybe things will be different in my time. Maybe MacCleod castle will still be standing.”

“And what is it you think you have to do?”

A shadow fell over them both. Callum looked up in time to see the innkeeper carrying two wooden bowls, steam rising from the contents.

“Stew for you both and your room is almost ready for you.”

“You mean our rooms?” Callum asked.

“Alas we have but one room available tonight. Tomorrow is market day at the four crosses. You picked a busy night to come and visit The Lantern.”

“You do not have two rooms available?”

“You are husband and wife, aren’t you? Why can you not share?”

Callum found himself trapped by his own lie.

The innkeeper walked away. “I still don’t understand why you don’t tell him who you are,” Kerry said, looking hungrily down at her stew. You’re the l-”

He cut her off. “The walls have ears and there are many here who are not so friendly as our portly innkeeper. A husband and wife draw less suspicion than any other tale I might have told. We are far from loyal land. You take the room and lock the door well. I shall sleep down here near the fire.”

“No you won’t. You sleep upstairs and I’ll have the fireside.”

He shook his head firmly. “I would not leave you alone in here for one minute. There are many already who have been looking too often in your direction.”

“Then we are at an impasse.”

“I suppose we are.”

For a while they both ate in silence. The stew contained mostly turnips but toward the bottom Callum found a little mutton, enough to give it some flavor.

“I know,” Kerry said out of nowhere. “We’ll share.”

“We cannot share. It would not be right.”

She was already getting to her feet. “Innkeeper,” she shouted. “Show us to our chamber.”

Chamber was an altogether too grandiose a term for the converted hay barn they were taken to. The barn itself was attached to the inn. A set of wooden stairs led to the upper level. The stairs were worn smooth by the many feet that had made the journey before them. Upon the landing were a number of chambers running off a central corridor, the walls little more than wattle and daub in wooden frames. Callum had slept in many such places but Kerry seemed a little taken back.

He thought she was about to change her mind and demand the fireside but to his surprise she walked straight through the door held open by the innkeeper.

“It’s perfect,” she said, turning to face Callum as the door was closed behind them. “There’s a bed big enough for two. I hope you don’t snore.”

“You take the bed,” he said. “I will sleep here.”

He pulled one of the blankets from the bed and laid it before the fire, settling upon it while Kerry continued to stand in the middle of the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep. I suggest you do the same. We have a long ride ahead of us on the morrow.”

“You’re going to sleep on the floor?”

“Aye.” He leapt to his feet at a sound from the landing. Glancing out, he saw only two drunken figures making their way to a room at the end of the corridor. Pulling the door closed again, he wedged the only chair against it. Only then did he return to the blanket, his sword by his side just in case.

“Oh no,” Kerry said, lying back on the bed.

“What? What is it?”

“The bed’s all lumpy,” she replied, grabbing the blankets and coming to lie next to him. “Mind if I stay down here with you?”

He did not mind at all. He thought she might talk to him but from the moment she lay down her eyes closed. He did not sleep for some time. He sat beside her lost in thought. Looking at her made him ache with desire. The moonlight shining through the gaps in the shutters illuminated her face in gray and white. She looked like an angel.

Perhaps that was what she was. The tale of coming from the future was just that, a tale. She had been sent from heaven for some purpose he did not understand. If that were true then the feelings he had in that moment were decidedly heathen.

He lay down beside her, listening to her soft breathing, watching her chest rise and fall under the blankets. A chill breeze blew through the shutters and she shivered, turning onto her side away from him.

Without thinking about it he wrapped himself around her, holding her close. For a moment she stirred, her fingers wrapping around his. She let out a contented sigh and then fell back into a deep sleep.

Callum remained awake for sometime, breathing in the scent of her, thinking of how odd it was that just over a week had passed since her arrival. It felt as if he had known her his entire life. She had become as much a part of him as his sword arm and he would find it just as hard to cope without her as without that most vital part of his anatomy. What was a highlander without the ability to fight? And what was he without her?

He tried to convince himself he still wanted her gone but he knew the truth. He needed her like he needed water and the mountain air. Without it he was nothing.

Eventually he closed his eyes and managed to sleep but his dreams were disturbed by a menacing figure that remained in the shadows no matter which way he looked. “I have come for her,” the figure would say. “She belongs to me.”

He did not know it but even as he dreamed he gripped her tighter, as if his soul wanted her to go as little as his hands. He twitched as he dreamed. At a little after three in the morning someone quietly tried the handle of the bedroom door but the chair held well and the two of them remained undisturbed. The rooms either side of them had several possessions stolen overnight but in their room, nothing was taken except Callum’s heart for that had been stolen many days before.