Breath of Yesterday (The Curse Series) (21 page)

“No, please stay. Don’t leave me tonight.”

He looked me in the eye and stretched out beside me.

“As you wish,
mo luaidh
.”

He caressed my shoulder, continued down to my collarbone, and kept going down. My skin burned wherever he touched me, and a pleasant tingling sensation started spreading in my belly.

“Sam? How much time do we have?”

I was barely able to follow, because his fingers were now tickling my belly button.

“Too little, Payton—far too little time to do and say everything I want to do and say.”

“But we’ve got this night, aye?”

I nodded, even though my world was melting away under Payton’s touch.

“Right,” I stammered, and wrapped my legs around him.

“Then we should make the most of it.”

C
HAPTER
27

W
hen Alasdair reached Castle Burragh and entered through the portcullis of the outer wall, he was unable to suppress a smile. It was dark, but up there on the roof of the castle keep, he could just about make out a pair of lovers lying in each other’s arms.

“My, my, what have we there. I didn’t think young McLean had it in him,” he mumbled.

When the sentries, who were standing close together in the courtyard, recognized him, they raised a hand in greeting and let him pass. He dismounted and led his horse to the stables where he hoped to shelter it for the night.

“Master Buchanan,” the stable boy welcomed him. “Shall I look after it, or will you be leaving again shortly?”

Alasdair handed him the reins and shook his head.

“I’m staying. Thank you, Iain.”

Then, with a spring in his step, he set out to find Nathaira. Burragh was an expansive stronghold, but there weren’t many possibilities for a woman like her: Her accommodations were no doubt located in the three-story castle keep. He therefore entered via the main castle keep door and hurried into the Great Hall. And there she was. She immediately caught his eye. All other humans paled in comparison. She had the beauty and the grace of a queen, and he felt irresistibly drawn to her, like a bee to the honey jar.

She was sitting with her back turned to him, a cup of wine in front of her. Taking a deep breath, he tiptoed closer, grabbed the armrests of her chair, and bent down to her ear.

“How dare these philistines leave such a beautiful woman to dine all by herself. Allow me to correct this shameful oversight and offer my humble presence.”

Nathaira stiffened, slowly turning her head. Her eyes widened.

“Alasdair.” His name sounded like a prayer on her lips, and Alasdair realized that she struggled to keep her composure.

“My beloved,” he said, kissing the back of her hand a moment longer than politeness demanded—yet not long enough for any observers to grow suspicious.

“What are you doing here? When did you get back?”

The shock about his unexpected arrival brought back painful memories of the weeks past. They were memories she’d wanted to leave behind in the same way she had rid herself of her problem: the child growing in her belly—Alasdair’s child.

A thousand questions had been running through her mind back then: What would Cathal, her brother, do to her should he find out about her condition? Would he cast her out? Would he kill Alasdair? She had been sure of only one thing: Cathal would never have agreed to a union between her and Alasdair.

Frozen in fear, she had done the only thing possible: She had crept away. She rode north for two days, hoping to find the Wise Woman who lived in the hills. Nathaira couldn’t say for sure what happened then. Only one thing was painfully certain: She loved Alasdair Buchanan, and she had killed his child.

“I returned to Galthair with your brother today, hoping to see you. When they told me you had gone to Castle Burragh, all I could think about was catching up with you.”

Nathaira scanned the Great Hall, wrinkling her forehead.

“Is Cathal with you? I don’t see him.”

“No. I came alone because I didn’t want to be without you a single moment longer.” He returned the greeting of some man who was traversing the hall, and turned back to her. “Come, my beautiful, let us find a spot where we can be undisturbed.”

Nathaira seemed nervous as she slowly rose from her chair and allowed him to escort her from the hall.

“Do you keep chambers here?” he asked hoarsely, growing more and more impatient with every minute he spent in her tantalizing presence. Seemingly indecisive, she stopped, gazing up the stairs where the guest chambers were located, when a dog slipped through the main door, barking and racing toward them. In the pale, flickering light of the handful of wall torches, the shaggy wolfhound seemed even more menacing than during the day.

Ross’s bright red shock of hair appeared behind a second wolfhound, and he immediately called the two dogs to order. With surprise on his face, he approached.

“Nathaira.” He bowed before her. “Alasdair. Are you here to come and get Samantha?” he asked.

Nathaira snorted in discontent, and her companion did not seem too pleased about the disturbance, either.

“Samantha? Samantha who?”

“The prisoner, of course! Aren’t Duncan and Dougal with you?”

“No, I came alone. Everyone else is coming tomorrow.” He wanted to leave the boy and take his beloved up to her chambers to show her how much he had missed her. But Ross wasn’t easily dissuaded.

“Did you see them, perhaps?”

“See who? Duncan and Dougal?” Alasdair snapped.

“Samantha! Did you see
her
or Payton somewhere? I really have to talk to her.”

A smile crept onto Alasdair’s face. That McLean! He was even more audacious than he had given him credit for. The woman he saw Payton kissing up on the battlement must be Cathal’s prisoner and not, as he had assumed, some maidservant.

“Now I remember, yes, I did see them! But I suggest you wait until the morning. That woman seemed
very busy
to me,” he responded, shooting Ross a meaningful glance.

“Busy with what?”

“You know, having her way with her guardsman,” he growled, because
having his way
was exactly what he had in mind for himself. At that point, Ross’s jaw dropped, and Alasdair seized the moment to leave the castle keep, pulling Nathaira with him. They would never make it to her chambers undetected, so he was now pursuing a different idea.

“Alasdair, wait!” Nathaira called out, fighting against being dragged along. “We have to talk!”

The cold of the night made Alasdair even more aware of the heat in his belly, of his burning desire, and he pulled Nathaira against the castle wall. There, in the shadows, he was finally able to cover her body with his, hiding her from the world and hungrily stealing a kiss. Heavens, how much he’d missed her.

“Stop it!” she screamed, and pushed him away. “We mustn’t! We can’t continue like this.” She struggled to regain her composure. “I must wed, Alasdair!”

“I will wed you. Tomorrow I will ask Cathal for your hand in marriage.”

He caressed the shoulders that her robe left bare, enjoying the feel of her velvety-soft skin against his hands. He also felt her tightening up against him.

“No, Alasdair, you won’t! Don’t you understand what I’m telling you?” She withdrew from his touch, placing her palms flat against his chest to keep him at a safe distance. “It was a mistake to give in to my feelings for you.” There was regret in her voice, but also resolve.

“Cathal would never accept you as my husband. You are nothing but his liegeman. His liegeman! And what Cathal needs are allies. He needs to think of the clan. The deal is already done—I’m going to marry Blair McLean.”

Alasdair faltered under the weight of her words. What was that she was talking about? Cathal had said nothing of the sort. And what was the point of this, anyway? He loved Nathaira, and he wouldn’t just give her up!

“You can’t do that. You lay with me—didn’t that mean anything to you? Have you already forgotten about that?”

“How could I forget? After all, you left me alone with a child in my womb, while you chased cattle thieves out in the borderlands!” she screamed.

Alasdair shook his head, thinking he had misheard her.

“A child? What do you mean? You are with child?”

Nathaira wiped away her tears, as she didn’t want him to see her pain. Quietly, almost as if not wanting him to hear, she replied: “No, Alasdair, I am not with child. You left me, and I had to make a choice. I chose my brother—and I chose against you and the child.”

Alasdair grabbed the same shoulders he had caressed only a moment ago, and he shook her violently.

“What are you saying? I’ve never left you! I followed your brother’s orders! And now, woman, you are going to tell me what you have done, or I swear to God I will forget myself!”

Nathaira found it easy to see in him the fury and anger of his ancestors: murdering, pillaging, plundering Vikings. She was scared of him. At the same time, she loved him so much that it hurt, and she hated herself for having to do this to him.

“Leave me! Take your filthy hands off me! I did what was necessary to not bring the bastard child of a nobody into this world! You presume a great deal, Viking, when you think that a place in my bed would secure you a place in my heart. All my love and all my loyalty belong to only one man: my brother.”

Overtaken with pain and rage, Alasdair reached for Nathaira’s throat and pressed hard. He didn’t want to hear another of her spiteful words. She was destroying his future and had ripped his heart out.

He pressed down harder, enjoying her resistance, enjoying her pain.

Oh, she had it coming. With her eyes wide open in terror, her arms hanging limp by her side—she had never seemed more beautiful to him. He leaned in for one final kiss before releasing her throat and whispering against her tear-soaked cheek:

“I hope your brother will cast you out when his ally realizes on his wedding night that his beautiful bride is no longer a virgin.”

Then he pushed her hard, and Nathaira slumped down against the wall, gasping for air.

She held her throat, retching and coughing, and drew delicious fresh air into her burning lungs. Hatred and loathing flared in her eyes, and a blinding flash of lightning tore across the sky. She defied fate! It no longer mattered whether or not he killed her—she had died the day her unborn child had died.

“Not that my wedding night is any of your concern, but when I left Blair’s bedchamber earlier, he wasn’t complaining. By the way, when it comes to matters of the flesh, he has greater skills than you do.”

Triumphantly, she presented her cheek to him, enjoying the angry punch she knew he would throw. The pain would wear off and prove that life beyond pain was possible.

Through a veil of tears, she saw the love of her life disappear into the darkness. She prayed that something resembling a life without pain and suffering waited for her. A life devoid of feelings—now wouldn’t that make things easier.

C
HAPTER
28

F
ingal had sent for his oldest son, Blair. It was early in the day, but a fire was already burning in the fireplace, and a cup of sweet, heavy wine was warming him up. He didn’t like to admit it, but his wound and the subsequent fever had cost him a great deal of strength. On top of that, he’d had a bad fever of the lungs several months back. That had also almost killed him, and he had not been able to fully recover since then.

For the first time in his life, he felt his age, and it made him restless. There was so much left to do before his time would come. He owed that to his sons, and to his clan. He had taken a first step already when he expected not to live through that fever. Back then, he had called on his sons to recognize their eldest brother, Blair, as his successor and future clan chief. They swore Blair loyalty and allegiance, just as he had demanded. While that took care of his succession, the constant feuds and cattle raids along the borders worried him more every day.

When Blair entered, Fingal hoped that his son would recognize the importance of long-lasting peace and submit to his wishes.

“Blair,
mo bailaich,
come in and sit with me. I have to discuss a matter of the utmost urgency with you.”

Blair took a seat in his favorite spot by the chessboard. As befitted the game of kings, two magnificent chairs invited players to sit down for a game.

Fingal joined him, taking a fragile pawn and opening the game by moving the piece forward two squares. He set down his cup of wine and took his seat opposite Blair. They had played so many games against each other that Fingal already anticipated Blair’s first countermove: pushing his own pawn two spaces up against his. He smiled when his son did not disappoint.

“I have asked you here today because I’ve been thinking about something,” he started their conversation. He moved a knight onto the board.

Blair countered with his own black knight and looked his father square in the eye.

“What I want for you is a life without conflict and strife. These constant unrests need to be resolved once and for all. We must make peace between the clans.”

“Aye, Father. But what do you want us to do? We cannot put up with these cattle raids.”

“This is why we need to establish and strengthen alliances, my son. Not just by an oath but by arrangements that are longer lasting. We must unite our families and establish blood ties.”

Blair’s hand floated above his chess pieces.

“I agree with you,
m’athair
.”

“A marriage would unite our clans far better than any oath,” Fingal continued.

“An arranged marriage? And you will allow me to choose my own wife, Father, will you not?”

“Of course I’m not going to force you, but I’m sure you will do what is necessary.”

“I will, but I prefer to choose my own bride. However, I will gladly take your suggestions into account.”

Fingal was relieved. He had expected to be met with greater resistance.

“And if children were to come of such a union,” Fingal enthused, “then we would gain long-lasting, enduring peace.”

He rose from his chair feeling satisfied. Placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, he said, “I am very proud of your understanding and sense of responsibility. You are going to lead our clan into peaceful times.”

“Father, don’t talk like that. You are on the road to recovery and will regain your health and strength in no time. You will be managing our clan’s affairs for many years to come,” Blair countered, making his next move on the chessboard.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, but for now Fingal was content. Blair would know what was right, and he would act accordingly. Kyle stuck his head through the half-open door.

“Father, we have visitors. Duncan Stuart and some of his men are in the Great Hall. I had roast meats and beer taken to them. Would you like to join them, or do you want me to ask Payton to keep them company?”

“Where is Sean? I want him to fill in for me for a while. Blair and I are just not finished with our talk.”

Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen Sean all day. He wasn’t even in the hall at breakfast time. Nor was Payton.”

Fingal was visibly displeased. He pressed his lips into a thin line and turned to Blair.

“Since your brother Sean has apparently decided to chase after skirts right now, we will have to continue our conversation at a later time. But we’re in agreement on the important things, which I find reassuring. Would you go greet our guests whilst I’m having my bandages changed? This damn poultice is soaked through and running down my side.”

Blair was already back on his feet.

“As you wish. I will give them your regards.” With that, he made for the hall with Kyle wanting to join him—but Fingal had a task for his youngest.

“Wait. Go look for Payton. I need someone to keep an eye on that Cameron girl while we have the Stuarts in the house. And I need her here in my chambers. Nanny MacMillan is still a little scornful because I might have been grumpy toward her yesterday.”

Kyle chuckled because he knew that she could hold a grudge for a long time, despite being an otherwise kind soul.

“Aye, Father, I will see what I can do,” he said on his way out.

Fingal McLean stayed behind and emptied his goblet of wine. All that was left for him to do was to inform an unsuspecting Sam of his plan of marrying her to Blair. The McLeans, after all, had been friends with the Stuarts for a long time, and this marriage would add peace and an alliance between the McLeans and the Camerons. The long-standing blood feud between the Stuarts and the Camerons, on the other hand, was none of his concern.

It was high time for Payton to take me back to my own room. I was nervous about someone finding me in his chambers. We had slept way in, and we hadn’t even wanted to fall asleep to begin with. But being together and feeling safe and secure in each other’s arms had obviously made us drift off.

I tried my hardest to smooth down the creases on my dress, which had been carelessly tossed to the floor the previous night.

Payton seemed relatively unfazed. At least he wasn’t in a great hurry to button up his shirt or comb his disheveled hair.

“What if someone is looking for me? What if your father needs my help?” I pointed out.

“Father has Nanny MacMillan. He would ask for her first.”

An urgent knock on the door startled us and made Payton frown. Now he suddenly got really busy with his horn buttons. Quickly he slid over to the door but only opened it a crack.

“What do you want?” he growled.

I pricked my ears.

“What’s going on? What’s keeping you? We were supposed to help mend the pasture fence behind the stables. Did you already forget?” Kyle asked, and pushed past Payton. He stopped when he noticed me. Reflecting his astonished disbelief, his gaze wandered from me to Payton, down to Payton’s wrongly buttoned shirt, and back to me.

“What the…?”

“Hello, Kyle,” I said sheepishly, frantically racking my brain for a plausible explanation for my being in Payton’s room. It turned out that I didn’t need one.

“I was picking up Sam in her chambers,” said Payton, “and we were on our way to the hall, when one of Ross’s stupid dogs jumped up on me and wiped its filthy paws on my shirt. I had to go and get changed.”

I nodded eagerly, and—even though it was obvious from Kyle’s face that he didn’t believe a single word—Kyle gave a quick nod and folded his arms across his chest.

“Aye, I understand,
mo bràthair
. Well, as soon as you’ve changed into a
clean
shirt that you
absolutely
need for working on those fences, you are to take Samantha to Father’s chambers and then get your ass over to the hall. The fences will have to wait. We’ve got visitors.”

With that, he shot me a grin and, walking backward on his way out, he playfully punched Payton’s shoulder.

“He knows, right?” I asked.

“Aye, he knows. Luckily, it’s Kyle. He will keep his mouth shut.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“We’ve always been very close. Blair and Sean stick together because they’re the oldest. Kyle and I are united in the feeling of only ever bothering the
grown-ups
. We look out for each other, ken, and we help each other. It has always been that way.”

I swallowed hard. Payton’s simple explanation, the casual ease with which he assumed his brother’s loyalty, and the brotherly love that resonated in each of his words were almost more than I could take.

How could I send Kyle to his death—Kyle, that ray of sunshine with his entire life still ahead of him? How could I possibly allow it? But I didn’t have a choice, did I. I couldn’t risk changing the future so significantly. His death would lead to a whole avalanche of events, and I didn’t dare interfere with the course of history, couldn’t risk changing it—perhaps cutting off my own roots and my own lifeline in the process.

But even though there was nothing I could do to change these brothers’ fates, I had to do
something
. I couldn’t let Payton lug this guilt around with him for the next two hundred and seventy years. I had to help him find hope and forgiveness before we met again in the twenty-first century.

“You coming?” His question jolted me from my thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Are you coming? We should hurry so we don’t arouse any more suspicion.”

I nodded, but only because I didn’t trust my voice. I felt like breaking down and crying. Where had my inner strength gone?

We walked beside each other like strangers, Payton McLean with his prisoner, Samantha Cameron, each trying not to touch the other, or even look at the other. Nobody could know how close we had been the night before.

Once we arrived at Fingal’s door, Payton gave me a quick wink and promised to come and get me for supper. Then he handed me off to his father and left.

“Samantha, come in. I took the liberty of removing the poultice myself. If you could just help me apply fresh bandages.”

I walked over to the washstand and took a clean linen strip from the basket that Nanny MacMillan had left behind when she stormed out of the room the day before. In silence and still deeply engrossed in my own somber thoughts, I wrapped the piece of cloth firmly around Fingal’s chest. The wound was healing well. Sometime in the future, a small scar would take its place and prove to the world that I had in fact existed here—in this era.

“Lassie, you look glum. Are you frightened of something?”

To share with Fingal what I was going through would surely go well beyond his imagination. Being scared would have to do, and so I nodded.

“You don’t need to worry. I have placed you under my protection.” He slipped into his shirt and looked me straight in the eye. “And not only that—but as I mentioned before, you are going to help me leave a legacy of long-lasting peace for my sons. I just talked with Blair. He understands his duties and obligations to the clan, and I’m sure that you, too, will come to see your benefit in this.” He stopped talking to study my face, and then he nodded. “You two are a good fit.”

I didn’t understand. What the heck was he talking about?

“Once you are married, Cathal might actually change his mind and put an end to this old feud between the Stuarts and the Camerons.”

“Married? Me?” I looked at him wide-eyed and completely befuddled. I was sure that I had misheard him.

“Calm down, my dear. Consider the alternative: Cathal takes you with him, uses you for his own desires and purposes—whatever they may be. Who knows what kind of a future you would have with him. On the other hand, you could choose a marriage to Blair, a peace-loving, responsible man whom I raised well and who will treat his wife well and with respect.”

Oh my God! I had not misheard him! Crazy laughter rose from my throat. This was insane! I didn’t even belong here!

“Samantha, think about my proposal before you reject it flat out. I will await your reply tonight.”

“Milord, really, I don’t need to think about it. It is completely impossible to enforce peace between your clans by marrying me to your son. I’m not as close to the Cameron clan as you perhaps imagine. In fact, I’m pretty sure that nobody at Castle Coulin actually misses me.”

I almost burst out laughing again, because the fine folks at Castle Coulin would be really surprised to learn of my existence.

“Oh, nonsense. This has nothing to do with your standing in the clan and everything to do with your having Cameron blood in your veins. Which will be perfectly sufficient as a sign of peace and goodwill.”

I didn’t know how to respond: It all sounded utterly absurd.

I was saved by a knock on the door, and I breathed a sigh of relief when Fingal walked over to open it.

“Is there no peace in this house, ever?” he thundered, outraged at yet another interruption. After yanking open the door and exchanging a few words with my nameless savior, he asked me to wait inside.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised.

The door closed behind him with a thud, releasing me from my paralysis. I had to get out of here! I had wasted way too much time already, and Fingal’s plan very clearly showed this. No matter how much it would hurt me to leave Payton, I really had no other choice.

I hurried over to the window, jerked it open, and realized that I would break every single bone in my body if I were to try to take that route. Climbing down the castle wall was risky even if I had enough time to tie together Fingal’s bed curtains and use them for a rope.

“Shit, friggin’ shit!” I exclaimed, looking for a different way out. My eyes wandered across the room and landed on the narrow secretary desk, complete with sheets of paper and a quill pen.

Jesus, a quill! And where would one find a regular pen or pencil? Seriously, everything in the past just sucked! My hands were shaking as I pulled the stopper from the small inkwell and dipped the tip of the quill in it. What should I write? What words could give Payton comfort over the next few hundred years or so? How could I tell him what I needed to tell him in the short amount of time I had left?