“Aye. That’s the part that’s been driving me mad! All I knew was that I loved you. That was why I went back to find you. And I did. But I cannae recall why we parted in the first place. For when I came back this time, getting caught by Clan Ross changed everything. ”
Mac’s brow creased. “Since I met you, I’ve wondered why you left me so quickly.”
His forehead was lined. He looked almost angry. “I had to.” He shook his head in frustration. “Och! I dinnae ken why, but I’m burning to know. It’s important.” He sank down to the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
Mac held his head to her chest as he had so often done for her. “Dinnae fash yersel, Ciarán.” He looked up and returned her reassuring smile as he put his hands around her waist and caressed her.
There was no more talk in the dark hours before dawn. Morning’s light would take her away soon enough. And so, with an urgent need to be close, they made love with a vehemence that spoke of their love and their hopeless desire to cling to it. Then they drifted to sleep, despite vowing that they would not waste a moment together.
*
They woke to a thunderous boom, and then another. Ciarán bolted out of bed and grabbed his sword.
“What was that?” cried Mac as she gathered her clothes and began frantically dressing.
“We’re under attack!”
Ciarán made quick work of donning his plaid while Mac pulled on, laced, and tied all her layers of clothing. But before she was finished, he said, “Stay here. Bolt the door.” Without waiting for her response, he grabbed his sword and his pistol and bounded out the door and down the stairs.
“Well, I’m not about to just sit here and wait,” Mac muttered as she finished dressing and left. As much as she wanted to think of herself as some sort of fearsome warrior princess, she was not really sure where to start. She knew nothing of fighting or battle, so she headed down the stairs to see what the other women were doing. To her surprise, they were arming themselves with flintlock rifles.
“Can you shoot a rifle?” asked the cook.
Mac shook her head to this and to each question that followed.
“Pistol? Sword? Bow and arrow?”
By the time she was finished, Mac felt like she would do them more harm than good, which was probably true.
The cook handed a rifle to Mac. “Here. May as well learn now. Janet will show you.”
The women climbed the stairs to the battlements, where the men were already engaged in the fight.
“Stupid question,” Mac said to Janet, “but who are we shooting at?”
She could see that Janet patiently hid her reaction. She answered respectfully, “The British. They heard of our plans and came after us here.”
They spent the next few minutes learning to load a flintlock rifle and how best to aim it. Janet, trying to encourage Mac, said, “There’s enough of them there that you’re bound to hit something.”
Mac did not find that helpful, but before she could say so, a lead ball whistled past her and landed with a thud in the battlement wall behind her. Mac fell flat to the stone floor.
Janet grabbed hold of her shoulder. “Miss Cooper?”
She reached up and patted Janet’s hand. “I’m okay.” Tentatively, Mac sat up, taking care that she was well-shielded by the wall. For several seconds, she pressed her back to the wall and reminded herself to breathe in and out. She felt almost removed, as though she were watching a film of herself taking part in an eighteenth-century Scottish battle reenactment. “Someone just took a shot at me.”
“Aye, Miss Cooper. They’ll do that and worse if they get inside the castle walls.”
Mac’s head was clearing, even if her stomach felt weightless. And then anger mounted until she felt closer to rage than she had ever felt in her life. Then she pivoted around, took a breath, and exhaled as she fired. She spun around again and leaned her back against the wall while she reloaded. As she did, she felt a sense of control coming back, which she had not felt since she had walked through the stone chamber.
Janet noted Mac’s newfound strength with approval as she watched her reload. “That was braw. Now let us fire again.”
Mac met Janet’s eyes and felt proud to have her servant’s approval. Turning, she fired again. She did not linger long enough to know whether her shots were hitting their marks, but at least she was helping the cause. There were cries from the wounded on both sides of the wall as the rifles and cannonballs struck their marks. This was what she would remember, if she survived. Beneath the cracking of guns and the boom of the cannon was a layer of anguish, the sounds of which would hang in the air long after the fighting was over.
Showing no signs of stopping, the British continued to bombard the castle with cannonballs and gunpowder explosions, bringing chunks of the castle down piece by piece. The floor shook beneath them as a section of battlement beside them broke away and crumbled to the ground. Mac reflexively scuttled backward, but the wall underneath was still swaying.
“Miss Cooper.” Janet tugged on Mac’s arm and then yanked her away toward the stairs as the wall fell where she had just been standing.
They rushed down the narrow spiral of stairs. When they arrived on the ground floor, they found dead and injured people strewn everywhere. Cannonballs had destroyed much of the outer wall, leaving the ground littered with fallen stones and fallen men. Mac took it all in with unnatural numbness until a large hand gripped her arm.
Mac jabbed her elbow into whoever had grabbed her. “No!” Then she reeled around, kicking and pounding as hard as she could.
“Mac!” Ciarán grabbed her shoulders and struggled to hold her until she looked up and saw his face. Her arms went limp as he clutched her to him for a brief moment. He bent his knees and crouched down to look at her eye to eye. “Are you all right, lass?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was doing. I’m okay.”
He nodded and grasped her hand. “Janet, will you come with us?”
“Sir, my mother’s been wounded.” She had already seen her but had stayed with Mac, as was her duty.
Ciarán gave Janet an approving nod. “Go to her, Janet. And thank you for keeping Miss Cooper safe.”
With a smile, she thanked him and left.
“Come, lass.” Ciarán led Mac back inside through a door on the opposite side of the castle.
Mac followed, too overwhelmed to ask where they were going. She had read about battles and watched them in movies, but she had never understood until now how close and how patient death was. It would wait for the dying to suffer, no matter how long it might take for life to drain from them. Without question, Mac followed Ciarán through a hidden door to a passage.
He lit a torch and guided her through a long tunnel. “It might be too late for the chamber to work, but ’tis a clear day, thank God, so we might have a chance.” At the end of the tunnel was a thick wooden door. Because the door was swollen with moisture from the water surrounding the castle, Ciarán struggled to open it without making noise. When he finally succeeded, he put out the torch and eased the door open. He put a dirk in Mac’s palm and wrapped her hand around it, and then he took hold of his own and slipped outside while she waited behind. Seconds later, the door opened again. He held out his hand, and she took it and followed.
“It’s high tide. Can you swim?” he asked.
“Yes.”
While he wrapped his kilt tightly around him and belted it in place to make swimming easier, he said, “The British will be focused on the castle, and the men who remained behind will fight.”
“Remained behind?”
“Aye. We’ve lost. Hamish and some of the others will fight to draw attention from those who are scattering. He’ll be joining us soon.”
Once in the water, they swam the short distance to the other shore, where they stayed nearly submerged and watched for the best chance to run for the trees. They were almost there when Mac heard a hiss. When it stopped, she looked down and her head swam at the sight. Blood began seeping through her clothing. She had been shot in the shoulder. Ciarán lifted and carried her into the woods until he was sure no one had followed them. There he set her down and proceeded to tear a long strip from her skirts and tie it over the wound. Blood drained from Mac’s face just before she wilted and drifted out of consciousness.
Now that she was bandaged, Ciarán cradled Mac in his arms and headed toward the stone chamber. When she became conscious again, she demanded that he let her walk, which he did, but she did not last long. She was weakening and losing a lot of blood, so he picked her up again and went on. But the British were nearing the chamber.
As he carried Mac with a watchful eye on her, Ciarán said, “Tell me what to do when we get to your time. How will I find a physician to attend to you?”
Mac told him where her house was and where she hid the key. Taking breaks to gather strength just to talk, she did her best to explain how a phone worked. “Just pick it up and press the numbers nine, one, one. Tell them someone’s been shot, and they’ll take care of the rest.”
When they arrived at the chamber, Ciarán set her on her feet and held out his arm, signaling her to go first. He followed close behind, his arm around her waist for support. Mac turned, eyes shining with love, and made her best effort to hide how much pain she was in. As Ciarán fixed his eyes on her, a loud boom echoed, and everything shook as a cannonball struck the chamber. The force pulled them apart as the chamber caved in.
18
The Rising
The air tasted of dust. Ciarán wanted water so much that he fought his way back to consciousness to get it. He opened his eyes but could not move his arms or his legs. As his vision came into focus, he saw piles of stones pinning his arms, and the memory came back. Mac had gone into the chamber ahead of him before the cannonball hit. She was still there, buried alive. Ciarán started to dig himself out, freeing one arm and then another. His legs were the hardest. Pinned down as they were, he could not reach them. He twisted and did all he could, pushing and pulling one rock at a time. At a time when speed mattered, he could only make slow progress pulling and pushing at stones one by one.
“Ciarán!” One of his clansmen rushed to him and pulled the remaining stones away. “Hamish told me to find you. We’re away to—”
Ciarán cut him off. “Ivor, Mac’s under here! Help me.”
Three more men caught up to them and pulled at rocks, heaving them away and scooping out dirt. After an hour, they broke through.
Ciarán called out, but there was no answer. When they had dug out an opening large enough for a man, Ciarán climbed through. He told the others to keep digging to let more light in. From what he could see so far, the chamber was empty. He called Mac’s name again and again until enough light shone into the cave to propel him through to the other side.
*
He was through. But the seasons had changed. He had arrived in the midst of a terrible snowstorm. Mac had told him where her house was, so he made his way slowly through snow that came up to his thighs. He could not see her house yet, but he knew it was somewhere along this road. Just then, a car drove past. It was her car. He had seen it before, and he knew what would happen. She crashed into the side of the mountain. He rushed to the car and forced open the door.
“Come, lass,” he said as he pulled her from the car. “Can you stand?”
He set her on her feet, but her legs buckled. He scooped her up. Fuzzyheaded, Mac leaned on his chest. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and her fingers traced a fold of wool draped over his doublet.
“Nice kilt, Scotty. But just so you know, real Scotsmen go shirtless.” She smiled and laid her head on his shoulder.
Ciarán took her back to the stone chamber and built a fire while she slept. For the rest of the night, he tried to forget what lay behind him in the past. His brother was there. He would have to go back and help him regroup. They had lost the castle, but they would meet up with others to finish the fight they had started. He would do this for Hamish, but tonight was for Mac. He had this one night to be with her, still not knowing whether she would survive her wound from the battle. While he ached to know, all he could do now was to care for her through the night as he had once before. In the morning, he would have to return to the battle. Only after the battle was over would he be free of his duty to Hamish and to his clan. Then he would return to Mac—again and again if he must, until he was sure she was safe.
*
The next morning, his heart broke to kiss her good-bye, but she had only just met him. With the same fading restraint that had kept him from breaching the distance between them all night, he held back. But, as though she saw through his gaze to his heart, she lifted her lips to meet his.
With a groan, he whispered, “It is not our time now, but I’ll come back for you, Mac.” He smiled, hoping it might hide the longing. “Lovely Mac, I will love you, and you will love me.” He glanced at the bright sun shining into the stone chamber. “Och, ’tis time.”
Mac opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but he stole one more kiss.
“Remember this moment. I promise you more.” He turned and walked into the stone chamber, vowing to himself that he would come back for her.
“Ciarán, where are you going?”
He turned to look back, and he smiled. “I’m a traveler, lass. I cannae stay here.” There was so much more to it, but it was all that she needed to know.
“I don’t understand.”
“You’ll think me daft if I tell you, but you’ll ken when I’m gone.”
“No, I think you’re daft now.” She smiled.
Ciarán would remember that smile. He said, “I live in the past.”
“Me too. That’s what Cam always tells me, but—”
“Mac, listen to me.” With a flinch, he pulled back. He could feel the surge through his body that that would carry him into the past. He would be leaving her soon. “’Tis too late.” He held his palm up to caution her to stay back.
Ignoring his warning, Mac rushed toward him and held his hand. A shock traveled from his hand to hers, and she pulled back.