My Laird's Love (My Laird's Castle Book 2) (25 page)

“Traveled through time,” I had repeated. I had pulled out the forest-green dress from an oversized plastic garment bag and draped it over one of the kitchen chairs. “Is this proof enough?”

Julie had stared at the dress before reaching out to touch the material. A hobby quilter since her teen years, she had studied the stitching and the embroidery on the bodice.

“This is handmade!” she said.

I nodded. “Yes, I know. Probably in Edinburgh.”

Julie picked up the hem of the dress and held it out to me.

“Is this dirt? How did it get on here?”

I told her everything then. Julie sank into a chair and listened to my story. I told her about Colin and Beth, James and Captain Thompson, Aunt Edith, Gordon and his sister, Beth, even Duncan, Bracken, his wife and Morna. I left nothing out, and I apologized once again for vanishing on her.

When I finished talking, Julie stared at me so long, I couldn’t tell whether she believed me or not. Finally, her powder-blue eyes blinked, and she let out a long sigh as if she’d been holding her breath. I had been holding my breath, and I joined her.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “And to think that I treated you so badly.” She shook her head.

“No, no, Julie. I would have been angry too, especially if you hadn’t explained yourself. Like I didn’t. I just knew it wasn’t something I could do over the phone.”

“No, of course you couldn’t. I wouldn’t have believed you.”

The sight of the dress hurt, brought back painful memories, and I rose to re-cover it in the garment bag.

“Oh, don’t cover it up yet! Let me look at it longer. It’s so beautiful.”

I nodded and reseated myself, looking away from the chair and gown.

“It’s Beth’s dress,” I said. “She loaned it to me. I wore it back because I left my jeans, blouse and shoes at her house, at Gleannhaven Castle.”

“Castle,” Julie repeated softly. “And this James Livingstone, he lives at Castle Lochloon?”

“Lived,” I corrected. Then I broke down into sobs, quite, quite unexpectedly. I dropped my head into my arms on the table and cried.

Julie jumped up and wrapped her arms around me.

“Oh, Maggie! What’s wrong? What’s happening? Why are you crying? Is it about Sam?”

I shook my head, unable to speak for a while. The tears and racking sobs kept me from talking.

“Awww, poor Maggie,” Julie said softly. “I’m so sorry. What’s wrong? Can I help?”

Eventually, the tears eased and I eked out a few words.

“Lived,” I repeated. “James lived at Castle Lochloon. He’s dead now.”
 

What horrendous words! I couldn’t believe I’d said them. But it was the truth. Even if James lived through the typhoid, and I hoped that he had, he was dead now.

“Oh!” Julie said.

“It’s over two hundred and fifty years later. He’s dead.”

“Well, I guess you’re right about that.” Julie took a seat but patted my hand on the table. “That’s a sad thought.”

I lifted my head and nodded dully.
 

“Maggie, you sound like you got very close to him. Don’t tell me you fell in love?”

I looked at Julie and nodded.

“Yes, I did.”

Julie’s eyes widened again.

“With a man in the eighteenth century?”

I nodded, unable to hide the truth even from myself.
 

“Yes.”

“Wow!” Julie sat back in her chair and stared at me.

“I know.”
 

“I’m so sorry, Maggie,” she said. “First Sam and now this James.”

I tilted my head and looked at her.
 

“Sam is gone forever. But James doesn’t have to be.”

Julie reared her head and blinked.

“What do you mean, James doesn’t have to be? Oh, no, Maggie! You’re not seriously thinking about going back, are you?”
 

I didn’t know what I’d been thinking.

“It’s possible,” I said with a faint smile.

“No!” Julie almost shouted.

“Julie!” I protested. “It’s my decision, not yours. I came back because I couldn’t bear to be parted from Sam, even though we really
were
parted. And even though James is dead now—in the twenty-first century—he’s not dead. Not if I travel back in time.”

Julie grabbed my hand as if I was about to transport myself out of the kitchen.

“You seriously mean to tell me that you would travel back to the eighteenth century to live? You would...what...marry this guy? What about children, pregnancy, your health? What about disease? People died early back then. The typhoid! What about this business of witchcraft? I mean, what if they tie you to a stake and burn you?”

I couldn’t blame her. Julie was only expressing the same fears that I’d had, that I probably still had.

“I’m pretty sure that I can travel back and forth at will, Julie. It doesn’t have to be forever.”

“Oh, like you’re going to come back to have your children in a modern hospital?” She quirked a sarcastic eyebrow.

“I’m not sure what will happen in the future,” I said, “but that’s a ways down the road. Maybe I will. I don’t know. I’m not even sure James would have anything to do with me now. I haven’t really thought the whole thing through.”

“No, I’ll say you haven’t. Don’t do this, Maggie. Please don’t.”

I covered Julie’s hand with my own.

“How about this? I promise that if I do decide to return, you’ll be the first to know. And I promise it won’t be the last time you see me.”

“Wait!” Julie said as I prepared to rise. “The Internet. Let’s look James Livingstone up on the Internet. If he owned a castle, there might be something on him.” She lifted the lid of her computer at the far end of the kitchen table.

I jumped up and put my hand down on the lid, effectively closing it.

“No!” I said sharply. “No,” I repeated more gently. “I don’t want to know. If you want to look it up after I’m gone, you can, but I don’t want to know.”

Julie sat back in her chair with a sigh.

“Okay.”

“I’m going to go home now and think about things. When I came here today, I had no idea that I wanted to go back. So I have a lot to think about.”

Julie rose and kissed my cheek.
 

“Don’t do anything without calling me,” she said.

I hugged her, picked up the dress and left, driving straight to the cemetery.

Moments after arrival, I stood in front of Sam’s tombstone.

“Hey,” I said. “It’s me again.”

Of course, he didn’t respond. He never did.

“I’m thinking about going back, Sam,” I said. I didn’t need to explain that I meant to Scotland, to the eighteenth century, to James.
 

“What do you think?” I asked. I lowered myself to the ground and looked up at the gray skies...so like Scotland. Birds chirped from swaying branches in the numerous evergreens throughout the cemetery. I waited for a sign of some kind—maybe a bird that flew down to sit on Sam’s marker, or a rain shower that fell on me and me alone. Maybe a single ray of warm sunshine focused on my head. Any one of those signs could suggest a yay or nay from Sam, but none of them occurred.

I studied his stone again. I felt nothing when I looked at the marker. Sam really wasn’t there. He had died. His body might lay there, but Sam was gone.

I sighed heavily, patted his stone and rose to my feet. I wasn’t sure that I had actually made a decision, but I would follow my instincts. Those instincts led me to my car, where I eyed the garment bag in the passenger’s seat. I unzipped it and ran my hands along the soft lengths of the skirt. The memory of a teal-blue pair of eyes brought a bittersweet ache to my chest.

I pulled out my phone and searched the Internet for the airlines. Releasing myself from the struggle of self-doubt, I gave in to my desire and booked myself out on the next flight to Glasgow that evening.
 

My next call to Julie went as expected. She protested, she argued, but there was little she could do. Ultimately, she agreed to take care of my apartment and my bank accounts. I made my way to the bank, got the necessary signatures for her and then hurried home to take a final hot shower. I spent some time thinking about what I absolutely could not do without—a picture of my deceased parents, a bottle of pain relievers, a tube of antibiotics, Band-Aids, and I packed those few things in a small makeup case—one that could be tucked inside the bodice of the dress.
 

I changed into jeans and a pale-blue long-sleeved shirt before removing the bodice and skirts from the garment bag and rolling them tightly to stuff inside a large cross-body carry-on bag, along with the slippers Beth had given me. The pannier and undergarments would have to remain behind. I gave my apartment a last look and then called for a taxi to take me to the airport.
 

The flight to Scotland was both long and short. I didn’t sleep a wink, choosing instead to watch the last few movies I might ever see. I would miss technology, but I reminded myself that it didn’t have to be forever. I had traveled back and forth through time on four different occasions—I could return again if I needed to.

We landed at nine in the morning, and I followed my fellow travelers through the airport and outside to see the same gray skies that I’d left in the Northwest. I smiled, thinking that Scotland really wasn’t so different from the Pacific Northwest after all.
 

I hailed a taxi, and for a small fortune, I asked him to drive me to Fort William, omitting the small detail that I would get out of the taxi short of Fort William.

I settled back and watched the twenty-first century whizz by, wondering if there was anything I could gain in these last few hours, anything I could learn to take with me...some special insight on history, a profound perspective to impart and share with the eighteenth century. I suspected not.

I tried hard to avoid thinking about what would happen if I returned and James turned his back on me, if he sent me packing, so to speak. It was a very real possibility. Worse yet, what if he had suffered a relapse and passed away? No. I couldn’t think about that. Much better that he spurn me and tell me to go home.

So lost in thought was I that we were almost upon the pullout before I recognized where we were. However, the tour buses and cars filling the area caught my eye, and I called out to the driver.

“Stop here! Stop here!”

“Here, miss?” the driver, a middle-aged Scotsman, asked. He slowed.

“Yes. This is as far as I’m going!”

“Are you sure, miss?” I loved the roll of his
r
’s. He eased off the road and into the pullout.

“Yes, thank you.” I paid him his exorbitant amount plus a tip, and then grabbing my bag, I climbed out of the taxi. The sound of bagpipe music caught my ear as I watched the taxi drive away.

James? My heart raced, and I slung my bag across my shoulders and turned toward the sound.

No, not James. Of course not! Silly me.

The same middle-aged auburn-mustached bagpiper stood by the low rock wall playing his medley of Scottish ballads. I smiled and breathed in the sweet air of the Scottish Highlands.

I dropped a few coins into his case as I passed him and made my way to the dirt path leading down to the river. As usual, I hadn’t quite worked out how I was planning on transporting myself through time in broad daylight with a piece of luggage, but I hurried down the hill, still smiling.

I passed several people ascending the hill and greeted them brightly. No matter what happened, these were not the last people from the twenty-first century that I would ever talk to—there was always Beth—so I decided not to dwell on what I might be leaving behind. I hoped to gain so much more than I might give up.

I reached the bottom of the hill and crossed the trail to kneel down on the bank of the river. Even from here, I could hear the bagpiper’s plaintive tones, but the music didn’t make me sad.
 

“Are you all right, dear?” a senior gentleman with a lovely Scottish burr asked me.

On the verge of reaching for the water, I looked up at the tall, slender silver-haired gentleman sporting a backpack, a walking stick and comfortable-looking hiking clothes.

“I am, thank you,” I said with a nod and a smile. “Just testing the water.”

“Well, don’t drink it, my dear. It’s unsafe to drink water that hasn’t been purified. You can’t tell what sorts of bacteria congregate in the river.”

I eyed him for a moment, absorbing the irony of his words. Yes, bacteria in the water, no matter what century. Hah!

“No, I won’t. Thank you.”
 

“Good-bye then,” he said, and I turned to watch him saunter away, leaning on his stick.

I turned back to the river and hurriedly reached in to scoop up a handful of water before someone else came along. A splash on my face, and the tingling began.

Chapter Twenty-One

The stinging spatter of cold water forced my eyes open, and I gasped and pushed myself upright. Thinking that my cheeks still stung from the river water, I looked up to see sheets of rain pelting the hills before me.