Return of the Highlander (Immortal Warriors) (27 page)

He smiled. “I’m no’ a great man, but mabbe a man who cared for his people and kept them safe in terrible times. Aye, that should be my epitaph, Bella. I kept my clan safe through terrible times. Will you say that about me?”

“I promise.”

He nodded, then bent his head and kissed her mouth with great tenderness. “That must last me for a verra long time,” he said with a bleak smile. “Goodbye, Arabella Ryan.”

She watched him walk away, into the light. It hurt her eyes, but she would not close them, not until he had finally vanished from sight.

“Arabella Ryan.”

After a time Bella realized the light was gone and the
Fiosaiche
was still standing on the sand with her silver cloak wrapped around her, her auburn hair stirred by a nonexistent breeze. Bella stared back, hating the woman, even though she knew she had no right to. The
Fiosaiche
had saved Maclean, and now he was where he had wanted to be.

“You must go back to your time, too,” the sorceress said sternly. “Let me—”

“I don’t understand,” Bella cut in. “How can you change time like this? It’s impossible! There are too many threads woven into it, too many factors to take into account. Change one thing and millions of others are automatically changed, too.”

“Just because it seems impossible to you doesn’t mean I can’t do it, Arabella Ryan.”

“Tell me. I want to know.”

“I will tell you this…the change will not happen quickly, it takes time, like a ripple moving outward. History is a slow, unwieldy machine. You will not know in your time for a year or more whether Maclean has succeeded.”

“But I have to know!”

The
Fiosaiche
smiled.

The sands were shivering, as if from an earthquake, and then the cavern seemed to grow smaller, until it was just a pinpoint in the distance. Bella was moving, traveling so fast she was dizzy. The air rushed by her, and there was darkness and there were voices wailing and crying out. Narrow black tunnels and things she had never seen before nor wanted to again. But before she could scream, it was over. The movement, the rush of air stopped, and there was only silence. Bella opened her eyes and found she was lying on the damp grass near the
Cailleach
Stones, the weak sunlight shining in her face and Brian bending over her.

“I thought you were dead,” he kept saying.
“I don’t understand. I thought you were dead.”

“Brian, go to sleep.” Her soothing tone was growing edgy. “You’ll feel better in the morning. We can talk then.”

They had made their way slowly, wearily back from the stones to the cottage. Bella was sure her shoulder was injured, but when Brian examined it he found only heavy bruising. The loch monster had broken the skin, she’d seen the blood, but somehow the wound had mended. Maybe she had the
Fiosaiche
to thank for that.

Wearing her blue robe and slippers, and giving Brian a don’t-you-dare-say-anything look, Bella heated soup and rolls, and they ate them with sips of the whiskey Maclean had brought back from Inverness and never had time to drink.

Now pleasantly light-headed, Bella was insisting Brian go to bed. He looked white-faced and exhausted and still very confused.

“But how could he come through time, Bella?”

“After he died he was in the between-worlds and then the
Fiosaiche
put him to sleep until the right moment came for him to…eh, redeem himself. To become the man he should always have been. You see, he made a mistake, and because of that history took a wrong turn. He’s earned himself another chance. That’s where he is now, back in the eighteenth century, putting things right.”

Brian stared at her as if she were speaking gibberish.

“I’m still going to write the book,” Bella went on, more to herself than to Brian. “I need to write it. Even if he does change history, and I suppose that means everything else will change—the legend and the stories about him and the massacre. At least, I imagine that’s what will happen. Somehow. But I still need to write the book, just in case.”

“So, if he changes history, will you and I still exist?”

“I suppose so. I tried to ask the
Fiosaiche
, but…” She shrugged. “I get the feeling it isn’t like an episode of
Star Trek
.”

“Will Ishbel still be that…that thing?”

“Not if everything works out this time.”

“She was so beautiful,” Brian whispered. “Just like a woman should be. Perfect.”

Bella laughed.
Perfect?
Trust Brian to fall under the evil spell of a water-horse! At least his taste in women was one thing she could be sure would never change.

“The
Fiosaiche
said I wasn’t supposed to know everything, that it wasn’t my place. Perhaps we mortals aren’t capable of understanding some things—perhaps if we did, we’d go crazy.”

Eventually Brian did go to bed, leaving Bella alone in the kitchen. She sat by the Aga, exhausted and yet not wanting to sleep. Maclean was gone. Was he living right now in some world that existed right alongside hers? Or was he dead and dust, his life long over? She preferred to think of him alive, in Castle Drumaird, ruling his clan wisely and well. He would not fail this time, but she had promised him she’d write her book and so she would.

Tomorrow she’d begin work. Tomorrow…. But for now…she wanted to remember every moment, linger on every word, every touch and kiss they had ever exchanged. Bella didn’t want to believe that such important things would fade from her memory, but common sense told her they would. And she couldn’t bear that.

Because memories were all she had left.

The women were gathering in the great hall of Castle Drumaird. Maclean could hear the noise they made as he strode into the cavernous room and walked toward his chair. When they caught sight of him, there was a hush, which quickly turned into anxious whispers. Once seated, he looked up and saw his mother, her eyes so like his own. He could see her gathering her courage, searching for the words that would bridge so many years of mistrust and pain between them.

She began her speech, just as he remembered it.

“Our menfolk have barely come home from Culloden Moor, Morven, and we do no’ yet know what will happen to us because of the Rebellion. There are whispers that the English have sent ships to our coast carrying men who are ready to burn out traitors. Ye should be traveling to Inverness to ask pardon. Ye should be vow
ing your allegiance to King George. But now ye wish to take us with ye into further danger. I say
no
, Morven.”

When he did not reply, she took a breath and carried on.

“Ishbel vowed to pay ye back. She swore it, we all heard her. Dinna go after her. There is something wrong about this matter. For your own sake, Morven, dinna go after Ishbel. Dinna do this thing. I know matters have no’ always been well between us, but listen to me. Stay home here, and keep us safe.”

Maclean sat forward. “Mother, I thank you for your concern, but I have no intention of following Ishbel.”

There was a shocked silence. The women gaped at him, their faces almost comical.

“Ye will accede to our wishes?” his mother whispered. “Ye will no’ go after Ishbel?”

“No, I will no’ go after Ishbel. She is gone, she doesna want me, and to force her to my will would diminish us both. My duty is to stay here with my people. If Culloden Moor taught me one thing, then it was that this is where I belong.”

A tear ran down her cheek.

“You have great wisdom, Mother. Do not fear to speak to me again on any matter, for I will always listen.”

“Listen to a woman?” his mother cried out in her surprise. “Your father would never listen to me. He said there was little to distinguish women and sheep when they bleated.”

Maclean stood up, and there was instant silence again. They stared at him as if he were a god, and although before that had always seemed to him the correct attitude, now he knew he was no deity. The idea of
being invincible and always correct made his lips twitch. Bella had set him right and he would not forget.

“I am not my father,” he reminded them quietly. “You should not confuse the two.” His mouth quirked into a smile. “Besides, my temper is much better than his.”

Relief made them loud in their laughter.

The ache inside him sharpened.
Bella.
He had sacrificed himself and his happiness for the sake of his people, and that was as it had to be, he knew that, but would this be enough? The English troops were still at Mhairi hunting rebels, Ishbel was still alive, and her father was weak and easily led. Maclean knew he had been at Culloden Moor, even if he had not fought, and that put everyone at risk.

He was in danger, his clan was in danger. Life had never been more uncertain. He should be glad that Bella was safe in her own time, where such things were only lines one read in a history book.

But he missed her as sharply as if she were a vital part of himself, and he knew he always would. Without her he was an empty shell of a man.

“Maclean?”

The voice was coming from above him, and he looked up. An eagle was perched on the rafters above him, gazing down with golden eyes. He blinked, suddenly dizzy. Did no one else see it? But when he looked about him, it was as if time had stopped for all the others in the hall. Only he and the eagle were allowed to move and speak.

“Maclean,” the eagle said, “all will be well. In
Bella’s time it is
Samhain
, the night when the doors between all the worlds are open and the spirits walk free. I think you deserve your happiness. I am a great believer in the power of true love. Now listen to me, Maclean, one last time. I have something to tell you….”

“Congratulations!” Elaine’s voice over the phone was warm and excited. “I’ve just read the new manuscript. You’ve outdone yourself, Bella, it’s absolutely marvelous.
The Black Maclean: Bravery in Terrible Times
.”

“You like it, then?”

“I more than like it. I love it! Maclean sounds like a real hero, and I’m sure he’ll appeal to the same readers who enjoyed
Martin’s Journey
.” She hesitated. “We should talk about publicity.”

Bella had done a couple of radio interviews for
Martin’s Journey
, and they no longer bothered her. She was stronger, more confident, and she knew she would never be afraid again. Not many people, she reminded herself, had faced a loch monster and escaped alive.

The lease on the cottage had not been extended—Gregor didn’t feel it was fair for her to stay when the bulldozers were coming in. So Bella had gone to Edinburgh and found an apartment there. Brian had been to visit her a few times. They didn’t speak of the day at Loch Fasail, Bella because she did not want to share her precious memories with anyone and Brian because they frightened him too much.

Bella wondered if he was wanting a reconciliation, but she knew she wasn’t interested. Apart from the fact she had well and truly moved on from Brian, she knew she could never love again. She was still in love with
Maclean. He was
the
love of her life and no other man would ever come close.

She had finished the Black Maclean book in six weeks, writing day and night. When it was done she had been so exhausted that she slept for forty-eight hours. Now she just felt flat. Empty. And sad.

“Let’s talk about that later,” she said now to Elaine on the phone. “There’s plenty of time.”

“Bella…”

“I know, I know. I’m not bailing on you, I promise.”

Elaine gave an exaggerated sigh. “Very well. Take a break. I’ll send the manuscript over to the publisher and then get back to you.”

“Thanks, Elaine.”

Bella put the phone down.

While she was writing she had managed to set aside the bleak fact that she would never see Maclean again. He had come alive in her book and she had felt close to him once more, almost as if he were there in the room with her. But now that the book was finished, she had to face the truth.

It seemed a long time ago that she had sat in the kitchen of Drumaird Cottage and wondered whether the core of loneliness inside her would ever be filled. And then Maclean had come and suddenly she was no longer just Bella, she was the other half of someone else. How could she go back to being simply Bella again?

She could survive, of course she could. She was strong. But the reason to go on seemed diminished.

Oh, Maclean.

Her throat tightened and she swallowed down the
tears, refusing to weep. She had cried enough tears to fill a loch. But the ache remained, threatening to paralyze her.

Impatient with herself, Bella strode out of her apartment and into the chill Edinburgh day. Late afternoon was already casting its shadow over the gray buildings and spires of the city. She walked toward Charlotte Street, her head down, ignoring passersby, ignoring the traffic. She didn’t really care where she went, but the simple act of walking helped her to overcome the misery that sometimes came upon her like a suffocating wave. Perhaps she’d make her way down historic Princes Street to the gardens. It would be cold and austere. Perfect for her current mood.

“Arabella.”

The voice was a murmur on the breeze, very soft, but Bella heard it.

“Arabella Ryan.”

Now it was a woman’s voice, commanding. And very familiar.

Shocked, Bella lifted her head, staring wildly about her. But there was no one standing close by. She was alone on the windswept and suddenly almost empty street.

“Arabella!”

Louder, shriller.

Bella looked up into the air, just as a golden eagle swept down from the sky, flashing by her so closely that the tip of its wing brushed her cheek.

She cried out, staggering back.

The eagle flapped away over the Old Town, rising above the tall buildings and gliding by the towers of St.
Cuthbert’s Church, in the direction of the sprawling Castle. In a moment it was a mere speck in the sky. Bella did not move, standing and watching it go. The eagle was heading northwest, into the bleak and lonely Highlands. Loch Fasail was in that direction.

The eagle was going home.