The Return of Black Douglas (18 page)

“You don’t believe me,” she said. It was a statement, not a question, because she already knew the answer.

“Nae, lass. I want to, but I canna.”

“You find it too incredible?” she asked.

“Nae. I find it impossible. With no proof, there can be no belief.”

Oh, great. He wants proof. Just the thing I don’t have. How can I prove something that happened five hundred years from now? I can’t just pull a rabbit or a bouquet of roses out of my hat. She drew in a swift breath.
But you can pull something out of your backpack!

Elated and wondering why she had not thought of it earlier, she leaned forward to catch the strap to her backpack and pull it toward herself. She unbuckled one of the two outside pockets and removed something. She handed it to him. “You won’t understand what this is, but this is my proof. It is called an iPhone.”

She smiled as she watched him turn the device over with careful examination. He ran his fingers over the smooth glass.

“Now, watch,” she said, and she took the iPhone, thankful she turned it off in the twenty-first century. She turned it on, held it up, and took his picture. She showed it to him. “This is you, Alysandir. The way you look right now.”

“Ye have captured my spirit! How did ye this sorcery?”

She ran her fingers across the touch screen and found the trailer for
Braveheart
.
This is either going to be hilarious, or he is going to drive a stake through my heart
…

He took the iPhone from her. He did not say a word as he watched Scotland’s past shown to him by an object from far in the future. He had dozens of questions, and she answered them. He also found a few historical inaccuracies, as had many reviewers in her time. He wasted no time telling her what the mistakes were.

“Wallace didna wear blue paint on his face. That was the ancient Picts.”

“I know, but for the story I suppose they thought blue faces made it more dramatic.”

“And the plaid? ’Twas no’ worn like that.”

“Actually, it was worn that way many years later, in the eighteenth century. They just moved it forward three hundred years.”

“Why?”

“Maybe they thought women would like to see the men’s legs.”

It took a second before he realized she was teasing him. He laughed and she realized he wasn’t through, for he said, “Wallace couldna make love to Queen Isabella. She was a child when Wallace died.”

He gave her a look so smug that she laughed. “I know all these things. They were merely done because someone thought it would make the story more interesting.”

“It is the way of yer time to find lies more believable than the truth?”

Oh, boy, do they ever… “More often that it should be, I’m afraid.”

He wanted to watch
Braveheart
again, and when it ended, he stared out over the ocean for quite some time. She wondered what he was thinking, but she didn’t want to intrude on his thoughts.

Then came the flood of questions about the iPhone, and she did her best to answer them. She played a few tunes, and lastly, she showed him pictures of America and her family.

“This is my father, Robert James Douglas.”

“And yer mother?”

“Victoria.” She continued. “This is Elisabeth and my sister Ana, and my brothers, James and John,” she said, unable to stop the seepage of tears. They talked for some time about the pictures and her family. She told him about how she had studied history.

Then she turned the phone off, explaining what a battery was, how it was like a candle that provided light, but that the more it burned, the less it had left to burn. “At some point, the battery will die and all that will be left is the iPhone.”

“The magic will be gone?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for quite some time before he asked, “Yer sister has this magic, too?”

She nodded. “Yes. Almost everyone in my time does.”

She marveled at the oddity of observing a strong, brave knight from the early sixteenth century staring with incredulity at an iPhone.

At last, he said simply, “’Tis magic.”

She smiled. “Oh, Alysandir, you have no idea just how much magic there is in my time. Only it isn’t magic. We call it technology. What you are feeling now is what a caveman would experience if he suddenly found himself in your time.”

He picked up her backpack and offered it to her. “Ye have more magic?”

She was thinking she had opened a can of worms, but she dumped everything out. She explained coins and dollars, and showed the dates. She did the same with her credit cards, her driver’s license, her passport, and all the other things women carry. She even gave him shot of breath spray.

She handed him the romance novel. “I had no idea when I bought this book about the Black Douglas that I would end up meeting his ghost.”

If he heard her, he did not let on, for he was busy looking at the items before him. After careful examination of everything, he must have been satisfied, for he grunted and handed her the backpack.

“I ken ye willna be happy aboot what I am going to say to ye, but… ye canna tell anyone yer story. Not even my brothers and sisters. One of them might forget and mention it withoot forethought. I think it best if ye keep yer pouch hidden away. I will show ye a place ye can stash it so it willna end up in the wrong hands.

“Sorcery is punishable by death. And even I canna protect ye if ye are found oot. While my clan is loyal to me, I am no’ positive they would all be so understanding and on yer side if they suspected ye were a sorcerer. There would be those who would believe ye were sent here for evil purposes.”

She was quiet for a while. It would be difficult to be on her guard all the time, but she didn’t want to complicate things not only for herself, but for Alysandir as well. She stared at the backpack and then handed it to him.

“Hide it where you will.” She paused and said, “I am sorry for all the trouble I’ve been…” She caught the way he was looking at her, and added, “And will be in the future, for I know the great risk you are taking by keeping my secret.”

He drew a finger along the line of her jaw and stopped at the hollow of her throat, just above her breasts. “Weel, ye will have to see to it that I am justly rewarded, no?”

“So, do you think Elisabeth is being treated well?”

The Mackinnon’s laughter took flight.

He took her in his arms. “Ah, lass, ye do bring back the laughter that has been long missing in my life. The Macleans willna harm her. She will be treated like a lady of high rank, accepted by the clan and as free to come and go as ye are. They have no quarrel with her. She is a pawn. That is all.”

“For what?”

“To extract what they want from me.”

“What do you have that they want?”

“My sister Barbara.”

The hope in her eyes faded. “Then we are doomed, and I will never see my sister again.”

His expression softened. “Dinna look so sad. Ye will be with yer sister. Have I not promise ye that already?”

“Yes, you have. Do you know how you will go about it?”

He shook his head. “No, but we are working on a plan. I am no’ going to try bartering with Angus Maclean any longer. He finds too much pleasure in thinking he has a noose around my neck, and it delights him to yank it.”

She felt guilty. Heretofore, she had seen everything through her eyes, never once considering what this was costing him. It wasn’t as if he could jump in his SUV, buzz over to a neighbor’s house, and kick in his door to rescue a damsel in distress. Nor could he turn everything over to the sheriff. He was the sheriff! And the judge, caretaker, arbitrator, defender, provider, protector, and decision maker.

“You won’t have to resort to bloodshed, will you? My sister is a healer… what you call a chirurgeon. She would not want anyone to lose his life to rescue her.”

“Like ye, I want no bloodshed over this, but trying to avoid it takes time.”

She nodded and turned away, hoping to regain her composure and to chase away her disappointment. She understood what he was saying. She could not blame him. His brothers and clan members were as important to him as Elisabeth was to her. She knew from her studies that Duart was known to be an impenetrable castle, so he spoke the truth when he said it would take planning.

She had no map and could not pinpoint exactly where Màrrach was located or how far it was from Duart, but she had a general idea. So she made an educated guess that Duart was at least two days’ ride. He had said the Maclean would not harm Elisabeth, and she believed him. She knew Elisabeth well enough that she would be willing to bet that her sister wasn’t half as worried over being reunited as Isobella was.

She felt his hands, warm upon her shoulders. He drew her backward, and she nestled comfortably against him. He must have understood how alone she felt and that she was moved at the depth of his compassion.

His breath was warm against her hair as he said, “Ferment not yer mind with worry nor fill yer heart with cares. Ye have my word that I will reunite ye with yer sister. I canna tell ye when that will be. But before yer sister arrives, I want to hear how it was possible for ye to make the journey back five hundred years.”

“I don’t know how it was done, only that it was. If that wretched ghost will ever show himself while you are around, you can ask him.”

Her words surprised him. “Ye have seen him here at Màrrach?”

“Oh, yes, more than once. He knows I am upset with him, so I don’t know when he will decide to show himself again. Actually, I never know. Sometimes he talks to me. Other times he just stirs up a wind, or I hear him laugh at something I said. And then there are times when there are none of these outward signs, and yet I know that he is present.”

“Ye are na alone,” he said.

“Yes! Exactly! I am not alone. I always feel his presence out there somewhere.” She smiled. “Even when I wish he wasn’t.”

A breeze stirred itself into a small whirlwind and blew over them, causing the puffins to take flight. Then everything was as it had been.

“That was yer ghost?”

She nodded. “That’s his usual way of letting me know he is around.”

His knees were starting to ache, so he sat down next to her. Without really deciding to do so, he took her in his arms. “Dinna worrit. I’ll no’ chain ye in the dungeon… at least not yet.”

“You do believe me now, don’t you?”

“Yer story is difficult to accept, but I canna find another explanation for the things ye have shown me.”

His lips brushed hers delicately. “Dinna worrit. The burden is lifted.”

For the time being anyway, she thought, her expression wary.

He pulled her close and continued to hold her, neither of them saying anything.

She could be quiet… Not many women had that virtue. He found that besides desiring her and wanting to bed her, he truly liked her. To his knowledge, he had never truly liked a woman, other than his sisters, before.

He kissed the top of her head. He did not know how he would handle all of this, but he had her in his arms, and for now, that was enough.

***

A few days later, Isobella stood at the window looking out at the sun as it began to shine upon the castle walls. Soon, the lilacs in the garden would be full of whistling blackbirds, and the pleasant scent of baking bread from the kitchen ovens would drift by her window. But now the bailey was quiet, almost deserted. Alysandir had left Màrrach before daylight to sail to Iona with Gavin and Grim. He wanted to talk with Barbara.

After two days of rain, Isobella decided to take advantage of the beautiful weather. She was dying to go outside to feel the sea air upon her face. How she missed the warm Texas sun! She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the sea. She knew the moisture in the air would make her hair curl in coiling ringlets, not that she cared. The day was far too lovely to spend indoors. She dressed in a simple brown dress and went downstairs. She ignored the curious stares of guards and castle-folk who knew she was going against the Mackinnon’s wishes by leaving.

Then she was free. She turned toward the ocean and went for a walk along the beach. Invigorated after what seemed to be at least an hour-long walk, she was about to turn around when she happened upon a young boy about seven or eight. He was sitting in the sand, working on quite an impressive sand castle and moat.

He wasn’t exactly ragged, but his clothes, while obviously of good quality when new, were beyond worn and his cast-off shoes looked too big for his feet. She noticed his socks lying nearby, and her heart wrenched, for they were as full of holes as a colander.

She stopped. “Hello, that is a lovely castle you have built. Is it Màrrach?”

He tilted his head back to look at her, but he did not speak. He studied her from beautiful, dark-blue eyes framed by an exquisitely handsome face. His silence did not deter her, for she had two younger brothers and a younger sister who often gave her the silent treatment. So she gathered her skirts about her and sat down beside him. He smelled of peat smoke and little boy.