Page 16 of The Story of his Highland Bride (Dancing Through Time #4)

16

U nable to sleep with her mind racing, and her body tense after the unexpected interruption earlier, Eloise wasn’t sure what to do with herself. The snow kept falling, and the hours kept ticking by, but Jackson hadn’t come back to her. As far as she knew, he hadn’t come back at all.

Anxious and fed up with fruitlessly tossing and turning underneath the covers, she decided to make use of the fact that she wasn’t locked in anymore. Wrapping a couple of blankets around herself, she headed for the door, wondering if a sneaky trip to the kitchens might help her to eat away her nerves.

Opening the door, she nearly walked headfirst into Lorraine, who had her hand raised to knock. “I’m so sorry!” she yelped. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I thought ye might be itchin’ for some company, and Kaitlyn may or may nae have mentioned that she could hear ye wearin’ a trench in the floor,” Lorraine said, chuckling.

The old woman wore a cloak over a nightgown, looking like she’d come to deliver a clandestine message. Her tired eyes and the late hour revealed that she hadn’t been able to sleep either, confirming Eloise’s suspicions that Jackson hadn’t returned to the castle yet. In truth, she also suspected that Lorraine was the one who needed company.

“I don’t know my way around, so it’s lucky you came when you did,” Eloise told the kindly grandmother. “I was torn between sneaking to the kitchens to have a few of those delicious oatcakes I had for breakfast or finding something to read. I always have a book beside my bed, so I’ve been feeling pretty naked without one.”

Lorraine’s chuckle bubbled into a belly laugh. “Mercy me, ye’ve a wicked tongue on ye, and I couldn’ae be gladder of it! Everyone is too… careful, lately. Nay one wants to say anythin’ that Father Hepburn might burn them for, but ye daenae seem to care. It’s a breath of fresh air to me, Lass!”

“Sounds to me like this Father Hepburn is nothing but trouble,” Eloise whispered, nudging Lorraine playfully in the arm. “Kind of ironic that his name is ‘Hepburn,’ since he seems to want to Hep- burn anyone he can get his hands on. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though.”

Lorraine tapped her nose and winked. “Yer secret is safe with me. If I had me way, I’d pray to the Old Gods to get rid of him. They’d do it, too. They’re a mischievous lot.”

“You know them personally?” It seemed like a silly question, but after getting sucked through a ring of stones, Eloise no longer deemed anything stupid.

Lorraine tilted her head from left to right. “In a manner of speakin’, aye. I’ve called upon them before, ye see, but… when I say they’re mischievous, it’s nae always playful. Some of those Old Gods will give ye anythin’ ye ask for, but it’ll come at a price ye might nae want to pay.” She paused, her brow furrowing in something like pain. “Och, listen to me ramblin’ away. Why daenae we venture to the library so ye can find yerself a book, and we’ll have hot bramble tea brought to us. What do ye think?”

“That sounds perfect.” Eloise offered her arm to the older woman, the two of them walking through the drafty, whistling halls of the castle at a leisurely pace.

Soon enough, they were settled in the sweltering heat of the library, where two fireplaces burned as though they had a personal vendetta against the winter chill. It would never make sense to Eloise to have fire near such flammable things as books, but she couldn’t deny it made for a cozy atmosphere, and firelight was much easier to read by than candlelight.

Comfy in a huge armchair, Eloise sipped her bramble tea, enjoying the sweet and sour taste that tickled her tastebuds. “What did you mean about the Old Gods demanding a price you might not want to pay?”

In the armchair opposite, Lorraine faltered. “Och, it was nothin’. Just the babblin’ of an old coot.”

“I don’t think anyone could accuse you of being an old coot,” Eloise chided softly. “Did something bad happen, when you asked for something? If you don’t want to talk about it, then forget I ever asked. I get curious about that kind of thing. Too curious, maybe.”

Lorraine sighed wearily. “I assume it’s the same nay matter what God ye pray to, but when ye ask for somethin’, and ye get it, but somethin’ bad happens at the same time, ye cannae help but wonder if ye caused it.” She gazed toward the fire, watching the flames dance. “I daenae ken what possessed me to do it, but I prayed to the Old Gods to make Jackson a great Laird, like his faither before him. An innocent prayer, or so I thought.”

“You think the accident was your fault?” Eloise jumped in quietly, her heart aching for the old woman.

Lorraine’s eyes widened. “Ye ken of that?”

“Kaitlyn told me.”

“Ah…” the old woman nodded slowly, “I’ve often thought me prayer got twisted, somehow. After all, Jackson became the Laird of Faulkner that very night, and… he has been a great Laird. It wasnae what I wanted but, sometimes, the Old Gods like to amuse themselves by playin’ tricks.”

Peering at Lorraine over the rim of her cup, Eloise wondered how long the old woman had carried that burden with her. The pained creases around Lorraine’s eyes and the slump of her shoulders were in stark contrast to the Lorraine that Eloise had encountered so far, but perhaps there would be some relief in finally getting it off her chest. Although, offering advice had never been Eloise’s strong suit.

“I’ve read enough histories and research, from all kinds of cultures and religions, to know that, sometimes, it’s the world itself that gets twisted,” she began tentatively. “It’s easier to blame it on a God, or to blame it on yourself, because then someone, somewhere is paying penance for the awful thing that happened. But the truth is, awful things just happen, and coincidences are more common than you’d think. You weren’t to blame, Lorraine, and I doubt the Old Gods were, either. The weather and the narrowness of the road and the safety of the carriage were to blame.”

Lorraine looked back at Eloise, her eyes shining. “But the Old Gods toy with the weather when they want to.”

“It was winter. The weather is always bad in winter,” Eloise insisted. “For years, I blamed myself for the death of my parents, certain that I could’ve changed things if I’d gone home that weekend to hike with them, or if I’d called when I’d said I was going to, or if I’d realized they weren’t responding to my messages sooner. I thought of a thousand things I could’ve done, a thousand different fates where I stopped it happening, but… I couldn’t. No one could, and no God was involved, just… terrible luck. I expect it’s the same for Jackson’s parents.”

The old woman seemed even older for a moment, as she shrank down into the armchair and sipped her tea, mulling over what Eloise had said. Tears glistened in her eyes, a few escaping onto her cheeks, trickling down into the valleys of her wrinkled skin before reaching her lips. She wiped them away, shaking her head to anchor herself again.

“Just bad luck, eh?” she said, flashing a sad smile at Eloise.

Eloise nodded. “Just bad luck. The worst.” She glanced over at the stacks which crowded the library: huge bookcases that formed alleys and avenues throughout the vast room. “Are there any books about the family in here? I’d love to know more about them.”

“Och aye, there are plenty of ‘em. Soothes me, sometimes, to come in here and read about those I’ve lost,” Lorraine replied, brightening. “If ye head toward the back, ye’ll see shelves painted gold. That’s where ye’ll find them—it’s me own little memorial to them.”

Eloise made to get up. “May I?”

“Please do, though I willnae stay and pester ye while ye’re readin’. I’ll wander to the gatepost and see if there’s been any sign of me grandson, then I’ll take meself off to bed.” Lorraine heaved herself out of the chair, prompting Eloise to run forward and help her. “Ye get some rest when ye’re able, do ye hear?”

Eloise assisted the old woman to the library door. “I will, and the same goes for you. Don’t be tossing and turning all night. I don’t know Jackson very well, but I can tell he’s capable. It’ll just be the snow keeping him away, and if he’s got any sense—which I don’t know if he does yet—he’ll have stayed somewhere warm in the village.”

“I’m glad ye’re here,” Lorraine said softly, giving Eloise’s hand a squeeze. “I think me old bones needed someone to talk to tonight. Thank ye for obligin’.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Eloise assured. “But you don’t have to go if you’d rather stay up for a while? I can read those books another time.”

Lorraine wafted a dismissive hand. “I cannae be awake all night like I used to when I was young. Everyone says how fortunate I am to be old and gray and wise, but I’ll tell ye one thing—bein’ old isnae so much of a triumph when ye’ve nay one to share the winter years with. If it wasnae for me grandson, I’d have withered away years ago.”

“Well, you keep sprouting. I doubt the castle would be the same without you, and I’m sure there’ll be great-grandchildren one day to make your winter years feel joyful again,” Eloise insisted, her cheeks on fire as she realized what she’d said. Of course, she didn’t think those great-grandchildren would come from her, but she worried that the old woman might.

A grin spread across Lorraine’s face, confirming Eloise’s fears. “Aye, that would be a fine thing indeed.” She patted Eloise’s shoulder gently. “I’ll leave ye, then. Daenae burn the candle at both ends.”

With that, the old woman left Eloise alone in the majesty of the library, surrounded by the things that Eloise loved best: books.

Oblivious to the time, Eloise devoured the Faulkner dynasty and Buchanan family archives, sitting on the floor, as close to the fireplace as she dared, so she wouldn’t strain her eyes. It had served as the perfect distraction against Jackson’s continued absence, her mind filled with the mother and father that he clearly missed so much. She could picture them, now, though she hadn’t stopped there; she’d read as far back as she could, soaking up tales of treachery and love and scandal and tragedy. Sometimes, she forgot she was reading about actual lives from the recent past, completely immersed in it all.

So, when the library door gusted open and a figure marched in, she jumped out of her skin in fright.

“Jackson, what the—” Her heart thundered, as she hurried to close the last book she’d been reading, like she’d been caught doing something terrible.

Jackson strode over and sank right down to his knees, cupping her face in his hands as he leaned in and kissed her. It was a fierce, desperate kiss, but not of the same hunger she’d felt from him before. It was even more desperate than that and, after half a second of shock, she kissed him back, sinking into the passion of his lips and the feel of him, tight against her.

Gradually, his mouth slowed, and with his head hanging low, he drew away from her: a firework extinguished as quickly as it had been lit.

“What’s the matter?” Eloise looped her arms around his neck, not yet willing to let him go.

He gave a small, sad shake of his head. “I’ve put ye in real danger, Eloise,” he growled, tracing his fingertips down her arm. “I dinnae have much of a choice, but I threatened someone that I likely shouldn’ae have done. Aye, we’ve butted heads before, but never like this.”

“The priest?”

Jackson nodded. “He’s heard rumors about ye, and I daenae think it’ll be long before he tries to come for ye. Of course, I’ll protect ye with everythin’ I have, but… it’s nae safe for ye here anymore. I’m sorry, Eloise.” He paused. “As soon as the snow eases and some of it melts off the roads, I think… I think—” He trailed off, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He couldn’t say what he wanted, or needed, to say; Eloise could see that.

“You think I need to go back to where I came from?” She finished the sentence for him, her heart heavy.

“What ye are, as mad as it is, looks like witchery to someone like him, and I would rather send ye back through a cursed stone than have him steal ye away and try to burn ye.” Jackson’s voice was thick with frustration. “He’s sly, that wretch, and I wouldn’ae be surprised if he has people in me castle, whisperin’ messages to him.”

Eloise forced a smile, not wanting to make this harder for either of them. “Then, let’s hope it’s as easy for me to get back as it was to get here. I don’t know how the stones work, but maybe they’ll… recognize me or something.”

“We’ll find someone who kens of the stones. Old Joan will ken of someone, though we’ll have to be careful how we ask,” Jackson said sadly, pulling her closer to him as he added, “Just ken this, it’s nae what I want. I thought, despite yer threats to keep fleein’, that we’d have longer.”

She stroked a lock of hair off his forehead. “I know. It’s just… bad luck.”

She thought of the few friends who’d likely be searching for her, back in her time, and the job she had waiting for her. There wasn’t much else, in truth, but she compelled her mind to believe that that was enough to return to. She didn’t want to worry anyone, and she really did like the comforts of 2016, but adapting to 1701 hadn’t been as difficult as she’d thought.

If it wasn’t for the witch-burning thing, maybe I’d stay longer… but it seemed that had been taken off the table, and out of their hands.

“Were ye readin’ about me family?” Jackson’s eyes clocked the piles of books that formed their own mystical ring around her.

She nodded shyly. “I had some tea with yer grandmaither, and she told me where I could find your history. I was curious, and wanted to… I don’t know, create some kind of picture in my head of who they were and what they were like. Your parents, I mean. I hope you don’t mind?”

“I… daenae mind at all,” he replied, his gaze brimming with something like bittersweet joy. “Can I ask ye to do somethin’ for me?”

Eloise tilted her head to one side. “That depends. What is it you want me to do?”

“Pretend that none of this has happened, just until mornin’. Just stay in here with me, where it’s warm and safe, and pretend ye daenae ever have to leave,” he said, dancing a tingling line down her spine with his fingertips.

She pressed her lips to his neck and whispered, “I think I can manage that.”