My Seductive Highlander (16 page)

Lilia's eyes were closed. She'd rested her head on the bed, tucking her shoulders up beneath Eliza's thin arm in a heartbreaking attempt at gleaning one last frail cuddle. Eliza's other hand rested atop Lilia's head, the knotted arthritic fingers barely twitching as though struggling to find the strength to stroke the tangle of golden locks flowing across Lilia's shoulders.

“Lass…” Graham eased forward. “I'm here.” It was all he could think to say. Words couldna begin to convey how badly he wished he could shield her from this sorrow.

Lilia slowly opened her red-rimmed eyes, her lower lip quivering as she tearfully whispered, “She's leaving me, Graham. Please…please make her stay.” She hiccuped out a silent sob and a new onslaught of tears streamed down her face. “Please,” she whispered. “I can't take it if she leaves me now. Don't let her—please, not yet.”

Lilia's pain tore at him, cutting him deeper than any length of steel ever could. It grabbed hold and twisted his heart until he was consumed with how terribly she was suffering. Nothing else mattered but getting his Lilia through this darkness.

Graham knelt at Lilia's feet, gently wiping the backs of his fingers across the curve of her wet cheek.
God a'mighty. Please take this pain from her and place it on me instead. Let me bear this sorrow for her.

When Lilia finally met his gaze, he nodded back toward Eliza. The rattle of the dying woman's labored breathing was growing more pronounced. “Mistress Eliza will always watch o'er ye, m'dear sweet love. She'll ne'er really be gone from ye—not ever. Ye ken that—aye?”

“But I want her here.” Lilia's voice quivered, hitching in and out, weak and trembling as she gave way to more tears. “I need her. I'm so afraid of life here…without her.”

“Ye've nary a thing to fear, m'darlin' one.” Graham drew closer, gently combing his fingers through Lilia's tousled hair and smoothing it behind her ear. “I swear to ye, ye'll ne'er be alone. I swear it upon every breath I take and with every beat of m'heart.”

A harsh rattling wheezed free of Eliza. Her thin pale lips twitched. “Bind.” One word. Exhaled in a barely heard whisper. Her thin form shuddered, death rattling within her shallow breathing as she struggled to speak louder. “Witness ye bind.”

Lilia pressed a kiss to Eliza's cold, bent hand then tucked it gently atop the pillow. She slowly rose from the chair, her hand lightly caressing Eliza's colorless cheek as though branding the feel of those last moments permanently in her memory. She straightened the covers across Eliza's thin sagging shoulders, her fingers trembling as she smoothed back the sparse, cottony bit of hair surrounding the failing woman's drawn face.

Tears streaming down both cheeks, Lilia sadly shrugged. “She keeps saying that and I don't know what she means. ‘Witness ye bind'?” She turned to Graham, coughing out a choking sob. “How am I supposed to make this easier for her if I don't know what the hell she wants? Why can't she just stay?”

Graham ached for Lilia. Lore a'mighty, he'd ne'er felt so helpless and he hated that damn feelin' worse than anything he'd ever encountered before. He took Lilia's hands and gently pulled her closer. He turned her toward Eliza, hugging her back against his chest as he pointed down at the dying woman. “Look at her. See the existence she now has. Would ye wish her trapped in such a prison a minute longer? I've learned ye well by now, m'love. I ken ye'd ne'er wish Mistress Eliza's suffering prolonged just so ye could keep her by yer side.”

Lilia rubbed her cheek against her shoulder, staring sadly down at Eliza. In a small voice, so very soft and low Graham had to bend closer to hear her, Lilia replied, “No.” She barely shook her head. “I don't want her to suffer any longer. But I don't understand her request. I don't know what she wants me to bind.” Her face crumpled as she pulled aside and stared forlornly up into his face. “I can't live with myself if I can't grant this wonderful woman her last request—not after all she's done for me.”

Graham brought Lilia's knuckles to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss against the coolness of her fingers. Slowly bending, he eased his dagger out of its sheath inside his boot, held out his wrist, and rested the edge of the blade against it. “She wishes us bound. Joined in the old way. Eliza shall be our witness. She'll carry our vows with her and record them in eternity's book on the other side.”

Lilia looked up at him, her deep green eyes glistening with yet-to-be-shed tears. She trembled, furtively glancing down at his extended arm, then back up to his face. Graham waited to make the cut, fearing she would collapse. He didna wish to foist anything upon her that she didna want, but this was right—this was how it should be. He felt the pure truth of it deep in his soul with more certainty than he'd e'er felt about anything.

“Bound forever?” she finally whispered. “Married?”

“Aye.” Graham held his breath.
Say yes, m'love. Say it will be so.

She looked to Eliza, then looked back to him, a maelstrom of emotions and tears shining in her eyes. “Joined,” she said with a note of finality.

“Aye, love. Joined for all time.” Graham held out his hand. “Ye ken our souls were matched long ago. Yer mine as I am yours.”

Without another word, Lilia placed her wrist in his palm, staring forlornly down at her arm. “Bind us,” she whispered without looking up.

With a quick slice, Graham drew his own blood first then swiped the razor-sharp blade across Lilia's pale skin. Slipping the dagger into his belt, he pressed their wrists together, holding them tight with his free hand. A sense of peace filled him—a contented warming like he'd ne'er known before. This woman was his other half, the true match he'd never dared hope to find.

“Say ye will be m'wife. In this life and the next. Say ye'll gladly bind yer soul to mine. The words will come t'ye—just as they did centuries ago when our souls first met and we pledged our love for the verra first time.” A sense of completing his destiny washed over him, strengthening him as he bent and kissed her trembling fingers again.
Aye
. This was meant t'be. The Fates had matched them well.
“Tha gaol agam ort, mo nighean bhan.”

At her quizzical look, Graham leaned forward, kissed the tip of her nose, and repeated, “I love ye, m'fair-haired one.”

Lilia caught her bottom lip between her teeth. The corners of her mouth drooped even lower as she blinked hard against the spilling of more tears and stole another glance over at Eliza. She squeezed Graham's hands, closed her eyes, and pulled in a deep, hitching breath.

Graham waited, holding his breath, all the while sending up a silent prayer that she'd grant him the priceless gift of her love.
Please let it be so.

“I will be your wife in this life and the next, if you swear to be my loving husband. I will join my soul to yours for all eternity, if you swear to guard me against the darkness that threatens to steal me away.” Lilia sniffed, eased forward, and looked sadly up into his eyes. “I already love you more than I ever thought possible and I'm trusting you with my heart and soul.” She wet her lips, looked back at Eliza, then returned her gaze to Graham. “Let these words forever bind us. Let our blood seal our souls. As time and fate are our witnesses, let us forever be as one.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she continued, “For the good of all, with harm to none, so mote it be, so let it be done.”

“I swear to all those things and more,” Graham responded. “So mote it be.”

A sudden gust of wind whooshed and moaned about the room, billowing out the bed curtains and scattering papers across the floor. The windows rattled in their casings. Tinkling laughter and lilting music—a tune as bawdy and loud as a barroom song filled the air.

“I love ye, m'dear sweet child, and I'll be a-watchin' o'er ye,” echoed from somewhere near the ceiling as the howling wind died down. “Dinna fash nor waste another minute with tears. I'm free now and ye ken well that I shall always be with ye.” The windows rattled one last time as Eliza's laughter softly faded away.

The boxes at the head of the hospital bed beeped and blared out their alarms. Graham scowled at the biggest of the black screens—the one with the bright green line running flat across the center of the screen. “What does the line mean?” he asked as a pair of nurses burst into the room.

“It means she's gone,” Lilia whispered with a sad shake of her head.

Lilia smoothed her fingers across the satiny grain of the polished wooden box.
So smooth. So cool to the touch. So…serene.
She embraced the emotions with a sad smile. Even from beyond the grave, Eliza watched over her and sent her bittersweet hugs. She felt it as surely as if Eliza were standing right beside her.

She traced a finger around the box's beveled edges. No bigger than a simple dresser box made to hold bits and baubles of a young girl's jewelry, the small gleaming box of golden oak held all that remained of the most enigmatic woman Lilia had ever known. How odd that such a larger-than-life, loving person could somehow be reduced to a plastic bag of dust that wouldn't even fill a shoebox.

“Ashes to ashes, lovie. Ye ken well and good that Mistress Eliza isna in that wee chest. 'Tis only the remnants of the shell that once housed her lovely soul.” Vivienne pulled a chair up to the table and gently laid her hand atop Lilia's, where she held it pressed to the lid of the box. “Just a shell. Nothin' more than a temporary vessel for a fiery, awesome-sauce spirit that could ne'er be stopped whene'er she made up her mind about what was t'be done.”

“The house is too quiet. It feels hollow now that I know she's never coming back.” Lilia glanced up at the horrendous black-cat clock Eliza had placed on the kitchen wall. Its eyes twitched back and forth in time with the pendulum motion of its tail counting off the seconds. And it ticked. Loudly. Echoing through the somber air of the entire house.

Alberti set a steaming cup of coffee in front of her, took her hand off the box, and wrapped it about the cup. “All of us will be staying here with you—” He paused as Graham sounded off with a possessive huffing snort. He cleared his throat and settled down at the kitchen table beside Vivienne. “We'll
all
stay here until after the services. Did Eliza advise you of her wishes?”

“She didn't want a memorial service—or a funeral.” Lilia could hear Eliza's voice right now as though the feisty woman were sitting right beside her.
Fancy funerals and la-tee-da memorial services are no' for the sake of the dead, dearie. They're just a way of filchin' money from those too filled with grief or guilt t'have enough sense to espy the skinnin' they're takin' from the undertaker.

Lilia sipped at the scalding hot brew, breathing in the steam and closing her eyes as Eliza's lecture continued inside her head.
Scatter me ashes t'the winds. Toss me out into the sea along the shoreline of me girlhood.
Eliza would always chuckle and wink as she finished the instructions.
And when ye feel the rain upon yer cheek or the breeze blowin' through yer hair, ken that I've come t'visit with ye and let ye know I'm always watchin' o'er ye.

“Sweetling?” Graham gently stroked her hair, his light touch soothing as a healing balm. “What would ye have us do to honor Mistress Eliza?”

“She wanted her ashes scattered across the part of Scotland she knew as a girl.” Lilia rose, went to the coffeepot, and refilled her cup. “The Highlands she loved—down next to the sea where she used to play when she was a child.”

Lilia took another sip of her coffee. She'd downed nearly a gallon of the strong black brew in less than a day, yet she still felt numb, cold, and exhausted. An aching weariness was pushing her down like a two-ton yoke collared about her neck. She leaned back against the counter, cringing as Angus stepped away from the open refrigerator door while greedily guzzling directly from the glass pitcher of juice. She forced herself to look away before she gagged, making a mental note to get Vivienne to work on Angus's manners—again. Totally besotted with the buxom redhead, Vivienne was the only one Angus would listen to and even remotely attempt to impress.

“Angus!” Vivienne hissed.

Angus lowered the juice pitcher, smacking his lips and sucking juice droplets from his moustache as he turned to Vivienne with a look of pure innocence. “Eh?”

Vivienne blew out an exasperated exhale, sagging back against the kitchen counter with a defeated shake of her head.

“We'll take her there together,” Graham said, leaning back against the counter beside Lilia and curling a protective arm about her shoulders.

“I was hoping you'd want to go with me.” Lilia eased in another sip of coffee then nodded at Angus. “And you can come too, Angus, since we'll be taking her back to your time. I'm sure you're ready to return, aren't you?” She smiled up at Graham, leaning into his warm comforting embrace. “You're probably ready for a visit back too. Wouldn't you like to see Ronan and compare notes about the twenty-first century?”

“Back to my time?” Graham stiffened, and the arm that he had so lovingly draped around her shoulders slowly fell away. “The thirteenth century, ye mean?”

“He canna return to our time.” Angus thumped the orange juice pitcher down on the table and backed away with a slow shake of his head. He shook a finger at Graham, but his scowl was fixed on Lilia. “I can go wi' ye but he can't. No' ever.” With a jerking swipe of his hand across his mouth, Angus rumbled out a loud belch to underscore the seriousness of the situation.

Fear. Dread. Shame.
Lilia increased the distance between herself and Graham as his ever-darkening emotions washed across her. Her stomach twisted with her own dread…or was it Graham's? Or a nauseating mixture of the two? Her empathic senses and inner emotions had taken a gruesome beating over the past couple days. She didn't need…couldn't take any more. She backed away a step and faced off, searching Graham's face. “What's Angus talking about?”

Graham tensed, clenching his jaw so hard the muscles flexed beneath the dark auburn sheen of his freshly trimmed beard. He took a step toward Angus, fixing the man with an
I'm going to kill you
glare.

Angus backed toward the kitchen door. “Uhm…I'm…uh, verra sorry. I didna think—”

“Ye ne'er think, ye sniveling bastard. What the hell is wrong wi' ye?” Graham clenched his fists at his sides, inching forward as though about to vault across the table and throttle Angus.

Angus shook his head and ducked his chin, jerking with a series of short stiff bows as he continued backing toward the hallway, the only hope of escape he had. “I am that sorry, Graham. Truly I am. Ye ken I'd ne'er cause ye nor yer mistress any hurt or sorrow.”

“Perhaps we should step out of the room and give you two a bit of space,” Alberti said as he tugged on Vivienne's sleeve and motioned toward Angus, already poised to bolt out of the kitchen.

“I'm no' leavin'.” Vivienne yanked free of Alberti's fingertips and clicked her brightly painted nails in his face. “Bugger off and be the coward if ye like. I'll no' be leavin' until I'm certain there's no' an arse kickin' due t'be meted out.” She hopped up and assumed battle stance at Lilia's side. “Go on, lovie. I've got yer back.”

Humiliation. Fear. Regret. Shame.
Lilia pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed the corners of her burning eyes. She had cried so much over the past couple of days, her swollen eyes felt as though they were filled with grit. “I appreciate the support, Vivienne, but I'd really rather you and Alberti”—she leaned around and glared at Angus—“and Angus go into the sitting room so Graham and I can work this out…privately.”

After all, the man was her husband. Well, sort of. Spiritually, they'd taken the ancient vow and, as far as she was concerned, they were bound together for eternity. As far as twenty-first-century Scotland was concerned, their pagan pledge to each other wasn't exactly legal, but it was permanent enough for her.

“Are ye sure?” Vivienne leaned in close, nearly touching her pert upturned nose to Lilia's.

“I'm sure.” Lilia pointed at Angus then motioned toward the door. “And while you're waiting, why don't you explain to Angus the benefits of drinking from a glass rather than straight from the container? Again.”

Vivienne turned and glared at a guilty-looking Angus. “What have I told ye? We've had that talk a dozen times.”

Angus shrugged as he scooted sideways toward the door. “Dammit, woman. Yer always yappin' at me about what I should or shouldna be a-doin'. How the hell am I supposed t'remember every word ye say?”

“I'm gonna kick yer arse into the middle of next week.” Vivienne rounded the table as Angus shot out of the kitchen.

Alberti held the door open wider until they'd both fully cleared it. He shook his head, smoothing a hand back across his sleek dark hair while stepping out into the hall. He turned back, still holding the kitchen door ajar. “If she kills him, I'll see to it that she properly cleans up the mess.”

“Thank you,” Lilia said, blowing out a labored huff as the kitchen door swung shut. Good old Berti. She could always count on him to remain grounded and be their voice of reason. Lilia turned back to Graham with a weary sigh. “Now that they're gone, would you like to explain to me why you're pulsing out waves of humiliation, guilt, and regret like you're some sort of emotionally disturbed satellite sending out a five-bar signal?”

Graham blinked at her like he hadn't understood a single word she said.

“Why can't you go back to the thirteenth century?” she translated.

Graham closed his eyes and bowed his head, barely shaking it from side to side. Finally, as though he'd won his internal battle, he straightened, standing taller and clenching his fists at his sides. Graham looked as though he was ready to be marched in front of a firing squad and shot. “The Buchanan willna tolerate my return to the Highlands…of
my
time,” he hurried to add.

“Yeah, I already got that part.” Good Lord, the man looked as though he wanted her to go ahead and kill him rather than continue asking questions. “Why won't the Buchanan tolerate your return?”

Graham refused to meet her gaze. Instead, his uneasy focus bounced all over the room, finally settling on some vague point slightly above her head. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard, then replied in a strained voice. “I swived his wife…and his mistress. In his keep.” He shuffled in place and stared down at the floor. “Well…'twas actually in his stables, not the keep itself.” He resettled his boots again, scuffed one toe against the kitchen tiles, then barked out a cough as though choking on the words. “And whilst I was about that task—Angus lifted his favorite pair of roans.” Graham shrugged. “But I dinna think the Buchanan truly minded the loss of the horses o'erly much. 'Twas said they werena his. He stole them from the MacClennans.”

Forget the damn horses.
“Swived,” Lilia repeated, steering the conversation back to Graham's actions.
Swived.
Hadn't Chaucer used that word? Was Graham saying he'd had sex with the man's wife
and
his mistress?

“Aye.” Graham jerked his chin down in a sharp nod. “Swived.”

“Both of them? At the same time?” Lilia dumped her lukewarm coffee into the sink, slammed the cup down on the counter, and refilled it with fresh scalding brew from the pot.

“Beg pardon?”

“You fucked the man's wife and his mistress at the same time?” Lilia flinched at the shrewish pitch her voice had taken, but dammit. “You're telling me you had a threesome?”

Graham's brow knotted into a mixed expression of confusion and dread. “Aye. I had both the women in the stable at the same time.” He eased a step forward, holding up both hands as though pleading for mercy. “But the Lady Buchanan seemed to enjoy the pleasurin' of her husband's mistress as much as I did. As a matter of fact, the woman fair pushed me out of the way so she could have a taste—”

Lilia held up a hand. “Enough! I don't need a play-by-play of your romp with the Buchanan babes.” A pang of unreasonable jealousy elbowed her in the gut, pissing her off even more at the entire situation. Why the hell should she be jealous? She'd known he wasn't some inexperienced, celibate monk, and for that matter, she hadn't exactly been a vestal virgin when they'd made a drastic dent in Vivienne's supply of condoms at the stable. “So, this Buchanan guy—he's threatened you if you ever set foot on his land again?” She understood the man's jealousy toward Graham, but surely if they stayed away from the scene of the crime, Graham wouldn't have any unpleasant confrontations.

Lilia studied Graham. There was more he wasn't saying. “I need to know all of it. I need all the cards on the table. If you ever lie to me, Graham, I promise you, I will never trust you again.” And she wouldn't. She had too good a memory and she'd never be able to erase the feeling of being betrayed.

Graham's shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor. “I canna tell ye how verra much it grieves me t'share the foolish mistakes I've made.” He slowly moved closer, fists now clasped in a tensed knot in front of his waist. “I dinna wish t'cause ye pain…or hurt ye. I love ye,
mo nighean bhan,
and I beg yer forgiveness.”

“Then tell me. All of it.” The pain in Graham's eyes mirrored the emotional suffering rolling off him in thick, dark waves. Graham was hurting. His words were genuine. Lilia's heart swelled, pushing her forward to rest her hands atop his. “It's in the past, but I need to know what's going on since it's affecting our present.”

Graham brought her hands to his lips, closing his eyes as he pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers then held them against his cheek as though he feared she'd pull them away. Finally, he opened his eyes and clutched her hands to his chest. “The Buchanan, chieftain of his clan lying just to the south of the MacKenna lands, threatened war against Clan MacKenna for the insult I had placed upon his keep.” Graham shook his head. “The MacKenna didna wish, and wisely so,” Graham hurried to add, “t'risk the lives of MacKenna warriors o'er the ill-chosen actions of m'self.”