Chapter 26 #2
She rounded the main building to the inner courtyard. “This place is worse than it was before we left. Look!” She opened the sack holding Taggert’s urn, as if it was perfectly natural to talk to her husband’s ashes, and pointed it at the building.
When she realized how she looked, she tucked the box back under her arm. “I have lost my mind,” she informed the ivy trailing up the wall. The stone steps, once impressive and regal, had cracked and now sat at odd angles. Testing each one as she climbed, she made her way to the door.
The latch moved and clicked when she squeezed the handle, but the right side of the double doors didn’t move.
Neither did the left. She set her shoulder against it and shoved as hard as she could.
The wood gave way, sending her tumbling into the dingy hallway.
Cobwebs hung like curtains from every rafter and bannister.
She wriggled her nose, then sneezed. Musty and dusty.
She had a lot of work to do to make this place a bearable home.
Home. She huffed a silent, bitter laugh as she placed the urn on a hallway table that appeared to be relatively stable.
“We are home.” She rested her hand on top of the box.
Heat? She eyed the ivory container, leaning closer and placing her other hand on the cover as well.
It seemed extremely warm. Must have been the energy that sent them back to Taroc Na Mor.
Isla’s spell must have heated the urn. She gave a hopeless shrug and caressed the box.
That was it. Well, that and the fact, she had hugged it close since crossing back to Taroc Na Mor.
She frowned while glancing around the room. The urn might be warm, but the keep wasn’t. She had to find out if the gas was still on or at least light a fire in some of the hearths. It was almost dark. Her clothes were soaked and the damp chill had already seeped into her bones.
If she remembered correctly, the kitchen was the warmest room in the keep. She paused after picking up the urn. That room held even more memories. Intimate memories. She clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. “I can do this.” She shook her head, knowing she didn’t have a choice.
With the box and her bags, she made her way down the dingy hallway.
Her footsteps pinged on the tiles. The sound echoed down the passageways.
She had never realized an empty house could carry so much sound.
Halfway to the kitchen, she slipped off her shoes.
She couldn’t handle any more castle acoustics. The echoes traveled for days.
With the ivory box placed in the center of the kitchen table, she tried to swallow her misgivings as she scanned the room. The spa in the corner almost jumped out at her, bringing all the memories with it. She bit her lip and forced herself to move on to the icebox squatting in the corner.
She yanked open the door to it and just as quickly slammed it shut. That was a mistake. Mouth covered, she tried not to gag. Scrubbing for hours might not get rid of that odor. It might have to be hauled off and replaced.
The cupboard gave up a tin of sardines and a slightly gnawed box of crackers. “Breakfast,” she announced to the room at large. As she drummed her fingers on the countertop, she spotted an unopened bottle of wine.
That’s what she needed. After a steadying breath, she steeled herself and risked another look at the spa.
She would find some candles. Take a long hot bath and drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine.
Two times a widow, she deserved a one-night pity party, and what better place than where she and Taggart had first made love?
She rummaged through the storage pantry with brilliant success.
Fat pillar candles. A bar of soap. And loads of not too dusty towels to prop behind her head and dry off with when she finished.
As she piled her bounty on the kitchen table, she noticed Taggart’s urn had slid to the very edge toward the spa.
“This table isn’t wonky.” She tested its solidness just to be sure then slid the box back to the center.
An eerie chill tickled her spine as she noted the candle on its side beside the box.
“You should roll to the edge,” she told it.
Could be that the side of the candle was flat or dented or something.
She picked it up and turned it so it could roll across the table.
It didn’t. She turned it again and nudged it a bit. It still stayed in place.
“I’m just tired,” she said out loud, hoping to convince herself.
She set all the candles on the end of the tub, lit them, and tried to relax as the warm yellow glow filled the room.
With a few minutes of beating on the pipes and the handles, she got the water flowing into the tub and piled the towels on the other end.
As she turned to get a glass and the bottle of wine, the urn careened back to the edge of the table and almost toppled off.
“Stop it!” Hannah slammed her hand down on the box and kept it from falling.
It was warmer than it had been in the hallway.
After a glance at the ceiling, she laughed at herself.
No wonder. She had placed the urn directly under the light.
Those old bulbs gave out tons of heat. She sat the ivory box on the floor just to be safe. “At least there you won’t fall.”
A loud whooshing startled her, making her jump and turn to find the sound.
Every fire pit around the spa had roared to life with a crackling blaze.
She pressed a hand to her chest and forced herself to pull in a slow deep breath then gently ease it out.
There was a logical explanation for everything.
She was just being silly. The answer came to her like flicking on a light.
Gas logs. Those were gas logs on some kind of thermostat.
That was it. As she peered closer and studied the fires, she refused to acknowledge the ash and debris from the stacked wood at the base of the flames.
“It’s because I’m tired. Overwrought. I am going to drink my wine, take my bath, and worry about everything tomorrow.” She scanned the room as she spoke, informing whatever was messing with her mind leave her alone.
She stripped down and slid into the tub.
The scalding hot water was a blissful tonic to her bones.
As she closed her eyes and leaned back against the towels, the healing spring water seemed to ease some of the agony from her heart.
She sipped her wine and watched the reflection of the candle flames dancing across the water.
And she breathed. For the first time since Taggart’s death, she felt like breathing actually did some good.
The tightness in her chest had finally relaxed.
And she drank. A lot. The more wine she sipped, the sleepier she got.
Maybe that was the solution to her loneliness.
It would be so easy just to slip beneath the surface and let all her worries and heartaches end.
“Hannah!”
She jumped to full wakefulness, spilling her wine and knocking Taggart’s urn into the tub.
She watched in horror as the lid slowly floated away from the body of the box and released his ashes across the water.
“No! What have I done? How did you get on the side of the tub? I put you on the floor. No! No! Now, I have nothing of you at all. Oh, Taggart, no, you cannot leave me again!”
She sagged forward, sobbing into the spring water, as she filled her hands with his muddy remains and tried to pour them back in the box.
As her tears streamed into the water, it effervesced, turning the spa into a glowing energy froth.
Fear filled her. What had she done now? She scooted back into the farthest corner as the reaction in the center of the large tub grew more frenzied.
A dark form rose from the center of the glowing chaos, becoming clearer and more refined until Taggart sat there smiling at her.
“Well done, my dear one. Ye brought me back. Just as I knew ye could. I was longing for ye to discover the way to bring us back together.”
She didn’t move. Paralyzed by fear. Fear that it might be real and even more fear that it wasn’t. It was the wine, or she had drowned and gone to heaven. She pinched her inner arm and winced when it hurt. “Please tell me you are really here. Please tell me this isn’t a cruel lie.”
He leaned forward and cupped the curve of her cheek in his hand. “I swear to ye, my precious love. I am as real as ever. Yer love and magic brought me back. I am verra much alive and ready to be yer mate for all time.”
She dove into his arms, wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. His cool, wet hair pressed against her face. His smooth chest slid against hers. And warm. The warmth of the living filled him. He had been so very cold the last time she touched him.
She pulled back and searched his fathomless eyes while touching his cheeks, his lips, and raking her fingers through his hair.
He smiled and ran his hands along her arms and shoulders.
“How?” she whispered. “I don’t understand.
” She dove in for a kiss before he could answer.
Soft, warm, demanding. He tasted of love and hope.
She finally broke the connection. “I have no magic, but I am so glad you are here.”
“There is magic here,” he said softly, while smoothing her hair out of her eyes.
“The magic of Scotland. Our love. Our immortal union. More magic than death could withstand. And now I have returned because we have much unfinished business. I awakened to the pull as soon as Isla sent us back. But, know this, I never truly left ye.”
She hugged him tight again and closed her eyes. “I don’t care what brought you back. But I do know I am never letting you out of my sight again.”
“Aye, m’love.” His arms tightened around her. “We have an eternity to watch over one another. Now stop talking and kiss me, ye ken?”