CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #3
Brie inhaled. If she closed her eyes, would she be in Awe’s stronghold when she opened them again? Would Aidan come walking through a hallway or a door with his incredible blue eyes trained upon her? Brie squeezed her eyes tightly closed.
“There’s no law that says you have to do this.”
Brie blinked. She was not back in medieval times; she had paused before the heavy, splintered wood door leading down into the tomb. “I have to see if it’s really him.”
Sam glanced at her and pushed it open. “Romantics first,” she said softly.
Brie went down centuries-old, worn stone steps, into a small, low-ceilinged stone chamber with two electric lights on the walls. A chill hit her as she saw the stone tomb, set against the far wall. An effigy of a Highlander was carved into the stone atop it.
He lay in repose, hands crossed over his chest, wearing knee-high boots, a leine and a plaid, which was pinned over one shoulder, and a belt with two swords. From this distance, it was identical to the vision she’d had.
Brie stumbled forward, straining to see the effigy’s face. She felt so much relief, because although the statue had a strong jaw, a straight nose and wavy hair, it was simply impossible to tell if it was Aidan or another big, striking man.
“Brie,” Sam said harshly, tugging on her sleeve.
Brie glanced at her, not liking her expression, and followed her gaze.
The effigy wore a necklace with a wolf’s fang.
THEY HAD BOOKED A ROOM in Oban at the Manor House, which was closer than Glasgow. Brie sat in the front parlor waiting for Sam to come down for dinner, trying to keep a grip on her composure. It was impossible.
Aidan had hanged, and that was his tomb, as everyone believed.
She covered her face with her hands. She had to go back in time, just to be with him, even if preventing his execution was hopeless. Maybe everyone was right, and his execution was Fate. Coming to Scotland had been a mistake. It hurt so much.
She dropped her hands, looking at her watch.
Sam was showering and changing for dinner, obviously vamping up—she couldn’t help herself.
Brie didn’t care what she herself wore or looked like.
She’d stumbled out of the shower, reaching for whatever was in her overnight bag.
She was in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and sandals.
She’d managed to change her contacts and brush her teeth.
Maybe she should skip dinner, go to bed and cry.
Someone brushed her hand and she looked up, expecting to see Sam.
But no one stood there.
Perturbed, Brie stood. She could have sworn she’d been touched.
And then the air shimmered and shifted on the threshold of the parlor. Suddenly she thought she saw Ian, but it was barely a glimpse. Then the little boy was gone.
“Ian!” Brie gasped. “Come back!”
The reception desk was across the hall, and the pretty clerk there glanced her way.
Brie ran to the hall but Ian wasn’t there. Had Ian’s ghost found her in modern-day Oban? If so, why couldn’t she still see him? What did his failure to materialize now mean? She’d been able to see him so clearly in the past, and even that day in the present when she’d been sedated on Five.
If Ian was reaching out to her, but he could not manage now, Brie was afraid it meant something terrible.
Brie stood in the corridor, trembling. She walked to the front door and glanced out the window, but the little ghost was not standing on the street.
Was she so upset and desperate that she had imagined seeing Ian?
“Please come back,” she whispered. He had led her to Aidan once. Maybe he would do so again.
But it was a perfectly quiet afternoon, the air warm and still, and Brie did not feel him, or anything, present.
Breathing hard, Brie stepped outside. It was late afternoon in Scotland and about 10 a.m. New York time.
Pedestrians were hurrying to-and-fro, leaving work, on their way home or to a pub.
The street was bumper-to-bumper traffic, as well.
Directly across the street was a small bookstore displaying the sign, Highland History Our Specialty.
She wasn’t sure if she’d seen Ian or not, but if she had, she felt certain he was intent on sending her to the store.
Or maybe that was her imagination, too. It didn’t matter.
Sam was taking her time, and if Highland History was the store’s specialty, Brie would buy some books and ship them home.
Maybe one day she’d find a historian who disputed the fact of Aidan’s death.
Brie jaywalked carefully through the rush-hour traffic.
Not a single Scot cursed her or honked their horn; in fact, everyone was excessively polite and waved her on.
Brie walked into the bookstore, door chimes ringing.
A pleasant woman behind the register smiled at her.
“We close in ten minutes, dearie. Can I help you?”
“I just got into town,” she said, “and I saw the sign in your window. I’m a history buff.”
“You’re American,” the woman said in delight. “Welcome to the Highlands. I am Mrs. McKay. You must be touring our grand Highland castles. Have you been to Dunstaffnage yet?”
“We were at Loch Awe today.”
“Kilchurn is splendid, is it not?”
“We were at Castle Awe,” Brie said. “I’m doing research into one of your…” She paused, incapable of continuing. “We were at the tomb there.”
“You must have seen the Wolf’s tomb, then. I get shivers whenever I go there. What a grand Highlander, eh?”
Brie managed a grim smile.
“You’ll want this, then, I think. It’s out of print and the last copy we have.” The woman went to a crowded bookcase and pulled out a thin pamphlet. “It was written in 1952 by an Oxford scholar.” She handed the pamphlet to Brie.
Brie took one look at the title and felt faint. “The Legacy of Castle Awe, the Wolf and the earls of Argyll.” She was in disbelief. “I’ll buy it,” she gasped.
The woman smiled, pleased. “He’s very difficult to reach, but you should try to interview the Baron of Awe himself. No one knows the history of Castle Awe better than his lordship.”
“The Baron of Awe?” Brie asked, chills sweeping through her.
“Aye. He’s a descendant of the Wolf’s, or so it’s claimed.
He has a fine home on the eastern shore of the loch, built in the eighteenth century.
Of course, he’s rarely in residence, as he much prefers city life.
I believe he’s in Barcelona, but I know he’s expected back at any time. ” Mrs. McKay smiled at her.
Brie wasn’t sure that speaking with one of Aidan’s descendants would help anything, when the woman exclaimed, “Speak of the devil! There’s his lordship now. He’s one of our best customers, of course. In spite of his playboy ways, he is very well educated and an avid reader.”
Brie felt so much white power that it took her breath away. The Baron of Awe was no ordinary man, she somehow thought, and she glanced out of the storefront window.
Her heart exploded. For one second, she thought it was Aidan stepping out of the black Mercedes convertible.
Her heart raced wildly.
But it wasn’t Aidan. He could have been Aidan’s twin, but she simply knew it wasn’t him.
“Ah, well, all the women look at him that way. He’s a handsome fellow, is he not?” She laughed. “I’ll get him for you.”
Brie couldn’t breathe as the proprietress hurried to the front door. “My lord, good afternoon! I hadn’t realized you were back in town.”
Aidan’s double turned and smiled, clad in a navy blue sports coat, a polo T-shirt and tan trousers. He was the epitome of power and old-world elegance, right down to his Cartier watch. “Hello, Mrs. McKay. How is business treatin’ ye?” His dimples were identical to Aidan’s.
“Very well, sir. Can you step in? I’d like you to meet an American tourist who is researching your family.”
The baron glanced past the clerk and saw Brie. His smile vanished. His blue eyes darkened, a perplexed expression crossing his features.
Brie wet her dry lips. Was this a great-great-great-grandson, perhaps?
“His lordship, Ian Maclean, Baron of Awe,” Mrs. McKay said proudly. She stepped back to her register and began taking out the day’s receipts.
Brie closed her eyes, becoming faint. This was a coincidence.
He steadied her. “A pleasure to meet ye,” he said quietly.
She opened her eyes and looked into his blue ones, and felt a jolt of recognition.
She thought of Ian, imploring her to comprehend him, his blue eyes bright, intense, in his small, childish face when she had seen him in Awe’s great hall and in Aidan’s tent.
She breathed hard and whispered, “Ian? Is it you?”
His expression hardened. “Have we met?”
“I’m Brie. I think…I know your father.”
The cold look on his face was identical to Aidan’s when he was angry. “My father died long ago.” He turned abruptly, stepping out of the store.
Brie ran after him, catching his sleeve. “Your father…the Wolf of Awe?” she managed, praying desperately.
His eyes blazed, and they were Aidan’s. “Ah, now ye play a dangerous game! The Wolf was hanged centuries ago. The truth is right there in that pamphlet ye hold and in the tomb at Castle Awe.”
Brie began shaking her head. Her heart was screaming at her that this was Aidan’s son.
Hadn’t Ian begged to go home? Hadn’t Tabby’s guides told her he was alive?
Hadn’t Moray said so? She tried to think calmly and rationally—this was probably Aidan’s great-great-great-grandson—but she said, “Take me back. We have to stop it. I won’t let him hang! ”
His eyes widened. He leaned close and said angrily, “Are ye mad?”
“I have to go back! He can’t die. And don’t tell me it’s written!”
He caught her, eyes wide with disbelief, as she began to weep. “I remember ye now. I remember ye from all those years ago when I was a small child being held prisoner, tryin’ to tell my father that I was alive so he could rescue me!”
She clung to strong, powerful arms. “Is it you? Ian?” She touched his face.
“But he never came, not for sixty-six endless years,” Ian said harshly. “He never came.”