CHAPTER THREE #2
Tabby jumped to her feet. Randall was banging on her front door? She hadn’t seen him since the divorce, twenty-one months ago, except by chance one night, when he’d been out on the town with a nineteen-year-old Russian model—one of the many models he’d cheated on her with.
Her gaze slammed to the roses. No, it was impossible. He’d never start things up again—not that she would let him.
“One moment,” she cried loudly, flustered and uncertain. Even though she had no wish to ever see him again, she felt a moment of distress. She had loved him. They’d been intimate, a couple; they’d been husband and wife. She’d given him two years of her life—and she’d thought it would be forever.
But their marriage had been a lie—one big, fat, long lie.
Randall was ambitious and successful, on a fast track to the top, making millions of dollars for his clients and himself.
He’d been smooth, charming, macho and charismatic, and she’d truly thought he loved her wildly, with all of his heart.
While she’d thought that, he’d been out on the town with the city’s most beautiful women—the kind of women he could brag to his cronies about.
As she went to the front door, she could not imagine what he wanted. “Hello, Randall. This is truly a surprise.”
His gaze slid over her from head to toe, in a very familiar way. He smiled and shook his head. “Even barefoot, you’re as elegant as ever!”
She felt herself bristle, but she contained the surge of anger. She did not want any flattery from him.
Now he said, dropping his tone, “You could walk out of a steam room in a towel, Tabby, and you’d never have a hair out of place.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Aw, come on. You could be First Lady, another Jackie O.”
“I hardly have that kind of ambition.” She trembled. “What are you doing here, Randall?”
His brown gaze was warm as it met hers. “I’ve been missing you and I decided to do something about it.”
She had stopped trusting him a long time ago. “We haven’t seen each other in almost two years. How did you get in?”
“Do you like the roses?”
She inhaled, very taken aback. Suddenly she was angry. “Randall, what are you doing?”
“I wanted to let you know that I’ve been thinking about you. I’m glad you like them.” His focus moved to the roses. “They’re gorgeous. I paid top dollar. When I ordered them, I told the florist only the best will do.”
“They’re inappropriate, Randall.”
He grinned. “I think they’re really appropriate—gorgeous, yet classic.”
It was hard to breathe. Randall had always admired her style, her sense of fashion and her grace.
He had been so proud of how “elegant” she was.
By the divorce, she’d come to hate that word.
She vividly recalled a party on a humid day in the Hamptons.
As they’d pulled into the driveway, Randall had told her again how elegant she was.
It had suddenly bothered her. She’d wanted him to pull over, grab her and make love to her as if she was a sexpot.
Sex was usually the last thing on her mind.
Tabby stared at him in dismay. “What happened to your Russian girlfriend?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ve grown up.”
She was beginning to have an idea of why he had come.
“I can see the skepticism on your face. Tabby, how many dumb models can a guy go out with before he gets it?”
“I have no idea,” she said truthfully.
“You’re still angry with me. I don’t blame you. But I have great news and I want to share it with you!”
“Whatever it is, I’m happy for—” she began to say, but he cut her off.
“I meant what I said, Tabby. I have grown up. The truth is that we shouldn’t have married three years ago—I wasn’t ready.
But things have changed.” Excitement flared in his eyes.
“I’ve been offered a top position at Odyssey, Tab.
I mean top—as in my salary is doubling. With the clients I’ll have, I could be making eight or nine mil a year!
Not only that, in a couple of years I’ll be in position to make CEO, if not there, at another major firm.
This is it, everything we’ve always wanted! ”
She’d never doubted he would make it to the very top of New York’s financial world, so his news was hardly a surprise.
But CEOs at firms like the Odyssey Group needed suitable wives—wives who knew how to charm the city’s elite and their husband’s clients, wives who knew how to graciously hold fund-raisers and dinner parties, trophy wives who were fashionable, attractive, charming and elegant.
She felt ill, realizing what he wanted. “I am very happy for you. But it’s late. ”
He approached, his eyes blazing with excitement, and he seized her hand. “We can go to the top together, Tabby, I know we can!”
She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her go. “I can’t do this again.”
“I will never cheat on you again,” he said seriously.
Randall had never taken no for an answer, she thought, dismayed.
“Beyond the impeccable manners, you are still the kindest woman I know. Everyone makes mistakes, even you. Won’t you give me another shot? Because I am being sincere, Tab.”
She knew she must not give him another chance, and she had meant it when she said they were done. But the truth was, everyone did make mistakes and everyone deserved a second chance.
The dark Highlander loomed in her mind, as he’d been at the Met, bloody and burned.
Randall suddenly let her go. He was smiling. “Just think about it. You’re also the fairest person I know. Take your time. I’ll call you.”
Because she was proud of her manners, she walked him to the door, although she balked at allowing him a kiss on the cheek. When he was gone, she poured a huge glass of red wine and carried it to the sofa. She sipped, in absolute disbelief, her temples pounding.
She was angry. She hated being angry—anger had never worked for her. Anger made her uncomfortable. As far as she was concerned, it didn’t work for anyone. Civility and compromise were always the best path.
But no matter how polite she intended to be, how gracious, how fair, Randall’s return was unacceptable.
Besides, she had another man in her life, didn’t she? The joke was a bad one, but Tabby smiled anyway.
Her telephone rang.
She hesitated, certain it was Randall, then saw Sam’s number pop up on the ID screen. She seized the receiver. “Sam, we have to talk.”
Sam hesitated. “Yeah, we do.”
Tabby felt herself still. “What did you find out about An Tùir-Tara?”
“I got in touch with the foremost authority on the subject, a historian at Oxford in Britain.”
Dread began. “What happened?”
“Well, he’s the one historian who says the clan war between the Macleods and MacDougalls was not the real reason for the fire in 1550. There’s nothing written down to support the theory, but there is another oral tradition.”
Tabby had a bad feeling.
“Folklore has it the fire was a result of a war of witches.”
Tabby cried out.
WHAT HAD HAPPENED? Where was he?
Had he just journeyed through the universe?
Macleod lay very still, afraid to attempt to move.
Having landed on stone, there was pain, although he was aware of it lessening as he lay there.
And there was so much noise, most of it unfamiliar.
People had been screaming, although their screams were ceasing now.
He bit back a moan, and realized that he could move his fingers and toes.
He had been hurled across the sky, past stars and suns.
Was this the leap that MacNeil and the brothers spoke of?
The torment was fading swiftly now and he became aware that the people standing around him were speaking the same strangely accented English as the golden woman.
He opened his eyes. Some of the women wore the same fashion of clothes that the goddess had, their skirts knee-length.
His thoughts sharpened. She had summoned him.
But now, he wondered if she was a mortal like the other people crowding over him.
Or perhaps she was a near immortal like him?
She certainly seemed to be from this time.
Was she there? He certainly wanted a word with her now.
Somebody call 911…Is that a costume…?
He could not comprehend their words very well, but he clearly heard and understood their thoughts. Slowly, Macleod looked past the excited crowd.
Is he dead? Did he fall from the roof?
He shut out their thoughts, stunned.
The night sky was oddly starless, but still light and milky, as he had never before seen it. Hundreds of soaring towers filled it, the highest towers he had ever seen. He was in a huge city. Where was he—and in what time?
He forgot her and her summons. He gripped his sword and slowly began to sit up, realizing his body was not broken after all.
The people who had gathered around him cried out and ran farther away from him.
He noted that no one carried weapons but he did not relax his guard.
Now, he saw that the golden woman was not amongst the crowd.
He wondered what that meant and if it was some kind of trick.
It didn’t matter. He would find her sooner or later. He would make a point of it.
He dismissed them all, his gaze returning to the astonishing sights around him.
What kind of people could build such tall buildings, crowded so closely upon one another?
Were they impregnable? And the windows within the towers were strangely lit.
They could not be illuminated so brightly by rushes and candles.
He stood up, looking warily around. The men wore strange hose and very short tunics. His eyes widened. Horseless vehicles were passing along the black stone street.
He became absolutely still, adrenaline rushing. No mortal could make a wagon or a carriage move without the power of a slave or a beast.
“He’s alive!”
Macleod ignored the man. A screaming sound that did not come from any animal or human made him turn, seeking its source.