Her MacKinnon #6
Greatly relieved she appeared most pleased despite the shop falling short of her designs, he stroked her back. “That will take some time to explain.”
Taking her by the hand, he didn’t stop walking until they came to the old castle ruins where he led her to a grass knoll. “Please sit.”
Shaking, as much from anxiety as from the shock of his gift, she sat.
He settled behind her, his legs and arms wrapping about her.
Taking her hands in his, he whispered, “I love ye beyond reason, woman, have for a long time, so please keep that in mind as I tell ye what ye’ll doubtless find alarming. ”
Oh dear God, he’s had an affair. Had guilt been the driving force behind him building the shop? Or has he got us so far in debt that he’s now scared?
She held her breath, readied for the blow as he said, “Ye may have noticed that on occasion I have little or no knowledge of things I should … such as why I should not eat lobster.”
Tell me about it. “I have noticed.”
“There is a good reason. You see … I am not Alistair Jerome – A.J. as you call him – but am Alexander James MacKinnon, born on Beltane morn’ in the year of our Lord 1490, in this very place.
For reasons I have yet to fathom, my soul has remained with the MacKinnon ring until that night A.J.
drove off the bridge. As his soul took flight my soul entered his lifeless form. ”
“What?” She tried to rise but he held her fast.
“Shhh, lass. Just hear me out and then I shall let ye go.”
Oh God, he has lost his mind.
“I know not why. I just know that it did and I am now again alive and breathing.” He heaved a sigh. “Did you know the keep at our backs was once four storeys tall? Aye, and ’twas on its upper most level, in the solar, that my son was born and my wife died.”
“You were married.”
“Aye, to the MacDonalds’ youngest daughter, Mhairie Elizabeth.
Ours was naught but a marriage to ensure the peace betwixt our clans but she proved a brave lass.
As she lay dying, the childbed fever all but setting her flesh afire, she said her only regret,” his voice cracked, “was that she would not see our bonny son grow.”
Maggie craned her neck and found shimmering tears trapped behind his thick black lashes. My God, he believes every word he’s saying. And only Mhairie’s death had been recorded. Not how she died.
He smiled down at her. “My son was christened Ian John MacKinnon after his grandfathers. I was so proud. He was so perfect. Not long after, however, I was killed––”
“I know. I’ve heard this story a dozen times.”
“Hmm, I imagine you have, but none know what I’m about to tell ye. I felt no pain – only surprise – when the blade ran through me. I did, though, feel the boot on my ass as my assailant pulled his sword free, and that, I assure you, I did feel.
“As I tumbled to the earth, my life’s blood spilling on yon mountain, I twisted and saw not my enemy as I fully expected, but the satisfied countenance of my younger brother. Angus.”
“Your brother?” The records said that Alexander had died in a battle with the Campbells, and that Angus then became the liege lord. They said nothing about murder.
“Aye. Such hate, such loathing filled me …”
She listened, half mesmerized, half mute with horror.
“So centuries came and went and slowly my fury ebbed but what did remain of me still sensed and felt, celebrated and wept – albeit erratically – until I awoke in A.J.”
His arms had relaxed their hold on her and she was able to rotate and, kneeling, face him. “A.J.––”
“Alex. Please call me Alex.”
“Alright.” She had to placate him until she could get him help. “Alex …” God, that sounded strange, “I know you believe this, but I’m having a little difficulty doing so.”
He nodded. “I have no doubt that ye do. Worse, I fear ’twas I – and not A.J.
– that wooed and won ye. There, at the foot of those mountains, I saw ye through his eyes and became enchanted.
Had I not done so, he – obsessed as he was with the legacy – might not have thought to pursue ye, and ye, my love, would not have suffered his wrath.
Ye would have … should have had a better life. ”
“That’s not tr––”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Nay, ye feared him and well ye should have.” He brushed a lock from her eyes.
“I was there, lass. I saw. I heard. But all I could do to cease his madness was unbalance him, make him fall.” He cleared his throat.
“And because I could sense only his exaltations and rages, I know naught of what else went on betwixt ye.” He leaned forwards and kissed her brow.
“What other dreams do ye harbour, lass?”
The tears she’d been fighting fell. How strange. He had to go insane before even thinking to ask. How sad is that? But since he did ask, she said, “I had dreams of some day having a family.”
“Gentle and loving as ye are, I think ye should.” He held out his hands. “Look, lass.”
The ring. Oh. My. God. “You’re not wearing the ring.” He never took it off. Ever. Wouldn’t wear a wedding band because the ring held that place of honour.
He nodded and pulled her to his chest. Resting his chin on top of her head, he silently stared across the Inner Sound as she, listening to the steady thud of his heart, tried desperately to sort out all he had said.
“Some day I would verra much like to hear another son call me Da, Maggie. But I will not suffer that child going through what others of my line have. Some day I will die again and dare not trust that history won’t repeat itself.
I sold the ring, Maggie. Went to Portree thinking to have it melted down for money to build yer shop, but the goldsmith took one look and took me across to Oban, where he introduced me to a man who studied what he called Mid-evil history.
” He made a derisive sound at the back of his throat. “A more suitable name I cannot imagine.
“He bought the ring, Maggie, and paid handsomely for it. So ’tis safely gone.”
She looked up, not knowing what expression she might find on his face, and found him smiling at her in that intense and special way he had when they’d first courted. Her heart nearly broke.
And she knew. Every word he had spoken was true.
The man she’d fallen in love with and who now held her was … the MacKinnon.
Four
“Come on, Da, just one more!”
Maggie glanced at the kitchen clock and shook her head. Her sons had their father wrapped about their little fingers. Knowing he would acquiesce, she tiptoed to their room, peeked in and found the lads piled like puppies on Alex.
As she grinned, he murmured, “Alright, but only one more else Mama will have my hide.” He picked up another storybook and the children put up a howl.
“Not that one, Da,” Robbie, four years, and the spitting image of his father, whined. “We want to hear the story of the MacKinnon.”
“Yes, tell us again about the MacKinnon,” chimed five-year-old Collin, “and this time don’t forget the part about the dragon.”
Her husband, fighting a grin, heaved a huge sigh. “As ye lust.”
Giggling, the lads scrambled and settled to either side of him. As Alex wrapped an arm about each, they looked up with such adoration, her heart nearly burst.
“Once upon a time,” Alex began, “there lived a great liege lord named––”
“The MacKinnon!” they both chorused.
“Aye, and in his veins ran the blood of––”
“Alpin, king of the Picts,” Collin cried.
Alex nodded, “And father of––”
“Cinead mac Alipin, king of Scotland!” Robbie added, not to be outdone by his precocious sibling.
“Right and let’s not forget Bebe––”
“King of Norway,” they shouted in unison.
“Aye, and his best friend was––”
“King Arthur!”
Alex looked from one to the other. “Who’s telling this story, ye or me?
” He huffed in proper dragon fashion sending the lads into giggling fits.
“As I was saying, the MacKinnon and King Arthur loved the same fair lass, who was known to control the fiercest dragons in the land. Her name was Mary Magdalene.”
“That’s Mama!” giggled Collin. “They loved Lady Guinevere, Da.”
“Oh, that’s right, ’twas Lady Guinevere. So, both finding the lady most fair and fulsome and both wanting control over her firebreathing dragons for their own purposes, they decided the best way to choose who should wed her was to fight to the death.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. It was easy to see how Alex had become the most popular tour guide at the Tourist Centre. That he looked divine in a kilt while armed to the teeth probably didn’t hurt either.
“With their broadswords,” said Robbie, swinging his imaginary sword in a broad arc.
“Aye, but Lady Guinevere, being much wiser, said to the battling kings, ‘Nay, the man who can ride my favourite and most fierce dragon shall have my hand and no other.’ And so …”
Grinning, Maggie tiptoed back to the kitchen.
The Mackinnon’s handsome heirs would learn more of their clan’s history through silly tales and lore as they grew but, true to his word, Alex would hold secret their legacy.
And she now had a secret of her own to share once the lads were asleep. In this morning’s post she’d found a letter she’d only dreamed of receiving. One from London, bearing the royal crest. Skye High Designs was now the proud – oh so proud – holder of a Royal Warrant of Appointment.
Long live the man who had made her dreams come true.
Long live … Her MacKinnon.