Falling in Time #7
“I canna. Your da sent me up here with grim tidings.” Gavin broke free and swatted at his mussed sleeve.
“One o’ the men just hastened in from Smoo.
Lady Euphemia was walking along the cliffs above the cave and before he could call out a warning—” he paused, throwing a look at Lindy “—she slipped into one o’ the sinkholes.
He swears he saw her go down and even heard her scream, but when he ran over to the edge o’ the crevice and peered in, she disappeared. ”
Lindy gasped.
Rogan slid an arm around her, drawing her near. “The tide washes in and out of the sinkholes. Have men searched the beach? Or, if there’s no sign of her there, have they taken out boats? She could have been washed out to sea and might be in the water around the cliffs.”
“To be sure they’ve done all that, but they won’t be finding her.” Gavin sounded convinced. “She’s gone, sure as I’m standing here.”
“No one can be sure until a thorough search is made.” Rogan started steering his cousin out the door again. “Others have fallen into the sinkholes only to be found later, wandering the moors, as well you know.”
“Did you no’ hear me, man?” Gavin thrust his jaw. “I said she disappeared when the guard peered o’er the edge, into the sinkhole. He saw her right enough and then, like mist before the sun, she vanished!”
“And how ale-headed was the guard, eh?” Rogan shoved his cousin out the door and slammed it behind him, this time sliding the drawbar in place.
“I’m sorry, lass.” He turned to Lindy, reaching for her. “Dinna let Gavin’s blethering—”
“I don’t think he was.” Lindy moved away, thinking again of sweaters and pull ed threads.
“That woman’s disappearance will be my fault.
I came here and, as is the way with such things, someone had to be sent forward to my time.
” She paused, leaning against a table. Guilt swept her. “It’s because of me that an innocent—”
“Euphemia MacNairn lost her innocence the morning she awoke and discovered she had breasts.” Long strides brought Rogan to where she stood.
He braced his hands on either side of her, caging her against the table.
“I regret speaking poorly of her if she truly has come to harm. But you need to know, as you’ll hear it soon enough, that she was my clan’s choice for my bride.
I resisted because—” he leaned close and kissed her, slow and deep “—I knew you’d come to me someday, somehow.
“And—” he straightened, his expression solemn “—because Lady Euphemia was the last female I’d have wed, regardless. There’s no’ a laird or kitchen laddie in these parts, save o’ this clan, that she hasn’t bedded.”
“But—”
“I told you, Lindy-lass, no buts.”
“Even so—”
“None o’ those either.” Rogan shook his head.
“Truth is, Lady Euphemia has been trysting with a shepherd who has a cottage in the next glen. She has to pass by Smoo Cave on her way to meet him.” He stepped closer and cupped Lindy’s chin, lifting her face to his.
“That’ll be what she was about. A pity if she fell into one of the sinkholes.
But she should have thought of the danger thereabouts before she traipsed across those cliffs.
“Now—” he set his hands on her shoulders, looking down at her “—I’d hear what was fashing you before Gavin came bursting in here.”
Lindy glanced aside. She still believed the MacNairn woman had been sent forward in time. And if so . . .
“I don’t want to be responsible for someone else’s misery.” There, she’d blurted the only honourable thing she could say.
Rogan lifted a brow. “If Lady Euphemia has replaced you where’er it was you hailfrom, sweetness, I promise you, she’ll no’ be unhappy. Such females know well how to fend for themselves.”
“Then . . .” Lindy considered.
“Do you want to stay with me?” Rogan’s arms were around her again, pulling her close.
So near that she could feel him pressing against her.
“You know I want that – to stay with you.” She leaned into him, unable to resist.
“Then do.” He swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the room. “Stay here and be my wife.”
“I will .” She didn’t care that the plaid fell from her shoulders as he lowered her to the bed. As for her few extra pounds, the smouldering look in Rogan’s eyes said he didn’t see them.
Oh, yes, she’d marry him.
In her heart, she already was his wife.
She didn’t want to dwell on it too deeply, for fear of jinxing herself, but she believed that, after losing him in their Viking life, whatever powers watched over souls had now reunited them.
For a moment, she wondered if such gods or their helpers might wear small black boots, carefully tied with red plaid laces. The thought made her smile. Seeing as she was here, she supposed it was possible.
It was just a shame she’d not be able to put her experiences in a romance novel. She was sure that if she could, her book would be a bestsell er. But then Rogan was throwing off his plaid and stretching out on the bed beside her, and she no longer cared.
And as she opened her arms to him, pulling him down to her, she knew she’d never feel the urge to read or write a Scottish medieval romance again.
After all , why should she?
As of this moment, she was living one.