Page 7 of Draped in Plaid
I crawled toward it, grasping onto the cool metal of a pendant.
Moira’s pendant. The one with the lion.
I clutched it in my fist and held it up toward the rafters, bellowing my vow, “I will find her!”
For four days I searched throughout the night, prayed on the beach, dreamt I saw her walking toward me only to wake cruelly on the moors and drag myself back to the castle.
I refused to break my fast with anything other than whisky, and just before I went on a rampage of searching the shores again, reinforcements arrived.
Emma and Logan Grant, Ewan Fraser and his very pregnant wife Shona, my wife’s sister. They announced themselves at the gate and I bid my men on the wall let them in.
Logan’s smile faltered as he took in my ragged appearance. No doubt I looked like hell, for I felt a thousand times worse.
“’Tis worse than we thought,” Logan said. “We received the missive about your steward and came to help.”
The great Guardian of Scotland, Logan Grant, Laird of Gealach, was referring to the situation with Ranulf, not having any idea what would have happened to Moira. Must have been the messenger my guard sent out that we passed upon the road.
I tried to stand tall, but could barely stand at all. I couldna look at them. I’d not even sent word yet about my missing wife, hoping that it was all a cruel dream and soon I’d wake.
“Moira is missing,” I said, before I could pull the words back. They fell off my tongue like a drop of water from a leaf.
“Missing missing, ormissing?” Logan asked, gaze boring into mine.
For us, missing meant two things now. Someone was simply not where they were supposed to be, or someone was not in the right time.
“Missing.” I kept my eyes on the ground. “Come into my study and I’ll tell ye everything I know.”
The four of them dismounted their horses and headed into Dunleod behind me. As I passed a servant, I asked for a hot meal to be brought to the study for my guests, and for rooms to be prepared. They would need it after a long ride.
As soon as the door was closed, they all erupted with questions at once. I held up my hands, trying to calm them, and then said, “The last time anyone saw her she was with Mrs. MacDonald.”
I expected another eruption of questions, but they said nothing, their silence and the drawn looks on their faces word enough. Moira was doomed.
Logan muttered a curse, hands on his hips as he shook his head. Ewan pulled Shona into his arms and she cried softly against his chest. Emma moved to the sideboard and poured them all a drink.
Finally, Shona said, “I think I might know where MacDonald has taken her.”
“Where?” Rory asked, stiffening.
“Mr. McAlister wanted to bring us back to our original birth era. We aren’t sure exactly what his plan was, only that he wanted to return us to the time and somehow change the future.”
“Declare ye heirs of Scotland?”
Shona shook her head. “I don’t think so. Perhaps find a different guardian for us as bairns. But almost assuredly, if Mrs. MacDonald is after us, it was for that reason alone. She wants the coin, the chaos, and whatever else comes with turning us over to the King of England.”
Logan looked grimly at Rory. “Ye’ve tried… everything?”
I narrowed my eyes, unsure if I should be offended or not by what he was suggesting. “What do ye mean? Of course I have.”
Logan cleared his throat. “I mean… Ye know… the sensual pleasure. I had to pleasure myself in the grove to bring me to Emma.”
I nodded. “More times than I can count. But there as no answering call. Moira didna come to me in my dreams—” I cut myself off, remembering how every night I’d seen her walking across a field, so far away I could just make out the outline of her unruly hair and curves beneath a white flowing gown. In my dream, she’d never noticed me. She seemed to be searching and noting finding. Every night I woke in a sweat from the helpless dream. “Unless ye count the figure of her that I saw from afar every night. We never spoke. She was dressed in white, walking across the moors, searching for something. I shouted for her, and then she faded, every damn time. I figured it was only my imagination mocking my efforts.”
“Something is holding her back from reaching out to you,” Emma said.
“A drug or potion maybe,” Shona offered.
I raked my hands through my hair, groaning in agony. “My wife is suffering.”
