Page 17 of Highlander Unraveled
And very awake. I didn’t remember waking up. I didn’t remember falling asleep either. Who knew what kind of state I’d been in, a fugue, but I was positive Emma had been there with me. I could still smell her. Still feel the heat of her touch on my skin. Hear her moans fill the air.
I glared up at the dark sky. Hours had passed since I’d first arrived. The moon shone overhead. The sacred rune stone in the middle of the grove was dark. The glow that had emanated from it when Emma had been here was completely gone. I jogged toward it, pressed my hands to its cold face and shuddered.
“What do I do?” I shouted at the sky. “How can I bring her back to me?”
But there was no answer.
Only mocking silence.
5
Emma
Iwoke with a start, sitting straight up in a strange bed, sucking in air as though it were the last breath I’d ever take.
My hands pressed to my chest and I had to resist the intense urge to claw away the flesh and bone so I could breathe.
Where was I? What was happening?
I blinked, afraid and unnerved. But then, everything slowly came back to me. The time travel. Steven. Mrs. MacDonald.
My dream.
I slid my hands down over my legs, my skin cold to the touch. And yet, my body was still alive with tingles and shivers, scorched from making love with Logan.
Oh, how quick and cruel Fate had been to rip me away from him. The deep ache that had settled in my chest the moment I woke at Mrs. Lamb’s to see Steven towering over me, returned with a vengeance.
The room was dark, chilly. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, smelling something delicious cooking downstairs. Rather than enticing me though, the scent of the spices and onions turned my stomach. I felt hungover. Beat up. My head was still pounding, my limbs heavy and sluggish.
My bare toes touched the cold wood floor. I must have kicked off my shoes while I napped.
I rubbed at my temples, but that pressure didn’t seem to alleviate the pounding in my skull even the tiniest bit.
The dream… It had been real.
I could still feel Logan’s touch; the sizzle of his kiss, the excitement of being with him, the desperation as I’d slowly watched him fade away. How I’d tried to swim back through the ethereal tunnel I was being sucked back in.
Oh, I knew I hadn’t been transported anywhere physically, but I’d been there all the same. Logan had been there. Just like years before. Our souls had found a place to meet. A place to beat Fate at her own game.
Was this a sign that Fate thought we belonged together? Had she allowed it to happen? Or was it only a sign that we were strong enough to force our spirits together and Fate had other plans? Finally gaining control when she brought me back here.
My mouth was dry, cottony. I stood up slowly, holding out my hands to steady myself, and then bent toward the floor, sliding my hands over the planks and beneath the bed until I found my shoes. I put them on, having forgotten the pinch in my toes. They weren’t exactly my size. I made my way toward the door, fumbling in the shadowy dark for the handle, grateful for the small golden sliver of light from an outside lamppost shining through the blinds.
How long had I been asleep? Couldn’t have been too long if Mrs. MacDonald was still cooking. I opened the door, and made my way toward the bathroom to splash water on my face.
Running water.
There had been a lot of adjustments I’d had to make living in the 1540’s, things like plumbing, that I’d now taken advantage of several times since being back in the modern era.
The cool water slid over my skin, dripping from my chin onto the black, borrowed dress, and a shiver passed over me. I looked into the mirror, my red hair in disarray, having fallen from the tight bun I’d pulled it into at Mrs. MacDonald’s house after my shower. Dark circles filled the space beneath my blue eyes. Eyes that looked faded in the flickering yellow light of the bathroom.
My skin was pale, jaundice almost from the light, but filled out, attesting to my usual health. I looked tired, though. And my face did not nearly give away the anguish that I felt.
I squeezed a glob of toothpaste onto my finger and rubbed it over my teeth, swishing with water. The mint was strong, bitingly so, compared with the tooth powder at Gealach.
With a long, drawn out sigh, I opened the bathroom door and eyed the narrow flight of stairs. I wanted to climb back into bed, but guilt at having left a perfect stranger, who’d done me the biggest of favors, alone for as long as I had already, ate at me. The least I could do was eat the meal she’d cooked and then go back to bed.
At the bottom of the stairs, voices floated from the kitchen and I froze. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could very distinctly hear the male undertones. And it wasn’t the television. Because the responses came from Mrs. MacDonald.
