Beyond the Highland Myst(420)

"What do you want from me, lass?" he finally said wearily.

"What I want is for you to listen. I'm going to tell you everything I can remember about our time together in the future. I've thought about it a lot, and there's got to be something that will make you remember. It's possible that I'm simply missing whatever it is."

She heard a huge sigh from behind the door. "Fine, lass. Let's hear it all this time."

* * * * *

Drustan sat on the floor of the garderobe, his feet stretched out, arms folded over his chest, his back against the door. He closed his eyes and waited for her to begin. He'd worn himself down raging. Grudgingly, he admired her persistence and resolve. The fit he'd had would have terrified any lass he'd ever known. While he'd raged and flung himself at the door, he pictured her standing outside it, arms folded beneath her lovely breasts, tapping a foot, waiting patiently for him to quiet. Waiting hours—he felt half a day might have passed.

She was formidable.

And by Amergin, a bit too clever to be completely addled.

You know she's not addled, why doona you admit it?

Because if she's not addled, she's telling the truth.

And why does that fash you?

He had no answer for that. He had no idea why the lass turned him into a babbling idiot.

"I'm twenty-five years old," he heard her say through the door.

"That old?" he mocked. "My bride is but five and ten." He smiled when she growled.

"That's called statutory rape in my century," she said with an edge in her voice.

Statutory, he mused. Yet another unclear phrase.

"That means you can go to prison for it," she added.

He snorted. "Why would I care how old you are? Does that have aught to do with your tale?"

"You're getting the long version with a bit of background. Now, hush."

Drustan hushed, finding himself curious what she would tell him.

"I took a vacation to Scotland, without knowing it was a senior citizens' bus tour…"

* * * * *

In time, Drustan relaxed back against the door and listened in silence. He fancied from the sound of her voice that she was seated much the same, back to the door, talking over her shoulder to him.

Which meant, in a way, they were touching, spine to spine. The thought was intimate as he sat in the dark, listening to her voice.

He liked the sound of her voice, he decided. It was low, melodic, firm, and confident. Why hadn't he ever noticed that before? he wondered. That her voice contained a degree of self-assurance that had to have come from somewhere?

Mayhap because whenever she'd spoken to him, he'd been hopelessly distracted by his attraction to her, but now—since he couldn't see her, his other senses were heightened.

Aye, she had a fine voice, and he'd like to hear her sing an old ballad, he thought, or mayhap a lullaby to his children—

He shook his head and focused on her words, not his idiotic thoughts.

* * * * *

Nell silently handed Gwen yet another mug of coffee and slipped away.

"And we drove up the hill to the stones, but your castle was gone. All that was left was the foundation and a few crumbling walls."

"What date did I send you through the stones?"

"September twenty-first—you called it Mabon. The autumnal equinox."

Drustan sucked in a breath. That wasn't commonly related in the legends, that the stones could be used only on the solstices and equinoxes.

"And how did I use the stones?" he pressed.

"You're skipping ahead of me," she complained.

"Well, tell me, then go back. How did I use the stones?"

* * * * *

Above her, behind the balustrade, Silvan and Nell sat on the floor, listening. Nell was flushed from her many dashes from Gwen's side into the kitchen, up the servants' stairs, and around to join Silvan. All quiet as a mouse.

"I doona think you should hear—" Silvan whispered, but cut off abruptly when Nell pressed her mouth to his ear.

"If yer thinkin' I've lived here twelve years and dinna know what ye are, old man, yer dafter than Drustan thinks Gwen is."

Silvan's eyes widened.

"I can read too, ye know," Nell whispered stiffly.

Silvan's eyes grew enormous. "You can?"

"Shh. We're missing it."

* * * * *

"You'd collected paint rocks. You broke them open in the circle and etched formulas and symbols on the inside faces of the thirteen stones."

A chill brushed Drustan's spine.

"Then you drew three more on the slab. And we waited for midnight."

"Och, Christ," Drustan murmured. How could she have knowledge of such things? The legends hinted the stones were used for travel, but no one—save himself, Dageus, and Silvan—knew the how of it. Except now, Gwen Cassidy did.

"Do you recall the symbols?" he asked roughly.