Lost Bride Chapter 7

FIVE

THE CEILIDH

Rory was in the library behind closed doors for most of the following day, so Lucy wandered about. At first, it was as though she’d gained private admission to one of those castles peppered all over the United Kingdom. But this time, she couldn’t grab a coffee from the snack bar, hop back into her rental car, and get on with her life. And with no one to talk to, she began to feel restless.

After a few hours of this, Lucy sat at the foot of the stairs with her chin in her hands. “Snack time.” With a renewed sense of purpose, she got up and headed for the kitchen. There, she found a woman with her hair in a kerchief, bent over a mound of bread dough.

“Hi, I’m Lucy.” She started to reach out her hand then pulled it back, grinning, when she realized the woman’s hands were covered in flour and dough.

“Good morning, Miss. I’m Mrs. MacEddie.” She stopped kneading the dough and looked up. “What can I do for you?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Mrs. MacEddie had already grabbed a nearby pottery bowl and coated the inside of the bowl with a dollop of lard. “I just need to put this dough to rest, first.” She lifted the large mound of dough and plopped it into the bowl. Then she covered it with a cloth, set it aside, and looked up as she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “There now, are you hungry?”

Seeing how hard Mrs. MacEddie was working, Lucy began to feel a bit guilty. “I don’t want to be a nuisance, but I was hoping I might stick my head in the fridge for a snack.”

“Stick your head in the—”

Lucy interrupted, “Sorry. I meant a snack. I was just looking for a snack.”

Mrs. MacEddie’s eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, aye. I’ve got a wee bit of black pudding left over from breakfast.”

Lucy’s eyes brightened. “Oh, that sounds good.”

When Mrs. MacEddie brought it to her, it looked like anything but the pudding Lucy expected. She took a bite, and her eyes opened wide. It had a strange taste, which although vaguely familiar, she could not identify. “What’s in this?”

Mrs. MacEddie brushed some hair from her forehead. “Ah, well, let’s see. I start with four cups of fresh pig’s blood…”

Lucy grabbed some ale and washed down what she could while trying to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

Mrs. MacEddie continued. “Oats, pig fat, an onion, some milk, and I season to taste. I’m sorry, I dinnae measure it, so I cannae tell you exactly.”

“That’s okay,” Lucy assured her.

Lucy ate it and graciously thanked the cook, because that was what one did, but not without a refill of ale to cover the lingering metallic taste.

“Oh, you are hungry, lamb. I’ve got more.”

“No! Thank you!” Lucy dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “That hit the spot. I’m full as a tick.” She muttered to herself, “Which also eats blood.”

“Suit yourself, dearie,” Mrs. MacEddie said as she peeled some potatoes. She glanced up when Effie walked into the room. “Oh, Effie, why don’t you go pick some raspberries, and I’ll make a nice pie?”

Lucy sprang up. “Need some help?”

Effie glanced down, embarrassed. “Oh no, Miss. You shouldnae be helping me.”

“And why not?”

“You’re a guest. It wouldnae be proper.” Effie gave a questioning look to Mrs. MacEddie.

“Who’s to say it’s not proper?” Lucy asked.

Effie’s eyes widened. “I suppose with the laird ill as he is, it would fall to Mr. Rory.”

Lucy joined Effie at the doorway. “You leave Mr. Rory to me.”

Mrs. MacEddie gave an ambivalent shrug, and the two were on their way.

Effie entertained Lucy with stories about some of the locals while they filled a basket with berries. They were literally sampling the fruits of their labors on their way back to the kitchen. Lucy smiled at something Effie had said, when she glanced up and saw Rory at a second-floor window.

“I’m hoping he’ll be there at the cèilidh tomorrow,” Effie said.

“Who, Rory?”

Effie wrinkled her face. “No, Symon—the lad I’ve been telling you about.”

“Oh, sorry. Symon.” She nodded, as though she’d even heard what Effie had said about Symon, whoever he was.

Lucy glanced back up at the window, but Rory was gone.

Lucy was stoic,

with neither a tear nor a sigh, on her way back from the fairy cairn the next morning. Perhaps if she had wept, Rory might have known how to react. But instead, she was silent the whole way home. The stable boy took the horse, and the two headed back to the castle.

Rory looked about while he searched for something to break the silence. “The weather’s been passing fair for this time of the year.”

“Oh.” She stared off into the distance, distracted.

“Usually by this time, the dreich days have set in.”

“Hmm.”

Rory frowned. She had been disappointed before by the fairy cairn, but this time, she seemed distracted if not despondent.

“Aye.” He nodded to himself and glanced over at her. “So… when the weather gets like that, I just tear off my plaid, do a sword dance in the altogether, and finish it off with a grand leap into the freezing cold loch. It eases the boredom. Not mine, you ken, but the crofters.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Lucy, have you heard even one word I’ve said?” The lost look in her eyes when she looked up at him tugged at his heart. “Oh, lass. Come here.” He pulled her to him and put strong arms around her. “I cannae give you what you want. But I want you to know that you’ve a home here as long as you want it.”

She buried her face in his chest. “Rory.”

“Och, lass. There, now. I ken what you need. We’ll get Effie to find you a fine dress to wear, and tonight, I’ll take you to a cèilidh.”

Effie tied

off the last thread of the hem on Lucy’s dress. “Now let’s see how this looks.” She helped Lucy into the dress and arranged Lucy’s hair. “Oh, Miss, you look bonnie!”

Lucy smiled. “Do I?”

Effie assessed her with a twinkle in her eye. “Aye, and I dinnae believe I’m the only one who will think so.”

Lucy shook her head with a grimace. “I think someone’s gotten into the whisky.”

Effie’s eyes opened wide with alarm. “Oh, Miss, I wouldnae ever do that!”

“I was only kidding.”

“If anyone believed that to be true, I’d be put out on my ear.”

Lucy was suddenly serious. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I would never want that!”

“I know.” Effie’s mood brightened. “Will there be anything else, Miss Lucy?”

“No, thank you, Effie. You’ve been a miracle worker.”

“Och!” Effie grinned and modestly waved off the compliment. “Well, I’d best go get ready myself, or I’ll need my own miracle!”

After Effie left,

Lucy looked down at her dress then took in the four walls of the room. It all still seemed so unreal. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Did you forget something?” Lucy swung the door open. “You’re not Effie.” She found herself face-to-face with Rory. It was a toss-up as to who looked more surprised.

“You look bonnie.”

“You’ve been talking to Effie. She just left here saying the same thing.”

“No, I formed that opinion on my own.”

Lucy blushed. “I think you two are conspiring to improve my mood. But I’ll take a compliment wherever I can get it.”

“If you’re ever in need, come see me.” His eyes swept over her face and her hair.

She smiled. Although she didn’t believe him, she enjoyed the way he made her feel. For most of the day, she’d felt sorry for herself, and she’d had enough. Determined to make the best of the evening, she took the arm Rory offered, and they left for the cèilidh.

They arrived at a clearing nestled between two hills, where the cèilidh had already begun. Rory tethered his horse to a tree and returned his attention to Lucy. The last rays of sunlight filtered through the colored leaves, which were losing their battle with darkness. Two or three scattered fires lit the area as a full moon worked its way up in the night sky. Lucy smiled to see Effie dancing with a nice-looking russet-haired young man. From the way Effie looked at him, Lucy was sure that he had to be the Symon Effie had told her about. Lucy was happy to report that he looked equally smitten with Effie.

One of the tenants approached Rory and drew him aside for some sort of man talk he seemed to think would be too much for her ladylike ears. Rory hesitated to leave her, but she waved him on confidently. She was not uncomfortable being alone, but people often assumed that she would be. While she found that in her own time, the attitude was even more prevalent here. At such times, she reminded herself that she was in the eighteenth century, and it wasn’t fair to judge people by a standard that some in her own era had yet to achieve. Mrs. MacEddie stopped by for a chat but was pulled onto the dance floor, such as it was, by her husband, whose enthusiasm may have partly been due to the flask that peeked out of his pocket. Lucy envied how happy the couple appeared. They were one of those couples who, after decades of marriage, seemed to share a closely guarded secret for living happily together. She hoped she might find that someday.

In the midst of her reverie, Effie’s Symon asked Lucy to dance, no doubt prompted by Effie out of pity for her.

Lucy said, “I’d love to. But I should warn you I don’t know how to do any of these dances, so I’ll count on you to tell me what to do.”

He gave it a good, cheerful effort, but Lucy’s lack of skill at Scottish country dancing did not make it easy. He kindly endured the two or three times that she stepped on his toes, but he looked a bit worse for wear after having to chase after her when she went the wrong way around the circle. She couldn’t blame him for looking relieved when the song mercifully came to an end. After profuse apologies, Lucy took pity, thanked Symon, and begged off the next dance. Lucy smiled to see Symon and Effie in the throes of the next dance. The poor guy had earned it. She glanced about, wondering where Rory was. When she couldn’t find him, she was surprised by the depth of her disappointment.

The dance ended, and Rory appeared and asked her for the next one. She tried to warn him, but he would not be turned down. He slipped his hand in hers and drew her close. The next song was slower, affording her more time to react to directions. She lifted her eyes to meet his and found trust and confidence. There were times when she looked at him and felt something timeless, as though he had been there all along, waiting for her. And yet he’d come into her life like a wind that surprised her and threatened her balance. Every look held more meaning. Every touch made her heart soar. She tried to remember that she was a modern twenty-first-century woman in charge of her own feelings and fate. But his warmth drew her closer and made her feel safe until she feared she might lower her guard and do something stupid like tell him how she felt. So she did her best to hide the effect he had on her.

It helped to have to concentrate on the dance steps, but Rory even made that a bit easier. He never lost track of where she was or where she needed to be. When she made a mistake, he would get her back on course and make it seem more fun for her having erred. By the end of the song, Lucy had found her way through the dance but was lost in a life that wasn’t meant to be hers. She looked at Rory, and everything faded in importance, leaving her feeling as though she belonged there. Her feelings for Rory were clouding her thinking. Just this morning, she’d been devastated when she couldn’t go back home, yet there she was, letting her heart lead her away from everyone and everything she’d ever known.

She took a step back. “I can’t do this.”

“You’re doing fine!” Rory reached for her hand and drew her back to him.

Once more, she was captivated by his winning smile and easy manner. She smiled, relieved he’d assumed she was talking about her dancing. She had a bad habit of thinking out loud. It used to bug the heck out of Tyler. Oh wow, Tyler. She hadn’t thought of him all day.

The song ended, and Rory held on to her hand as if doing so were the most natural thing. He led her along a path between groups of people until they arrived at a clearing. The full moon shone above, and a nearby fire warmed the surroundings. The hills were mere shadows, rising around them as if they’d been put there to guard foolish hearts that dared feel things they weren’t meant to.

Rory stopped and turned to face Lucy. “I’m sorry for the trouble it’s caused you, but I like having you here.”

The tender look in his eyes took her breath away. Those deep eyes that looked so stern at times were fixed on hers, and she felt his gaze in her soul. She began to shake her head slowly. But she’d barely begun to turn from him, when he took her face in his hands and kissed her. With that, she stopped thinking and kissed him right back with all the feelings her logic had tried to tamp down. Voices drew nearer, and Lucy stepped back as a couple walked by. She wasn’t sure where to look, let alone what to say to Rory. She knew what to think—that she’d lost more than her mind. She’d lost her heart. It was his even though she’d never intended to give it to him.

What sort of woman walked out of her wedding and into another man’s arms? Not a stable one. Regardless of Tyler’s rejection, a woman in love couldn’t shift gears that fast. No, she was either having a psychotic break, or she was just a bad person. Given the choice, she went with the former.

She looked frankly at him. “We can’t do that again.”

He reluctantly nodded and gently took her elbow to lead her back toward the others.

They’d only gone a few steps when she stopped and pulled him back so she could kiss him. “I mean it. Okay, just one more.” Having barely paused to say that much, she kissed him again.

Rory held her close and brushed his lips against hers. “You’re a wee bit bossy,” he whispered.

She grinned, but it was short-lived as her ingrained defenses came back to haunt her. She pressed her palm to his chest and took a step backward. “I don’t know what I’m doing. This wasn’t part of the plan.”

He kept a safe distance, but not far enough to keep his fervent gaze from making her heart swell. “My plans all changed when I met you.”

She looked downward so she wouldn’t reveal how his look affected her. “We both know this was a mistake.”

“It doesnae have to be.” He reached toward her but drew his hand back as though he’d thought better of it.

The last thing Lucy wanted to do was contradict him. Every instinct and drive in her heart and her body compelled her toward him, but she knew she was headed for a hurt far worse than she’d suffered from Tyler. The more she gave in to her feelings, the more entrenched she would become in this time and this life—Rory’s time, Rory’s life. Things between them had gone too far already. Her heart was going to ache for the rest of her life if they parted…

when

they parted.

No one knew why the cairn worked, let alone how or when. What if her feelings for Rory were anchoring her not only to him, but also to his time? There had to be some reason why the cairn wouldn’t open and let her go back. She’d never been one to believe in magic or luck. She’d never even bought a lottery ticket, so time travel was far from her sphere of thought. And yet, there she was. What she thought or believed didn’t matter. The heart was a powerful force. It kept people alive, and it drove their life choices. No matter how science would have people believe that love occurred in the minds and the thoughts, it was felt in the heart. Love was a power that no one could fathom, and yet was there a soul on the planet that hadn’t been touched by it? That alone proved its power. Lucy had to be careful to guard against that or anything else that might threaten her chances of going back home—even if it meant letting go of Rory.

“I’m not asking anything of you,” Rory said. “I just want to love you.”

Lucy slowly shook her head. “I gave in to my feelings. It was selfish of me. I don’t want to hurt you. If it makes you feel any better, I’m pretty sure I’ve hurt myself more.” She lifted her eyes and tried to smile at him, but she couldn’t. “You don’t make it easy for a girl to resist.” She looked down and shook her head. “But we can’t. Don’t you see? There’s too much in the way. Tyler, for one. I know that it’s over, but I met you on my wedding day. I shouldn’t even be feeling like this.”

To be honest, the thing that disturbed her the most was that Tyler disturbed her the least. Not that he deserved any loyalty from her, but if she had truly loved him enough to commit her life to him, how could she want Rory? And she did.

He touched her shoulder. “I ken that you’ve just lost the man that you loved and he hurt you. You need time to heal, and I promise I’ll give that to you.”

Was time all she needed? With or without Rory, she would have needed more time. So if that made sense to Rory, perhaps she should leave it at that. But that was not all there was to it. Most people found it hard enough to commit for a lifetime to someone who shared a similar life in a similar location. But loving Rory meant giving up everything she’d ever known—every person who had ever meant anything to her. It meant giving up time. Thoughts and emotions soared through her mind. Even now, if she could go home, doing so would be painful for having met Rory. Were they actually discussing the

L

word? So soon? A few days ago, she would have scoffed at the idea of love at first sight, but there she was. Maybe the only reason people didn’t believe in it was because they’d never felt it. If that was what this was, that gave her all the more reason to shut this thing down.

So why had she kissed him? Because she had wanted him then as she wanted him now. She’d had one fleeting thought to hold back, but her impulses had taken over. Protecting herself would have been the right choice, but desire was stronger than logic. Even now, she had no regrets. Had she been sensible, she would never have known how it felt when his lips first touched hers or how the pressure of his fingertips on the back of her neck made her forget everything except how much more she wanted him now than a heartbeat ago.

But now that her reckless heart had opened to him, it could not be undone.