Page 113 of Dark Embrace

She saw a wood door ahead—a part of the castle wall. Brie hesitated, uncertain if she could really go forward now. But she had to know. Grim, she strode across the rest of the bare ward, the ground rutted with dirt and mud. She began to hear voices of both men and women, all speaking Gaelic, the sounds becoming louder and more vivid. She heard horses whinnying, bridles jangling. Suddenly she smelled game roasting, and she felt the warmth that was always blazing from those massive hearths.

Brie inhaled. If she closed her eyes, would she be in Awe’s stronghold when she opened them again? Would Aidan come walking through a hallway or a door with his incredible blue eyes trained upon her? Brie squeezed her eyes tightly closed.

“There’s no law that says you have to do this.”

Brie blinked. She was not back in medieval times; she had paused before the heavy, splintered wood door leading down into the tomb. “I have to see if it’s really him.”

Sam glanced at her and pushed it open. “Romantics first,” she said softly.

Brie went down centuries-old, worn stone steps, into a small, low-ceilinged stone chamber with two electric lights on the walls. A chill hit her as she saw the stone tomb, set against the far wall. An effigy of a Highlander was carved into the stone atop it.

He lay in repose, hands crossed over his chest, wearing knee-high boots, a leine and a plaid, which was pinned over one shoulder, and a belt with two swords. From this distance, it was identical to the vision she’d had.

Brie stumbled forward, straining to see the effigy’s face. She felt so much relief, because although the statue had a strong jaw, a straight nose and wavy hair, it was simply impossible to tell if it was Aidan or another big, striking man.

“Brie,” Sam said harshly, tugging on her sleeve.

Brie glanced at her, not liking her expression, and followed her gaze.

The effigy wore a necklace with a wolf’s fang.

THEY HAD BOOKED A ROOM in Oban at the Manor House, which was closer than Glasgow. Brie sat in the front parlor waiting for Sam to come down for dinner, trying to keep a grip on her composure. It was impossible.

Aidan had hanged, and that was his tomb, as everyone believed.

She covered her face with her hands. She had to go back in time, just to be with him, even if preventing his execution was hopeless. Maybe everyone was right, and his execution was Fate. Coming to Scotland had been a mistake. It hurt so much.

She dropped her hands, looking at her watch. Sam was showering and changing for dinner, obviously vamping up—she couldn’t help herself. Brie didn’t care what she herself wore or looked like. She’d stumbled out of the shower, reaching for whatever was in her overnight bag. She was in a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and sandals. She’d managed to change her contacts and brush her teeth. Maybe she should skip dinner, go to bed and cry.

Someone brushed her hand and she looked up, expecting to see Sam.

But no one stood there.

Perturbed, Brie stood. She could have sworn she’d been touched.

And then the air shimmered and shifted on the threshold of the parlor. Suddenly she thought she saw Ian, but it was barely a glimpse. Then the little boy was gone.

“Ian!” Brie gasped. “Come back!”

The reception desk was across the hall, and the pretty clerk there glanced her way.

Brie ran to the hall but Ian wasn’t there. Had Ian’s ghost found her in modern-day Oban? If so, why couldn’t she still see him? What did his failure to materialize now mean? She’d been able to see him so clearly in the past, and even that day in the present when she’d been sedated on Five.

If Ian was reaching out to her, but he could not manage now, Brie was afraid it meant something terrible.

Brie stood in the corridor, trembling. She walked to the front door and glanced out the window, but the little ghost was not standing on the street.

Was she so upset and desperate that she had imagined seeing Ian?

“Please come back,” she whispered. He had led her to Aidan once. Maybe he would do so again.

But it was a perfectly quiet afternoon, the air warm and still, and Brie did not feel him, or anything, present.

Breathing hard, Brie stepped outside. It was late afternoon in Scotland and about 10 a.m. New York time. Pedestrians were hurrying to-and-fro, leaving work, on their way home or to a pub. The street was bumper-to-bumper traffic, as well. Directly across the street was a small bookstore displaying the sign, Highland History Our Specialty.

She wasn’t sure if she’d seen Ian or not, but if she had, she felt certain he was intent on sending her to the store. Or maybe that was her imagination, too. It didn’t matter. Sam was taking her time, and if Highland History was the store’s specialty, Brie would buy some books and ship them home. Maybe one day she’d find a historian who disputed the fact of Aidan’s death.

Brie jaywalked carefully through the rush-hour traffic. Not a single Scot cursed her or honked their horn; in fact, everyone was excessively polite and waved her on. Brie walked into the bookstore, door chimes ringing. A pleasant woman behind the register smiled at her. “We close in ten minutes, dearie. Can I help you?”