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Tess hurried to Mark’s side and noted the anxious lines creasing his forehead. Peeking into the room, she spotted a young boy in shark pajamas clutching a fuzzy teddy bear while sucking his thumb. The boy’s mother made soothing shush sounds and rubbed his head, trying to comfort him. Nothing appeared awry.
“Hospital? No, thank you.” The man stepped backwards. “I assure you our son will be fine. Good night.” Without further conversation, the man turned and closed the door.
Tess watched as Mark’s expression grew baffled, and he traced the numbers on the door with his fingertips, as if trying to commit them to memory. Realizing Mark was in a trance and might not recognize her, she exercised care not to startle him. “Mark, everything’s fine. Let’s go back to bed now.” She placed a hand on his bare arm and gently steered him through the empty hallway with slow, deliberate steps.
He nodded but checked over his shoulder twice before rounding the corner.
She noticed him staring at his scarred left hand like a problem needing a solution and his skin had paled from its usual golden glow. Once back in their room, she touched his forehead and found it damp and clammy. She guided him to the bed and handed him a bottle of water from the minibar. “Drink this.”
After draining the bottle, he squinted at his hands, then scanned each wall of the room. “This isn’t the hospital, is it?”
She shook her head. “What’s going on? Whatever you need, Mark, I’m here for you.” Aching from seeing his misery, she softly pressed a palm to his cheek. “What has unsettled you? A nightmare?”
“Shit. Not a nightmare. A memory. An awful one.” He gasped and lifted a fist to cover his mouth.
“Sit here, and let’s talk it through.” She patted the bed with a hand and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. Several pieces clicked together in Tess’s mind, and she caressed his shoulder. “The boy crying tonight triggered you.”
“Oh, God. I remember the hospital attack.” A sob escaped him, and he bent forward over his knees. “I couldn’t save the boy.” He shoved his face into his trembling hands, and tears flowed down his cheeks.
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and cradled him tight against her chest. With one hand, she massaged his back with slow, gentle strokes, hoping to whisk away his distress. She smoothed his ruffled blond hair and spoke soothingly. “Shh. You’re safe here, so let it all out. I’ve got you.”
He rubbed his fingertips in circles against his forehead. “Seven-year-old boy hit by a land mine. I’d just scrubbed in to save his arm from amputation. When the shelling started, the walls collapsed, and a hundred shards of white-hot burning glass stabbed my hand. Couldn’t breathe. The acrid air scorched my nose, and grit and rubble filled my mouth, like eating sand. The shockwave blasted the boy from the table, and a metal beam fell, crushing his torso.”
“I’m so sorry.” As she listened to Mark’s account, she held her own tears back and grasped his uninjured hand.
“My surgical team screamed at me to evacuate, but I crawled through the debris to dig the boy out. When I reached him, part of his rib cage had caved in, and I started compressions to resuscitate him. Couldn’t revive him. Everything went black, and I woke up on a medivac chopper. He was my patient, in my O.R., and I failed him. I couldn’t protect my wife and son from dying, and I couldn’t save this boy, either.” He stared at the wall and clenched his hands.
“Mark. You did everything you could, given you were injured, too. Trauma takes time to heal. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I’m fine during the day, but after dark, these night terrors torment me. I keep waking up lost. My therapist insists remembering the hospital attack is a major step in my recovery. So, I suppose this is progress. Painful progress.” He stood and stretched both arms over his head, then paced around the room, pausing to inspect the cheery Welcome to the Highlands needlepoint hanging on the wall next to the door. Staring at the box-beamed ceiling, he moaned. “Christ, I’m in Scotland.”
“Yes, but we’re safe, and it’s a lovely hotel. Besides, they promised us scones in the morning.” Hot, fresh-baked pastries might not assuage his pain, but she couldn’t think of anything else uplifting.
“Breakfast. Now there’s a reason to live.” Part laughing but part groaning, he came back to bed and drifted off a few minutes later.
Although a glimmer of Mark’s usual spirit returned, Tess worried about the seriousness of his lapses. The last thing she expected from Cedarcliff was the prospect of a relationship. She recognized her growing feelings for Mark but feared making herself vulnerable. What if she lost him, too?
****
Morning arrived, along with the unwelcome reality Tess dreaded. The sun struggled to pierce through the clouds and light the boggy moor during their drive to Culloden. The car filled with the buttery scent of fresh-baked scones from the hotel’s coffee bar, the homey smell incongruous with the lethal risks she was contemplating. They sat gazing out over the deserted battlefield when the Raven drove up in his tiny black hatchback, rolled down his window, and gestured to them.
“Follow me to the cottage.” Attesting to his sleep deprivation, dark circles lined the Raven’s red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes.
Mark signaled okay with his upraised thumb from the rental car and exited the parking lot to follow the Raven. Inside the car, they remained quiet, keeping pace with the Raven’s hatchback along the twisting roads east of Inverness. Mark’s phone screen lit and buzzed on the console separating their seats.
Out of the corner of one eye, she snuck a peek and groaned inwardly. The redhead again, Elena Rabinowitz. Ugh. Why did this woman ring Mark every day? She buried her annoyance and focused on what they needed to accomplish this morning. “Hey, your phone.”
Oblivious to the ringing, he blinked several times. Glancing at his mobile, he hit Decline and continued driving. “Not safe to talk and drive.”
The seed of doubt lingering in her mind sprouted another leaf. Who was she? As they approached the Raven’s cottage, the skies opened and dumped rain along with punishing winds.
The moment they arrived, the Highlander helped Tess up the steps and ushered them to his warm living room.
Mark wandered to the fireplace, picked up a poker, and stoked the fire, which had reduced to embers overnight.
Inside the cottage, she glimpsed the oil painting of the Culloden Battle above the fireplace. Today, the battle scene sent new chills through her spine. The outcome of tonight’s ransom handoff was anyone’s guess, and she grew more unsettled every hour. She handed the Raven a pastry bag filled with scones. “We brought you breakfast.”
“Ah, lovely. Thank you.” The Raven clapped his hands together. “Long night, but I wrote the code you need.”
