Matter of time, p.1
Matter of Time, page 1
A Matter of Time
by
Terri Brisbin
© 2012 by Theresa S. Brisbin
(Originally published by Berkley/Jove in 1999)
© 2012 Smashwords Edition
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
Please Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Thank You.
~ * ~ * ~
Dedication:
To Cindy Hwang, my first editor at Berkley, for her support through my’newbie author’ time;
To Cyndi Fong, a friend for life who's always there for me (even when she's on the other coast, or around the world, or when she doesn't check her e-mail!);
and
To Tricia Fultano and Mo Boylan, my first official fans!
~ * ~ * ~
Acknowledgements:
My thanks to George Seto of Nova Scotia, Canada,
for his help with the Gaelic translations in both this book
and in A Love Through Time. George answered a
plea from me on the Gaelic language listserv
and I appreciate his time and efforts.
Thanks also to Kay Swanson and Jody Allen for
their help in researching parts of this book.
And, once more, a special thank-you to my unofficial
critique group from all those years ago,
Paul and Rochelle Adler,
Helen Levin, and Colleen Admirand.
Author's Note
Because Scottish Gaelic is difficult for most of us to read and pronounce and because it doesn't even sound as it looks, I originally chose to use a form of Scots English in this story. It has the characteristic accent usually associated with the Scottish language, but it is recognizable and readable to those of us who speak English. Reading it aloud will give you a real taste of Scotland, as it were. However, to make it a bit easier to read, I’ve smoothed out those words in this edition and used only a small sampling of those Scottish-sounding words.
To aid in your reading, here are some of the commonly-used words and their translations:
didna = did not
no' = not
willna = will not
yer = your
ye = you
haes = has
This list is not complete, but is a sample of the words I use in the story.
Table of Contents:
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Meet Terri
Excerpt from THE QUEEN’S MAN
Prologue
An rud a bhitheas an dan, bitheadh e do-sheachanta.
One cannot bypass one's fate. 'Tis as ‘twas meant to be.
The heat! Dear God, the heat!
He tried to move away but it surrounded him, entrapped him. He forced his eyes open and still his body would not obey his commands.
Flames! Taller and wider than he. Waves of heat washed over him, stealing his breath, overpowering and terrorizing him. His mouth and throat were parched, but sweat gathered and ran down his face, his chest. He knew he couldn't survive much longer—he felt his strength draining away. He could fight no longer.
Then she was there. Her presence called to him, urged him on in his struggle. He stared at her, amazed that someone could brave the fire's heat. In an instant, she stood before him—her head barely reached his chin. With her head bowed, he could not see her features, only the porcelain translucence of her skin and the flowing black hair.
Look at me, he thought, unable to speak the words.
Her head lifted, revealing to him long lashes matching the black strands of hair and a full, red mouth.
Open your eyes, he pleaded soundlessly. Look at me.
Her glowing green eyes startled him. She raised her hands and reached out to touch his face. Their gazes locked as he waited for her touch. A blessed coolness spread through him from her hands, through his head, chest, stomach, limbs. He saw the flames and knew their heat had not lessened. But he felt only her hands. He allowed her comfort to strengthen him, to remove his pain, to bring forgetfulness.
Then the glow left her eyes and she stepped away. His stomach clenched in fear of the heat and the pain he faced without her intervention. He tried to reach for her but his body would still not respond. He saw regret in her eyes as she backed away and moved through the flames.
She was gone.
No! his mind screamed.
Stay....
Please .... help me....
* * * * *
"Help me!"
The loudness of his own cry woke him from the troubled sleep. Douglas lurched up in his bed, entangled in the damp sheets, covered in sweat. Panting, still in the clutches of the fear and pain of the dream, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and pushed the sheets down and off his legs.
He balanced unevenly on those still-shaky legs, dragged his fingers through his sweaty hair and swallowed long and deep trying to clear his clogged throat. Then he made his way to the bathroom, not bothering to turn on a light. He knew from experience that the terror would pass quickly and he would be left with ...
He would be left with a vision of a woman who either saved him or tempted him every night in his sleep. He'd never met her, didn't know her, other than in his dreams.
But, his soul told him that she would alter his life when they met... and they would meet. In turning away from other women, real women in his life, he knew it was just a matter of time before he found the lady with green eyes.
Just a matter of time...
Chapter 1
Dunnedin, Scotland
In the near future
"So, have ye come to seek out yer destiny?"
Douglas MacKendimen turned around slowly at the familiar voice. Mairi, fortune-teller extraordinaire, stood before him awaiting his response.
"No, Mairi, I know my destiny." Douglas laughed as the old woman's face tightened with stubbornness. They'd played this game before.
"'Tis coming yer way soon, boy, and ye willna be able to stop it." Mairi wagged a bony finger close to his nose. She clutched her woolen shawl around her stooped body and whispered something he couldn't quite make out.
"What did you say?" Douglas moved closer and bent down nearer to her. "I couldn't make out your last words."
"I said that ye be as stubborn as yer father and mother. Ye tempt the Fates wi' yer cockiness just as they did, so long ago."
"Mairi, please don't start with those tales you told me as a child. They are just stories you made up to keep me interested in coming back here."
Douglas stuck his hands into the pockets of his warm leather jacket. What ever made him come out to the ruins in this weather, at this time of night? He hadn't even stopped at the manor house other than to drop off his bags. The pull was always at its strongest when he arrived. For reasons he'd never been able to discern or understand, his first stop on every trip back here to Dunnedin was this ancient stone arch. And, as always, Mairi knew he was here. His breath curled around him in the cool air.
"Is that what ye believe? Only stories for restless bairns? Och, there will be a reckoning for ye, lad, and it comes to ye soon." Mairi paced now, in front of him, in front of the old stone arch.
Doug ran his fingers through his overlong hair. This trip to Scotland for the family reunion had been a last-minute thing for him. He was tired, jet-lagged and exhausted from double shifts at the hospital... and from sleepless nights caused by the strength of the dreams. Maybe now that he was here he would get some rest.
So, he thought as he readjusted the collar of his jacket, he really needed to sleep and not be standing here arguing with this distant relative... especially one who should be in her own warm cottage and not exposed to the harsh weather surrounding them.
"Mairi," he started, placing his hands on her frail shoulders and drew her into
an embrace. "I will visit you tomorrow and you can tell me those stories again ... when I'm awake enough to pay attention." Douglas stepped back and smiled. "Can I walk you back home?"
"I amna ready to go back." Mairi's voice trembled as she answered. Was she cold or frightened? he wondered. He knew she was stubborn—if she said she wasn't ready, she wouldn't go home yet. "But ye should come to me in the morn, afore the noon meal. I have something to tell ye, lad."
Douglas kissed the waxen cheek she offered and nodded at her in farewell. He'd taken a few steps when he turned back to ask if there were any messages for his parents— something Mairi always gave him to carry to the "new" castle.
The arch stood alone, moonlight reflecting off the sharper edges and cascading over its curve to the barren rocky ground around it. Smaller boulders lay on the ground some distance away but the arch dominated the landscape.
And there was no sign of Mairi.
Douglas blinked a few times and squinted into the moonlit night, looking for some sign of the old woman. But there was none. She'd disappeared into the mist-filled night without a trace... again.
One day, maybe even during their chat tomorrow, he would gather up his nerve to ask how she did that. For now, the heat and comfort of the clan's manor house called undeniably to him.
* * * *
"Dr. MacKendimen, it's good to see you, sir." The butler closed the thick oak door behind Douglas and reached out to take Doug's jacket as he removed it. "I'm afraid the family has retired for the night."
"That's fine, Mr. Parker, I'll see them in the morning. Do you have me in my regular room, then?" Parker was the epitome of an efficient butler, managing the entire MacKendimen household and making it look easy. In all his years of visiting the ancestral home of the MacKendimens nothing... no one... ever frazzled Parker.
"Just Parker, sir. And yes, the corner room in the back on the second floor," Parker nodded in the direction of that room as he hung Douglas's jacket in the hall closet. "Breakfast will be informal and begin at seven, sir."
"Good night then, Mr. Parker."
"And a good night to you, too, Dr. MacKendimen." Douglas noticed the small wink as the older man turned and left the hallway.
With each step on the creaking wooden stairs leading up to the second floor, the weight of his exhaustion grew. By the time he reached the assigned room, Douglas knew he would be asleep before his head hit the pillow.
* * * *
"No, please, help me...."
He forced the words out of his constricting throat, the pain of the scream waking him.
Gasping for air, Douglas sat up and threw off the covers. The coolness of the room made his sweat even more uncomfortable. The quiet knock at the door gave him something to focus on until the terror seeped away.
"Douglas? Are you okay?" His mother's whisper seemed to echo across the stillness of the room as he tried to calm his ragged breathing.
"Yes, Mom, I'm fine." Knowing she would not leave until she assured herself by seeing his condition, Douglas grabbed his robe from the foot of the bed and threw it on. Moving quickly to the door, he turned the knob and eased it open a crack.
"I heard you as I went by," she said, pushing the door open and entering the room. "Do the dreams still come?"
By the time Douglas turned to face her, his mother Maggie MacKendimen had taken a seat on his bed. "I'm just overtired, Mom. I'll see you in the morning." He opened the door and gestured for her to leave.
"You may as well close the door, Doug. I'm not leaving." She sat staring at him from across the room and he knew he'd lost the battle. She was already in mother mode and wouldn't leave until... well, until she was satisfied with his answers. He really didn't need this.
"Tell me about them. Are they as frequent as last year?"
"They come and go, Mom, as you should know." He looked pointedly at the door but it did no good. He didn't want to talk about the dreams, or how frequent and strong they'd really become. "Now, I'd like to go to bed, if you don't mind?"
"If you'd answer my questions, rather than try to evade them, we could both go back to bed." Her cut-to-the-chase attitude shouldn't surprise him; his mother always preferred the short, concise version to the long, flowery one.
He dragged his hand over his face and through his hair. Could he tell her? What would her reaction be to the power and clarity of the dreams? Maybe his workload at the hospital was the cause—too many all-nighters and too many weekends could do this to a person. Right?
She must have sensed his reluctance to reveal details, for she rose and approached him where he stood at the door. Stepping closer and rising up, she took his head in her hands, pulled his face to hers and kissed his forehead. If only that were all it took to banish the dreams and the sense of disorientation they brought with them and left behind.
"I try to remember that you're an adult and a 'doctor,' but the sounds I heard from the hall scared me, Doug. I'll wait until you're ready to tell me. Good night."
He turned the knob and pulled the heavy wooden door open. Without another glance, his mother walked out. Her acquiescence didn't fool him—she would have the truth from him and on her own schedule.
Chapter 2
Dunnedin, Scotland
1370 A.D.
"'Ware the woods at night, Caitlin."
"I think 'tis you I should fear at night, Craig MacKendimen, and no' the woods." Caitlin MacInnis shrugged off her cousin's heavy hands and stepped away. The moon shown full and bright on this brisk, autumn eve. She was losing precious time standing here fending off Craig's tentative advances. She had but one more night to collect the lifesaving herbs from their sheltered growing place.
"I could come with ye, protect ye from harm." Craig's bright blue eyes gleamed in the shaft of moonlight that covered him. "What do ye say, Caitlin?"
"I have an important task to complete for my mam and you and your big feet will trample the very plants I need. Nay, Craig, I dinna need your help this night."
Confusion showed clear on his face. The heir to the laird and clan was not used to being thwarted, not in battle and not in his dealings with women. Caitlin looked over his features yet again and wondered why they did not inspire her to the same devotion... the same silliness that affected the other women in the clan MacKendimen. He stood tall next to her, she could stand a step above him when they were on the stairs leading to the great room in the keep and still not meet his gaze eye-to-eye. His face was ruggedly handsome, angled with a strong chin and brow. He wore his lion-mane hair loose and flowing, the very picture of clan manhood at its best. But none of this made her feel the "tingling" that others claimed when his gaze fell their way.
She sighed and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. They were cousins, mayhap that explained her lack of attraction to his charm? But nay, she was cousin to most in the village and he, too, and that didn't stop the others from looking at him with cow eyes.
Mayhap ‘twas the stranger she dreamed of....
Craig jumped back when the door of her cottage opened and her father stepped out in the moonlight. Caitlin laughed out loud when Craig showed the same reaction that all the boys and young men in the clan had to her da. Even years of working the fire and iron for the clan had not lessened his height or bearing. Pol, the blacksmith, still managed to intimidate anyone who thought themselves her suitor. And his timing was impeccable, as ever.
"I thought ye were doing yer ma's errands, Caitlin. 'Tis not like ye to dawdle when she awaits yer return."
