Faolan’s smile faltered a bit as he matched Maxwell’s ground-eating stride. “Aye, my friend. There is an energy crackling in the air. I feel it too.”
Maxwell nodded to the throng of guests crowding the base of the hill. A comforting warmth filled his heart at the sight of so many smiling faces. “Thank ye, Faolan, and thanks to Clan MacKay for adding your blessings to this day.”
Faolan nodded once as the crowd opened to the clearing holding the stone altar, revealing Trish waiting with Ciara. “Ye owe me no thanks, my friend. Now go and join your bride.”
Reason fled him as Maxwell’s gaze connected with Trish’s beaming smile. His heart swelled at the sight of the Sullivan plaid draped about her shoulders.Lore, the woman fills my soul with fire and wears my colors well.Her shining curls blazed loose and free in the golden colors of the setting sun. Maxwell itched to bury his hands in the silky locks finally long enough to brush the tops of her shoulders. As he stepped close to her side, he brought her trembling hand to his lips. “The sun rushes to hide behind the horizon ’cause it canna compete with your beauty.”
The most delightful shade of rose he’d ever seen colored Trish’s cheeks as she ducked her chin. She squeezed his fingers and leaned forward, so only he could hear her whisper. “Thank you…for everything.”
Maxwell brought her clasped hands back to his lips again, lingering on the silky coolness pressed against his mouth. Words escaped him.Lore. He hoped the woman knew the joy filling his heart.
“Are you both ready?” Ciara stepped between the stone arches, her back to the glowing sun sinking into the ocean’s glistening waves.
Maxwell glanced at Trish. Her shy nod and quivering smile warmed him like a dram of fine whisky. Cradling her hands between his own, he turned them both toward Ciara. “Aye. We are ready to pledge our lives and our souls.”
Ciara stared at him, unblinking, her head tilted slightly forward.
Maxwell beamed back at her as he snugged Trish’s hands against his chest.
Ciara cleared her throat, glanced down at Trish’s hands then aimed a pointed gaze and an arched brow back at Maxwell’s face. “Now, Maxwell,” she finally whispered.
Realization hit Maxwell like a nudge in the ribs. It was time he revealed the ring. Freeing one hand and shoving it deep in his sporran, Maxwell gave Trish an apologetic smile as he searched the depths of the richly furred pouch. Where was the damn thing? He’d wrapped it carefully in a bit of soft hide to ensure it traveled well. A sense of relief flooded through him as his fingers touched the tightly wrapped bundle. Pulling the bit of yellowed hide from the pouch, Maxwell unwrapped the ring in the palm of his hand. Trish’s sharp intake of breath assured him he’d done well.
The silver band gleamed with carefully polished knots and whorls forming an intricate weave. A deep blue stone, an oval-shaped, sparkling sapphire nestled into the widest part of the band. Maxwell took Trish’s shaking hand and seated the ring on her finger. Closing his hand over hers, he smiled into her eyes. “I canna imagine taking a breath without ye by my side. Ye own my heart and ye own my soul. I pledge all eternity to ye…my willful, beautiful bride.”
A deafening roar exploded around them, plunging them into an inky darkness. Howling winds tore through them, shrieking through the upright stones of the altar. The pyres of gathered wood burst into flames, blazes shooting high into the air. Maxwell staggered back against the altar table; hands raised against the onslaught of debris stinging against his flesh.
“Trish,” he roared into the gale, clawing against the blackness of the swirling cloud. A heart-wrenching scream reached him through the howling wind just before everything went black.
Icy raindrops plopped into his face as he rolled back against the base of the altar. The pelting drops shot faster from the clouds, melding into frigid sheets of water pummeling down the hillside. Maxwell squinted through the deluge, searching the gray, watery landscape for any sign of Trish. Crawling across the rain-slicked earth, he pulled himself to where Faolan and Ciara huddled in each other’s arms.
“Where is she? Where is Trish? I canna see her,” he roared to them, vying to be heard above the screaming storm.
Ciara shook her head and buried her face into Faolan’s shoulder as he pulled her beneath the shelter of the stone altar’s ledge.
“Tell me now!” Maxwell bellowed through the rain even though he feared the answer to his question.
Keagan shook his head as he elbow-crawled beneath the stone and crouched next to his mother and father. “They have gone back, Uncle Maxwell. They’ve both returned to their time.”
ChapterFifteen
The air swelled and then exploded between the stone pillars as though someone had squeezed the universe and popped that particular space like a delicate bubble. Drenched and shaking, Trish and Ramsay sprawled across the altar stone right where the universe spit them out.
“My baby!” Nessa rushed forward, pulling Ramsay into her arms and covering his closed eyes with kisses. “Ramsay, speak to me. Tell me you’re all right. Please, Ramsay, say something.”
“I’m okay, Mama,” Ramsay croaked before going limp in her arms.
Trish closed her eyes. This could not be happening. Not this. Not now. Raking the back of her hand across her wet face, she strained to raise her head and force her eyes to focus. Latharn’s concerned face swam into view. That was all it took. She collapsed back into an exhausted heap atop the stone, dragging a handful of the Sullivan tartan against her mouth to absorb her uncontrollable sobs. He was gone. She had returned to her time and lost the only man she’d ever attempted to love.
“Trish! Are ye hurt? Can ye speak?” Latharn eased a hand beneath her shoulders and carefully turned her toward him. “Trish. Why are ye weeping? Are ye no’ glad to finally be home?”
Ramsay stirred in Nessa’s arms, coughing and spitting as though he’d just been resuscitated after drowning. Unwinding himself from his mother’s arms, he inched across the stone table and laid his cheek against Trish’s arm. “Ye shouldha left Auntie Trish back there, Da. Ye yanked her away from her wedding day.”
“Wedding day?” Nessa repeated in a horrified whisper. Pulling Ramsay back into her embrace, Nessa turned the boy’s face to hers with a trembling finger under his chin. “What do you mean, Ramsay?”
“Auntie Trish loved Maxwell. Look at her hand. She wears his ring.”
Trish curled her hand against her chest, cupping the precious ring against her heart. Rocking back and forth atop the altar, heart-wrenching sobs tore from her throat. Why couldn’t Maxwell have returned with her instead of the damn ring? Blinded by a torrent of tears, Trish shoved her fingers into her waistband until she found the cold metal snuggled against her side. Working it free, she placed a man’s silver ring on the stone beside her and covered it with a shaking hand. Ducking her head, she clenched her ringed hand to her chest and rocked back and forth, keening her pain to the wind. She hadn’t given Maxwell his ring. Nor had a chance to repeat her vows.
