“Send me back,” she hissed through her tears into Latharn’s startled face. “You’ve got to send me back right now. I’m in the middle of getting married.”
A sorrowful shadow darkened Latharn’s face as he slowly turned away. “I cannot, Trish. Please forgive me. I cannot reopen the portal.”
“Bullshit!” Trish screamed, tripping over her long skirts as she scrambled off the altar stone. Stumbling forward, she fell atop Latharn’s chest. Her clenched fists bounced against his body, fueled by her rage. “Don’t stand there and lie to me. If you opened it once, you can do it again!”
She had to get back. Maxwell had to know that she really loved him. Panic ripped through her heart. She’d never said the words. She’d never told Maxwell she loved him. Balling up her fists, she swung at Latharn again, screaming as he locked his hands around her wrists and held her blows at bay. “Send me back to him now, dammit! I don’t belong here anymore.”
“I cannot!” Latharn hissed between clenched teeth. “Each MacKay chieftain is granted the magic to open the portal once during his lifetime. I used my chance to recover you and my son.”
The painful truth hit Trish like a wall of ice water, knocking her to her knees. Ramsay was next in line to be laird and he’d used his one shot at the portal when he’d sent them back in time. Trish sucked in a shuddering sob as hopeless hysteria battered against the cruel logic unfurling in her mind. She would never see Maxwell again. She had used up her quota of MacKay chieftains. By the time Ramsay fathered an heir who could re-open the portal, a life with Maxwell would be a missed chance…like waking too soon from a lovely dream.
“Trish.” Nessa’s soft voice interrupted her misery and broke through the aching fog. “Even if you could go back, I don’t think you would find what you expect.”
Trish twisted the ends of the drenched arisaid tighter about her shoulders. A bone-chilling weariness settled into her flesh, making every movement a struggle. Not bothering to look up from the cold hard ground, Trish forced the words from her mouth. Even breathing took too much effort. What was the point really? “Cut to the chase, Nessa. I don’t have the strength for your attempt to let me down gently.”
A despondent sigh sounded from somewhere just above Trish’s head, right before a pair of strong hands pulled her up to her feet. “Come on, Trish. There’s something I think you need to see.”
Somehow, her feet moved of their own accord as Nessa and Latharn pulled on her arms. Strange. How could a body continue to function and shift into auto-pilot when the heart and mind had been totally shattered? Trish shuffled forward, stumbling along the path as Nessa and Latharn led her down the hill.
“I know this will seem cruel but you need to know the truth. It would be pointless for you to return to the past, Trish. This is what you would find.” Nessa pulled on Trish’s arms, stopping them just inside the gate of the family cemetery. Her fingers dug into Trish’s flesh, pointing her toward the corner of the headstone-filled garden. “Please don’t hate me, Trish. But you’ve got to know that he is not there waiting for you. I’m so sorry but it’s just too late.”
Trish frowned at Nessa. What the hell was she babbling about? Of course, Maxwell would still be there waiting for her. Only a few moments had passed. If he wasn’t here by her side, then he had to be back there standing beside that damn stone arch.
Nessa pulled her toward a taller headstone, slightly offset from the others. A dark foreboding squeezed icy claws around Trish’s throat, threatening to cut off her air. “I don’t need to see where he’s buried, Nessa. Don’t you think I’ve got enough sense to realize that if he didn’t follow me to the future then he’s long dead by now?”
Nessa’s mouth tightened into a determined line and she pulled Trish closer to the stone. “You need to seewhenhe died. It will help you move on…I hope.”
Shrugging out of Nessa’s grasp, Trish stomped over to the gravesite nestled in the corner. The nameMaxwell Sullivanwas carved deep and dark into the face of the soft gray stone. Trish stumbled forward, falling to her knees as she read the inscription that followed:
A day without the warmth of her smile…
…is an eternity spent in darkness.
Life is nothing without her.
Trish didn’t understand how it could be possible. How could her heart hold so much pain and still beat within her chest? Below the inscription was the date. The numbers seemed to jump from the stone and slap her in the face. Trish hugged her body, rocking back and forth on the cold hard ground as tears blurred the engraving forever chiseled into her mind. Maxwell had given up. He had died the same day she had left.
ChapterSixteen
“Auntie Trish.” Ramsay’s hesitant call wafted through the garden like a sultry summer breeze.
“I’m here, Ramsay.” Trish shifted positions on the stone bench, settling her chin in the crook of her arm propped atop the low stone wall. She had a clear view of his headstone from here—could just make out the words of the heart-breaking inscription. Perhaps it was silly but she always felt a bit closer to Maxwell whenever she sat here and watched over his grave.
“Mama says come to supper. Maitla’s set the good table in the main hall and everyone’s waitin’ there for ye.” Ramsay hitched back and forth along the stone path as though fearing his feet might take root if he stood too long in one place.
Without taking her eyes from Maxwell’s headstone, Trish waved the boy away. “Tell your mama I’m not hungry. Tell everyone to go ahead and eat.”
“Mama’s gonna be mad,” Ramsay replied in the age-old sing-song chant children always used to warn of impending parental rage.
Trish closed her eyes and took a deep breath, biting her tongue against the stinging retort she longed to hurl. She didn’t give a damn if Nessa got mad. As a matter of fact, Trish didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything anymore. But it wouldn’t be fair to take it out on Ramsay. After all, he was just a child. “If your mother gets mad, tell her…” Trish paused. No. She couldn’t very well have the boy tell his mother to fight her own battles and stop hiding behind a child. “If your mother gets angry, she’ll just get angry with me. It’s no big deal, Ram. The world won’t come to an end.” Trish swallowed hard. No. The world wouldn’t come to an end because it had already ended over a month ago when she’d lost the one she loved.
“I’m sorry, Auntie Trish.” Ramsay coughed and shuffled a bit closer to rest his small hand atop her wrist. “I’m verra sorry for everything and I never meant to make ye so sad.”
Trish pulled Ramsay into her lap and hugged him close. “I know you’re a big boy and not fond of cuddling, but I need you to know how much I love you, Ram. And you need to know that you’re not the one who made me sad. It’s not your fault.”
Ramsay sighed and settled against her chest, tucking his head beneath her chin. “I guess it’s okay for ye to snuggle me just this once, Auntie Trish. ’Specially if it helps ye not be so sad.”
Trish smiled and planted a kiss atop his head. “It helps, Ram. I promise it helps a lot.”
