Page 14 of Highlander’s Ancient Vengeance

She smiled at Margaret. “It has been an interesting day, but I have to tell you something, Mammy.” She dropped her eyes from her mother’s and began to twist her hands on the table, a sure sign of worry, stress, or guilt.

Margaret laid a hand on her daughter’s. “Tell me, Malle, is anything wrong?” There was an edge of panic in her voice. “Did someone hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that, Mammy.” Malle shook her head. “ I disobeyed you.”

Margaret’s brow creased in a deep frown. “Why?” she asked. “And how?”

Malle sighed and suddenly the words rushed out. “I went onto Dunbar land,” she confessed. “I am so sorry, Mammy. I broke my word to you.”

There was a pause, which Margaret broke with an exasperated sigh.

“That is not what angers me, Malle,” she said tersely. “Anything could have happened to you. We would not have known where you were—you could have been arrested for God’s sake! Why did you do such a thing?”

Malle passed a hand over her eyes for a moment. “I went to the graveyard as you told me to, Mammy,” she began, then she began to tell her mother the story of the book of condolence and how she had gone to the grave and wept over the gravestone. She omitted Craig’s part in the story altogether, but when she told her mother about Father John, she was delighted.

“Father John Baxter?” she asked in disbelief.

Malle nodded. “Do you know him?”

“Indeed I do!” she replied, smiling from ear to ear. “From ages ago. He Christened me.”

“He did not mention it,” Malle remarked doubtfully.

“I was very small at the time!” she answered, and they laughed. “He would not have recognized me. My name has changed, and I am probably one of hundreds of babies he Christened over the years.” She was silent again for a moment. “Malle, I must ask you never to do such a thing again. And I know you are not accustomed to taking a guard out with you on our own land, but please do so from now on.” She looked out of the window and shook her head in puzzlement. “I have a strange uneasy feeling that something bad is going on around here. I have no idea what it is, but until we find out, it is better to be safe than sorry. Please obey me next time, Daughter. I would hate to have to confine you to the castle.”

“You are right, Mammy,” she conceded. “It was foolish of me to do what I did.”

“I will not tell your father—this time, Malle. But there are no second chances, do you understand?”

Malle looked into her mother’s eyes, which were so like her own, and said, “I promise, Mammy, and thank you.” She knew that her mother was a woman of her word, and whatever she said she meant.

“Did you find out anything else, Mammy?” she asked.

“A lot of interesting bits and pieces, but nothing that can help us,” Margaret replied. She went to pour them both a glass of wine, then they went through to the parlor where they sat in comfortable silence with their arms around each other. Malle loved this part of the day, and being with her mother was the best part of all.

However, memories of the day could not be kept away forever, and although the last few hours had been quiet and contented, now that her mind was not occupied with anything else, she found that the memory of the kiss had come back to her with full force.

It had only been unpleasant for the first few seconds; after that she had given herself up to it with great delight. If she closed her eyes she could feel the rasp of his beard against the soft skin of her cheek, and the hard muscle of his chest under her hands as she made a futile attempt to push him away. Strangely though, in the first few seconds after the kiss he had looked just as confused as she felt.

She got into bed and lay for a while looking into the darkness. A half moon was making its way across the sky, and she wondered what it would feel like to be lying here in her soft bed with a strong man’s arm around her, sheltering and protecting her.

Her mother had already told her about the mysteries of love, so she would not be entirely unprepared for marriage, but the thought made her shiver with both fear and anticipation. She knew that she did not want a huge man like Craig, and wondered for the first time what Donnan had looked like. The name had always conjured up younger versions of her father; average height, wiry, and pleasant-faced, if not exactly handsome.

She had seen one painting of Isobell, which was no doubt highly stylized, but she had been a stunning beauty, with fair hair, brown eyes, high cheekbones, and a full, well-shaped mouth.

Malle sighed. She was exhausted, but she tossed and turned for a long time before she drifted off to sleep.

Then she plunged straight into the terrifying world of a nightmare.

She was standing in a beautiful forest under the light of a full moon, enchanted by the world around her. The air was balmy, as it sometimes was in a summer twilight, and all the branches of the trees were gilded in silver. Every leaf underfoot was outlined in the same way, and even though she was walking barefoot, none of the twigs or pine needles scratched her. She sighed, then took a great breath of air, scented with a fresh fragrance of the conifers around her. It was paradise, and she hugged herself and closed her eyes, tilting her face to the moon and smiling.

When she opened them again she screamed. Instead of the slim evergreens she had seen a moment before, there were huge trees with thick, gnarled trunks and branches that blotted out the moonlight. Every tree had a tombstone in front of it, and the name “Malle MacEwan” was on every one. The sight sent a shaft of fear into her that was so strong that she screamed. She saw her birthday on each one of them, but the date of her death was different on every stone, so she had no idea which was the right one.

She could not move. Her feet seemed to be stuck to the forest floor; she pulled and tugged, then bent her knees and tried to jump, but nothing worked. She was trapped in the middle of a forest of tombstones, and she could go nowhere. She knelt down and wept with sheer terror and despair, then she felt a hand on each of her shoulders.

She looked up. Silhouetted against the moon was the shape of a tall man’s head. The rest of him was in darkness, but as soon as he spoke she knew who it was.

“Get up, Malle,” Craig said. However, his voice, unlike its usual gravelly tone, was silky. “Kiss me and I will free you.”