The Inscription

by Pam Binder

Overview

An immortal warrior has conquered death.

Now he must conquer living.

When immortal warrior Lachlan MacAlpin rescues a woman from the depths of Loch Ness, he knows she is his one true love foretold by an ancient prophecy. But imagine American Amber McPhee's surprise when she awakens in Urquhart Castle to discover that she has fallen more than four hundred years into the past - and into a love that will shatter the barriers of time.

"Readers will be drawn in by Pam Binder's magic touch for blending the natural with the supernatural and creating a spellbinding tale with many subplots, wonderful historical backdrop and color, and the added attraction of the Highlander immortal. This is truly a love story for the ages." --RT Book Reviews

"Featuring a strong, independent heroine as fiery as her hair, this crisply written romance is light-hearted yet engaging." --Publishers Weekly

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780990673217
Publisher:	Pam Binder
Publication date:	09/06/2014
Pages:	396
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.81(d)

About the Author

Pam Binder says she believes in happier-ever-after endings. Married 32 years, with three grown kids, she has had a good life with an understanding mate, one who has supported her lifelong writing habit.

"I've always loved to write." says Pam, an Issaquah, Washington resident and office manager at Chinook Middle School. "Poetry, short stories...I cannot remember a time when I didn't like to write or read."

Binder's path to her destiny was circuitous. As she raised her children, she put her writing career on hold. But old-fashioned diligence and a chance meeting with a receptive agent, changed her life.

When Pam Binder was a kid, a fifth grade teacher told her mother: "Pam's reading too much. She's reading during recess." Her mother retorted that she didn't consider her daughter's love of reading grounds for complaint.

About ten years ago, Pam decided she wanted to start writing again in earnest. She went to a Romance Writers of America conference. Then she signed up for the commercial fiction writing sequence at the University of Washington's extension division.

It was there that things fell into place.

Jack Remick, one of Pam's teachers in the UW program, referred to a book called. The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler. Based on the teachings of Joseph Campbell, the book teaches that most compelling stories, from the screenplay of Pretty Woman to Homer's The Odyssey, have the same elements:

1)The Quest — the physical or emotional journey taken by the protagonist.

2)The Dragon — the conflict the main character must endure, or surmount.

3)A resolution that comes back to the beginning of the hero's quest.

Pam learned that a story is "not a straight line, but a circle." When a character returns to his or her starting point "they're completely different, emotionally transformed."

"It was like a light bulb went off," Pam said. After traveling to Scotland on vacation with her husband, a story fermenting in her imagination suddenly came together and began to gel. The result was The Inscription, a time travel romance set in 16th century Scotland. Her book features a clan of immortals and a modern American teacher named Amber MacPhee who is pulled into their world of mystery, romance and adventure.

Pam's next class at the University was taught by the owner of a small regional press. P.R. Goodfellow bought Pam's work-in-progress, printed 2,000 copies of it in 1997 and sold them all.

If that were the end of the story, this would be a respectable happier-ever-after piece. It's not.

In 1998, Pam took the Goodfellow Press edition of The Inscription to the Pacific Northwest Writers' Association summer conference. More or less at random, Binder took the book to Liza Dawson, a New York literary agent. Dawson "patted my hand," Pam recalls, took the book on the plane and called her Monday morning.

"I can sell this," Dawson told Pam.

Dawson says she has a test for any book: "Am I having a really, really good time?" She recalls her immediate reaction to The Inscription: "I so much enjoyed reading that book. It's a bear of a trip from Seattle to Newark. I found myself laughing, enjoying it...it came as a surprise because I hadn't had any expectations." Though Dawson enjoys mixing with authors at such conferences, finding a saleable one is a relatively rare event.

Dawson sold The Inscription and another book by Pam Binder, The Quest, to Pocket. The Quest will be released in August 2000 under Pocket/Sonnet. It is also a time travel: A Celtic sorceress needs a warrior to free her mother; however, when she cast a spell, the man who appears is, Kenneth MacKinnon, a professional football player from the 21st century. For the first time in his life he is not in control of the situation.

What is this lesson in this happy ending?

Endurance, perhaps. Pam says she has a quality that approximates the "cone of silence" of Maxwell Smart on the old Get Smart television show — she can block out anything and write anytime, everywhere. Writing on a regular legal pad, she writes during her lunch break. After work, she goes to Barnes & Noble and writes there. She credits her UW instructors for teaching her that you don't have to write in sequence. Write an adventure sequence when you feel like it — write romance when the spirit moves you.

In fact, not a lot has changed since that fifth-grader was chastised for reading during recess. Pam's need to read and write endures. "I look at it as small steps", she says. "As a writer, you need to look at the long term."

The Inscription received 4 and a half stars and a Romantic Times Top Pick award in their February Review: "...Readers will be drawn in by Pam Binder's magic touch for blending the natural with the supernatural and creating a spellbinding tale with many subplots, wonderful historical backdrop and color, and the added attraction of the Highlander immortal. This is truly a love story for the ages."

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1 Scotland 1566

Once again the mournful wail of bagpipes, followed by a woman's cry for help, had awakened the laird of Urquhart Castle from a sound sleep and drawn him to the mist-shrouded waters of Loch Ness. In the light of the full moon the calm waters glistened like a newly forged sword as he made his way down the path to the shore. The image of the woman who had of late occupied his dreams came unbidden to his mind.

Her hair, the color of burnished gold, hung past her shoulders and the sadness reflected in her eyes made him wonder the cause. Lachlan MacAlpin did not know who she was, only that over the past few days her likeness had lingered in his thoughts well after he was fully awake. Each night this past seven days he had ventured out into the cool air, at first to escape his dreams, and then to pursue them. But tonight would be different. He could feel it.

The haunting music of the bagpipes returned. It was the same tune as the one in his dreams. He felt the hair prickle on the nape of his neck. The sound could be from a lone piper in the Highlands overlooking the loch. He gripped the hilt of his sword.

Waves began to foam to life, crashing against the stone walls of his castle as a shadow moved under the water. He was not afraid of the beastie that lived in the black depths of the loch; it was guardian to his people. But the creature only ventured near the surface when summoned, or when danger threatened those it protected. He knew it was not by chance the Guardian was near. There was a purpose, and as leader he must learn if its appearance was connected to his dreams.

Lightning cracked across the sky and he heard a faint cry for help through the increasing tempo of the bagpipes. There had been a time when he could have ignored such a plea for aid, but that was before he had left those he loved to the mercy of his enemy. The call came again, clear and insistent. He turned toward it. Not far from where he stood he could see someone in the water. A woman. Her cry rose above the growing storm as she fought to stay on the surface of the loch. His premonition had borne fruit, but fate had a way of destroying hope.

Lachlan hastened to remove his sword and tossed it onto the rock ledge. Plunging into the angry waters, he felt the bottom of the loch drop off abruptly to its unknown depths. His pulse quickened as he saw her pulled beyond his reach. Frustration filled him. How fragile life was for these mortals. He was weary of death and longed to become like his sword, strong, emotionless, and unfeeling.

He dove under the water in search of her, but could see little in the murky blackness. Death would not claim this one, he vowed. Surfacing, he saw her only a short distance from him. She was gasping for air. Lightning split the sky and illuminated her face. He lunged toward her. Her long hair and the garments she wore tangled around him. The fear in her eyes disappeared when she reached for him and clung to his neck. Time held its breath. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist before the icy currents dragged them both under the surface.

The numbing cold surrounded him. His lungs burned and the current tried to pull her from his grasp. He held on. She could not survive without his help. Fighting the power of the loch, he kicked free of its hold and broke the surface. He held her head above the waves and swam until he could touch the bottom.

Lachlan stood, shuddering as the crisp wind lashed across his wet skin. She lay cold and still in his arms. Her eyes were closed and her hair was draped over the silken garment that clung to her body. His breath caught in his throat. She was the image of the woman in his dreams. He removed his shirt and wrapped it around her. Reaching for his sword, he slung it over his shoulder and then gently cradled her against him. She shivered in his arms. It felt as though she had molded her body to his.

Cold rain began to fall as he hurried toward the warmth of the castle. This woman from the loch must not die. She had placed her life in his hands. The weight of that responsibility was familiar. His people relied on his wisdom and strength, from the approval of marriage to the fate of anyone who broke their laws. He called an order to the gatekeeper, who ran to obey. The massive door creaked open and torches on the inner walls cast gray shadows as he headed toward the side entrance.

His voice broke through the silence once more and thundered with authority. "Una. I am in need of your help."

He knew his longtime friend would be awake as she slept little these days. As he adjusted the woman in his arms, he could feel the shallow breathing against his chest.

"Rest easy, lass, you are safe." She nestled closer and a wave of protectiveness washed over him. The strength of his reaction surprised him. Lachlan kicked open the door to the cookroom.

Una was busy wiping down a long trestle table. Wisps of gray hair framed her face as she bent over her task.

She turned slowly toward him. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she put the cloth down and wiped her hands on her apron. Una shuffled over to him and touched the woman's face.

"She lives, but death chases her soul. 'Tis a long time since you have brought a lost one to my door. Where was she found?"

"Loch Ness."

Una paused. "The black water claims many who enter its depths. We must make haste."

Lachlan drew the woman against his chest and nodded in the direction of the stairs. "A fire still burns in my chamber."

Una raised an eyebrow. "This is not an injured bird or stay wolfhound you care for, but a grown woman."

"Aye. Advise Marcail her skill as a healer be needed."

He passed Una, climbing the stairs two at a time. She would not question his decision. He had always brought home stray animals and children found abandoned either through neglect of the cruelty of war. Una was ever the one he first looked to for help.

He could hear Una wheeze as she struggled to keep up with him. She was growing older. He could make her days easier until the angel of death claimed her, but he would remain, as he always had. He looked at the lass he carried in his arms. She was as still as the marble statues that lay scattered about the temples of Greece. He drew her to him, hoping to share his warmth.

At the top of the stairs Lachlan pulled open the door to his chamber. He entered and placed her on his bed.

Una's breathing was labored as she came into the room and put her hand on his arm. "You will need to wait in the corridor while I remove the lass' wet clothes."

Lachlan hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave. He backed toward the door to the hallway. There was a reason the gods had brought her, but their purpose eluded him.

Through the oaken panel door, Lachlan heard Una humming a tune so old the words had been lost over time. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Una must believe the woman would survive; if not, there would be silence in his chamber. Una was of the opinion that you let music into your life only when there was something to sing about. He trusted her instincts.

The door opened as Una motioned for Lachlan to reenter the chamber. The woman on the bed cried softly. Worried, he glanced over at Una.

She smiled. "All is well. The lass sleeps, and already her body has warmed. It will be some time before she awakens."

The woman's garments were draped over Una's arm. "I fear her clothes are in such a tattered state that they are beyond repair. But I have never felt their like. The fabric is of the finest silk. The stitches so tiny and prefect, they are almost invisible. She must be a woman of great wealth. There is little more I can do."

"I shall watch over her." He chose to ignore Una's smile.

Lachlan placed a chair by the bed and sat down. A faint glow of color caressed the woman's face. She was beyond his dreams of beauty. And he felt drawn to her in a manner he had never experienced before. He glanced out the window. The angry storm that had raged against the castle walls disappeared as quickly as it materialized. Once again the night was still. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The door to the chamber opened. He heard the sound of a dog padding across the floor.

Una laughed. "Well, if it is not MacDougal, here to keep you company."

The wolfhound trotted over and dropped down at Lachlan's feet. He patted the animal as Una left. It occurred to him that she knew him better than anyone in the castle. For forty-five years she had retained an honored position at Urquhart, and had seen that all ran smoothly when he was away. He sought her counsel on matters that concerned those who lived and worked in the castle.

Lachlan folded his arms across his chest and remembered the time she had learned what he was. He had been gored by a pack of wild boars and she had tended his wounds. Of course, when he had recovered, there were no scars. It was then he had told her that he was immortal. She had been unafraid, a true sign of courage in these superstitious times.

He reached down and scratched MacDougal behind the ear. When Una died, he would see that there was a mass said in her honor. He felt regret constrict his heart as though fingers tightened around it. No matter what he did for them, mortals still died. Of late, he had feared that as a result of all the death that surrounded him, he lacked a soul. His heart might beat in his chest, but he had begun to feel nothing. Lachlan had come to accept it. It was the price he paid for immortality.

The wolfhound raised its head and looked toward the door. It was Marcail. Dressed in a gown of black and gold, she looked regal and as cold as any queen. MacDougal growled.

"Easy, old friend. Marcail will not attack unless provoked." The animal went to stretch out in front of the fire by the hearth, but kept its eyes focused on Marcail.

She raised an eyebrow. "Interesting beast. But, if it were mine, I would not allow it to remain inside the walls of the castle." She nodded in the direction of the bed. "However, there are more important matters to discuss. You have a visitor."

"Una did not have the opportunity to inform you of the woman, yet here you are, at this late hour."

"I would not risk her overhearing our conversation." She motioned for him to follow her into the adjoining chamber.

Lachlan glanced down at the woman who was sleeping in his bed. She shifted, as if in the hold of an inner battle he was unable to fight on her behalf. He reached over and smoothed back her hair from her forehead before joining Marcail.

"Your travels with the Medicis have made you suspicious."

"I prefer to think of it as caution." She turned toward him. "We must decide what is to be done with the woman you pulled from Loch Ness."

"You speak of her as though she was a prize horse to be traded at will. That is unlike you, Marcail."

She fingered the lace at her sleeve and for a brief moment Lachlan saw vulnerability in her eyes.

"We must be careful. Rarely has anyone been pulled from the icy depths of the loch and survived. However, the legend speaks of such an occurrence."

A glimmer of hope, he thought long buried, surfaced. She was alluding to the ancient myth binding his people's history to the loch. It had not struck him until this moment that the woman's appearance was as foretold in the legend.

"You do not believe she could be from a neighboring clan?"

Marcail shook her head slowly.

"One of Subedei's spies sent to infiltrate the castle?"

"Nay, I am certain she is not a spy."

Her words held conviction, and something more. She hid knowledge from him, knowledge of the woman. Lachlan would learn the truth. He let the silence grow between them.

Marcail straightened and raised her chin. "I shall inform the castle that she is from Italy. While on her way to Urquhart, her entourage was set upon and attacked. She was the only one to survive. Elaenor can lend her clothes until suitable garments can be made. Further, she is to be your betrothed."

Lachlan felt the walls close in on him. "An elaborate plan, merely to explain her existence."

Through the window, the full moon shone torch-bright in the sky. Her voice was merely a whisper. "It will give us time."

He nodded his head slowly, seeing the logic in Marcail's plan. "And the marriage?"

"Only if you desire it."

Pale, rose-colored shafts of morning light burned through the thick mist in the courtyard below. Lachlan welcomed the new day and hoped it would see the woman wake, and thus end his vigil. His thoughts would not let him rest though he longed for the black void of sleep.

He stood in an alcove of narrow windows in his chamber and watched his people make ready the day. They were in high spirits. And why should they not be? The weather had turned warm for a Highland autumn. Foreboding chilled his bones as he remembered the words of the legend.

Through the mist-shrouded waters of an enchanted sea, the Guardian will be summoned.
The seasons will alter their natural course.
The barriers of time will be broken.

And a woman, with hair of burnished gold,
will be pulled from the depths of Loch Ness.

It is she who will bring the knowledge
and the courage of generations yet unborn.
And a wisdom that will guide
the chosen one out of his darkness.

But the waters will reclaim her once again,
if, after the passage of one full moon,
the immortal she was sent to heal
accepts not the power of Eternal Love.

He put one hand on the stone ledge, feeling the strength of the castle walls beneath his fingers. Those entrusted to his care gave their loyalty to him gladly. His people resisted change and were suspicious of things that could not be explained. Impenetrable as Urquhart appeared, he knew it could be breached if a weakness were discovered. The woman lying on his bed could well be that weakness. Marcail's explanation of the woman's presence would establish her place in the castle. He would announce their betrothal to the people and the date would be set a year and a day hence. No one would question the Highland tradition of handfasting. The alternative, to say he believed her connected to a legend, would open questions he was not prepared to answer.

MacDougal stirred beside him. The animal had kept vigil with him throughout the night. Lachlan reached down and scratched the wolfhound behind its ear. Lachlan's muscles felt tight and sore from a sleepless night. He longed to be out on the training field, but he would wait until she awoke.

The candle on the table had burned low and flickered as a cool breeze drifted through the open window. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. The easy part had been the plan for the betrothal, the difficult territory lay before him. He would have to convince the woman the plan was sound, not an easy task. Women were not rational creatures, although he would not choose to share his opinion with Marcail.

His intended rolled over on her back and mumbled a few words he did not understand. MacDougal growled, but the dog's tail wagged, disturbing the rushes strewn on the floor.

"Patience, old friend."

She turned toward him and her eyes opened. She moved quickly to the far side of the bed. Her wary gaze lingered on the knife strapped to his waist, and then on the wolfhound.

"Fear not, lass. MacDougal looks fierce enough but has a gentle heart."

As he watched, she gathered the covers closer about her chin. Her hand trembled as she brushed hair from her face and looked around the room.

"Where am I?"

Lachlan held his breath. Her voice was soft and lyrical. He had to lean forward to hear her words. It was almost as though she were speaking to herself, instead of to him, and he could see her fear. Adept at its detection, he had often used this ability to his advantage. But he had no wish to use such tactics on her. His sister had often accused him of shouting out commands when he spoke. He endeavored to keep his voice low.

"You are at the castle. I pulled you from Loch Ness and brought you here. I am Lachlan MacAlpin, of the Clan MacAlpin."

She hesitated. "My name's Amber MacPhee and I was headed here when I fell in." She pressed her fingers against the side of her head and grimaced. "I feel awful."

Lachlan recalled once again the icy currents of the water. Her manner of speech was unfamiliar to him although he had traveled throughout the world, but that alone had not turned his blood as bitter cold as the Highland winds. Her hair shone like molten gold in the light. In the time of the Pharaohs, amber stones were said to have been kissed by the gods. Further proof the legend was coming true, or a coincidence?

The woman, Amber, looked down at the linen nightgown she wore. "Where are my clothes?"

Remembering the feel of her against his skin, his body responded and he cursed himself. He sensed she would not be pleased if she knew the state of her clothing when he had pulled her from the loch. Further, he did not need the distraction.

A knock on the door echoed through the room and brought a welcome diversion. Relief washed over him. He retreated from her question, as well as the others that plagued him, and crossed to the open door with MacDougal close at his heels.

Una stood at the entrance, carrying a tray laden with food. Steam curled from the bowl of soup and the rich aroma floated through the air. Slices of thick, dark bread lay beside the broth. A serving girl was behind Una, balancing a stack of clothes that skimmed the tip of her nose.

Lachlan took the bundle. "Molly, you should be abed waiting for that babe to be born, instead of climbing stairs."

Molly curtsied and fled down the hall.

Lachlan turned to Una. "Did I offend her?"

"Nay, she would prefer not to think of herself as carrying a child, since the father will not claim it."

Behind him a log rolled and shifted in the hearth. He had never understood how a man, knowing he had fathered a child, could abandon the babe. He tore off a piece of bread from the tray, put a chunk in his mouth and gave the rest to MacDougal.

"See that Molly knows she and the bairn will be well cared for." He balanced the bundle of clothes under his arm and reached for another piece of bread. "The woman is awake."

He turned and saw her try to sit up, but the effort was too much and she sank back down on the pillows. Her hair hung in soft curls at her shoulders. She was still weak, but there was a rose tint to her cheeks. He swallowed. "She looks to be well."

Amber sank lower under the covers and felt the warmth of a full-scale blush sear her cheeks. The intensity of this man's gaze took her breath away. His deep voice echoed through the chamber. Dressed in a green plaid kilt, this man-mountain didn't look so bad himself; if you liked the big, scruffy, bear types with broad shoulders, and piercing blue eyes. She tried to concentrate on breathing normally. It had been her Aunt Dora's idea to come to this medieval reenactment in the first place. Amber had agreed in order to prove to the dear woman that she knew how to have fun. She had not counted on having to interact with anyone, especially someone who looked like...him. The panic quieted to a manageable level when she realized she'd have to spend her time finding a way to fish her car out of the loch. But locating her clothes would be her first order of business.

She shifted position on the bed. It crunched like cornflakes. Her head throbbed and her fingers tingled. She couldn't tell whether her bruises were from the fall or from the mattress, but she was alive. In the bone-cold waters of Loch Ness, she'd given up hope, until a man had saved her.

Amber looked more closely. He was probably the one. He had that "savior of the world" look and wore the clothes of a Highland Laird. And his eyes...she remembered the determination reflected in them. Lachlan MacAlpin probably had a castle or two tucked away in Scotland as well. Amber could picture them: gray crumbling walls, drafty rooms, and mortgaged to the limit.

She sighed. She was doing it again. The man had just rescued her from drowning and she was already trying to find a chink in his armor. Aunt Dora always said she threw a wall around her heart. Her aunt would be ecstatic over this situation. The sweet woman could play matchmaker faster than tourists flocked to Inverness to catch a glimpse of the Loch Ness Monster.

A woman with gray hair, dressed in period clothes, walked toward her carrying a tray of food. She set it on the table.

"I am Una and by what name are you called, lass?"

"Her name is Amber."

Una's face crinkled up in a smile. "Do not mind our laird's lack of manners. He thinks he must be the authority in all things."

Amber nodded. Her strength was returning with each breath she took, but with it grew a sense of unease she couldn't shake. She combed her fingers through her hair.

"Men are like that."

"Aye, lass, indeed they are." She leaned closer. "Now, it is best you eat and gather your strength." She turned to Lachlan. "The lass needs tending, and you will get in the way."

He walked over to the bed and set the clothes down. "Who tended her through the night?"

"You slept in the chair with that drooling beast at your feet. Now 'tis time for you to leave. Is there not a battle for you to fight, or a knight's head that needs a good bashing?"

Lachlan kissed Una on the cheek. "I shall have help sent to you. Take care your generous heart does not over-task your health."

Una pushed him away. "Be mindful, lad, I could as well say those words to you. Now, be off and take MacDougal with you. The Lady Marcail has told me of our guest's position in the castle. Angus awaits you in the Chamber of Knowledge."

"Take care, Amber MacPhee. In less time than it takes to string a bow, Una will have you jumping in obedience to the sound of her voice."

"I'll be fine." The words sounded hollow to her own ears.

He rested his hand on the hilt of his blade and stared back at her for so long she could hear herself breathe.

Una straightened the clothes on the bed. "Pay no attention to the laird. 'Tis only men that need guidance. Women are born knowing their own minds."

Amber laughed nervously, and regretted it instantly. Her rib cage was sore. It was possible she had slammed into the steering wheel when the car hit the water. Served her right for not wearing a seat belt.

Lachlan signaled for MacDougal. "Let us leave these women alone, before I feel obliged to defend the honor of all the men in my clan." The dog bounded to his feet and wagged his tail.

The large door closed with a solid thud. Amber thought she would feel relieved when he left, but she was as uneasy as before. The woman called Una was dressed in a long skirt, blouse and shawl in the same tartan pattern Lachlan wore. Both of their brogues were thick, and their clothes fashioned in a style that would fit comfortably into the Renaissance or Middle Ages. If she and her brother, David, hadn't spent their summer with Aunt Dora, Amber would never have been able to understand much of what they were saying.

It was the best reenactment Amber had ever seen. Her head began to ache again and she pressed her fingers against her temples. The last thing she remembered was the flash of lightning and a tree falling across the road.

She let her gaze wander around the room. Tapestries in vivid reds, blues and greens hung from the walls and herb scented rushes covered the floor. She marveled at how new things looked.

Una's smile seemed to touch every corner of her face. " 'Tis time to eat, lass."

Amber looked at the steaming chicken broth. Globs of fat floated on the surface. Her stomach felt as if it had just flipped over. She managed a smile.

"No, thanks, I'm not hungry. I just want to change back into my clothes and look around."

Una's forehead wrinkled. "The garments you were found in are beyond my skills to repair, but I have brought clothes I hope will be to your liking. It was a brave thing Laird MacAlpin did to pull you from the loch. 'Tis said that those who go in, never come out."

If her aunt, the eternal matchmaker, ever got wind of this guy, she'd be asking him over for dinner. Aunt Dora liked heroes. It would take Amber's complete list of excuses to talk her way out of this one. She looked across to the hearth. Flames blazed and crackled in a stone fireplace as big as her mother's walk-in closet. The noise aggravated her headache. The quicker she was out of here, the better.

"Please, do you have any aspirin? My head feels as if it's going to burst."

Una seemed confused. "'Tis a word with which I am not familiar." She waved her hand in the air. "But then, there are so many visitors with strange languages that I am forever learning a word or phrase I have never heard before. What is the meaning of the word 'as-pir-een'?"

Amber shook her head slowly. The woman was taking her part far too seriously. "That's okay. I'll try not to think about it."

Maybe the headache would go away if she ate. She reached for a piece of bread and bit into it. It was still warm and reminded her of the bread her aunt cooked on festival days. Una appeared to be waiting for her reaction. Her aunt was like that; food was the answer to everything.

Amber nodded. "Delicious."

The woman's easy smile returned as she offered Amber an earthenware goblet, filled with a deep red wine. "I am glad to hear the words. The laird but wants food and lots of it. Never have I heard him say whether something was to his liking or no. More than once have I thought to stuff a pie with scraps of leather and serve it to him."

Amber waved the goblet away and wondered what the chances were of getting a cup of coffee. "Lachlan sounds like my brother. If you cut the pieces really small and smother the meat pie with a thick gravy, you might get away with it."

"It would never work, lass."

"Actually, it does."

The laugh lines around Una's eyes deepened. "You have a touch of the wee folk in you. Mayhaps it will sweep the somber cobwebs from this castle."

Her expression darkened as she tucked strands of gray hair back in place. " 'Tis a long time since I have heard laughter within these walls."

Una was talking as though this was where she lived, not just a place she came to play a part.

"You've been very kind, but my aunt will be worried if I don't call. May I try on the clothes you brought?"

Una selected items of clothing and handed them to Amber. "If the fit is not right, they can be adjusted."

There were layers of linen slips, a long-sleeved sheath that would drag on the ground when she put it on and a tunic of brown velvet. Amber looked at Una. Obviously they wanted her to blend in when the tourists arrived, but did she really have to wear all this stuff at once? She wondered what would happen if she asked for jeans and a sweatshirt. The atmosphere was pretty formal; best not to press her luck.

"When will the festival start?"

"'Tis a way off as yet lass, but hurry, or you will get a chill."

Amber slid off the bed. She really couldn't stay too long. Aunt Dora had just recently recovered from pneumonia. It was the reason Amber was in Scotland, and not at her teaching job in Seattle. But her aunt, forever worried that Amber didn't know how to enjoy life, had given her the choice of a date with a neighbor's grandson or the reenactment. It had been an easy decision.

She'd only observed reenactments, she'd never been a part of one before. Maybe when her aunt was stronger they'd come back to this place. She watched Una rummage through a pile of clothes, tossing belts, stockings, shoes and various undergarments onto the bed. It was going to take hours to get dressed. First things first; she needed a phone, and a bathroom.

"Would you mind if I made a telephone call? It's local."

Una stumbled over the word. "Tele...and what might that be, lass?"

Amber started to laugh, thinking the woman was joking, and then stopped herself. Una looked serious. She rubbed the back of her neck. "Never mind."

Amber would look for herself once she was dressed. She knew this place had one. She'd called here to make the reservations. But she was too tired to press the point. Now for the next matter. "Is there a bathroom close by?"

"Bathroom?" Una looked confused. "Lass, your words are a mystery to me. Could you explain their meaning?"

Una's confusion seemed completely genuine. Aunt Dora behaved like that sometimes and both women were about the same age. Maybe she could find the bathroom without Una's help.

On the wall opposite the bed she saw an opening to another room. The rushes crunched beneath her bare feet, releasing the smell of rosemary and heather. The next room was only slightly smaller than the bedroom. In the center was a wooden tub filled with water. Linen strips lined the tub and were draped over the sides. On a table next to it lay soap and a stack of neatly folded towels. She picked up one of the bars. It smelled like jasmine. The tub reminded her of the one she'd seen at Leeds Castle, only this one looked as though it were not used for display only.

Una cleared her throat. "I believe I know the meaning of the word you used. My good sense must have been driven to the North Sea, not to have guessed you would be needing relief after the time you spend abed. The laird's mother ordered garderobes, fashioned to her exact specification, to be installed in the upstairs chambers." She nodded in the direction of one of two large alcoves to the right of the fireplace. "But 'tis the Lady Marcail who insisted this bath be prepared for you."

Armor and weapons filled one of the alcoves, but the other held more promise. This reenactment business was going to be, at the very least, an experience she could tell her students. Straw mats covered the terra-cotta tile floor. A vibrant mural depicting Venus rising from the sea was painted across one wall. On the opposite side was a basin with a projecting trough. A raised wooden platform with a hole in the center hugged the wall next to it and a pile of green hay lay neatly stacked in a corner. Amber paused. She was as excited about medieval times as anyone else, but this was a bit too extreme even for her tastes. However, there were no visible alternatives.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the small room. It was obvious Una was proud of this place, yet it was little more than an inside version of an outhouse.

"I want to see the woman, Lachlan. You must let me see her."

"There will be time, later, Mother, when you are stronger." He carried her gently in his arms toward her chambers. It was like holding the wind, cold and as light as air.

Her hand clutched his arm. "This is the same as the other time. You remember my telling you of him? We found his body along the shore of Loch Ness. Strange looking keys were clenched in his hand. He was dead. Very dead. But this woman is not dead. You pulled her free of the icy waters after the Guardian brought her to us. You should have pulled the man out of the loch as well."

"I was in China."

Since her father's death at the hand of Subedei, his mother had become less connected with the present, although her mind vividly recalled the past. The events she spoke of had occurred over sixty years ago.

She sighed. "I think his name was Ford. Yes, that was it. That was the name we found attached to his keys. Ford."

Amber reentered the bathing room and looked around. Una was sitting in a chair facing the fire, reading a book that was bound in leather and etched with gold and red designs.

"A good soaking in the tub will set you to feeling as bright as the sun on a clear day in June. There are linens and soap Lady Marcail brought with her from France. I shall be leaving you. The laird and his men have appetites large enough to empty the biggest pantry, not that they will taste a thing, but I need to make sure there is food, and plenty of it." Una laughed as she stood. She patted Amber on the cheek and handed her the book.

"Take care with it, the laird brought it back with him from one of his travels. He said that I would enjoy the tale of the 'Wife of Bath.'" She winked. "I cannot understand what the lad is talking about. I have had but three husbands. The woman in the story had herself a fine time with five."

Amber smiled and opened the book as Una shuffled out the door. It was The Canterbury Tales written in the original Old English style on pages that resembled parchment. She turned to the "Knight's Tale." The condition of the book was remarkable. Her aunt had one similar to this that she kept under a glass case. The pages of her aunt's book were brittle and cracked with age, and there was an inscription on the inside cover. She imagined this was how her aunt's must have looked when it was hot off the press or, rather, fresh from the copier's hands.

She rubbed her fingers over the hand-tooled leather cover with its gold leaf embedded in the design. Carved in the bottom right-hand corner were the initials "L.M." An uneasiness crept over her. The same initials were carved in the cover of her aunt's book as well. It had to be a coincidence. Probably the work of the bookbinder, or the man who did the intricate designs.

Amber set the book down on the table. The water in the tub was inviting. She pulled the linen gown off, threw it over the chair, and climbed in. She leaned back and closed her eyes. It wasn't as hot as she liked, but still it soothed her aching muscles. Water sloshed against the sides of the tub and the wood crackled in the fireplace.

She wished she could remember how she got here, but there were only pieces to the puzzle, not a complete picture. She'd been thrown from her VW when it hit the water and was caught in a fast-moving current. And she remembered his eyes. She looked into the flames. Maybe she should stay for a couple more days. It would certainly please her aunt. Her thoughts did a fast-forward and she reviewed the goals she'd set for herself. She didn't have time for any type of relationship. It was all she could handle just keeping up with teaching and studying to get her administration credentials. Her head began to throb again.

A breeze rippled across the bathwater. Amber shuddered and sat up. She was alive. That was all the sense she needed to make of this situation. Reaching for the soap, she began rubbing it between her hands until there were thick foamy bubbles between her fingers. The scent of jasmine drifted through the air. She breathed in the rich fragrance deeply before washing her hair.

She closed her eyes and sank back into the warm water. Just a few more minutes and she'd get dressed and find a phone; then her life would be back to normal.

Copyright © 1997 by Pam Binder

Table of Contents

Editorial Reviews

Readers will be drawn in by Pam Binder’s magic touch for blending the natural with the supernatural and creating a spellbinding tale with many subplots, wonderful historical backdrop and color, and the added attraction of the Highlander immortal. This is truly a love story for the ages.
— Romantic Times

Kathe Robin