Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

B ella drove slowly, the car rattling over the potholes. The rain had made the ground slippery, too, and she had to be careful on the turns, despite the fact that her mind wasn't really on her driving. She had been to see Gregor at his farm, to ask about extending the lease on Drumaird Cottage. Now that Maclean was here, she wanted to stay longer, to be with him in the place they both loved. But instead of giving her the permission she had hoped for, Gregor told Bella some news that shocked her.

Gregor was building a road around the side of Loch Fasail, to make it more accessible to tourists, but that wasn't the worst of it. He was also constructing a dozen holiday cottages along the loch shore. The project was not in the public domain as yet, and Gregor's cousin expected there to be objections when it was—conservationists and nature-lovers would protest vigorously—but he hoped to overcome them. The road would mean easier fishing for those less inclined to carry their gear over miles of rough terrain, and it would mean easier access to some of the hills and rock climbs to the north. The cottages would mean strangers invading the peace and quiet, treating it like another disposable holiday destination. The isolated beauty of Loch Fasail would be gone.

But Gregor needed the money.

"In the circumstances, I dinna think I should release Drumaird Cottage." Gregor had given her a sympathetic look.

"But I'm extending my lease; surely that's different?" Bella had insisted.

"Well, I'm no' sure when the work will begin. I tell you what, Ms. Ryan, I'll find out exactly next time I talk with the bulldozer driver. That's the best I can do, I'm sorry."

A bulldozer! Bella could hardly bear to think about it. A road around the loch, and cars traveling where now there was only silence or the lonely call of a bird. Loch Fasail would be ruined completely.

"Ye haven't seen those sheep?" Gregor called out, as she went to leave. "They still haven't turned up, and now there's a couple more I canna find."

"No, I'm sorry." She paused, her hand on the car door. "I did hear something splashing in the loch the other night, though. Do you think they might have fallen in?"

He gave her a strange look. "Something splashing?"

"Yes. Something in the loch." Bella was remembering the night she looked from her window and saw the shadow on the water. The sheep had been afraid, and if they were missing, then maybe it was with good reason.

"Have you seen the wild pony again?" He gave her a sly look. "I can give you a hint, Ms. Ryan. If you check the pony's mane and find a strand of water weed, then you know that what you are facing is no ordinary animal. It is certain to be an each-uisge ."

Bella had forced a wry smile in return. "Thanks for the advice, Gregor, I'll remember it."

She now drove slowly back toward Drumaird Cottage, and wondered how she was going to tell Maclean that Loch Fasail would soon be ruined forever. He would be very upset. It was the nearest thing he had to a home, and she suspected he had visions of living here, alone with his memories. What would he do when he heard about the road? What would happen to him, an eighteenth century Highlander trapped in the twenty-first century?

The car reached a crest and there before her was Loch Fasail and, on the far side, the smoke from the cottage and above it the stark ruins of Castle Drumaird. The early mist had risen and the day was clear and the water of the loch sparkling. Beautiful. For a second she imagined it all torn, with the soil scraped bare and giant machines roaring and shuddering as they went about their work.

She was sunk in gloom when something caught her eye.

Near the Cailleach Stones, a movement, a flicker of color.

For a second her heart raced, her hands clenching on the wheel as she remembered the hag who had spoken to her in her dreams, and her pet loch monster. But the next moment the shadows shifted and she saw that it was in fact a red deer, half hidden by one of the upright stones and the gorse bushes, and no doubt feeding on some tender shoots. Bella laughed in relief.

No wonder Gregor had told her to take care! He probably took one look at her and thought she shouldn't be out on her own.

There was a splash in the loch, a fish jumping, and the deer bounded off over the moorland grasses. Bella watched it go, sitting in the stationary car and letting her thoughts drift.

Of course, they returned to Maclean. He was a flesh-and-blood man now, or soon would be. He had told her that the Fiosaiche was causing this to happen, that with every step he made in the right direction she was rewarding him. But it was Bella who was showing him the way, Bella who must discover what really happened that terrible day here at Loch Fasail.

She felt the fire of the true historian burning inside her. She'd hunt down the truth and find it. Two hundred and fifty years of subterfuge and lies had built up a thick and thorny barricade, and she needed to cut her way through, to expose what really happened.

Even if she had to use Maclean's broadsword to do it.

* * *

Maclean slept on. He had never been so tired. Each time he tried to wake and pull himself out of this warm and pleasant fugue, he was sucked down into it again. It was as if his body were making up for all the days and nights he had wandered this cottage unable to rest. It was the same with his sudden feelings of hunger and his desperate need to eat, and his insatiable urge to "bonk" Bella, as she called it. Now all he wanted to do was sleep.

And dream.

He was underground. Not in the awful labyrinths of the between-worlds, but in a great cave with an ocean of ink stretching as far as the eye could see. The shore was empty, deserted. Maclean stood, puzzled, wondering what the point of such a place was and what he was doing here. Deep in his thoughts it was a moment before he felt the slight vibration under his feet and saw the shape approaching him from farther down the beach.

It was a small horse, its coat golden brown and shaggy, the long length of its tail and mane flaring out as it ran, and its hooves striking the sand with musical precision.

Maclean stood and watched, spellbound by the strange sight. He knew there was something not quite real about the creature, the proportions were wrong. It resembled a mystical beast from a fairy tale or a Gaelic legend rather than a flesh-and-blood horse.

Maclean . . . Maclean . . .

The horse began to change, its shape altering, the mane into hair, the forelegs into arms, the long equine face foreshortening into the smaller face of a woman. For a brief moment the two were both visible, one image upon the other, and then the horse was gone and the woman remained. He knew then that she was an each-uisge . The most fearsome mystic monster in the Highlands, and the most deadly. It fed on man-flesh and knew no pity, using its powers to tempt its victims close enough to carry them away into the lochs or the deep pools, and there to feast on them in peace.

And it was Ishbel.

She sauntered toward him in her red and green trews, a darker green jacket nipped to her slender waist and her golden hair loose about her shoulders.

"Maclean, at last I have ye."

As she came he sensed movement to his side, in the inky ocean, and a great creature began to rise out of it, dripping water from its scaly hide. With a bulbous body and long, snakelike neck, it floundered toward him as if it were not used to being in the shallows.

Ishbel began to croon to it, and the monster lifted its head, listening to her. It swayed and its large eyes half closed, dreamy, enchanted by Ishbel's voice. She laughed at the expression on Maclean's face.

"The witch thinks I am afraid of these creatures, but 'tis not so. I have tamed this one, and I am his mistress."

"You are in good company, then," he said evenly, as if he were humoring a child.

"The witch is not so clever as she thinks. I have fooled her. I have fooled the hag who guards the door to the between-worlds, too. Please help me, please, please ." She laughed at her own cunning. "She let me out and now she canna stop me from passing through her door whenever I wish it. I am too strong for them all."

"You were ever boastful, wee Ishbel."

She cast him a look of hatred. "The witch says she has freed you, given you a chance to become a mortal man again, but I knew that already. I have been beyond the door and I have seen you. I canna let you go free, Maclean. You dinna deserve to be in the sunshine while I spend my years down here in the darkness."

"Ishbel—"

"You lied to me, Maclean. I willna hurt you, I promise, I promise ." She mocked his words to her from long ago. "But ye did hurt me, ye slew Iain before my verra eyes and took all my happiness away."

"Ishbel, I am sorry for—"

But she would not listen to him. She cried out, raising her hands, and the monster howled. It heaved itself toward the beach, the ground shuddering beneath its great weight.

Maclean tried to back away, but his feet wouldn't move, and when he looked down he realized they were stuck fast into the sand. He tugged at them furiously, while Ishbel laughed and the monster drew closer. Now he smelled the fishy stink of it, felt the violent excitement in its clumsy movements.

"He is hungry," Ishbel whispered.

I am asleep, Maclean thought. This canna be.

"He likes to strip the flesh from your bones and suck each one clean."

Wake up!

"But I have told him to leave your heart for me, Maclean. I want that for my own."

The monster's breath puffed hot into his face as it lunged.

And Maclean's eyes opened with a jolt.

In that instant of waking he wondered where he was, but then his grasping hands found Bella's bed and he realized his face was pressed into her soft pillows. He was lying on his belly, sprawled across the mattress and some of him off it.

"A dream," he murmured to himself, and gave a relieved laugh, tempered by scorn for his own quaking flesh. But the uneasiness the dream had caused in him was slow in disappearing. The bedchamber felt unfamiliar, unsafe. And that was when he knew.

Something had lured his vulnerable sleeping self to the between-worlds and then attached itself to him.

Something had followed him back.

Maclean . . . Maclean . . .

Ishbel. Her voice was the same as it had been a moment before, only now it was calling him from the bottom of the bed. Maclean shook himself and rolled over, trying to chase away the numbing effects of his long sleep. But he was bound by that strange heaviness, as if his feet were still stuck in the sand.

Maclean . . . I have come for you. . .

The bedchamber was full of mist. He could hardly see a hand's breadth in front of him. He knew this couldn't be so, but the more he tried to deny it, the thicker the mist grew. Whatever stood at the bottom of the bed calling to him was well hidden.

Something touched his leg. A nudge. And then again, only this time he felt sharp teeth nipping at his skin. He cried out, using his great strength to drag himself back out of harm's way, and reaching down for his claidheamh mor on the floor by the mattress. His fingers searched, scrabbling upon the wooden boards, but he couldn't find it.

Movement stirred the mist. He could hear it breathing with hard little spurts of air.

His heart began to beat in a thick heavy rhythm.

The long pale equine snout poked through the mist, and he saw a green eye, wicked and watchful, before the each-uisge vanished once more.

"Ishbel."

The thing laughed with Ishbel's laugh. "Maclean," it whispered, "dinna expect the Fiosaiche to save you this time. I am verra powerful now. I made the hag show me how to creep into your dreams and I have followed you back through the door, into the mortal world. Into your world, Maclean."

Maclean's head swum dizzily, but then his fingers touched the scabbard of his broadsword and he swung it up, drawing the blade with a savage ring of metal.

"Ye canna kill me with that, Maclean," it hissed. "But I can kill you."

"I'm no' afraid of you, Ishbel."

"Mabbe not, but you're afraid for her , aren't ye? For your woman, Arabella Ryan."

"No!" the word burst from him before he could stop it.

He jumped up, wild with horror, lifting his sword to strike . . . and found himself face to face with Bella. With a gasping scream, she stumbled back, floundered as her feet tangled in the sheet that trailed on the floor, and began to fall. Instinctively Maclean reached out with his free arm and caught her as she fell, rolling over on the bed with her, pinning her beneath him.

They stared at each other, she clearly not knowing what to expect and he still reeling from his experience with the each-uisge .

"I was dreaming," he said, knowing that was only half the truth. "I thought you were someone else. I'm sorry, Arabella, I'm so sorry."

With trembling fingers he smoothed a dark lock of hair away from her cheek. He had almost hurt Bella. Ishbel had entered his dreams, just as she said, and was playing games with his mind, using Maclean as her weapon. He had believed her to be real; she had wanted him to believe it. Maclean shuddered to think what might have happened if he had struck Ishbel the death blow and killed Bella instead.

"You slept so long I was worried."

She had forgiven him already, he could see it in her dark eyes. He wanted to shake her and warn her against himself, but he couldn't bear to do it. If the door to the between-worlds had been opened and Ishbel was on the loose, if even dreams were not safe from her interference, then Maclean was the only protection Bella had.

"Och, I've never been so tired in my life," he said, making his voice ordinary, forcing a smile.

"Is that a good thing, do you think?"

"Aye, I think it is."

She was soft and warm and sweet. The feel of her underneath him was already having its effect, his desire for her soaring, but he kept it under control. He glanced up and around the bedchamber, searching the corners, but there was nothing. Everything was ordinary, and there was no sense of anything amiss, no feeling of danger. Ishbel had retreated again. Maclean trusted his instincts and relaxed.

"Maclean?"

Her eyes had widened and she was staring up at him nervously.

He grinned, and moved against her, his cock hard against her soft belly. He slid his thigh neatly between hers and reached down to unfasten the waist of her trews.

" That doesn't feel like tired, Maclean."

"Hush, woman, I'm busy," he mock-growled, and she giggled as he slid her clothing down over her hips, tugging it over her legs and out of the way. She was wearing a tiny scrap of black cloth, which he inspected with interest, before disposing of that, too. "Ah, that's better."

Bella made a little sound as he stroked her, his big fingers gentle but sure. He settled himself between her thighs and eased himself inside with a grateful sigh.

"Och, Bella, this is heaven," he groaned.

Afterward, he held her in his arms, half dozing again, until she thumped him on the shoulder to wake him up. "Wha'?" he demanded. "Are you never satisfied, woman?"

Bella smiled. "Well, there wasn't much foreplay, but I have to admit I didn't mind."

"Foreplay, is it? I'll give you foreplay—"

With a shriek, she jumped up and ran to the door. Her hair was down, she was bare from the waist, only her long shirt protecting her modesty. She stood there, panting, laughing at him.

"I can see you," she gasped. "You're more visible even than an hour ago, Maclean. The fuzzy edges are gone."

"Are they?" He stood up, bumping his head on the sloping roof and rubbing the spot ruefully.

"I can see the hairs on your chest, Maclean, and farther down, too. You're rather a hairy man, aren't you?"

"Can you see my cock?"

"Maclean!"

He laughed, and she watched him through her lashes, clearly enjoying the sight. Her gaze ran over the con-tours of his body, the long lines of his back and legs, the curve of his buttocks. Maclean smiled. Bella liked the sight of him just as much as he liked the sight of her, though she was too coy to tell him so.

He raised his arms above his head, palms flat on the ceiling with his elbows bent. He was too big for this cottage.

"Who were you dreaming about?" she asked him quietly, and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"A water-horse," he said dryly, reaching down to rub his leg.

"Oh." She looked thoughtful. "There's been a pony around the loch. Gregor was teasing me, saying it might be an each-uisge . Some of his sheep have gone missing."

He felt his chest tighten with anxiety, but somehow kept the smile on his face. "What have you been doing while I slept all this time?"

If she noticed he'd changed the subject she didn't say. "Working on my book. I've been writing longhand—until my laptop is ready, I have no choice. Actually, I found something, that's what I came up to tell you. I borrowed two books about the Macleods from the library. The one on the local area and the other about the Macleods on Skye. It isn't a proper history, just a hodge-podge of stories told by different people. I've found a woman in it called Tamsin Macleod."

He said nothing, watching her. He wanted to look at his leg, to see if Ishbel really had bitten him. Except he didn't intend to let Bella know what he was up to—no need to frighten her just yet.

"Tamsin was ninety-three in 1830 when she told her life story to a visiting historian. He was traveling the Highlands recording people's memories, and he wrote down Tamsin's very carefully, because of course she was a living treasure by then."

"Oh, aye." He sat down and glanced at his ankle. There was nothing there, no teeth marks. He felt himself relax a little as he realized the dream-Ishbel could not herself inflict physical damage—only cause others to do so.

Bella took a breath, holding on to her patience with difficulty. "Yes, Maclean, but the exciting thing is her name was actually Tamsin Maclean. Unlike most Scottish women, she preferred to use her married name of Macleod and forget she had been born a Maclean."

He finally felt a stirring of interest. "Tamsin Maclean?"

"Yes, and according to the few pages she gets in the book, she was from Loch Fasail. That would make her nine years old at the time of the massacre."

"But the book doesna say she was here at that time, only that she came from Loch Fasail?"

"Yes, the book deals with her life on Skye, the traditions, the history, and so on. But"—she held up her finger—"there is reference to the original document written by the historian. It still exists, and it's in a private collection in Inverness. I can go there and look at it. It may tell me more."

"Do you really think it will help?"

"It's worth a try, don't you think?"

"Aye."

"You haven't remembered, have you? What happened here, to your people?"

"I followed Ishbel and Iain Og," he sighed. Ishbel was right, he had sworn not to hurt her if they married, to wait until she was ready to receive him into her bed, but when she ran away he had forgotten his gentle promises. "I dinna remember how I died, not exactly," he said grimly. "And no, I dinna know how the English came to Fasail and killed my people. I dinna think I ever did, Bella."

"Then I will go to Inverness and find out what I can."

"Go?"

"Just a night or two, not long."

"I'll come with you," he said firmly.

Bella opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again, but Maclean knew she hadn't given in. She didn't trust him to behave himself out in the world and she was just biding her time, hoping to convince him to her point of view later on. But Maclean had no intention of letting her go off alone to Inverness, not after what he had seen. The Tamsin Macleod thing might be a trap, to lure her away from him. Ishbel wanted to hurt him and she knew that the best way to do that was to take from him something he loved.

Like Bella.