Cottage in the Mist Read online

  He quickly dispatched one man and then turned to find Ranald at his back, two men circling them both as they twisted together, trying to keep their enemies in sight. Behind the attackers, Iain and Jeff emerged from the din, killing the men with swift blows. With a jaunty grin, Ranald tipped his head to his cousin and turned back to the battle at hand.

  Bram, grinning despite the severity of the situation, made for the staircase, Fergus fighting ahead of him to clear the way. Suddenly the battling warriors parted, and Bram could see a man standing guard at the foot of the stairs.

  Frazier.

  With a bellow of rage, he charged forward. This was the man who had killed his father. The man who had betrayed him and taken Lily. And for that he deserved to die.

  His sword reverberated with the first strike, the older man's mouth open in a snarl. The two of them circled each other as if in a dance, the steps intricate and deadly. Frazier swung, but Bram blocked the blow with his claymore, then pivoted and returned the strike, catching Frazier on his thigh.

  Blood oozed from the wound and the man stumbled, but quickly regained his balance. "I'll see you in hell," he cried as he lifted his claymore above his head, but in his zealous need to answer Bram's blow, he left his body unguarded, and with a swift thrust, Bram drove the blade home. Blood gurgled from the man's mouth as he dropped to his knees and then fell to the floor.

  Bram stepped across the body and then ran up the steps, taking them two at a time, knowing that Lily's life depended on speed. Ranald and Iain were close behind him, leaving Jeff and Fergus to keep the rest of the warriors at bay.

  *****

  Lily struggled against her bonds. She was surrounded by shadows, the windows boarded shut, the torches here unlit. Malcolm had tied her to the bedpost. Her arms were stretched around it, rope binding her wrists. The post rose up at least eight feet, probably more, ending with a flourish that connected to the bed's canopy. She blew out an exasperated breath. There would be no sliding out of this one.

  The smell of smoke was thick here. Oppressive. Frightening. Her eyes watered, and somewhere below her she could hear the clanking of metal against metal. Swords, her mind whispered. Which could only mean one thing. Bram was here.

  Joy and fear warred for a place in her heart.

  A candle flamed in the darkness.

  "He comes." The voice was low, grating, the words an eerie echo of her thoughts. A shiver ran up her spine. She turned toward the light and the sound; nothing was visible except the flame, and the shadowy shape of a hand and an arm.

  Malcolm.

  "Who?" she asked, the words a whisper, her heart already sure of the answer. "Who comes?"

  Malcolm didn't reply, but he stepped close enough for her to see his face. See the demented gleam in his eyes. She looked down between the gaps in the plank floors to see flames flickering below. She jerked her head up, recognizing now that flames also wreathed the doorway and licked at the floorboards and walls.

  More men—warriors—stepped from the shadows, their weapons raised. It was a trap. She opened her mouth and screamed.

  *****

  At the top of the stairs Bram froze, the thick smoke disorienting him. The fire was much worse here. Pushing forward, he breathed through the heavy wool of his plaid, keeping sword at the ready, Ranald and Iain still behind him. The first chamber was empty. As was the solar and the chamber beyond it. But then from down the narrow hallway he heard a scream.

  Heart thundering in his ears, he ran through the flames and smoke. A timber fell, glancing off his shoulder, and he hardly felt it, the need to find Lily overriding everything else.

  He called for her, his voice swallowed by the raging fire. Another timber fell, and a wall collapsed. He jumped across a gaping hole in the floor, landing hard but still moving. The doorway loomed ahead edged in flames, the smoke and fire roiling like some kind of evil spirit. Iain reached out a hand to hold him back, but he shook it off. Lily was in there. She needed him. Nothing was going to stop him. Nothing.

  Ignoring the danger, he sprinted forward, bursting through the opening, again calling her name. And then, through the shimmering heat, he saw her, tied to the bedframe, her long hair unbound, her green eyes wide with fear.

  A shadow moved behind her. Rage threatened to engulf Bram. "God's blood, what have you done?"

  "Naught but what you deserve," came the answer as his uncle stepped into view.

  "Go back," Lily screamed. "It's a trap."

  But he pushed onward, stumbling as still more of the burning tower fell. "I'll no' leave you." His words were whipped away by the inferno surrounding them. But he knew that she had heard him.

  Other shadows moved into view. He was surrounded. Ranald and Iain surged forward, moving to stand between Bram and his challengers, their backs to him, swords facing out. As they moved to defend their position, Bram turned to see his uncle edging away. His body wanted to follow, to fight. To finally have vengeance on the man who had killed his father. But the fire was taking hold, moving across the floorboards toward the bedpost where Lily was tied.

  He turned from his uncle, his entire being focused on Lily. She was his life. His blood. Without her, he would be nothing. There were only a few feet separating the two of them now. There was bruising on her face and a trickle of blood at the corner of her beautiful mouth, and he swore if given a second chance there would be hell to pay.

  But right now, he had to get her free.

  He reached out a hand, but as he did so the floor in front him collapsed, crashing to the ground below. One moment he was looking into her eyes and the next, she was gone.

  *****

  Bram reached for her and then there was a cracking noise, the fire whooshing across the bed linens. For a minute Lily felt as if she were suspended above hell itself. Then the bed tipped and she lurched with it, the bedpost careening like a broken mast in the face of a hurricane. The hole in the floor yawned beneath her and then she was falling, fiery debris raining down on her as the burning rushes below signaled the looming stone floor of the great room.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but was jerked suddenly so hard her arms felt as if they'd been pulled from the sockets, her wrists slamming into the bedpost as it jammed across the open hole. Below her, flames swallowed tapestries and tables, men still fighting, the clamor of swords filling the smoky air. She hung above the melee like some macabre chandelier, her heart threatening to break free of her chest as she twirled slowly back and forth.

  "Lily. Mo ghràidh, can you hear me?"

  She tipped her head up to meet Bram's ice-blue gaze. "I'm here." Her voice came out barely more than a whisper.

  "Hang on now, love, I'm coming." He leaned down through the hole, flames licking through one side. But before he could do anything, another face appeared—along with a hand holding a knife.

  Malcolm.

  "Wouldn't it be a shame if all your heroics were for nothing, nephew?" He leaned through the hole, the knife just above the ropes that held her hands, binding her to the bedpost.

  Bram roared into action, his anger a palpable living thing. Both faces disappeared and then the floor above her split further, and Malcolm came hurtling through the hole, his face contorted with fear. Lily screamed, closing her eyes at the thwack of Malcolm's body as it crashed to the stone floor below. The sound was punctuated by the crack of the bedpost as it slipped in its mooring, sending her spinning around at a dizzying angle.

  "Lily, are you all right?" Bram's head reappeared, although he too seemed to be spinning.

  Lily fought to pull herself together. "I'm okay." Fire shot in earnest out of the left side of the hole above. And she felt panic rising. "The fire, Bram. It's going to burn the floor holding the bedpost."

  "Dinna fash yourself, I'll handle the wee fire."

  She swallowed a bubble of hysteria, shooting a glance at the raging flames. "Wee fire?"

  His grin shot straight to her heart, and she struggled for courage. "Ach, to be sure I've seen worse.
" He withdrew his head, and she heard the sound of something thumping and then the flames disappeared. Her arms screamed in agony, but she fought for composure. She needed to remain calm.

  "All right then, that's the fire." His head appeared again in the gaping hole. And after an awful crash, Ranald's face appeared as well.

  "Looks like you've managed to deal with your uncle," he quipped, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Lily swallowed and risked a look downward at the mangled body on the floor beneath her. There were still men fighting, unaware that she dangled over their heads, and clearly without care for the dead man on the floor.

  "'Twill be all right, mo ghràidh. I promise you." His words reached into her heart, giving her courage, and she smiled up at him. "Right, then," he said. "Here is what we're going to do." He leaned down until his shoulders and arms were free of the hole. Then Ranald moved until his arms too were extended, Malcolm's knife in his hand. "On my count you're going to swing yourself up toward me. I'm going to catch you and pull you up while Ranald cuts the rope. It'll probably hurt like bloody hell, but if I untie you first, you'll fall."

  Great, she was going to have to pull off a move worthy of freakin' Cirque du Soleil. She shot a glance again at the scene below and sighed. She supposed it beat the alternative. She lifted her gaze back to Bram's.

  "Can you manage, do you think?"

  She nodded and shot him another smile, already beginning to rock her body back and forth, building momentum.

  "That's my girl. On three." He nodded at Ranald, his gaze still locked with hers, arms extended. "One. Two. Three…"

  She swung harder, arms screaming in agony as she let her body's own momentum carry her higher and then higher still. Just a few more inches. Splinters from the bedpost stabbed into her wrists, the ropes cutting deep into her skin.

  "Aye that's it, Lily. Just a little bit more."

  Gritting her teeth and using her knees to propel herself higher, she felt his fingers close around her thighs. For a moment, she felt weightless as the pressure from her wrists eased, and then Bram yanked her toward him as Ranald cut the rope free from her wrist. Her skin scraped against the jagged edges of bedpost and then she was in Bram's arms, tumbling backward against unbroken floor.

  Pain stabbed through her arms and shoulders again, but the only thing she could truly feel was the driving beat of his heart beneath hers. "I've got you now, mo ghràidh. I've got you."

  His hands stroked her hair as he held her close, his breath soothing as he pressed a kiss against her brow.

  "Bram." Ranald's voice cut into the moment, his urgency unmistakable. "The fire up here, 'tis out of control. We've got to get out of here. Now."

  Bram was on his feet in an instant, pulling her up into his arms. As he lifted her higher against his chest, she saw a burst of flame and more of the floor disintegrated into ash, falling into the great room below. The walls themselves were on fire now, or at least the tapestries that had covered them. Flames and smoke curled everywhere, choking them. Bram pulled his plaid around them, cradling her close. "Turn your face into my chest. Keep your breathing shallow."

  He turned to follow Ranald as they pushed their way from the room, jumping over more falling timbers and gaping holes. The hall beyond was also on fire. Lily buried her nose against the linen of Bram's shirt, coughing as the acrid smoke seeped into her lungs. The heat had become almost unbearable. At the opening to the stairs, Iain beckoned them.

  "Alec and Jeff?" Bram called out.

  "Outside. Alive and well," came the satisfied answer. "Fergus, too. The fighting is almost done. All that's left is to get the three of you out of here."

  She felt Bram's sigh of relief and nestled closer. The stairs themselves were burning, but thankfully still intact, and with Iain and Ranald's help Bram was able to negotiate them without putting her down. At the bottom, she realized the room had grown silent except for the flames that fed upon everything, turning the room a ghastly shade of flickering red.

  "Cover your face," Bram urged as he strode forward, following Iain and Ranald as they made their way across the great hall. At the doorway, Bram paused. Lily lifted her head to see that the wooden stairs had been burned clean away.

  Iain jumped down, landing on a roll. Ranald followed. Seeing what was happening, several men helped to push a wagon underneath the doorway. Iain hopped up into it and reached up. Cradling her as tenderly as a baby, Bram lowered her into his cousin's arms. Then he too jumped free of the burning tower.

  Pulling her back into his arms, Bram carried her away from the flames to a stone bench sitting in front of what looked like a well. Together they watched what was left of Dunbrae burn.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered, watching as part of an upper wall fell away.

  "'Tis nothing but wood and stone," he replied, his arms tightening around her, the silver of his wedding ring winking in the half-light. "All that truly matters is here, in my arms. As long as you're with me, Lily, then all is right with my world." She nestled closer, reveling in the slow steady cadence of his breathing. "Wherever you are, mo ghràidh, I am home."

  EPILOGUE

  One year later…

  "IT'S AN AMAZING LIKENESS," Katherine said as she came up to stand beside Lily in the long hallway that served as Alec's gallery. Behind them, she could hear Bram and Robby laughing at something Iain was saying, Alec's arguing a counterpoint to the sound. Ranald and his wife Ailis were talking with Fergus and Dougan, the two men improbably having become the closest of friends.

  "It is, I suppose, although it still feels strange to see myself like that," she replied, her eyes still on the portrait that had recently been hung in a place of honor among the room full of Comyns—past and present.

  Alec had insisted on it, claiming that history would want a record of her time here in the fifteenth century. She'd wanted Bram to pose with her, but he and Alec had agreed that, despite their newfound friendship and the peace between their clans, the hallowed halls of Tigh an Droma weren't ready to be graced with a portrait of a Macgillivray.

  But as a nod to their new alliance, she'd worn the ring, the feel of it against her breast reminding her of all that she'd lost—and gained.

  It wasn't until the painting was done that she realized what it was. She turned to smile at Katherine. "I guess what continues to throw me is that I've seen it before—in our time, I mean. I kind of feel sorry for Reginald and Tildy. They believe it's a portrait of Tyra. I suspect they'd be disappointed to discover that it's only their distant American cousin."

  "Who traveled through time, averted catastrophe and brought success and well-being to both Clan Comyn and Clan Macgillivray."

  "Well, when you put it like that…" Lily grinned, linking her arm with the other woman's.

  So much had happened since the battle at Dunbrae. Not only had Alec and Bram allied themselves, but Ranald and Iain had also joined their pact. And in so doing, there had been a subtle but powerful shift within the workings of Clan Chattan. Bram's great uncle had been forced to recognize him as the legitimate heir to Dunbrae.

  Robby's wound had healed, and he'd agreed to stand as Bram's captain, the two men determined to rebuild what Malcolm had destroyed.

  "When will the new tower be finished?" Katherine asked, as if following Lily's thoughts.

  "Bram says within the month. Two at the most. Which is just as well." She ran a hand across her softly swelling belly. "As much as I love my cousin, I'd much rather my baby be born in my own home."

  "I totally understand that. I feel the same way about Duncreag. It is Anna's home. As it will be her brothers' and sisters' when that day comes. And hopefully, my brother's children as well."

  "Do you miss him terribly?" Lily asked. After the battle, Jeff had returned with Iain and Ranald to Duncreag, and after a short visit with his sister, returned to Elaine and his own century. He'd proven, along with Elaine, to be the dearest of friends, and she hoped that somehow they'd find a way to meet again. Certainly stranger things had happ
ened.

  "Every day," Katherine was saying. "But we're both where we belong. And that makes it easier. Besides, I carry him here." She touched her heart. "Always." She sighed and then smiled, patting Lily's hand. "Now, as to babies being born here at Tigh an Droma, I'd have to say that even were you to desire it, it wouldn't be the best of ideas. Alec's home doesn't exactly lend itself to creature comforts."

  "It's true. He's created that rare combination of chaos and austerity that only a dedicated bachelor can achieve. What he needs is a wife."

  "What he needs," Bram's deep voice replied, "is a less meddlesome cousin. Just because we've found our happiness doesn't mean we should try and force it upon everyone we meet." He slid his arm around her, the smile in his eyes removing the sting from his words.

  "Alec isn't everyone," Lily admonished, "he's family." And that said it all really. She leaned back into her husband's embrace, her eyes moving back to the portrait. It might not be Tyra looking back at her, but Lily liked to think that if she were here, the woman would approve.

  She'd loved Graeme beyond everything else. Of that there could be no doubt. But she'd loved her family as well. Enough to pass the ring down through time until it had reached Lily and the circle had been completed. And now, here Lily stood in a room full of people who loved her. Family. Every one of them.

  But none more so than the man who held her in his arms.

  "So, mo ghràidh," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, "what's a man have to do to get a kiss around here?"

  "Simply ask." She smiled, turning in his arms to lift her lips for his kiss.