But of all the things that had happened since she’d been back in Whitewater, the most surprising had been the day Drew had shown up at the door. His face shadowed with guilt, his eyes pleading. I just wanted to let you know I refused to talk to the press when they wanted to interview me about what your father did and that night at the reunion when Jake smashed up the car. I’m sorry, Em. About…about this mess. About everything. Jessie and I…we loved the bear you sent from Scotland. The ba— He’d stopped, as if knowing mention of the child Emma had wanted to have with him would hurt her.
It’s okay, Drew. You can say it. Baby. See? I didn’t break into a billion pieces. Not one tear. We were wrong for each other. A baby wouldn’t have fixed that. It still doesn’t mean you weren’t a jerk. But maybe that’s a good thing. Makes you almost human.
He’d left soon after and Emma suspected that, in time, the “three musketeers” might even be able to be friends again. Not as close as they had been. But friends, nonetheless. It was something to hope for.
She curled up in her favorite spot near the window, where the crooked brick chimney sheltered the keeper of her most precious memories of all. Treasures not to be dragged out and played with, but rather to be lifted out reverently, one at a time, and smiled over, wept over, scattering their unique spell.
Emma opened the trunk and leaned over it, remembering how it felt to be a child looking into it for the first time. The March family’s keepsakes from the Civil War had filled it then. Emma had added heirlooms of her own.
Uncle Cade’s lucky shirt with the diamond shapes Emma had cut out of it the day she’d made him so furious and they’d first met Aunt Finn. The tattered blue play script of Romeo and Juliet that Emma and her mom had found when she was sixteen and so in love with the stage, with hearing a live audience gasp or cry or leap to their feet in a standing ovation.
Between the pages of Grandma Emmaline’s playbook, Emma had discovered the letter that had changed all of their lives forever. Scraping bare the unhappiness of her grandparents’ marriage, the secret of her mother’s birth. But in the storm that followed, Deirdre McDaniel had found something precious as well. She’d found Jake.
Emma trailed her hands over the treasures tucked in the chest, talismans that reminded her no matter how bleak things seemed, the sun would shine on her beloved family again. Her childhood journey was stowed away here—full of wonder, full of hope—when she’d still believed with all her might that people you loved and lost would somehow find their way home.
And they had—her mother, her aunt Finn. Every McDaniel woman had built the home they’d always dreamed of, the family they’d always longed for. Every McDaniel woman but Emma.
Jared wasn’t coming.
She’d told him not to. Was still determined to stand by her decision. And yet as weeks passed she realized that somewhere, in some secret corner of her heart, she’d hoped one day she’d turn around and see his face. But he was gone from her life for good.
Tomorrow she’d be on her way to a new life as well. Away from Aunt Finn’s pitchers of lemonade in the kitchen of March Winds when the bed-and-breakfast guests had left for the day. Far from Uncle Cade’s log cabin beyond the picket fence and the Captain’s adjoining apartment snuggled up to the building’s east wing. Gone from her room at Jake’s bungalow, the special addition he’d built in spite of the fact she’d left for drama school in New York before it was finished and he knew she never planned to live back home again.
But more than anything, she’d miss her mother’s unfailing love and strength, the mental toughness that had helped Emma survive the pain of what had happened in Scotland.
It was time Emma showed the same grit. Put her life back together and get on with things. As her grandfather told her: There wasn’t a man on earth good enough to merit making his grandbaby cry.
But for once, the Captain was wrong. Jared was worth every one of her tears. The brawny Scotsman hadn’t just captured her heart. He’d stolen it altogether, until every time she closed her eyes she could see him. On the night wind she could hear him. In her dreams she could feel him—his callused workman’s hands on her bare skin, his mouth hot on hers, demanding she give herself to him completely. His big body bearing her down as he drove himself inside her so she could know….
Know what all those words meant in the wedding ceremonies she’d heard. Two becoming one….
But once that happened, once you were joined with a man that way—in your hearts, if not in some church—could you ever be whole again without him? Or would you always feel his loss, like the phantom pain that came when an arm or leg was torn away?
Strange, even when Drew had left her she’d never missed him this way. Never felt bound to him, soul to soul, the way she did to Jared Butler.
She leaned into the trunk, took out a soft bundle wrapped in acid-free tissue. The antique wedding dress she’d never wear. She fingered a sleeve that peeked out of the wrapping. Thistles…Mariah March had embroidered thistles on the sleeves of her gown, in honor of her bridegroom’s country. Another man from the wild shores of Scotland. Emma’s heart squeezed, as if Mariah March were reaching out to her through time.
A wedding dress…such a silly thing, really, Emma had told herself after Drew had walked away. A costly white dress a woman wore just one day, then packed up in a blue drycleaner’s box and stuffed in an attic to yellow with age, then sent to Goodwill once the divorce papers were filed. And yet Mariah’s gown was different. All those stitches taken so carefully, every thread dipped in a bride’s sweet dreams.
Emma fingered the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons and wondered. If she’d married Jared, would she have worn this historical artifact? No, the archaeologist in him would be horrified. Not to mention, the gown was too small. Would she have dragged out her lucky diva dress, the simple black gown that had replaced the similar one she’d used both for auditions and her elopement to Drew?
Or would she have slipped on the surcoat and silver-tissue undergown she’d worn as Lady Aislinn? The dress Jared had stripped from her body the night he’d saved her on the cliff, made love to her. The night all the walls between them tumbled down at last.
Her throat tightened. She swallowed the lump of pain. No. What dress she might have worn didn’t bear thinking about. That wedding would never be.
She should have tucked the dress away, but she couldn’t stop herself from spreading the tissue back from the gown she and Aunt Finn had found when everything still seemed possible, even someone you loved coming to find you.
Emma had already had that dream come true once. Her mother coming back to love her. It was a precious one, even more so since the maelstrom of guilt and pain and publicity had battered Emma and Deirdre Stone.
But McDaniels never surrendered to defeat. Her mother standing strong. Her stepfather right behind her. Little Hope trying to understand. Even Hope would be okay, Emma knew. The child was certain of the one thing that really mattered: Her mother and father loved her. And so did her big sister.
Someday Emma would watch Hope float up to the gazebo, thistles embroidered on her sleeves, as the wedding dress made another McDaniel bride’s dreams come true.
Emma would make that be enough.
SOMEONE WAS COMING. Emma climbed to her feet at the sound of footsteps on the attic stairs and brushed the last of the tears from her eyes. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry. Especially not now, before she had to leave. For New York, a new audition. Please, God, a fresh start somewhere on the stages of Broadway where her dreams used to live. She turned, expecting to see her mother’s catlike face and flyaway hair.
Instead, dimly filtered light revealed a Scottish warrior’s face stepped out of time. Her heart tried to beat its way out of her chest and run to him. She wanted to knock the wooden box out of Jared’s arms and fling herself against his broad chest, wanted to hold him and be held. But that would only make the inevitable harder. Nothing had changed since she’d left Lady Aislinn’s castle for good.
/> His eyes ate her up with that hungry look that had always made her want to fill his soul with everything he needed. It took every atom of self-control not to give in to it. “What are you doing here?” she asked, wiping her dusty hands on the legs of her jeans.
He carried the box to an old desk, set the crate down. “Bringing you a wedding present from Snib.”
Grief pressed tight on Emma’s heart. “You’ll have to return it,” she said. “I’m not getting married. Not ever.”
“So you said in your letter.” Pain flashed into Jared’s beautiful eyes. Emma knew she’d put it there. “You should have waited for me, Emma,” he said softly.
“And you should have let me go.”
“That’s what I figured you’d say.” Jared ran his fingers through his hair. The weary laugh he gave tore at Emma. “In fact, I’ve been getting plenty of advice about how to proceed here. Davey says I should take the advice you gave him. Tell you I love you. But I’ve already done that.”
Emma winced, the words slicing deep. She’d found out the hard way that sometimes love wasn’t enough.
“How is Davey?” she asked, trying to switch to a safer subject.
“Appalled that we were afraid he’d driven off the road on purpose. The crash was an accident. He wasn’t trying to kill himself as we feared.”
“Thank God,” Emma breathed.
“He and Beth were inseparable while he was recovering. They finished this summer’s dig in fine style. After the truth about his father broke, well—she clung to him more fiercely than ever. Who knew the girl had that kind of backbone, facing up to something like that? They’re engaged.”
Emma’s eyes widened. “Engaged?”
“He says he knows she’s The One. I think he’s too damned young, but what the hell do I know? If I learned one thing this summer it’s that love doesn’t always happen on a convenient schedule. Hell.” The old impatience crackled in his voice. “There’s not a damned thing convenient about love at all, come to think of it.”
Emma’s mouth curved in a half smile. “I’m glad for Davey.”
“Then, after I got pointers from a nineteen-year-old, I got hammered by two old men. Snib and your grandfather both told me I should throw you over my shoulder and have my way with you to change your mind. In fact, Captain McDaniel had specific interest in a great-grandbaby. After he kicked my ass.”
“He what?” Emma froze in surprise.
“Dropped me like a rock on the garden path before he let me in here.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Not with the funny expression on Jared’s face. The Scotsman flushed just a little. “Of course, I was trying to be gentle with him.”
Emma chuckled. “I’ll bet.”
Jared’s eyes darkened. All humor fled. “Emma, I would have let him beat the hell out of me a hundred times if I had to. To get to you.” She saw him swallow hard, his voice catching in his throat. “Marry me. Let me love you the way Robert Burns described. ’Til all the seas run dry, my dear, and rocks melt wi’ the sun.”
“Poetry,” Emma breathed, her chest hurting. “Burns is beautiful, Jared, but it doesn’t change anything. Didn’t you see what our lives would be like during those days at the hospital? Nothing would ever be easy.”
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be. Maybe that’s what makes every minute I spend with you so damned sweet.”
He reached out, touched her face. She bit back a moan, knowing how much she’d missed this—the rough tips of his fingers, the warmth of them on her skin. She forced herself to pull away.
“God, Jared. Don’t…”
“We’re not the first ones to face challenges. Hell, next to what Lady Aislinn and Sir Brannoc faced for love, this is nothing.”
Even through her pain, Emma started. “Sir Brannoc? You mean Lord Magnus. You’ve got your history mixed up.”
“No.” Jared’s eyes shone the way she loved so well, intense, intelligent, filled with awe at some small find. “I’ve got it right for the very first time. Lady Aislinn’s husband was a scheming opportunist who poisoned her father on the night before the wedding.”
“But…but why?”
“He only wanted the fairy flag—to add its magic to his family’s bloodline.”
“But how could anyone prove that?”
“Magnus’s first wife died in an accident to clear the way for the alliance with Lady Aislinn. On the eve before the wedding, Sir Brannoc met with Lady Aislinn’s father in secret. He’d ridden across Scotland at breakneck speed, bringing the maid who’d seen Magnus throw her mistress off the cliffs to tell her tale of murder. She’d heard the man say once he’d got a brace of sons on his new bride, he’d do the same to her as well.”
“But helping anyone this way is completely out of Sir Brannoc’s character. Why would he bother to do such a thing? Not out of the goodness of his heart. Every source I’ve read claims he was Scotland’s most infamous mercenary. Did he want to marry Lady Aislinn himself?”
“Certainly not. After the meeting, Sir Brannoc left the castle with a hefty reward for saving Lady Aislinn from such a fate. But later that night, when her father called Magnus in for a private meeting to tell him there’d be no wedding, Magnus poisoned him, killed the maid and blamed Sir Brannoc for their deaths.”
“But didn’t Sir Brannoc defend himself?”
“The gold that had been Brannoc’s reward was missing from the coffers. Magnus said Sir Brannoc stole it after he committed the murders. No one in Scotland would believe Sir Brannoc’s tale, save his own loyal men. Who in power would take a renegade knight’s word against a noble lord’s?”
The truth sank into Emma. “What did Brannoc do?”
“Sailed off to the continent to sell his sword to the highest bidder and vowed that as soon as he was strong enough, powerful enough, he’d go to Craigmorrigan to take his revenge.”
“And Lady Aislinn?”
“The wedding took place the next day, supposedly to fulfill Lady Aislinn’s father’s wishes. Lord Magnus insisted that Lady Aislinn needing protecting from the evil knight who’d murdered her father.”
“But how…the story wasn’t that way—not in any of the texts I read. Not even in your book! How did you find all this out?”
“Snib.”
“The standing stones? You excavated and found—”
“Not me. My da dug up a cache of things while he was on MacMurray’s land. He had a gift for it—finding old pike blades and soldiers’ spurs and such. Da figured the things belonged to whoever cared enough to find them. Snib caught him with the finds and confiscated the bundle Da put the things in. Snib took it just for spite. It’s a miracle he didn’t burn it.” Jared’s voice hushed. “Thank God he didn’t.”
“But where…where did your father find them?”
“We’ll never know for sure. But I’d wager within two meters of where your little rogue of a dog found the gauntlet.”
“Jared…Oh, Jared!” Emma flung her arms around him in elation. He hugged her for a moment before she came to her senses and drew back.
“These things all have to go to a museum once I’ve shown them to you,” Jared explained. “But…Emma, I’ve read the words Lady Aislinn left behind.” He unfolded the oilcloth. Emma gasped at the sheen of carved ivory.
“My God, Jared! What is it?”
“Her book of hours. Apparently she could read and write after all. Before she fled the castle, she penned their love story, squeezed it between the lines.”
Emma reached out to touch the edge of the battered cover with her hand. “However did it survive?”
“There were metal fittings from a series of different document boxes in the bundle and fragments of cloth. My guess is that they wrapped each layer in oilcloth to seal it. Then wrapped the whole thing in oilcloth again. Lady Aislinn wanted to make sure this record of their story survived. She wanted the world to know.”
“Know what?”
“The truth. And it is true, Emma! The part of t
he tale I always doubted. Sir Brannoc and Lady Aislinn and the swords. But he wasn’t just taunting her while Magnus was off fighting for the thieving English as history says. After he took the castle to avenge himself on Lord Magnus, he saw scars on the Lady. He knew her husband beat her. It was a husband’s right in those days. I don’t know why Brannoc decided to school her in swordplay—because she’d won his respect during the siege or to pass the time and be a thorn in the side of his old enemy.” With exquisite care, he opened the book to the middle and Emma stared in awe at the page, the elegant scribe’s hand and Lady Aislinn’s far more crude one.
“Whatever his reason,” Jared said, “Sir Brannoc’s goal was to teach Lady Aislinn how to fight back. He didn’t expect to fall in love. But it happened.” His voice lowered, still amazed. “Just like I fell in love with you.”
Emma touched the bit of parchment, marveling. “It’s so hard to believe. Six hundred years he’s been cast as a villain. Now all of a sudden…”
“He’s just a man who loved his woman enough to give up everything.”
“No wonder he went mad when Lady Aislinn disappeared…” Emma said, sorrow weighing down her heart. “And we still don’t know what happened to the fairy flag.”
“But that’s the best part of the tale!” Jared said. “When Sir Brannoc returned from hunting, the whole castle was weeping. A boy searching the cliff for bird’s eggs had found the lady’s favorite coronet caught on a piece of branch partway down the cliff, and clinging to one of the enameled flowers, a scrap torn from her gown. The whole castle believed he was so obsessed with her that he threw her off the cliff rather than surrender her to Magnus once they heard news of the lord’s return.”
“But Sir Brannoc—he wouldn’t have let that monster take her!”
“Lady Aislinn was Lord Magnus’s by church law, and no man could stand against it. And Lord Magnus marched at the head of an army that would have crushed Sir Brannoc’s forces in a day. Sir Brannoc ordered his men to take their plunder and leave. Then he haunted the tower room, touching her clothes, pressing his face to her pillow, breathing her in from the things she left behind.”