Behind the Plaid (2 page)

I longed for something different. Dreamed of a life unlike this one. One with love, friendship, respect. One where I could feel beautiful, be free to be me.

I turned away from the mirror and let my gaze drift over the room. It was small. Wood paneled walls, a cream ceiling with a few water stains. A tiny, shuttered window, sheer ivory curtains with embroidered roses waving softly in the air from the ceiling fan.

The bed was small—a full
, I think—and dipped in the middle from years of use. Steven made me sleep pinned against the wall as his larger frame settled into the middle of the bed. I didn’t want to touch him as I slept, for fear of angering him. The quilt was hand woven by Mrs. Lamb, she’d told us when she escorted us to the room. Made with love and tears, she’d said. Hoped it would bring us love, but no tears.

I marched over to the bed and sat heavily. I felt hopeless. Out of control. There was nothing for me left in this world and yet I knew there had to be. At one time
, I’d thought there was.

Now there was only this continued battle with my husband’s bruised ego and battering words. It wasn’t how I wanted to live my life.

A swish of sound came from the door and for a moment my heart stopped. Swift nausea came over me at the thought of Steven returning. He always wanted
it
after he was done raging at me.
It
being my body. A horrendous affair that, if I could, I’d never do again.

He brought me only pain.

But it wasn’t Steven. Instead, a little white card skidded over the worn wooden floor, flipping once before landing with a corner stuck beneath the threadbare rug. Curious, I shoved off the bed to retrieve it.

MacBurns Cab Service.
01455 521216

The old brass doorknob was frigid against my palm as I quickly opened the door, but there was no one in the hallway.
Could it have been Mrs. Lamb? Steven’s mother wouldn’t help me. Maybe it was one of the other guests who’d heard Steven berate me over the past week. Or worse, heard my struggles and muffled, pain-filled cries as he exerted his husbandly duties.

The voices of Steven and his family floated up from the sitting room, loud, agitated. He would be up soon.

Shutting the door silently, I picked up the old rotary dial phone that sat on a scratched wooden desk. My fingers trembled and I misdialed at least three times before getting it right.

“MacBurns Cab Service,” came a man’s voice, heavy with brogue.

I slammed down the phone. I couldn’t leave. I had nowhere to go. No money. No friends. No family.

My heart thudded loudly, blood rushing to my ears. I dialed again.

“MacBurns Cab Service.”

“Hi, yes, I need a cab please.” My voice shook and my teeth started to chatter. I clamped them tightly.

“When and where?”

“Immediately.” I started to give him the address
to Mrs. Lamb’s B&B but instead changed it to the cross street. Somehow I’d have to sneak out and make it down the road without Steven seeing me. That only made my nausea return, churning the few bits of fish I’d nibbled.

“We’ll get ye in a jiff.”

The line went dead. Either a cab would be waiting for me and I’d climb into it, or the cab would wait and then drive away as I stared out the window.

I shook my head. “No. No. No.” I had to leave. This was my chance. Perhaps Mrs. Lamb would distract Steven and his family long enough for me to escape. Once I was in the cab
, I could figure out where to go.

I grabbed my carryon from beneath the bed and stuffed my meager belongings into it.
Clutching my purse, I headed for the door, stopping in my tracks. Steven tucked cashier’s checks and cash in the top drawer of his bureau, buried beneath his white underwear and black socks. Did I dare take some? All? If he found me… There would be no end to my chastisement.

There would be no end to it anyway. I was leaving him, and that was not a humiliation he would tolerate lightly or moderately. His only reaction would be volcanic.

I ripped open the drawer, yanked out a wad of cash and stuffed the bills into my purse with my passport. Slipped off my wedding ring and placed it where the cash had been.

My throat closed
, terror so profound coming over me that my feet froze in place. Someone tapped at my door and I whimpered in fear.

“Mrs. Gordon?”

Acute relief washed over me, and my limbs felt weightless. My legs shook and nearly had me buckling to the floor.

“Mrs. Gordon… I believe
there is someone waiting for ye across the way.”

So soon?
Had my host been keeping an eye out?

Swallowing back the bile forcing its way up my throat, I willed my legs to work, to walk towards the door and turn the ancient handle. Mrs. Lamb stood in the hallway, her gaze
anxious.

“Come now, lass, your ride is awaiting.”

I nodded. Mrs. Lamb led me along the dimly lit, narrow hallway toward the back of the house, and down a steep and tiny iron circular staircase. The steps seemed made for a child, no more three or four inches deep and only a foot wide. We ended up in her kitchen and she ushered me toward the back door, where her yard was pitch black.

“Go with God, lass. Ye
’re doing the right thing.” The woman nearly pushed me out the door.

As soon as my feet hit the dewy grass, I felt it.

Freedom. An insurmountable weight lifted from my chest. I was free.

Almost.

I took off at a jog down the street, tripping over my own feet as I looked behind me to make sure Steven didn’t follow. Adrenaline pumped through my veins. Elation filled me, like I was floating. Ahead at the crossroads a nondescript silver cab waited, lights shining in the evening mist.

A burly
Scot climbed from the car. He tipped his cap, showing his silver hair and held open the door for me.

“Can I take your bag
, miss?”

“No, thank you.”

“What about that one?” He pointed to the carryon I was going to toss into the back seat.

Not wanting to stall any longer, I thrust it toward him.
“Just this one.” Clutching my purse to my chest, I scooted all the way to the other side of the cab, slinking low in the seat. Just in case Steven did happen to race down the street, I didn’t want him to see me.

The cab driver stowed my b
ag, slower than my nerves could handle. I tapped my feet, my fingers. Finally he slid into his seat, shut the door and faced me. “Where to?”

I froze. I didn’t know. I could stay here in Scotland for a time. But eventually, I’d have to go back to the U.S. Just not back home to Washington, DC. I didn’t want to risk staying here
in Drumnadrochit, though. If Steven found me, or I got cold feet and returned to my old life… My toes tingled. Was I getting cold feet now?

“The airport
. In Inverness,” I proclaimed.

“Where ye headed?”

“Home.” Or at least the country of my old home.

“U.S.? I can take ye to the regional airport in Inverness, and then
ye can catch a flight to Edinburgh. There are no flights to the U.S. from Inverness.”

I nodded, even though his answer made me
panicky. That would be the first place Steven would look for me.

“Are there any trains to
Edinburgh?”

“Aye, we’ve
a national rail.”

“Do you think they have a train tonight?”

“In a hurry, lass?”

I nodded and frantically looked out the window. The cab driver caught my nervous glances and turned onto the road, slowly driving away.

“I’m sure they’ve a train tonight. Usually one around eight.” He tapped the dashboard clock. “Ye should make it.”

I nodded, my breath catching. I was really doing this. “How much do you think the train fare is?” I didn’t know how much I’d grabbed from the drawer, but guessed it was at least two or three hundred.

“Probably about fifty or sixty quid, lass.” He glanced back, his eyes sympathetic. “Mrs. Lamb’s taken care of your taxi fare, so ye’ve no need to worry on that account.”

The woman had truly wanted to
help me leave. Amazing.

The cab driver grew silent and I watched the
darkened scenery with new awakened eyes. A drizzle started, rain drops splashing on my window, obscuring and blurring the view. Steadily, the drops fell harder, as if the clouds themselves wanted to cover my tracks. Deep thunder rolled, so colossal my insides vibrated with it. Lightning flashed, illuminating the sky and an imposing medieval castle alongside the road. The ride was bumpy, windy, and I clutched at the seat to remain in place.

My eyes were drawn
to the soaring stone towers, crenelated tops. Rock crumbled in spots, revealing more stone and mortar beneath. The grounds were vast. A thick wall surrounded the castle. When lightning flashed again, I could see the raging loch beyond the castle. Loch Ness.

I’d not seen a monster there when we’d taken a tour two days ago, but I’d been
so absorbed in the water itself, as if waiting for something to emerge from its depths. I’d even stepped in an inch along the edge, wetting my shoes and the hem of my skirt. Steven had been furious. I’d not known what compelled me.

I was
drawn to it even now. My eyes were riveted by the stone towers and the main building itself—a keep, the tour guide had called it. Seemed fitting as it would keep people in or out.

“What is the name of this castle?” I asked the cab driver, unable to recall it myself.
When we’d visited a couple days prior, I’d been too occupied with Steven’s cross temperament.

He slowed the car,
heedless of the honking drivers behind us. The cabbie rolled down his window and waved them around us, before pulling over to the side.

“That’s
Gealach Castle, lass.”

“
Gealach,” I repeated, imitating his brogue.

“Aye.”

“Will you wait here for me?” I asked, a powerful urge to walk along the ruin taking hold. It was stupid, given that Steven may be following me at that moment. But I didn’t care. I
had
to do this.

“’Tis raining
lass. Ye’ll not want to go out there now.”

“I’ll just be a few minutes.” I didn’t wait for him to respond
. But instead yanked on the handle and pushed the door open, holding my purse over my head as I ran up the embankment. The castle was closed, a metal gate blocking the path, but luck was on my side—someone had forgotten to lock it. I yanked it open and ran through. My flats sank into the grass, slipping on the wet earth.

My blouse and skirt were quickly drenched, gluing themselves
uncomfortably to my skin. Still I ran toward Gealach. I don’t know what drew me, but it was strong. Like someone literally moved my limbs for me. Thunder rolled, shaking the earth and making my legs tremble. Lightning lit up the night sky.

“Miss!” I heard the cab driver call behind me.

I waved my hand in the air, dismissing him, as I kept moving forward. Chills swept over me. A swift wind blew the cold rain. Yet, I did not stop until I reached the gate. Lightning struck somewhere close by. I hesitated. What was I doing? This was insane. Was my newfound freedom making me crazy?

No. I had to go inside. I just had to.

Thunder reverberated across the stones, making it sound even louder, and sharp pelts of rain hit my face. I crossed over the sturdy bridge with iron rails across what was once a moat toward the castle gate. One more step forward and I was beneath what was left of the stone gate, just as lightning struck. Sparks shot into the air from the iron spires on either side of me.

Stunned, I fell to the
cobblestone and the storm ceased.

Chapter Two

Logan

Scottish Highlands

Mid-summer, 1542

T
he bedchamber was rife with the scent of rutting. Lots of rutting. The sun had barely risen and the golden light of morning streamed into the room, pulling back the cloak of darkness from numerous legs, sprawled and entwined. The fire was banked and the candles had long since burned through their wicks, wax dripping over the holders to lay in hardened lumps.