Highland Magic Ch. 31

Cien couldn't bring himself to go back to the keep. Memories were at the keep. Memories of Regan. Of her smiles, and her laughter and her happiness. Of his happiness with her. Their time together was short, but to Cien, it had been life changing.

Instead he begged a few provisions from Maggie, and after a long lecture, she had given in. He collected them and packed his saddle bags up. "She wouldn't want ye to hide," Maggie reminded him and he grabbed the blacks reigns. He looked at her, nodding once he turned away and into the forest.

As a child, when his father drank too much whiskey and became abusive to himself and his mother, Cien came to the forest and was calmed. He didn't know what it was about the forest that calmed him, but they had. Taking his fear, his anger and his pain away from him. He prayed it would still be the same now that he was a grown man.

What he really wanted to do was head back to the keep and lock himself in his bed chamber with a few bottles of Kevin Foster's best whiskey. Cien almost smacked his lips at the thought and then shook his head. He knew that he couldn't do that.

Regan would have hated it.

And so he walked on. That night he found a comfortable place among the dried leaves and trees, and settled down for the night. After building a fire, he lay propped against a fallen log and watched the flames. He was thinking about her. How her hair shone in the summer sun. How her beautiful blue green eyes would sparkle when she laughed. All the meals they shared together. And her beautiful smile.

He slept restlessly that night, tossing and turning in the dried leaves until he was certain he was never going to get a single minute of sleep that night. Every noise of the forest woke him. His very breathing woke him several times during the night.

He woke in the morning to the sun warming his body and blinding his eyes. For a long minute, he simply stared up at the foliage above him. Pain such as he had never known sliced through him freshly. Would this pain never lessen? Somewhere in his mind, he realized it had only been two days and he was mourning. In his heart, he knew, certain as the sun shone, that it would never lessen. He would live the rest of his days with the pain of loosing the one he held so dear.

He lay on the cold ground unwilling to move. It was comforting in a way. The cold dew against his skin was refreshing, real. He didn't want to move. And he closed his eyes and prayed for death. Mayhap the Lord was in a merciful mood that day and would accommodate him.

"Cien." Opening his eyes he heartily swore. St. George's bones. Now he was hearing her voice in his head? He sighed and pushed himself up on his elbows. Blinking against the light, he looked around the clearing. There was nothing out of the normal, nothing that hadn't been that way the night before.

"Cien." He heard his name again and this time it wasn't in his head, it was behind him. Turning his head lazily he rolled to his feet quickly, his breathing quick.

Regan stood half behind a tree, holding on to it lightly. She was smiling and looked healthy if a bit pale. He took an involuntary step forward, and she shook her head. He tried to speak, but found it more difficult than he had anticipated.

Finally he managed. "Are you real?"

She smiled again and watched him carefully. "Yes, Cien." Her voice was a whisper. She stepped part way out from behind the tree and then stopped. She wore a beautiful dress. It was a pale blue nearly white, billowing around her softly as if from a breeze. But there was no breeze.

"Follow the path. When you come to the fork, go left." And with that she turned and ran down the path that had mysteriously appeared. It wasn't there the night before.

"Wait!" He called, chasing after her. "Regan, wait!" he darted through the trees and bushes, following the small blue cloud he could see of her dress.

"Cien," she whispered into his head.

"Wait for me, Regan!" He shouted as he bolted down the path.

She stood at the edge of the path, her gown still billowing softly around her. Behind her there was a small clearing with a large cottage. "Here, Cien."

"Regan?" She shook her head, as he stepped forward to touch her.

"I love you, Cien Fraser." And with that she closed her eyes and was gone.

Cien blinked and glanced around. She was here. He knew she was. He stepped into the clearing, thinking she was somewhere in there, and knew he had missed something.

The cottage had strange markings on it, and wasn't any type of cottage he'd ever seen before. There were glass windows in all the window holes. They must be nobility, Cien thought and he continued to look for Regan.

"Regan?" He shouted as he examined all the trees and bushes around him.

"You there, what are you doing?!" Cien turned and slid his sword out of its sheath in one movement. The older man stopped in his tracks and watched him carefully.

"Your not from the reenactment up the way, are you lad?"

"What are you doing on my land, old man?" Cien shouted at him in Gaelic.

The man seemed taken aback.

"Your land?"

"Aye. This is Fraser land." He took a menacing step forward, and growled. "And I'll have yer feet for the insult old man."

The man's eyes widened and he made a hasty sign of the cross. "Forgive me, Milord." He swallowed. "I dinna know it was ye."

Cien paused and really looked at the old man. He wore strange britches, even though his voice sounded Scots. Even for English garb, it looked strange to him.

"Why do you garb yourself in English clothes?"

The old man swallowed again. "Let me get me wife, Milord." He turned back toward the house and shouted up. "Iris!! Iris get down here NOW!"

A few moments later a door behind the house Cien hadn't realized was there, opened and an elderly woman stepped out of the house. "Now what the bleeden hell have I told ye about shoutin at me Henry Fraser?" She stopped at the look on her husband's face and turned slowly. "By the saints," she whispered quietly.

"Cien Fraser?"

Cien lowered his sword but didn't resheath it. "Aye." The woman clasped her hands together and screeched.

"Oh, I had not believed it. But she was right. She was right, Henry!" Henry nodded unable to take his eyes off the large Highlander.

"My great, so many times back I care not to count, grandmother said ye'd be here. That ye'd be looking for your lady love."

Cien narrowed his eyes at the old woman. "And pray tell, who was yer great grandmother?" He watched her carefully. Now suspecting but not exactly sure.

"She was a healer. Her name was Maggie."

Cien felt himself stumble and was able to throw his sword away from himself before he killed himself with it. He'd done it. He'd gone to the future. "The year, good woman.

What be yer year?"

"Year of our Lord, 2008."

He'd kept his promise. He closed his eyes, and felt his heart sing. He'd promised her he would come to her time, and he'd come. He only wished he could spend it with her.

"Thank you," he whispered and he fell on to the ground. "Thank you, Lord."