Every Day of My Life by Lynn Kurland

Author:Lynn Kurland [Kurland, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kurland Book Productions, Inc.
Published: 2024-09-20T00:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

Oliver woke.

The first thing that occurred to him was that he’d obviously been unconscious. That was alarming, but that was what happened to a man when he was 6’2” and not precisely made to nip in and out of vintage Scottish crofts. He wondered how it was that Cameron who was even taller than he was had managed to get himself inside Moraig’s so neatly, but then again, the man had been sporting a dagger in his back and suffering from half his skull being crushed—

He sat up with a start, clutched his head, then heaved himself to his feet and staggered to the open doorway. He flicked on the lights, grateful than there were lights to turn on, then spun around to look for Mairead.

She was standing next to the hearth.

He wasn’t sure what sort of sound came from him, but he hoped he never had to make the same again. He propelled himself across the cottage at something not quite a dead run and threw his arms around …

Nothing.

He staggered back and looked at her in shock that soon turned to something very close to horror.

“No,” he said, his voice hoarse in his own ears. “Please, no—”

She smiled gently. “It’s all right,” she said, in perfect modern English. “It’s all right, Oliver, my love.”

He continued to stumble backward until he felt his head make contact with that bloody doorway yet again. The pain was almost enough to do him in. Or perhaps that was the shattering of his heart. He wasn’t sure and he didn’t want to know. What he did know was that the first thing to do was fix what he’d botched so thoroughly—

“Oliver.”

He was halfway out the door before it registered that Mairead was calling to him. He pushed himself away from impulsiveness that he had trained out of himself, then slowly turned and looked at the woman across the chamber from him.

“Build a fire, my love,” she said gently, “and let us have speech together.”

At least she still had her Gaelic accent. He was tempted to ask her to speak it, but couldn’t bear the thought of missing anything. He was the first to admit he was absolutely not at his best, though that was perhaps the understatement of the century. Centuries. He hardly knew how to quantify it, though trying helped him bring his rampaging emotions under control.

He shut the door, locked it out of habit, then forced himself to put one foot in front of another until he’d taken himself all the way to the hearth. He didn’t allow himself to look at the woman he could absolutely see out of the corner of his eye, the one wearing the same rustic dress he’d last seen her in, the one who was standing just beyond where he could have reached out and touched her.

Centuries beyond that, apparently.

He built a fire because it was something to do with his hands. He excused himself to nip in and out of the loo, wondering if

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