Clan Ross: His Heart's Desire Part 23

Before Cat knew it, there was a brilliant flash of light and the building shook as if a freight train had run through it. When everything settled and the smoke cleared, Cat realized she stood alone with Morgana.

"Where is Meagan?" She looked frantically around the room. The place was a total wreck.

"Oopsy-daisy." She put a hand to her chest. "My bad, I must have sent your friend back with those guys."

Her mocking laugh shredded Cat's skin like barbed wire. "You b.i.t.c.h!"

"Yeah, but how does that trite saying go anyhow? Oh yes, life's a b.i.t.c.h and so am I. No, wait that's not the one I was thinking of. It's life's a b.i.t.c.h and then you die." She waved her hand. "Take your pick. I guess in this case, both are appropriate."

"Is . . . is he dead now?"

"Dead and forgotten."

Cat stared dumbfounded. Her heart was breaking and she couldn't stand there listening to Morgana crow about her accomplishment. Needing to get out of there, she turned and left. Morgana's maniacal laughter followed her long after she was out of sight.

Cat let herself into her townhouse. Thunder rumbled overhead and rain fell but she didn't care. The weather matched her mood; dark, desolate and sad. So very sad.

The place was so still, silent. Braden wasn't there to greet her with a smile and a bone-melting kiss.

She didn't know what to do first. Morgana's words still reverberated through her head. He was gone. Not to Scotland to visit; he was dead.

The one thing she had feared most was now a reality. She didn't know what to do. The trite cliche of 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all was c.r.a.p. Nothing hurt more than to have experienced the thrill of love only to have it yanked away. Cat knew what it was like to be held in her Highlander's arms. She knew he'd made her feel a complete person. Whole, in mind, body and soul.

"I know that he's in a better place . . . in better hands than my own. But I'm selfish and I want him in my hands, my arms. I want to feel his warm strength, his soft breath on my cheek. I want him here with me." Cat fell to her knees and began to weep. She feared she'd never smile or laugh ever again. Clutching her middle, she bent in half and sobbed. Nothing was ever going to be right in her world ever again. Never.

After her tears were spent, she sc.r.a.ped herself off the floor and went upstairs to her room. The bed was still in disarray from that morning. Had it only been twelve hours earlier that they'd been entwined on those very sheets, making love? Cat picked up the pillow Braden had used and put it to her face. His masculine scent still lingered in the fibers. A fresh wash of tears swept through her.

Her mind went back to the last kiss they had shared that morning. A simple brushing of lips, a quick peck, a goodbye kiss shared by couples that have been together for years. A kiss that said I love you, and I'll see you later. There had been no flair of l.u.s.t and pa.s.sion; instead just a comforting touch, one easily taken for granted. Had she known it would be their last time alone together, she'd have . . . she didn't know what she would have done.

How could fate be so cruel? And Morgana? Why couldn't she just leave things be? Cat had never seen anyone so gleeful-so ecstatic to inflict such cruelty. Morgana had glowed when she told Cat how she sent Braden back to his fate, how she'd finally made things right for her ancestress.

Cat curled up in a small ball and, holding the pillow close, drifted to sleep. She woke several hours later with eyes swollen, heartbroken thanks to her crying through the night. Despite the horrors of the day, her dreams were dark voids-empty. Needing her touchstone, she turned over and looked at the portrait only to find it gone. Tossing back the covers, she raced to the wall. But even the nail on which she hung the frame was not there.

Frantic, she pulled the dresser away from the wall thinking the frame had fallen behind the furniture at some point. There was nothing there. Not even a dust bunny.

She sat on the floor stunned. Where was her painting? She crawled to her hope chest sitting at the foot of her bed. Tossing back the lid, she dug frantically for the journal she'd found before she'd flown to Scotland. The old book was gone. A burning in her chest warned that something was not right. Needing to see his face, she ran downstairs. The night before they'd taken a group picture but when she found the snapshot, to her dismay she was the only one in the photo.

"No! No!" She screamed and closed her eyes. Taking deep even breaths she tried to sort out the complexities of her situation. Was her grief playing tricks on her mind? With a pounding head and heavy fatigue luring her back to bed, she went upstairs. Grasping Braden's pillow once again, she inhaled deeply taking comfort from his scent still remaining in the woven threads. Why could she smell him but couldn't see him? Tears trickled down her cheeks, wetting the material of the pillowcase. Morgana had taken more from her this night than the love of her life. She'd taken her peace of mind and just possibly her sanity.

She had a feeling it was a taste of what the rest of her life would be like.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

Morgana was buoyant as she watched Catrona race from the house with tears streaming down her face. The tightness that had bound Morgana mind, body and soul since the first glimpse of Braden Ross, now loosened and allowed her to breathe. She smiled with satisfaction.

"Well, that's done. Time to go and get something to eat." She gazed about the room before she closed the door behind her without a backward glance.

Morgana made the short walk back to her home in less than five minutes. She came to a sudden stop when she saw who awaited her at the front door of her shop.

"What are you doing here, sister?"

Constance tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "You actually killed him. I can't believe you're so consumed by something that had nothing to do with you. That man never hurt you."

Morgana unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold. The scents of myrrh, lavender and rosemary greeted her and she inhaled deeply. "Where is your loyalty? You've always been such a bleeding heart. It's pathetic."

"No, what's pathetic is how you purposely choose unsuitable men to fall in love with and then blame anyone and anything for the resulting failure. It's not Catrona's fault your heart is broken. The fault is yours and yours alone."

Morgana clapped in a slow even rhythm. "Bravo." She crossed her arms and went on, "Tell me, how long did you practice that little soliloquy?"

Constance narrowed her eyes at her sister's reaction. "How can you justify what you did? You abused the gift our ancestors have given us. Your namesake couldn't see anything beyond herself, and neither can you. The world doesn't have to answer to you. And furthermore, no one-including you-can stop a person from falling in love. Your heart chooses."

"Oh, please." Morgana moved away from her heart-and-flowers sister. Constance had always been one of those girls constantly sighing over fairytales and feel-good chick flicks. She spent more money on romance books than she did on groceries each month. What did she know of real life? Nothing, that's what.

"You're a selfish b.i.t.c.h, Morgana."

"Blah, blah, blah. Are you done with the self-righteous c.r.a.p? What's done is done. Get over it."

Constance stood still and Morgana held her gaze. "What?"

"I just never realized how sad and miserable you really are." Constance shook her head.

"You know what your problem is, Constance? You're soft. I know you tried to warn Braden about me. Tried scaring him off and you almost succeeded. He and his cousin were set to fly to Scotland tomorrow."

"Why couldn't you have just let them leave?"

"Because. Our family legacy is to take care of each other. One of us had been hurt by that man and he deserved to pay much longer than he did."

Constance choked. "What, eight centuries wasn't long enough? Morgana placed the curse on him she thought was suitable. Even she managed to add a loophole in order to allow him freedom."

Morgana turned away from her sister and pushed through the beaded curtain. No matter how much she wanted to ignore the words her sister spoke, they still lashed at her dormant conscience. This angered her even more and she turned on her sister.

"Why don't you go and enjoy an evening with your two favorite men, Ben and Jerry?"

Constance offered a small smile. "And what do you plan on dining on this eve, spleen and hearts?"

Morgana laughed a true expression of mirth. "Ah, little sister, you need to keep your nose out of my business. If it will make you feel any better, the d.a.m.n man and his cousin aren't dead. I simply sent them back to the year they died."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better? I'm not the one who was in love with the man."

Morgana offered a shrug. "Well, you see, you need to learn to take what you can get. The information I just shared with you is as good as it's going to get."

"One day you're going to wake up alone and miserable," Constance said.

"And that would be different from now, how exactly?"

"I don't know, Morgana. I don't know." Constance turned and left her alone.

Morgana secured the front door of the shop. She stood at the gla.s.s window and watched as couples moved down the street arm-in-arm or, in some cases, holding hands. She might scoff at the idea of romance and happy endings, yet she still couldn't ignore the need to find this for herself.

She walked away from the door and up to her apartment. As promised, the only thing waiting for her were shadows and emptiness. Instead of sitting down to eat her dinner while she watched her favorite sit-com, she went out to her balcony and tried to recapture the feel good emotions from earlier. Cursing aloud, she realized that with a conscience and sister like Constance, she didn't need any enemies.

The second time Cat woke, she looked at the wall out of habit and realized the portrait was indeed gone. Staggering to the bathroom, she turned on the sink faucet and waited for the water to warm slightly before splashing the cobwebs of tears and sleep away. She picked up her toothbrush and saw to matters before brushing her hair and pulling it back into a tail, then shuffled back to the bedroom.

A sense of being adrift would not dissipate and her energy level was at an all-time low. She sat staring at the empty wall. Tears were no longer falling in a torrent down her face, probably due to the fact that all the crying she'd done earlier had left her dehydrated. Knowing she needed to do something, anything, she headed downstairs. Carefully, she negotiated the hardwood steps feeling detached, almost like she was watching all of this from afar.

She stepped into her kitchen just as the phone rang. Contemplating letting it go to the answering machine, she picked it up. "h.e.l.lo."

"Hey, you. So, I just got off the phone with Generosa and Natalia. Do you want to meet up for lunch later?" Summer asked.

The very thought of eating was almost enough to send her running back to the bathroom. At the same time, she understood the importance of breathing in and out and eating. She needed all her strength to deal with her situation. "Have you called Meagan to see if she wants to come?"

"Who?"

"Ha, ha. I'm not in a good mood, Summer. Did you talk to Meagan, because I think she may need to get out as well?"

"Cat, are you all right? Who the h.e.l.l is Meagan?"

Anger and panic warred for dominance. "Summer, I really need you to quit playing around."

"I'm coming over."

Before Cat could tell her to forget it all together, Summer broke the connection. Not wanting her friend to see her in such a state, Cat went upstairs and took a shower.

By the time she'd dressed and dried her hair, Summer was banging on the door.

Taking a deep breath, Cat let her friend in.

"What the h.e.l.l happened to you? Have you been crying?" Summer pushed past and made her way into the kitchen.

Left with no choice, Cat followed and tried to square her shoulders for the upcoming discussion. She pulled out a chair and sat facing Summer. "I need to talk to you about something and you have to promise me you won't think I'm crazy."

"What's wrong, Cat?"

Where did she start? Her love affair with a painting she couldn't find, the evil druid priestess's relative who didn't have a terribly firm grip on reality, or the missing friend who only she remembered?

"Come on, Cat. Spill."

Taking a deep breath and then letting it go slowly, she offered what she hoped was a self-a.s.sured smile. "Do you . . . ah . . . by any chance remember the painting of a Highland warrior that I've had since I was a little girl?"

Summer frowned and then drew out her answer. "No."

"You don't remember meeting a man the other night at the bar when we were together?"

"No, Cat. I'll admit you've been acting real strange recently. Have you been working too hard? Did you contract an illness or something?"

"What? No. No. I'm perfectly healthy." Or, at least, that was her deepest hope. Physically, anyhow. Her mental health was up for debate at this point.

"You really don't remember our friend, Meagan? She was about five, five, had long blond hair, and she used to like to dye it wild colors?"

"Once again, I don't know who these people are, Cat."

Panic now had its eye teeth in Cat. The time had come to regroup. Something was wrong. Very wrong, and she needed to understand. "You know, maybe I'll pa.s.s on lunch. I've been so stressed with all of the commissions I've won, I haven't really taken time to recharge my batteries."

Summer looked far from convinced but stood and hugged her before cautioning, "You're scaring me a little bit. When you want to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Summer."

Cat watched as her friend left. She stepped out into her secluded courtyard. She loved this s.p.a.ce; a beautiful garden in the middle of the Quarter. A large magnolia tree took center stage. The tree was tall and majestic, a grand dame surround by her courtier of jasmine, germaniums and roses.

Normally she found solace outside, regardless of the season, but that wasn't the case this time.

Summer didn't know Meagan. But how was that possible? For that matter, how did the three most important people in her life just disappear as if they'd never existed?

Her heart squeezed and she ran back inside. After grabbing her sketchpad and pencils, she went back out to the wrought iron table and chair and sat, needing to get Braden's face down on paper.

How many times had she traced the strong lines of his face with her hands and eyes? The answer was countless, and yet it was almost impossible to get the correct curve of his brow and chin. The right shape for his eyes. Nothing she managed to draw did him justice. Was her memory failing already? The very idea sent panic cascading through her, leaving her shaking and sick to her stomach.

Flipping to a fresh page, she closed her eyes and drew from her mind's eye. Her pencil automatically drifted over the sheet, slashing and shading, capturing the sharp images she saw behind her lids. When she finally opened her eyes and gazed at what she'd created, her breath caught in her throat. Staring back at her was Braden. She shaded and smoothed some of the lines, bringing his visage into sharper focus.

She quickly repeated the process by sketching Meagan and Alec. Once this was done, she realized she was breathing just a tad easier. Pulling Braden's picture out, she stared at him. "Why doesn't anyone remember you? Or Meagan, for that matter?"

There was no answer and she didn't expect one. She went up to her room and tacked the sketch on the wall beside her bed. She sat and stared at her rendering of Braden, and then it came to her. Maybe the answers she sought were in Scotland. No one knew him here and Cat was beginning to worry that she might just lose her mind. Grief was slowly killing her and she felt if she didn't do something soon, she'd lose it all together.

Picking up the phone, she called the airline and booked a flight that would depart in two days' time. She then booked the same hotel she'd used the last time and reserved a rental car. Now all she had to do was pack and pray. If she had to travel halfway around the world to find her heart, that is exactly what she'd do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

Cat spent the entire flight from New Orleans to Scotland with a glimmer of hope burning in her heart. The last time she'd arrived in this country, she'd found her heart's desire. Perhaps this was a foolhardy trip, as Summer seemed to think, but with the turmoil her life was currently in, it would be the height of stupidity not to take the chance.