The Inscription

By Pam Binder

Time is an illusion and love the only reality.

On her way to a reenactment of a medieval festival in Scotland, Amber McPhee loses control of her car. She plunges into the waters of Loch Ness and back through centuries to the arms of a handsome Highlander.

The immortal warrior Lachlan MacAlpin rescues a mysterious woman from Loch Ness, believing she is the one who haunts his dreams, the one foretold to release him from the bloodlust that threatens to consume him. He takes her under his protection, but falling in love with her is not part of his plan, since the prophecy predicts she will leave him as suddenly as she appeared.

Their eternal bond shatters the barriers of time, but how can they triumph over a deadly foe bent on destroying their love and everything Lachlan holds dear?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Jan 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781509228768

Pam Binder

Pam Binder is an award winning, Amazon and New York Bestselling author. Pam loves Irish and Scottish myths and legends, smiles and Wonder Woman's belief in love. Pam is a conference speaker and teaches two year long novel writing courses, After The First Draft and Write Your Story. Pam writes historical fiction, contemporary fiction, middle grade and fantasy.

Book preview

Inc.

The water in the tub was inviting. She pulled the linen gown off, threw it over the chair, and climbed in. She leaned back and closed her eyes. It wasn’t as hot as she liked, but still it soothed her aching muscles. Water sloshed against the sides of the tub, and the wood crackled in the fireplace.

Amber wished she could remember how she got here, but there were only pieces to the puzzle, not a complete picture. She’d been thrown from her car when it hit the water and was caught in a fast-moving current. And she remembered his eyes. She looked into the flames. Maybe she should stay for a couple more days. It would certainly please her aunt. The woman was always playing matchmaker. Amber’s thoughts did a fast-forward, and she reviewed the goals she’d set for herself. She didn’t have time for any type of relationship. It was all she could handle just keeping up with teaching and studying to get her administration credentials. Her head began to throb again.

A breeze rippled across the bath water. Amber shuddered and sat up. She was alive. That was all the sense she needed to make of this situation. Reaching for the soap, she began rubbing it between her hands until there were thick foamy bubbles between her fingers. The scent of lavender drifted through the air. She breathed in the rich fragrance deeply before washing her hair.

She closed her eyes and sank back into the warm water. Just a few more minutes and she’d get dressed and find a phone; then her life would be back to normal.

Praise for Pam Binder

Readers will be drawn in by Pam Binder’s magic touch for blending the natural with the supernatural and creating a spellbinding tale with many subplots, wonderful historical backdrop and color, and the added attraction of the Highlander immortal. This is truly a love story for the ages.

~RT Book Reviews

Magical. A timeless love story.

~Stella Cameron

Pam Binder gracefully weaves elements of humor, magic and romantic tension.

~Publishers Weekly

~*~

Awards

2018 Romantic Times Pioneers of Romance Fiction Award for helping forge the way

for the many subgenres in romance

~

FALLING IN LOVE WITH EMMA was a 2018 finalist in the Desert Rose RWA, Golden Quill Contest

~*~

Other Books by Pam Binder

GRACE LOGAN AND THE GOBLIN BONES

and

The Matchmaker Café Series

MATCH MADE IN THE HIGHLANDS

A BRIDE FOR A DAY

FALLING IN LOVE WITH EMMA

THIEF OF HEARTS

CHRISTMAS KNIGHT

IRISH LOVE SONG

The Inscription

by

Pam Binder

Immortal Warrior, Book One

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

The Inscription

COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Pam Binder

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History: previously published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon and Schuster, 2014

First Tea Rose Edition, 2020

Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2875-1

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2876-8

Immortal Warrior, Book One

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Jim,

my husband and champion,

and my children: Brock, Scott, and Kelli,

who inherited their father’s belief

in honor and loyalty.

and

In memory of Scott and Marit Rhoads.

Through the mist-shrouded waters of an enchanted sea, The Guardian will be summoned.

The seasons will alter their natural course.

The barriers of time will be broken.

And a woman, with hair of burnished gold,

Will be pulled from the depths of Loch Ness.

It is she who will bring the knowledge

And the courage of generations yet unborn.

And a wisdom that will guide

The chosen one out of his darkness.

But the waters will reclaim her once again,

If, after the passage of one full moon,

The immortal she was sent to heal

Accepts not the power of Eternal Love.

Chapter 1

Scotland, 1566

Once again the mournful wail of bagpipes, followed by a woman’s cry for help, had awakened the laird of Urquhart Castle from a sound sleep and drawn him to the mist-shrouded waters of Loch Ness. In the light of the full moon the calm waters glistened like a newly forged sword as he made his way down the path to the shore. The image of the woman who had of late occupied his dreams came unbidden to his mind.

Her hair, the color of burnished gold, hung past her shoulders, and the sadness reflected in her eyes made him wonder the cause. Lachlan MacAlpin did not know who she was, only that over the past few days her likeness had lingered in his thoughts well after he was fully awake. Each night this past seven days he had ventured out into the cool air, at first to escape his dreams, and then to pursue them. But tonight would be different. He could feel it.

The haunting music of the bagpipes returned. It was the same tune as the one in his dreams. He felt the hair prickle on the nape of his neck. The sound could be from a lone piper in the Highlands overlooking the loch. He gripped the hilt of his sword.

Waves began to foam to life, crashing against the stone walls of his castle as a shadow moved under the water. He was not afraid of the beastie that lived in the black depths of the loch; it was guardian to his people. But the creature only ventured near the surface when summoned, or when danger threatened those it protected. He knew it was not by chance the Guardian was near. There was a purpose, and as leader he must learn if its appearance was connected to his dreams.

Lightning cracked across the sky, and he heard a faint cry for help through the increasing tempo of the bagpipes. There had been a time when he could have ignored such a plea for aid, but that was before he had left those he loved to the mercy of his enemy. The call came again, clear and insistent. He turned toward it. Not far from where he stood he could see someone in the water. A woman. Her cry rose above the growing storm as she fought to stay on the surface of the loch. His premonition had borne fruit, but fate had a way of destroying hope.

Lachlan hastened to remove his sword and tossed it in its scabbard with his belt onto the rock ledge. Plunging into the angry waters, he felt the bottom of the loch drop off abruptly to its unknown depths. His pulse quickened as he saw her pulled beyond his reach. Frustration filled him. How fragile life was for these mortals. He was weary of death and longed to become like his sword: strong, emotionless, and unfeeling.

He dove under the water in search of her but could see little in the murky blackness. Death would not claim this one, he vowed. Surfacing, he saw her only a short distance from him. She was gasping for air. Lightning split the sky and illuminated her face. He lunged. Her long hair and the garment she wore tangled around him. The fear in her eyes disappeared when she reached for him and clung to his neck. Time held its breath. He wrapped his arms around her slender waist before the icy currents dragged them both under the surface.

The numbing cold surrounded him. His lungs burned, and the current tried to pull her from his grasp. He held on. She could not survive without his help. Fighting the power of the loch, he kicked free of its hold and broke the surface. He held her head above the waves and swam until he could touch the bottom.

Lachlan stood, shuddering as the crisp wind lashed across his wet skin. She lay cold and still in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and her hair was draped over the silken garment that clung to her body. His breath caught in his throat. She was the image of the woman in his dreams. He removed his shirt and wrapped it around her. Holding her with one arm, he reached for his sword, hitched the belt, and slung it over his shoulder before gently cradling her against him once more. Her body molded to his as she shivered in his arms.

Cold rain fell as he hurried toward the warmth of the castle. This woman from the loch must not die. She had placed her life in his hands. The weight of that responsibility was familiar. His people relied on his wisdom and strength, from the approval of marriages to the fate of anyone who broke their laws. He called an order to the gatekeeper, who ran to obey. The massive door creaked open, and torches on the inner walls cast gray shadows as he headed toward the side entrance.

His voice broke through the silence once more and thundered with authority. Una! I am in need of your help.

He knew his longtime friend would be awake, as she slept little these days. He adjusted the woman in his arms and could feel her shallow breathing against his chest.

Rest easy, lass. You are safe. She nestled closer, and a wave of protectiveness washed over him. The strength of his reaction surprised him. Lachlan kicked open the door to the cookroom.

Una was busy wiping down a long trestle table. Wisps of gray hair framed her face as she bent over her task.

She turned slowly toward him. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she put the cloth down and wiped her hands on her apron. Una shuffled over to him and touched the woman’s face.

She lives, but death chases her soul. ’Tis a long time since you have brought a lost one to my door. Where was she found?

Loch Ness.

Una paused. The black water claims many who enter its depths. We must make haste.

Lachlan drew the woman against his chest and nodded in the direction of the stairs. A fire still burns in my chamber.

Una raised an eyebrow. This is not an injured bird or stray wolfhound you care for, but a grown woman.

Aye. Advise Marcail her skill as a healer be needed.

He passed Una, climbing the stairs two at a time. She would not question his decision. He had always brought home stray animals and children found abandoned either through neglect or the cruelty of war. Una was ever the one he first looked to for help.

He could hear Una wheeze as she struggled to keep up with him. She was growing older. He could make her days easier until the angel of death claimed her, but he would remain, as he always had. He looked at the lass he carried in his arms. She was as still as the marble statues he had once seen lying scattered about the temples of Greece. He drew her to him, hoping to share his warmth.

At the top of the stairs, Lachlan pulled open the door to his chamber. He entered and placed her on his bed.

Una’s breathing was labored as she came into the room and put her hand on his arm. You will need to wait in the corridor while I remove the lass’s wet clothes.

Lachlan hesitated for a moment, reluctant to leave. He backed toward the door to the hallway. There was a reason the gods had brought her, but their purpose eluded him.

Through the oaken panel door, Lachlan heard Una humming a tune so old the words had been lost over time. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Una must believe the woman would survive; if not, there would be silence in his chamber. Una was of the opinion that you let music into your life only when there was something to sing about. He trusted her instincts.

The door opened as Una motioned for Lachlan to re-enter the chamber. The woman on the bed cried softly. Worried, he glanced over at Una.

She smiled. All is well. The lass sleeps, and already her body has warmed. It will be some time before she awakens.

The woman’s garments were draped over Una’s arm. I fear her clothes are in such a tattered state that they are beyond repair. But I have never felt their like. The fabric is of the finest silk. The stitches so tiny and perfect, they are almost invisible. She must be a woman of great wealth. There is little more I can do.

I shall watch over her. He chose to ignore Una’s smile. Lachlan placed a chair by the bed and sat. A faint glow of color caressed the woman’s face. She was beyond his dreams of beauty. And he felt drawn to her in a manner he had never experienced before. He glanced out the window. The angry storm raging against the castle walls had disappeared as quickly as it materialized. Once again the night was still. He leaned back and closed his eyes. The door to the chamber opened. He heard the sound of a dog padding across the floor.

Una laughed. Well, if it is not MacDougal, here to keep you company.

The wolfhound trotted over and dropped down at Lachlan’s feet. He patted the animal as Una left. It occurred to him that Una knew him better than anyone in the castle. For forty-five years she had retained an honored position at Urquhart and had seen that all ran smoothly. He sought her counsel on matters that concerned those who lived and worked in the castle.

Lachlan folded his arms across his chest and remembered the time she had learned what he was. He had been gored by a pack of wild boars, and she had tended his wounds. Of course, when he recovered, there were no scars. It was then he had told her he was immortal. She had been unafraid, a true sign of courage in these superstitious times.

He reached down and scratched MacDougal behind the ear. When Una died, he would see that a Mass was said in her honor. He felt regret constrict his heart as though fingers tightened around it. No matter what he did for them, mortals still died. Of late, he had feared that, as a result of all the death surrounding him, he lacked a soul. His heart might beat in his chest, but he had begun to feel nothing. Lachlan had come to accept it. It was the price he paid for immortality.

The wolfhound raised its head and looked toward the door. It was Marcail. Dressed in a gown of black and gold, she looked regal and as cold as any queen. MacDougal growled.

Easy, old friend. Marcail will not attack unless provoked. The animal went to stretch out in front of the fire, by the hearth, but kept its eyes focused on Marcail.

She raised an eyebrow. Interesting beast. But if it were mine, I would not allow it to remain inside the walls of the castle. She nodded in the direction of the bed. However, there are more important matters to discuss. You have a visitor.

Una did not have the opportunity to inform you of the woman, yet here you are, at this late hour.

Yes. She motioned for him to follow her into the adjoining chamber. I would not risk her overhearing our conversation.

Lachlan glanced down at the woman sleeping in his bed. She shifted, as if in the hold of an inner battle he was unable to fight on her behalf. He reached over and smoothed back her hair from her forehead before joining Marcail. Your travels with the Medicis have made you suspicious.

I prefer to think of it as caution. She turned toward him. We must decide what is to be done with the woman you pulled from Loch Ness.

You speak of her as though she were a prize horse to be traded at will. That is unlike you, Marcail.

She fingered the lace at her sleeve, and for a brief moment Lachlan saw vulnerability in her eyes.

We must be careful. Rarely has anyone been pulled from the icy depths of the loch and survived. However, the legend speaks of such an occurrence.

A glimmer of hope, a hope he’d thought long buried, surfaced. She was alluding to the ancient myth binding his people’s history to the loch. It had not struck him until this moment that the woman’s appearance was as foretold in the legend.

You do not believe she could be from a neighboring clan? Marcail shook her head slowly.

One of Subedei’s spies sent to infiltrate the castle?

Nay, I am certain she is not a spy.

Her words held conviction, and something more. She hid knowledge from him, knowledge of the woman. Lachlan would learn the truth. He let the silence grow between them.

Marcail straightened and raised her chin. I shall inform the castle that she is from Italy. While on her way to Urquhart, her entourage was set upon and attacked. She was the only one to survive. Elaenor can lend her clothes until suitable garments can be made. Further, she is to be your betrothed.

Lachlan felt the walls close in on him. An elaborate plan, merely to explain her existence.

Through the window, the full moon shone torch-bright in the sky. Her voice was merely a whisper. It will give us time.

He nodded his head slowly, seeing the logic in Marcail’s plan. And the marriage?

Only if you desire it.

****

Pale, rose-colored shafts of morning light burned through the thick mist in the courtyard below. Lachlan welcomed the new day and hoped it would see the woman wake, thus ending his vigil. His thoughts would not let him rest, though he longed for the black void of sleep.

He stood in an alcove of narrow windows in his chamber and watched his people make ready for the day. They were in high spirits. And why should they not be? The weather had turned warm for a Highland autumn. Foreboding dulled his bones as he remembered the words of the legend:

Through the mist-shrouded waters of an enchanted sea,

The Guardian will be summoned.

The seasons will alter their natural course.

The barriers of time will be broken.

~

And a woman, with hair of burnished gold,

Will be pulled from the depths of Loch Ness.

~

It is she who will bring the knowledge

And the courage of generations yet unborn.

And a wisdom that will guide

The chosen one out of his darkness.

~

But the waters will reclaim her once again,

If, after the passage of one full moon,

The immortal she was sent to heal

Accepts not the power of Eternal Love.

He put one hand on the stone ledge, feeling the strength of the castle walls beneath his fingers. Those entrusted to his care gave their loyalty to him gladly.

His people resisted change and were suspicious of things that could not be explained. Impenetrable as Urquhart appeared, he knew it could be breached if a weakness were discovered. The woman lying on his bed could well be that weakness. Marcail’s explanation of the woman’s presence would establish her place in the castle. He would announce their betrothal to the people, and the date would be set a year and a day hence. No one would question the Highland tradition of handfasting. The alternative, to say he believed her connected to a legend, would open questions he was not prepared to answer.

MacDougal stirred beside him. The animal had kept vigil with him throughout the night. Lachlan reached down and again scratched the wolfhound behind its ear. Lachlan’s muscles felt tight and sore from a sleepless night. He longed to be out on the training field, but he would wait until she awoke.

The candle on the table had burned low and now flickered as a cool breeze drifted through the open window. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. The easy part had been the plan for the betrothal; the difficult territory lay before him. He would have to convince the woman the plan was sound, not an easy task. Women were not rational creatures, although he would not choose to share his opinion with Marcail.

His intended rolled over on her back and mumbled a few words he did not understand. MacDougal growled, but the dog’s tail wagged, disturbing the rushes strewn on the floor.

Patience, old friend.

She turned toward him, and her eyes opened. She moved quickly to the far side of the bed. Her wary gaze lingered on the knife strapped to his waist, and then on the wolfhound.

Fear not, lass. MacDougal looks fierce enough but has a gentle heart.

As he watched, she gathered the covers closer about her chin. Her hand trembled as she brushed hair from her face and looked around the room.

Where am I?

Lachlan held his breath. Her voice was soft and lyrical. He had to lean forward to hear her words. It was almost as though she were speaking to herself instead of to him, and he could see her fear. Adept at its detection, he had often used this ability to his advantage. But he had no wish to use such tactics on her. His sister had often accused him of shouting out commands when he spoke. He endeavored to keep his voice low.

You are at the castle. I pulled you from Loch Ness and brought you here. I am Lachlan MacAlpin, of the Clan MacAlpin.

She hesitated. My name’s Amber MacPhee, and I was headed here when I fell in. She pressed her fingers against the side of her head and grimaced. I feel awful.

Lachlan recalled once again the icy currents of the water.

Her manner of speech was unfamiliar to him although he had traveled throughout the world, but that alone had not turned his blood as bitter cold as the Highland winds. Her hair shone like molten gold in the light. In the time of the Pharaohs, amber stones were said to have been kissed by the gods. Further proof the legend was coming true, or a coincidence?

The woman, Amber, looked down at the linen nightgown she wore. Where are my clothes?

Remembering the feel of her against his skin, his body responded, and he cursed himself. He sensed she would not be pleased if she knew the state of her clothing when he had pulled her from the loch. Further, he did not need the distraction.

A knock on the door echoed through the room and brought a welcome diversion. Relief washed over him. He retreated from her question, as well as the others that plagued him, and crossed to the open door with MacDougal close at his heels.

Una stood at the entrance, carrying a tray laden with food. Steam curled from the bowl of soup, and the rich aroma floated through the air. Slices of thick, dark bread lay beside the broth. A serving girl was behind Una, balancing a stack of clothes that skimmed the tip of her nose.

Lachlan took the bundle. Molly, you should be abed, waiting for that babe to be born, instead of climbing stairs.

Molly curtsied, handed the clothes to Lachlan, and fled down the hall. Lachlan turned to Una. Did I offend her?

Nay, she would prefer not to think of herself as carrying a child, since the father will not claim it.

Behind him a log rolled and shifted in the hearth. He had never understood how a man, knowing he had fathered a child, could abandon the babe. He tore off a piece of bread from the tray, put a chunk in his mouth, and gave the rest to MacDougal.

See that Molly knows she and the bairn will be well cared for. He balanced the bundle of clothes under his arm and reached for another piece of bread. The woman is awake.

He turned and saw Amber try to sit up, but the effort was too much, and she sank back down on the pillows.

Her hair hung in soft curls at her shoulders. She was still weak, but there was a rose tint to her cheeks. He swallowed. She looks to be well.

Amber sank lower under the covers and felt the warmth of a full-scale blush sear her cheeks. The intensity of this man’s gaze took her breath away. His deep voice echoed through the chamber. Dressed in a green plaid kilt, this man-mountain didn’t look so bad himself—if you liked the big, scruffy, bear types with broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes. She tried to concentrate on breathing normally.

It had been her Aunt Dora’s idea to come to this medieval reenactment in the first place. Amber had agreed in order to prove to the dear woman that she knew how to have fun. She had not counted on having to interact with anyone, especially someone who looked like…him. The panic quieted to a manageable level when she realized she’d have to spend her time finding a way to fish her car out of the loch. But locating her clothes would be her first order of business.

She shifted position on the bed. It crunched like cornflakes. Her head throbbed and her fingers tingled. She couldn’t tell whether her bruises were from the fall or from the mattress, but she was alive. In the bone-cold waters of Loch Ness, she’d given up hope, until a man had saved her.

Amber looked more closely. He was probably the one. He had that savior of the world look and wore the clothes of a Highland laird. And his eyes… She remembered the determination reflected in them. Lachlan MacAlpin probably had a castle or two tucked away in Scotland, as well. Amber could picture them: gray crumbling walls, drafty rooms, and mortgaged to the limit.

She sighed. She was doing it again. The man had just rescued her from drowning, and she was already trying to find a chink in his armor. Aunt Dora always said she threw a wall around her heart. Her aunt would be ecstatic over this situation. The sweet woman could play matchmaker faster than tourists flocked to Inverness to catch a glimpse of the Loch Ness Monster.

A woman with gray hair and dressed in period clothes came toward her carrying a tray of food. She set it on the table.

I am Una, and by what name are you called, lass?

Her name is Amber.

Una’s face crinkled up in a smile. Do not mind our laird’s lack of manners. He thinks he must be the authority in all things.

Amber nodded. Her strength was returning with each breath she took, but with it grew a sense of unease she couldn’t shake. She combed her fingers through her hair.

Men are like that.

Aye, lass, indeed they are. She leaned closer. Now, it is best you eat and gather your strength. She turned to Lachlan. The lass needs tending, and you will get in the way.

He walked over to the bed and set the clothes down. Who tended her through the night?

You slept in the chair with that drooling beast at your feet. Now ’tis time for you to leave. Is there not a battle for you to fight, or a knight’s head that needs a good bashing?

Lachlan kissed Una on the cheek. I shall have help sent to you. Take care your generous heart does not overtask your health.

Una pushed him away. Be mindful, lad. I could as well say those words to you. Now, be off, and take MacDougal with you. The Lady Marcail has told me of our guest’s position in the castle. Angus awaits you in the Chamber of Knowledge.

Take care, Amber MacPhee. In less time than it takes to string a bow, Una will have you jumping in obedience to the sound of her voice.

I’ll be fine. The words sounded hollow to her own ears. He rested his hand on the hilt of his blade and stared back at her for so long she could hear herself breathe.

Una straightened the clothes on the bed. Pay no attention to the laird. ’Tis only men that need guidance. Women are born knowing their own minds.

Amber laughed nervously, and regretted it instantly. Her rib cage was sore. It was possible she had slammed into the steering wheel when the car hit the water. Served her right for not wearing a seatbelt.

Lachlan signaled for MacDougal. Let us leave these women alone before I feel obliged to defend the honor of all the men in my clan. The dog bounded to his feet and wagged his tail.

The large door closed with a solid thud. Amber thought she would feel relieved when he left, but she was as uneasy as before. The woman called Una was dressed in a long skirt, a blouse, and a shawl in the same tartan pattern Lachlan wore. Both of their brogues were thick, and their clothes fashioned in a style that would fit comfortably into the Renaissance Era or the Middle Ages. If she and her brother, David, hadn’t spent their summers with Aunt Dora, Amber would never have been able to understand much of what they were saying.

It was the best reenactment Amber had ever seen.

Her head began to ache again, and she pressed her fingers against her temples. The last thing she remembered was the flash