Page 166 of Across the Pressing Dark
Roots grip the stone, twisted like fingers. I tear themaway, ignoring the pain of splinters driving into my skin. I have to know.
C.
No. NO.
A keening wail tears from my throat.
C MacGregor 1622.
Callum lies beneath me.
His body. His bones.
The whole of him flashes to me, so vivid and clear. His broad shoulders, the scars, his quick smile. How his gray eyes study me like I’m his favorite puzzle. The easy way he slings his arm around me, tugging me close as he lopes beside me. His gentle strength when he holds me. Callum, kissing me.
The sum of him reduced to a skeleton, six feet below.
I scrub at my face to cut off the tears, but mud smears across my cheeks, so I use my sleeve instead. The coarse linen sends me back, recalling the moment he stood in the doorway, seeing me in this dress for the first time.
You’re fair as a summer morning, Rosie-love.
I force air into my paralyzed lungs. The grave, this dress—they’re reminders, offering both proof and hope.
Time isn’t fixed. I’ve been to the past and changed it. And if I did it once, I can do it again.
My breath steadies. My heartbeat slows.
I press my palms into the earth, anchoring myself. Feeling the gravity of him beneath me. “I’ll fix this, Callum,” I whisper. “I swear it.”
I lie down slowly, stretching out above him. Is he in a pine box or did someone simply lay his body in the dirt? He’d have been wrapped in his plaid, that I know.
Resting my head where his would be, I turn my cheek tothe ground. It’s cool and damp, and I lay my hands flat, imagining us palm-to-palm.
“I love you, Callum.” I curl my fingers, clawing the soil until it drives deep under my nails. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. But I do. I love you.”
Our hearts are carved from these granite hills and just as steadfast.
Callum, my Highlander, my MacGregor. I’ll do whatever it takes to return to him, to save him.
I don’t know how long I lie there, the cold ground hardening my resolve, until I feel as unyielding and unbreakable as his granite hills.
Before I walk back to the inn, I make one more stop.
I enter the CampbellBurrying Placeand head straight for Hamish’s angel. It’s much the same as I remember—allBraw Lad, Pride of Campbell—the crypt and its inscription as excessive and posturing as he was. Whatever it says doesn’t matter. Whatever happened, I’ll change it.
The stone angel stares at me, and this time I stare right back, my eyes as cold and blank as hers. “Hamish,” I say tonelessly. “I’m coming for you.”
I reach the grounds of The Merry Widow inn, and this time the driveway is there, and the parking lot, and all the cars.
And Janet is there too, sitting on a bench, waiting. Like she knew I’d come. Does she know something happened to me? Even if I didn’t want to tell her, somehow I know she’d sense it. Maybe senses it already.
I’m relieved by the thought. But angry, too. I both resent and relate to her. She never trusted me with the truth.
But would I have believed her if she had?
We’ve never seen eye to eye. But now…she’s the only one who might understand. The only one who could.
As I approach, my mother gets to her feet. For once, she seems like a grownup. Because she’s truly looking at me. Seeing me.
Did she love Gregor this much? If I had to wait nineteen years to return to Callum, I wouldn’t survive it.
She opens her arms. I don’t move. This is Janet. The woman who was never a mother to me. But she’s the only person who knows.
My body trembles, torn between fury and need.
I break.
“Momma.” I collapse into her embrace. “I have to go back for him.”
