I decided to tell him anyway. Sitting up, I turned to face him. He lay on his side, resting easily on one arm, his right eyebrow quirked askance at my serious expression.
“I read Janet Douglas’s diary,” I began.
“The whole thing?”
“No. Only the beginning where she explains how her daughter met Major Richard Wolfe. Then I fell asleep.”
He grinned. “That boring, was it?”
“Not at all. I had the strangest dream, Ian. It was so real, as if I were watching a movie. There was a celebration at Holyrood House. Katrine was there and Richard Wolfe. I saw George and James Murray and Katrine’s older brother, Alasdair. I could hear their conversations and read their thoughts. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”
Was that tension I saw in Ian’s expression? I couldn’t tell, but his eyes were narrowed and he was suddenly very intent on what I was saying.
He sat up and took my hands. The blue eyes were very close. “It could have been the portrait, Christina. It isn’t every day that one finds such an unusual likeness to an ancestor. You read the diary, and you know a great deal about Scotland’s history. The names you mentioned are men famous for their roles at Culloden Moor. I don’t think what you experienced has any special significance.”
“There’s something else,” I said. I hadn’t planned on telling him, but it was suddenly very important that I said it aloud. “The night you took me to dinner, I had another dream. It was terrifying. I wrote it all down just the way I saw it.”
Some of the desperation I felt must have shown in my face because he smiled reassuringly. “Relax, darling,” he said. “What exactly did you see?”
“A woman who looked like Katrine, only older. Her name was Mairi Maxwell.”
This time I didn’t imagine it. Ian’s face paled under his tan. “That’s impossible,” he said flatly.
I shook my head. “She was Mairi Maxwell of Shiels, and she lived at the end of the thirteenth century. Her husband was David Murray. I believe Traquair House was another Murray family holding. Ian”—I gripped his hands tightly— “she was in the courtyard when Robert the Bruce came to accuse her of sedition, and she looked exactly like me.” His expression hadn’t changed. I could feel the panic rising in my throat.
“How could you possibly know that?” he whispered.
“It was all in my dream,” I cried out in frustration. “There was more, much more. It had to do with the Coronation Stone, Scotland’s Stone of Destiny.”
He held his finger against my lips. “Stop, Christina. Let’s take it slowly. What was your mother’s maiden name?”
“Donnally.”
“And her mother’s?”
“Wilder. What has my mother got to do with anything?” I asked impatiently.
He looked down at his watch. “It’s late. Let’s gather our things and get back.”
I looked at him, feeling the helplessness that relinquishing control brings. “Please don’t do this to me,” I whispered.
Dropping the blanket, he pulled me up into his arms. “I don’t have any answers yet, darling. But I will. I promise you that. As soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
Darling. Why did that sound so natural, and where had I heard it before? Certainly not from Stephen. “Why can’t you tell me what this is all about?” I pleaded.
He ran his hand through his hair. “Because it’s too absurd to even contemplate. You’ll have to trust me.”
“I want to,” I began.
He dropped his arms and stepped back. “Christina, this isn’t a game and this isn’t America. I don’t make a habit of seducing women on the riverbank.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. A tremendous weight had been lifted from my shoulders. “Not all Americans jump into bed on the second date, Ian.”
“Do you?”
This was suddenly too important to take offense. “No,” I said simply.
The brightness of his smile was like a living flame warming me inside. “Thank God for that,” he said. “Now, let’s go. It looks like rain.”
Instinctively, I knew we’d weathered a crisis. When he kissed me good-bye at the door of Traquair House, I didn’t mind leaving him. Our relationship had changed, and this time, I knew I would see him again. Dropping the basket in the kitchen, I greeted Kate and hurried upstairs to find Janet Douglas’s diary. My shower could wait.
Seven
SCONE CASTLE
June 1745
“Katrine,” begged her mother, “be reasonable. You hardly know the man. If you marry him, he’ll take you away to his home in England. You were born and raised in the Highlands. How can you even