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“Dugald, damn it, are you in here?”
Something moves to my left and I yelp loudly as I jump aside. A cat, at least I hope it’s a cat, darts down the alley and out of sight behind an overflowing dumpster. My heart is thumping so hard it hurts and I’m almost breathless.
“Hello, Destroyer,” Dugald says.
Impossibly, he’s right behind me. Leaping two steps ahead I spin in midair to face him with a clenched fist.
“Why?” My voice is shrill.
Dugald arches one dark eyebrow as he tilts his head slightly to the left.
“Why?”
I was flustered when I said it but now I’m angry. Angry at looking foolish. Angry he’s left me alone for so long. Angry I haven’t figured any of this out yet.
“Yes. Why. Exactly.”
He shakes his head.
“I do not understand, Destroyer.”
I count off my whys on my fingers, waving them under his chin with each finger I add.
“Why do you enjoy scaring me like that? Why have you left me alone for so long? Why won’t you answer me about Duncan? Why are you here now? Is that enough whys?”
As usual, Dugald is implacable; his face is like a stone and right now I’d swear if he were to smile it would crack and fall apart.
“Yes”
“Yes? What does that mean?”
“Simple. It means that is enough whys. None of which are why I’m here.”
Fury must show on my face. It burns my skin and I want to blast him where he stands. If looks could kill my gaze would be a full-on Death Star. I step into him, tilting my head back so I can keep his eyes. I point my finger under his nose. He doesn’t step back or move.
He smells of peat smoke with hints of fresh grass and heather. The odor takes me back, calling up my memories of living in the Highlands. It makes me ache. Ache with the loss of that, ache with desire to be there again, to see Duncan and Alesoun. The loss of all that might have been takes the vigor out of my anger, leaving me empty.
A lump swells in my throat, causing me to gulp. Dugald stares, impassive, unmovable, imperturbable, but he’s also incredibly there. Anger gone, I’m left wanting to wrap my arms around him, cling to him like I want to cling to the past.
“You’re an ass,” I mutter, dropping my hands to my side and turning away so he won’t see the tears forming in my eyes.
“I do understand,” he says.
“Do you?”
I blink away the tears, swallow the pain, and regain my composure before turning back to face him. I study his face, looking for something. I don’t know what, really. Some sign, some indicator he does understand.
He’s handsome, with thick curly hair and deep brown eyes that have emerald flecks. His face is strong, unique, a man’s face but one that seems untouched by the world around him. In a normal world, the world from before my trip to Scotland, I’d say he was attractive. Someone I might be interested in. A guy I’d let buy me a drink at a bar kind of face. I’m not super-shallow, it takes more than a pretty face to hold my attention, but a pretty face will open the door to a conversation in the right setting.
“Yes,” he says and he smiles. It’s a tight, but genuine smile. Déjà vu, or something akin to it, blossoms in my chest and there’s that sensation that we’ve always known each other. That we, somehow, belong together. And with that, I believe him.
“Why are you here? Why now?”
“You need to be trained.”
“Trained? What does that mean?”
“I did not bring a dictionary with me, but I believe the definition would indicate learning to apply skills. Something you desperately need.”
