A Slip In Time (38 page)

“Oh, Rae—”

“We must bear this,
mo cáran.”
He took her
hands in his. “I confess I dinna expect tae find the end o’ my days
upon me sae soon. Still, we all stand on the edge o’ time, I hae
said it afore. ‘Tis grateful I am for all the days given me, and
for ye,
mo cáran.”

Julia’s heart catapulted
to her throat. She freed her hands, her arms sliding instantly
around him. “I cannot accept this,
I
won’t
accept this, nor must you. There has
to be a way to avoid this fate or alter it somehow.”

“Dinna ye tell me the past mustna be
changed?” His lips lifted in a sad smile. “And hae no’ I given m’
word tae the others tha’ I wouldna change it?”

“But you cannot die!” she choked out
against his chest. “I won’t let you. Not while there’s a breath in
me, I won’t let you.”

“All men die. Few know the hour. ‘Tis
a bitter cup, tha’ I grant ye, but it makes each day tha’ much more
priceless.”

Unable to contain her emotions, she wept
bitterly, her body shaking violently against him. Lifting her in
his arms, he carried her to their chamber and lay with her upon
the bed.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, they
spoke no more until time slipped, stealing Rae away.

“There must be a way to help him,”
Julia insisted. “Could we not find a way to bring Rae forward in
time, permanently, somehow?”

“But, Miss Hargrove, we must not
tamper with the past.” Mr. Galbraith leaned forward, removing his
spectacles.

“What if we are not
tampering with it at all? What if our intervention is part of the
past? It is conceivable Rae did not die that night but escaped into
the future and
that
is, or was, his true fate. We would not be changing events if
we assist Rae, but fulfilling them.”

The men seated around the library’s
expansive table exchanged glances. Despite their brilliant
collective intelligence, they obviously had yet to consider what,
proverbially, should be as “plain as the noses on their faces.”
Julia swept aside her amazement and prevailed on them once
more.

“Do you not see? Niall’s account
states that Rae disappeared the night of his supposed death, that
the body found afterwards was of a man much shorter in stature, not
matching Rae’s size.”

“That was the Cameron claim,” Mr.
Thornsbury pointed out.

Julia directed her attention to him.
“Even so, no counterclaim is recorded and Donald did not take up
arms against the Camerons. Perhaps he held his own doubts. Please
consider for a moment that Rae did escape into the future and that
the body found was of another clansman who was not so fortunate to
flee the fire.”

“One would think the Mackinnons could
easily account for a missing clansman,” Mr. Armistead
submitted.

“Rae’s murderer, then,” Sir Henry
suggested. “Or the body might have been that of an
accomplice.”

“If
Rae was murdered. We do not know that,” Mr. Thornsbury tossed
back.

“Yet, Iain Mackinnon felt sure his
brother had been attacked — by Camerons.” Mr. Galbraith replaced
his spectacles. “His persistence in that claim cost him his own
life.”

Julia smiled inwardly. The men were
opening to the possibility Rae had survived that tragic night. And
though Lord Muir had yet to utter a word, he listened intently, a
spark of light kindling to life in his eyes. She encompassed them
all with her gaze.

“Gentlemen, I implore you
to examine Niall’s record once more. If Rae is meant to come
forward in time, and we do nothing to assist him, then we
will
alter history by
our neglect, by failing to do what is required of us. We must
explore the possibility, at the very least. Rae’s life depends on
it.”

Lord Muir rose, unsteadily at first,
and began to pace in thought. It seemed with each step he gained
fresh strength, as if the energies which had deserted him until now
flowed back, invigorating him anew. When he lifted his gaze, his
eyes burned bright with enthusiasm.

“Julia is right. We must not risk
changing the past by our own inaction.”

At Lord Muir’s pronouncement the room
dissolved into a rumbling discussion and thorough dissection of the
situation.

“Is such a thing possible? Can we
anchor Rae Mackinnon in the present and prevent him from being
drawn back across time?”

“We must adhere to the details of
Niall’s narrative. It provides us the date and clues to the
timing.”

“True. Rae cannot attempt to come
forward until after Donald and his retinue depart
Dunraven.”

“Donald will likely set out with the
light of dawn. A fire could break out at any time of day — if its
cause is accidental such as a kitchen mishap.”

“And if not, the assassins would
presumably use the cloak of night to conceal
themselves.”

“But if Julia is correct—” Lord Muir
thumped his fore and middle fingers on the table, drawing
everyone’s attention. “If Rae actually did come forward in time
during one the time slips, there will be only two windows of
opportunity that day.”

“We can pinpoint those closely
enough,” Sir Henry assured.

“It will be the day, or night, of the
New Moon,” Lord Muir reminded. “We’ll need to secure him solidly in
our time before the completion of the lunar phase. Only as the moon
wanes is Rae able to enter our time. Once the cycle completes
itself at the moment of the Dark or New Moon, the moon will begin
to wax once more and his opportunity will be lost.”

Julia, feeling a touch of dizziness,
took a chair. “Can we not bring Rae forward before disaster befalls
him? Must we wait for the fire to break out, or assassins to
strike?”

“If we are to follow
Niall’s account, no,” Mr. Thornsbury asserted. “None of the
clansmen saw their laird emerge from the fiery hall. If he escaped
at all — and I stress
if
—then he must have done so by way of the tower
keep and his bedchamber where the time slip is
centered.”

“I agree,” Mr. Armistead added. “Rae
must make the transition forward in time after the hall is already
aflame. It will be risky in any case. If someone did make an
attempt on Rae’s life, they are likely the same miscreant who set
the fire in order to cover the deed.”

“There is still the matter of the
technicalities,” Sir Henry observed. “Rae Mackinnon will be able
to step into the present during the time slip, but how do we keep
him from slipping back to the fifteenth century?”

Lord Muir cleared his throat. “Well,
Julia’s corset offers us a clue.”

“Pardon me?” Mr. Galbraith’ s brows
shot up and he snatched a quick glance of Julia.

She felt herself flush and wished to find
the nearest crack in the floor and melt straight through it.

“Forgive me.” Lord Muir glanced across
the table to Julia as he resumed his chair. “I don’t mean to
embarrass you, my dear, but your garment provides valuable evidence
as to what we — or rather, Rae — should and should not
do.”

He redirected his attention to the other
men.

“Consider, Rae traveled back in time
with the piece, and it remained there uncorrupted until Julia
brought it forward to the present, but not fully protected. If the
fate of the corset gives us an indication of the workings and risks
of traveling through time, then I submit it is of utmost importance
Rae remains in contact with the stone — Julia’s stone — when he
attempts it.

“Following this same vein of thought,
it is equally important Rae rids himself of his ‘healing stone’
which acts as a magnet to the past. This is all theory, of course,
but it is my contention, if Rae is to remain in our century, he
must remove his stone at the last possible moment and cast it from
him as the time portal closes. Again, he will need to maintain
contact with the stone in Julia’s ring which will hopefully anchor
him to the present.”

Lord Muir turned his gaze to Julia and she
saw that their pale blue had grayed with concern.

“There could be dangers. If Rae agrees
to this, he must understand it is of supreme consequence he keep
contact with your ring. He should actually touch the stone itself
for the best hope of success. If this attempt to bring him into the
future is not executed properly, it is possible, like your
unfortunate corset, Rae will instantly age four hundred
years.”

»«

“And so, you must be sure to keep
continual contact with the stone in my ring as the portal between
times closes.”

Rae listened as Julia detailed how he
might broach time and avoid his fate — or fulfill it — and remain
in the future with her, for good and all.

Och, now there was the sweetest of
thoughts — to not die but to live, with Julia, for the length of
their days. But that he should do so four hundred and fifty-six
years in the future? He could hardly compass so vast a notion. Nor
was he convinced he should. There were considerations to weigh
besides his own, in particular those of his brothers and
clansmen.

As they strolled along the burn, Rae
came to a stop and expelled a long breath, taking Julia’s hands in
his. Still, she continued to press her cause, reiterating Lord
Muir’s instructions for a third time.

“The healing stone around your neck
must be removed as well and thrown to a far distance so it doesn’t
draw you back. Rae, are you listening? Do you understand what I’ve
been telling you?”

The anxious, pain-filled look in her eyes
speared his heart. He dropped his gaze to their joined hands.

“Mo cáran,
I canna abandon my kinsmen tae save m’ own skin.
Ever there be people aboot the hall. Mayhap, ‘tis fate’s design I
deliver them from the fire whether a murderer is aboot or no’
.”

“Then send your kinsmen
away
before
the
fire!” Julia threw up her hands. “Send them to pick brambles, or
cut peat, or whatever one does in the Highlands.”

“Even if ‘tis the depths o’ night wi’
no moon tae light their way?” Rae smiled though, within his chest,
emotion and reason waged a fierce battle across the landscape of
his heart.

“Only one body was found,
Rae. Every fiber of my being tells me it wasn’t yours. Please,
consider what I’ve said.” Her voice cracked.
“Please.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks and Rae
felt a sting of guilt for having teased her. He gathered her in his
arms and dropped a kiss atop her head.

“I canna make ye
promises,
mo cáran.
But I will think on all ye hae told me.”

She gazed up at him, her fingers
gripping the cloth of his plaid and shirt. “Rae, there are only a
few days left to us.”

“Aye, only a few and much tae
do.”

His thoughts went to Roger Dunnington. They
need come to an understanding, the two of them. Rae would reach
beyond the grave if need be, should young Dunnington ever think to
harm Julia again.

Rae cast the blackguard from his
thoughts. The time slips dwindled in length with each occurrence.
Even now only a few precious moments were left to him and his love.
He brushed the tears from Julia’s cheeks and won her
smile.

Finding words insufficient, Rae
caressed her lips with his — gently, reassuring, warm. Deepening
the kiss, he gave her his heart until the pull of Time overcame
them, drawing his lips from hers.

»«

Rae stood alone beside the burn,
robbed of Julia’s presence, feeling a great void at his
loss.

As he turned toward the keep, he spied
his brothers arguing in the near distance, Iain jabbing the air
with his hands, Donald toeing up a clod of earth as he endured
another of their brother’s tirades. Others collected about the two,
including the rough lot that ever accompanied Iain these
days.

Rae picked up a small rock and skipped it
across the surface of the stream, giving himself to his thoughts.
One brother was to die, the other to become laird and distinguish
himself by his deeds.

He glanced again at his brothers.
‘Twas easy to understand why hotheaded Iain rode out on impulse to
avenge his death. Yet, why his fixation with the Camerons? And what
of Donald? Why would his youngest brother not seek to avenge his
and Iain’s deaths?

A dark thought stabbed at the very
core of Rae’s soul. With the tocher lands Mairi Macpherson brought
to her marriage and Dunraven added to his brother’s gain, Donald
would rule over substantial lands, more than any other laird of
Glendar. Was it possible that his quiet, tolerant, keen-minded
brother secretly lusted for such power and command? Plotted for it
and the lairdship which, as a third son, he could little hope to
gain?

After thirteen years in
London’s Tower, Rae questioned whether he truly knew his brothers
anymore. Either of them. Rae had always felt he could trust Donald
with his life, even before he would Iain, which was a harsh thing
to say of one’s brother. But, by destiny or design, Donald
would
be Fourth Laird of
Dunraven. The portraits in the gallery gave proof of that,
recording Mairi’s dark, slashing brows and boxy chin.