A Slip In Time (41 page)

The Scotsman released his hold,
dropping Roger straight to the floor. Roger crumpled in a heap,
pain shooting through his legs, hip, and forearm, which took the
weight of his fall. Roger lay upon the floor, looking up at the
angry Highlander.

The Mackinnon stepped
back, bracing his immense sword before him once more,
and severing
Roger with his
look.

“Dunraven is a place o’ mystery and
shadows tha’ ye little understand. But I do. Look well upon m’
sword. ‘Tis the sword o’ retribution. Bring grief tae m’ Julia and
deal wi’ me.”

Incredulously, the Scotsman began to
dissolve for a second time this day, and Roger found himself
staring through his filmy image to the wall beyond. Still Rae
Mackinnon’s deep voice vibrated throughout the chamber.

“Time nor death nor aught else can
pose a barrier I canna cross tae reach ye. Ye know in yer soul,
‘tis true. Dinna be forgettin’ it.”

With that, the Scotsman disappeared
completely, his sword blade flashing with firelight.

»«

Roger tossed down another whisky. His
fourth. Or was it his fifth?

Was everyone enraptured with Julia? He
had to admit he’d caught the “Julia” fever long before at Asridge.
Or was it Saltram? Wherever she’d been, when first he’d laid eyes
on her.

His thoughts turned dark. The little witch.
Lilith was cunning at manipulating men for her gain, but Julia was
truly an expert.

He fingered the scab on his lower lip.
Still it had not healed, the gash he’d received from Julia’s ring
opening it deep. Roger thought back to the night he’d first met Rae
Mackinnon and how the Scotsman’s eyes had riveted on his wound.
Julia must have told him of their scuffle at the burn. Witch again.
She’d gained herself a brutish protector in the Third Laird of
Dunraven.

Third
laird. Roger had sat now for hours in the tower library,
recovering from his encounter with Mackinnon, thinking, drinking,
coming to grips with the reality of the man and the possibility he
had indeed stepped from the past.

Twice, now, the Scotsman had
evaporated before his eyes. Though their explosive confrontation
had shattered his nerves and confidence, to his own credit Roger
had had the presence of mind to examine the chamber afterward. He’d
found no hidden escapes or contrivances that might have feigned
the effect, no evidence of deceit. He’d then climbed to the upper
library and sat with his uncle’s journal and bottle of Glenlivet as
he read through the copious notes and data.

Unimaginably, Time — the fourth
dimension — had been breached.

Roger filled his glass with more of the
amber liquid and sipped it as he turned his thoughts.

So, Julia had visited the past, and,
now, Rae Mackinnon had come centuries forward through something
called a “time slip.” Perhaps, he could use the phenomenon to his
own advantage to deal with the matter of his uncle.

Roger frowned. The Scotsman could pose
an obstacle to his plans. He’d shown obvious attachment to his
uncle and would likely be as protective toward him as
Julia.

Roger rubbed his hand over
his jaw. He couldn’t allow his uncle to marry, not to a fruitful
young woman who could give him a son. The situation could be
remedied easily enough, the question was
how?
Given his age, the marquis’s
sudden demise would not be questioned overly much. On the other
hand, his uncle’s dabblings in the “unexplained” might provide a
better solution. Rather than feigning illness, perhaps an
“accident” was more the order.

Roger’s gaze dropped to
the
journal lying open
before
him. He leafed through the pages to the last entry, made the day of
the late-night reception in the conservatory. Running his fingers
down the book’s center crease, at the same time applying pressure
toward the binding, he could feel the stubbled edge of pages —
pages that had been carefully removed, no doubt with a
razor.

The tampering had not been immediately
evident, but a slight gap was visible when the book lay closed, and
he could feel where the pages were missing. Why would these men of
science keep meticulous records then cease their notations abruptly
even while the phenomenon continued, especially with this new twist
of Mackinnon coming into the future?

There must be another journal, and hopefully
with it, the missing pages.

“Lord Eaton. Sorry, didn’t realize you
were still up and about.”

Roger looked up to find Mr. Galbraith
entering the room, rumpled from head to foot, his hair disheveled,
his cravat hanging untied about his neck, and a large green binder
tucked beneath his arm.

“You’re up late yourself. Or should I
say early. It’s nearly dawn.” Roger leaned back in his chair and
contemplated the man as he headed for the file cabinet, toward the
back of the chamber.

“I was going over some computations.”
Mr. Galbraith deposited the binder in the cabinet’s top drawer,
shut it firmly, then turned to Roger, fingering back his
glasses.

Was it his imagination, or did the man seem
skittish about something?

“Computations? Relating to the time
slips?” Roger prodded.

“Yes, tonight the lunar cycle will
complete itself with the arrival of the New Moon. The dynamics of
the time slip, itself, will be in fluctuation. Or so we
predict.”

Roger sat forward, his spirits
brightening. The time slip had begun with the New Moon, but then it
had shifted toward the past. It occurred to him now in a blinding
flash that, for all Rae Mackinnon’s dire warnings, with the moon’s
new phase, the Scotsman would no longer be able to come forward
into the present — at least, not until its next phase, roughly in
two weeks’ time. Even then, Mackinnon could only mete out his
“retribution” if Roger remained at Dunraven. The Scotsman’s sword
arm couldn’t reach to England. Roger nearly grinned, but
maintained a more sober aspect.

“I’d like to hear more. I’ve just
spent the night studying the notes in this journal here. To tell
you the truth, I am enthralled. I was thinking just now that I must
join the Society myself.”

Mr. Galbraith smiled at his admission and
came forward.

Roger pressed on. “Here,
won’t you join me? You appeared preoccupied with something when you
arrived, not by your computations I hope. The phenomena
will
reverse itself,
will it not, with the New Moon?”

Mr. Galbraith sat in the chair to his
right, and adjusted his glasses, which had slipped down his nose
again. “Possibly. Probably. We are still learning about the
phenomenon. As with the last Full Moon, there is the concern as to
whether or not time will continue to shift at all.”

Roger straightened, his brows lifting.
“Do you think the time slips might stop altogether?”

At his comment, Mr. Galbraith fidgeted
with his collar, attempting to button it with fumbling fingers.
“Actually, my concern is with the dynamics of the phenomenon
during the critical shift itself, when the moon completes the one
phase and begins the next.”

Roger matched Galbraith’s look of
concern with his own. “I’d like to hear about that. I hope there’s
no danger to Julia or Mackinnon.” Galbraith wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“What is it man?”

“Well, I haven’t yet spoken to the
others, but I suppose it is all right if I tell you, especially if
it is your intention to join the Society.”

“It is, I assure you. I should have
done so long before now.” Mr. Galbraith clasped his hands before
him, furrowing his brow as he detailed his concerns.

“My personal belief is that this
coming night, the phenomenon will behave as it did the night of
the Full Moon. According to Julia, the ‘door’ opened on both
centuries for a period of time.”

“Yes, I read that in the journal, a
fascinating account — furniture appearing and disappearing from
both times. Go on.”

“You understand it is the stones,
Julia’s and Rae’s, that draw them together and into one another’s
times. We have certain concerns about this particular time slip
tonight. Personally, I fear if Julia is not careful, she could be
drawn across time and trapped in the past herself.”

Roger sat back in surprise. “Is that
possible?”

“Nothing can be said with surety about
the time slip. Much about it is still a mystery. I have been going
over the astronomical data — the alignment of the planets, their
magnetic pull upon one another and, of course, the magnetism
between the sun, moon, and earth, which is even stronger. My
deduction is that the time slip at this New Moon will not behave
the same as it did when the time slip began.”

Mr. Galbraith removed his glasses then
scratched his head. “How can I put this simply? I do not believe,
when the lunar phase is in transition, that the time door will
close neatly one way and then open the other. I suspect, the
phenomena will behave more as it did at the Full Moon and there
will be a period when the portal will stand open to both times.
Mind you, the lunar energies are at their weakest now, so that
period is likely to be brief — fifteen, twenty minutes at
most.”

He leaned forward, replacing his
spectacles, his small round eyes intense behind the glass. “If this
all comes about as I predict, for a short while, Julia and Rae
will be able to move in either temporal direction. But, therein
also lies the danger. Should either one lose direct contact with
their stone — which is their anchor to their respective times —
then they might become subject to the influence of the other’s
stone. That is, if they are touching or their clothes
brushing.”

“And what would happen in such a
case?”

“The one would conceivably be drawn
across time with the other and trapped permanently on their side of
time. However, they might not fare well in the transport. We know
what happened in the case of the corset.”

Roger grimaced. “I assume the results
would be equally gruesome if one suddenly traveled back four
hundred years.”

“Exactly. They both must take care in
dealing with this phenomena, particularly when the portal is
bidirectional, shall we say.”

Roger nodded in thought as Mr. Galbraith
replaced his glasses and stood to leave.

“Well, it’s all conjecture, of
course.”

“Of course, Mr. Galbraith. And do not
worry overmuch. I’m sure both Julia and Rae Mackinnon will be
careful to not remove their stones under any circumstance. It
would be foolish.”

Mr. Galbraith’s gaze dropped away.
“Mm-mm, yes, risky at very least. Well, I best be off and take this
news to the others. If they haven’t considered it themselves,
they’ll want to make their own calculations.”

Roger waited until Galbraith departed, then
mulled their conversation over in his mind.

He had hoped to find a solution to his
“uncle” problem. Perhaps he had — a most unique and permanent one.
Should his uncle be the one inadvertently caught in a “time warp,”
he would tragically be dragged across the centuries, even buried in
the past.

Roger smiled to himself. He liked the notion
of Time doing the deed for him. What he needed now was one of the
stones.

Rising, Roger perused the library
shelves and looked over his uncle’s desk. He then remembered the
green binder Mr. Galbraith had placed in the file cabinet.
Retrieving it, he glanced over the cramped lettering that appeared
on the pages, some in Gaelic, others in English.

“Well, well,” he muttered to himself,
his interest catching fire.

He carried the binder back to the table and,
settling in a chair, began to read. For the next half hour he
scarcely moved a muscle, for the pages recorded a most fascinating
tale, that of none other than Rae Mackinnon on the night of the New
Moon.

Julia paced the chamber in
utter torment as she awaited time to slip, wondering, agonizing
over what was transpiring across
time
and whether Rae even still lived.

Lord Muir and the others congregated
in the Long Gallery without, no doubt wearing the carpet through to
the floor. Though she knew they wished to crowd her chamber and
pass these minutes with her, Julia had insisted on being left to
herself. She could not bear anyone’s company, not now, not
without knowing what was to come.

Had Rae survived the day thus far? Or had
Time already taken him from her?

Julia moved to the window and looked out
toward the soaring mountains, despair threatening to rob her
control.

Just as her tears welled for a
hundredth time, the air grew dense and pressed in. She whirled in
place to see Rae materialize before the great hooded fireplace. In
the next instant, they filled each other’s arm, their mouths
meeting in a fierce kiss.

“You’ve come. You’ve come.” Her heart
sang for joy as she clasped him tight, spreading kisses over his
face and lips.

“Naught could keep me from
ye,
mo cáran.”
His mouth moved along her jaw and neck then claimed her lips
once more, drawing her into a long, deep kiss.

She gasped for breath a moment later
as his lips left hers and moved to her ear. “I feared what might be
happening on other side, that disaster might have befallen
you.”