Restoring Time

by Jenn Lees

  Maxwell snorted and peered down his nose. “I don’t work in the stables. Goodbye, Mr Campbell.”

  Rory turned to Xian, who shrugged.

  “Come this way, Mr Campbell.” The guard led them outside and along in front of the old holiday cabins. Guttering hung from some and peeling paint and boarded windows belonged to others. They reached the cabins that housed the women, and the guard turned. “Mr Lloyd said you could partake of the ladies’ or the boys’ services if ye wished, before you go.”

  “Och, no thank you,” Rory replied and glanced at Xian.

  Xian shook his head. “That’s a no from me, as well.”

  The stables housed many animals for their numerous wagons and there wasn’t a fuel-powered vehicle in sight. Xian nudged him and pointed. Near the front of the stables, Micah McNair was loading their packhorse, and the gelding for Siobhan stood beside it.

  “What’re you doin’ here?” Rory strode to McNair. “How did you get our horses?”

  “That’s a fine way to speak to your rescuer.” Micah’s dreads flew around his shoulders as he spun to face them; smugness filled his expression.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My men and I saw ya were in trouble no less than a day’s ride from your home. Why d’you think those bandits didn’t finish you off?” Micah rested his fist on his belt. This time the gesture revealed his weapon. “You are most welcome.” Micah flicked his gaze at Rory’s horses.

  “Och, aye, thanks,” Rory said.

  “I put in a good word for you with Lloyd, too.”

  “Why would that make any difference to Mr Lloyd?”

  “Because he’s my dad and sometimes he listens to me.”

  “You look nothing like him.” Rory eyed Micah’s tall, muscular frame.

  “Bastard son. My mother was one of his women, but he actually liked her. And me.” Micah smiled. “I take after my mum.”

  “No kidding,” Xian said.

  “Just as well.” Rory ran his hand over his stubbled beard. “You were followin’ us?”

  “Yep.”

  “How d’you know we’re going to the Bunker?”

  “Didn’t. Just guessed. Impressed ma dad enough to let you go. He’s curious.” Micah rubbed the back of his neck and chewed his lip. “Ah, a word of warning. You’d better be alert when my dad’s curious. Sorry, but it was the only way he’d free you.”

  Rory rolled his eyes as he stepped to Boy to stroke his nose. His stallion nickered softly in greeting. A guard came toward them with their weapons and Rory took his and mounted Boy. Xian mounted his horse and grabbed the lead reins of their other horses.

  “So, I can see your sister now, yeah?” Micah asked.

  “No.” Rory stared at Micah while he turned Boy around.

  “But I’ve just saved your life.” Micah’s voice trailed to a squeak. “Twice.”

  Boy pranced, ready to go. Rory held the reins firm as his stallion skittered sideways.

  “Still no.” Rory nudged Boy to a walk.

  “But you’re co-operating with the enemy,” Micah shouted behind him.

  Rory pulled his stallion up and spun him back to the bandit. “What?” Boy jiggled his head and whinnied at the change of direction.

  “You’re married to that Government chick, aye?”

  Rory tilted his head. The rogue had his attention now.

  “Think of it like that,” Micah continued. “I see your sister and things are cool between us, aye?”

  Alliances again. Rory wrinkled his nose, grateful for Boy’s unease giving him time to think.

  “Only if Cèilidh wishes it,” Rory replied.

  “Oh, she wishes it.”

  “What have you been up to?” Rory frowned.

  “Nothin’, man.” Micah placed a hand on his belt. “There’s not much you can do in a crowded barn.”

  Chapter 7

  Invercharing Community, 2067

  White light filled her vision and white noise deafened her with the buzz of tinnitus.

  Then the cubicle encased Siobhan once more and the room tilted.

  No, it wasn’t a room. It wasn’t even the lab at the Bunker. She felt gravity’s pull and a hard-packed earthen floor rose to meet her. Someone grabbed her, their arms digging into her waist, then the floor stopped short of slamming into her face.

  “Woah. Got to you just in time.” Murray’s hands jolted her, then he helped her regain her footing.

  She stood, the shaking in her legs travelling up to her ribs.

  “Murray?”

  “Yes, it’s me, Siobhan. How did you—?” Murray’s eyes widened. “Wow!”

  “But you look almost the same.” Siobhan peered into his face. “Don’t the travellers of this particular machine always go back in time? Usually forty years? That means you, Murray, wouldn’t actually be yet. Because, that’s what’s happened.” She blinked into his expression dawning with comprehension. “I’ve time travelled?”

  Murray nodded and he let her go, a tight smile appeared on his face as he scratched his head but said nothing.

  “When am I?” Siobhan looked around, her inner jitters settling. The draughty building was a barn of some sort with a high roof. “Where am I?”

  “You’re here at the Invercharing Community, and it’s...ah.” Murray squeezed his mouth to the side. “The future.”

  “But it’s not far into the future as you don’t look that much older.”

  “It’s 2067. We got the Time Machine back off the Government a couple of years ago. When did you come from?” Murray chewed his lip. “I need to get you out of here.”

  “Where’s Rory?”

  “That’s why I must get you out of here,” Murray mumbled.

  Siobhan stood straighter and resisted Murray’s hand on her shoulder pushing her toward the barn door.

  “Tell me what’s going on? Why can’t I see Rory?”

  “Rory isn’t here—”

  “He’s not dead, is he?” Siobhan’s mouth went dry.

  “No, no, no. Rory’s okay,” Murray continued not-so-gently trying to move her to the door. “He’s just not here...at the moment.”

  “Then why are you pushing me out of here?” she asked when they’d reached the barn’s exit.

  “I need to hide you...” Murray’s eyes darted around, like he was thinking. “From you. Remember? Space-time continuum. Imploding universe and all that?” He bustled her along the corridor and into a room with a tattered poster of Andy Warhol’s Einstein above an immaculately arranged desk.

  “Stay here till I come back for you, okay?” Murray asked. “I gotta make sure the coast is clear.”

  The door slammed shut so Siobhan sat on the end of the bed. It squeaked. She picked at her cargo pants and pulled the long sleeves of Rory’s shirt over her hands, then buried her face in the soft, Rory-scented material. She’d see him soon.

  But no. She couldn’t. Damn. That was annoying.

  She’d have to hide from herself until Murray could return her to the past. Back to the Bunker in 2061, waiting for Rory to arrive.

  Siobhan sat bolt upright. Murray could get her back, couldn’t he? Her arms cooled. She must have returned to tell him she’d gone to the future that time she stepped into the Time Machine and disappeared.

  As one does.

  She slumped again.

  Outside, a clamour erupted. The thud of horses’ hooves and the shouts of men and women came from the main building. Their cries, tinged with alarm, floated along the corridor inside. She couldn’t remember much of the layout of the compound, but she vaguely recalled the medical centre was nearby.

  Siobhan opened the door a crack. At the far end of the corridor, men in grubby, bloodied clothes stormed toward the medical centre. Two men carried a stretcher bearing a man, his bloodied arm hanging over the edge, and ran into the room. Another man, his stride stiff and almost ambling, blocked Siobhan’s view, his back to her. He wore a sturdy hat and a thick jacket, and his hand pressed to his left shou
lder while he peered into the medical bay.

  Rory!

  “You okay, boss?” A woman—Kendra, but a little older—approached Rory, eyes full of concern.

  “Aye, I can wait. George requires more attention than I do.” Rory’s deep voice and Highland accent sent shivers of longing into Siobhan.

  She couldn’t go to him in case she was out there too. Siobhan pushed the door a fraction more, heart slamming into her ribs. Kendra looked her way and her eyes widened. From the angle of Rory’s head, he was intent on the commotion in the medical bay and missed her expression.

  “Just need to do something, boss. Be right back. You sit over here.” Kendra pointed to a chair and made Rory sit, then ran off.

  Moments later, Murray marched down the short corridor to Siobhan. He stepped into the room, pushing her back, and slammed the door behind him.

  “What’re you doing?” His eyes were wide, frantic.

  “He didn’t see me.”

  “No, but Kendra did.”

  “Rory’s hurt. What happened? Why am I not there beside him now he’s returned and injured? If it were up to me, I’d be there!” Her breath came out ragged, and she stopped herself because any more, and she’d sound distraught.

  “Sit down, Siobhan.” Murray gestured for her to sit by the desk. “I need to explain some things to you.”

  She sat and clasped tight to her hands in her lap. The tone in Murray’s voice was disconcerting.

  “There’s been another battle,” he said.

  “Another?” She leaned forward.

  Murray held his hand up, gesturing for her to be silent. “The Government Forces are gathering near here. And Rory’s Alliance is trying to push them back.”

  “Government Forces? Alliance?” Siobhan shivered. “What are you saying? There’s a war?”

  Murray nodded; mouth grim.

  “What happened?”

  Murray shrugged. “A lot. Most of it stupid. Most of it because some people were greedy, and others were, well, grieving.”

  Siobhan sank onto the bed. She was starting to not like the future.

  “Tell me something positive about this time,” she asked.

  “You and Rory have two children—”

  “Oh, can I see them? What are they? Girls, or boys? Or one of each?”

  “No.” Murray’s voice strangled the word.

  “We can arrange for me to meet them when I’m not around. They won’t notice I’m younger.”

  “Siobhan,” Murray sounded exasperated. “No, you can’t see them. Please, listen.” He frowned like he was in agony and dragged his hand across his face then said, “Siobhan, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you’re dead.”

  Chapter 8

  Invercharing Community, 2067

  Siobhan sat silent for a few moments, barely noting the rough material of her cargo pants she’d scrunched in a tight grip. It was the future.

  And when you’re in the past, looking forward, there are many possible futures. Aren’t there?

  And she didn’t like this one.

  “Siobhan, did you hear me?” Murray squatted in front of her, his blue eyes boring into hers. “It’s okay, I’ve seen this before. More than I’ve wanted to, actually. This is the shock stage of grief—”

  “No, it’s not, it’s the Siobhan planning stage. Tell me everything that happened for us to get to this ludicrous state of affairs,” she said firmly. “First, how did I die?”

  Murray sat back on his haunches. “You died just over three years ago having your baby, Connald,” he said in a small voice.

  “How? Did I bleed to death?”

  Murray grimaced and studied the floor.

  “Oh.” Siobhan tried to blink away the lead in her gut. “What caused it? Was it preventable? Apart from not becoming pregnant in the first place, is there anything we could...I could have done?”

  Murray moved his gaze around the room, his eyes not seeming to focus on its contents, his mind elsewhere. “Placenta premia? No. Placenta previa.” His index finger trembled in triumph at his memory as he pointed at her. Then he sat at the desk, satisfaction leaving his eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Twice. “Aunty Bec died the year before and, well, we just don’t have the facilities for a complicated thing like that. And Christine couldn’t handle it. Nothing had prepared her for it. When it was all over, and people were working out why it happened, Christine said you should’ve gone to the Government Bunker months before when she’d first figured it out. She said they would have had the equipment and expertise to cope with it.”

  Placenta previa. Siobhan had no idea what that was, but she’d research it when she returned. If she returned. Her mind reeled with the information, competing with a cold numbness raising its ugly head.

  No Siobhan, get a hold of yourself.

  She released her grip on her cargo pants and continued her mental list. “What else?”

  “What do you mean? Isn’t that enough?”

  “No, how did all the stupidity begin? What about the sensible talks we were to have? The meaningful dialogue the Scottish Government planned with the diverse groups living in Scotland?”

  “You know I’m not politically minded. You’ll have to ask Rory.” He stood from his desk and strode back and forth.

  “You’ll let me speak to him?” She watched him pace the room.

  “Yeah, I must. He...he really misses you. Your death hit him hard.”

  “I shouldn’t see him, then.” Siobhan’s heart ached at the thought.

  “No, you must. Then you’ll know what to do.” Murray stopped his pacing. “Maybe you’ve travelled so you can experience now, this future, and do something about it.” He spoke in earnest.

  “What did I say to you when I returned to the past?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “When I travelled back from this now to our past?”

  “Ah, in the past I’ve lived in, you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t disappear at the Autumn Equinox when we were in the Bunker?” Siobhan’s forehead tightened in a frown while icicles tousled her intestines.

  Murray shook his head. “Not in my past,” he repeated.

  “Well...what does that mean? Have I changed things just by being here?”

  Murray shrugged.

  Oh, no. If Murray couldn’t figure it—

  “Can I get back to my past?”

  “I can try to send you. It’s the equinox here today—”

  “I think that’s how I got here, at sunrise.”

  “Well, you have till sunset to find out what you need to know.”

  SIOBHAN FOLLOWED CLOSE to Murray while he sneaked her along the corridor. People still milled around the medical centre and focused on the activity there. He led her into the old farmhouse where she’d stayed when she was here last, six years ago. Or, actually, only three months ago. She had to focus. This had the potential to become confusing.

  The farmhouse was Rory’s quarters.

  And their home.

  The walls were clean, not like the grubby walls she’d noticed the night she’d stayed over before their journey to Loch Ewe. Pale blue cushions sat on the couch. Dirty dishes soaked in the sink and wooden toys—a boat and a wagon—lay in the middle of the floor.

  “I’ll stand guard, so I can speak to Rory before he comes in,” Murray said. “To make sure the children don’t see you.”

  “But—”

  Murray shook his head vigorously. “They mustn’t, Siobhan. It will traumatise them. Jake took forever to stop crying himself to sleep when you died. Sorry, but you just can’t.”

  Siobhan stood by the doorway to the bedroom, biting her lip. Murray left, closing the door behind him. Crumpled sheets and blankets disturbed one side of the double bed. She stepped to the bed and lay on her stomach, her face buried in Rory’s pillow, letting his scent surround her. Her throat tightened.

  Muffled voices came through the front door. She sprang off the bed and stepped closer.

  “W
hy?” Rory’s deep tones rumbled.

  Warmth flashed through her and the muffled conversation continued.

  “Daddy, I want tae go with Uncle Murray,” a young child declared.

  The centre of Siobhan’s heart melted like wax. The child’s voice must belong to her oldest son.

  “Och, okay, Jake. Just behave yoursel’, aye?”

  “Aye, Daddy.”

  “Give me a kiss.”

  The resonances of domesticity and a father’s love for his children—their children—reverberated through the door and brought a sob to her throat. She clasped her hand over her mouth.

  “Who’s in ma place?” Rory demanded, his tone sharp.

  “Someone you’ll want to see, Rory. Here, let me take Connald.” A shuffling sound of what must have been Rory handing Connald over to Murray, came through the thin door.

  The door opened and Siobhan stepped back.

  Rory stood still. “What!” His hand remained on the doorknob.

  “The machine worked,” Murray’s heavy whisper came down the hallway behind Rory.

  Rory stepped in.

  His chest rose and fell rapidly, despite one shoulder wrapped in a heavy bandage, and he was dirty, covered in grime and blood sprays. The acrid scent of propellant and male sweat hung around him. He had bags under his eyes and lines beside them and he appeared much older than the six years from when she last saw him.

  “Siobhan.” His voice came out in a whisper.

  “Yes, I travelled from the past when I was waiting—”

  Rory strode forward and slid his arms around her, holding tight; his hand coming to her hair at the same time his mouth came to hers. His eyes closed as he held her lips with his. His body was still firm, masculine, muscled. And lean and warm.

  He broke off, tears welling in his lower lids.

  “Why are you here?” His voice faltered.

  “I accidentally travelled at the equinox. Murray was fiddling with the machine, and—”

  Rory’s mouth covered hers again and his warmth surrounded her. Strong arms criss-crossed her back and pulled her closer. So close there was no space, nor time, between them.

  He lifted his face from hers. “I love you. I’ve missed you!” He sobbed then.