Till There Was You

by Lynn Kurland

  “I wouldn’t worry about that given that Galloping Gus is in charge.”

  She laughed a little in spite of herself. “Is that his name?”

  “I’m sure he wore it well a decade ago.” He pointed to his left. “Jamie’s is down the meadow. You’ll see the castle soon enough. Well, you’ll see it eventually. I think we could probably walk there on our own faster than Gus will take us, but maybe we’ll try that tomorrow. Wake me when we arrive.”

  “You aren’t going to sleep in truth, are you?”

  He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Will you let me fall off if I do?”

  “Nay,” she said quietly.

  He tightened his arms around her briefly. “Then I’ll close my eyes for a bit. Let me know if you don’t feel well and I’ll keep you from falling off.”

  Mary nodded and clicked at Gus, because she wouldn’t be unhappy to see a proper castle, but mostly because she was in Zachary’s arms—after a fashion—and she had no desire to give him a reason to release her.

  As time passed, she realized how much she had to thank James MacLeod for. With every enormous but weary footfall of the horse, she felt more herself. Seeing a perfectly lovely castle in the distance was even more reassuring. The day was lovely, Zachary’s arms were comforting, and if she didn’t think about it, her heart didn’t hurt her as much as it had the night before. There were things about her future that weren’t settled, but she could wait. Perhaps it was enough to simply survive the day.

  Half an hour later, they were riding into the courtyard of a grim-looking Scottish castle. She brought Gus to a halt, then looked up at the fortress in front of her. And as she looked, something occurred to her that she hadn’t considered until that moment.

  That map she and the twins had seen had been signed by a James MacLeod.

  She was now sitting in front of the ancestral home of a James MacLeod.

  She thought back to the little red dots that had been scattered over Scotland, for the most part, but a few in England as well. There had been a large dot near Falconberg and an equally substantial one placed near Artane. She wondered why her uncle Nicholas would have had such a map in his possession, a map made by a man named James MacLeod who was lord of the keep she was sitting in front of at present.

  “Zachary?”

  “Aye?”

  “Does your brother-in-law make maps?”

  “Jamie? Aye, he dabbles in it.” He swung down off Gus, then looked up at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I think I saw one of his maps in my uncle Nicholas’s trunk.”

  He smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” she asked, feeling very surprised indeed. “How would it have gotten there, do you suppose?”

  “I imagine it was a wedding present for your aunt.”

  She felt her mouth fall open. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Let me tell you when you’re less likely to bolt.”

  He held up his hands for her. She allowed him to help her down off her horse because, she realized with a start, she was growing accustomed to the little bits of chivalry he seemed to offer without any thought. She didn’t protest as he saw her seated on the steps leading up to Jamie’s great hall. She didn’t question him as he removed Gus’s bridle and sent him off with a friendly pat on the rump. She waited as he sat down next to her, then merely watched him as he watched Gus wander off a handful of paces to give attention to a particularly lush patch of edibles. He finally sighed and looked at her.

  “This won’t be easy, either.”

  “I’m prepared for the worst.”

  He smiled, the same sort of affectionate smile she would have had from any number of cousins. It was particularly cheering.

  “I imagine you probably are. As for the other, you could say that we have an interesting genealogy here in Scotland.” He clasped his hands round his knee and frowned, as if he prepared to proffer something of great import. “As it happens, Jamie is wed to my sister, Elizabeth, which you already know. Jamie’s great-granddaughter—”

  “Is he that old?” she asked in surprise.

  “He was born in 1278.”

  “Oh,” she managed, though there was little sound to the word.

  “I won’t give you all the particulars of that tale now,” he offered with a quick smile, “simply because I’m certain Jamie would enjoy telling you all about it when you can stomach it. Suffice it to say that Jamie’s great-granddaughter Iolanthe married Thomas McKinnon. Thomas has a younger sister, Victoria, who married a Scot, and a yet younger sister, Megan, who married, well, I’ll tell you who she married later. His youngest sister is named—”

  “Jennifer?” she interrupted in surprise.

  “Jennifer,” he agreed. “She walked through a time gate near Ledenham Abbey—a gate that was subsequently destroyed—and found herself falling in love and marrying the lord of Wyckham.”

  She blinked. “My aunt is from the Future?”

  He nodded with a faint smile.

  “And you didn’t say anything?” she asked incredulously. She didn’t wait for an answer, for she could imagine what it would be and how much it would have to do with not poking holes in the fabric of time. “Does my uncle know? Do my cousins know?” She would have pushed herself to her feet and begun to pace, but she didn’t think she would manage it. She turned to face him. “No wonder there were so many strange and marvelous things in his trunk.”

  “Did Theo and Sam find the key?” he asked with twinkling eyes.

  “Of course. After my brother Kendrick showed them where to look.” She frowned at him. “Now you will tell me that you know her, won’t you?”

  “I met her briefly when she came to visit Jamie,” he conceded. “She was very lovely and very talented. I heard her play a time or two. But then I imagine you have, too.”

  Mary looked out over Jamie’s courtyard. “I can scarce believe it.”

  “There are many things in this world that defy belief.”

  She considered the complete improbability of it for several minutes, then looked at Zachary again. “I think she is happy with her life.”

  He hesitated, then reached out and smoothed his hand over her hair, just once. “I imagine there were times that were difficult for her, given that she was living in a day not her own. But maybe having someone to love made the difference.”

  He started to say something else, then jumped up with a curse.

  “Gus is headed for Beth’s petunias. I won’t live to see dinner if I don’t stop him. And there is Jamie coming from the lists. Hang on and I’ll introduce you.” He put his hand on her head briefly, then strode off to rescue his sister’s flowers.

  Mary watched him go and thought about things she hadn’t before. About maps, and trunks, and men who adored their wives who hadn’t been born in their century.

  Perhaps more things were possible than she’d believed before.

  Several hours later, she was sitting in Moraig MacLeod’s little house. The fire was burning brightly, she’d had an entire mugful of hot cocoa—something Madelyn said she shouldn’t admit to Sunshine—and Zachary Smith was reading her The Canterbury Tales in the appropriate vernacular.

  She set her cup on the floor and looked back over her first full day in the Future. She had been showered with things that made her feel as if she hadn’t lost very much. She’d had a horse to ride, good conversation, and now an evening with entertainment she could understand.

  And it was all Zachary’s doing.

  She watched him as he read until the pucker between his eyebrows became fierce enough to indicate serious pains in his head. She took the book away and finished the current tale herself. The letters were fashioned strangely, but it didn’t take long to learn to make them out. The tales were surely the most amusing thing she’d heard in quite some time.

  She looked up finally to find Zachary watching her. He was resting his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin on his fist. His expre
ssion was one she’d seen before. It was the look men wore when they came to her father wanting his sword skill but supposing they wouldn’t make it past his gates to even ask for it.

  She wondered what it was Zachary wanted.

  “Did you not care for the tale?” she asked.

  “It was delightful. I was just watching you and pondering imponderables.”

  “And what would those be?”

  He smiled again, a slightly bemused smile. “I was thinking that it was very strange to be sitting next to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen while she reads a book that was written a hundred years after she was born but seven hundred years before I was born.”

  “Am I that?” she asked in surprise.

  “That old?” he asked.

  She started to gape at him, but realized he was teasing her. “That beautiful, you lout.”

  He smiled. “Aye, you are.” He continued to watch her, but his smile faded. “How are you, Maryanne?”

  She knew what he was asking, and had to take a deep breath before she spoke. “Better than this morning.”

  He didn’t reach for her hand and she couldn’t bring herself to reach for his. She wanted to tell him that a life with him was far preferable to death, but if he couldn’t remember she’d been willing to trade her horses for chickens and swine, then ... well, perhaps he wasn’t sure how he felt about her now they were in his time.

  And she couldn’t bring herself to ask him for the truth of it.

  A bell ringing made her jump. Zachary stood up and reached for something sitting on the mantel. He smiled at her briefly.

  “Excuse me.”

  She watched him put something to his ear and begin a conversation in a language that sounded a bit like the peasant’s English, only this was spoken with a much different cadence. It sounded, as it happened, quite a bit like those strange sayings her aunt was wont to mutter to herself when she thought no one was listening.

  Hells bells. You’d better do it in a New York minute, buster. Nicky, do the Future-speak thing again.

  Mary paused. Future-speak?

  She looked at Zachary, who was having a very earnest conversation with a little flat box pressed to his ear. She was tempted to think he’d just lost all his wits, but she was now in the Future and she supposed conversations with no one in particular might just be the usual business.

  Zachary sighed and pushed something on that little box, then held it in both his hands and looked at her.

  “I’m afraid I have a little problem,” he said slowly. “I need to go to England in the morning. I don’t want to leave you here by yourself, but I’m not sure you’re ready to travel that far yet.”

  She blinked. “England? Will you ride the whole way?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” He paused, then looked at her seriously. “I don’t want to leave.”

  She hardly dared hope he was speaking of more than just his upcoming journey. “I don’t want you to go.”

  He dragged his hand through his hair, then set his little box up on the mantel. He walked over and squatted down in front of her. He hesitated, then reached for her hands. “I want you to have time, Maryanne,” he said seriously, “before you have to make any decisions.”

  She was tempted to tell him that her decisions were made, but she supposed there would be time enough for that in the future. So she only nodded solemnly.

  He bent his head and kissed her hands. “Let me get a few things organized, then I’ll make you another mug of Sunny’s tea before bed.”

  She nodded and watched him as he paced in front of the fire while speaking again into that little box of his. Perhaps a bit of time alone would do her a goodly service. She would take the time to heal, ride Gus, who had been generous enough to carry them back to Moraig’s, and see what of Zachary’s world she could master.

  Many things could happen in a handful of days, as she could readily attest.

  Chapter 23

  Zachary stood just inside Moraig’s small house early the next morning and wondered if he were making an enormous mistake. Mary was better than she had been the day before, but still far from whole. He’d arranged for two of his three fairy godsisters to sit with her in shifts, and he supposed she wouldn’t do herself in with only Moraig’s to explore, but still he was uneasy. She might run afoul of any number of deadly future marvels or, heaven help him, step over Moraig’s threshold and find herself in a century she didn’t recognize, armed with nothing but her beautiful face and her ability to take any horse and ride it like the wind.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have much choice but to leave her to her own devices for a bit. Apparently the workers at Wyckham’s little cottage were convinced they’d been overrun by ghosts and had gone on strike. Gideon was in London and of no help—not that it was his job to handle that sort of thing anyway. Obviously he was going to have to babysit the site himself for a few days until any untoward visitors had been warned off. He actually suspected the offender was Hugh McKinnon, wanting to try his hand at a few interesting-looking power tools, but he didn’t have any proof. Yet.

  He looked at Mary seriously. “I think you would be better off staying with Jamie and Elizabeth,” he said, again.

  “I will be well,” she insisted, also not for the first time. “You left me a winter’s worth of wood chopped by the side of the house, food enough to feed a score of souls, and a very large horse to ride off on should it be required. What else do I need?”

  Me, he almost said, but he refrained. They could have that conversation, if she was willing to have that conversation, when he returned. He hesitated, then cast all caution to the wind. He reached out and pulled her into his arms. He tried to hold her gently, but he thought he might have heard something pop. He buried his face in her waterfall of dark hair and tried not to shudder. If something happened to her ... well, it didn’t bear thinking on.

  “You have my cell number,” he said.

  “Aye.”

  “And you remember how to use the phone Jamie loaned you.”

  “Aye.”

  “And you won’t set yourself on fire—”

  She laughed. “Zachary, I think I can manage the wonders of your Future for a handful of days.”

  He pulled back only far enough to look at her. “There might be ghosts.”

  “I’ll ignore them.”

  “Lock the door. Always.”

  She looked up at him. “Are you truly this concerned about me?”

  He closed his eyes and pulled her close again. He was trying very hard not to push her, not to put pressure on her, not to leave her feeling obligated to have any feelings for him. That was difficult because he was, in reality, her only lifeline in the future. Even the people who surrounded her were there because of him.

  He sighed deeply. “Aye, I am truly this concerned about you. Please be careful and please, please don’t lose yourself.”

  “Would you search for me?”

  “As long as it took, through every century necessary.”

  “And I would wait for you, as long as it took.”

  He held her in silence for another handful of minutes, then pulled away. He put on his coat, slung his backpack over his shoulder, then opened the door and took her hand. He walked outside with her—then came to an abrupt halt. He’d intended to hike to Patrick’s and pick up his brother-in-law’s little runabout to take to Artane. But now he realized that he wasn’t going to have to.

  There, in front of him, sat a brand-spanking-new, jet-black Range Rover.

  He handed Mary his backpack almost without thinking, then walked over to the car in a daze. The keys were in the door.

  He backed up until he was standing next to Mary again.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “Something I think I’m going to kill someone for,” he said, after he’d taken a deep, cleansing breath.

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t like charity.”

  She
lifted her eyebrows briefly, then went inside for her shoes. Zachary smiled at the picture she soon made in a pair of Madelyn’s MacLeod-dress-plaid pajamas and medieval boots, then he began speculating on potential offenders.

  Patrick wouldn’t have dropped a car on his front stoop if he’d had a sword to his throat. Jamie was a reasonable suspect, but even he had heard enough protests over the years to know not to offer compensation where there was no labor involved first. That left only one person, someone who certainly should have known better. He cursed, then dialed. The phone only rang twice.

  “Cameron,” came the answer in a brisk, businesslike tone.

  “Would you like to tell me, my lord, why it is you forgot one of your cars in front of my doorway this morning?”

  “I didn’t forget anything,” Cameron said smoothly. “I knew exactly what I was doing when I plunked down my hard-earned sterling for that lovely beast, then paid yet more of my hard-earned sterling to one of my greedy cousins so he would put it in your name and deliver it to your current roost.”

  Zachary blew out his breath in frustration. “Damn it, Cam, I don’t want your charity.”

  “And I can’t afford the face of the Cameron/Artane Trust driving around in something that’s going to pollute work sites.”

  Zachary growled before he could stop himself. “I’ll buy my own car, thank you very much.”

  “I’m not asking you to wear a suit, now am I? I’m just asking you to look like a filthy rich architect so I won’t have clients calling me and asking if you’re trustworthy.”

  “Have you had clients call you?” Zachary asked in surprise.

  “None but that Michael Smythe-Gordon, but he’s a nutter, not a client. I’m proactively avoiding anything from anyone else. And you will notice that I didn’t buy you a Ferrari.”

  Zachary dragged his hand through his hair. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “You’ll pay me back by splashing my name all over the glorious projects you’re taking away from the Lambeth Group. That’s enough.”

  Zachary almost smiled. “What did Garrett ever do to you?”

  “He made me raise your fee so high I can hardly put fuel in my Gulfstream, that’s what he did,” Cameron grumbled. “We haggled over it for a solid fortnight before he was willing to let you go. You know he was going to offer you a partnership, don’t you?”