Traci nodded, cast an unreadable look Iain’s way, and turned to the gate. Callum lifted his catch from the boat and joined her. He yanked twice on a string near the door and waited.
Blood pounding in her ears, Traci gripped her skirts and waited next to the fisherman. She didn’t trust these men, but what choice did she have? Despite the chill morning air, sweat trickled down her back.
Distantly, she made out the sound of steps behind the huge oaken door, and she willed herself to remain calm.
The door swung outward. Instead of one guard emerging as they’d expected, three burst forth, their swords raised.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ah ! cruel bloody fate,
What canst thou now do more?
“Dagon’s Fall,” Jacobite Reliques
Traci was shoved from behind and landed with a thud onto the rough wooden planks. Her palms stung as they scraped its surface.
What the hell? The heavy weight of a body covered her. Trying not to panic, she angled her head around. It was the fisherman shielding her. Somehow, he’d warned the garrison inside.
From her position, she witnessed snatches of the action, but one image she wished she’d missed—the clansman by the door dropping to his knees with a slit across his throat. Then Callum was rolling her across the dock, and all was jumbled.
The fisherman shouted to her in Gaelic and scrambled into his boat. The other boat’s occupants swarmed the dock and attacked the guards.
“Traci!”
Iain’s voice cut through the clamor, and his face appeared near her knee just below the dock’s edge. “Grab my hand and get on the boat!”
He’d get no argument from her.
She reached down, and he pulled her on board, his grip and his movements steady and purposeful and welcome. So, so welcome. She fell onto her knees, rocking the boat slightly, and scrabbled to the far end. She plopped onto her butt and took in the scene. Ross stood at the bow, yelling at Iain and Duncan and waving them onto the deck, but they ignored him. Iain barked harsh words to the other men on the dock, and the tone of the battle shifted. Instead of going for killing thrusts, they disarmed each of the guardsmen, one by one, until each was held back by a sword pointed at their necks.
Holy shit. Traci gripped the edge of her seat.
The rest of the men knocked out the guardsmen from behind, and they retreated to their boats. Ross’s face turned a mottled red, and his voice rose. Iain and Duncan shouted him down and dipped the oars into the loch. If the alacrity with which Iain was obeyed didn’t convince him he was a natural leader, she didn’t know what would.
The dock receded, and disappointment swept through her.
Fiona!
But Iain was right to retreat. The alarm was raised now. No way could they enter and find her without bloodshed. As it was, they were lucky they’d had only one killed.
Just then, arrows flew from slits in the wall above, and everyone ducked. The mist still hugging the boat provided some obscurity. Iain’s arms wrapped around her at the same time she tried to shield him. They pressed each other into the safety of the hull.
But Ross was facing the occupants of the boat, still on a tear. Two arrows thunked in quick succession into his back, and he listed sideways into the loch, slipping below the water.
Iain lurched forward, hand outstretched. He glanced at the ramparts, clearly calculating if they should risk stopping.
Traci took a shuddering breath. “Iain. Leave him.” She pointed at the body now floating face down. “It’s too late.”
His lips rolled inward, and he nodded grimly. They rowed swiftly out of range.
What had just happened?
Iain clenched and unclenched his fists, vibrating with anger and pent-up frustration. Damn Ross. The men aboard both boats were subdued as they rowed to safety, and the fisherman cast uneasy glances at Iain, unsure probably, at how he’d be punished.
They pulled up at the fisherman’s hut, which hugged the shore north of the castle. “Callum, Traci, and Duncan, with me. The rest of ye, form up on the rise. We must be gone from this vicinity. If trouble overtakes us, break up and meet back at the ravine. It should be far enough away from potential patrols.”
The others quickly stashed the boat, and Iain turned to Callum. “Fear not. I’m sorry we didn’t alert you to the change of plans, and I do not blame you for acting how you saw fit.”
The fisherman slumped in obvious relief. “Too many depend on the goods I receive in exchange for my catch. You did not ask, but we have a prearranged signal. If all is normal, I pull the string that rings the bell once. Caution, I pull twice.”
Iain gripped his shoulder. “I understand, my friend. Now we must depart.” He stepped away and finally did what he’d been aching to do since those men had burst out of the postern gate. He yanked Traci to him and clutched her against his body. “Are ye well, lass?” he whispered. He inhaled her sweet scent.
“Yes.” Her voice was strong and clear, and the last of his fear and anger eased away. “Thank God you’re okay.”
He massaged his fingers through her hair, needing to feel their silk brush past his skin. “Sometime soon you’re going to tell me what ‘o-kai’ means.”
She chuckled. “Okay.”
“Wench.” He pulled away and gripped her chin, moving her face side to side. “Ye are truly well, then?”
Duncan cleared his throat. “We need to depart.”
Iain clenched his jaw and grabbed her hand. “You have our thanks, Callum.” He nodded to the fisherman, and Traci thanked him as well. He led her up the hill, Duncan following behind.
Traci was still shaking from this morning’s failed attempt to retrieve her sister.
She’d seen two men die. And she could personally attest to all the critics of computer games, that its violence did not inure one to it.
Every time she closed her eyes, the sword sliced across the man’s neck, and he fell to his knees. She clasped her hands to her stomach and dropped onto a nearby rock. They’d finally reached their rendezvous spot over an hour away, and the men were starting a fire.
Iain knelt before her, concern clear on his face. “Ye all right, lass?”
She bit her lip. “Is there a place where I can bathe? I’d like to be alone, if it’s possible.”
He dragged a knuckle across her cheek. “I dinnae think that is wise.”
“You and Duncan can be within shouting distance, but I want to feel I’m alone, even if I’m not truly.”
He searched her eyes and, God help her, she drew strength from his concerned, but steady, gaze. He helped her to stand. “Duncan, can you accompany us? We will guard her while she washes in the stream.”
They followed the ravine until it curved and narrowed, bringing the stream that meandered through closer to the center. Iain stopped at the curve. “We shall wait here. No one can get to ye without passing through us. You will be safe. Ahead is only a waterfall.”
She rubbed his arm and smiled. “Thank you.” She only realized she still had her hand on his arm when his eyes darkened and Duncan cleared his throat.
“Right.” She squeezed his arm and stepped away. Could there be more? Her emotions were all over the place, but the violence earlier had made one thing clear—she didn’t want anything to happen to him.
Shaking still from the spent adrenaline, she hiked another hundred yards and knelt on the rough bank of the stream. She plunged her hands into the cool water and let it flow over her fingers. She splashed water on her face and relished the cold bite against her skin. It wouldn’t be as easy to wash away the fear and the sight of that man losing his life, but she wanted to feel something normal against her skin.
She glanced back down the ravine. Iain and Duncan still had their backs to her. She quickly stripped and bathed in the cool water. Finishing as fast as she could, she sloshed onto a nearby rock and settled back to let the morning sun dry her skin.
She was beginning to nod off when a curious sound came from
behind her—a womp-whirr sound and a slight pop.
She startled and began to turn around, when a cultured British voice said in a low, distressed voice, “Oh, dear. Oh my, oh my, oh my. My most humble apologies—”
Traci froze, and she stretched her fingers down and grabbed a rock.
She turned her head and… What the hell? A man stood with his back to her dressed in very proper attire—well, proper if he lived in Regency England—complete with tails and top hat.
She lowered the rock, for clearly he intended no harm. “Who are you?”
He cleared his throat. “I am Mr. Podbury, and I regret that I caught you at this most unfortunate time. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”
Her heart popped into her throat, and she brought the rock back up, ready to bash him if he so much as moved. For she knew who he was. “You’re the man Isabelle met back in 1834. The one researching time travel. Katy told me about you…and that you’d tried to take the calling card case from her once.”
She darted her gaze to Iain and Duncan, but they remained still, far enough away apparently to not hear them.
He removed his hat and dug his fingers into his black hair. “Yes, well. I was acting on orders from my superiors. I was sent to retrieve it, you see. We needed to figure out what happened. The case should not have those abilities. It must have picked up temporal properties when I dropped it in the middle of a transport.”
“But time travel is possible. You’re here, and I take it not because of the case.” Since I have it here.
He looked down and rotated his hat round and round. “Can you, er, don your clothes? I would wish to be able to converse more agreeably.”
What a funny man. She leaned forward to stand, but sat back. “No. Apparently you’re a gentleman, and my nakedness is keeping you at bay. I think I’ll remain undressed.”
He sighed. “Very well. I suppose I cannot blame you.” He flicked his coat tails away and sat down on a rock, his back still to her. “Where to start…”
“How about with why you’re here?”
“I don’t suppose you will hand over the case.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she darted a glance to her clothes, where the case lay stitched into the pouch. “I don’t have it.”
He shook his head. “You do, or I’d not be here. My employers have created a device able to trace its temporal signature in the aether waves that comprise the time continuum. It’s not precise, mind you, which is why I haven’t had better luck in the past, but I know it’s within a hundred feet and within an hour or so.”
“I can’t let you have it.” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to stay this long in 1689, but I can’t give it back just yet. My sister also came back with me, and I need to get her first. I’ve been trying to reach her. Once I do, we’ll return back to the present where we belong.” She crossed her fingers at what she was beginning to think was a lie.
Because what if-what-if-what if had been twining through her all day.
“Will you hand over the case then?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Excellent. To make this easier for me, because, as I said, our instruments are not fine-tuned, what year do you live in normally?”
She saw no harm in telling him, so she did.
“And have you observed that time runs the same once you’ve engaged the silver calling card case as a transportation device?”
“Yes.”
“So very interesting…” He pulled something from his inner coat pocket, if she interpreted his movements correctly, and she prepared herself to duck or chuck the rock in case it were a weapon. But he bent his head, and his hand moved. Ah, he was taking notes.
“And if you may be so kind, what is your direction?”
She frowned. “My direction?”
“Yes. In your time, where do you live? I shall find you there once you return.”
She gave him the address to her London flat. “Can I…Can I ask you something?” Traci tapped the rock against another.
“You may.”
She took a shaky breath, for his answer affected whether she could even contemplate thinking past What If. “What theory of time travel applies? Am I messing up the timeline? Can I accidentally blink myself out of existence, or someone important?”
He heaved a sigh, and her heart stuttered. “We’re still working things out. But here’s what we believe so far—yes, you can change the timeline, but whatever you do has already been done by you by the time you are born. So for you, in this timeline, you cannot change it.”
Huh? “I thought you said I could?”
He shook his head. “It’s not as simple as that.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” she grumbled and rubbed the top of her head.
“You see, changes made spawn new worlds where that possibility or decision has been made, and that’s the world you’re born into. You live in a closed loop comprising all the decisions everyone, including yourself, has made up until your birth.”
She pursed her lips. “What happens to the other world?”
“It continues on. In fact, we believe your friend Isabelle created the new world she was born into, as well as yourself.”
She sat straighter. “Wait, what? We didn’t notice our history change after she went back.”
“You haven’t been listening. Since her living in 1834 comes before your birth, you were already part of the new world her 1834 self-spawned.”
Er… She’d have to take his word on that, because her head was seriously starting to bend now. “How did she change it?”
“Her decision to fund Charles Babbage’s Analytical Engine. My superiors haven’t perfected world jumping, but they can observe, and in the ones where she doesn’t find the case or different decisions are made, it’s fully another hundred years before computers are invented, and technology is somewhat different.”
Oh wow. “But what—”
“Traci, are you finished yet?” Iain’s voice echoed down the ravine.
She whipped around, but they were still facing away. “In a moment,” she yelled.
Mr. Podbury stood. “I must go. I do not wish to be seen by the others as I am not in period appropriate attire. I shall see you anon. Good luck with your sister.”
And with that, he pulled something from his vest, and his hand twisted. The air around him swirled and then pinched inward.
Pop.
He was gone.
“Mo dhuslach rionnaige, let me assist you. If you’re not careful, you can hurt yourself.”
Traci was holding the musket the men had loaned her and thought she had it propped correctly against her shoulder. She shifted again in a desperate attempt to get it right. The damn thing weighed at least ten pounds.
“Ach. That’s even worse. You’re hopeless.”
“I’ll have you know, I’m perfectly capable of shooting a Beretta.”
“A Beretta?” Duncan asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Er, yes.”
It was later that morning, and Iain had told the men he’d promised to teach her how to defend herself. Not wanting to argue, because dammit, she did want to know how to shoot one of these things, she’d agreed. Especially after the failed rescue this morning. How were they going to get in now that the castle had been alerted to trouble?
Iain stepped behind her, took her hand that was holding the stock, and repositioned it. He stood closer than necessary, and his heat spilled over her. Just like that, her hormones went all nuts again. And her emotions. Her hands almost shook with the enormity of what she was even contemplating—she just might dare to put a voice to her question. What if I stayed? Push it into the space between them and see what he said. The next time they were alone…
Iain twined an arm around her waist and snugged her tight against his chest. Then he basically used his body as a mold to put her in the proper position to shoot a musket and sustain the kick back as best as she could. Having him in contact with her whole backside wa
s making it really hard to think, the enormity of her question like another entity beside them demanding attention. She jutted out her chin. Then his words registered—he was telling her something other than how to shoot a gun.
“Listen. Those men still believe you and your sister to be spies for the Williamite government.”
She stiffened. “But—”
“Shhh. I brought you out here so that you, Duncan, and I can devise a plan. This will be tough, as they cannot know we’re aiding you. They’re without their leader, which helps.”
Duncan now approached and stood on her other side.
“You’re in on this, too?” she whispered.
Duncan only nodded.
Her knees almost buckled at the enormity of what this meant. They were defying their clan to help her. The knowledge bolstered her resolve. For if he was willing to defy his clan for her, it could mean he had feelings for her. And that her idea to remain after she found her sister wasn’t as crazy as she initially thought.
“That’s it, lass. Good form.” Iain spoke louder and stepped back. “Now shoot the target.”
The target was a patch of heather on a stump about a hundred yards away. She checked her position and squeezed the trigger.
The recoil was harsher than she anticipated, and she reared back. She almost fell on her butt, except she careened into Iain’s warm body instead. He righted her. Okay, she was enjoying this too. A giddy sense of anticipation filled her. One she hadn’t felt since college, when she’d gone all gushy over Brad, her first serious boyfriend. Or so she’d thought. Fear chased the giddy anticipation. A fear that once again, she’d bare herself to someone only to be made into a fool.
“Excellent. Guns are the perfect weapon for the weaker sex. A true warrior fights with their blade.”
“How come they’re letting you do this? Wouldn’t the last thing they’d want would be for a spy to learn how to shoot?”
“I assured them I’d teach you poorly, that you’d been pestering me so much I couldn’t stand it, and to not do so would be suspicious.”
She frowned. “And that worked?”
Must Love Kilts Page 19