by Jackie Ivie
“To where?”
“Let’s use my room. It’s larger. And the floor could use a good dusting.”
Her eyebrows met in another frown. Neal had a hard time stifling the grin. She was just so cute!
“I do na’ understand.”
“Your skirts are doing an excellent job on the floor. I can tell where you’ve walked by the shine.”
She glanced down. Lifted her skirts to reveal a wadded rug before a slipper. Looked back over at him.
“Are you...poking fun at my attire?”
Neal chuckled. He couldn’t help it. “Oh. Honey. Never. Not in a million years. And that is a fairly decent segue to what I have to say. Only it’s not a million. More like two hundred. And then some.”
“The woman must be suffering horribly.”
Neal regarded Ainslee for several moments. Sighed heavily. Assumed a somber expression again. “Well. I can see that our early-dinner conversation is going to be a bit stilted.”
“Early...dinner?”
“The kitchen sent up stew. Scones. All sorts of meats and cheeses. Some fresh peaches from a hothouse I didn’t even know we had. The horrible stuff they call coffee. I sent them back for a pot for tea.”
“You thought...of food?”
“I didn’t order it, if that’s what you’re referring to. But it smells delicious. We should eat.”
“I do na’ feel hungry.”
“Me, either. But I could use a change. Come along. I’ll shower. Then, we can eat. Drink some tea. And I can get on to the business of explaining...uh. Lots of things.”
“My heart hurts.”
She walked slowly toward him. Her eyes were filmed with sudden tears. Neal had never seen anything so heart-rending. It affected his voice. The words came out in a deep soft grumble.
“I know, darling. Want to know something truly odd? My heart hurts, too. The old Neal would have taken a flight to some far-off place. Perhaps...Budapest. Stayed at an exclusive hotel. Turned off all internet and cell communication. Ordered the most expensive item on the menu. And then gone to bed with a clear conscience that things were right and just in the world. Which is all part and parcel of what I need to explain. You ready for your sup, yet?”
She gave him an unreadable expression. Neal took a mental stab at why.
The flight?
Budapest?
Internet and cell communication?
Hotel menu?
He was wrong on every guess.
“That is na’ odd, Neal. Your aunt lost both her sons today. Regardless of why and how, I canna’ imagine how devastating that must be.”
“I know, babe. And...like I said, the new me is quite a bit different than the old one. That guy wouldn’t have lost a moment of sleep. I was called a heartless cold bastard. It was true. But I’ve changed. I have learned how to feel. Because of you. I love you. Eternally. Whole-heartedly. It’s the most amazing feeling in the universe. Well beyond anything I thought was pleasure. Love has opened my eyes to so much!” He cast a glance at the floor, then raised his head to continue his heartfelt confession. “Including heartache. I’ve discovered...it’s not always fun and games. I heard Lady Blair’s screams. I can still hear them. But I have to temper it with the knowledge that today could have gone so much differently. That could be my body lying on cold stone.”
“Oh, Neal! I would have wanted to die, too!”
Tears spilled from her eyes, making her even lovelier. Neal sniffed against an answering emotion. It made his voice sound more gravelly.
“That...is probably how my aunt feels right now. But I have to remind myself of the facts here. That woman is guilty of attempted murder, sweetheart.”
“You have...proof?”
“You mean beyond how her face fell when she caught sight of me walking into her apartments? Alive. Well. And talking?”
“Oh. I can na’ imagine!”
“Lachlan’s bullet was meant for me, Ainslee. He wasn’t the lone shooter, either. We’ve got a confession. They had another accomplice, the fellow posing as Garrick’s gamekeeper. His job was to make certain of my death, should Lachlan’s bullet. Fail.”
He separated the last word. She gasped. Neal continued his narrative.
“Not to worry. He’s having a nice stay in the castle dungeons. It’s not too onerous. He got a warm sup. Pallet. Blanket. I suppose I should draft up charges and hand him over to whatever legal system is in place...except I’m trying to keep this quiet. I suppose that is my contribution toward the decorous stuff.”
“This is all so...unreal. I feel strange. Expectant. Anxious. As if something else needs to happen, but I do na’ ken what.”
“Ah. Good description, babe. Entirely apt. Come with me. You need some sustenance, and I could use a double shot of whiskey. For courage.”
He held out his hand. She placed hers in it. Neal regarded her ring-less left hand for a moment.
“I just remembered something...and it might actually fit.”
“What?”
“The reason I am standing here. Right now. Is because I bent down to retrieve something. It was in the ground. It’s a ring.” Neal fished about in his vest pocket. “Now, that I think of it, this little ring is another good way to start the conversation we need to have. There. See? It’s my family ring. In the shape of a spiral. It’s the logo for all my companies - Straithmore Enterprises.”
She glanced at it. Back to his face. And she didn’t even ask the obvious question about his companies.
“’Tis verra pretty.”
“Might be small enough. Here. Try it on.” Neal lifted her left hand. Slid it onto her ring finger. The spiral ring dangled. He tried it on her middle finger. It was still too large. He palmed it with a sense of defeat and stuck it back in his pocket. “I’m not giving up. You need a wedding ring. Mason tells me we have tiny rings in the Straithcairn collection. One is a sapphire that might match to your eyes. Or so, I’m told.”
“I have...the Straith emerald ring already.”
“Yeah. I know. But you need a wedding ring that fits. One you wear all the time. So the entire world knows you are taken. By me.”
She smiled. Her eyes had a patina of moisture atop them again. Neal was hooked. Rapt. His shoulder struck the doorjamb, knocking them back a half step, and breaking the spell. Ainslee giggled.
Neal shook his head, and tried not to flush. It was useless. He could feel the heat.
“Well. Glad to see that still works,” he remarked, and swept her up into his arms.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The stew was delicious. As were the scones, the oatcakes, the meats and cheese. Ainslee hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been until she finished her second bowl of stew and sat back. Replete. Warmed. And entirely relaxed in the big, upholstered chair Neal had set her in. She stifled a yawn. Looked across the table at her husband. Felt a thrill from it.
He was just so impressive. So manly.
And he was all hers.
Neal had matched her appetite, bite-for-bite. He’d finished right behind her. His bowl fell with a clatter, as if it slipped. He was acting strange...almost nervous. Edgy. And he wouldn’t meet her gaze. But, she hadn’t known him that long, and it had been a trying day.
She waited.
Ainslee didn’t know what to say. The silence after his bowl settled was strange. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quiet, though. Rather, the opposite. He’d had a fire lit in the fireplace. Flames occasionally sent popping and hissing sounds into the chamber from behind her. The wall of windows was to the left of him. They hadn’t completely covered the glass panes. The day’s rainfall had turned into a raging storm. Lightning occasionally lit the space, sending strips of light into the room that matched the drapery openings.
Neal slid his chair out. It made a screeching sound against the floor. If she’d been any less comfortable, she’d have probably jumped. Ainslee craned her neck up to look up at him.
“I think...I should go get a shower. About now
.”
“Shower?”
“Yeah. The rain sluicing off the roof makes a great shower. It’ll be a bit brisk, but I like showers better than baths.”
“Like...a waterfall?”
“Yeah. Exactly like that.”
“Oh. We have lots of showers. There are waterfalls all over Straith land. Gruder Loch has one. Ram Point another. Huntsman’s Wood also has a small one above the burn.”
“Have you...bathed in them?’
“Aye.”
“I hope they’re secluded.”
“I believe so. ’Twas never an issue, though.”
“You bathing naked is not an issue? You’re joking, right? I’m surprised we weren’t at war over that.”
Ainslee glanced down, toward her lap. She couldn’t help the blush. “No man ever...looked at me afore you wed with me. I was na’...the bonny MacAffrey.”
“Well. Lucky for me, everybody was blind. I think you are the loveliest thing ever born. I’m pretty sure most of the countryside agrees. If not, they haven’t met you yet.”
Ainslee’s eyes widened. Her blush deepened.
“All of which is not helping me one iota at the moment.”
“What?”
She lifted her head. He was regarding her with a slight smile and an expression she couldn’t describe. It sent an immediate swell of heat through her. Everywhere.
“I have...things I need to tell you. I’m actually wondering what I should say. And how much. So. I’m thinking I might go stick my head under some cold water first. I’ll just take a chunk of this lye stuff with me.”
He picked up a bar of soap. Sniffed it. Ainslee smiled.
“That is na’ lye. ’Tis made with olive oil and wood ash. A bit of herbs for fragrance. Lye soaps are used for house cleaning. And laundry.”
“Right. Well. I’m not a history buff. I haven’t the vaguest idea what was used in soap right now. Which...is a good place to start, I suppose.”
“What is?”
“I don’t know what ingredients are in soap in 1803.”
“Why would you ken what soap is made of?”
“Well, you do.”
“’Tis a housekeeping function. I should ken it.”
Neal turned and started pacing. Ainslee smiled and pulled her feet up beneath her. Arranged her skirts over her legs. Leaned back into the plush embrace of the chair. Rolled her head to watch his progress to the dais his bed stood upon. Didn’t quite stifle the yawn as he swiveled and began to walk back toward her. He started speaking as he went.
“Ainslee. Sweetheart. I’m trying to find a lead-in here, and this is...truly difficult. H. G. Wells hasn’t even written his classic novel, Time Machine, yet. Crap. And then some. How about we talk about...Napoleon Bonaparte? We’ll try him. He’s around. I know a little about him. The man just got back from Egypt. He’ll publish a set of really large, incredibly beautiful volumes about Egypt. It starts the field of study called Egyptology. A complete set is worth a fortune. I know. I purchased one at auction.”
Ainslee perked up. “Oh! Is it here?”
He chuckled. “No. Sorry, love. It’s not.”
“Can you...get it?”
“Sure. We’ll put it on our wish list for when it’s published. Scratch the Napoleon idea, okay? It’s not working. And I can’t prove anything for years yet. Napoleon doesn’t mount his disastrous campaign into Russia for what? Ten years or so? He’ll eventually be defeated at a place called Waterloo and exiled to someplace called Elba. He’ll try and re-start his campaign, but...that fails, too. Then he’ll die. As do we all.”
Ainslee’s mouth dropped open. “Are you a seer?”
“Um. No. It’s actually...a bit more, uh. Mind-boggling. Far-fetched. Completely implausible. But...you do believe in paranormal stuff. Right?”
“Para...normal?”
“The world is full of weird things. Things that defy explanation. Like...your gift with horses. I was told you were fey. Do you believe that?”
“Fey?”
“Yeah. It’s akin to witchcraft.”
“Are you accusing me...of being a witch?” Her voice dropped on the last word. A log fell as it in concert.
“Oh. No. No. No. No. No, honey. Darn it! I’m already treading water and I barely got started swimming. I forgot that witchcraft is a bad thing in this day and age.”
“It has ever been a bad thing...according to the church.”
“Well. That may be, but society will change. Nobody burns witches at the stake in the future.”
She gasped audibly. “You are a seer.”
“Not really. It’s more—uh. Wow. I’m trying to explain how I know what I know. This is a lot tougher than I realized.”
“But you have seen so much! Things I have only read about.”
“Good one. Let’s try that. What did you read? Exactly.”
“Lot of things! I found the best source, too! The Encyclopedia Britannica. The MacAffrey library had the third edition!”
“You read the encyclopedia? Cover-to-cover?”
“Aye.”
“I’ll bet that was fun.”
“It was! There is so much to learn! And ’twas printed by Scotsmen, you ken! In Edinburgh!”
“Oh. Right. I forgot that part. Scotland is actually a goldmine of inventors, love. But...that’s another thing I know that I can’t prove I know. Nor, can I prove how I know it. So. Let’s go with what we have. Was there anything in encyclopedia about...oh. I don’t know. I’ll just throw out a term. Watch your reaction. Was anything written about...time travel?”
The last two words were rushed.
Time travel?
Ainslee regarded him for long moments while the lightning flashed, the fireplace crackled and popped, the candle flames flickered. He’d stopped his pacing and stood on the other side of the table watching her.
“Well? Was time travel covered in the encyclopedia? Have you ever even heard that term? Ever?”
Ainslee didn’t know how to answer. Something was familiar about the phrase, but she couldn’t quite place it. She had to think...
“I’m blowing it, aren’t I?”
“Blowing it?”
“You are giving me the look again.”
Ainslee tried to blank her expression. “What look?”
“Whenever I say something that sounds – uh. Well. Let’s go with ‘not entirely sane’, shall we? Whenever I say something that sounds not entirely sane, you give me a quizzical look. It’s really quite cute.”
“Oh.”
“And I’m trying to explain here without getting more looks because I sound like a complete knot-head. That’s probably another new term. Means...idiot.”
She remembered! She’d discovered a book in the library back home. She’d found it last season, dusted it off, and tried to read it, but grown bored. She clapped her hands. “Oh! I ken what you speak of! You are referring to the ‘Memoirs of the Twentieth Century’, are na’ you?”
“The memoirs of what?”
“There is a book in the library. ’Twas written by an Irishman, a Samuel Madden, I think. ’Tis a verra rare book. Verra old.”
“There is a book about time travel in the library? Here? Right now?”
“I am na’ certain of the ducal library. It may have it. The one I speak of ’twas at my father’s house. Printed in seventeen-thirty-three, I think.”
“Somebody wrote about time travel in the eighteenth century? Seriously? That’s wild. So, tell me. What did it have to say?”
“But you had to have read it. Why else would you ask?”
“Uh...”
“I’m afraid I did na’ finish it. I am na’ fond of epistolary novels.”
“Epistolary?”
“’Twas written in correspondence form. I find that style of writing...boring.”
“You’re an amazing woman, Ainslee. I really hope you know that. If not, I’ll just continually tell you. Beautiful. Intelligent. Self-educated. Extremely loving.” He cleare
d his throat. “So. Where were we? Oh yeah. The book about time travel. How far did you get with it?”
“The letters are from a man who had been to the year nineteen-ninety-six. Or perhaps it was nineteen-ninety seven.”
“Nice. What did he have to say?”
“The Jesuits are in control.”
“Religion? That’s what the book features?”
“Aye.”
“That figures. Some things never seem to change. Sounds like we are back to square one, sweetheart.” Neal took a deep breath. “I’m going to try something different. Let’s go back to the beginning of all this.”
“The beginning?”
“My...accident. Do you remember that?”
“Your accident?” Ainslee didn’t feign the confusion.
“The one where my horse bucked me off and I hit my head. That accident.”
He lifted the hair from his forehead. There was a purplish-hued bruise at his temple. It was faded about the edges but still looked nasty. She’d forgotten all about it.
“Oh. That accident.”
“You were there just before it happened? Right? You said something about Thundercloud. I remember that.”
Ainslee gulped. Looked away for a moment before looking back at him. Now, she’d have to confess. Her voice wavered. “’Twas actually...my fault,” she whispered.
“How do you figure?”
“How...do I figure?” she asked.
He sighed heavily. The sound was accentuated by a log falling in the fireplace behind her. Ainslee’s pulse leapt. Nothing on her body betrayed it. She was proud of that.
“That means I’m waiting for an explanation to something I find unbelievable. I’ll rephrase it. What makes you say it’s your fault?”
“I needed to speak with you so I hid behind a standing stone. My appearance is what startled Thundercloud into bolting. I...am so sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault, babe. Truly. But...did you see me fall?”
She shook her head.
“Did you see anything that would make you suspect he – uh. I mean I – had perhaps...perished?
Ainslee frowned. Thought back. And then remembered. “Oh. Aye. I did see you just before the lightning struck. You were lying in a bad position. Your neck was...rather skewed. I thought for a moment, you’d broken it.”