Till There Was You

  “Very, Mr. Boy Scout. I almost wet my pants before I got someone to untie me.”

  “I apologize. Again.” He hesitated, then leaned back against the counter with a sigh. “I think this is slightly more serious. I hope I didn’t make an enormous mistake.”

  “You didn’t have any other choice,” Elizabeth said seriously. “She’ll understand why you did what you did once she realizes what the alternative was. Besides, it isn’t as if she’ll be the only medieval expat in the family. We’ll make her feel welcome.”

  “Assuming she’ll want to stay with me.”

  Elizabeth lifted her eyebrows briefly. “Afraid she’ll only want you because she feels obligated to?”

  “You know, you could beat around the bush for a while and spare my feelings,” he said darkly.

  She pointed in the direction of the front door. “Go for a walk and clear your head. Let Mary find her way for a bit, then see where you both stand. You know, it’s possible that you might find you don’t like her here nearly as much as you did there.”

  He blinked, then watched his sister smile.

  “I imagine she’ll have the same reaction to the same thought. Go for a walk. We’ll take care of your love.”

  Zachary found himself helped out the front door before Mary was helped out of bed. He went because he was pushed and because she was a very modest woman with medieval sensibilities. Now, if he’d been the one parading around in his altogether, she probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But the reverse was definitely not the case.

  He walked around for a few minutes, then decided that it was late enough in the morning that he could certainly make a couple of phone calls. There was one soul in particular that he wanted to catch before that soul got busy with his business of making buckets of money. He dialed the cell Cameron had loaned him and only had to wade through three secretaries before his intended victim picked up. Apparently quite reluctantly.

  “Zachary,” Gideon de Piaget said uneasily. “How lovely. You’re calling from Scotland, I assume?”

  “Why, yes, I am, you lying git,” Zachary said pleasantly. “Now, help me with something I don’t think I understood a couple of weeks ago. There is no paranormal activity at Artane, was that it?”

  “And to my knowledge, that’s true. And you shouldn’t call your boss a git.”

  “You’re not my boss.”

  “Your money source, then.”

  “You’re not going to want to give me any money after I punch you. Then again, I’m going to punch you so hard that the change will come rattling out of your trouser pockets, so maybe I’ll have your money after all.”

  Gideon laughed, more easily that time. “I see you survived your adventures.”

  “No thanks to you!”

  “And how was I supposed to know what was going to happen?” Gideon asked. “You’re the expert on time traveling. I just listen to everyone’s stories and shake my head in disbelief. Ghosts I can believe, but time travel? It’s complete bollocks. But so I don’t wind up making the same unintentional trip, where is that gate?”

  “In the solar doorway. And you should really have a better lock on the stuff inside that room. Actually, I’m thinking you should just rope that whole wing off. It’s a minefield.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Gideon said. “Now, to move on to less uncomfortable topics, when are you headed south again?”

  “In a few days. I’ve had a little interruption.”

  “So Cameron intimated when I called to check on your, er, status, though he was unwilling to divulge the particulars. You have him properly cowed, apparently.”

  Zachary snorted. “I could only hope. As for the particulars, I made a friend and she hasn’t been well.”

  “Ah,” Gideon said knowingly. “That sort of delay.”

  “Yes, that sort of delay. It may take this friend a bit to get back on her feet and I don’t want to rush her. I’ll take the train down next week if I can still borrow your car.”

  “Zach, go buy another car. You have money.”

  Zachary sighed. “I’m cheap.”

  “You’re frugal. It’s a Scottish trait. But you can still afford a car.”

  “All right,” Zachary grumbled, “I’ll go get my own damn car and be down there in a week. And Gideon, sorry about the panic.”

  “Oh, we didn’t panic,” Gideon said easily. “I called Jamie when we realized you’d gone missing, and he told me what had probably happened. He said not to give you another thought, so I didn’t.”

  “Nice.”

  Gideon only laughed. “If it eases you any, he seems to have complete confidence in you. I should consider that high praise.”

  Zachary smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. “I do. So, what else happened while I was hobnobbing with your ancestors ? Did you put the contractors off for me?”

  “No, they’ve been busily doing what you wanted them to. I popped over occasionally to see to things whilst you were gone, but you can pay for those efforts.”

  “I’ll just bill it all back to you since it was your bloody doorway that sent me on this adventure in the first place!”

  Gideon laughed again. “I’ll never win this fight, I can see that. Very well, I won’t complain as long as you divulge all details of your journey when you’ve time. I’m in London for the week, but Megan and I can meet you at the old pile of stones next weekend. If you like.”

  “I’d like. And I should probably warn you that Robin de Piaget would not like to have his ancestral home referred to as an ‘old pile of stones,’ so you’d better be careful what you say. You wouldn’t want to have to apologize for the slight over blades with him, believe me.”

  Gideon was silent for a long moment. “I think I might need an early lunch. A liquid one, preferably.”

  “Save your liver for your father’s schnapps. I’ll see you in a week.”

  “I’ll drink to that. Cheers.”

  Zachary hung up and continued to pace for a while. It wasn’t warm—it was still April, after all—but it was thankfully not raining for a change. He supposed that was just a matter of time. There was something to be said, though, for knowing that a hot fire and a decent shower awaited inside.

  As well as a woman that he hadn’t dared dream might be his.

  He still wasn’t sure he dared dream it. He had very vivid memories of Jamie’s adjustment from fourteenth-century laird to twentieth-century nobleman. Talk about a roller coaster. He hadn’t known Jamie’s brother, Patrick, during his transition, nor had he watched Sunshine’s husband, Cameron, make that adjustment. He’d had experience with a few others, though, given how many times he’d answered Jamie’s door and found someone of a different vintage standing there. He’d gotten to the point where he’d been forced to have rules. No swords down toilets, no blades poked into electrical sockets, and no random phone calls. And no clandestine invasions into his junk-food stashes. Those had served him well for several years.

  But, as his sister had said, he’d never had quite the vested interest in a successful transition that he did at present.

  That he was even worrying about the like should probably be enough to leave him wearing a permanently perplexed expression. His father certainly had that look down. His dad was another one that Elizabeth had been forced to make excuse phone calls to over the years. He hadn’t thought to ask her what she’d told their father about his current, unexplained absence, but he imagined their dad hadn’t bought it any more fully than he had any of the others.

  He would need to call his parents and check in. After he’d made sure Mary wasn’t going to lose it.

  Moraig’s front door opened a little sooner than he would have liked, truth be told. Sunshine came out with Madelyn; they shook their heads slowly, both of them wearing very serious expressions. Zachary waited until Elizabeth came out before he dared ask any questions.

  “And?” was the best he could do on short notice.

  “I think,” Elizabeth said, pu
lling the door to behind her, “that you’re not going to have an easy afternoon.”

  “It was the bathroom that did it, wasn’t it?”

  “The mirror.”

  Zachary blew out his breath. “What did she say?”

  “She threw up.”

  Zachary would have smiled, but he was too sick at heart to. “And then?”

  “An impressive string of somethings in what I’m assuming was medieval Norman French. Sunny didn’t translate, but she and Madelyn exchanged knowing glances.” She looked up at him. “This can’t come as a surprise.”

  “What, when she was born, or that I fell for a girl just slightly out of my league?” he asked grimly.

  “Either. And while we’re discussing this whole thing, what did your gate look like?”

  He shot her a warning look. “It was a door and don’t say anything else.”

  She only laughed, leaned up and kissed his cheek, then walked toward the path that led down the meadow to her husband’s ancestral home. Zachary watched her go for far longer than he should have.

  Because he was something of a coward, apparently.

  He finally turned and faced the doorway. There was no time like the present to explain the present. If nothing else, Mary could tell him to get lost sooner rather than later and then he wouldn’t have to wonder how she felt any longer.

  He walked inside the little house, then shut the door softly behind him. Mary was sitting in front of the fire. He was surprised to see her out of bed, though he knew he shouldn’t have been. As Cameron had noted, she had the constitution of a horse. And she was stubborn. He hoped those two traits would serve her well.

  He walked over to her slowly. She was dressed again in her medieval clothing and wearing her boots. Her hands were comfortably free of anything sharp, though, which should have been reassuring. They were clasped together so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white, which wasn’t. He pulled up a stool in front of her and sat down before he slowly lifted his head to see what he would be facing.

  She didn’t look good. She was not only very pale, she looked as if she’d just had a terrible shock.

  He had a pretty good idea about what that shock had been.

  He was tempted to reach for her hands and hold them, but he wasn’t sure if he should try that given that he was responsible for her distress. He realized he’d pulled a sheathed dagger from his boot only because he watched his hands put it on her knees.

  “Am I to use this on you?” she croaked, putting her hands over his knife.

  “You might want to.” He cleared his throat. “I think,” he began slowly, “that before you start with your questions, I should perhaps ask you one or two of my own.”

  “Why?”

  “Let me ask them, then you’ll see why.” He looked down at his dirk for a moment or two, then back up at her. “If you thought you had a choice between dying and living, what would you choose?”

  “Life,” she said without hesitation.

  “If it meant leaving Artane?”

  “Life, still.”

  “Leaving your parents?”

  She looked at him searchingly. “Why do you ask that?”

  “Because,” he said slowly, then he had to take a deep breath. “Because I made choices for you. Choices that cannot be undone. I’m afraid they may be ones you won’t care for.”

  “To save my life?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  She considered for a moment or two, then sat back, as if she pushed herself away from the topic at hand. She trailed her fingers over the hilt of his dagger. “Where was this fashioned?”

  “Scotland,” he said quietly.

  “I see.”

  And so did he. She wasn’t making a firm retreat; she was regrouping for another assault.

  “And someone made this blade specifically for you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’m very particular about my weapons. Not that you would know it judging by what I created at Artane.”

  She almost smiled. “As you said, you are not a smith, though Master Godric was happy enough with your efforts.” She studied him for a moment or two. “You are a puzzle, Zachary Smith. I think I would like the answers to you.”

  “I’ll give them to you, but they are not easy answers.”

  “Have they aught to do with this blade?”

  He nodded because he supposed that was as good a place as any to start. There was nothing like a little context to really put time traveling into perspective. He could hardly believe he was about to do the like for the woman sitting in front of him, a woman who was hundreds of years out of her time without any hope of ever seeing her family again. Unfortunately, he had no choice.

  He took a deep breath and dove in. “A very skilled blacksmith in Edinburgh made that dirk for me,” he said. “Actually, he made the pair of daggers I always wear. His grandson, whom I encountered in the same forge fifty years later, made me the Claymore I keep in my brother-in-law Jamie’s hall. One of his descendants still makes blades in Edinburgh and I visit him periodically just to see what he has on the fire. He doesn’t know the history of these dirks, though. I think the truth would be too much for him to bear.”

  She blinked in surprise. “How is it possible to know so many generations of men?”

  “It’s possible,” he said seriously, “because it is possible to move from century to century—through gates that lead from one time to another. As if you’d walked from a chamber out into a passageway, for example.”

  She pushed herself so hard against the back of her chair that she would have tipped it if it hadn’t been so well balanced. She stared at him in horror. “You’re mad.”

  He looked at her with as much earnestness as he could muster. “I know this is difficult to believe. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t lived through it myself.”

  She wasn’t buying what he was selling. She looked over her shoulder as if she calculated the distance between her and the front door so she could make a break for it before he said anything else.

  “Mary,” he said quickly, “have I ever hurt you?”

  She looked back at him in surprise. “Of course not.”

  “Lied to you?”

  She let out her breath slowly and seemed to relax a bit. “I can’t say that you’ve been overly forthcoming about your past or where you intended to go in the... future.” She stopped abruptly. “Is this why?”

  He nodded gingerly.

  She considered for a moment or two in silence, then began to frown. “Go on, though I’m not sure I’ll believe you.”

  He almost smiled. The woman was, as he had noted many times in the past, formidable.

  “I won’t lie to you, if that makes it all any more palatable. You see, almost a month ago, I had come to Artane—”

  “My father’s keep?”

  “Your father’s keep, aye, but as it stands in the Year of Our Lord’s Grace 2006. I had come from London to do work for the second son of the current lord of Artane and was a guest in his house. I was poking around in a chamber that had been your mother’s solar when I walked through a doorway and found myself in the year 1258.” He paused, but she wasn’t either running or drawing his dagger so he assumed he was safe to continue. “There are these gates from one century to another scattered all over England and Scotland. One of them apparently lies in your mother’s solar door.”

  Her frown deepened. “More.”

  He had to close his eyes briefly. He’d heard her father say that in precisely that way for days. More energy, more skill, more devotion to the blade. More, until there was no more to give, then yet more dredged up from places inside himself he hadn’t known existed. He imagined Mary was, in her own way, having to do the same thing at the moment.

  He thought he might have to excuse himself eventually and fall apart where she wouldn’t have to watch.

  “All right, more,” he agreed. “For good or ill, this isn’t the first time I’ve traveled to a different
time. My brother-in-law Jamie and I have been many places over the past several years, trying to keep ourselves out of events that didn’t pertain to us. That’s the reason I had to come home as quickly as possible. Actually, partly because I had a life here, but mostly because I couldn’t interfere in your life there. Inserting myself into your world would have been like taking, well, a piece of fabric and inserting a thread where it didn’t belong. It might not have mattered immediately, but in time the thread would have added so much that it would have ruined the pattern.”

  He listened to Jamie’s standard time-travel lecture coming out of his own mouth and thought he should perhaps go over to the wall and bang his head against it until good sense returned. What next? Was he going to start quoting his father soon? He could just imagine the football analogies that his dad would have applied to his current situation. Don’t call a time-out, son, just drop back and go for the Hail Mary. Whatever you do, don’t punt.

  His dad, he was quite sure, had never been facing a medieval noblewoman who had been dragged out of her life and plunked down in a cottage whose entirety was just slightly bigger than her former bedroom.

  “That is why you stopped by my mother’s door so often?” Mary asked quietly.

  Zachary dragged his mind back to the matter at hand. “Aye,” he said, “though it didn’t seem to want to open for me again. I wasn’t worried. There are many gates and fortunately Jamie knows them all.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Jamie knew the ones he’d already used, which were more numerous than Elizabeth had any idea about. He was also firmly convinced there were always more to be found, but that was another topic for another day.

  “So,” Mary said slowly, “when you said you were going home, what you were doing in truth was looking for another of these gates?”

  He nodded.

  “Why did you leave so abruptly the last time?”

  That was the question he didn’t particularly want to answer, but he supposed it was the most important one.

  “Because,” he said seriously, “I had remembered something I’d read in the solar of the Artane in the future.” He had to pause until he thought he could spit out the next part without emotion. “I remembered that I knew the death date of one of Artane’s early women.”