Chapter 22
Mary sat up on her bed, ignoring the desire to lie back down and remain there for the whole of the day. It wasn’t as if she would have managed to sleep anyway. Her mind was so full of impossible things that she divided her time between either catching her breath or trying to keep from weeping.
And she never wept.
Well, she’d wept in Zachary’s arms on the shore, and she’d been powerfully tempted the day before, but that wasn’t her usual manner of conducting her life. She certainly had no intention of displaying such a weakness again.
Though she supposed she might have been entitled to such a display, given the events of the previous day.
She had managed to pass through yesterday’s afternoon by feigning sleep. She’d spent the evening in the company of the women of Zachary’s family whilst he hovered at the edge of their talk, silent and grim. His sisters, by marriage or not, had fed her, bathed her, then put her to bed in something called flannel jammies. She found them to be marvelously soft and quite comfortable, with the added benefit of not being skirts so she might have hopped on a horse and ridden off if she’d cared to.
’Twas possible she had slept occasionally during the night, but she was quite sure Zachary hadn’t. He had lain down on the floor next to her bed, but every time she’d leaned over to peer down at him, his eyes had been open.
She knew he grieved for her.
She had woken a few minutes ago to find him gone, though she supposed he hadn’t gone far. He felt responsible for her. He was that sort of man. A lovely, chivalrous, responsible sort of man.
She looked to her right at the fire he had no doubt made for her comfort and thought about what he’d said to her the day before.
The Future?
It seemed nothing more than something a minstrel would have set to music with the hope that his lord wouldn’t find it so ridiculous that no supper would be forthcoming after the song. But why would Zachary lie to her?
He wouldn’t because he hadn’t ever lied to her in the past and could have no reason to begin the practice presently. She had called him mad, but he’d looked in full possession of his wits.
Perhaps she should have considered more seriously before how strange his clothing had been, and how lacking in modern-day skills he’d been. Or how little like a peasant he’d appeared. Or how strangely he had pronounced so many words and how quickly he’d learned how to say them properly. A highly educated, very well-fashioned, exceptionally handsome smith who couldn’t shoe a horse, had fighting abilities her cousins salivated over, and couldn’t wait to be somewhere he hadn’t been willing to talk about.
She supposed ’twas possible that everything he’d said had been the truth, but she could scarce believe it. The Year of Our Lord’s Grace 2006?
And she was now there with no way to return home.
She pushed herself to her feet, away from thoughts that were too uncomfortable to face. She gained the hearth, but had to lean there until the floor stopped heaving beneath her feet and she was certain she could remain upright. She thought she might attempt to cross the floor to the kitchens. Perhaps she would investigate less troubling things for the moment and see if a distraction didn’t soothe her.
There were bowls and platters and cups that were made of a glass so fine, she hardly dared touch them. She did anyway and was surprised at their chill. She touched everything else, including the cold, smooth box of a very strange green color. She didn’t open anything though, not knowing how it might react to being invaded.
She left the kitchens and staggered to the garderobe. She caught her balance on the wall and suddenly the chamber was filled with light. She would have gasped if she hadn’t been so winded. She looked at the wall and saw some sort of small, flat box under her hand. There seemed to be a moveable bit of some sort of something on it. She took her courage in hand and pushed on the upper half of it.
The lights were extinguished. She pushed down and the lights lit themselves again.
Magic, or Future marvel?
She supposed it could be nothing but the latter. By the time she had satisfied herself with that miracle, she felt ready to take on other things. The waterfall from the polished steel spout she had already seen, as well as the polished mirror that had frightened her so badly the day before. She was also accustomed to the seat that served as a very luxurious and tidy chamber pot. It was a vast improvement over her father’s garderobe, that much she could say.
She had to sit on the edge of the bathing tub for a moment and rest. Thinking on her parents was still an ache in her chest that she wasn’t sure she would ever find a way to assuage.
Her parents and the lads, as well. No matter how daft they had driven her, she would miss Jackson and Thaddeus and Connor. And the little twins. And perhaps Parsival most of all, Frenchman though he might have been. To think she would never see them again ...
She decided abruptly that ’twas best she not think on it. Not yet. Not until she’d had a chance to find her balance for a bit.
She looked up at the window in the ceiling above her. It seemed a strange place for it, but Sunshine had told her that Zachary had put it in. Indeed, he had designed the entire chamber she was in currently. The most luxurious surroundings a witch
could
possibly wish for, Sunny had said with a deep smile, as if she was terribly fond of Zachary. The window had been put in the ceiling to give light to a place that might have otherwise been too covered in shadows.
Much as Zachary had done when he had walked into her life unannounced and shown her how much more lovely her life could be with him than with Geoffrey of Styrr.
The life that, inexplicably, she now had.
She considered Zachary’s actions a bit more. Now that she looked at them knowing who he was and when he came from, she could understand why he had done what he had. She could see why he had been so anxious to return home and why he had made such an effort not to change the events that had transpired in the keep.
And likely why he hadn’t done damage to Styrr in the courtyard that day when Styrr had been trying to belittle him.
Of course, there was the wound to Jackson’s pride to consider, but perhaps that couldn’t have been helped. Indeed, she supposed it might have done her cousin a bit of good to be humbled by someone besides her father or Kendrick.
She could now also understand why Zachary hadn’t been willing to stay even after she’d asked. How could he have, when his home had been so very far away? At least he had held her as if he never wanted to let her go. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to let her go. The fact that he’d troubled himself to endure her father’s instruction in the lists to ensure that she wasn’t forced to wed Styrr said something about at least his sense of duty toward her, didn’t it?
Because I want her for myself.
His words in her father’s solar came back to her as if he’d just spoken them aloud. That hadn’t been possible then. But now things were different. She was in his time and had no one to turn to but him.
Was it possible he merely felt a sense of obligation where she was concerned?
She climbed to her feet and went to fetch her clothes that Elizabeth had left sitting on a little stool near the wall before she thought on that, either. She dressed, then had to sit again until her head stopped spinning. She finally rose, swayed, then forced her legs to steady themselves beneath her. She had no more time for thinking. The Future, her future was upon her and she could do nothing but rise to the challenge of meeting it.
She studiously ignored the fact that she almost collapsed twice before she gained the front door to the cottage.
She looked at the cloaks hanging there by that door and chose a likely one. It fit strangely, but she made do. It fastened in the front with tiny little metal teeth, but mastering it would take time and she had no more time to spare, so she made do there as well.
She walked outside and stopped just under the eaves of the house. It took only a moment for her to find Zachary. He was standing under one of the mighty trees that flanked the path that she could see wound off through the woods. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought him a statue. He was so desperately handsome and so terribly solemn that she half wondered if he had been overcome by all that he carried on his shoulders. She couldn’t say she had reacted very well the day before to the tidings he’d given her, though she imagined he hadn’t expected anything else.
He was wearing the clothing her sire had given him. It occurred to her suddenly that he was doing so for her comfort, not his own.
By the saints, he was a man without peer.
She leaned back against the side of the house and simply drank in the sight of him. His sister and sisters-in-law loved him; that was obvious. They had sung his praises without hesitation, something she had been willing to listen to without reservation. It had made her wonder, with a rather unpleasant feeling actually, if she might be looking in a direction she shouldn’t. She had asked Sunshine casually if Zachary had many women chasing after him.
Dozens, Sunshine had said without hesitation. But none he’s ever loved.
Mary looked down at her hands. Well, at least she’d bathed away most of the stable leavings from under her fingernails. She’d also washed her hair. And she was the daughter of Robin de Piaget.
Not that that meant much in 2006, likely.
She realized that Zachary was looking at her. She smiled. Or, she attempted to smile, rather. She didn’t think it had gone very well. He pushed away from his tree and walked up the path toward her. She forgot, from time to time, how tall he was, or how broad through the shoulders. It wasn’t that she wasn’t accustomed to well-built men. She was just very unaccustomed to one making her feel very fragile and delicate. And in need of a great amount of chivalry.
“Maryanne,” he said gravely. “How are you?”
She was tempted to blurt out the truth, that she was terrified and wanted nothing more than to throw herself in his arms and hide there until she felt more herself. But she was her father’s daughter and he would have found such a lack of courage—even given the difficulties of her situation—to be unacceptable. She put her shoulders back and lifted her chin.
“I’m ready to assault this new world.” She swayed as she said it, but Zachary didn’t seem to notice.
Then again, he very casually reached out and put his hand on her arm to steady her, so perhaps he noticed more than he let on.
“Then it’s fortunate that Jamie brought a horse for you this morning.”
“Did he?” she asked, feeling pleased. That was indeed something solid and familiar. “Does it need breaking?”
“It needs to be put out to pasture,” Zachary said dryly, “but Jamie didn’t intend it to be an insult. He thought you might like to ride in a few days and that a gentler mount might suit your still-healing condition.”
“But I’m ready today.”
He released her arm and she swayed again. She tried to take hold of herself and will her form to shake off the lingering mal aise, but she was disappointed to find that wishes were, as her aunt Jennifer was wont to say, not fishes.
She frowned thoughtfully. Her aunt had had several very odd sayings. Spoken in a rather garbled echo of the peasant’s English. She hadn’t thought much about them at the time, but she began to wonder about them now. In fact, she found there were several things she wondered about.
Odd that those things seemed to center themselves around her uncle Nicholas’s trunk, the innards of which she, Theo, and Samuel had only had a single brief glimpse. They’d managed to finger a pair of very magical-looking gray boxes, admire strings of a marvelous stuff attached to those boxes, and turn the pages of a handful of manuscripts in a language neither she nor the twins had had the time to decipher.
They had also managed a look at a map marking several strange and very mysterious locales before they’d been forced to bolt from the solar and feign business in another part of the keep. She had been, at the time, far too old to engage in such investigations, but it had been Theo and Samuel to goad her into it, so perhaps she could be forgiven. They had been convinced for a time afterward that Nicholas was a warlock, but perhaps they could have been forgiven for that as well.
“I think, Maryanne, that you should go back inside—”
“Nay,” she said quickly, focusing on Zachary, “I am well. I need air.”
He frowned, but she returned the frown. She even managed to get her arms folded over her chest, lest he think that she might be less fierce than she should have been.
He studied her gravely for a moment or two, then carefully reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He smiled at her, but his smile faded rather quickly.
She shook her head before he could begin what she was certain would be a conversation about things that were difficult. If she’d spoken about any of it, she would have broken her own vow and begun to weep. As it was, she could still scarce restrain herself from throwing herself into his arms and begging him to hold her and keep her safe.
’Twas appalling, truly.
He smiled slightly, as if he understood what she hadn’t said. “All right,” he said softly, “we’ll go. Let me bank the fire first.”
She leaned against the door frame as he did so, then walked with him around the house. There was a very small but adequate stall there, a stall inhabited by the largest horse she’d ever seen. Zachary put reins on him, then backed him out of the stall. The beast looked as if he would have liked nothing better than to pass the coming hour grazing, but he didn’t argue when Zachary boosted her up onto his back. Zachary paused, then handed her the reins.
“Mary—”
“Zachary, please,” she interrupted quickly. “Please just let us take this poor beast and give him a bit of exercise. The rest will still be awaiting us later.”
Some of the tension seemed to go out of him. “You’re probably right.”
She waited, but he made no move. “Are you not riding with me?”
“I’m waiting for you to go find a useful tree stump. I don’t think I can get myself up onto this old lad’s back without help.”
She did so, then soon found herself with Zachary’s arms around her.
“You steer,” he said. “I’ll nap.”
She wondered at first if he held on to her so tightly because he truly intended to sleep and didn’t want to fall off, but she knew he was an excellent rider. She was tempted to believe that he truly wanted to have his arms around her, but that seemed a complicated way to do what he simply could have done any time he cared to.
Unless he thought he couldn’t.
She didn’t dare broach the subject with him. There she was, hundreds of years out of her own time, in a land where she had no kin, no gold, nothing but what she was wearing, and she was left with no choice but to rely on the kindness of a man who owed her nothing at all.
A bit like his situation in her time, actually.
“You’re distracted.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’ll try not to lose us.”
“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 expression 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.