And when James again shall be plac’d on the throne,
All mem’ry of ills we have borne shall be gone.
No tyrant again shall set foot on our shore,
But all shall be happy and blest as before.
-from “Come, Let Us Be Jovial,” Jacobite Reliques
Back in their room, Traci strode into the latrine, which “graced” the corner of their room. She stuck her arm through the hole in the wooden bench and grasped the small sack she’d tied to the underside. She’d been surprised the first time she’d used the room that there was no smell, for it emptied straight into the loch.
Her larger bag, she’d kept under the bed since having one hadn’t been a secret. It held her period clothes and her supplies, though the latter were disguised as seventeenth-century items—precautionary painkillers in a cloudy glass bottle with a stopper, for instance.
She straightened. Iain’s head jerked up from blatant butt ogling, and his lips curved, his eyes sparkling with a yeah-ye-caught-me glint. She smirked back and brushed past him, settling herself before the warmth of the peat fire. She pulled out the contents from her secret bag, arranging them on the rug. She picked up her phone, which she’d tucked inside a leather case with a lock.
She couldn’t blame Iain for wanting proof. And when he’d been so anxious for her forgiveness when he told her he couldn’t trust his heart? Part of the wall around her heart cracked. He’d seemed so earnest. But scariest of all, she’d glimpsed a different person behind his devil-may-care attitude. Someone just a little vulnerable.
Iain stood warily by the fireplace, and she waved him over. He eased down beside her, his warmth and scent enveloping her, and their knees touched. He caught her gaze, his eyes a combination of wariness and excitement.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed the power button on her phone and waited for it to boot. The logo flashed onto the screen, and Iain gasped. He leaned closer, and she caught his scent more fully—so intoxicating.
Argh. No.
Highland men were not intoxicating. Iain was not intoxicating. None of this was intoxicating. She would find Fiona and get their modern butts back where they belonged.
After the screen lit up with its icons, Traci retrieved a photo of her standing in front of the same inn where she’d met Iain, but in her own time.
While the building hadn’t changed substantially, she’d made sure to include people in the background, a car, its gas station, and the modern sign.
“What is this?” Iain grasped the phone from her hand and peered closer. He stared at her and back at the screen, his eyes wide. “It’s a rendering of you. The detail…”
“Yes. Like a painting, but it’s done with a…machine. It captures what was in front of it at the time. We call it a camera. So that’s me, standing in front of the inn, but in my time, not yours. In my time, it’s called the Cluanie Inn. Look closely.”
Iain frowned and peered closer. His finger touched the screen, and he jerked back.
“Oh. Sorry. You accidentally switched it to another image.”
“It appears to be another image very similar to the earlier one, though your face looks different.”
“Yeah,” she grumbled. “That wasn’t a good shot. I should have deleted it.” She reached over and switched it back to the other image. “See the inn? And see how it’s changed? It’s the same building…” She went on to explain the other objects and the clothes.
“You mean to say that women traipse about in such scanty apparel in your time? I believe I would like that.”
She pushed his shoulder. “I bet you would.” She leaned over and switched it to several photos back. “If that doesn’t convince you, how about this?”
“Oh, Mary Mother!” Iain gasped and dropped the phone, which hit the rug with a dull thud. She’d taken a picture of him and Duncan while no one was looking. It’d captured him while he was laughing at something Duncan had said, though the scene was dark because she hadn’t used a flash. “That’s…that’s me.” With trembling fingers, he picked up the phone again, pushed it farther away, and then closer. “Uncanny,” he whispered. “How does this work?”
“It’d be too complicated to explain, but this contraption captures what it sees at the push of a button. Watch.” She took the phone from him, held it up, and snapped a picture of the two of them. She brought it close for him to see.
He backed away, falling back to rest on his hands. “It’s scary how accurate that is. Finer than any painter.” His voice held only awe.
His face went blank, the muscles in his jaw bunching. “Enough.” He shoved to his feet and strode to the lone window, resting his fists against the window ledge. “I believe you.” He inhaled and blew out a sharp breath. “Which means neither you nor your sister are spies.”
He whirled back around, his face strangely hopeful. “Does this mean you know the outcome of historical events?”
She stood and brushed off her skirt. “Er. Only for really major events. History is not my strong suit.”
“Strong suit? Never mind. I take your meaning.” He shoved away from the window, hands fisted at his sides. “Can you tell me if we put the Stewarts back on the throne?”
She shifted and stared off to the side. Ha. Yes, she did know the answer to that. “I…I can’t tell you.”
“Because you don’t know, or because you won’t tell me.”
She looked him in the eyes. “Look. I can’t risk telling you. I don’t know how this time travel business works. It’s not exactly something that’s been tested out. Some believe that if history is changed, it could change enough to where I was never born, or worse, some important person isn’t born. Others think it’s all one closed loop, so that anything I do now was already done by me by the time I’m born. There are many more theories, each more confusing than the other, and it’s all just theories. I can’t take that risk, because I have no clue which time travel theories apply here.”
He looked at her, his head cocked to the side.
She smiled. “I know. If I think too hard about it, I feel this heavy, buzzy weight at the top of my head. It’s a freaky, weird feeling.”
“Aye. It is.” He rubbed the crown of his head and smiled. “So, you can’t risk revealing anything in case that blinks you out of existence.”
“Er, yes. Obviously, I’d like for that not to happen, but I know that’s not important on the big scale of things.”
“I’d not like to see you blink out either, my wife. Though it’s a shame you cannot tell me of the Stewarts’ fate, for it would help my clan.” He frowned. “Nay. Not worth the risk. Right then.”
“Exactly. Now you know why I have to find my sister and return to my time. Neither of us belongs here. It’s too risky.” Katy’s friend Isabelle had stayed behind for her man, but—no. This girl liked her hot showers. Besides, she knew staying here—in his presence—any longer than necessary was going to play havoc with her emotions. One-night stands with guys like him were fine, but longer than that? It made her expectations go haywire. She’d accidentally gone there on a rebound from her first serious boyfriend in college—hooked up with a gaming buddy, notorious for his love-em-and-leave-em outlook, and mortifyingly fell for him after a short while. Oops.
Iain frowned, but when he didn’t protest their leaving, she felt an odd sense of disappointment. Just as she suspected, he wasn’t interested in more than flirtation. And neither was she!
He crossed his arms. “We need to figure out what to do about your sister.”
“What do you know? You didn’t answer my question earlier.”
He stepped toward her, his face wary. “Now ’tis your turn not to be angry with me. I swear to you, I was not informed of my clan’s role until today when my uncle deigned to tell me. And that,” he said with a bitter laugh, “was only because he wanted information from you.”
Shit. She stepped up onto the bed and sat, face in the palms of her hands. “Just tell me.”
“That night at the inn, it was the other half of my party who took your sister. Ross meant to take you too, but you disappeared.” He barked a laugh. “Now I can guess how.”
“What could they have possibly wanted with us?” She dragged her hands from her face.
“To get you out of the way, mainly. You were strangers, poorly disguised as commoners, and cursed with the last name of Campbell, which they overheard when we handfasted. You might not be aware, but there is no other Highland name that could have made you more suspicious. Campbells have become too powerful, and they support the new regime. Ross thought ’twould be better to take you to the chief of the Glengarry MacDonells for safekeeping until…”
“Until what?”
“Now I must ask for your secrecy. I’m placing a great trust in you, and…” He broke off and spun back to the window. His hands were flexing, as was a muscle in his jaw.
She shifted forward. “What? Iain, I swear to you, I won’t hurt your clan.”
Iain stared out the chamber window. As far as his eye could track, he beheld only his clan’s land. Land that had been governed by successive sons. Until him.
His heart and his mind battled with what to do next. If he trusted her—and against all logic he did—and he was wrong…
His clan would never forgive him this time.
They’d barely forgiven him the last time. Only his youth had tempered their judgment.
Always, always, he let his emotions and his gut rule him, and time and again, those decisions proved defective. At the time they seemed harmless, but…
He glanced over his shoulder at his wife. The murky daylight cast her in part shadow, but her eyes were riveted to his, and he saw only honesty and forthrightness in their depths. He felt an inexplicable pull to her, as if her truth were his.
He shook his head. It made no sense.
Och, God. Could he do it? Put his clan at risk. On a decision he made on his own?
He sifted through everything she’d told him, taking care to measure each statement, each inflection she gave her words.
And—piss on a goat—he couldn’t find any falseness in her manner or her words. This “time travel” was the only explanation, not only for her sudden appearance, but also for the magical items she’d shown him. Those renderings on the small contraption…
He closed his eyes and tilted his head upward. Everything about this felt right to him.
He opened his eyes and contemplated her beautiful face, the air between them weighted with significance. Hell, if he were wrong, could any hot-blooded male blame him? Maybe he was the idiot his uncle believed of him. But she was his woman now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t do all he could to protect and aid her.
Lord help him, he’d side with his gut. He’d side with her.
He took a long breath and stepped forward. “They took her—and tasked me with keeping you distracted—because we’re in the midst of crucial plans to return the rightful king to his throne.”
“King James,” she whispered.
“Aye. Dundee has been gathering men to test our might against the Williamites, led by Mackay.”
“And your chieftain thought we were sent by the…by the Williamites to learn what your plans are?”
“You have the right of it there.”
“So my sister is with the MacDonells of…of Glengarry?”
He swallowed hard. “Aye.”
She gasped and shoved off the bed. “I have to get her,” she said in a rush. “I have to help her.” She dashed to her sack and stuffed her belongings inside. She straightened. “Wait. If your clan knew where she was, what was all this about sending out a party to look for her?”
He refused to look away from her. He wasn’t the guilty party here, though he felt like it. It was his chieftain. “We had to maintain appearances. And it gave us the cover to send some men to Dundee.”
“Your chieftain lied to me about helping search for Fiona.”
Shame washed through him. Aye, they’d needed to keep their movements secret from newcomers, but he hated that it was at her expense and that his chieftain had not told her that her sister was safe. “Aye. He did.”
“I don’t know that I care for your chieftain.” She stopped, gripping her sack in her fist. Her stare ripped through him. “Did you know this was their plan? You told me yourself they were sent to look for my sister, and I…I believed you.”
“I swear to you, I knew not. I learned of this directly before I found you today.”
She nodded and tightened the string, which closed up the opening of her sack. Inexplicably, his chest tightened at how easily she took him at his word. It made him proud and scared at the same time.
“I need to go to her. I don’t care if you or anyone else comes, and I won’t let any of you stop me this time. I’m the only hope she has of returning to our time. She needs me.”
She rushed past him for the door, and he grabbed her arm, swinging her back around to face him, bumping her against the bed frame.
“Don’t be so bloody hasty. I’m coming with ye,” he said fiercely. “But let’s do this right. I need to convince the chieftain of your innocence and get permission to retrieve her. It will do us no good to make an enemy of him.”
She plopped onto the edge of the bed and blew at a strand of hair that had fallen in her face. Her shoulders slumped. “Okay. You’re right. But you can’t tell your chieftain our secret.”
“Aye, I ken.”
“If you can’t convince him, I’m sneaking out of here. You can’t stop me, Iain.”
“I will not try. Have no fear.” Hell, he’d aid her in her escape. “If all goes well, we can leave soon. Invergarry castle is not far, and we can be there before dusk.”
She took a deep breath, and he’d swear her eyes glistened with unshed tears. She dropped her bag, which hit the rug with a dull thunk. “We have to get her, Iain,” she whispered.
His heart cracked open a little wider. In an instant, he closed the distance between them and enfolded her in his arms. He placed a comforting hand atop her head and rested his chin there. “We’ll get her, my wife. We’ll get her. Dinnae fash yourself. And take comfort in knowing she is safe for now. We know where she is.”
The weight of his decision, and its implications for his clan if he were wrong, hung heavy in the air. He could almost taste it.
There was no going back now.
No going back on his trust of her.
And more than anything, he couldn’t escape the fact that this felt right.