14
GARTH CASTLE
GARTH CASTLE WAS A PLAIN, square tower, much smaller than Castle Menzies, and as Will followed the caretaker up the long, straight stairs, he wondered if Neil Gointe Stewart had been jealous.
Suddenly he thought of something. “Time Sight might not work here, anyway,” he whispered to Nan. “We’re not on Menzies lands anymore!”
Nan rolled her eyes wearily. “Actually, we probably are. The boundaries in the Highlands shifted, my dad says—the clans kept fighting back and forth over lands—and we’re only about five miles from Castle Menzies. I’m pretty sure our ancestors lived on this land, too, some time or the other.”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Will muttered.
They emerged at the top of the tower into the shifting light of a half-cloudy day. Will walked to the edge and looked down. His stomach gave a sudden turn. Far, far below was a stream—no, a burn—noisy with water and full of rocks.
“It’s a long way down, isn’t it?” The caretaker leaned his elbows on the parapet. “The laird who built this castle used to tie people up and throw them off when they displeased him. The Wolf, he was called.”
“Not—Neil Gointe Stewart?” Nan asked in a small voice.
“Eh? Nay, the Wolf was Neil Gointe’s great-great-great-granddad, or something like that. But I hear as Neil Gointe was near as bad. He murdered his own wife as she was strolling down by the burn. Dropped a rock on her head, he did—or paid to have it done.”
Jamie’s cold fingers stole into Will’s. “Let’s go down,” he urged.
They were in the dungeon. The owners of Garth Castle had turned it into a wine cellar, but the stone walls were still there, rough and stained, and even in summer the stone floor breathed cold.
It was the last part of their tour. The caretaker had shown them around the whole castle, and there had been a few snatched moments when Will had told Nan his plan. She had argued, and reasoned, and finally agreed to help him. Now she was using her persuasive powers—and the Dimple, of course—to get the grown-ups to leave them alone in the dungeon.
“For the experience, see?” she said, tilting her head adorably. “You told us we should use our imaginations with history, Dad. And we want to imagine what it must have been like, to be locked up here so long ago.…”
The adults exchanged indulgent smiles. “All right,” said the caretaker, “but don’t touch the wine bottles, and climb back up as soon as you get bored. That won’t be long,” he added in an aside to Nan’s parents.
“I want to stay, too,” said Jamie.
“Are you sure?” Cousin Elspeth smoothed his hair. “It’s cold down here, and there isn’t much light. You might get frightened.”
Jamie held up the Highlander toy, grubby beyond all recognition. “Vil God I Sal,” he said.
Cousin Ewen chuckled. “He’s a Menzies to the bone. Come, Elspeth, let’s leave our budding historians to soak up the atmosphere.”
The door at the top of the stairs shut with a hollow boom. Will backed up to a corner, away from the wine racks. “Stand against the wall—there isn’t much room, and we don’t want to get stepped on. Nan, warn me if you hear your parents coming.”
Will stared into the middle of the room with unfocused eyes. “I’m going to try to find the time when they let Sir Robert out,” he said quietly, as the air before him began its familiar shimmer.
“Why then?” asked Nan.
“Then we can see if they let out the nephew at the same time,” Will answered. “We might not need to rescue him at all. Quiet, now—give me a second.”
In fact it took almost two minutes of careful probing. Will went back first to the time of the fire—he couldn’t go beyond that; it turned gray on him—and then he pressed forward in time until he sensed the disturbance when Sir Robert was brought into the dungeon, a prisoner. He inched ahead—it felt like months, not years—until he felt Sir Robert’s presence leaving the dungeon. Then he went back just a hair. There, that was as close as he could come.
Carefully, quietly, he opened the time window. Nan and Jamie crowded close over his shoulder to peer through.
Before them was a vaulted space that had been closed off by a wooden door. The only light came from an arrow slit, high above. A shadowy form hunched in the corner; a bucket gave off a foul smell. A thin beam of flickering light shone into the cell through a grated window in an iron-studded door.
The shadowy figure moved, and the light fell on a gaunt face, deeply lined.
Jamie gasped. “Sir Robert!” he cried.
It was Sir Robert, looking sick with misery and far thinner than a grown man should be. Will felt a pang, remembering the bright-eyed, laughing boy who had run down the path to sword practice.
Nan grabbed Jamie’s collar with her free hand. “Don’t go through. Just watch. He can’t hear you if we’re on this side of the window.”
“But they’re starving him,” Jamie said, his voice trembling.
There was a sound of footsteps. Sir Robert’s eyes flickered, and he turned his head. Then he rose, straightening his shoulders. A panel in the door slid across, and a man’s hairy face showed briefly, peering in.
The heavy door opened with a creaking of hinges. Armed men appeared; a small, narrow-lipped man with a squint was at their head.
Jamie pressed closer to Will’s side.
Sir Robert, a look of deep disdain on his face, reached into his sleeve and pulled out a rolled-up piece of parchment. Neil Gointe Stewart took it with a thin, malicious smile, unrolled it, and ran his finger down the lines. His smile stretched wider, showing his teeth. “How pleasant that you’ve decided to be reasonable.”
Sir Robert said nothing.
“It’s too bad you’re not reasonable enough to ransom your little nephew, though,” Neil Stewart added, tapping his fingers together.
Sir Robert snorted. “You sent your first ransom demand over a year ago, telling me you held the boy captive. And all the time he was safe in my castle! You will have to find someone else more simple than I, to pay you. I am not so great a fool.”
Neil Gointe Stewart shrugged and made a gesture with one hand. The armed men stood back to let Sir Robert pass out of the cell.
One guard went up the narrow, steep steps. Sir Robert followed, moving stiffly, and with another guard at his back. Last of all, Neil Gointe Stewart swept the dungeon with his cold gaze. For the briefest of moments, his eyes seemed to look directly into Will’s. Then he turned to speak to the hairy-faced man.
“I think that’s the dungeon guard,” Nan whispered.
“Shh! I want to hear what they’re saying.”
The guard jerked his head at something beyond Will’s field of vision. Neil Gointe Stewart grinned on one side of his mouth, like a dog snarling. “No, we’ll leave him there for now. He’s got parents in France; we might get a ransom out of them.” He chuckled. “Anyway, I hear that the other lad—the one Sir Robert had at the castle all this time—went missing the night of the fire.”
“Should I search for him?” The guard’s feet scraped on the floor, as if impatient to get moving. “There are woods and caves where a lad could hide. I could smoke him out.”
“Perhaps.” The Stewart laird tapped his fingers together again, as if thinking. “One or the other of them must be the real nephew. We’ll find out. There are ways.”
“What will you do with the false one?” the guard asked eagerly.
The laird laughed softly. “Garth Castle has a high parapet, and it’s a long way to the gorge below. I don’t think it will be hard to get rid of one small lad, when the time comes.”
Jamie’s hand gripped his brother’s shoulder convulsively.
Will could not recall ever hating anyone as much as he hated Neil Gointe Stewart. He watched grimly as the Stewart laird mounted the stairs, followed by the guard. When the door banged shut at the top of the stairs, Will moved slowly out of Sir Robert’s cell and then turned, keeping his focus.
The window to the past showed another wooden door. Will moved forward and shifted his focus slightly, and the door melted away to show a boy.
He lay on a dirty mattress atop a rough wooden bench. Bits of straw stuck out here and there from the ticking. His face was turned toward the dim light that shone palely through an arrow slit high above, and his arms were folded about himself. He looked like a grubbier, more hopeless version of Jamie, and Will felt a lump rise in his throat.
“Still think we should let someone else rescue him?” Will whispered to Nan.
“Hold your whisht, will you?” Nan wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Of course we have to get the poor wee lad. I’ll do it; you hold the window open for me.”
But Jamie had already scrambled through.
“Oh, brilliant,” Nan muttered. “Now I have to bring two of them back.”
“Quick, Nan,” said Will tensely.
Nan lifted her foot to follow Jamie, but suddenly a small shape scuttled across the wine cellar floor and ran over her foot. She shrieked and fell backward, knocking Will sideways. The window snapped shut.
“What did you do that for?” Will shouted.
“It was a mouse!” Nan said hotly. “I’d like to see you hold still if one ran across your foot!”
The door at the top of the stairs opened. “Is everyone all right down there?” Cousin Elspeth’s voice floated down. “Only I heard shouting.”
Will and Nan stared guiltily at each other.
“We’re fine, Mum,” Nan called up. “We’re just playacting.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you’d better send Jamie up to me.”
Nan opened her mouth and shut it again, like a fish. She looked at Will.
Will never knew where the words came from, but suddenly he found himself speaking. “We’re reenacting history, Cousin Elspeth. Jamie is locked in a cell, and he wants us to rescue him. Can we have a few more minutes?” He moved to the bottom of the stairs and produced what he hoped looked like a carefree grin.
Nan’s mother chuckled. “All right, then. Far be it from me to discourage an interest in Scottish history!”
“Oh, well done,” breathed Nan.
Will didn’t waste any more words. His brother was back in Sir Robert’s time, locked in the dungeon at Garth Castle; seconds counted. He stared into the middle distance and concentrated. He couldn’t mess this up.
“Hurry,” said Nan. “What if another whole year goes by, like before?”
“It won’t,” Will said shortly. “I’m getting so I can find the exact time—almost.” He swallowed. It was that almost that had him worried.
“But what if the guard comes back before you get there?” Nan whispered. “What if he looks in the cell and sees there are two boys?”
The air, which had begun to shimmer, went flat at Will’s anguished jerk. He turned on his cousin and shook her by the shoulders. “Stop saying that!”
Nan’s face crumpled. “Don’t be such a bampot. I’m worried about Jamie, too.”
“Talking about it isn’t going to do any good,” Will said, his own face scrunched with the effort to keep himself steady. “I know it could happen, do you think I’m stupid? I’m better at Time Sight now, but it’s hard to get the exact moment, and if I’m too late—or if a whole year goes by, like before—”
“Then you just try again and go back a little earlier,” Nan said in a soothing tone.
“But I can’t go back earlier. Not once I’ve been there. There’s this grayness there, remember? It won’t let me live the same time over again.” Will’s voice broke.
“Okay,” said Nan, “but what if you just open a window, and look? If you just look, and see that it’s too late, it won’t count as living the time, right? I’m pretty sure you can still open a window to an earlier time, it just makes sense—”
“You don’t know that!” Will said in a whisper so fierce it was almost a shout. “We don’t understand how Time Sight works, not really. We’re playing around with something as dangerous as lightning, and I don’t know all the rules, and I’m scared!” He scrubbed at his eyes furiously. “Go ahead, call me a chicken like you did before, I don’t care! It makes sense to be scared sometimes! And I can’t do anything to rescue my mother or help my dad, but I can try to get Jamie back, so will you just shut up and let me do it?”
Nan’s eyes were wide, and her mouth was a small, round shape, slightly open.
Will pressed his fists to his chin to hold it steady. “If I don’t get the time right,” he whispered, “if the guard has already come back and seen the two boys and brought them to Neil Gointe Stewart—oh, God.” Will shut his eyes, and a small, keening note came from him, like a bird singing sorrow, or an animal with a wound.
Nan put a timid hand on his arm. “I’m sorry I called you a feartie chicken. I think you’ve been really brave all along.”
Will gulped, shook himself like a dog coming out of water, and took a deep breath.
“Vil God I Sal,” said Nan, patting his arm.
Will nodded. He breathed in deeply. His head ached and his eyes were hot, but he had a job to do, he was a Menzies, his brother was waiting. His thoughts swarmed and rose like a cloud of buzzing insects. Vil God I Sal, he repeated in his mind, and the buzzing swarm subsided. He gazed into the middle distance, relaxed his focus until the air changed and moved, found a thread, and followed it. Inside himself he became aware of a still point of calm, a strength that flowed in from somewhere else, a clear path to his goal if only the window would open now.…
It opened on a boy very like Jamie, but thin, terribly thin and dirty, as if he had been ill-treated for a very long time. Will’s heart seemed to stop in his chest. He lunged through the window, forgetting about Nan, forgetting everything but the need to get to his brother—
Jamie popped up from a shadowy corner of the cell, his round face beaming. “What took you so long? I had time to teach James all the verses to ‘Flower of Scotland’!”
Will sat in a corner of the cell with closed eyes, half listening as Jamie talked on and on. Will’s other ear was cocked for any noise outside the cell that would signal the guard’s return. If only he would stay away just a few more minutes. He wanted to rest his eyes, and they had to get James to trust them enough to step through the time window.
“—and so James thought it was witchcraft at first,” Jamie was saying eagerly.
“But then he told me he was an angel.” James, the real nephew, looked doubtfully at Will. “You keep your wings hidden, mayhap?” he added politely.
“I said we were like angels,” Jamie corrected. “Angels are helpers; I learned that in the Menzies kirk, and we’re here to help you.”
“The Menzies kirk?” said the boy slowly. “You are not Stewart children, then?”
Will shook his head. “I’m William Menzies. This is Jamie—James Menzies. We’re your … cousins. Distant ones.”
The boy rubbed his forehead. “My name is James Menzies, too.”
“We know that already,” Jamie said.
Will put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Listen, James,” he said. “We’re going to get you out of here. Just do what we say, all right?”
The boy looked at them from beneath straight brows. “Be you honest men?”
“Well, honest, anyway,” said Will. “Now, listen. I’m going to open this sort of door in the air, and I want you to walk through. We’re taking you to your uncle, Sir Robert.”
The dim light shone on the boy’s uncertain frown. “My uncle does not want me. If he did, he would have rescued me long since.”
Will gripped the boy’s shoulders. “Sir Robert does want you. We’ll explain later. But for now, you’ve got to trust us. Will you do what we tell you, no matter what?”
The boy lifted his chin. He was so like Jamie, and yet there was something different about him, too. He looked as if he had suffered, and been alone, for far too long a time. But still—“I am a Menzies,” he said. “Vil God I Sal.”
“Good lad,” Will whispered. “Hold on to my shoulder and don’t be afraid.”
The air glimmered like a pearl seen through water. Will searched, gently, for the right moment. He was close.… He sensed the familiar tracks of their passage through time—
There came a muffled thud from somewhere outside the cell and a clatter of boots on stone. Jamie gasped.
The wavering air opened onto a stone cellar stocked with bottles of wine. “Okay, Jamie,” Will breathed. “Go through, and don’t make noise.”
“But I don’t see Nan!” Jamie whispered.
“It doesn’t matter.” Will fought to keep a steady focus. “You have to get out now.”
Jamie cast a frightened look behind him and dived through.
That was one safe. “You next, James,” said Will, very low.
Sir Robert’s nephew stood as if in a trance, staring at the time window. Then he turned his head, listening.
“The laird wants the lad brought up?” said a voice outside the cell.
“Aye.” There was a clinking sound, as if keys were being pulled from a belt. “Sir Robert’s men came to escort him home, see? Then they told him that his nephew disappeared the night of the fire and hasn’t been seen since. So Sir Robert changed his mind. He wants to see this lad we’ve been keeping safe for him, after all.”
Will’s heart beat against his ribs. “Now, James!”
“But—my uncle wishes to see me! You heard it! Surely I should let the guards take me to him?”
Sweat broke out on Will’s forehead. He could walk through the time window right now and be safe. He could leave James behind, and the guards would take him to Sir Robert.
But did James look enough like Jamie? Would Sir Robert believe he was his real nephew? Unlikely, when James wouldn’t be able to answer the simplest question about anything that had happened at the castle in the past year.
And after Sir Robert rode away, what would Neil Gointe Stewart do to James then?
The metal key made a snick as it was inserted into the lock.
There was no time to argue. “Do you trust Neil Gointe Stewart?” Will asked. “Or me? Choose!”
James bit his lip. He stared up at Will, trembling.
“Vil God,” Will whispered as the key turned in the lock.
James plunged forward blindly. “I Sal!”
The heavy door swung open. There was a shout. Will sensed a burly shape coming at him from the side.
James’s heels cleared the window. Will sprang after him. Something grabbed at his foot, but he kicked, hard, and heard a bellow of rage. There was a sudden flash to one side, as of reflected light, and then the bellow cut off as the window snapped shut. Will stumbled forward onto a cold stone floor, and something bounced behind him with a metallic clatter.
“There you are!” Nan cried, rushing forward. “I’ve been standing at the bottom of the stairs—my mum’s been calling—”
Jamie picked up a shard of metal off the floor. “It’s the tip of a sword,” he said breathlessly. “You almost got stabbed.”
Will couldn’t speak. His head rang and his eyes burned, but something fizzed through his veins like soda pop as he saw the others safe around him.
He had done it. He had stolen back what Neil Gointe Stewart had taken. He only wished he could see the laird’s ferret face when he heard that little James Menzies had escaped from a locked cell.
“And who are you?” demanded the caretaker of Garth Castle, staring at the oddly dressed small boy who tagged after Will, Nan, and Jamie.
They had made it up the stairs and out of the castle before being spotted. The grown-ups were talking around the corner, though, and before the children knew it, they had blundered straight into them.
“He’s a friend of mine,” Nan said at once. She smiled at the caretaker. Then she aimed the Dimple at her parents. “Can we give him a ride to Castle Menzies? Please?”
“But what’s he doing here? He’s too young to be on his own,” Cousin Elspeth protested. “And he looks terribly tired.”
“He got lost from his—er, group. He needs to find his uncle. And Castle Menzies is the meeting point. Right?” she said, turning to James.
James nodded, his eyes widening as he took in the modern clothing, the cars in the driveway. “My uncle, Sir Robert, the Laird of Weem, is at the castle, and I must go there without delay.”
Cousin Ewen chuckled. “You’re another young reenactor, I see. But your clothes look a little ragged for the nephew of a laird. Well, climb in, all. We’ll make some phone calls and get it all straightened out when we get to the castle.”
But they did not get far before the car gave a sudden lurch. James, who had said little but was staring at everything with awe, clutched the edge of the seat and went pale.
Cousin Ewen said something under his breath as the car bumped unevenly to a pullout at the side of the narrow road. “Got to change a blasted tire,” he muttered, rummaging in the boot for his jack and spare. “Get out, all of you—run around, stretch your legs. This will take a while.”
“Don’t go out of sight, though,” Nan’s mother warned.
Cousin Ewen sweated and strained; Cousin Elspeth hovered around, giving advice; the children walked down a hedgerow full of ripening gooseberries. James went slowly, on shaky legs.
“This is joy,” he said fervently, lifting his pale face to the sun. “The Stewarts scarce let me outside—only under guard, for an hour at a time. And these berries! I haven’t tasted gooseberries for a year.” He popped one in his mouth and began to hum the song Jamie had taught him, an expression of bliss on his face.
“You’ll get lots of berries when we get you back to Castle Menzies and Sir Robert,” said Jamie earnestly. “Cook makes the best gooseberry tarts ever.” He put three in his mouth, and his cheeks distended like a chipmunk’s.
James stopped humming, and his face took on a look of uncertainty. “Are you sure that my uncle wants me? He did not pay the ransom to get me out.”
“He would have,” Jamie said indistinctly through a mouth full of gooseberries, “but he already had a boy at the castle he thought was his nephew. So when the Stewarts said they had you in their dungeon, he thought they were lying.”
James frowned. “This false boy, who was he? I must smite him!”
“It was a mistake!” The red mounted in Jamie’s cheeks. “I was the one Sir Robert thought was you. I looked like you, see, and he hadn’t seen you for a long time. Go ahead and smite me if you want, but I’m going to hit you back if you do.”
James stared hard at Jamie. “I thought you were an angel. Why did you not tell him you weren’t his real nephew?”
“I did try. I told him and told him. But he told me I was—um—befuddled, because the Stewarts had hit me in the head.”
James frowned. “So he still thinks you are his real nephew?”
“Probably.” Jamie kicked a little at the earth.
“Well, then.” James shrugged as if he didn’t really care—but he turned his face away. “I do not know where I should go if my uncle won’t have me.”
“He might, though.” Will put his hands on the boys’ shoulders and stood them side by side. “What do you think?” he said to Nan.
“They’re the same size,” said Nan. “The hair’s the same color. And their faces—well, they do look a lot alike.”
“They could be brothers,” said Will thoughtfully. “Except that one of them looks like he’s been half-starved and locked up for way too long.”
Nan chewed on her lower lip. “Maybe Sir Robert will think that’s the reason for the difference—that he was held captive for all the months since the fire. That would change anyone.”
Will nodded. “You won’t remember anything they’d expect you to remember from the past year,” he told James, “but maybe they will think you’re in shock or something.”
“I can tell you some of the things you should know.” Jamie began to talk eagerly as James listened, nodding.
Will stared out over the fields to the hills beyond as Jamie went on and on, and Nan picked more gooseberries. The sun was warm on the back of his neck. Unaware, Will let his eyes glaze over. The air shimmered.…
Nan looked at Will’s face. “What is it?”
“Shh.”
“Don’t open a window now!” Nan said urgently. “Wait until we get to Castle Menzies, so we can find Sir Robert.”
“But Sir Robert’s here, he’s passing over this road, I can feel it. Hold on to my shoulder. See? I told you!”
The others got behind Will, peering through the time window at a group of men on horseback. Jamie sighed with relief when he saw Sir Robert. “They really did let him go.”
“He looks even paler in the sunlight,” Nan said critically. “And sicker.”
“I thought Sir Robert’s own armed men came to get him,” Will said. “Aren’t those Stewarts?”
James looked carefully through the dust kicked up by the horses on the road. “They must be seeing him off Stewart land.”
Now the Stewarts were wheeling their horses away from Sir Robert and his men, not without a few catcalls and jeers. The Menzies rode off slowly, supporting their laird in the saddle, their faces grim.
Suddenly Will realized the Menzies horsemen were almost past him. “Nan, are your parents still busy fixing the tire?”
Nan glanced over at the car, where her parents were bent over the wheel. “Yes.”
“Okay, listen. You and Jamie cover for us. Wave at your parents if they look this way. I’m taking James back to his own time now.”
“Why not wait until we get to Castle Menzies?” Nan objected.
“Castle Menzies was burned, remember?” Will did not take his eyes from the horsemen. “They’ll take Sir Robert somewhere else to live, but I don’t know where that is. This is our best chance.”
“I wish I could go,” said Jamie sadly. “I miss Sir Robert.”
“You can’t,” Will said, “not if we’re going to convince him that James is really you. Now, James!”
James clapped Jamie on the shoulder, snatched Nan’s hand and kissed it, and then stepped carefully through into his own time. Will followed, and the window closed behind him, leaving them in a field of standing oats.
Will pushed James down and knelt beside him, peering through the slender stalks at the passing horsemen.
“Jamie did not explain everything I need to know,” James whispered urgently.
“Just tell them the truth. Say you were captured by Neil Gointe Stewart and he kept you captive. You won’t remember everything that Jamie did at the castle in the past year, but that’s all right, just tell them you got hit in the head—”
“The Stewarts did hit me in the head,” James said seriously. “Many times.”
Will’s heart gave a painful twist. He did not regret coming back to rescue James, not the least little bit. He cleared his throat hurriedly. “You’ll know all kinds of things Jamie didn’t, though. Like—don’t you speak French?”
James shrugged. “Of course. English and Gaelic, too. But what if they ask me how I escaped from Garth Castle?”
“Just tell them you were rescued by three kids. Call us angels if you want. They’ll just think you’re—”
“Befuddled!” James’s eyes were bright with laughter. “And truly, I do not understand at all what has happened. You might be angels, in truth.”
“Kind of grubby ones,” said Will, brushing off his knees. “Anyway, you’ve got to go now. They’re only walking the horses—can you catch up to them? Or are you too weak from prison?”
James tossed his head, and his gaze was suddenly proud. “I am a Menzies, and the nephew of a laird,” he said. “I am as strong as I need to be.”
“Go, then, and—good-bye!”
“God be w’ ye, too,” said James, flashing a weary grin.
For a moment Will caught a suggestion of a dimple—it was in almost the same place as Nan’s—and then James was staggering forward, calling, waving.
The group of horsemen stopped—turned in the saddle—and then one came riding back. Will didn’t recognize him.
“What is it, lad?” the man demanded. “Do you have some message? Be quick about it!”
“I must speak with Sir Robert,” James said grandly. “Take me to him, if you please.”
The horseman stared—and then laughed. “Fine airs, from a dirty beggar’s brat!”
James threw his head back, flushing. “I am Sir Robert’s nephew. Take me to him at once!”
The man leaned over the saddlebow, his face threatening. “Sir Robert’s nephew died in the fire. And even when he was alive, he wasn’t such a starveling skint creature as you. Now, be off with you, before I teach you some manners!”
“I—I have been a captive in Garth Castle!” James stammered. “That is why I’m thin.”
“Oh? And how did you get out, then?” The man grinned, showing two blackened teeth. “Neil Gointe Stewart escorted you to the gate, did he?”
“Angels!” James burst out angrily. “Three angels let me out!”
Another horseman detached himself from the group and came riding back. With a sudden lurch in his stomach, Will recognized the burly shoulders and broken nose of Ranald.
“What’s the delay?” Ranald demanded. “Sir Robert is weary, and we must get him to a place of rest!”
“Nothing much,” said the first horseman. “A gowky brat with a daft tale. Says he’s Sir Robert’s nephew, just escaped from Garth Castle.”
Ranald gave the little boy a careless glance. “Aye, that’s likely!” He snorted and jerked on the reins, wheeling his horse around. “Neil Gointe Stewart’s been trying to tell Sir Robert he has his nephew for over a year, and now he sends the false lad after us. Begone, brat, and bother Sir Robert no more!”
The two horsemen trotted off to join the waiting Menzies band. James stood with his hands dangling helplessly at his side.
Will clenched his fists. They had to take James—they had to! Where else would he go? “Call to them again!” Will whispered through the standing oats. “Shout out something that only the real nephew would know. Like—I don’t know, say something in French?”
James stared at him, his shoulders slumped. “That would not convince him. Many in Scotland speak French,” he said dully.
Ranald and the other man had reached the knot of Menzies that surrounded Sir Robert. There was a brief exchange of words across the tossing manes of the horses. Any moment now they would turn and go—
Suddenly Will smacked his forehead. “James!” he hissed. “Sing ‘Flower of Scotland’!”
James looked at him, startled.
“The song Jamie taught you in the dungeon, remember? He sang it for Sir Robert the night of the fire!”
“O flower of Scotland,” James began obediently, his voice thin and wavering.
“Louder! Put some muscle into it!” Will urged. “It’s practically your national anthem—in my time, anyway!”
James took a deep breath. “O flower of Scotland,” he began again, more strongly, his clear voice piercing through the air like a bugle. “When will we see your like again? That fought and died for … um…”
“Your wee bit hill and glen,” Will whispered, watching the group of horsemen. They had not ridden off. One or two had turned their horses’ heads and were staring in James’s direction.
“Your wee bit hill and glen,” James shouted lustily. “And stood against him, proud Edward’s army—”
The horsemen were coming now, all in a group, with Sir Robert in their midst. But one man came more quickly than the rest, his thick shoulders and belligerent expression seeming to urge his mount on.
“And sent him homeward,” James shrieked, “to think again!”
Will crouched, his legs tense and ready to spring. He should have waited until he could find Sir Robert alone—was it too late to grab James and try to escape somehow? But no, he would never make it, never stand a chance against Ranald, who had already leaped off his horse and was running toward James, boots pounding heavily on the earth. Will watched anxiously from between the oats, his forehead damp with sweat as the guard grabbed James beneath his arms—swung him up—and embraced him, tears streaming down his grim bulldog face.
“Forgive me, lad; I didn’t know it was you,” Ranald said brokenly. He set the boy down and looked him over. “And no wonder, you’ve gotten thin as a twig! Your face is different, too, not so full of laughter.” He looked up as Sir Robert approached, frail but upright in the saddle. “But there, it’s the same with the laird,” Ranald went on. “Months of abuse at the hands of that twisted, bitter weasel of a Stewart have changed him, too, almost beyond recognition. Eh, lad, but it’s good to see you again!”
Sir Robert checked his horse and looked down, his eyes large and burning in his too-thin face. “Is it truly you, James? They told me you were dead.…” He raised a hand to his eyes as if to shade them from the light. “What happened? Where have you been since the fire?”
James looked up at Sir Robert and told the truth. “I don’t remember the fire. I remember riding to Castle Menzies, but then I was attacked, my men were killed, and the Stewarts took me away. I have been their captive for long and long. But I have seen wondrous things!” he said, his eyes brightening. “Carriages that move without horses! And angels! Though without wings,” he added doubtfully. “They brought me away from Garth Castle, and I stepped through a sort of window in the air—”
The Menzies men exchanged glances. “It’s the same nonsense that he was spouting before,” one of them muttered.
“Hit on the head again, no doubt,” said another.
James swallowed hard. “I was hit,” he admitted. “Many times.”
“But you are back with us now, dear lad, so never fear.” Sir Robert’s voice, which had been so weak, rang out now with new strength. “Lift him up to me—he shall ride on my saddlebow. We will get well together, with food and rest, and soon his mind will return to him, as it did before.”
Ranald hoisted James gently in his big, rough hands. “Would you believe, laddie,” he said, “that Cook made gooseberry tarts this very day?”
James laughed out loud, his face alight, and leaned back against his uncle’s enfolding arms as they rode away.
Quietly, amid the oats, Will opened a window to his own time and went through.
The flat tire was fixed. Nan told Cousin Ewen that the little boy had found his uncle on the other side of the field and gone home with him.
Will sat between his brother and cousin in the back seat with his eyes shut. He was tired—he had never been so tired—but it was all over now, all the time travel and the worry about his mother and father. They would be here tomorrow, and meantime he would figure out what he wanted to say to his mother—
“Goodness!” cried Cousin Elspeth, sitting bolt upright as the car rumbled down the castle drive. “Is that Andrew? And Margaret! Oh, thank God, thank God, they’re here, I don’t believe it—”
“They must have caught an earlier plane,” said Cousin Ewen, his voice rasping as if suddenly hoarse. He turned in the seat, his eyes bright. “Do you see, lads? Your parents are here, safe and sound!”
At first it was just a babble of greeting—jumbled arms and laughing voices and cheeks wet with tears—and it was all so confused, like happiness multiplied until Will hardly knew who he was holding on to or who was holding him. But although he grabbed his mother and squeezed at least five times, it didn’t count, not really. He was hugging everyone, and so was she. She wouldn’t know, from that, how sorry he was that he’d refused to hug her before. She wouldn’t know how he wished he hadn’t turned away from her at the airport, when she’d said good-bye. But he was shy of saying anything about that now, in front of Cousin Ewen and Nan and everyone.
There was one moment when he could have told her—when his mother drew back a little and just looked at Will, smiling—but he wasn’t ready for it, and he couldn’t think what to say. Then Gormlaith came galloping up, barking madly, and Cousin Elspeth herded everyone to the castle tearoom to give the travelers a quick bite, and everyone began to exclaim how big Jamie had gotten, and the moment was over.
They all sat crammed around one table in the tearoom, talking and talking. Will said little, but he watched as his mother—thin, pale, but smiling and alive—pushed the hair back from her forehead in a gesture he had known all his life, and he had a sensation of lightness inside like a balloon expanding.
He watched them all, his gaze going from face to face. It was strange but he could see glimpses of Sir Robert in both his father and Cousin Ewen. Cousin Ewen had the same kind, serious eyes; Will’s father had the laird’s strong, beaky nose and sudden flashing grin.
Jamie leaned against his father’s chest, holding his Highlander toy in his right hand while his left reached down to play with Gormlaith’s ears. Nan was charming everyone, telling of their games in the woods and throwing in bits of history that made the grown-ups smile.
Will smiled, too, but he was beginning to feel odd, as if there were a thin veil of gauze between him and the others. He wanted to be with everyone, but at the same time he felt the need for a breathing space.…
Gormlaith padded over and licked his hand anxiously. “Good dog,” Will said quietly, stroking her smooth head. She wagged her big, plumy tail and opened her jaw in her version of a laugh.
She was a good dog—a very good dog, Will thought as she left him to snuffle at Nan’s knee and receive a caress. Then, satisfied that everyone was happy, Gormlaith flopped down at Cousin Elspeth’s feet with a deep sigh, laid her head on her paws, and closed her eyes.
Will slipped away, mumbling an excuse. Once around the corner he leaned against the wall, his palms pressed flat on the cold stone. He was glad his parents were back again—he was overflowing with gladness—but everything had happened so fast, and now they would be leaving for America soon, perhaps the very next day.
If this was his last visit to the castle, he wanted to walk its halls one more time.
He mounted the circular steps slowly, memories rising at every turn. Here he had staggered up with a bushel basket of bread; there Ranald had tripped him. In this very hall he had first seen Sir Robert, and Jamie had sung “Flower of Scotland.”
Sir David, the old man by the well, had been the laird in this castle once, too. He had gone away to be a hostage for his king, but then he had come back to be a monk. And even Breet had left the Picts and her own time to come to the castle—to see with her own eyes the proof that her people would outlast the Romans in spite of everything.
They were still here, still part of him. Even the people from the Copper Age, perhaps more than all the rest, had had their effect on the people living now.
He had reached the top floor. Will paused in the south tower to look through the window at the stone carvings on the castle face, and then out over the fields, golden and green. It hardly seemed possible that, just yesterday by his time, the ground had been covered in snow and he had almost been sacrificed to the sun.
A soft step sounded behind him on the stone, and the clean scent of his mother’s shampoo drifted past his nose.
“It’s a beautiful view,” his mother said, standing next to him. “I loved it when I was a little girl. I’m glad I got to see it again.”
“I’m glad I got to see you again,” said Will, very low. He stared through the window at the stone pediment he had noticed before, with its carved hand pointing. I
OWR TYME, it said with its backward N. It seemed oddly right, somehow; after all, he had gone backward in time.…
Margaret Menzies took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “I’m sorry, Will.” Her voice held a ragged edge. “I’m so very sorry that I worried you. It must have been so hard not to know what was happening, and to wonder—to wonder if—” She faltered into silence.
Now. He had to say it now. Somehow, Will forced the words past the ache in his throat. “I deserved it, Mom. I wouldn’t hug you when you went away, I wouldn’t let you kiss me, I wouldn’t even say good-bye.”
“Oh, son.” Her hand came up to stroke his hair. “You were angry with me.”
Will nodded wordlessly.
His mother fumbled for a handkerchief and pressed it to her face. “I shouldn’t have gone,” she said in a muffled voice.
Will did not look at her. Instead he traced with his eyes the stone pediment with its carved letters and the hand, pointing. The letters at the very bottom were discolored with lichen and with time, but he could still make them out. PRYSIT BE, he read, and then the letters blurred.
He rubbed his arm across his face. “It’s okay,” he said, not sure if he believed it or was just trying to make her feel better. And then all at once he was sure.
“It’s all right,” he said. He curved his arm around her back and hugged her to his side. “I know why you had to go.”
His mother laughed a little, wiping her eyes. “Why is that, then?”
Will frowned in concentration, remembering how he had felt when he went back for Sir Robert’s nephew. “It’s because you knew something had to be done, and you thought you were the one who was supposed to do it.”
“Yes,” said Margaret Menzies slowly. “That’s exactly how I felt. But now I wonder if I should have ignored that feeling. You needed me, too—you and Jamie and your father.”
Will leaned his cheek on her shoulder as if he were a small child again. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen. It wasn’t your fault.”
His mother was silent.
“It’s true, Mom. Look.” Will pointed to the pediment. “Can you read that? It says ‘in our time.’ You know what I think that means?”
His mother shook her head.
“I think it means you can’t worry too much about the future. Because nobody knows what’s going to happen, anyway. We just have this one time, see? Our time. And we get to choose what we’re going to do in it.”
Margaret Menzies blew her nose. “We can light a candle in the dark,” she said at last. She tilted her head until it rested against his.
“That’s right.” Will saw in his mind’s eye a thin, cruel face, a night sky bright with flame and filled with the sound of screaming. “Some people like to hurt, and destroy, and make everyone afraid of them. And others,” he added, “like to heal, and build, and keep people safe.”
It wasn’t that simple, he knew. Some people were just mixed up. Like those from the Copper Age, who wanted more light but didn’t understand it. Still, they had been trying to figure it out. Will smiled at his mother. “I’m glad you’re the kind who heals.”
A heavier footstep sounded at the threshold, and Will’s father entered with a sleeping Jamie on his shoulder. “When did you get so wise, son?”
Will grinned at his father. “When you made me responsible for Jamie.”
Andrew Menzies laughed and shifted the sleeping boy onto his other shoulder. “He’s a heavy load, I know. But thank you for taking such good care of him. I’m sure it wasn’t easy.”
Will gazed at Jamie’s small fist, still clutching the Highlander toy. “Not always,” he admitted.
His mother pointed out the window. “I’ve never noticed those letters before. What does that say, below the ‘in our time’? ‘Prysit be God—’”
“‘For evir,’” finished Will, squinting. “Oh—they must have meant ‘forever.’ What does prysit mean?”
His father said, “It must be an alternate spelling of praised. People used to say that word with two syllables, ‘prais-ed.’”
“Prysit be God for evir,” read Margaret Menzies slowly. “I like that. It goes perfectly with ‘in owr tyme.’”
“How so?” Will’s father boosted the sagging Jamie higher on his shoulder. “I don’t get it.”
“I do,” Will blurted without thinking.
His father looked at him, waiting.
Will hesitated. “I don’t know if I can say what I mean, exactly. But it’s like, in our own time, we can only see the one little piece—just the one thing we can do. We can … how did you put it, again?” he asked his mother.
“We can light a candle,” she murmured.
“Right. But it’s only a little candle, and there’s a lot of dark.”
“Sometimes there’s a great deal of dark,” his father said, very quietly.
“Right. In our time, there is.” Will looked out at the stone carving that had already lasted almost five hundred years. “And in their time, and maybe in the times to come, too. But the next line says that the dark isn’t going to win in the end. Not when you think about forever. Light wins.”
“Ah,” said his father. “Light wins. That’s good to know.”
