A Slip In Time (14 page)

Julia realized they now walked above the
Long Gallery and that the hall ended at the outer wall of the
ancient keep, one level above her bedchamber. Lord Muir produced a
heavy key from his pocket and opened the door there.

“Please come in Miss Hargrove. This is
my private study. I believe you know where we are.”

Julia entered and found the room to be
spacious yet snug, the ceiling low-vaulted and the walls crowded
with bookshelves and file cabinets. A large table surrounded by
chairs sat at the center and a high-topped desk to one side. Not
surprisingly, the room also contained a large hooded fireplace,
engraved with the choleric boar’s head.

“Have a seat, Miss Hargrove.” Lord
Muir ushered her to one of the leather-upholstered chairs then
began to pace, tugging thoughtfully on his beard.

“Where should I begin? Twenty years
ago, after I found myself momentarily surrounded by the past, I
committed myself to learning all I could of the phenomena and of
Dunraven’s history. What you see here is the result of that
quest.”

He gestured to the book-crammed shelves and
partially opened cabinets where an assortment of papers peeked
out.

“At the risk of my reputation and of
being considered demented, I actively sought out every scrap of
information, every theory that existed on the possibility of
traversing time. Some with whom I spoke argued that I saw a ghostly
scene from the past, no more. I might have agreed had it not been
for the child in the past seeing me during the time shift. In fact,
he pointed me out to his lordly father, which is why I turned to
see if the other men in the room might be unsheathing their blades
to protect him against my intrusion.”

Lord Muir stopped his
pacing and turned to Julia. “Of course, science holds that time is
absolute, that we are trapped in it, unable to travel forward or
backward. That is the core of Newton’s law. But I knew what I had
seen that night, just as you know what you have experienced, Miss
Hargrove. Time
can
be traversed.”

He resumed his pacing. “At first, I
did not understand the concept of ‘time slips,’ of windows or
portals opening between past and present. I debated the possibility
of transgressing time with countless learned men — physicists,
cosmologists, astronomers among them. I also gathered with those
who seriously and scientifically undertook the study of
unexplained phenomena.

“Eleven years ago, we founded the
Society for Psychical Research. My colleagues and I have since
investigated, recorded, and studied a variety of phenomena. I found
I am not alone in my experience. What we in the Society refer to as
time slips are among the more rare phenomena. Indeed our
deliberations on them leave them still in the realm of theory. But
even Newton’s law is theory, is it not?

“My dear Miss Hargrove, do you
understand the vast importance of what is happening here at
Dunraven? All other reported instances of time slips are singular,
nonrepeating. What you are experiencing is unique, a resounding
breakthrough for science. I understand your desire to leave, but I
invite, nay, I encourage you to stay and join me in my work. I can
offer you an official position as my assistant and pay you
handsomely, enough to grant you a measure of independence and
sustain your good works.”

Julia found Lord Muir’s offer quite
remarkable. And tantalizing.

“For how long do you propose I assist
you?”

“For as long as you like, Miss
Hargrove. May I call you Julia?” At her nod, he continued.
“Certainly, I would like you to remain at Dunraven while the
phenomenon continues. We will need to compile our findings and
travel to London at some future date to address the Society.
Meanwhile, it is my intent to invite several of my closest
associates to Dunraven to watch with us and to corroborate our
methods and findings.”

More men in her bedchamber? Julia’s
heart sank at the thought. It would be challenge enough to keep Rae
Mackinnon’s hands off her and her clothes on. But was she to have
an audience while she accomplished the feat?

“What of my aunt and the others?
Surely they will consider it strange if I suddenly accept
employment.”

“For now, they need know only that you
have agreed to assist me in cataloging my library and setting it
to rights. We can use your state of health as an excuse for you to
stay close to Dunraven and indoors. But be assured, I will speak to
your aunt and convince her it is all very proper.”

Lord Muir stopped in front of her and looked
down.

“Before you make a decision, why don’t
you inspect the collection here for yourself. There are volumes of
correspondence, books on theories of time, clan histories, castle
history, case descriptions of other time slips, and more. I am
sure you will find it fascinating.”

For the next hour, while the marquis
sat at his high-topped desk drafting letters, Julia examined a
sampling of the tomes and letters in his private library. As
promised, she found herself enthralled.

Lifting down a volume on Clan Mackinnon, she
searched for reference to the illusive Third Laird of Dunraven
Castle. Knowing nothing of Highland clans, it came as a surprise
to learn the Mackinnon lands were based in the Western Isles.

Reading further, she found that a
certain daughter of a Mackinnon lord married a Cameron chief of
Lochiel. A bodyguard of clansmen accompanied her to her wedding.
These men, in turn, were granted lands in Moy and remained in
service to the bride as her personal guards.

But years later, an altercation broke
out, over what it was unclear. The result was that two sons of the
original Mackinnon settlers parted ways with the Camerons and
migrated east to the Grampians where they established a new branch
of the family in Glendar and built Dunraven Castle. Only the
founder’s name survived — Donald, the First Laird of Dunraven.
Nothing more was known of the early lairds until the fourth in the
line, another Donald, and his deeds were many.

But Rae Mackinnon and his accomplishments
were lost to the pages of history, as were those of his sires.

A sudden melancholy swept through Julia. But
just as suddenly, it struck her that it was within her power to
restore history where it had been lost forever. She could speak
with the Third Laird face-to-face.

A smile spread through her, the
thought taking root, exciting her through and through. Lord Muir
was right. The opportunity to experience the time slip phenomena
was unmatched. She must stay.

Yet, if she was to continue to meet
with Rae Mackinnon, she’d best find a way to keep him at arm’s
length and her clothes in place.

“We could hae o’ertaken them, I tell
ye.” Iain quaffed down the last of his ale and wiped his mouth on
his sleeve.

Rae halted his steps partway across the hall
and held his silence, those gathered round the table unaware of
his presence.

Dugal, his large burly cousin with a
reddish gold mane and florid face, barked a derisive laugh at Iain’
s contention.

“Oh, aye, a guid piece o’ sense tha’,
Iain. Chase the reivers o’er the mountain passes in tha’ de’il’s
brew when we couldna see our hands afore our faces.”

The other men rumbled their agreement and
drew on their cups.

“Whelps, that’s wha’ ye are,” Iain
spat hotly. “They couldna hae ridden far. They were plagued by the
storm, same as us, and the cattle would hae slowed them. Likely
they sheltered in a cave near aboot. We could hae caught them, I
tell ye, the whole thievin’ lot and our cattle, too.”

Dugal crossed his arms over his thick barrel
chest.

“And wha’ direction should we hae
followed, tell me tha’? The storm washed away the trail. Wi’ so few
cattle lifted, ‘twas best tae bear the loss than blindly ride oot
and lose clansmen down a ravine. Rae had the right o’ it — wait oot
the storm and gae after the reivers next morn, just as we
did.”

Iain swept a black, censuring glare
over the men, who now nodded in concurrence with Dugal.

“‘
Twas the principle o’ the thing, no’
the number o’ cattle tha’ mattered, and any Mackinnon worth the
name knows these parts wi’ his eyes closed. By now the Camerons are
back in Lochiel feastin’ on Mackinnon cattle.”

“Och, Iain, we dinna know ‘twas
Camerons for sure,” Donald declared.

Iain rounded on his younger brother,
giving him a clout on the back of the head.

“Are ye forgettin’ the sprig of
crowberry Ewen found? ‘Tis the plant favored by the Camerons, their
badge.” Iain’s narrowed gaze traveled over his kinsmen. “I tell
ye, they reived the cattle and left the crowberry apurpose as a
sign o’ their displeasure o’er Donald marryin’ a
Macpherson.”

“Ye’ll no’ insult ma Mairi nor her
clan.” Donald shot to his feet, reddening with anger. “The
Cameron’s feud is wi’ the Macintoshes, no’ the
Macphersons.”

“Aye, but the Macphersons are part o’
Clan Chattan and the Macintosh its chief. They’ve crossed blades
wi’ Camerons afore in the name o’ Chattan, at Inverhaven, if ye’ll
remember. And dinna be forgettin’ our own bonds through marriage
tae the Cameron of Lochiel. He’d hae rather seen ye strengthen
those ties again by marryin’ a Cameron lass. Wi’ Bishop Cameron as
chancellor and influential o’er the regency o’ little James, such a
match would hae its advantages.”

Rae crossed the distance
to the table, a muscle leaping in his jaw. He wished to throttle
Iain for taking issue with his decision of two nights past,
yet
again
,
and for stirring trouble amongst his men. Ever
moody and quarrelsome, Iain continually overstepped his
bounds.

In part ‘twas to be expected. Iain,
indeed the whole clan, had despaired that Rae, or any of the other
hostages held in England, would e’er gain their freedom. But the
death of Scotland’s king, James I, negated the reason for their
captivity — surety against their king’s ransom, the better part
still due. With James’s English queen expected to take part in the
regency of their little son, James II, the captives were released,
the English crown no longer wishing to bear the expense of keeping
them.

Rae had returned north to find his
father on his deathbed, just when Iain would have been confirmed to
lead the clan in his stead. But at Rae’s arrival, his father had
died with tears in his eyes and a smile and Rae’s name on his lips,
sanctioning him as laird. Rae had sought to be patient with his
brother since. Iain was a man ruled by his passions, quick of
temper, with his faith in his sword. But enough was
enough.

Rae stepped to the end of the table
and slammed his hand down flat, seizing the attention of all. He
gave his brother a quelling look. The murmurings ceased and those
who had risen from their seats retook them. Iain alone remained
standing to Rae’s right, his posture challenging.

Rae straightened to his full height,
giving him the added advantage of at least three inches over his
brother. A childish ploy, he admitted, but it kept his men’s
attention riveted on himself.

“‘
Tis true there be
ties wi’ the Camerons, but I’d remind ye our grandsire, Donald, and
his
bràthair
, William, parted company wi’ Lochiel for their own sound
reasons. When our own Donald and his Mairi wed, the Mackinnons o’
Glendar will nae more be part tae the deadly rivalries between
Cameron and Mackintosh, than those between Macpherson and Davidson
tha’ was spawned tha’ same day at Inverhaven. Those quarrels are
no’ our own and we hae no need to make enemies.”

Rae slowly scanned the faces at the
table. “Times grow troubled. Wi’ the king murdered in Perth this
winter past, and little Jamie and his mother now all but prisoners
in Stirling Castle, we may face more lawless times. The king’s
guardian, Douglas, does naught while Livingstone and Crichton plot
over custody of the monarch’s wee person. Already, the King’s Law
unravels and the barons replace it wi’ their own. The Boyds and
Stewarts and the Keiths and Mackays are murderin’ each other again
and our auld enemy the MacLeans have come out o’ the west to harrow
Stirling plain.”

With saddened resolve, Rae released a
long sigh.

“‘
Tis only the beginnin’, I fear.
We’ll soon be back to the disorder tha’ gripped Scotland under
Albany afore our late king gained his release from captivity to
take his crown. We are no’ a large clan, the Mackinnons ne’er hae
been, and most o’ our strength is in the Isles. ‘Twill be important
that we make our alliances carefully and for mutual defense and
that we no’ become embroiled in the deadly feuds o’
others.”

Rae reached into the folds of his plaid and
produced a sprig of evergreen. He held it forth for all to see.

“‘
Tis the crowberry Ewen found this
morn. Pass it round. Iain believes ‘tis a token o’ the Camerons.
Ye’ll hae t’ decide for yerselves. But take a guid look a’ it.
Ye’ll remember two nights past, the storm raged fierce. Yet, no’ a
speck o’ mud clings tae its spines and the sprig is near perfect.
One would think, in such a brawl, ‘twould hae been battered tae
ruin and trampled into the mire beneath the hooves o’ the cattle
and horses.”