A Slip In Time (16 page)

Julia felt a rush of shock, embarrassment,
and tingling excitement. Were she and Rae Mackinnon destined to
ever meet thusly, one or the other of them unclothed? She struggled
to find her voice, mindful Lord Muir watched from his place in the
corner.

“In my time, it is you, sir, who is
the one ‘coming and going.’ Your furniture, as well.”

“My furniture? In
yer
time?”

“Yes, in the year eighteen hundred and
ninety-three.”

He said nothing for a moment, his gaze fixed
on her, trapping her in its brilliant blue sea. Slowly, the side of
his mouth lifted in a crooked, and thoroughly sensuous, smile.

“Whose ever time we be in, lass,
‘twould seem fate hae conspired tha’ we share the same
bedchamber.”

His rich voice grazed her senses, as did his
gaze as it roved over her, from the top of her upswept hair, down
to her slippered toes.

“Ye are a verra fetchin’ sight
tonight.” His smile grew.

Julia’s heart beat light and rapid,
her throat gone dry as ever it did in the Scotsman’s presence. She
held herself primly erect, glad she had the foresight to wear a
high-collared gown and her best corset underneath, a longer style
than her others, with decidedly more stays, all double-stitched.
Dunraven’s Third Laird wouldn’t win past such modern armor so
easily, she thought with a measure of confidence. He’d not be
stripping her naked this night.

“Verra fetchin’,” Rae Mackinnon
repeated, his gaze lingering over her bodice in a most
disconcerting way. “Though I like yer hair best flowing free like a
golden rainfall, and yer gown” —his brows creased in a frown— “‘tis
a bit—”

“Concealing?” Julia raised her chin,
full of self-assurance.

“Revealin’ is more the
word.”

Julia’s brows winged high, her eyes
widening.

“The fabric molds ye like a second
skin and displays yer charmin’ curves to distraction.” He
smiled.

“Sir!” Julia gasped. Oh, but the man
was nothing if not blunt. Julia took a swift step forward, dropping
her voice to a hushed tone. “I should advise you we are not
alone.”

“Truly now?” The Scotsman scanned the
room then inclined his head toward Julia’s. “Ye are sure aboot tha’
now are ye?”

“Do you not see him?” Julia felt a
bite of disappointment. Was she alone able to observe both men
while neither of them could view the other from their respective
times? “Lord Muir is present with us this very moment.”

“Ah, the ‘ancient’ laird o’ Dunraven.
I remember yer mention o’ him.”

Julia blinked at the incongruity of his
statement. Who was calling who ancient here, she thought
ruefully.

“I assure you Lord
Muir
is
present.
He is sitting there, in the corner.” She pointed to his precise
location.

“I am sorry tae disappoint ye, lass,
but I dinna see yer Lord Muir. Only yersel’.”

Julia shook her head with a sigh. “He
cannot see or hear you either. The time slip is unpredictable and
there is much about it we have yet to understand.”

Rae Mackinnon slanted her
a puzzled look. “
Time
slip
?”

“It is a phenomenon that is somehow
causing a portal to open between our two times.”

“The ‘rip in the veil o’ time,’” he
murmured.

“Julia,” Lord Muir called from his
place on the floor. “Time may be brief. Give the laird my
greetings.”

Julia turned once more to the
Scotsman. “Lord Muir bids you good evening. He wishes you to know,
he is your descendant, the Twenty-seventh Laird of Dunraven Castle.
He traces his ancestry through his mother’s line, back to Donald,
the Fourth Laird.” She dropped her lashes, her voice softening.
“Presumably, Donald is your son.”

“Nay. I hae no sons, legitimate or
otherwise. I am no’ married and I dinna make a habit o’
wenching.”

“Oh! I see.” His directness took her
aback. Secretly pleased by his answer, Julia bit her lip and
repressed the urge to smile. Looking up, she found his blue eyes
penetrating her.

She reminded herself to breathe, then
turned and repeated his words to Lord Muir, stumbling over the
“legitimate or otherwise” portion.

“Ah, no bastards,” declared Lord Muir,
unabashed. Julia rolled her eyes. “Then I suspect he will sire a
son and name the child after his forefather, the First Laird,
Donald. I suppose there is no harm in his knowing that.”

Julia felt her cheeks warming as she
conveyed Lord Muir’s message to the all too virile
Highlander.

“A son, I like the sound o’ tha’.” His
gaze remained on Julia, causing her pulse to flutter erratically.
“And Donald is a fine name. ‘Twas my grandsire’s, true. My youngest
brother bears his name.”

“And was your father named Donald,
too?”

“Nay, Alasdair was his name. Alasdair
Mackinnon, Second Laird o’ Dunraven.”

“But you were not named after him?”
Julia found this curious.

“I take my name from my mother’s clan,
the MacRaes.”

“MacRae, excellent!” Lord
Muir beamed on gaining this nugget of information from Julia then
scratched furiously in his notebook. “The name comes from the
Gaelic
Mac Rath
and means ‘Son of Grace,’ though some would argue it means
‘Son of the Fortunate One.’ Let us hope luck follows Rae Mackinnon
in his lifetime.”

Julia turned back to the Scotsman.
“Regrettably, many records have been lost through the centuries,
your father’s and your own among them. We are hoping—”

“We?”

“Lord Muir and I hope you will agree
to answer a few questions so the Mackinnon histories can be
recovered for future generations.”

A look of pain flickered across his
eyes. “Ye wish to pry into my life, d’ye?”

“Well, not pry exactly—”

“I’ll be wanting proof ye are who ye
say and tha’ yer friend, yer ‘Lord Muir,’ is perched there in the
corner. From my vantage, we stand in my time, lass, furniture and
all, no’ the other way round. I hae questions o’ my
own.”

“Questions?”

“To begin wi’, I would
know more o’ ye, my golden
sassenach,
and how ye came here.”
He shifted his stance and waited expectantly.

“There is not much to tell.” She
moistened her lips, her thoughts scrambling. What did the man wish
to learn?

“My name is Julia Elizabeth Hargrove.
I was born in Hampshire and schooled there as well.” She saw no
reason to mention her parentage, which would lead unavoidably to
the matter of her recent loss.

“Schooled? A woman?” Incredulity
tinged his voice.

Julia leashed her thoughts
and looked Rae Mackinnon square in the eyes. “It
is
the nineteenth
century.”

“Sae ye claim. Gae on.”

“I lived in Hampshire until this
summer and have been traveling throughout the English countryside
with my aunts and cousins, visiting various estates. It is through
a summer acquaintance that I have traveled to Dunraven. Not alone,
of course, but with a group of friends,” Julia nodded quickly, but
deemed it best not to mention Roger Dunnington.

“How many
sassenachs
be there in
Dunraven?” His look turned thunderous. “Hae they taken o’er the
entire keep?”

“Of course not.” She
stiffened, defensive. “There is much more to the keep these days.
Besides, the English and the Scots have been at peace for well over
a hundred years. You musn’t say
sassenach
as if it were a
curse.”

“In my century, ‘tis, lass.
‘Tis.”

Julia upbraided herself for her
thoughtless comments. His people had suffered much beneath the heel
of the English and would continue to do so, she knew, in the
bloodstained time that lay between Rae Mackinnon’s century and her
own.

She cleared her throat. “If it would
please you to know, I do have a strain of Scottish
blood.”

He lifted a brow at that. “Truly now?
And which clan d’ye claim? Yer people aren’t weak-kneed Lowlanders
are they?” he teased, the set of his shoulders relaxing, though
there was a brittleness to his smile.

“No, they were hairy-kneed
Highlanders!” she shot back, bringing a rich chuckle to the
Mackinnon’s lips and a tip of his head as if to say
touché.
She found
herself smiling with him, an easy, warm camaraderie that she found
much to her liking.

“I am related to the Gordons of
Huntly,” Julia revealed, then remembering the blood feuds that had
once gripped the Highlands, prayed the Mackinnons and Gordons
weren’t deadly enemies.

Rae Mackinnon crossed his arms over
his chest, then slowly nodded. “The Gordons stood wi’ the Bruce,
I’ll gi’ them tha’. They increase in power, though none rival the
Douglases these days.”

Lord Muir pressed Julia to know what his
ancestor had said.

“He is right about the Black
Douglases,” the marquis commented a moment later. “Though their
fortunes are soon to change and your Gordons will have a hand in
that. But we cannot reveal this and risk his knowledge of it
changing history.” Lord Muir rose, stretching his legs. “See if he
will answer another question, something simple. Ask if he has
other siblings.”

“There be three o’ us,”
Dunraven’s Third Laird replied at Julia’s request. “Myself, Iain,
and Donald. Our
màthair
died when we were lads.”

Receiving his response, Lord Muir came
forward, visibly shaken. “My vision, the three boys . . . Julia,
quick, does he wear a stone and chain about his neck?”

Julia knew the answer even before she
glanced to the talisman. She had seen it before but taken no
special note of it, for she had either been shocked by the
Scotsman’s state of undress or was being undressed
herself!

“Yes,” she acknowledged, realizing at
once that the rose-hued stone Rae Mackinnon wore matched the one in
her mother’s ring.

“It is he,” Lord Muir exclaimed
softly, tears of emotion welling in his eyes. “He was the child I
saw twenty years ago at his mother’s deathbed.”

All humor left Rae Mackinnon’s face as
Julia recounted Lord Muir’s story of two decades past. He moved to
the fireplace, and braced an arm against the wall.

“In all these years, I hae ne’er
spoken o’ tha’ night. I dinna think even my brothers were aware o’
wha’ passed. I saw a stranger sitting in our midst, an older mon
polishing a slender sword. I pointed oot the mon tae my father, but
as I did, the mon vanished from sight. In truth, only I had seen
him. Ye can be sure I received harsh words from my father for
playing pranks at so grievous a time.”

The Scotsman turned back to Julia, the
intense blue of his eyes darkened, sober. “Ask yer questions then,
though I will match ye wi’ my own, one for one.”

Julia found herself speechless for a
moment, then remembered her lady’s watch, pinned over her breast.
She unfastened and opened it.

“Perhaps this is a more tangible
proof. It was a gift from my parents on my last birthday. There is
an engraving inside and a date.”

He seemed lost in thought and did not take
the watch immediately. Not wishing to disturb him, Julia moved to
the bed and laid it upon the mattress. Instantly the watch
disappeared.

“Where is it?” Julia gasped, drawing
the attention of both men.

Lord Muir came to stand beside her.
“The watch is exactly where you placed it, child. I am looking at
it now.”

Julia patted her hand over the mattress but
failed to locate the piece.

“Of course, the mattress you see is
entirely different from the one in our century,” Lord Muir said
with a start.

Retrieving the watch, he placed it in
Julia’s hand. At once, it reappeared in her palm.

Julia exchanged glances with Lord Muir, then
turned to Rae Mackinnon, who had moved behind her.

“Here, give me your hand.”

Not waiting, she took his large, warm hand
in hers and slipped the watch into his palm. The piece remained
solid and visible. As he examined the engraving, she heard Lord
Muir exclaim the watch had once more evaporated from sight. Julia
smiled, assuring him it was quite perceptible to herself and Rae
Mackinnon.

“Do you know what this means, child?”
Lord Muir cried, elated. “This is the first evidence we have that
the time shifts are connected directly to both your and my
ancestor’s persons.” Ecstatic, Lord Muir scurried back to make
fresh notations in his book.

Dunraven’s Third Laird spoke not a
word but quietly closed the watch case and handed it back to Julia.
She wondered if he could read the script and whether he accepted
her proof.

“Perhaps you would like to begin with
a question,” she prodded gently when he continued to keep his
silence.

His eyes lifted to hers and he nodded.
“Verra well, I hae questions. Many o’ them.” His gaze slipped
downward and centered on her clothing. He rubbed his jaw in
thought. “Yer garments are sore peculiar. Let us begin wi’
them.”