A Slip In Time (19 page)

Dismounting, Rae lifted
Julia down, their bodies grazing one another as she slid down the
length of him. He continued to hold her, setting her pulses to
pounding, but
unlike her encounter with
Lord Eaton, Julia possessed
no wish for
Rae Mackinnon to release her.

Without the barrier of her corset, she
could feel the heat of his hands through her silken shirtwaist. And
by the gentle squeeze and caress of his fingers, she knew he was
fully aware of the lack of her garment, too, though he mentioned it
not at all.

“There is a little burn just o’er
here, a stream. Ye can still see the castle from there and find yer
way back should time steal ye from me.”

Grasping her hand in his, he led her
to an outcropping of rock amid a stand of slender birches, where he
offered her a place to sit. As he released her, she folded her
fingers over her tingly palm and enclosed the lingering warmth.
Distracted by his nearness, she cast a glance back toward
Dunraven’s massive tower and extended hall.

Mountains rose steeply all around, clothed
in soft hues of brown and lavender. Firs and pines dotted the lower
slopes, and to her eyes the landscape glowed.

Rae’s gaze followed hers. “Dunraven,
is it far different in yer time?”

Julia didn’t wish to alarm him, but
knew he wished honesty.

“The tower remains, just as you see
it, but not the hall. Lord Muir tells me it was taken down at some
point in time. No records remain as to when or why, but a portion
of the walls still exist, and we do know it was used as a garden
enclosure a hundred years ago.” She lifted a hand and pointed right
of the keep. “Great, sprawling additions were made to Dunraven over
the centuries spreading east and north. The keep is now part of a
much larger complex. Still, it is considered the ‘heart of
Dunraven.’ I could sketch it on the ground if you like.”

Rae considered that, then declined her offer
with a shake of his head.

“‘
Tis enough tae know the tower
remains. ‘Twas o’ my grandfather’s makin’. The hall, now that is a
recent structure, built at my stepmother’s insistence.”

“Your father remarried?”

“Aye, roughly three years
after my
màthair’s
death. His new wife, Isobel, was from Flanders.”

“Ah, the great bed in the chamber.”
Julia suddenly comprehended why she was able to see the bed during
the time slips but Lord Muir had not twenty years ago.

Rae smiled, his gaze warming hers.
“Aye, the ‘great bed,’ an extravagant piece for a modest Scottish
keep, is it no’? I canna complain, though. It accommodates my size
well enough.”

Julia’s eyes passed over his length,
lingering a moment over his long, splendidly muscled
legs.

“Isobel wished tae enlarge the keep,”
he continued. “Many o’ the lairds were doin’ so at the time, though
my father felt it a great waste. He gave in tae her wishes, then
was glad for the extra space. Isobel died afore he raised the walls
tae their intended height or slated o’er it. He timbered and
thatched the roof instead, leaving it as a great, single-storied
hall. He wasn’t much for such projects after tha’ I am
told.”

“Because Isobel had died?” Julia
tipped her head, trying to understand.

“Tha’ and because, two month afore,
his firstborn son had been sent into captivity, in exchange for
Scotland’s King.”

“You?” Stunned, she searched his face
and saw the dark pain lancing his eyes.

“Aye, wi’ many other noble sons, all
tae London Tower. Does it surprise ye, lass?”

“I had no idea,” Julia
whispered.

For the past days, she had devoted
herself to a slim volume in Lord Muir’s library on the early
Stewart kings, seeking to learn to which “child king” Rae had
referred the night they had argued over monarchs in the chamber. As
fate would have it, five kings named James occupied the throne in
succession before the tragic Mary, most gaining their crowns as
minors.

Her reading revealed the young king in
fourteen hundred and thirty-seven to be James II, a piteously
disfigured boy with an amethyst birthmark covering one side of his
face from forehead to chin. “James of the Fiery Face,” they called
him.

However, she had also learned that
James’s father, years earlier, had been captured and imprisoned by
the English as a youth of twelve. He remained a prisoner for the
next eighteen years, his uncle and cousin in no hurry to see him
free, having usurped power and ruled in his stead as regents. But
in time, that James, James I, did gain his freedom. Still, she
couldn’t grasp where Rae’s captivity fit into this.

“Surety,” Rae explained when she
questioned him. “The Black Douglas negotiated James’s release for
the sum o’ sixty thousand merks. Ten thousand was transmuted on his
marriage tae the English noblewoman, Joan Beaufort, just before he
obtained his freedom. Naturally, for so great a sum — the fifty
thousand merks remaining — hostages were required as
surety.”

“And so you were sent to the
Tower?”

“Aye. And forgotten.” A small muscle
flexed in Rae’s jaw. “James, himself forgotten in captivity, forgot
those held in his stead. Most o’ the moneys collected in taxes, for
the purpose o’ the ransom, ne’er reached London but were lavished
on luxuries at James’s court instead. ‘Twas only wi’ his death
that I and the others gained our freedom, after thirteen lang
years.”

“Then, you were only—”

“Sixteen when I was taken south. I hae
only returned these four months, just when my father passed
away.”

Rae shifted his gaze to Julia, his
eyes somber. “Ye wish tae restore the Mackinnon history o’ Glendar.
There is naught else t’ tell o’ Rae Mackinnon.”

“Rae, I am so sorry. I had no idea.
But what of your brothers during this time?”

“They were lads o’ twelve and fourteen
when I left, men full grown when I returned. I am only beginnin’
tae know them again. Iain, he is a warrior through and through,
e’er lookin’ for the next fight.”

Julia frowned. “I think I saw him in
the hall. Donald, too.”

“Donald is a bright mon, keen
instincts. He must learn tae follow them.” Rae’s lips spread in a
smile. “He’s soon tae marry — a charmin’ lass by the name o’ Mairi
Macpherson. He’s a lucky mon, Donald. ‘Tis a love
match.”

Rae held Julia’s gaze, the light in
his eyes shifting.

“I dinna be supposin’ wi’ all yer
knowledge o’ the future ye can tell me who ‘tis I am tae take t’
wife and beget my wee bairnie, Donald, wi’?” His eyes burned into
hers.

“N-no. As I told you, the records are
lost, and Lord Muir has warned most sternly that we must be careful
in what we reveal, lest doing so alters the future and changes
events. People’s whole lives could be affected, many of them not
even born as a result, including myself and Lord Muir.”

Sadness tinged Rae’s smile. “And so,
we dance between Past and Future wi’ only Now tae call our
own.”

Julia’s heart leapt at his words,
suddenly stricken. She started to speak, but her face must have
reflected her distress for he tipped her chin with a finger and
smiled softly.

“‘
Tis all right, lass. All any o’ us
e’er has is Now. We each stand on the brink o’ eternity, do we no’?
— no’ knowing if we hae another day or hour or minute.”

Rae coupled Julia’s hands in his own
and she found herself trembling beneath the power of her
emotions.

“I will be honest wi’ ye, lass, I
canna keep ye from my thoughts and would know ye better. Yet, we
canna hope for anythin’ resemblin’ a future. Still, we hae Now. I
am willin’ tae accept whatever time the Almighty allows us. And
when tha’ time is done, I will hold ye in my heart and my memories
for all the days tae come.”

Lifting her hands to his lips, he pressed a
tender kiss there.

Julia felt a tear in her heart. Already,
their lives were forever entwined. Yet, as Rae said, there could be
no promise of tomorrow, only the hope of it.

Julia rested in the great Flemish bed,
her lashes closed against the afternoon light. Closed, too, against
the bed’s blue trappings and their constant reminder of her return
forward in time.

Time. Did it
conspire
for
Rae
Mackinnon and herself, or
against
them? The gravity of that question brought a
pressing melancholy to her heart and left her suffused with the
feeling that her whole being simply wished to weep.

Her thoughts strayed to Lord Muir, who
had awaited her in her chamber when she reappeared, his expression
one of amazement as she seemingly stepped from the stone wall. She
detailed for him her latest encounter with Rae — the facts
surrounding his imprisonment, the identification of his stepmother
as the Flemish Isobel, and how, when she and Rae had ridden out a
distance from the keep, the time slip had continued
undisturbed.

Julia revealed nothing of her
deepening attachment to Dunraven’s Third Laird, but folded her most
intimate feelings close to her heart. Lord Muir made his notations
and departed, leaving Julia to recover from her excursion into the
past.

Shifting, Julia drew open her lids and
looked to the end of the bed, hoping to find Rae standing there
watching. The space stared back empty, as she expected it would.
Lying back, she pressed her lashes shut again, against the threat
of tears. Soon, she drifted asleep, the melancholy and wearing
effects of the time slip claiming the last of her
energies.

»«

Julia awoke to Betty’s soft shufflings
in the room.

“‘
Tis time to rise and dress for
supper, miss.” Betty roused her gently, coming to the side of the
bed and lighting the lamp on the table there.

“Supper, Betty? Surely, you mean tea.”
Julia pushed herself to a sitting position and rubbed the sleep
from her eyes.

“You slept through tea, miss, so
soundly I did not have the heart to wake you. But ‘twill do you
good, I think. New guests arrived late this afternoon. The
conversation is likely to be lively this evening and the hour to
run late.”

“Lord Eaton invited more guests to
Dunraven?” Julia found this startling, given the marquis’s initial
reception to those from Braxton.

“Oh no, miss. These are Lord Muir’s
scientific friends, those from the Society.”

As the fog of sleep cleared from
Julia’s brain, she remembered Lord Muir’s letters to his
colleagues at the SPR, the Society for Psychical Research. He had
invited them to Dunraven to witness and study the time slip. Julia
swung her legs out of the bed.

“How many new guests are there,
Betty?”

“Three, though I overheard his
lordship inform Mrs. McGinty to expect several more.”

Julia wondered how long they could hope to
maintain the secret of the tower chamber with so many about.
Surely, Lord Muir would advise his associates of the need for
discretion and to not divulge the real purpose of their visit to
the other guests at Dunraven.

She must trust Lord Muir in this, she
knew. He was the most responsible and reliable of men. Yet what had
she let herself in for? Would the marquis’s associates believe her?
Or dismiss her? Or treat her as an oddity?

“What gown will it please you to wear
this evening, miss?”

Julia bit her lip. Knowing she would be the
object of much scrutiny, she thought to select something sensible
and reserved. But if the hour should run late, as Betty predicted,
and the time shift occur early, the dress would need to carry her
to her early-morning rendezvous with Rae Mackinnon.

“The pale amethyst gown will do
nicely, I think, Betty.”

“A lovely choice, miss. ‘Tis my most
favorite of all. The gentlemen won’t be able to keep their eyes
from you.”

The attentions of only one mattered,
Julia thought to herself. And she’d just have to take a chance with
her corset.

»«

Julia drew immediate notice as she
entered the parlor where the others gathered before dinner. So much
notice, she wondered if she had been unwise to choose the
eye-catching gown or to wear her hair down in long spiraling curls.
She’d dressed unabashedly for Rae, but as Lord Eaton’s and Sampson
Dilcox’s eyes fastened upon her, and both men started moving
across the room, Julia realized her folly.

Thankfully, Lord Muir
stepped into view from his place near the door. He looked
particularly impressive tonight, attired in full Highland dress. He
wore a black evening jacket and vest with silver buttons, and a
kilt of red Mackinnon tartan, all in sharp contrast to his snowy
hair and beard. Too, he wore a fur sporran, silver buckles on his
belt and shoes, and even the
sgian
dubh,
a small Scots knife, tucked into the
top of his tartan hose. He looked every inch the Twenty-seventh
Laird of Dunraven Castle.

Lord Muir guided her to the right where
three unfamiliar men collected along with several other castle
guests, including Lord Withrington and Lady Charles.