A Slip In Time (22 page)

Warm. His lips were warm, their pressure
firm, yet undemanding. This was not the rough, bruising assault of
his first kiss, but one of intimate exploration and gentle
persuasion.

His kiss continued, resonating through her,
a delicious, drugging potion that mingled with her own longings
and called forth her deepest desires.

Time crystallized in that single
moment, suspended in the Eternal Now. Unaccountably, from where she
knew not, a thought floated through her, a verse from the poet
Shelley: “Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.”

Julia trembled in Rae’s arms, her
emotions whelming. He pulled his lips from hers.

“Why d’ye quiver like a
leaf,
mo cáran?
Ye should know, ne’er will I hurt ye.”

As Julia read the truth of his words
in his eyes, something gave way inside her, breaking through all
the walls of restraint and propriety and diffidence. She
surrendered to his kiss then, rising to meet him, knowing all too
soon the door of time would close between them forever.

Their lips joined with urgent need,
their kisses hungry, consuming. Julia gripped Rae’s shirt and
plaid as he parted her lips and invaded the recesses of her mouth,
stroking her tongue with his. Timidly at first, then with growing
assuredness, she met his questing parries and thrusts. Julia felt
like a column of fire in Rae’s arms, and she wondered if he burned
as she.

Minutes later, surfacing from the heady,
swirling daze of passion, Julia remembered to breathe. Dimly, she
also recalled her timepiece.

“We must head back,” she whispered,
sharply disappointed as she saw the positions of the hands on the
watchface.

Rae brushed back her hair from her cheek,
then dragged his thumb lightly over her lips.

“If only time were
ours,
mo cáran.
There is so much I wish tae show ye — the Fairy Falls, the
gorge o’ Reekie Linn, the Caenlochan Forest. D’ye know, the sky
changes colors a hundred times as the sun rises? If time were
ours, I’d take ye up Glas Maol and we’d watch the sky fire the
fiercest red ye’ve e’er seen as the sun sank again behind the
mountains. Then we’d watch the gloamin’ star appear.”

He dropped his gaze to his feet. “As
‘tis, I must ride out from Dunraven tomorrow and I’ll no’ be back
till the day after. ‘Tis my fervent prayer the portal will continue
tae open and ye shall be waitin’ on my return.”

“By all that is possible, I shall be.”
Julia stroked her fingers over his chest. Feeling the stone beneath
the cloth, she drew it out on its chain.

“I didn’t tell you. Lord Muir and his
colleagues believe our stones are drawing us together, like a
lodestone, across time.”

Though the light was poor, she held up both
his talisman and the ring on her finger for him to see. He studied
them intently.

“Can you tell? They both are a
matching rosy quartz. Lord Muir’ s sword contains a like stone —
the sword he polished that night when . . .” Julia stopped herself,
remembering the great sorrow that night held for Rae. “. . . when
you saw him. Lord Muir and the others do not believe the stones
cause the phenomena itself. They are still seeking the key to
that.”

Rae lifted his gaze to hers then
glanced to the moon glowing overhead. He shrugged
lightly.

“Who can guess what opens the door
betwixt our times? It could be the moon for all we know,” he
suggested offhandedly, gesturing to the misshapen orb in the sky.
“Something simple as tha’.”

At Julia’s startled look, he gave
another shrug.

“Hae you no’ noticed? The moon has
been waxing for as many days as we hae met, increasing in size,
even as the time we hae together has increased in
length.”

He drew her back into the circle of
his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. “Mayhap we’ll hae a whole
day to ourselves when the moon waxes full.”

»«

“The moon?”

“Connected to its cycle?”

There was a collective pause, and
Julia wondered if these learned men would pronounce Rae’s idea
utter nonsense — that of a man living too enmeshed in nature.
Suddenly, they all began to talk at once.

“But, yes!”

“Why not?”

“There
could
be a correlation.”

“We’ll need to consider the magnetic
variations — lunar, solar, stellar, terrestrial —”

“And compare them to the marquis’s
measurements and timetables —”

“There are star charts in my library,”
Lord Muir volunteered.

“Splendid! We’ll map the moon’s path
for the last six days, along with the stellar bodies as the moon
stalks the sky —”

“And then estimate their pull on one
another and on the earth —”

“What of the mountains? Their
composition might further affect the gravitational
pulls.”

“And the Highland’s cold, thin
atmosphere — it might act like the lubricants in watches under
similar conditions, speeding things up, as it were.”

“Imagine, a door in the universal
clockwork!”

Mr. Thornsbury took Julia’s hands in
his. “My dear, your laird may be on to something here.”

“There’s still time to observe the
moon before it sets this morning.” Sir Henry rallied the others.
“Let’s hurry along then.”

The men scrambled to gather their equipment
and head for the door.

“Your lordship?” Mr. Armistead looked
to Lord Muir. “Did you say the access is blocked off to the top of
the keep?”

“Quite so. But there is a corner
terrace on the roof of the east wing that will serve nicely for our
observations.”

Julia remained speechless, both amazed and
amused by these intellectuals, giddy as schoolboys.

Lord Muir walked with Julia. “My dear,
we will finalize your account in the journal tomorrow. But, while
you were gone tonight, we all agreed — you must be cautious to not
become entrapped in a wall of stone as you are passing through it,
or sealed in the keep’s stairwell when time shifts forward to the
Present. The one would kill you outright, but the other, well,
you’d have no escape from the tower stairs until the next time
slip.”

Surprise stole through Julia. “Have
all the original doors been sealed off?”

Lord Muir nodded. “The various
additions extend east and north, leaving the tower in the south
corner of the complex. New doors were cut to open the chambers onto
the added galleries, the old doors opening only on the tower’s
west face.”

Julia gave a thoughtful smile. “I
cannot help but wonder if others through time experienced the
phenomena as well. Depending on what they saw, they might have
boarded off the doors between levels, believing the stairwell to be
the entry point or conveyance somehow of the phantom
intruders.”

“We may never know.”

Julia walked with the small group to the
beginning of the Long Gallery.

“Be sure to get all the rest you need,
my dear.” Lord Muir touched her cheek, a fatherly gesture. “These
sessions leave you exhausted, I know. I worry for your
health.”

“Thank you.” Julia gave a squeeze to
his hand. “You are very kind.”

She remained a moment longer as the men
passed down the shadowy corridor, the eyes in the portraits
following them.

The familiar lassitude took hold of
Julia, as ever it did after a time slip. She started toward her
room, thinking of the beckoning bed, when she heard a noise from
the direction of the servants’ passage. A bootfall and rustle of
cloth.

Julia peered into the inky gloom, her heart
picking up its beat. Did someone watch from there? Someone made of
more than pigments and oil?

Chills sledding down her spine, Julia
quickened her step, withdrawing into the security of her chamber,
and locked the door.

“Will you take tea in your chamber
today, miss, or would you prefer it served here, in the
parlor?”

At the marked coolness of Mrs.
McGinty’s tone, Julia turned from the window.

Did the housekeeper suspect the activities
afoot in her strictly ruled domain? Her steady gaze betrayed
nothing, her face an emotionless mask.

“As the others are gone to Royal
Deeside, Lord Muir has asked me to preside as hostess over tea for
his colleagues from the Society.”

Mrs. McGinty’s brows rose a hair’s
breadth, the corners of her mouth tightening.

“Very well, miss. I shall see to the
arrangements.”

Mrs. McGinty withdrew with her distinctive,
gliding grace, her carriage rigidly perfect.

Julia’s thoughts catapulted back to
the wee hours of the previous morning, when she thought to hear
someone lurking in the passage near to her room. Could it have been
one of the servants, stationed to watch the movements surrounding
her chamber and report back to the senior staff? Young Tom,
perhaps?

On the other hand, rather than a
subordinate, might it have been someone of superior position? To
point, Angus McNab. Had he not leveled a score of disapproving
looks at her of late?

How disappointed he must have been
yesterday, she mused, for no visitors frequented her chamber at any
hour. There had been no need. The doors of Time had remained firmly
shut, Rae Mackinnon having also departed Dunraven.

Julia returned her attention to the thin
drizzle falling outside the window, graying the morning skies, as
it had yesterday when the carriages rolled away from the castle.
Thankfully, Lord Eaton accompanied the group, which included her
cousins, aunt, and the rest of the merry band from Braxton.

There had been a brief moment when
Julia feared Sampson Dilcox might remain behind, but Sir Robert and
Lord Withrington moved quickly to take him under wing, flanking
him on either side and insisting he come along. Lady Charles sent
Julia a smile and a wink, revealing herself party to the
abduction.

Crafty woman, Julia thought, thoroughly
amused. But did Lady Charles seek to spare her from the devoted
attachments of Mr. Dilcox, or to keep him from interfering in her
friendship with the marquis and his friends?

Julia didn’t wish to know what,
precisely, Lady Charles presumed their “friendship” to be, but she
was grateful for Mr. Dilcox’ s removal. There were too many men
and too much intrigue in her life at the moment. And too many
conflicting emotions battling in her heart.

Julia rubbed the space between her brows. It
was a relief to regain some measure of solitude and privacy. Of
course, the better part of yesterday had been anything but solitary
or private. She met with Lord Muir and the others at length as
they updated the journal, compiled their data, and debated lunar
properties and peculiarities, seeking correlations to support the
theory of a lunar connection between times.

After a late-afternoon nap — skipping
high tea and apparently piquing Mrs. McGinty — she’d spent most the
evening with Mr. Armistead as he examined her ring. He declared its
structure to be highly dense and compact, some of its features
uncommon to quartz. He voiced aloud a desire to examine Rae’s
talisman himself, but Julia could not bring herself to volunteer
her ring, even in the name of science, that he might experience the
time slip himself.

Would time slip again? A petrifying
fear took hold of Julia whenever she thought on it. Twice
yesterday, at the predicted intervals, the shifts did not occur —
as expected, with Rae not in residence. But now that the shifts
were halted, would they resume once Rae returned?

Julia moved from the window and paced
the room. The coming hours would tell, the next time slip
anticipated at half past one that afternoon. She bit at her lower
lip and fidgeted with the ring around her finger. How could she
bear the wait? And yet, how could she face Rae again, after the
impassioned moments they had shared?

Julia plucked a rose from the mixed
arrangement gracing the desk. She breathed its fragrance, then felt
herself color as she recalled the force and intensity of their
kiss, and the flush of desire that had overcome her and swept away
all reason.

Julia walked restlessly to the window
once more, stroking the flower’s velvety petals with her
fingertips.

How could she have behaved
so recklessly, encouraged his kisses so wantonly? What must he
think of her? What would he expect of her when next they
met?
If
they
met.

Julia felt like a fool. She knew not at all
what to do or to say. Such a novice she was at . . .

At what?

Julia’s movements stilled.
Certainly, not
love.
Infatuation, perhaps, but nothing so deep as love. Rae
Mackinnon was admittedly handsome, disturbingly masculine, a
virile Scottish Highlander who could stir a young woman’s senses to
a fine madness and leave her breathless for him alone.

But they belonged to different times,
different worlds, she and he. And someday, they both knew, the
temporal door would close forever. Perhaps it already
had.

“No!” Denial leapt from Julia’s lips,
and she whirled in place. Not yet. Surely, not yet. God would not
be so unkind.