A Slip In Time (35 page)

“This will go fine, you will see. And
do not be overly concerned the others will discern anything
unusual. As a member of the Society, Rae, you are allowed a few
eccentricities. Indeed, as far as our guests from Braxton know, we
are holding this little affair so near to midnight because it is
the only time we could allow for it in our unorthodox schedules.
Which is perfectly true, is it not?” Lord Muir’s beard parted with
a smile. “Are you ready, then? Julia? Rae?”

Rae glanced to Julia and, reaching
out, gave her hand a squeeze. Drawing himself to full height, he
inhaled a long breath. “As ready as we’ll e’er be, James
Edwin.”

Julia’s confidence wavered as they
neared the portal. But as her apprehensions began to crest through
her, the lairds of Dunraven flanked her and swept her with them
across the threshold and into the conservatory.

It seemed to Julia every eye turned as one
as they entered, then riveted on Rae. Again she tensed as the room
silenced.

To her elegantly dressed and
meticulously groomed countrymen, she knew Rae must strike them as
a most barbarous-looking man. He towered beside her, his dark hair
reaching to his shoulders, his rock-hard physique making the other
men in the room appear positively soft by comparison. More, Rae’s
Highland dress and brogues were alien to the day, their style
centuries out of date even in Scotland.

But if Rae appeared slightly
dangerous, even untamed, his very bearing and presence was
commanding. He exuded a primal masculinity that so bespoke of the
very essence of a Highlander. Julia swelled with pride and eased
her concern at the astonished looks on the faces before
them.

Sir Henry broke from the knot of people
where he stood and came forward to greet them. The other men of the
Society remained where they stood, trying to appear calm and
unaffected, though Julia could read the excitement in their
faces.

As she and the men proceeded deeper
into the room, Lord Muir initiated the introductions, presenting
Rae as a new arrival and an expert in early Highland history. He
quickly explained Rae’s appearance, stating Rae had worn his
authentic, fifteenth-century style garments wholly for their
enjoyment tonight. This seemed to both please and visibly relieve
many. Gratefully, no one questioned the matter of Rae’s overlong
hair.

To Rae’s credit, and again to Julia’s
own relief, he swept a single glance over the conservatory, taking
in the details without lingering on any one too long. He then gave
his attention back to the discussion at hand.

There was certainly much to enthrall a
man of his century, Julia thought. The very concept of indoor rooms
dedicated to plants was unknown in his world, let alone the
bounteous use of glass, replacing entire walls. Being night, the
low-sashed windows had become reflective, functioning as gigantic
mirrors.

Enhancing the glass’s reflective
quality, chandeliers illuminated the room’s interior, not with
candles, but with lamps of opalescent glass that burned with an
odorless fluid. She was amazed Rae hadn’t asked for one to be
lowered so he might inspect it. But then the night had just
begun.

Julia floated a glance over those
gathered in the conservatory. Relievedly, Lord Eaton was not in
evidence. Nor did she spy Lilith. Emmaline stood near the side
table and punch bowl, surrounded by a number of men vying to
replenish her cup. Her cousin positively glowed and chatted gaily,
but she gave not the slightest hint of attachment to any one of her
admirers.

Slowly, Julia, Rae, and Lord Muir made their
way across the conservatory, the other guests steadily collecting
about them. Julia found herself edged more and more to one side as
the group swelled until, finally, she stood on the perimeter of the
circle.

Lady Charles and Lord Withrington, she
noted, seemed particularly eager to speak with Rae. Rokeby, decked
out like a peacock in his dress tartan with a jacket of velvet,
lace jabot, and shaggy fur sporran, eyed Rae warily.

Meanwhile, the Reynolds twins, Ava and
Ada, were all atwitter, whispering between themselves and appearing
as if they might faint away any second. Lady Reynolds kept to a
distance, standing amid a group of potted ferns, her eyes bolted on
Rae. She fanned herself rapidly as she trapped Lady Bigsby in
conversation. The other woman likewise could hardly keep from
staring at the imposing Scotsman.

Still firmly blocked out of the group,
Julia drifted toward the linen-draped side table, laden with the
gleaming punch bowl and an abundant offering of savories and treats
provided by Cook’s talented hands.

To the right of the table, a door opened
onto an octagonal drawing room. From there, Angus bustled back and
forth. She guessed it to be a serving area. To the left, French
doors stood open to the outdoors and the darkened castle
grounds.

Regrettably, by the time Julia
approached the table, Emmaline had already moved off with her
suitors, joining the crowd that surrounded Rae. With a small sigh,
Julia gave her attention to the food, having been unable to eat a
single bite earlier and now suddenly ravenous. She surveyed
platters of cold venison and woodcock, potted beef, crowdie olives,
kipper pate, and strips of smoked salmon with sides of cocktail
sauce and lemon wedges. None of it appealed.

She moved further along the table to
eye a deep, layered trifle in a footed glass bowl, plates of
buttery shortbread wedges, and a rich Dundee cake, heavy with fruit
and decorated with almonds. How did one decide, she wondered,
reaching for a small crystal plate?

“I shall swoon, I know I
shall. He is
so-o-o
handsome,” Ada oozed as she and her sister converged on the
table.

“He’s like a Byron of a bygone age,
much more rugged of course.”

“Raw, virile — ” Ada giggled,
snatching up a thick piece of shortbread.

Ava whirled on Julia and pressed
close, practically treading upon her toes. “You work with the
marquis’s friends. Do you know Mr. Mackinnon well,
Julia?”

“Do tell,” Ada prodded breathlessly,
crowding her against the table.

How amazing these girls deigned to
speak to her, Julia thought, she now being so infamous a woman,
thanks to the lies Roger Dunnington had spread about the castle.
His rumors had been easily forgotten in the face of her
acquaintance with the enrapturing Scotsman.

“Please, Julia, don’t torture us. He’s
like a dream, stepped out of a legend.” Ada sighed heavily, then
shoved a chunk of Dundee cake past her lips and swiped the crumbs
from her chin.

Julia lifted her gaze to Rae’s
reflection in the mirrorlike windows. He loomed head and shoulders
above those massed around him. Unexpectedly, he looked up and met
her eyes, flashing her a heart-melting smile.

“Oh he is that, most truly, a dream —
straight out of the past.”

»«

Rae accepted one of the costly silver
drinking cups proffered by James Edwin’s butler, Angus.

Thankfully, James Edwin and the men of the
Society had deftly assisted him through the trial of questions.
Those concerning his own time, especially of the ill-fated James,
he addressed with ease. But, more than history and dead kings, the
people seemed far more curious of his garments and ability to speak
fifteenth-century Gaelic.

Rae looked down to the shiny silver
cup in his hand, impressed, but next grimaced after taking a sip of
its pale, pink contents.

“Och! ‘Tis a bit weak, is it no’,
James Edwin?”

“It’s a wine punch, meant more for the
ladies,” his relative confided then turned and whispered something
in Angus’s ear. The butler headed off, returning moments later with
another silver cup.

“Perhaps, this will be more to your
liking.” Angus smiled and winked. “‘Tis Linkwood.”

“Linkwood?”

“Aye, forty-three proof.” He smiled
and set off again.

Seeing the cup held the familiar dark
amber liquid, Rae took a sip. It slipped pleasantly down his
throat, leaving a warm trail. Finding it most agreeable, he cast
another glance to spy Julia’s image in the glass.

Just then the man named Rokeby pressed
in.

“I say, the kilts of yore were
ungainly were they not?” He dragged a lazy eye over Rae’s plaid.
“They don’t make a very flattering line with which to impress the
lassies. “

Rae rubbed his jaw. “‘Tis far more
practical than tha’ sorry little scrap yer wearin’ and far easier
tae be rid o’ should a mon find himself needin’, or wishin’, tae be
so.”

This brought laughs and titters all around.
Rokeby, however, was not done.

“But your tartan, man. It’s all wrong.
The Mackinnons wear a bright red tartan, with green stripes and a
dash of white running through it, as his lordship’s
here.”

“Mackinnons wear what pleases them,”
Rae half growled, tired of the man’s overweening ways. He turned to
James Edwin. “Dinna be misunderstandin’. Yer kilt is verra smart
and the color most handsome. I didna speak my thoughts on the
matter afore now so as no’ to gi’ offense.”

James Edwin nodded sagely. “I
understand and, Rokeby, you should know the concept of clan tartans
is recent to this century. Why you are strutting around in one, I
cannot imagine except to show off your shanks, for you’ve not a
drop of Scots blood in you. In the century that Mr. Mackinnon’s
plaid represents, the clans did not adhere to any one particular
pattern.”

“How disappointing.”
Lady Downs slipped closer, pouting prettily, and
fingered the cloth of Rae’s plaid. “It’s a rather romantic notion,
that of clan tartans.” Her fingers trailed up to the brooch on his
shoulder. “What of this? Is it authentic, too?”

Rae straightened before the woman
could twine herself about him. “Aye. ‘Twas a gift of the Bruce to a
Mackinnon ancestor who fought at Bannockburn.”

“It belonged to the Bruce?” Someone to
the side gave an amazed gasp.

“I know you must value it, Mr.
Mackinnon,” said a short, pinched-faced woman who had identified
herself as Lady Bigsby. “But, oh, wouldn’t the Queen love to have
the piece for her private collection. You’d be immensely popular
with her and gain all sorts of favors. Why, she could store it with
the crown jewels in the Tower of London!”

Rae’s grip tightened on the cup in his
hand, and he narrowed his eyes, his blood pounding thickly in his
veins.

“And wha’ right would she hae tae it,
since the Bruce thrashed Edward’s armies and won Scotland’s freedom
from those who shackled her sae long in chains?”

A shocked silence layered the moment
until James Edwin cut through it.

“Well said, Mr. Mackinnon! Ah,
friends, is it not splendid to have Mr. Mackinnon address us in
character as a true Scotsman of the past, with all the verve and
passion? It gives one fresh insight into our own history, does it
not? Angus, where are you, man?”

He motioned over the butler, then
dropped his voice for Angus and Rae’s hearing alone.

“Perhaps Mr. Mackinnon would like his
cup refreshed. Talisker this time, and bring me a cup,
too.”

“But, yer lordship, what we have on
hand is fifty-eight proof.”

“I know, Angus. Be quick about it.”
James Edwin drew out a snowy handkerchief and mopped his
brow.

Rae had not meant to upset
his aged kinsman, but he could not abide the woman’s insensitive
and abhorrent suggestion. Did these highborn
sassenach
in their silks and velvets
and jewels know aught of true suffering? Of that borne by an entire
nation?

Angus returned with cups of the
Talisker, saying someone named Robert Lewis Stevenson proclaimed it
to be “The King o’ drinks.” It was definitely full-bodied, Rae
quickly discovered — peaty in flavor with fruity overtones. Och,
but Dugal would sell his soul for a taste of this.

Rae sought Julia in the
reflection of the glass
wall
and found her gazing at him. They shared a smile. Ach, but he
was a lucky man to own her love, even if ‘twas not forever. But
what was forever in this world?

Something drew Julia’s attention and
her gaze shifted. The smile on her lips died, and she visibly
recoiled as if a snake had just slithered in from the
garden.

Rae looked to where she stood across the
room and followed the line of her gaze to a set of doors. There a
man and woman paused upon entering from the outside. The woman held
herself with a superior air, ignoring Julia as she moved inside to
join several others. The man followed, his eyes sliding briefly to
Julia. He leveled a sneering look at her, his smile matching his
oiled hair.

Rae sharpened his gaze on the man.
Then on his lower lip. It bore a wound, long and, by its color,
recently wrought.

Anger, white hot, flashed through Rae. The
voices dimmed around him as he cut through the crowd and stalked
toward his prey.

»«

Julia started to move from the table before
Lord Eaton and Lilith could intercept her, but failed to extricate
herself from Ava and Ada who continued to gibber and fantasize over
Rae.

“Well, I see Uncle’s little party is
quite the success,” Lord Eaton commented drolly as he stepped to
the punch bowl and poured a cup of wine punch.