A Slip In Time (43 page)

Rae lifted his eyes to Iain as his
brother stayed his step and turned round.

Donald did outlive Iain and himself
and ruled as Dunraven’s fourth laird. The annals filling James
Edwin’s shelves recorded his many deeds. These things could not all
be lies.

“Why d’ye tarry?” bellowed Iain, a
choleric impatience replacing his look of grief. “Will ye no’
avenge Donald, e’en now?” He spat in the rushes. “Och, our father
wasted his tears on ye. Ye became one o’ them in London’s Tower,
Anglicized just as James. At least he knew how tae root out his
enemies.”

“But, who are my enemies, Iain?” Rae
took a step toward his brother, a shaft of understanding lighting
his thoughts. “The Camerons? Be they mine, or yours?”

Iain’s expression altered.

“Donald is no’ dead, is he? Why d’ye
lure me oot in tae the night? Yer clothes are rent and blooded and
yet ye bear no’ a mark. Is it the blood o’ men, or o’ cattle, ye
wear, Iain?”

Iain snatched for his dirk and lunged
for Rae. But Rae lurched sideways, throwing Iain off
balance.

The blade arched wide, missing its
mark as Iain stumbled to his knees. He started to rise again, but
Rae kicked out, catching Iain’ s hand and sending the dirk flying
through the air, tip over hilt, the blade and silver pommel
flashing with firelight, as it dropped to the floor.

Iain growled, hurling himself at Rae
and catching him about the waist. The two men fell, colliding with
the stone floor. Muscle locked against muscle and together they
rolled several times over. Pinning Iain against the stone, Rae
slogged him solidly across the jaw, then began to haul him
upward.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind Rae
from the direction of the hall’s door. With Iain still firm in his
grasp, Rae started to turn to see whether ‘twas friend or foe who
rushed from behind. He glimpsed a dull green plaid as pain exploded
across the back of his skull and a brilliant burst of light fired
behind his lids.

Rae crumpled forward, blackness
closing in on him. He felt Iain shove him to one side as he rose.
Rae lay unmoving, momentarily dazed, his head savaged with
pain.

“This wasna our plan. He wasna tae die
here.”

“Shut up!” Iain barked. “What o’ the
others? D’ye convince them Camerons are heading wi’ our cattle for
Glen Darnff?

“Aye, and they rode straight oot when
I swore I’d tell the laird they’d gone after them.”

“Laird,” Iain snorted. “Nae, for
long.”

“Nae, no’ for long,” the other man
echoed, giving a short laugh.

Pain speared Rae’s side as the man
kicked him with a booted toe. Rae groaned and he struggled to press
upward and gain his feet.

“Iain, look, he’s no’ done. Shall, I
finish him, for ye?” Silence hung like a blade in the
air.

“Nae,” Iain responded a moment later,
his tone pensive. “Just make sure he doesna get up. Then burn the
hall around him.”

“Aye, Iain. Will we lay it tae
Camerons, too?”

“Aye, tae Ronald Cameron in
particular. He’s a dead mon this night, too, he and his two Cameron
cousins. ‘Tis wha’ they deserve for breakin’ wi’ us and threatenin’
tae reveal us as Graham’s men.”

“Och. If any knew we were a’
Blackfriars tha’ night, or our part in Jamie’s death—”

“Quiet! None will know lest ye mean
tae tell them. I promise ye, matters will change as soon as I am
laird. Ye and the other lads willna need tae be livin’ in the caves
like animals for one.”

Raw fury filled Rae at Iain’s words.
Ignoring his pain, he drove upward and flung himself at Iain, a
roar bursting from his throat. They sprawled to the floor, but in
the next instance, hands dragged him backward. Rae twisted around,
catching the sight of the man’s sword hilt as it came down on the
side of his head.

Rae slumped to the floor, falling atop
something hard that jabbed into his side as he slid toward an inky
darkness.

As blackness washed over him, he heard
his brother’s voice. “Torch it.”

Julia gazed out the narrow window of her
chamber at the moonless sky. The dreaded moment closed swift upon
them, the lunar phase drawing to completion before it recycled
anew.

She could no longer bear to think on
what might or might not be. She could only wait with hope and
prayer in her heart, and will her love across time and space to
Rae.

Julia released a heavy
sigh and began to move from the window when a knock sounded at the
door.
Lord Muir,
she thought with a mild sense of relief. She’d sent Betty a
little while ago to invite him to join her. She did not wish to
pass this crucifying time alone. On the other hand, she did not
wish for all the others to crowd her chamber either. Should Rae not
survive the night, she’d desire more privacy amidst her grief. She
knew it would mean so much to Lord Muir to be present at this time,
and she found she needed the dear man’s support as well.

Drawing open the door, startlingly, Julia
found Lilith standing there.

Her cousin swept across the threshold,
not waiting to be asked in. Whisking a glance around the room,
Lilith brought her jade green eyes to Julia. Her gaze touched
Julia’s gown for a fraction of a moment.

“Good. I see you have not retired to
bed just yet. I haven’t disturbed you. In truth, I’m beginning to
wonder if anyone sleeps in this castle at night.”

“I confess I’m surprised that you are
awake at such an hour yourself, cousin. It is not quite like
you.”

Lilith arched a perfect brow at Julia.
“No, it isn’t, is it? But I have reason to be tonight.” The corner
of her mouth curled upward as she reached for the beaded,
pouch-like purse that dangled from her wrist, and removed
it.

“A note has arrived from Emmaline. It
was addressed to my mother but it contains a message for you.
Mother agreed you should read it and, since the castle seems awake,
I thought to bring it now and take the chance you’d also be
awake.”

Lilith drew open the mouth of her purse and
plucked out a small square of crisply folded paper the color of
heather. She handed it to Julia.

Julia hesitated to open it and looked
to Lilith. “Is Emmaline all right? Sir Robert? Where are
they?”

“Read for yourself, Julia.
You
can
read.”
Impatience laced Lilith’s tone as she retrieved a handkerchief from
her purse.

Julia moved toward the lamp on the
side table. Glancing down at the square of paper, she began to
unfold it. A faint odor wafted upward, lightly sweet. Not floral,
but something other. Opening the paper fully, she sought Emmaline’s
lovely, spidery script. But the page stared up at her like a blank
face, devoid of a single mark.

Just then, Lilith’s hands
came from behind her, muffling a handkerchief over Julia’s nose and
mouth while at the same time pinning her arms to her side.
A scent filled Julia’s nostrils, the same as the note’s, but
now stronger — pungent and cloying.

The room began to reel, then turned on
its end as Julia felt herself falling gracelessly into
oblivion.

»«

Lilith’s eyes sparkled. They could
have been emeralds for their brightness, Roger thought. She smiled
wide at him and held up the ring.

“Darling, you did it!” He stepped from
the library chamber, closing the door behind him and gave her a
sharp, swift kiss.

“What of Julia?” he asked as he
relieved her of the ring and held it to the light. “Did the men
arrive as they were paid to do?”

Lilith stepped into his arms and
pressed her curves against him. “Don’t worry, Roger. They rolled
her in a blanket and slipped out with her down the servant’s
stairs. By now the little tramp is on her way to Perth and back to
Hampshire where she belongs.”

“I told you we’d deal with her, that
she’d not cheat you out of your title as marchioness.” He gave her
another kiss, then set her aside as he placed the ring on his
pinkie.

“But what of your uncle, Roger? What
will you tell him?”

“Leave that to me, darling. He will be
distressed, no doubt, when he learns of your cousin’s true motives.
He fancies himself in love with her, and she with him. But when
the truth is out, he’ll come around, you’ll see. Now off with
you.”

He gave Lilith’s backside a firm,
though intimate pat.

“You need to complete your letter to
your grandmother, Lady Arabella, informing her of how Julia
comported herself with my uncle. We can trust her to deal with
Julia from here on.”

Lilith started to leave, then turned back,
her gaze going to the ring on his hand.

“I don’t quite understand why you
desired to have my cousin’s ring, Roger. But when you’re done with
it, I’d like to have it for myself. I haven’t seen a transparent
pink stone like that before. It has a hint of lavender that I
simply adore. Perhaps, I’ll reset it into a neckpiece—”

“Sorry, darling, you can’t
have this ring. But when you are my marchioness, I’ll buy you
a
cartload of jewels. Promise
.”

“I intend to hold you to that promise,
Roger,” Lilith warned him with a smile, then swished down the
gallery, heading for her room.

When she disappeared from sight, Roger
stepped back into the library, where he had been sharing a decanter
of port with the men of the Society. They’d all gathered in the
chamber until it was time to reconvene below to the Long Gallery.
There, they purposed to wait with baited anticipation for the
night’s events.

Well, their plans had taken an
unexpected turn. Roger smiled grimly as he passed an eye over the
men, slumped in their chairs and sprawled over their books, deep in
a drug-induced sleep.

Roger wasn’t precisely sure how he’d
explain that. Perhaps, he could lay it to his uncle, who wished to
win for himself a tad more glory than the others. Yes, that was it.
Uncle had conducted an experiment of his own this night,
attempting to travel through time, but not wishing the others’
interference or participation, lest it dim his own
prestige.

Roger looked to where his uncle slept, his
chin buried in his beard.

The explanation needed refining, but
no matter, when the night was through, the marquis’“experiment “
will have failed disastrously.

Anxious to have done with this night’s
dark work, Roger crossed the chamber, and after a few minutes’
struggle, lifted his uncle from his chair and shouldered his
weight.

Roger waited in Julia’s chamber for
time to slip, his uncle asleep on the bed.

He was not quite certain what to
expect, but then no one did this night. Of the phenomenon, he knew
only what he’d culled through his reading and rereading of the
marquis’s journal and the records of Niall MacMhurich, copied in
the green leather binder.

Roger straightened, the hairs rising on the
nape of his neck. Was it his imagination or did he feel a sudden
shift, a sudden weightiness to the air? It bore down on him, an
oppressive feeling. He winced as a sharp pain skimmed over his
head from temple to temple.

He glanced about the chamber. For several
moments nothing further happened. Then suddenly, impossibly, the
trappings on the bed began to mutate in color, changing from blue
to red, to blue to red, and on. An iron-bound trunk appeared and
disappeared against one wall, continuing to do so time and again,
as did an arched, nail-studded door on the wall to his left.

Roger realized, at once, the door
opened to the age-old stairwell. He would need to exercise extreme
care while passing through it, lest during its continual
metamorphosis, he become trapped in the tower’s wall of
stone.

Going to the bed, Roger pulled his uncle
upward, then hefted him onto his shoulder once more and made his
way toward the door.

He concentrated on its arched
dimensions as it materialized and dematerialized, counting the
seconds of its duration and those between. Then, judging the
moment, he opened the door and stepped through the
portal.

Incredibly, he found himself standing in a
narrow, spiraling stairwell, just as the records described. Though
it had been sealed off long ago, it still existed unchanged, for
which he was glad, the steps remaining solid beneath his feet.
Torchlight flickered in brackets on the wall and, like everything
else, continued to appear and disappear. But it proved enough to
light his way.

With scant minutes to
spare, Roger picked his way down the steps, his uncle’s solid
weight
growing heavier to bear.

The odor of burning wood
reached his nostrils and he could now see at the
bottom of the stairs, tendrils of smoke curling through an open
portal there — the portal itself in a constant state of flux. Roger
took heart. His plan was working. With luck, Rae Mackinnon already
lay dead within.

Roger’s thoughts turned to the
talisman Mackinnon wore about his neck. He’d need the stone to see
through his plan and make it work. It would be best to physically
plant the stone on his uncle, but all he must really do was to lay
his uncle beside the Scotsman’s body, so the two were touching and
so his uncle would be dragged back in time with Mackinnon and the
burning hall when the temporal shift came.