A Slip In Time (39 page)

Rae pulled his gaze from his
quarreling brothers and skipped another stone across the water. He
thought on what Julia had told him and wondered what course to
take. How could he stand by and do naught, allowing his brother and
clansmen to die in their efforts to avenge his own death? A fierce
love and loyalty to clan demanded he take measures to save
them.

But how? By saving himself, so that no
one need die? Or by simply forewarning them of events to come — if
they’d believe so incredible a tale? If not directly then, he might
seek to discover his murderer and a way to leave proof of his
identity.

But any of those courses would change
history. Even if he himself still died, should Iain live, then he,
not Donald, would rule as laird. Rae held no doubt Iain would sire
heirs. Already, several bairns ran about Dunraven, Iain’s image
stamped upon their wee faces, laddies the lot of them.

Rae inhaled a deep breath and lifted his
face to the heavily clouded sky.

Dare he play God? If he should
interfere, James Edwin and countless others might never be born. He
would be depriving them of their lives, trading theirs for those of
his own people. And if Iain lived, an entirely different line of
lairds would rule Dunraven, thoroughly altering history throughout
five centuries. Och, now, that would be tampering with
history.

Rae paused in his thoughts, another
presenting itself. Weeks ago, Donald had mentioned something that
had remained a thorn in his mind. He need seek out Dugal. ‘Twas
long past time he had a full accounting of what had passed in
Glendar whilst he was caged in London’s Tower.

As Rae climbed the sloping land toward the
keep, slow-moving clouds gathered over Dunraven, casting it in
shadow.

The
cailleach
sprung to mind and her
dire warnings at the River Forth. She spoke of shadows, dark and
dangerous, and of a “rip” in time.

She’d foretold the time
slip accurately enough, but he’d assumed the shadows to be
connected to it somehow. Lately, he’d begun to think the reference
was to Roger Dunnington. Evidently, he was wrong. Both times
contained their own shadows. Rae thought back to the day at the
river and grasped for the
cailleach’s
precise
words.

“Yer future doesna lie here,” she’d
told him. “Cross the Forth . . . ye shall no’ return.”

Dunraven loomed before him, consumed
in shadows. Would it devour him in its fire, or aid his escape?
Friend or foe, ‘twas the keep itself that held his fate.

Julia pulled back the row of primroses along
the fragment of wall to reveal the blackened stone. Her heart
shrank at the sight. Fire had caused this, there could be no doubt.
Why had she not recognized the markings for what they were when
first she had seen them?

Standing, Julia glanced over the vacant
ground where the hall once stood. She then looked to the massive
keep.

Donald Mackinnon, as laird, never rebuilt
over the site. Instead, according to the annals of Dunraven, he
made additions to the east side of the tower.

Did Donald fear the ghosts of that
dreadful night? Was it he who had sealed the stairwell and portals?
Or had Rae’s death been simply too painful for him and the others
to bear? Did the fatal site become hallowed ground, never to be
built upon again?

Had
Rae died here? Julia skimmed a glance over the area then
quickly withdrew from the place, suddenly unable to remain another
moment.

Julia headed around the keep, toward
the castle’s main entrance. Wiping the moisture from her eyes, she
chided herself for being so weepy of late. The uncertainty of the
days to come and their tragic potential ravaged her heart and
nerves. But there was more.

Slipping inside the great hall, Julia closed
the door and leaned against it, her fears overwhelming without
warning and engulfing her anew. Her head swam and she grabbed for
something to support herself as the floor moved beneath her.

Through the blur of her vision, she
saw Lord Muir appear from a side corridor, coming from the
direction of Dunraven’s main library.

“Julia! Oh, my dear, let me help
you.”

He hastened to her side and helped her to
the bench positioned beneath the large hunting tapestry. Suddenly,
the strain of the past days overcame her. She buried her face in
her hands as a deluge of tears poured forth from her eyes.

“Julia, Julia, there now.” Lord Muir
held her against him, consoling her as a father would a
daughter.

Julia’s tears continued to flow, and
she knew she was drenching his snowy beard, but he didn’t seem to
mind.

“Has Rae refused our plan? Is that
what distresses you so?”

“He hasn’t said,” she forced out
through her tears. “I think he intends to stay in his own
time.”

“We must have faith in Rae, my dear,
and that the Almighty will guide him in the choices he must
make.”

A fresh torrent of tears racked Julia, so
that she shook against Lord Muir,

“Julia, is there something you are not
telling me?” He provided her his handkerchief then helped her to
rise. “Come, my dear. We need more privacy. Let us withdraw to the
little parlor.”

Julia leaned against Lord Muir as he aided
her to the end of the entrance hall and into the corridor to the
right. A small room stood just off of it.

“Now, you must tell me what is the
matter, my dear.” Lord Muir prompted as he guided her to a large,
comfortable-looking chair. “Unless you tell me, I can be of no real
help to you.”

Julia remained standing, his arm
supporting her, and looked up at him through sodden lashes. She
shook her head. “You will think most ill of me, I fear.”

“Julia, have a little
trust in a man who’s been around a considerable time and privy to
a great many things. If nothing else, trust in
me
and our friendship.”

Julia swallowed
back
her tears, dreading the disappointment that would
surely replace his sympathy and favorable regard of her.
When
she spoke, her voice came as a
whisper. “I think I might be carrying Rae’s child.”

Avoiding Lord Muir’s gaze, she blotted
her eyes and face with his handkerchief.

“I’m not sure, but there
are signs — fatigue, dizziness
. I confess, it is
possible. We handfasted in his own time. There were no witnesses,
no priest. I’m unsure how valid a marriage it is, if at
all.”

“Quite valid, my dear,” Lord Muir
assured, gently. “What you describe is termed a
clandestine marriage
and fully recognized in
Rae’s own time.”

Julia still could not meet his
gaze.

“Julia, look at me. I’m not a man to
judge you and no man should. Certainly not in this.
Unfathomable
forces have intervened in
yours and Rae’s lives, drawing you across time to one another.
Perhaps this, too, is fated.”

Julia looked to Lord Muir in utter
amazement. She’d not considered this child might be
destined.

Lord Muir smiled kindly upon her. “My
dear, consider. You might be carrying the sole child of my
predecessor, a brave and courageous man who was cheated of his life
at every turn — imprisoned for almost half of it in London’s Tower,
only to lose it, by mishap or murder, scarcely after his return to
Dunraven and installation as laird. Unless, of course, he does come
into the future,” he added quickly, then shook his head. “Even
then, he will be stripped of the life he once knew.”

Lord Muir gently cupped
her chin with his hand. “Lay aside your fears, at least for your
child. I promise you, I’ll not see the babe suffer in any way, not
for food, or
shelter, or even with the stigma of
illegitimacy, should the worse befall Rae. I give you my vow. Why,
I’ll marry you myself to pr
otect you!” he
offered gallantly.

»«

Roger Dunnington arrived at the bottom of
the great staircase in the entrance hall and checked his pocket
watch. Lilith was late. Later than he. Well, that was providential,
he mused, returning the watch to his pocket. Lady Downs had
delayed him somewhat today. She was becoming a rather cloying
lover.

Hearing voices from just off the hall, he
stepped to the side corridor. His interest spiked as he glimpsed
his uncle and Julia in the parlor there, embracing. Easing closer,
he listened.

Julia’s voice proved too soft to hear,
but his uncle’s carried strong with his promise.

“I give you my vow. Why, I’ll marry
you myself—”

“Roger!” Lilith’s voice overrode his
uncle’s words, jerking his attention from the scene.

He reeled around, looking straight
through Lilith, stunned by what he’d just heard.

“Roger, where were you? I gave up and
went looking for you.”

She started toward him, but he quickly
caught her by the elbow and steered her away from the parlor.

“What? Oh, my watch must be slow.” He
shot another look back at the room then conducted Lilith toward the
hall’s entrance and out the door.

»«

Julia sat with Lord Muir on the settee,
overwhelmed with surprise but grateful for his chivalry.

“We will see what turns fate will take
in the next days, but come what may, Dunraven shall be the
child’s.” At Julia’s shocked refusal, Lord Muir argued his
decision. “Though my other estates and titles are entailed, I
purchased Dunraven outright, and it is mine to do with as I
please. Yours and Rae’s child is rightful heir to
Dunraven.”

Lord Muir smiled in earnest now. “It’s
not every day a man can bequeath his estates to his ancestral
kinsman, several hundred times removed. Think of that. The babe
truly is my kinsman.”

“Or kinswoman,” Julia amended, smiling
at last.

»«

Lilith gathered wildflowers while Roger
idled beside the lake. He gazed gloomily to the distant
mountains.

The doddering old fool, he thought
blackly. So Uncle intended to make Julia his wife. Should he
actually beget a son on her, then he himself would lose all claim
to his uncle’s lands, titles, and fortune.

The marriage could not be allowed, Roger
resolved. He must do something to prevent this disaster. And
quickly.

“Emmaline is gone?”

“Flown!” Lady Charles declared, her
voice ringing with excitement. “She ran off with Sir Robert,
sometime during the night.”

Joy stole through Julia, overriding
her surprise. Deep in her heart, she’d hoped Sir Robert was her
cousin’s secret love. He was a fine man and had the capacity to
make Emmaline happy. Though he’d carefully concealed his feelings,
his sentiments were oft times reflected in his eyes, Julia realized
now in retrospect. She warmed at the thought of the love they
would share in their lives.

“Your aunt is in an absolute furor,”
Lady Charles confided, replacing her cup on its saucer. “She should
be the first to inform you of Emmaline’s disappearance, I know.
But I felt I must warn you. Your aunt blames you for your young
cousin’s actions.”

Julia’s brows rose at that, but
somehow the disclosure did not really surprise her.

Lady Charles continued. “I was present
at breakfast when she received Emmaline’s letter.”

“Emmaline left a letter?”

“Sent one by a postboy, from Perth or
nearer by, I presume. She and Sir Robert timed everything quite
cleverly, even the arrival of the missive. By now they are who
knows where.”

“But you said Aunt Sybil blames me for
Emmaline’s running away with Sir Robert? Did my cousin mention me
by name?”

“Not by name, dear.” Lady Charles’s
hand fluttered to her chest and she leaned forward. “According to
your aunt, the letter was filled with fanciful notions of love
which she insisted only you could have ‘stuffed into Emmaline’s
head,’ as she put it. At the very least, your aunt believes
Emmaline followed your own mother’s example.”

Julia nodded. “It’s true, my mother
and father did elope, and theirs was a most happy
marriage.”

Lady Charles set her teacup and saucer
aside, then looked back to Julia.

“Lord Withrington and I are quite fond
of Sir Robert. But we fear he was not wise to thwart those who
could make his and Emmaline’s life wretched. With Viscount
Holbrooke as her father, and, worse for her, her mother a
Symington, they will hunt the couple down. Your aunt has already
appealed to Lord Muir, and Lord Eaton has dispatched men after them
and written letters ahead to London. Presumably Emmaline and Sir
Robert will seek a parson before heading south to England and his
father’s estate in Berkshire. He’s a third son, you know, though
he’s not without means.”

“Emmaline understands her choice, Lady
Charles. She also understands, in order to wed Sir Robert,
elopement is the only choice she can make. I do appreciate your
telling me what has transpired and forewarning me of my aunt.
Emmaline and Sir Robert will be fine, I am sure. They must truly
love one another to go to such lengths, and he is, I believe, an
honorable man.”