A Slip In Time (40 page)

“They will be fine if they can elude
your aunt!” Lady Charles remarked, then smiled as she rose from the
settee. “Well, time will bear it out. It always does. I must be off
now. Cuthburt is waiting. Men. He’s quite stirred by Sir Robert’s
daring. I think he may be entertaining a few ideas of his own, and
I intend to see that he acts on them. Take care, my dear. Your aunt
has a sharp tongue. Do not let it wound too deep.”

Julia watched as Lady Charles withdrew from
the small parlor, passing Mrs. McGinty, who entered to retrieve
the tea service. Julia wondered if the housekeeper had been
listening to their conversation.

“Mrs. McGinty, I understand Lord Eaton
sent men after my cousin, Emmaline, and Sir Robert, hoping to stop
them. I am curious who he might have sent as I know Dunraven’s
staff is still somewhat lean.”

“Cook’s nephew, Corey, miss, and a lad
from the village. They are young but they know this portion of
Scotland well.”

“They won’t find them, will they? I
mean—”

For the first time Julia could remember,
Mrs. McGinty smiled, a soft, reassuring smile.

“Do not worry, miss. The trains run in
a number of directions, and it will take the lads a while on
foot.”

»«

Julia’s thoughts traveled ahead of her
to Rae. She hastened down the Long Gallery, looking neither left
nor right, to the portraits on the wall or out the long stretch of
windows.

She’d remained overlong with Lady
Charles and now it was near to the moment Rae would appear. Today,
they were to meet with Lord Muir and the others to review the newly
recorded accounts of Rae’s father and himself. Rae would need to
approve and change them if necessary.

Julia still felt conflicted, wondering
whether or not to tell Rae of her possible pregnancy. She was
tempted to do so, to induce him to come forward in time. But
should she? Would the knowledge so distract and absorb him, that it
might alter his decisions or cause him to make poor ones that
ultimately would bring him to harm?

Then, too, she might not be pregnant
at all. She could be overcome with exhaustion due simply to the
stress she’d endured of late, or due to the continued effect of
the time slips. There certainly must be an invisible flow of energy
between her ring and Rae’s talisman. The objects were responsible
for pulling them together across time. Perhaps that energy not only
flowed between the stones, but drained her own vitality as
well.

On the other hand, only she seemed to suffer
this extreme lassitude. Rae always possessed an abundance of
energy. She smiled to herself. Perhaps their lovemaking invigorated
him, while it depleted her.

As Julia came to the end of the
gallery and turned toward her room, she caught the faint odor of
alcohol. Not Scotch whisky, but something else. Gin,
perhaps?

Julia glanced back toward the
servants’ passage. A chill touched her spine as she gazed into the
shadows there. Quickly, she entered the bedchamber and locked the
door.

»«

“Did your grandfather really do that?”
Lord Muir laughed, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes.

“Aye. Diarmid, my mother’s father, was
one o’ the ‘wild MacRaes.’ A high-spirited soul, if e’er there was
one, or sae I am told. His wife, Ailis, settled him down though.
Weel, a wee bit.”

More chuckles rippled around the room. Julia
laughed, too, then covered her mouth to hide a deep yawn. Dear
Lord, she was wilting again.

“Do tell us another tale of your
grandfather,” Mr. Thornsbury encouraged.

“Gentlemen,” Lord Muir spoke, rising
from his chair. “As much as we would all love to hear more of the
colorful Diarmid MacRae, I fear we have stretched our time today
more than we dare.” He consulted his pocket chronometer, then
frowned. “Indeed, with the time shifts shortening so drastically
with each occurrence, there is little time for Rae to return
downstairs as it is.”

As Rae prepared to take leave of the men,
Julia stood to her feet, stifling another yawn. Being nearest the
door, she turned and started for the open portal, knowing they must
move quickly to get downstairs and into her chamber for the coming
slip of time.

As she verged on the threshold, Lord Eaton
suddenly appeared, blocking her way. She fell back several paces
as he braced his arms and weight on either side of the thick door
frame. The odor of alcohol filled her nostrils.

“Good afternoon,
gentlemen.” Lord Eaton inclined his head in a mock, and much
abbreviated, bow. “I was passing by and decided to drop in
unannounced. Oh, but don’t let me interrupt your
Society
meeting.”

His gaze traveled to Rae.

“Ah, our Scots historian.” He
straightened and sauntered into the room several steps. “Tell me,
Mackinnon. Do you ever wear trousers? These Highlanders you
emulate, they really must have lived like wild animals, running
about in the mountains, bare-legged, without even decent
boots.”

Julia sucked in her breath at Lord
Eaton’s rudeness, as did everyone else in the room. Save for Rae.
He took a step apart of the table and faced Roger Dunnington
squarely. His hand moved to rest on the hilt of his
dirk.

“The clansmen o’ the Highland are
warriors.”

“Warriors?”‘ Lord Eaton
snorted. “Barbarians, you mean. Oh, I forgot. Barbarians
are
warriors.” He
chuckled at his own wittiness. “You know, all you need is a really
large sword to complete your guise. Women love that. Tell me, what
do you think Highland women were like? Were they wild? Did their
men have to knock them about to tame them?”

Rae’s eyes burned into Lord Eaton, a
scorching look that, were it a blade, would slay.

“We honor our women. We dinna abuse or
prey on them.”

“We?” Lord Eaton’s brows lifted
high.

Julia felt the air press in. Before Rae
could respond, he vanished before their eyes.

»«

“Roger will be all right,” Lord Muir
commented to the others as he reentered the room with Sir Henry.
“He is resting in his room. Angus is with him.”

Mr. Galbraith pushed back the
spectacles on his nose with nervous fingers. “He saw Rae disappear.
He’ll require an explanation.”

Lord Muir whisked a glance to Julia as
he seated himself. “What do you suggest?”

Mr. Armistead swiveled on his chair,
staring hard at Mr. Galbraith. “Surely, you do not propose we tell
him. Not with the New Moon upon us.”

“We best tell him something,” Mr.
Galbraith persisted, pulling his gaze from Mr. Armistead and
directing it around the table. “Lord Eaton heard and saw too much.
He will demand, and he deserves, an explanation. I mean, he is your
heir, is he not, your lordship? He is entitled to know Dunraven’s
secrets before he inherits it one day.”

Julia could not meet Lord Muir’s eyes
at the comment. Her temples began to pound, and she feared where
this conversation would lead.

Lord Muir drummed the tabletop with
his fingertips for a moment, then stilled his hand.

“As my nephew has so aptly
demonstrated, he does not possess the most admirable qualities one
would hope for in an heir. I confess, it is not my intention to
bequeath Dunraven to him. However, as you say, he has witnessed
much. We will be disclosing our findings in the coming months to
the Society, and there will be no way to keep it from slipping out
publicly. I suppose, we need to tell Roger something, but we need
not tell him everything.”

Julia’s heart sank to the pit of her
stomach as the men further discussed what details of the time slip
could be disclosed, and which should be withheld. When the critical
moment came for Rae to come forward in time — if he would attempt
it — they certainly didn’t need the likes of Roger Dunnington to
complicate events.

»«

“You expect me to believe Rae
Mackinnon is over four hundred years old?” Lord Eaton took another
swallow of the amber liquid in his glass.

Mr. Thornsbury laced his fingers
together in front of him as he explained. “Actually, Rae Mackinnon,
the Third Laird of Dunraven, has stepped across time, four hundred
and fifty-six years to be exact, though his own chronological age
is that of twenty-nine.”

“Sounds like a bit of hocus-pocus, or
witchery, to me.”

Julia could not help but recall Rae had
thought the same when he first had found her in his bed and
stripped her naked to search for a telling mark.

Lord Eaton leveled a skeptical eye at
the others. “The man seems real and solid enough, flesh and blood
and all that.”

“Oh, he’s flesh and blood, all right,”
Mr. Armistead agreed. “And you should be aware any blade he carries
is no mere ornament but the genuine item, no doubt well seasoned
according to the Highland standards of his time.”

“True, take heed,” Sir Henry warned.
“The Mackinnon doesn’t appear to have taken well to you. He’d be a
dangerous man to have for an enemy.”

Roger huffed a disbelieving laugh.
“You all are serious, aren’t you? You think this man with his
coarse clothes and parlor tricks is the authentic article, right
out of the past.” He gave another laugh and drained his
glass.

Irritable and thoroughly sick of
Eaton’s derision and snide remarks, Julia thrust to her feet. “The
journal of notes and instrument recordings speak for themselves
and are there for you to inspect. I’d suggest you do
so.”

“I’d much rather see the
instruments while they are actually recording — whatever they
record — during one of these
time
slips
. The phenomena centers in your
bedchamber, was I not told?” His gaze strayed over her, causing
Julia to stiffen.

“Then do so,” she snapped. “Come to my
chamber tonight. Anyone here can calculate the precise time of the
next shift. We shall set up the equipment so you might make your
own observations.”

Lord Eaton templed his fingers, a smug
smile spreading over his lips. “At last, an invitation to the inner
sanctum?”

“Consider it what you will. I’m sure
you will find the experience most memorable.”

Roger could not help but smile as he
traversed the darkened corridors to Julia’s chamber. Tonight he
would be her latest initiate. And tonight, he would learn what so
enthralled the other men and kept them returning time and
again.

His smile dropped moments later when
he discovered Angus McNab posted outside Julia’s chamber. At his
approach, McNab rapped twice on the thick oaken door. At once, it
drew open.

Julia stood just inside the portal, as
beautiful as ever, in a flowing gown of pastel shades. She stepped
to one side, motioning him to enter, which he did without
hesitation.

His gaze continued to devour her as he
crossed the threshold. Julia wore no corset and her breasts pressed
soft and full against the silken fabric of her gown. His hopes for
the evening rose, his loins growing warm with
anticipation.

As his eyes touched Julia’s green
pools, she smiled and shifted her gaze, directing his attention
across the room. Ready to play her game, any she might devise, he
followed her line of sight with his.

Roger faltered at the sight of Rae
Mackinnon, standing to the right of the bed, wearing a leather
corselet, sewn with iron rings, his great claymore braced before
him, pointed tip down, firelight dancing upon its naked blade. A
fierce look engraved Mackinnon’s face and his grip remained firm
upon his sword.

Julia melted from Roger’s side, and he
found himself face-to-face with the formidable-looking
Scotsman.

“Ye can leave us now,” Mackinnon
rumbled.

Roger started to withdraw, then realized the
words were meant for Julia. He swallowed, then took hold of
himself. He was the civilized one here after all. Not this
rough-looking charlatan who had so cleverly duped his uncle and
colleagues.

“What is this, Mackinnon, another
parlor trick?” he sneered. “You may be able to fool a group of old
men who want to believe in realms beyond and time dimensions, but
you don’t deceive me with your Highland magic and benighted ways.
If it’s my uncle’s fortune you are after you can — “

The Scotsman closed the space, a black look
slashing his features. Grabbing Roger by the front of his shirt
and jacket, he straight-armed him, jerking him off his booted heels
and slamming him against the stone wall.

Roger shouted, his skull, shoulders,
and spine exploding with pain. The man did not ease his hold but
jammed the sword’s hilt end under his jaw and forced his head
back.

“Sassenach,
I care no’ wha’ ye think o’ me or how I came tae
be here. I gi’ ye this tae know — I am Rae Mackinnon, Third Laird
o’ Dunraven, and if tha’ makes me a barbarian by yer measure, then
dinna be soon forgettin’ it. Harm Julia again, and I’ll lesson ye
in exactly wha’ the word means, for ye’11 be tastin’ m’ sword.
‘Twill sever yer hide from yer black soul in an instant, and ‘tis
yer lungs I’ll be havin’ for m’ supper. The rest I’ll feed tae the
wolves. And rest assured, wolves still roam the Highlands in m’
time, which is where I’ll be takin’ ye. D’ye ken?”