Into the Dim (42 page)

Two days earlier, Mac, perched quietly in a straight-backed chair by my hospital bed, had finally told us what was ailing my aunt. “Lu don't want a fuss made, mind,” he said, “so keep your opinions to yerself.”

Apparently, while on a trip to the thirteenth century, Lucinda had picked up a blood disorder that had no modern equivalent. Akin to a rare kind of leukemia, it did not respond to any known treatment. They'd researched all they could, but there was little information to find. A dear friend of Lucinda's, a doctor in Edinburgh, knew all about the Viators and was doing all she could. But at this point, Mac said, only frequent blood transfusions were staving off the inevitable.

“I want you to know that I was quite impressed with the job you did,” my aunt said. “This mission was a success, in no small part due to your efforts. You protected the members of your team. You brought your mother back. And you've kept the Nonius Stone out of Celia's hands.” I couldn't be sure, but I
thought
I saw pride skim over her features. “In quite a unique fashion, I must say.”

Frowning, I remembered the moment the Nonius had slipped from Bran's fingers and tumbled away into the Dim.

“You must realize, however, that it's likely the stone will reenter the timeline somewhere,” Lucinda went on.

I nodded. I'd already thought of that, wondered about it.

“Celia's clever,” Lucinda said. “She'll realize it soon enough. And she's brought in some hard men who will stop at nothing to locate the stone. Her mind, you see, is warped by jealousy. We tried to help her once, to make her feel part of us, but she just couldn't accept it.”

Lucinda sat straighter in her chair. “Our task now is to ensure that the Timeslippers never get their hands on the Nonius Stone. For without our interference, I fear they may alter the timeline in ways we cannot imagine.”

Silence fell between us as I remembered the little Carlyle girls, lost forever by one thoughtless act. Yes, Celia had to be stopped.

Lucinda was watching me carefully. “Hope,” she said, “you have proven your abilities beyond anything we expected. I have spoken with your mother, and though it frightens her, she believes it is your right to make up your own mind.”

“About what?”

“We could use someone with your knowledge and unique gifts.” Lucinda's blunt fingers gripped the edge of the table. “I'm asking you to join the Viators, Hope.”

I stared down at the table. The offer spun before me, tantalizing and horrifying all at once. Could I actually go through that hell again? What kind of insane person would even think of choosing such a life?

Without waiting for a response, Aunt Lucinda slid off the bench. “I'll give you some time to think it over.” At the door, she turned. “But might I make a suggestion?” She glanced at the silvery glass of the kitchen window. “The river is especially lovely by moonlight. Perhaps you should consider taking a ride.”

Ethel and I were breathless when we reined up at the riverbank. All around me, the Highlands looked like another world. In the daytime, the moors and mountains seemed like a fairyland untouched by time. Now the river had transformed into a brilliant ribbon of light, every leaf of heather and gorse frosted in a million shades of glorious silver, like a child's dream.

The rush of the river. The perfume of heather. The mist that swirled up from the ground. It all matched how I felt. Ghost-like. Insubstantial. One foot in each time, but belonging to neither.

I picked my way to the exact spot where I'd first tumbled down the bank and, closing my eyes, wished I had it to do all over again. This time, I'd tell him I knew his face. I'd make him tell me everything. I'd beg him to stay with us. And if he refused, I'd drag him back to the manor if I had to. Anything to keep him safe. To keep him
here.

“Ridiculous,” I muttered, cursing under my breath.

“Really, Hope.” The voice echoed weirdly in the fog. “Such language.”

Heart leaping into my throat, I spun in a circle, trying to locate the source. As if I'd conjured him from the mist, Bran Cameron stepped over the edge of the riverbank, leading his horse.

“Hello,” he said.

“What are you doing here?”

I wondered briefly if I was dreaming. But the smells and sounds and feel of the moist fog against my skin were too real. Bran led his roan to nuzzle against Ethel and moved toward me, leaving a few feet of space between us.

“I had to see you,” he said simply.

When he reached out a hand, I stiffened, and he let it drop. He'd made his choice. And though I understood his reasons, even admired them, it didn't change how much it hurt.

“My mother's agreed to leave Tony in school for now.”

“That's good.” I choked back the excruciating ache. “I mean, I'm glad he's safe. But I don't understand. Why would Celia agree to take you back, when she knows you betrayed her?”

I had to look away from the cocky half grin. That crooked incisor. “She didn't have much choice, really,” he said. “Before I left, I hid all her Tesla research.” He winked. “A little insurance policy.”

Awkward seconds passed while we stared at each other. He was so close, I could see the condensation from the mist pearling on his cheeks. Yet he might as well have been on the moon. I looked away and began to move toward Ethel.

“Well,” I said, “good luck with that.”

Before I could take another step, Bran grabbed me, eyes like a starving man's as they roamed my face. “When you rode into my village on the front of your grandfather's horse,” he said, “you were the brightest, most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Like a duchess, with your silks and your little doll.” His fingers tightened on my arms. “No matter what happens, don't ever forget that.”

I ripped away, fighting back sobs that slashed at the inside of my chest like shards of broken glass. “Then leave her,” I cried. “Lucinda could protect your brother somehow. I know it. She's got a lot of influence, and . . .”

Still gibbering like a maniac, I let him pull me to him. Beneath the snug T-shirt, I could feel the bandage wrapped around his slim waist.

I breathed in, wishing I never had to exhale, that I could keep Bran's scent in my lungs forever. My fingers played up the ridge of his spine, memorizing the flex of each muscle, and how the fine hairs on the back of his neck stiffened when my lips grazed his earlobe.

If this was all I ever got of Bran Cameron, I would sear every nuance into my mind. I had a photographic memory, perfect recall for books and maps and arcane knowledge no one had ever cared about. But I was terrified I'd forget how he felt against me.

He murmured into my hair. “I can't take that chance, Hope. But I will
never
let her hurt any of you again.” He pulled back to look down at me. “I'll do everything I can to ensure my mother never gets her hands on the Nonius Stone.” His eyes shuttered. “I've agreed to feed information to the Viators. It's all arranged.”

Lucinda.
That's how
s
he knew he'd be here tonight.

“No.” My fists bunched in his shirt. “Bran, if your mom finds out you're helping us, she'll kill you. You know that.”

He planted a kiss on the end of my nose and stepped back. “Then I shall have to be very clever, won't I?”

He gave that Bran Cameron smirk and walked over to withdraw something from his saddlebag.

Grinning, he returned with a bulky object wrapped in a scrap of aged fabric. He placed it in my open palm and backed up, worrying at the silver medallion at his neck. The only thing left from a life that was taken from him. Robbed, because of me.

“What's this?”

“Just open it.”

The silky material fell open at my touch. All the air left my lungs as I reached out a trembling finger to touch her hair, the delicate silk of her faded gown.

You must take good care of your Elizabeth until I come for you, sweet girl,
my grandfather had told me.

But I hadn't. I'd lost the doll in the nightmare tree.

I looked up into Bran's eyes. Sapphire and Emerald. The only points of color in a silver night. “You kept her? All this time?” My intake of breath was quick and shallow. “Why?”

He tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “Don't you know?” he whispered. “Haven't you always known?”

There comes a moment in every person's life when fate wheels on the head of a pin and changes their destiny forever. For me, that instant came when a little boy, with blue and green eyes, handed me an apple.

I flew to him. When Bran Cameron pulled me close and began to murmur the words that would send my heart soaring and shatter it in one fell swoop, I shook my head and touched his lips with shaking fingers.

“Bran,” I said through pain and joy that mixed to scratch my voice. “Just . . . stop talk—”

His mouth came down over mine, stopping my words, crushing me to him in a kiss we both knew would have to last us for a long, long time.

TO BE CONTINUED

I
DON
'
T KNOW HOW ANY AUTHOR CAN EVER BEGIN TO
thank all the people who were involved in helping her write a book. But I'm going to do my best.

First and foremost, I want to thank my husband, Phil. My love, best friend, and sweetheart since that Halloween party when we were seniors in high school. (You know what I'm talking about, baby.) Day after day, he's my biggest fan, my strongest cheerleader, and the one who's talked me off the ledge more times than I can count. This book would not exist without him.

It also wouldn't exist without my book-loving mom, Nena Butler. My mom is my alpha reader, my traveling companion, and the one who put a book in my hand when I was three years old, teaching me how the little squiggles on the page could carry you away into a million different worlds. Thanks, Mom, for reading all the terrible first drafts and telling me each one would be a movie someday. To my sweet daddy, Duck, who's so very proud of me, and to my beautiful sister, Jennifer, and my gorgeous nieces, Hannah, Kayley, and Ava—who let me use her middle name for my main character.

A humongous thanks goes to my incredible rock-star agent, Mollie Glick. Mollie, you never gave up on me or on Hope. You recognized something in my little time-travel story, then whipped me beyond the boundaries of what I thought I could do. Thanks also to her fantastic assistant, Joy Fowlkes, who fielded a million emails from me and never got tired.

Thank you to my fabulous editor, Sarah Landis. Sarah's my guru, my sherpa, and the keenest editorial eye I've ever known. Thanks also to Mary Wilcox and Christine Krones, for taking me in hand while Sarah was off being fecund. My brilliant publicist, Rachel Wasdyke, and marketing sage, Ann Dye, and all the wonderful folks at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt for believing in this story.

To Heather Webb, author extraordinaire, leader of our writing group, and the best friend/sprinting partner in the world. Huge hugs to all the girls in the SFWG writing group—Susan Spann, Candie Campbell, Julianne Douglas, LJ Cohen, Marci Jefferson, Amanda Orr, DeAnn Smith, Arabella Stokes. Together we've become better than we ever dreamed.

Love to all my Arkansas friends. My BFF since third grade, Kelley Riggs Nichols (yes, you can come with me and dress me on book tour), Linda Gayton, Yolanda Longley, and Lynette Place (whose talent made my author picture look halfway decent). Michelle Buchanan; her brilliant daughter, Marlee; Barbara Varnon. Thanks to my DFWcon writer friends, Jenny Martin, Dawn Alexander, Kate Michaels, and Lindsay Cummings.

I'm forever grateful to Diana Gabaldon, for making historical time travel cool. And to my experienced guides through this crazy biz—Joelle Charbonneau, Leigh Bardugo, Rysa Walker, Kendare Blake, Alethea Kontis, Danielle Page, Brenda Drake, CJ Redwine, and Rachel Caine.

A huge thanks to my new “posse,” the Sweet 16s. I couldn't get through the day without WAY too many texts, IMs, emails, frantic phone calls flying between me and Marisa Reichardt, Shea Olsen, Shannon Parker, Catherine Lo, Kathryn Purdie, Ashley Herring Blake.

The most massive “I love you” goes to my brilliant, hilarious sons, Phillip and Parker, who keep me in line when I try to be cool.

And finally, in loving memory of Parker's beautiful girlfriend, Katherine Palludan, who loved books as much as I do, and whom we lost so tragically last year. We love you, Katherine.