“What can I bring with me?”
“Do you still have your old plaid?”
“Aye. And my dagger.” He frowned at Robbie. “We sold my sword to help finance our new life here.” He snorted. “Not that I could lift it now.”
“Then that’s all you can bring. Nothing modern.” Robbie stopped him again and touched his uncle’s jacket over the chest pocket on his shirt. “You can’t even take your reading glasses, I’m afraid. And you must give me your word that you won’t use what you’ve learned in this time to change anything in the past.”
Ian started walking again. “There ain’t no books to read, anyway,” he muttered, waving his hand at the air. “And no malls and cars and millions of crazy people.”
“There’s no indoor plumbing, either,” Robbie reminded him. “Or hot showers or electric lights or central heating.”
“But there’s my Gwyneth,” Ian whispered, his eyes shining as he looked over at Robbie.
“And Niall and Caitlin and Megan. That’s all I’m needing to be happy. What’s our lie going to be?”
“That you and the others were captured by marauding… ah… Vikings, I think we should say. And held prisoner for ten years. The others died fighting or trying to escape. But when you grew old, they simply sailed back and dropped you off on the beach.”
Ian chuckled. “Like anyone will believe that.”
“Who’s to dispute it? Scotland’s been constantly raided throughout history.”
Ian stopped and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “What about my age? I’m thirty-five years older than when I left, not ten.”
“You actually have the health of a sixty-year-old man of that time, Uncle. Life was hard on a body back then, and rarely did men reach their eighty-fifth birthdays. Our lie will work.”
“And the fact that I speak English?” Ian asked, walking again. “I’m liable to start speaking it without thinking.”
“Then we should change Viking to English marauders.”
“Aye. That will make more sense,” Ian agreed. “And I can say that I walked all the way home from England.” He puffed up his chest. “Aye. I could get many a fine tale for the campfires with that one.” Ian stopped him again. “You’re going to stay with me awhile, aren’t ya? Until I get adjusted?”
“Aye, I’ll stay as long as it takes.”
“What about Daar’s book of spells ya’re hunting for? Have ya found it yet?”
“Nay. But you might be able to help me with that. We’ll see once we get there.”
Ian’s shoulders straightened, and his eyes sharpened. “I’ll help. And I’ll—”
They both looked up at the sound of a piercing shrill that came from over their heads.
Mary flew past them and landed on a branch hanging across the tote road.
Robbie was stunned. The last he’d seen Mary, she had still been in the old time. How had she managed to return by herself? But then he remembered what she had shown him in the storm. Mary could travel at will just as he could.
“There’s yar pet,” Ian said, breaking into a wide grin. “I can’t believe that old bird is still alive.” He looked at Robbie. “Mary has been with you for, what, over twenty years now?
How long do snowy owls live, anyway?”
Robbie shrugged. “I have no idea.” He presented his arm to the owl. “Come, little one,”
he said softly.
“She’s bleeding,” Ian whispered, moving beside Robbie and pointing up at the branch.
“There, on the bottom of her belly, just above her left leg. Do ya see it?”
“Aye,” Robbie growled. “Come,” he told the bird.
Mary spread her wings and glided down and landed on his arm. Robbie stroked her chest and lifted his arm to see her wound.
“You’ve gone and gotten yourself hurt,” he said, using his finger to gently lift her bloodied feathers. “Aye, you’ve been nicked by an arrow.”
“How do ya know that?” Ian asked.
Robbie smiled at his uncle. “She told me as much.”
Ian stepped back. “She did? She really does talk to ya?”
“Aye. We’ve had many conversations over the years.” He lifted a brow. “You’re surprised? I’m about to take you on an unimaginable journey, and you think it odd that I talk to my pet?”
Ian shook his head. “I quit trying to think years ago,” he muttered. “Ya must take her to the veterinarian and have that wound tended.”
Robbie looked back at Mary. “Or I can take her to my housekeeper. Cat’s father was a veterinarian, and she knows quite a bit about tending wounds.”
“Then go,” Ian said, waving him away. “It’s only a short distance to Gu Bràth. I’ll be fine.
And I’ll see ya tomorrow afternoon.” He gave Robbie a wide grin. “I’ll hide my plaid under my jacket so no one will suspect anything.”
“Uncle,” Robbie said when Ian turned to leave. “I wish… I’m… ” He waved him away.
“Enjoy your last evening with Grey and Grace and Winter,” he said softly. “And know that tomorrow night, you’ll be with your Gwyneth.”
“Aye. I’ll do that,” the old warrior said, turning and walking down the tote road, leaning on the stick Robbie had found for him at the beginning of their walk. He waved over his shoulder. “I’ll be ready when ya come to fetch me.”
Robbie watched after Ian until he disappeared down the last knoll before Gu Bràth, then turned his attention back to Mary.
“I’ve a good mind to trim your wing feathers!” he snapped, starting toward home. “To stop your recklessness.”
Mary let out a deep rattle that sounded more like laughter than owl talk and dug her talons into his jacket sleeve to keep her balance as he lengthened his stride.
Robbie sighed. Scolding his pet had always been an exercise in futility. And Mary was just as determined as he was to keep the Highlanders here. She still loved Michael MacBain and had no wish to see the warrior’s life uprooted again.
“I have someone I want you to meet,” he told her, quickening his pace. “Her name is Cat, and she’s going to be your daughter-in-law just as soon as I persuade her to trust her heart to me.”
Mary blinked at him.
“Aye, I know this is sudden. But if you’d come back with me instead of staying behind and getting arrows slung at you, you could have given me your blessingbefore I realized my intentions toward Catherine. Now you’ll just have to accept her.”
Robbie stopped and glared at his pet. “Don’t even think to give her a hard time. And you needn’t test her like you did Libby. Catherine has already survived her trial by fire.”
He tucked his arm against his body and cupped the snowy’s head to his chest. “Aye, little one,” he crooned. “I have every hope she can live with my calling. And that’s where you can help. You’ve been in Catherine’s position. You were a modern woman in love with an ancient. You’ll know how Cat will feel, and you’ll know how I can win her heart. Will you help?” he asked, opening his hand so Mary could look up at him. “Will you join in my courtship of Catherine?”
Mary blinked and nipped at his thumb.
He chuckled and started home again, his step considerably lighter. “Aye. Then you can begin by being a perfect patient and not nipping her fingers when she sews you up with her pink silk thread. And Mary,” he added with a laugh, tapping the owl on the tip of her beak, “don’t bring her any gifts like you brought Libby. I already have more magic than I can handle right now.”
Chapter Sixteen
Catherine couldn’t quitsmiling all the time she showered and even found herself wondering who owned the face in the mirror as she dried her hair. The woman staring back at her was… well, glowing and looking rather pleased with herself.
She also looked as if she knew a secret. Something about feeling alive for the first time in years. Energized. Hopeful. Eager.
But eager for what the day would bring or to be kissed again so thoroughly that her insides still hadn’t uncurled?