Twenty-one

O liver stood inside Moraig's cottage and eyed the front door warily. It hadn't done him dirty so far that morning, but the day was still young.

That day had begun for him a pair of hours earlier with a quick run up the meadow from Jamie's, a shower and change of clothes, and a quick rummage in the fridge for a few carbs which someone had very thoughtfully left for him in the form of a full order of his two favorite foods. Unfortunately, all those successes had left him standing where he was: facing off with a doorway and hoping he could get back out it as easily as he'd gotten inside it.

He supposed he might as well admit that he was fretting over a doorway because he was avoiding thinking about the events of the past forty-eight hours. He was still gobsmacked it had all worked, though given the skill sets both he and Ewan possessed in that sort of skulduggery, perhaps it wasn't a surprise. What had been a surprise was finding out that in a dodgy spot, Ewan's mind worked a great deal like Derrick's. Obviously, they'd been misusing his gifts.

What he absolutely couldn't bring himself to face, though, was his past, never mind wondering why it was that he could remember Mairead's presence running like a beautiful silver thread through his entire existence yet at the same time he knew he'd never had her there in the first place.

On the other hand, he had very vivid memories of her as a ghost over the past handful of days. He could hear her speaking modern English as if she'd never spoken anything else and bring to mind the details she'd given him about his own past.

He knew, in a way he couldn't quite lay his finger on, that her being a part of his life over the course of his entire life had somehow now become nothing more than an echo of her presence there, but he wasn't sure that he'd so much lost his memories of her as he'd had them simply fade beyond where he could hold them any longer. Changing the future couldn't possibly change the past, but her future had changed in the past, which had surely changed his own past in the future.

The loss was, he had to admit, a bit devastating.

He understood on an entirely new level why Sunshine Cameron was careful with Moraig's threshold.

But if he didn't put all that emotion behind him and move on with things, he would likely spend the rest of his days simply standing in the middle of Moraig's gathering chamber, either weeping from events that floated in and out of his memory like so many ghosts, or trying to catch his breath over the fact that he actually had Mairead MacLeod in the same century as his own poor self and that she seemed slightly fond of him. And when looked at in that light, what he'd lost was so much less than what he'd gained.

He allowed himself one deep breath, then he did what he always did with things that didn't serve him. He shoved them behind the door in his mind he reserved for that sort of thing and got on with his life.

He took hold of his good sense and opened Moraig's front door. The stoop wasn't cluttered up with angry Highlanders in Renaissance dress, calling him names and threatening to drag him off to the stake, which was a good thing. There was, however, a manila envelope lying there, which might be something else entirely.

He retrieved it because his damnable curiosity was too strong to resist and opened it to find a new section to insert in his book entitled Wooing Ideas for the Perpetually Helpless . He was tempted, as usual, to fling it a very long way away from himself, but he found himself hesitating. The truth was, he wasn't precisely overflowing with those sorts of ideas at the moment. Though he had himself, Mairead MacLeod, and delicious takeaway in the same century, that might not be enough to win the day.

He considered that for a moment or two. Surely there was a way to help her acclimate herself to the present day whilst leaving her feeling as though she might like to have him along for the trip. He went inside to dig around in Moraig's junk drawer where he unearthed a sticky tab and made himself his own section entitled Things that Haven't Changed Over the Years. That useful section at least labeled, he locked up Moraig's cottage, then started off toward Jamie's. He considered the facts of the case lying before him as he walked, just to make himself feel more in charge.

First, he was a man of mature years with a rich and varied history of first dates. He could walk up to James MacLeod's front door, knock, and present himself as a very desirable dating partner without bollocking it up.

Second, he was dressed nicely in trousers and a black polo neck jumper, the latter of which would serve the dual purpose of setting off his fair hair to perfection—Emily promised that was the truth—and hiding his neck where enthusiastic swallowing might be interpreted as gulps of unease. A black jacket covering that and sensible Docs on his feet hopefully would provide a trustworthy if not slightly slick and attractive aura of, again, dating desirableness.

He was also a Man with a Plan and that plan, very sensibly to his mind, centered around making sure that a certain MacLeod clanswoman was properly introduced very slowly and carefully to the current century. Nothing too startling at first, nothing more modern than what could have been found in Jamie's kitchen with perhaps a brief foray into Elizabeth's library for Regency reading material that would also be acceptably calming and soothing. He would keep his lady corralled in the past-places that were located in the same future-places so she would see that nothing much had changed. He imagined not even four hundred years of four hundred different types of Scottish precipitation could have altered the landscape all that much.

Finally, the truth was that even though she'd been given the chance at a new life with family in the persons of Jamie and Elizabeth and Patrick and Madelyn and even Sunshine and Cameron—delightful souls who would love and care for her properly—he wanted to be at the beginning of the queue.

He found himself standing on Jamie's front stoop without remembering entirely how he'd gotten there. He hardly expected any renegade witch hunters to pop out from behind a shrubbery, but he was also accustomed to going through his life making detailed mental notes of his surroundings and planning accordingly. He would have to get hold of himself and quickly before he did something eejit-worthy.

The door opened before he could get his hand anywhere close to it which was a little alarming, but he gathered his wits about him and nodded deferentially to the laird of the hall.

"I'd like to take Mairead out on a date," he said politely.

Jamie stroked his chin. Not a rousing initial endorsement, but Oliver was prepared for some resistance from that quarter.

"And what sort of activities will you be engaging in?"

"I was thinking we would do a few things that would leave her feeling confident that many things haven't changed," Oliver said. "A walk up the meadow, a bit of flower-sniffing, perhaps a gentle ride if I could borrow a pair of horses."

Jamie stroked a bit more. "Do you know how to ride, Master Phillips?"

"I'll learn quickly."

Jamie did smile then. "Perhaps your gel can help you with that on a different day. I believe she already has plans for you today." He stepped back and held the door open. "Go have a look."

Oliver accepted the offer whilst it was still good, then came to a full stop at the sight of the absolute chaos that greeted him.

The children—well, more particularly Robert and Patricia—were bouncing around Mairead like puppies whilst Young Ian was trying to settle them down. He spared a wish that he'd asked Ambrose for some particulars on the art of keeping younger children from horning in on his time with his future, er, well, whatever she would be willing to be, but that moment had definitely passed long ago.

Patricia saw him and raced over to throw herself into his arms. He hugged her, grateful that at least one MacLeod female was glad to see him, then set her back down on her feet.

She slipped her hand into his. "Treat or a card?" she asked brightly.

He nodded toward Mairead. "I brought you a treat there."

Patricia laughed and tugged. "Come see her. She's had a wee makeover, so you might not recognize her."

Oliver suspected that might be true, which could throw a spanner into his carefully considered works. He walked with Patricia across the hall and had to take a moment to gape at the woman standing there in front of the fire, looking particularly at her ease whilst he felt particularly not at his own. He wondered if Emily had been hard at work or if Mairead had merely raided Elizabeth's closet.

She was dressed in a flowy black skirt that ended at her ankles, a tunic-like blouse adorned with flowers in a riot of colors, and a very lovely sweater covering it all that he would have bet good money was cashmere, which meant it had come from Emily given that that was her favorite fabric. He imagined he would get a bill for the whole thing which he would pay many times over for the sight of a vintage clanswoman occasionally looking at the things she was wearing—more particularly her chirpy little flower-patterned trainers—and giggling.

He suspected the day had already begun to get away from him.

Patricia abandoned him to go take Mairead by the hand. "You've met Oliver before, haven't you?"

"I have," Mairead said with a happy smile. "You look very braw in those new pieces of demon garb."

"And you," he managed, "are absolutely gorgeous."

She laughed uneasily, then looked at Patricia. "I'm not, but this wee one did help me choose these lovely things this morning."

"And I'll help you with the rest of the day," Patricia said brightly. "We'll have heaps of fun!"

Oliver suspected his lady's introduction to the current age had just been co-opted by a seven-year-old who was sprinkling her very capable Gaelic with a few modern English terms that she was doing her best to translate. She had help with that in the persons of her brothers who were obviously striving to make Mairead's transition into the future as smooth as possible. He cleared his throat.

"What about a walk in the meadow?" he offered.

"You can do that in any century," Patricia said firmly. "We want to show Mairead the beauties of this century."

It occurred to him then just what had bothered him from the start. He wasn't quite sure how to voice the thought without either sounding completely daft or cluing Jamie's children in to things they shouldn't have known, but he thought he should at least make the attempt.

"But it isn't as though Mairead is from, erm—"

Patricia reached out and patted him. "We know, Oliver."

He looked around for aid and found that Elizabeth had come to stand next to Young Ian.

"Not all family secrets are bad," she said with a smile.

"And I just learned our great, whacking one last night," Patricia said, her eyes wide. "But I'm to be eight in a month, so it was time." She looked at Oliver seriously. "I can be trusted with important things."

Oliver imagined she could be.

"So let's go to the village," Patricia finished. She looked up at Mairead. "There might be things that seem odd, but just hold my hand and you'll be fine."

Oliver watched the three MacLeod spawn gather up the woman he'd had every intention of spending the day dating and lead her off to the front door. Elizabeth came to stand next to him.

"I think you're in trouble."

He looked at her in alarm. "What do I do?"

"Get up earlier tomorrow?"

"Fair enough," he said, vowing to be rapping on their front door before sunrise. He made her a low bow, had a laugh in return, and hurried off to see what he could do to salvage the day.

He paused on the front stoop to assess the situation. His lady was also there, standing next to Jamie and looking with undisguised admiration at the dusty, well-used Range Rover parked there in front of her.

"Does it go very fast?" Mairead asked breathlessly.

Jamie smothered a smile with his hand. "Perhaps not this first trip, lass. We have other automobiles that might be more to your taste in a few days."

Oliver suspected he'd missed a critical part of their conversation about conveyances and exactly what sorts of ponies pulled them, but there was nothing to do about that at the moment. He accepted keys from the lord of the hall and made him a slight bow.

"I'm an excellent driver," he said. "No points on my license."

"Which young Hamish complains about endlessly," Jamie said pleasantly, "which I'm guessing means you at least keep to the posted speed when there might be children or sheep in the area."

Oliver nodded and attempted to look as trustworthy as possible. He accepted a hearty clap on the shoulder and found himself summarily abandoned to his fate. He walked down the steps with a confident air, reminded the children to buckle their safety belts, and opened the passenger side door for a woman who was still peering into the headlamps and making sounds of disbelief. She straightened and looked at him in surprise.

"Beautiful," she managed.

As was she. He wasn't entirely certain when she had gone from—if he were to be brutally honest—a fairly plain woman with a pretty smile to a luminous woman with a gorgeous smile that when she turned it on him left him feeling as if he'd stared at the sun too long. Quite a bit too long. It was all he could do to nod, then tuck her into the car and show her how to buckle herself in without then proposing that they deposit the children back inside and run off to some deserted tropical isle and never return. They could have handfasted in the doorway of a very lovely beachside dwelling he would have happily built with his own two hands. Problem solved, perfect life begun.

He pulled himself back to more reasonable thoughts with an effort. Mairead touched his hand before he shut the door and that almost sent him arse over teakettle backwards.

He was in deep trouble.

"Are you unwell?" she asked, sounding worried.

"I'm fine," Oliver said with as much confidence as he could muster.

"I could drive, you know," Young Ian said from the backseat. "In an emergency."

Oliver shot him a look, had a bland look in return that was so reminiscent of his father that Oliver almost smiled, then shut the door and walked around the boot of the car to give himself time to regroup and reassess his strategy.

Perhaps the children could be distracted by free rein in the local grocery long enough for him to ask Mairead if she might want to, first, allow him to kiss her, then second, grace him with her luminous, delightful, perfect self for the rest of their days.

It was worth a try.

He looked around himself one last time out of habit, then froze. There was something… off… He realized with a bit of a start that that something was nothing more nefarious than Peter Wright, leaning casually against the corner of the castle and looking slightly dangerous. He would have bet his favorite pair of green trainers on the lad having a motorbike tucked behind the keep for immediate use. Not necessarily subtle, but effective.

He nodded to his mate, then pulled Patrick MacLeod's phone out of his pocket. He suspected he might have to do a fair amount of foot-stomping to have his own back, but at the moment the one in his hands would do. He considered, then texted Derrick.

Why?

The response was immediate. Because we luv u!

He took a deep breath and reminded himself of all the reasons he wanted his boss alive. For Sam's sake, if nothing else.

Truth?

Jamie said to.

Oliver considered all the reasons Jamie might request such a thing and landed on only two that sounded reasonable. Either he was worried about Patricia and thought Oliver would be too distracted to properly watch her, which was less insulting than it was unsettlingly accurate, or he was worried about Mairead, which was definitely both insulting and unsettling.

He looked over to find the laird of the hall standing at his doorway. He nodded firmly, had a slower nod in return, then decided it was perhaps Jamie just being cautious. He imagined that if he'd had children going off with a man thoroughly distracted by the woman he thought he might love, he would have sent along security as well. Heaven knew Cameron did it without a second thought.

He put himself in the car, then looked at his charges in the rear seat.

"A chippy run?" he asked

The chorus of ayes was deafening, as was the cacophony that made up all the suggestions flying forward about things to do and Mairead's questioning about what those things meant—and all in Gaelic. Oliver revisited his idea of children and green grocers, then gave that up when it occurred to him that Mairead would likely be leading the charge down the aisles.

He thought he just might be in trouble.

The outing turned out to be less perilous than he'd feared and actually more enjoyable than he'd hoped. He'd recruited Robert into a hastily cobbled-together security detail which had seemed to delight the lad almost as much as thoughts of potentially driving the yet-to-be-awarded supercar up and down his father's drive. Young Ian only seemed to require a nod to immediately go into surveillance mode. Obviously the lad had done the current sort of thing before.

He also realized very quickly that a slow easing into the shallow end of the pool was not in the cards for Miss Mairead MacLeod. He had parked Jamie's car at the less populated end of the village, close to the countryside that lay beyond it, but she hadn't bothered with even a single glance in that direction. She and Patricia had headed directly for the town center. She had frozen in place a time or two, but on the whole it took her far less time to become accustomed to the sights and sounds of a modern Scottish village than he'd expected it might.

He, on the other hand, spent far too much of his time watching her watch everything around herself and far too little doing the same thing himself whilst looking for thugs, which he realized at one point with more than a little alarm. He shot Peter a brief text of thanks for doing what he should have been doing himself, had an equally brief no worries mate in return, then decided that perhaps at least for the moment, they were safe enough.

He pulled himself back from his consuming thoughts to find that Mairead was still walking in front of him with Patricia holding her hand. She was, however, reaching her other hand behind her, which he decided could only be a good thing where he and his prospects for a second date with her were concerned. He took her hand, had bright, happy smiles from both her and Patricia as his reward, and decided perhaps the day wouldn't be a complete loss after all. Undone by two MacLeod lassies. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised.

He did glance periodically at Robert and Young Ian, had solemn nods in return, and came to another conclusion which was he was very much looking forward to having teenagers at some point in the future. Quite possibly with the woman walking next to him who spent most of her time pulling him after her to examine yet more Future marvels behind glass windows.

An excellent meal at the local fish and chips shop, a lengthy troll through Mrs. McCreedy's green grocery, and an equally pleasant walk back to the car took up a decent part of the day. He had caught sight of Peter at various points in their outing, resolved to thank Jamie for the care instead of glaring at him for interfering, and managed to get the entire crew back to the keep without losing a one of them.

"Let's go watch something on telly," Patricia said as they crawled out of the car.

"I call the remote," Robert said quickly. "I don't want to watch any of that stupid romantic rubbish, Patty."

Oliver exchanged a glance with Young Ian that he supposed needed no clarifying and followed the company up the steps and into the hall.

"What sorts of programmes do you like, Mairead?" Patricia asked, keeping Mairead's hand in hers and turning to look at her.

Oliver opened his mouth to remind Jamie's youngest that Mairead hadn't exactly had access to television in the past, but apparently there was no need.

"I fancy BBC myster—" Mairead stopped speaking and looked at him, wide-eyed. "BBC mysteries?"

"Let's leave that for tomorrow," he said quickly. "We've had a busy day."

Patricia tugged on Mairead's hand. "We'll think about a show later, though Mum won't let me watch anything too scary."

Oliver could only hope Elizabeth would manage to keep control of the remote. He went along, had tea with the family, then convinced himself that leaving Mairead with her family for what was left of the evening might allow them both to get a decent night's sleep for a change.

He found himself walked to the front door by a girl who knew her way around the keep, then turned and looked at her with a smile.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Could we go to the sea?"

"Absolutely," he said with a smile. "We could call it a second date, if you like."

"Given that I frightened off all your oth—" She froze and looked at him. "Did I?"

He shivered. "To be honest, Mairead—"

"You might call me Mair," she interrupted, then she managed a smile. "If you like." She paused. "I've said that before to you, haven't I?"

He took a deep breath, then nodded. And with that, he was back to where he'd started the day. His memories of her as a spirit in the current day were very vivid, but anything else was starting to feel like a dream. How she was remembering any of it was something he imagined would send Jamie directly into his library for a thorough search through his numerous tomes on the vagaries of time and traveling through it.

"Oliver?"

He pulled himself back to the present and smiled. "Aye, Mair?"

She smiled and it smote him directly to what heart he had left. "Thank you for the day."

"It was most definitely my pleasure."

Her smile faltered a bit. "I don't want you to go, but I don't know how to ask you to stay."

He shook his head. "You need to sleep in a bed tonight, not sit with me next to the fire. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

She nodded, but didn't move. He was acutely aware of the fact that the laird of the hall was standing with his back to his fire, no doubt marking any possible missteps for later payback in his lists. He looked at Mairead, considered, then thrust out his hand.

She looked at him and slowly put her hand into his. "Are you unwell?" she ventured.

"I'm saving myself a skewering from your grandfather."

"Ah," she said slowly. "I see. I thought—"

He considered, ignored Jamie's pointed clearing of his throat from across the hall, then stepped forward and put his arms around her. That she put her arms around his waist and held him tightly was, he had to admit, one of the better moments of the day.

"I'll take you to the shore tomorrow," he whispered, "and we'll talk about anything you want. If you leave your blade in the car, I might even attempt a chaste kiss or two."

She laughed a little, then pulled away and looked at him uneasily. "I'm likely looking too far above myself."

He took her hands in his. "Mairead, I want you to choose your path, but I would be lying if I didn't tell you that I would very much like that path to include me."

"In truth?"

"In truth."

She smiled. "As you will, then, Oliver."

"Sleep well, Mairead."

She nodded and stepped back. He pulled the door shut, took a deep breath, then jumped a little at the shadow that detached itself from the side of the hall. He supposed he was fortunate he managed to stumble down the stairs without landing on his face at the bottom of them as a result, but luck was with him in that at least.

"You," Ewan Cameron said, "are pathetic."

Oliver scowled at him. "And what would you have done?"

"I would have kissed her and dared James MacLeod to stick me for it."

Oliver refrained from pointing out that Ewan had definitely not faced Jamie over blades only because he didn't want to think about all the things Ewan had been keeping from the whole bloody, clueless lot of them.

"I also made you a lengthy list of useful dating ideas for your Life Manual. Didn't you read it?"

"I was going to," Oliver muttered.

Ewan ruffled his hair, then stepped smoothly out of the range of Oliver's hand that would have delivered a friendly yet bracing slap. "I would study it closely before tomorrow morning. Let's get you home so you can do that."

He caught up with Ewan and walked back up the meadow. Day One of Mairead MacLeod's Flawless Future Adventure was successfully in the can, which was a relief. He could only hope Day Two would go as well, which might necessitate a reading of Ewan's notes. He shook his head. His life was no longer his own, it seemed. Who would have suspected that his Horrible Highland Holiday would swerve so fully into things he never would have expected?

He might have to write his mates a thank-you note almost entirely free of foul words and promises of gross bodily harm for sending him on it in the first place.