Twenty-six

M airead stood with Kenneth's blade across her throat and wondered where she'd taken a wrong turn that day.

Dawn had broken very nicely with Oliver Phillips's arms around her, followed by several very lovely kisses that had led to yet more of the things they had enjoyed during the previous night, things she thought she could safely leave off the pages of her own book just as Mistress Constance Buchanan had discreetly left them off her own.

The subsequent arrival of visitors hadn't been entirely unwelcome. Oliver's mates were braw and charming and ‘twas obvious they were very fond of her husband. Jamie, too, seemed pleased with Oliver's care of her and she had agreed that Young Ian could certainly do worse than to learn his company manners from the Duke of Birmingham.

She'd understood Jamie's concern over leaving that same book in 1583. The saints only knew what sort of havoc it could wreak on someone not quite as sensible as she had been. She had consoled herself at first with the thought that it simply couldn't have survived intact for very long.

That thought had been countered rather unpleasantly by reminding herself that Sinclair McKinnon's scribblings had been almost perfectly intact in that abandoned McKinnon chapel. The saving grace there was that his writings had been contained in a decently fashioned stone box whilst her book had been exposed to the elements.

She'd leaned against the wall next to Oliver's sword, enjoying the view of him being teased ferociously by his mates and bearing it manfully, and contemplated other things. Master Sinclair's pages had survived thanks to their weathering the years in a box, true, and in her day there she'd known of two hiding places that might have served the same sort of purpose. One had been the loose stone in her brother's bedchamber, something she was certain he had no idea about.

The other had been a similarly loose stone along the back wall of the witch's croft. She'd always thought the spot was altogether too small to hide any stray MacLeods—no matter what her uncle Lachlan had claimed—but the idea that it might possibly have hidden a book had been worth a look at least.

So she'd left Oliver and his mates to discussing the intricacies of something called football and slipped outside to do a little investigating on her own. She hadn't but rounded the side of Moraig's house before she'd realized that she would never reach that loose stone at the back of Moraig's house. The first reason was that someone had added to the croft, covering the wall in the process.

The other was that she'd run directly into Kenneth MacLeod loitering in a time definitely not his own, accompanied by a large knife and his own foul humors, and he had captured her without hesitation.

The only positive things she could think of about the whole damnable exercise was that he hadn't slit her throat right off and he'd been so unnerved by Moraig's house that he'd dragged her away from it. If nothing else, Oliver would continue his life without the memory of her shrieking herself hoarse before she died.

Not that she had any intention of crying out—nor dying, for that matter. She wished she hadn't left her blade in the refrigerator, but she'd made do with less before.

"I say we slay her here!"

Mairead looked at Master James who was standing five paces away from her and wished he would stand a bit farther away. She was most assuredly going to need another endless shower in Moraig's glorious bathing chamber just to remove the spittle that seemed to be flying everywhere each time he shouted something else.

That was a man who she very seriously doubted had even managed a first date.

"We have to take her back with us," Kenneth growled.

"Stop saying that," Master James spat. "We're here where she is!"

"Which is not where you want her to be," Kenneth said, "but you're too stupid to understand that."

Mairead had opinions on the wit of both of them, but imagined it would be best to keep them to herself.

"She's in demon garb!" Master James howled.

Mairead had to agree with that, at least. She was very fond of her black clothing, mostly because Oliver thought she was very hot in it. She did indeed feel very hot, but she suspected that at present that was merely from nerves.

"We have to return to the faery ring in the grass," Kenneth said, sounding as if he might be on the verge of weeping with frustration.

Mairead would have suggested that Master James push him fully toward that place so she might escape his blade and run, but Kenneth's hand in her hair suddenly was painful enough that she had to bite her lip to keep from making any sort of noise. Oliver favored silence as well, she knew.

She knew that because she had just caught sight of him moving silently through the trees. She didn't dare look for the rest of his lads, though she strongly suspected they were there as well.

"I'll go," she said suddenly. "Please, please just let me live long enough to see the hall once more!"

Master James stopped frothing at the mouth long enough to look at her in surprise. "Why?"

She manufactured a little noise of grief. "So I might go to the fire knowing that I've cleansed my clan of this evil."

"Let's go, then," Kenneth said, taking the knife away from her throat.

He obviously thought his hand buried in her hair would be enough, which she supposed she might agree with. She put her hand against her throat as if she could scarce control her grief because possibly losing a finger to his knife was better than losing her life, though she had no intention of giving up either.

It took far less time to reach the edge of the forest than she thought it might, though she had every confidence that Oliver and the lads would have followed her. She stopped still when she found not only Tasgall waiting there just outside the faery ring, but Deirdre as well.

She gasped, but that was likely because Kenneth was suddenly no longer standing behind her and his removal from her person had almost broken her neck.

"Are you all right?" Oliver asked urgently.

She clutched the back of her hair and opened her mouth to tell him that she was but he might not be in a moment, but apparently there was no need. He turned to meet her brother who had rushed forward, his sword bare in his hands and a look of madness on his face.

She found herself behind Ewan and Peter, with Derrick standing a pace or two in front of them. She peeked over Ewan's shoulder and glared at her brother.

"If you hurt him, I'll kill you!" she shouted.

Derrick shot her a smile. "Ewan, give her an earbud at least so she can hear Oliver muttering under his breath as he fights. It's very entertaining."

Mairead thought it might be anything but, but she found herself immediately outfitted in Future Spygear, as Ewan called it.

"Don't slay him," she managed into the little stick Ewan had fastened to her cheek.

"How alive should I leave him?"

"Only barely?"

She had a brief smile from her husband over his shoulder before he turned back to his business. She decided that perhaps it was best to just let him see to his affairs and prepare to heap compliments on his head after the fact. After all, her brother had made her life a misery. A bit of encouragement not to do that to anyone else in the future could only be a good thing.

Oliver rid her brother of his sword immediately by spinning around and kicking it from his hands. And then he simply stood there, which she almost shouted at him for but Ewan put his hand on her shoulder.

"He's not going to hit him first."

She looked at him in astonishment. "Why not?"

Ewan shrugged. "It's his code of honor. But if your brother is stupid enough to strike him, he'll regret it."

She turned back to the skirmish and tried to watch it dispassionately. Tasgall did indeed strike Oliver first, a feeble, glancing blow on the face that did him no credit at all. Then again, he generally hit women so perhaps he feared to truly commit to striking a man who was taller and more finely fashioned than he was.

"Are you afraid of me?" Tasgall blustered.

Oliver simply put the back of his hand to his mouth, glanced at the blood from his cut lip, then looked at him. "Don't hit any more women," he said quietly.

"Who are you to tell—"

Mairead supposed all those fights Oliver had gotten into in his youth had served him well, along with all those many hours learning various forms of martial—

She took a deep breath, let the memories come, then let them go. She forced herself to watch her love repay her brother for things he had done and inspire him not to do them any longer, though she suspected Oliver did far less damage to him than he could have.

He finally caught her brother neatly under the chin, sending his head snapping back. Tasgall's eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground like a drunkard after far too much ale. Mairead watched him for a moment or two to make certain he wasn't going to be leaping to his feet and swinging at the nearest person he could find, then she pushed past Derrick to at least make certain Oliver's mouth hadn't been overly damaged.

Only instead of finding her love in front of her, she came face-to-face with her sister-in-law. She was very relieved to find that Deirdre didn't have a knife in her hand.

She did, however, have half a book.

Mairead looked at Oliver to find him watching with absolutely no expression on his face. Either he was on the verge of laughing or he feared that things might go very badly indeed. She suspected she might agree with him on both points, so she prepared herself for the worst as she turned back to face her brother's wife.

"That's an interesting treasure you have there," she said carefully.

"I had the entire thing," Deirdre spat.

"Did you?" Mairead asked, trying to be pleasant. "How clever of you to have found something so valuable."

Deirdre pointed back toward the forest with a hand that was not at all steady. "I went to the witch's croft a year ago to dare the faeries and sprites to vex me—"

"Your first mistake," Kenneth howled.

Deirdre shot him a look of loathing, then turned back to her. "The house was bolted against me, but I looked in the windows and saw it was full of demon's belongings."

Mairead didn't dare look at Oliver, though she could imagine well enough what he was thinking. Perhaps her uncle's tales of MacLeods disappearing into the witch's forest weren't so fantastical after all, for ‘twas obvious Deirdre had gone through the faery ring in the meadow. She was grateful she'd had such a generous helping of good sense come to her from her father which had allowed her to investigate things without descending into madness. Her brother's wife obviously did not have that same skill.

"I found the manuscript next to the tree," Deirdre said, beginning to chafe her hands together. "But then I heard a rustling in the woods. I feared for my immortal soul so I picked up the book and fled." Deirdre looked down her nose. "Not that you would understand anything about that, being a demon yourself."

"As you say," Mairead agreed. "But if you were in a different world with odd things in the witch's croft, how did you return home?"

"I went back to the faery ring in the grass, of course. I ran through it, hoping to shake off anything that had come from the forest with me, but then it occurred to me that I might be drawing them to me with the folios. I decided to return half of them to the demons in the witch's croft to keep them at bay. I would have managed it had not that fool been following me."

Mairead imagined it couldn't hurt to join her sister-in-law briefly in glaring at Kenneth. She enjoyed that for a moment then turned back to the matter at hand.

"What happened then?"

"I took the half with the rendering of that demon on it," Deirdre said, gesturing with a shaking hand toward Oliver, "and left it by the tree where I'd found it, hoping that would be enough of an offering to appease them." She frowned. "The trees were different, true, and the witch's croft empty of all but a stool, but I suspected that was because I had angered the demons."

Mairead suspected it was perhaps more because Deirdre hadn't succeeded in getting herself back to the Future where she'd first found Constance Buchanan's book, but perhaps that didn't need to be said.

"I rushed home and hid the second part behind the loose stone in the wall in my bedchamber," Deirdre said, looking thoroughly unsettled. "I studied it for many months, but could make no sense of the scratches on the sheaves."

And so was answered the question of why Deirdre had spent so much time upstairs. Mairead couldn't fault her for wanting to learn new things, but she definitely could for making everyone's life a misery whilst she'd been about it.

"Do you still have that second half?" she asked carefully.

"Your fool of a brother found it and threw it into the fire," Deirdre said shortly. "And since that was the case, I needed another offering."

Mairead realized at that moment just how badly she'd misjudged Deirdre Fergusson and her madness. "And you think I have the first half?" she asked mildly.

"I've seen you putting it into the tree when you weren't keeping it secreted upon your person."

"I don't have it—"

"Of course you do!"

"Nay, she does not," Kenneth said, puffing up and pulling something from inside his plaid. He held up what Mairead could readily see was the first half of her book. "I have it," he said triumphantly, "and I will use it to prove she's a witch!"

" I want to prove she's a witch," Deirdre shouted at him.

Mairead looked at Master James who was gnawing on the edge of his sleeve. He glanced uneasily at her, then at the other two standing there.

"I just want to burn her," he offered. Perhaps he'd had a view of what Oliver had done to Tasgall and didn't fancy the like happening to himself.

Mairead looked at Oliver. He sighed and shook his head, then shot her a quick smile before he turned a frown on both Deirdre and Kenneth.

"If that is a demon's tome," he said slowly, "then why are you two fighting over it? I should think Master James would find your having touched it to be very… unwholesome."

Master James rushed forward, shoving Deirdre out of his way. "I could not agree more, Lord Oliver. Perhaps you would care to aid me in my testing of these two?"

"I can't think of anything I would rather do less," Oliver said with a polite smile.

Mairead would have complimented him on that, but she was startled by the glint of steel in Deirdre's hand, the blade descending with terrifying swiftness—

Toward Oliver's chest.

He caught her arm readily enough and held the blade away from himself.

"Let me go," Deirdre shrieked. "I'll send her to the fire, and you'll not stop me!"

Mairead would have offered her opinion on her sister-in-law's moral choices, but she didn't have time before Deirdre tried to bite Oliver's hand that was still holding onto her. The sound was particularly unpleasant, though she realized very quickly that Deirdre had encountered Oliver's silver timepiece strapped to his arm and that those were likely a pair of teeth objecting the resistance.

Deirdre pulled back and put her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. She backed away quickly, then tripped over her husband and went sprawling, her head coming to rest with yet another unwholesome sound against a rock.

Mairead would have commented on just desserts served right properly, but before she could, Oliver had leaped over to her and pulled her behind him. She looked around his shoulder in time to see Master James there, flapping his arms as if he were a carrion bird. Or at least he did for a moment or two. His arms fell to his sides, then he listed to one side, continuing on until he'd fallen fully onto the ground.

James MacLeod stood behind him.

"Did you slay him?" she asked in surprise.

He held up a longish tube that was very small. "Straw," he said succinctly. "Tranquilizer dart."

I know , she almost said, but she had no idea how she knew so she set that aside as something to think about later. That list was growing uncomfortably long, but perhaps she would start her own book like Oliver's and continually add things to it for study when she had the time for it.

She watched Oliver and Derrick catch Kenneth before he could flee, then truss him up with some sort of sticky rope. Oliver did them all the favor of wrapping a bit of the same over Kenneth's mouth which contributed greatly to the peace of the afternoon.

"Thank you, my lord," Oliver said to Jamie, making him a low bow. "Your aid was vital."

Jamie shrugged with a faint smile. "I think you and your companions had things well in hand, but I thought a little aid with that vile man couldn't go amiss. I'll leave it to you to sort young Kenneth, though. He knows too much."

"I've got that," Ewan said, stepping up and making Jamie a bow. "If I might offer my services as a hypnotist?"

"A what?" Mairead asked.

Ewan pulled a gold disc out of his pocket. "This, my lady, is a magical tool I will use to send him into a trance where he will be amenable to any suggestion you might have. When he wakes, he will feel compelled to do as you've suggested but have no idea why."

Mairead was happy to have Oliver come stand next to her. "Is he daft?" she murmured.

Oliver shook his head with a smile. "Ewan is a man of many talents. I've watched him do this before—not, however, to me."

"That you know," Ewan said lightly.

Oliver glared at him, but Ewan only laughed lightly in return. He turned to her and inclined his head.

"Your wish is my command."

Mairead considered all the things she could have wished on her cousin, but discarded them one by one. He would either become a decent man or continue on to his own bad end, but she wasn't going to decide that for him. Though if she could, as Ewan might have suggested, point him in the right direction, perhaps there was no sin in that.

"What if every time he sees fire, he feels the need to make certain everyone around him is safe?" she asked. "That would keep him busy." She paused. "He could also insist on a diet made solely from offal, but that might be unkind."

"He probably wouldn't live very long," Ewan agreed. "Let's do as you suggest with the other, though, as well as inspire him to stick to all that do-gooding. Peter, what's in your backpack?"

"Beyond tape and zip ties? Only things to entertain the children after supper."

"You can do that later. Show me now."

Mairead watched Peter pull out things from his pack and stepped back in spite of herself. The sight of gossamer wings that shimmered and sparkled with an unusual purple light when Peter put them on was unsettling enough, but the mask he pulled over his face was another thing entirely. She groped for Oliver's hand.

"The wings I understand," she managed, "but what is the creature on his mask?"

"The same thing that's on your pajamas."

She considered, then looked at him. "The ones on my pajamas are very adorable. That thing is not."

Oliver smiled. "Perhaps not, but Kenneth absolutely deserves the nightmares he'll have from it. Don't watch Ewan whilst he's about this first part."

She looked away until Ewan announced that they could turn back. Kenneth was staring up at Ewan, slack-jawed and wide-eyed.

"Now, Kenneth," Ewan said in remarkably good Gaelic, "you've been naughty, haven't you?"

Kenneth started to weep, but Ewan shook his head.

"None of that," he said sharply. "Be a man. And as a man, this is what you're going to do. Every time you see any sort of fire, you will rush around and make certain everyone is safe. If you do not, this creature here—"

Mairead watched as Peter swooped over to Kenneth, causing his wings to flutter furiously. He hopped up and down several times, growling, then fluttered away, giving vent to very unnerving moans and baying.

"—will visit you and punish you," Ewan finished sternly. "Also, every time you're tempted to kiss a woman, you must first offer her three heartfelt compliments. You'll wet yourself otherwise."

"Oh, Ewan," Derrick said in disgust.

Ewan looked over his shoulder, winked, then turned back to his business. Mairead watched as her cousin blinked suddenly, as if he'd just woken up from a deep sleep. He looked at Ewan and his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell off his rock.

"Well," Oliver said, rubbing his hands together, "that's that. Let's cut him loose and shove him through the gate, but first let me find something." He walked over and retrieved the half of the book Kenneth had dropped in his terror. "Mairead, let me give this to you for safekeeping. It's been a lovely afternoon, lads, but—"

He stopped speaking. She took a step backward instinctively, then found herself pulled behind him. She peeked around him and could scarce believe what she was seeing, but there was no denying it.

Her uncle Lachlan had come through the faery ring and was currently shaking Jamie's hand.

"Well met, nephew," Jamie said, smiling pleasantly.

"It's been too long, James," Lachlan said with an answering smile. "I see we have a bit of a situation to account for here."

"Any suggestions, Lachlan?"

"A few more tales of faeries and bogles in the forest should be sufficient," Lachlan said with a thoughtful frown, "though I'm not sure that will be enough for the young ones of the clan, though. They're too adventuresome by half."

Mairead found her uncle looking at her pointedly and all she could do was smile weakly in return.

"I think we'll need to close this gate," Jamie said, stroking his chin.

"There are always others," Lachlan offered.

Jamie smiled. "Indeed, there are."

Mairead had to admit she'd become somewhat accustomed to feeling as if she weren't quite settled into her poor form, but the sight of her uncle chatting companionably with her grandfather was something else entirely. She decided that perhaps ‘twas best to simply watch events unfold in front of her and not try to put them in a sort of reasonable order.

She first listened to Oliver approach her father's brother, flatter him effusively, then ask very politely if he might have her hand in marriage. She suspected the horse was already out of the barn on that, but decided to keep that to herself. There was tradition and a proper schedule about that sort of thing.

Her uncle then bestowed not only his permission but hearty felicitations on her handfasted husband, then walked over to her to pull her into a fatherly embrace. He kissed her on the forehead and smiled at her.

"He's a good lad."

She nodded. "He is."

"And you love him?"

"Desperately."

"Remind him that I have a very sharp sword and am not afraid to come find him and use it on him if he neglects his duties toward you. And perhaps we'll meet again someday and discuss faeries and bogles to our satisfaction over an order of fish and chips."

She found absolutely nothing to say that would equal the otherworldly nature of that statement, so she settled for a nod and what she was certain was a very weak smile.

She watched as he and Jamie and Oliver carried first her brother, then Master James through the gate and laid them in the meadow in the past. She then stood with Oliver as her uncle picked Deirdre up in his arms.

"Come along, Kenneth," he said sternly. "You can hie yourself through this wee spot in the grass all on your own."

Mairead watched her cousin heave himself to his feet to do just that—

Only to pull the knife from her uncle's belt and lunge at her. She wrenched out of his way, but realized immediately that stabbing her hadn't been his intention.

Cutting off her braid, though, certain had.

Oliver snatched the knife from him, stuck it back into Lachlan's belt, then turned Kenneth to face him. Mairead watched her husband repay her cousin for a bit of the grief he'd caused her, then shove him so hard through the gate that he stumbled and went sprawling. Lachlan thanked him, exchanged another pleasant farewell with Jamie, then walked through the gate.

It shut behind him with a firm click.

She reached out toward the hair lying there on the ground, a braid she'd never done anything but brush for the entirety of her life, but her hands grasped at nothing. Oliver caught one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. She appreciated the gesture, but all she could do was look at him in shock.

"My crowning glory," she said, wondering if the present moment might be the best one for bursting into tears.

She found herself gathered into strong arms and felt Oliver's hand skimming over what was left of the one glory she'd possessed.

"It will grow," he said quietly.

She was willing to concede he might be right, but that didn't ease her overmuch. At least she had simply lost her hair and not her life. Oliver pulled back, kissed her quickly, then smiled.

"I hear Cameron's helicopter coming. Let's get out of the way and see what he and Jamie have planned."

She nodded, but found she couldn't move. All she could do was look at her hair and mourn. She'd only ever had three possessions in her life that were hers: her mother's ring which was most definitely in the past, the first half of her book which she supposed she might have back once she'd picked it up from where Kenneth had dropped it, and her hair.

And now the man standing there, watching her with love in his eyes, something that was far more important than those other things. She took a deep breath, then nodded.

"I'll fetch my hair if you'll fetch Elizabeth's book."

He smiled, kissed her quickly, then did just that. She gathered up her braid, then moved with her husband out of the way of Cameron's flying beastie. She very quickly found herself where she was happiest, which was in Oliver's arms.

"Thank you for the rescue," she said, looking at him gravely.

"Where did you go?"

"Outside to see if the loose stone in the wall was still there." She paused. "I think it's in the loo now."

He laughed a little, then kissed her. "I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"Why don't you stay within arm's reach of me for a while?"

"How long?"

He considered. "Five or six decades?"

She smiled and allowed him to gather her close again. "If you want."

"I want."

"At least my hair will be long again after all that time."

He kissed the top of her head, then wrapped his arms around her. "It will be absolutely lovely either way."

She looked over his shoulder at the helicopter that was descending from the sky, carrying what looked to be a large boulder under itself. She would have enjoyed that, but she found that all she could do was stand there and pray that she had seen the last of a particular trio of family members.

The helicopter landed and Cameron himself jumped out and walked over to them. He greeted Oliver and the lads, greeted her with especial kindness, then turned to Jamie.

"I got your text." He looked at the gate, then at Jamie. "We can close it with a rock for now, but perhaps trees or something else would be useful?"

"A lovely addition to our border," Jamie said pleasantly.

"Will it be missed?"

"Only by those who shouldn't be using it," Jamie said seriously, then he smiled. "There are, as you know, others."

"I appreciate the continual updates to your map," Cameron said dryly.

Mairead leaned closer to Oliver. "Map?"

"Jamie has a map of all the time gates he's discovered."

She looked at him and found that her mind was simply aflame with the possibilities—

"No."

She looked at Oliver in surprise. "What?"

He considered. "Maybe."

She turned and put her arms around him, then leaned up and kissed him briefly.

"All right," he muttered, but he smiled at her before he hugged her tightly, then put his arm around her shoulders. "Let's go home."

"You aren't coming to Patrick's?" Derrick asked politely.

"Get lost," Oliver tossed at him.

"Well, it certainly worked out well for you."

Mairead smiled at the look her husband sent to his friend, then smiled again at the look he gave her which was of a different sort entirely.

"Best wrong turn I ever took," he said with a grave smile.

"I'm so happy you took it," she said.

"I am, too. Moraig's?"

"If we hold hands whilst crossing the threshold."

"Let's hold hands for the rest of our lives."

"Pass the sick bucket," Ewan called, "but let's go have supper first. Cameron, what can I do to see this flying contraption put to bed properly?"

Mairead put her arm around her husband's waist and walked with him back into the woods. If she made careful note of their surroundings and watched him do the same, who could blame them?

She was holding onto the man she loved and all was right with the world.