Chapter 20

Phillip ran about the perimeter of the lists, knowing it was what his sire did when he was thinking but unable to stop himself from doing the same thing. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love his sire or admire the man to the depths of his soul. He did. Robin of Artane was the stuff of legends, a knight of unmatched prowess, a deep thinker, fiercely protective of his wife and children, a champion of those who needed someone to stand in front of them and keep them safe.

And a damned liar, apparently.

He tried to comfort himself with a string of vile profanities that would have earned him a month on his knees in the chapel if his mother had heard him. He kept at that for quite some time because it took his mind off other things, namely what in the hell was going on in the world that he hadn’t noticed.

He didn’t like being oblivious.

He also didn’t like feeling like a child. Why hadn’t they trusted him with this? It wasn’t as if he had a loose tongue or was prone to babbling things to anyone who would listen. He was a vault, a catacomb of silence, a repository of tidings about anything perilous and dire—

He realized he wasn’t alone. Jackson had joined him. He couldn’t say his cousin looked any better than he felt. He glanced at him.

“Need a run, too?”

“Nay, simply coming along to try to keep you from killing yourself.”

Phillip stopped. He wished he weren’t breathing so raggedly, but in his defense, he’d spent the breath he should have been reserving for his run cursing. That sort of thing took a toll on a man.

He looked at Jackson. “I’ve learned things I cannot tell you.”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I have grown to manhood in this keep, Phillip. I doubt you’ve learned anything I didn’t already know.” He paused. “Plus, I eavesdrop a great deal.”

“Were you just eavesdropping at your father’s door?”

“Didn’t need to.”

Phillip considered. There were few people he trusted—nay, he couldn’t say that. There were quite a few souls he trusted. He realized that it perhaps should have bothered him that he felt the need to continually make a list of those souls, but that was definitely something he could think about later.

He continued with his accounting, because it made him feel secure. He trusted his parents. He trusted his siblings, particularly Kendrick, who knew every last damned one of his few secrets. He trusted Rose, obviously; Connor, assuredly; Jackson, without reservation. His cousin was five years younger than he was, but sturdy and unwavering and silent as the tomb. And, as Jackson had said, he’d grown to manhood in the keep behind them. If anyone would know Jackson Kilchurn IV’s secrets, it would be his son.

He dragged his sleeve across his face. “I’m having thoughts about Imogen.”

“I can see why,” Jackson said grimly. “She’s terribly beautiful.”

“Not those kinds of thoughts—very well, I’ve been having those kinds of thoughts as well, but these are different thoughts.”

“Oh, please enlighten me.”

Phillip would have smiled, but he was too damned unnerved to. “’Tis odd that she simply appeared at Haemesburgh, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps she and Heather played a game of chance with you as the prize and Imogen lost.”

Phillip snorted. “And to think I was prepared to confide in you.”

Jackson almost smiled. He rarely did, which Phillip supposed, knowing what he now knew, he could understand. “Confide away.”

Phillip took a deep breath. “I think Imogen might be from a different place.” He had to gather his courage to spew out the rest of what he knew he now needed to say. “A different time, actually.” He looked at his cousin. “Your father’s time.”

Jackson only regarded him steadily. “I suppose that’s possible.”

“Possible?” Phillip said, choking on the word. “By all the bloody saints, Jack, do you realize what we’re discussing here?”

“I think I might have a fair idea.”

Phillip supposed ’twas only good breeding on his cousin’s part that left him not enjoying the feeling of Jackson’s fist in his mouth. “Forgive me. Of course you do.” He dragged his hands through his hair, realizing only then that he’d left his sword behind in Jake’s solar, damn it anyway. “I have always hoped that perhaps Pippa and your sire were distant, unwitting cousins, having learned things in separate locales without knowing each other...”

Jackson looked as if he might have wished the same thing. “But you know better.”

“Now. And I didn’t have to eavesdrop to learn it.”

Jackson only closed his eyes and let out his breath carefully.

“It seems fanciful,” Phillip added.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Phillip looked up at the sky. It was all too fantastical to be believed. A man moving from one year to the next without having to live through the moments that made the up the days spanning the distance? A man traveling over hundreds of years without seeing any of them? He could honestly say he would sooner believe a man being a specter for centuries and watching the time unravel before him before he could believe that.

But Jake wasn’t a liar.

He looked around him, trying to make certain he was still in his proper time and place. Aye, he was still in 1254, in the lists at Ravensthorpe, standing next to his cousin who had also grown to manhood in the current century. He was currently looking at—

Looking at a woman from the Future.

She was standing against the wall, wrapped in a cloak, the last of twilight leaving her looking more like a ghost than a corporeal being. He stared at her and let the truth of her origins give him a bracing slap across the face.

She wasn’t from Edinburgh.

She was from the Future.

“It is hard to deny,” Jackson said quietly.

He looked at his cousin. “Do you think so?”

“Most of the time, cousin, I try not to think.”

“But the... the...” Phillip couldn’t bring himself to even voice the word.

“The Future?” Jackson supplied. “Is that what you’re trying so unsuccessfully to say?”

Phillip looked at his cousin and felt a wave of sympathy wash over him. “You poor bastard.”

“Which I’m not, as you well know, but the sentiment is appreciated.”

Phillip shook his head. It provided him with no relief, but he shook it again because he simply couldn’t believe what he’d learned. “Your father could be daft, you know.”

“If it eases you to think that, feel free. I know I’ve considered the like more times than is polite.” He sighed deeply. “She must be terrified.”

“I should see to her.”

“Altruistic to the last.”

Phillip shot his cousin a brief smile before he clapped him on the shoulder in passing. “We’ll talk later.”

“I’m sure we will.”

Phillip crossed the lists to come to a stop before Imogen. She was watching him warily, as if she fully expected him to do something dire. He supposed the list of what those things could have been was rather long, but he was nothing if not measured in his reactions to things that bothered him. It was also true that what bothered him at present was slightly out of the scope of everyday vexations, but that wasn’t her fault.

He offered his arm. “Care for a stroll about the lists?”

“Your cousin Rose loaned me boots for just that possibility.”

“She is nothing if not prepared.”

She held out his sword. Either it was heavier than she was accustomed to, or she was uneasy, for her hand shook badly. He took the blade from her, belted it about his hips as he’d done countless times over the course of his life and never found it strange until that moment, then extended his elbow her way.

“Shall we?”

She nodded but said nothing. She did, however, take his elbow. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a woman touch him in such a simple way yet leave him scarce able to keep his feet.

His life was definitely not proceeding as planned.

He walked with her for quite some time, more relieved than he’d anticipated not to be required to say anything at all. Torches were lit, something that made him smile a bit in spite of himself.

“What is it?” Imogen asked.

He nodded toward a lad who was hurrying around the perimeter of the field and lighting fires. “They’re doing that for us.”

“Are they? Why is that funny?”

Funnywas a word he didn’t know, but he supposed that wouldn’t be the first time he heard something he had to scratch his head over. He decided he would ask her its meaning later and instead simply forge ahead with what had amused him.

“My father is famous for running about the lists at all hours to clear his head. He has a cadre of lads whose sole task it is to make certain he doesn’t stub his delicate toes against a rock in the dark. I’m not sure my lord uncle engages in the same madness, but they have definitely taken a care for us.”

He looked at her briefly, just to see if she was catching what he was saying. She didn’t look baffled. She looked like she was fair to shattering, though. He covered her hand with his and stopped in the circle of torchlight.

“Imogen—”

“I’m not a witch,” she blurted.

He blinked in surprise. “Of course you’re not.”

“If you try to go collect kindling, I’ll... I’ll...”

He smiled. “You’ll what?”

She pulled her hand away and glared at him. “I’ll take your sword and stab you with it.”

“You’re very fierce,” he said, “but definitely not a witch. You need have no fear of anyone accusing you of that.”

“I think lots of people could accuse me.”

“Not in front of me,” he said seriously, “which is perhaps why you should remain near me.”

She blinked at him. He wasn’t sure if that was because the thought was horrifying or distasteful, but he wasn’t going to ask her which it was. She looked a little bemused, actually, as if she just wasn’t sure how to take him, if taking him was something she was interested in doing.

He promised himself a good rest very soon. He was starting not to make sense inside his own head and that worried him.

And then she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said, looking genuinely touched.

“Chivalry is always in fashion,” he managed. “And always convenient.”

“Is that what this is?”

He laughed a little in spite of himself. “Nay, just good breeding thanks to my mother, as well as a bit of selfishness on my part. If I keep you near me, you stay protected, and I’m able to be dazzled by your lovely green eyes.”

“They’re brown,” she said with a smile, then her smile faded. “I appreciate it, but it wouldn’t be for very long. I need to go home.”

He’d known she would want to go, of course, but he hadn’t expected the hearing of it to be so unpleasant. “Of course. The offer stands for as long as you’re here.”

“I’m getting in the way of your empire building, I think.”

To hell with my empirewas almost out of his mouth before he could stop it. He did have excellent self control, though, so he bit that back and said what he feared he needed to say. “I know where you need to go.”

She looked at him searchingly. “Do you?”

He blew out his breath. “I fear I’m the one who needs to walk now, if you’ll indulge me.” He waited until they had reached the end of the lists where he was sure there were no cousins lurking, then sighed. “I have spent my share of time at Ravensthorpe, of course, but I fear I first started to become acquainted with, ah—”

“Weird stuff?”

He smiled. “Paranormal oddities is what my father calls them. ’Tis a term I happily credited to his losing his wits. That was, as you might imagine, an occurrence I welcomed readily given that it meant I would take his seat that much sooner.”

“You aren’t serious.”

He lifted his eyebrows briefly. “I love my sire, the irascible bastard, and nay, I’m not praying for his demise no matter how much I clamor for it. And of course I dismissed any mention of anything untoward as the fanciful imaginings of those too acquainted with the contents of their wine cellars.” He had to take another breath or two, then he stopped and looked at her. “My uncle Montgomery’s wife is from your time, as well.”

She looked rather ill, all things considered. “Another one?”

“Doesn’t that ease you?”

“I’m not sure anything would ease me right now.” She pulled her hand away and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I think I might be sick.”

He thought he might understand that all too well. For a man—or a maid, for that matter—to live his life secure in thinking the world behaved in a certain fashion, then to find out that nothing was as he’d believed it to be... Aye, it was unsettling indeed.

He nodded back toward the hall. “Let’s go find something to drink, then. My uncle has an excellent cellar.”

“Do you drink?”

“Not yet.”

She smiled weakly, then took his arm when he offered it to her. He wasn’t sure if she knew she was doing it or not. What he did know was that she looked fair to losing her supper and for that he couldn’t blame her in the slightest.

He realized suddenly that he had a thousand questions for her. What did the Edinburgh of the future look like? Was Artane still standing? Had the world truly ended in the Year of Our Lord’s Grace 1300?

What in the hell was why-fie and why did she continue to mutter about it?

There were other things as well, things that were less easy for him to face. He couldn’t quite decide if he was hurt because he’d been kept in the dark about details that others seemed to be terribly familiar with or because he thought Imogen might want to go back to the place where she’d come from.

He was tempted to take the hilt of his sword—the sword he’d had made to fit his hand, which apparently wasn’t magical enough to transport anything through time—smash it into his own forehead and hopefully render himself senseless. By the saints, of course she was going to want to go home. Why would she want to stay in his current world with all its lack of wonders?

Why would she want to stay with him?

“Phillip.”

He realized he was forcing her to trot to keep up with him. He stopped, took a deep breath, then looked at her. He hardly knew what to say. His entire world, everything that he thought he knew, had suddenly been ripped asunder. He realized, after indulging in a fair bit of self-pity, that she was in exactly the same place.

“Forgive me,” he said. “Too much thinking. I’ll stop running.”

“I think I understand why you’re doing it.”

“I imagine you do.” He started across the field with her again, keeping his pace to something he thought was reasonable. He glanced at her. “How did it happen? If I can ask.”

“I put my hand on your sword and I fell through something,” she said. “A gate? A doorway I didn’t see? At first, I thought I’d just opened a trapdoor in the floor behind the lord’s chair.” She shrugged. “All I know is I wound up here.”

“You must have been terrified.”

“You caught me when I fell.”

“Off the end of the drawbridge,” he said wryly, “and given that I’m the one who told you to drop, I’m not sure that counts as a proper rescue.”

“You still caught me.” She let out a shuddering breath. “I’m starting to wonder if maybe it was just a quirk of fate that never should have happened.” She looked at him bleakly. “You don’t have your castle and I don’t have my world.”

“Aye, but we have my uncle’s cellars,” he managed, because he feared he might become maudlin if he spoke of anything more serious. “If those fail to impress, we might mount an assault on his kitchens. If nothing else, the man is very concerned with the state of his belly.”

She smiled and he realized how far he was toward being lost in the eyes of a woman who didn’t belong to his castle, his time, or his heart.

Damn them all three for being what he wanted.