“Beth—”
“I’ve never seen you without the long hair, mustache and beard. And his more youthful face threw me. But he’s you, Marc. You’re him.” She motioned to him with her free hand. “You move the same way. You tilt your head the same way. And, now that I’ve heard you speak Middle English, you even phrase your words the same way. You’re him. You’re Marcus.”
In the kitchen, more ice clattered, accompanied by exclamations of awe.
Marc lowered his eyes and poked the floor with his blunted sword tip. “That man Edward in the pictures looks just like William Shatner. That doesn’t mean—”
“Marc, don’t.” She stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “Please, don’t deny it. I know you’re him. I feel it. Seth said I’m a gifted one, that my intuition isn’t just ordinary intuition. And I believe him. I know I’m right.” A moment passed. “Tell me I’m right.”
Slowly, he nodded. “I am Marcus, heir of Dunnenford.” This time, when he spoke, his voice carried a British accent.
She smiled, excitement filling her at his admission. “That is so cool! How can this be? Did Seth bring you forward in time?”
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
His lips curled up in a smile that contained a hint of bitterness. “Seth does not wish me to alter my fate.”
She grimaced. “That whole dancing around fate thing is really annoying.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I mean, why is it okay for him to bring you to this time to live, but not okay for me and Robert to stay here?”
Again, he glanced down at the floor.
Seth had brought him forward in time, right?
Not necessarily. Back in the clearing, hadn’t she drawn the unbelievable conclusion that Seth had not come forward in time from the thirteenth century, but had instead simply lived long enough to see them again in this one?
Had Marcus done the same?
“How long have you known Seth?” she asked, hoping for a clue.
“Forever, it sometimes seems,” he murmured, then said no more.
The crack and fizzing sounds of a Perrier bottle opening carried to their ears.
“Are you going to tell Robert?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “I only want him to know me as I used to be, not as what I’ve become.”
She frowned. What did that mean?
Beth didn’t know and opted not to push him. “Well, I’m glad you told me.” Wrapping her arms around him, she hugged him hard. “Seth said I can’t take anything from this time back with me.” Withdrawing, she smiled up at him. “But now I’ll have you there.”
Sadness tinged his smile. “The boy I was then won’t know you from this time.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted. “It’ll still be you.”
Amusement lightened his sober expression. “Sending the tent back with you was my idea, by the way.”
She laughed. “It was?”
He nodded. “I remembered Robert frequently mentioning your icy fingers and toes and hoped it would keep you warm that first night.”
“Thank you,” she said wryly, then frowned. “Wait. So you knew—when you told me to bring the backpack—what was going to happen that day?”
“Yes. But Seth would not let me warn you.”
Trippy. “Well, if you had warned me, things would’ve turned out differently and I never would’ve met Robert. So I’m glad you didn’t.”
Robert returned, carrying a glass full of ice and bubbling Perrier.
“Thank you.” Beth took a sip. “How much ice did you spill on the floor?”
Robert gave her a sheepish grin. “A lot. But I picked it up and put it in the sink.”
All laughed.
The evening before they were to return to the past, Robert went to bed early, leaving brother and sister alone. The two siblings stayed awake all night, talking, reminiscing, and trying to cram decades of teasing into the few hours they had left together.
When the sun painted the sky with the first flush of dawn, they rose without speaking, donned their jogging shoes and went for their final run together.
It was hard. Harder even than the Houston Marathon. Her throat kept tightening up. Her breathing was choppier than usual. Tears posed a constant threat.
The impending departure weighed heavily upon them both. Their spirits lifted only slightly upon returning home when they found Robert, decked out in his medieval garb, baking yet another pizza.
Then it was time to leave.
Somber silence accompanied the drive. Beth and Robert, clad once more in his chain mail, rode with Josh in his SUV. Marc and Grant followed in Marc’s Prius, which had windows tinted as dark as those on Seth’s van.
Seth awaited them in the clearing, clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, leaning casually against a tree. He raised one eyebrow at the backpack Robert carried—a backpack full of secrets Robert wouldn’t disclose—but offered no protest. Nor did he examine the contents, so he must approve of whatever was in there.