“And to which exact date, Douglas?” Moira asked.
Doug held out the phone but Collum took it first. Sitting next to his grandmother, he tilted it so that he, Moira, and Mac could all view it at once. As Moira slipped a pair of readers from their usual spot on top of her graying black hair, Mac’s head tilted against his wife’s as all three read the words together.
Mac read it aloud to the rest of us. “March eleventh, 1895.” His head rose to level a look at Bran. “That concur with your dates, Bran?”
Bran hesitated. “Yes. The same. Though I believe our arrival is some two hours earlier. Looks like we’ll get to do a bit of sightseeing before you all arrive.”
My brain began to pound, to fill with every political, social, and civil event that had occurred in and around the New York area on the three days following March 11, 1895.
I forced most of it back. I already knew there was only one sentinel event—?one historical occurrence too well known to ever be revocable—?that really mattered. One reason and one reason alone that the Dim would open to that specific date and time and location.
“The thirteenth,” I spoke up. “It’s all about the thirteenth.”
Doug was already nodding as Mac said, “March thirteenth, 1895?” A million wrinkles formed around his eyes as he squinted, head cocked. “The date does ring a bell. Why is that?”
“March thirteenth, 1895,” I said as I turned back to the others, “was the night Nikola Tesla’s Fifth Avenue lab burned to the ground. It’s the night he lost everything.”
Chapter 8
MAC STRAIGHTENED. “WE NEED TO RELAY ALL THIS TO Lucinda and I don’t want to do it over the phone. We’ll have little enough time to prepare, and so must leave at once.”
My stomach sank into my feet. We’re leaving? But . . . but that’s not fair.
Bran got up when Moira stood. Mac gripped his shoulder in thanks. Moira gave him a hearty embrace, speaking loudly over Phoebe’s groans of protest.
“Thank you for coming to us, Brandon. And we won’t be forgetting it. But Mac’s right. Lu has to know, and we’ve decisions to make. Hope, you stay, but say your goodbyes quickly.” With a wave, she motioned for the others to rise. “The rest of you, no more bellyaching. You heard your grandfather. Get to the tent and get everything packed up. We leave in ten.”
Collum was the only one who lingered at the picnic table while Bran and I stayed put, staring remorsefully down at the hundreds of carved initials.
“I think you’re holding out on us.” Collum rose slowly, gaze narrowed on Bran. “There’s more to this than you’re saying, Cameron. You know it. I know it.”
Knuckles pressed to the tabletop, Collum loomed over us. Behind him, the mist-shrouded Highland peaks rolled on and on, as unchanged and unyielding as the people who lived there.
“Make no mistake: If anyone gets hurt because of something you concealed, you’ll answer to me.”
With that, Collum wheeled about and stomped away, kilt swinging, broad shoulders rigid with tension.
“Never thought I’d miss the dear lad.” Bran’s natural good humor was trying to return. His grin flashed, revealing that one crooked eyetooth. “But damn if he doesn’t grow on you.”
“Bran.”
As he turned on the bench toward me, the grin slowly faded.
“There’s never enough time, is there?” he said. “For us, I mean. It seems to have become something of a pattern.”
“No,” I said. “Never enough. And we’re time travelers, no less. Seems like that ought to afford us some kind of privilege.”
He huffed a chuckle. “You know, things have been . . . difficult at home. Worse than you could imagine.”
I watched as his fingertip traced the carved hearts on the table. He had such graceful hands, though they were scarred, callused from riding and swordplay. And as he went on all I could think about was having those hands on my skin.
“I wanted to leave, you know? Started to run a hundred different times. But then, I’d think of that day when my stupid horse tossed me into the river. And there you were, standing in the freezing water and glaring down at me, shivering but so fierce. Or I’d remember how you looked with the snow falling all around you as you melted iron bars to save a friend. And I would tell myself that if you could possess that kind of courage,” he said, “then I could stand it a little longer.”
My breath caught as his hands moved to glide over my shoulders, down my arms. The warmth of his palms heated every inch of me they touched. His arm slid around my waist and held tight as we watched the Highland games.
If I squinted, I could almost pretend we were in a place set apart from time. A world where mighty Highlanders from every clan had come together on this ancient field to practice their form of warfare. To ready themselves against British attack.
Babies cried from their mothers’ hips. Men slapped each other on the back as they tipped steins of beer. Children ran and called to one another, their eyes wide with wonder as they watched their parents compete. Happy, hearty smells of heather and clean water and the mouth-watering aroma of steaming meat pasties suffused the air. Beneath our feet, the earth trembled with the thunks of heavy objects striking the ground.
“Are you safe?” I asked, not looking at him. “Will you be all right?”
“Of course,” he said. “I am a very clever lad, after all.”
We turned to each other, then. He raised my hands to his lips. One after the other, he placed a soft kiss in the center of each palm. I shivered as I squeezed my fists shut, trying to hold on to those kisses.
“You know,” he said in a musing tone, “if you weren’t leaving in six minutes and twenty-two seconds, and if we lived in the age where all this”?—?he waved a hand at the field of contestants and spectators—?“?was real. Back when men were men and all that. I’d simply heave you over my shoulder and carry you off into yonder meadow over there.”
“Ha! I’d just kick you in the kilt and run away.” I was grinning, though my face went red at the images his statement produced.
He threw his head back and laughed up at the blue, blue sky. “Yes. You would, wouldn’t you?”
“So, um, six minutes and twenty-two seconds, huh?”
He nodded. “Six minutes, eight seconds now. But who’s counting?”
Our faces were very close. My lips tingled as they remembered the feel of his mouth on mine. I think I must’ve sighed, or groaned, or made some other kind of embarrassing noise. Because his eyes went all smoky, and he chuckled low in his throat. The sound went through my chest and settled shivery and low in my belly. All my attention sharpened on his mouth as his hands came up to cradle my face. He held me there, so close I could feel the heat of his sun-warmed skin on my lips. My eyes closed as I leaned in to close that minuscule distance.
Collum coughed loudly as he and Doug passed by, canvas-wrapped tent poles suspended between them.