Her excitement was gone the next instant. If he knew how to do it, then why hadn’t he come back to her?
She pulled off to the side of the road and walked to the chamber. The afternoon sun was on the wrong side to shine into the chamber. It must happen only at dawn. She went inside and touched the back wall.
This is crazy. He’s not coming back
. She turned and went back to her car. So what if he was from the eighteenth century? Some things never changed. Sure, he found her attractive, but guys were too easily swayed. He was probably sitting right now—or right then—in the eighteenth-century equivalent of a sports bar with some buxom wench on his lap.
“Oh, forget it,” she said as she got back into her car and drove down the road. “The main point is, he’s gone, and he’s not coming back.” She pulled into the driveway.
Just suck it up, girl, and drown your sorrows in a pint of frozen fat-filled deliciousness
.
Hours later, an empty cardboard ice cream carton lay on its side, spoon still in it. The TV had gone on to the next film in the lineup, and Mac slept clutching her fluffy pillow and fuzzy blanket.
*
“Mac, lovely Mac. I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked with a hint of a smile. Joy shone from her eyes, but sorrow darkened his.
He took her face in his hands. A dim light caught his melancholy expression. “Look around you, my love.”
Mac did as he said. They were surrounded by stone walls. It was too large for a stone chamber.
Seeing her confusion, he said, “I’m locked inside here. I cannae come to you, lass.”
“But I don’t understand. If I got in here to see you, you can come back out with me.”
His mouth twitched as though wanting to smile. “Let me look at you, Mac.” He reached up, touched her hair gently, and combed his fingers through her hair from the nape of her neck. “Just remember how I love you.” He lowered his head, and his lips nearly touched hers. Then, like a vapor, he vanished.
“Wait!” she called into the dark emptiness. “Ciarán!”
*
Still asleep, Mac moaned, troubled, but unable to move.
“Mac!” He called to her from so far away.
She tried to cry out, but no sound came. Abruptly, she opened her eyes and sat up. “Ciarán!” She could still feel his presence, as if she might touch him if she reached far enough. “Ciarán, come back to me.” But he would not come back. Somehow, he had found his way into her dreams to tell her. He could not come back.
A sliver of light fell on an old book on the shelf: her mother’s collection of Scottish tales. Mac used to curl up with the stories as a girl. Perhaps that was when it began—this love of Scotland and its people. Her favorite was Kenneth MacKenzie, the Brahan Seer. She had often hoped that she, too, might have the second sight he was known for, but the only thing she had ever foreseen was her doom on a college exam. But that had more to do with seeing the inevitable result of procrastination than with seeing the future. She smirked at herself as she picked up the book. Even the Brahan Seer needed help. His second sight came from a stone with a hole in the middle. He would look through the hole and see into the future.
“Right. All I need now is a stone.” Mac took in a quick breath as her heart leapt. A stone. A stone with a hole to see into the future. She had always assumed it had been a small, handheld stone, but what if that were more legend than fact? What if the Brahan Seer had not only seen, but also crossed over to the future? What if the legendary stone had actually been a stone chamber like the one Ciarán had passed through? For a brief moment before he was gone, Mac had seen through to the other side as though it were the mouth of another cave. What if the Brahan Seer had done something like that? Could he have been looking through to the other side of a stone chamber?
Mac stood abruptly. Thoughts were flooding her mind. The Brahan Seer’s name was MacKenzie, her mother’s family name; that was why her mother had named her Mackenzie. What if this had been meant to happen all along? Ciarán could be her soul mate. Mac rolled her eyes. “Whoa, Mac. Talking crazy is one thing, but… soul mate? That’s just sappy.”
Mac took in a deep breath and then exhaled as she headed for the kitchen. She shook her head. What she needed was some chamomile tea to calm down her wild imagination. There must have been dozens and dozens of people roaming the Highlands with the same name. That did not mean that they all descended from the Brahan Seer. “Drink your tea,” she said aloud. “And stop talking to yourself. It’s becoming a habit.”
For all her years of avoiding commitment, she now felt a tie to a man she had met only once, and she could not deny it. It stretched across time and space. There was something between them—something real. But that was the problem. It all seemed so real. Even her dream had seemed real. What if it had been? What if he had found a way to reach her because he needed her?
“Yeah, sure, that’s what happened.” She looked up, shaking her head. “But what if?” For a long while, she did not move, focused on thoughts she barely dared to acknowledge. Minutes passed before she surrendered her logic. Love was a force. People sought it, sacrificed for it, and sometimes did terrible things in its name. If the sun had the power to propel people through time, could love’s power bond hearts and minds in such a way to connect them through time? The idea cloaked itself over her until she left the kitchen and went to her computer. “I don’t care if pretty much everyone I know would think I’ve lost it. They don’t know I’m doing this, and if they don’t know, they won’t try to stop me.”
She emailed David saying she had a family emergency and attached a letter for her principal—just in case she did not make it back before school started again (or at all). She sent another email to Cam telling her she was going on a trip for a while but not to worry. Tears overwhelmed her without warning as she thought about what she was doing. She was going to leave everyone and everything she knew behind to search for a man she had known for one night. Of course, she planned come back, but what if she couldn’t? What if she got lost? The stone chamber seemed to lead to one specific place, but how did she know that for sure? What if it sent her to dinosaur times? What if she never found Ciarán?
At that moment, as fear gripped her chest, she heard Ciarán’s voice just before they had parted. “Lovely Mac, I will love you, and you will love me.” She had believed him then, as she did now. She realized now that, when they had met, he had lived it already. But if that were so, why had he not come back to her since—unless something had happened to him or to his feelings? It was a dark thought that seeped into her mind. But she would not let doubt take root. She could not live life not knowing. He might lie dying or dead or in another’s arms, but she would know the truth. She tamped down her fears and thought only of Ciarán’s words. They were almost a promise, which she answered in kind. “I will go to you, Ciarán MacRae. I don’t know how I will find you, but I will go to you.” With that settled, she let out the breath she had been holding. The decision was made. She was going to do it, and the thought gave her peace.
She looked down at herself. She could not exactly wear yoga pants and a cami to eighteenth-century Scotland. She did a quick Internet search to see what women had worn back then. Minutes later, she slid closet hangers aside until she found the only long dress in her closet, a bridesmaid gown. Well, it would have to do. The yoga pants were staying on as part of the ensemble. Men could go commando under their kilts if they liked, but she was going to be warm. She pulled an old hand-knitted sweater from out of a trunk. Her mother had made it for her. It would warm her and, she hoped, not look too out of place. She belted it at the waist and then pulled out a length of wool tartan that her mother had bought while in Scotland on vacation. Her mother had planned to make a duvet cover with it, but then she was gone, and the plaid had remained in Mac’s trunk ever since. Mac studied the Internet drawing and did her best to wrap it around her like an airisaid. She then studied herself in the mirror. “The faux silk charmeuse dress looks a bit out of place, but it’s better than skinny jeans.”
As an afterthought, she grabbed a handmade cloth shoulder bag she had bought at a flea market. She then went to the bathroom, where she filled the bag with a toothbrush and floss, a small tin pillbox (which she loaded with five tablets of antibiotic left over from having strep throat last winter), some aspirin, lip balm, and an emery board. She thought of what else she might need. Some eighteenth-century money would be nice, but she didn’t have any lying around, so she’d have to do without. She glanced at the clock. In an hour, it would be dawn. She looked around. She was leaving her home, but she planned to come back. She would have to come back. Her sister would be frantic.
What if her vision of Ciarán in the large stone room had simply been a dream? How could it really have been Ciarán reaching through time to her dreams? Indecision passed as the early morning light caught the gray mist that hung in the air. The world seemed to wait, breathless and enchanted. For what, she did not know. It was the stuff of fairy tales, not real life. Mac shook off her doubts. She might fail, but she would try to reach Ciarán; that was all she could do. Mac faced herself in the mirror. “You can’t fail if you don’t try.” Then she took a deep breath and walked outside.
By the time she reached the stone chamber, sunlight was beginning to burn its way through the fog to the inside of the chamber. Mac went in and stood with her back to the wall, just as Ciarán had stood. Doubt hovered close to the surface. What if she could not find her way to him? But what if she could? If Ciarán had promised to come back, then there must be a way. She clenched her jaw. It was all going to happen. She would make sure it did. That decided, she felt a sudden electric sensation come over her, which she chalked up to fear. It was making her tremble, that was all. She would not give in to it. Again, some sort of current passed through her. Tears moistened her eyes as she stumbled backward, her head swimming. Her balance now lost, she reached for the wall she had been leaning against, but she found herself grasping at air. She was falling when the electrical surge tore through her.
7
To the Other Side
When Mac came to, she was stretched out on the ground, stunned and aching. After a quiet moan, she grumbled the best curse word she could muster. She lay still, afraid that if she moved, something might snap. Ciarán might have warned her about the lightning-like power that would course through her body as she crossed into the past. She had somehow formed the impression that it would be like stepping on and off an escalator. Right.
There she lay on the ground, not quite ready to move, and she opened her eyes. Light shone into the cave. A stab of panic shot through her as she looked around for wild Scotsmen on the attack, but she was alone. Still trembling from the force of the power that had gone through her minutes before, she took care getting up. Once upright, she determined that nothing seemed damaged. She took in a deep breath and was struck by the scent of early spring grasses mixed with damp stones and earth. Outside, a single bird sang out, unanswered. When she reached the mouth of the cave, Mac could see a castle in the distance. She recognized it more because of its setting than because she’d actually seen it before. Eilean Donan Castle. The sight took her breath. Her mother, proud MacKenzie that she was, had shown her pictures in books and told family stories passed down through the generations. Mac now wished she had paid better attention.
It was either early morning or late afternoon, for the sun was quite low in the sky. Mac crept out of the cave. She would head for the castle, where she hoped to find Ciarán. She had nothing to go on but logic. If Ciarán had traveled through the stones here, there was a good chance that he would be nearby. He was a MacRae. He had told her that much. Although the MacKenzies owned the castle, their close allies, the MacRaes, lived there as constables. Even if Ciarán was not there, someone would know where he was. They might not trust her enough to tell her, but it was her best option.
So Mac set out for the castle. She cursed as she dragged her skirt through some sort of dropping—horse or cow, from the size of it. Wiping what she could on the grass, she muttered, “It’s summer camp all over again. I sucked at nature back then, and I suck at it now. If only I’d signed up for
Mountain Miss Adventures
instead of
Jazz Hands on Deck
.”
The distance was farther to walk than it had looked from the cave. She could jog it, if only it were a flat surface, but the terrain was rough and uneven, with spongy patches that threatened to throw her off-balance. The last thing she needed was a twisted ankle. She missed her trail runners—not that she ever ran trails in them, but they had been great on her summer vacation for walking down Edinburgh’s cobbled streets. It was too bad they would have looked out of place here. Despite her best efforts, she was sure she already looked strange enough.
When she reached the shore of the loch, she knelt down to drink water from cupped hands. After she finished, she looked across the water to the castle. Whichever MacRae had rebuilt the castle in the early 1900s had been a genius to build a bridge. Now, in the eighteenth century, there was no way to get there but over the water. She would have to swim to the island, which wouldn’t have been so bad in a swimsuit, but in the bulky clothing she had on, it might be a challenge. She bent down and pulled the back of her skirt hem between her legs to the front and tucked it over her belt. With one last look at the castle, she stepped into the water.
And back out she came, kicking as strong arms pulled her by the waist. She was plopped onto dry land, but one arm remained hooked around her chest from behind and the other around her hips, making movement nearly impossible. A deep, gravelly voice near her ear said, “What d’ye think you’re doing?”
“Swimming,” Mac said, trying to mask her fear with her best display of anger.