“He is,” Dermot said, his conviction clear in the tone of his voice. “Have ye nae noted the signs?”
Rhys’s brow furrowed. “Signs?”
“Do ye nae know how to track?” Dermot asked, astonishment ringing in his words.
“No,” he clipped. “We don’t need to track in my time. We have GPS.”
“GP what?”
“Never mind,” Rhys said. “What signs?”
“Branches pushed back on the trail. Sticks trampled by the hooves of horses. Fresh horse prints in the snow. There were three fairly the same depth and one much deeper, indicating that the fourth destrier carried more weight—the baronandyer wife,” Dermot said.
“She’s not really my wife,” Rhys finally admitted.
“I thought as much, but I was waiting for ye to reveal the truth. Who is she?”
“A woman I met when I came through time,” Rhys simplified. Then he told Dermot all the facts about what had happened to him since he had arrived. He did not say a word about how he felt about Maggie, though, nor what had occurred between them. That was private, and he didn’t know what Maggie would do when he told her how he felt. She was, after all, supposed to marry to help her family, and for the first time in his life, Rhys had nothing to offer but himself. His money was gone in this century, and with it, all the luxuries and power wealth afforded. If Maggie wanted him, it would need to be solely for who he was. The idea appealed to him a great deal.
“Ye care for the lass,” Dermot said. It was not a question but a statement.
“Yes,” Rhys agreed.
“Have ye killed a man before?” Dermot asked.
The change of topic took him off guard. “Does killing in dreams count?” Rhys asked, laughing tightly, and thinking of the many times he’s wanted to kill his brothers. Not really, but still.Where were they?The errant thought twisted through him.
“Nay,” Dermot replied stone-faced. “Dreams do nae count, as ye say.”
Medieval humor was definitely lacking. “Then no,” Rhys said, a little surprised by the change in topic. “Your time is much different from mine. There’s less killing and a lot of suing.”
“Tell me of yer time,” Dermot said. “Start with this thing calledsuing. Is this a method of torture?”
“The defendants usually think so,” Rhys said, chuckling before launching into the highlights of his time as he’d done for Maggie, explaining what things were when Dermot asked. When Rhys finished, they were almost at the top of the mountain where the land leveled out and they’d be able to ride faster.
“Ye may have to kill to get her back. Can ye do that?” Dermot asked.
“I will do anything it takes to protect Maggie,” Rhys said without hesitation, surprising himself.
“’Tis good to know,” Dermot replied. “What is so important about this woman that the baron goes to such great lengths to have her?”
“Her land borders his,” Rhys said, repeating what Maggie had told him. “Her mother was a distant cousin of King Alexander, and when Maggie was born, the king gave her a castle there. I think it’s called Castle Lochlavine.”
“Lochlavine!” Dermot repeated, the astonishment in his voice surprising Rhys. He maneuvered his horse onto the flatter land of the mountain pass, and Rhys did the same, bringing his horse beside Dermot’s. His uncle’s face had paled. “Surely, it can nae be, but it must,” he muttered to himself. “Do ye know the lass’s clan name?” he demanded, his voice tight with anxiety.
“Irvine,” Rhys answered. His uncle tensed visibly. “Why? What is it?”
“When Shona appeared at home and told her tale, she said that DeirdreIrvine, the queen’s head lady-in-waiting, was the one who bade her to take the message to King Alexander. Maggie and Deirdreare sisters. There are only two Irvine ladies of Castle Lochlavine.”
Rhys froze.Sisters? His mother’s notes came to him in flashes, the words dancing before his eyes.
Yearger and his sister Deirdre were there for me. Likely to kill me, since I knew what they’d done.
No. No. No. It couldn’t be. He concentrated on the notes he had memorized. Nowhere in his mom’s writings had she named Maggie, and nowhere had she mentioned the Irvine clan.
Shit.
He searched rapidly through his memories of his time with Maggie, recalling their conversations. She had never mentioned her sister or brother by name. Had that been purposeful? The thought, the doubt, was there before he could stop it. He jerked a hand through his hair.
