He glanced over his shoulder at his brothers. They each wore a look of confusion.
“Hold on,” Ian said, pulling out his phone. He quickly keyed something in and then read aloud from his screen.“Castle Hightower was built in 1201 by the first laird of the MacKinnish clan. The castle is best known as one of the places where Robert the Bruce hid after he was first crowned king of Scotland and was being hunted by King Edward of England.”He looked up at Rhys. “It’s on Wikipedia.” Ian looked back down at his phone, read silently, and then continued speaking. “It says that Castle Hightower burned to the ground in 1306 and that the MacKinnish laird was hung, along with his son Dermot for helping Robert the Bruce. They don’t know what happened to his other children, but it names them.” He glanced up from his phone again, but this time, his face was drained of color. “Laird MacKinnish had two daughters and four sons: Grace,Shona, Alastair, Colban, Ross, and Dermot.”
“What the hell is Dad trying to prove?” Reikart growled, shoving past Rhys to rip down the map of Castle Hightower. “How can he honestly believe that Mom is from the past? That she’s been ‘snatched back’ to her ‘real’ time?” He shook the map in his hands and then threw it to the floor.
“I don’t think he’s trying to prove anything anymore,” Rhys said, an odd calm coming over him. It was likely shock. He walked around Reikart to the next map, which was of the Highlands, and then the next, which was of the border area between Scotland and England in 1286. Every map on the wall was of Scotland in 1286.
“What’s all this for, then?” Greyson asked.
“Give me a minute,” Rhys said, kneeling down to look at some of the books. There were books on the weather, the diseases, the animals, the politics—all of 1286. There were also books on travel and money, and even two thick volumes at the foot of their dad’s desk. One was about the clan of their ancestors, the McCaim clan, and the other about the clan their mother supposedly came from, the MacKinnish clan. Rhys stood and stared down at his dad’s desk. His pulse ticked up as a theory took hold. He picked up a paper from his dad’s chair, and he immediately recognized his mom’s handwriting. She had a particularly interesting way of forming her letters, and looking at it now, it struck Rhys as to why. Her writing looked as if it was from a different era.
“What’s that?” Reikart asked, coming to stand beside Rhys.
“Give me a minute,” Rhys repeated.
A quick scan of the paper showed notes his mom had written and notes his dad had made, almost as if they’d been having a conversation, but on paper and at two different times.
Grace started chanting after she bade me to hold the cross. Yearger and his sister Deirdre were there for me. Likely to kill me, since I knew what they’d done. I was scared for my part in it since I’d delivered the note I thought the queen had written to the king. Grace told me not to worry, that she’d send me home, and she’d follow. I had to strain to hear her over the blood rushing in my ears and the pounding at the healing room door. I was terrified—terrified that I’d helped kill King Alexander, terrified that they’d lock me in a dungeon at Kinghorn Castle and never allow me out, terrified that they’d simply hang me.
Christ, their mom had been delusional, too. Shehadbelieved she was from another time, just as their dad had told them. Healing room door? A queen and King Alexander? Hanging? Dad had been telling the truth, that Mom herself had believed she was a time traveler and had convinced Dad of it. Why hadn’t Dad shown them the paper as proof of what she’d believed? Had he felt it was hopeless after their initial reaction? Likely. Had he feared they’d lock him away? Maybe. Rhys clenched his teeth and read some more:
I tried to repeat the chant Grace had said the moment I got here and realized something had gone wrong. I was not in my home, my country, or even my time. “Talamh, èadhar, teine, uisge, ga cur dhachaigh.”
Rhys looked up to find all three of his brothers now standing in front of him staring at him. He held up a finger for one more moment as he called up the Gaelic his mom had insisted he learn and that he’d later studied in much more depth at Harvard as part of his Ancient Medieval History degree. Yea, he used that a lot on a day-to-day basis… He’d never regretted it, though. He’d gotten dual degrees. The other was in business, and that one he used. But now…
He turned the Gaelic words over in his mind, calling up the English translation. “Earth, air, fire, water, send her home.”
“What?” came three impatient voices at once.
Feeling almost possessed, Rhys ignored his brothers and looked down at his mom’s writing to pick up where he’d left off:
But it didn’t work. I tried it again and again over the weeks and months, but well, you know the rest.
He could literally see his mother shrugging as she wrote the words, and he found himself smiling as he continued to read.
The rest of the paper contained notes from his dad—or entries, rather, almost like a log. They were dated from the day their mom had disappeared to yesterday:
10/19/2015– Shona must have remembered the chant wrong. Or a word? A few words?
10/30/2015– Talked to a Gaelic history professor in Edinburgh. He’s sending me the book that has some Gaelic chants in it, but he says it’s just folklore.
11/30/2015– Book was useless. Flying to Edinburgh tomorrow.
12/31/2015– The boys think I’m crazy. I met with a woman in Skye who is a known healer. She said there was a book with medieval chants like the one Shona wrote out, but it had been owned by Robert the Bruce and was now owned by a private collector.
2/12/2016– Every lead for the collector is a dead end.
5/6/2016– Finally found the cross Shona was holding when she came through. I need that book!
Rhys looked to Ian. “Do you know where the key to Dad’s safe is?”
“No. Why?” Ian’s brow furrowed. “What’s on the paper?”
“Yea, what’s on the paper?” Reikart and Greyson echoed.
“Delusions,” Rhys growled, but he couldn’t quite shake the what-if feeling that was growing inside him, and hewantedto shake it. He didn’t want to jump down the rabbit hole that seemed to have swallowed up his mom and dad. “But I want the key to the safe to see if there is a cross in it.”
Ian frowned. “A cross?”
