Ian looked down to see the cross at Rhys’s feet. It had come through with them, just like Grey had suggested. Which meant . . . no, he wouldn’t think about going back. He and Màiri had talked about it, but right now, Ian couldn’t fathom the possibility. Maybe someday.
Little by little, each of them recovered enough to sit and then stood. Grey was the first to start searching the study. “We need a phone.”
“Wish I’d thought to leave mine charging before we left,” Reik said, proving his dry wit hadn’t suffered any damage. “Seriously, not one phone anywhere?”
Ian kissed Màiri, trying to look at the study through her eyes. He glanced over at Marian, Maggie, and Deirdre. They had pretty much the same expressions on their faces as they looked around the room at his dad’s computer, even the stapler on his desk. For the millionth time, Ian tried to imagine getting pulled through time without realizing what was happening. What a nightmare.
“Mom,” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” Rhys said, having apparently given up his search for a charged phone. “I plugged mine in. Nothing yet.”
“At least we know we didn’t arrive before we left,” he said, pointing to the notes Rhys had scrawled before disappearing. “We just need to figure out how much time has passed.”
“And if Mom is back. If Dad is okay. And pretty much everything. Jesus,” Ian said, moving toward Rhys. “How long does it take to charge a phone?”
Reik glanced back at Deirdre. “We’ll need to get them some clothes.”
“Them,” Grey said. “How about us?”
Ian could have worn his jeans back, but he’d wanted a physical reminder of his time in the past. Plus, he’d given his old clothes to Colban, just for fun. “My clothes will fit all of us. When the phone comes on, call Jeremy first.”
“Yeah, already thought of that,” Reik said as Ian extended his hand to Màiri. Pulling her up, he put his arm around her waist.
“Can you walk?”
She nodded. “Aye, I believe so.”
Ian caught Grey’s eyes. Their speech. They’d broken down everything before coming through, cooking up various stories about their absence, depending on the amount of time they’d been gone. They’d also have to explain the fact that all four of them were now married to women who sounded not just foreign, but extremely . . . well, medieval. But they had a plan for that too.
Heading off to Scotland while their dad was in the hospital wouldn’t look good to the public. But Ian had come up with a story, one that offered as many truths as possible but left a good chunk to the imagination. They’d gone on an extended “emergency family trip” overseas to find a cure for their father, and they’d met their wives while abroad.
He’d call a press conference, his last for McCaim Shipping. Then, with his brothers’ blessing, he and Màiri would start their nonprofit.
But their new venture was for another day. Right now they needed to find Mom and haul ass to the hospital.
“My room is this way.” Ian led Màiri through the hall, its white walls a contrast to the gleaming hardwood beneath their feet. He hurried up the grand staircase that led to the second floor of the mansion where he grew up, and still lived, with his father.
Who clearly had not been back. Everything was just as they’d left it. Which was good in one way—they clearly hadn’t been gone long—but part of him had hoped their parents might be here.
But they clearly hadn’t been back.
“’Tis so beautiful. And bright.”
Even more so on the second floor, with a large picture window greeting them at the top of the staircase. Màiri moved toward it, her eyes widening as she looked out to their courtyard and garden. From this vantage point, they could even see buildings on the other side of the gate that enclosed their property.
“Garden Street is that way. You can see the tops of buildings this way.
“’Tis like a village, of sorts. I can’t wait to explore it with you. We can look for a place to house . . . whatever we decide we want to open.”
“I think . . . I think I have an idea about that.”
“You do?” They’d discussed it at length, and he had a few ideas, but Ian really wanted Màiri’s input.
“Aye, I do. You talked about women, how they’ve come so far since my time, but still are not equal. And some find themselves in difficult situations. Maybe a place . . .” She shrugged, unsure of the words to use.
But he knew them exactly. “A women’s shelter. We’ll open a women’s shelter.”
He loved it. And her. “I’ll tell you more about them later.” He pointed up ahead. “My room is this way.”
