Chapter 21
Alec walked through the woods, walked away from the woman he loved more than he ever thought possible. Rain fell heavily upon his head, but he didn’t care, could barely even feel it, really. Everything was numb. His body, his mind.
His heart was the only thing that wasn’t numb. It was aching as if it had been crushed, and yet it was also screaming at him to turn around, to go back and forget what she had said, to pretend it had never happened.
I’m from the future.
He shook his head at the absurdity. There were only two explanations: one was that she had made up a ridiculous story to avoid marrying him, which honestly…hurt. Or two: she was unwell. He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat at the thought. He’d seen what happened to those who saw things that weren’t there, who believed things that couldn’t possibly be rooted in reality. He knew where they went and how they were treated.
Alec stopped walking and titled his head back to the sky, bellowing in frustration and pain and confusion and the utter, unbearable feeling of loss. Loss of the woman he loved, loss of the life he had seen in his mind”s eye, a life filled with happiness and laughter, a family. He closed the thoughts off, the pain too much. How could it hurt so badly to lose something you never actually had?
He’d told himself not to look back as he walked away, but he hadn’t the willpower to manage it, and he’d glanced over his shoulder just before the gazebo was obscured from view. The image of Elle was seared in his memory: crumbled on her knees on the steps of the gazebo, looking so utterly broken. The thought of it sent a stab of pain through his chest. He ached seeing her like that, knowing that he was the cause of it.
But he couldn’t possibly be expected to remain, to not think her mad. He would be true to his word, he would never speak of what had happened in that gazebo, would never tell a soul of her claims. He wouldn’t see her carted off somewhere or have the MacTavish family’s name tarnished. He would confide in Jocelyn and Callum only, so that they may handle things quietly and appropriately. He could offer assistance. He still had colleagues he could reach out to for aid who would be discrete.
But…something wasn’t quite right—besides the obvious. Something in the back of his mind was screaming that the situation wasn’t making proper sense, that he was missing something vital. Alec took several deep breaths, forcing himself to think about this logically. He called on his training and experience as a physician. He’d had to learn to separate his emotions from himself, to look at things critically and logically and scientifically, without letting fear or worry or sympathy get in the way.
He staggered to a fallen tree slightly off of the path and sat down heavily. The branches above him shielded him slightly from the rain and he exhaled as he cleared his mind. He rested his elbows on his knees and forced his mind to look at everything with a cold detachment.
Elle had never exhibited any signs of her mental faculties being altered in any way. In fact, she was extremely intelligent and was incredibly adept at adapting to situations. Her behavior was odd at times, of course, and she seemed more…forward thinking than most women, it was true, but that was hardly proof that she…that she was from…God, he couldn’t even force himself to think the ridiculous words!
It was obvious that she had created the ridiculous lie in order to avoid marrying him, but that didn’t make plausible sense, did it? She could simply have said no, could have made hundreds of other excuses if he pressed for a reason: she hated him, she had no desire to marry, she couldn’t give him heirs, she had murdered someone and was a fugitive from the gallows, she was secretly in love with Isa and they planned to run off to the islands together. Any of them made far more sense.
So, why this particular lie? What was the point?
And, further, if she was lying simply to push him away, why had she been so desperate for him to believe her? She’d looked so panicked, her eyes wide and almost unseeing, her breaths quick and shallow, as if she couldn’t get air into her lungs properly. She had clung to the garment like it was the only thing keeping her from drowning, like it was the absolute proof that she needed if he would just look at it.
But he hadn’t. Of course he hadn’t. And a part of him felt as if that refusal was a betrayal. He forced that thought away, not wanting to look at it too closely.
So, the idea that it had been a lie didn’t make any sense, which meant that the only explanation was that she was ill. A profound sadness settled into his bones. To see the woman he loved struggling with such a thing…
But then a tiny voice whispered across the back of his mind, like the softest caress: What if there is a third option?
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, pressing hard until stars burst across the darkness. Proof. The word stuck in his mind like a carriage wheel stuck in mud. All physicians were at their hearts scientists, and scientists sought out truths by finding proof. And she felt as if she had it. She’d told him she could prove to him that she was telling the truth…He pinched the bridge of his nose, halting the thoughts.
“No, this is lunacy, I can’t even entertain the idea…”
And yet a small ember of hope began to glow in the center of his chest, an ember he couldn’t explain and refused to give any credence to, but it was there all the same. Even if she believed something so…insane, could he not love her anyway? Love her through anything and everything? Isn’t that what being in love truly meant?
He opened his eyes and stared at the trees, but not really seeing them. No, he was seeing Elle.
Elle spilling his drink on him the first night they met. Elle utterly annoyed by his presence when every other lady would be flattered and think themselves blessed. Elle challenging him at every turn, that look of quiet defiance in her eyes. Elle laughing and scheming with his father. Elle dancing with him, the way her body moved like smoke. Elle kissing him. Elle touching him. Elle wrapping her arms around his neck as their bodies were closer than any two people had ever been. Elle saying that she loved him with such reverence. Elle. Elle. Elle.
She was all he could see.
She was all he wanted.
And then, he was up and running back towards the clearing, his father’s voice echoing in his mind: you’ve found someone to teach you how.
Elle had taught him how to be happy, how to love, how to truly feel again.
Perhaps, she could teach him to believe the unbelievable as well.
***
Elle didn’t know how long she sat there. Long enough that the rain had seeped into her bones, that the cold had made her fingers and toes numb. And still, she sat, clutching the t-shirt and trying to breathe around the ache in her chest, the utter brokenness she felt. Hollow. That was it. She felt as if someone had opened her chest and scooped everything out. She was just a shell now, empty and hollow and broken.
She stared at the steps below, barely seeing anything.
Two boots suddenly appeared, and then a hand reached for her. She jerked her head up in shock and confusion.
Alec.
He’d come back.
But she didn’t let herself believe, didn’t let herself hope.
She eyed him warily. Had he come back to try to take her to some mental institution? A dirty asylum where they would try to lobotomize her or something? Or maybe to tie her to a pyre and burn her like a witch, though he admittedly didn’t really strike her as the witch-burning type.
He was soaking wet, damp hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back and held her gaze. He looked skeptical and confused, but there was also a spark of hope.
“Show me,” he said simply, voice gruff. His hand was still there before her, waiting. She reached out and took it, the life raft she so desperately needed. He pulled her up and led her back inside.
He released her and strode across the small space, grabbing the stool that she used when painting—that they had apparently tumbled into and sent flying into the corner at some point—and pulling it to the middle of the room. He sat heavily, crossed his arms, took a deep breath, and looked at her expectantly. She was seventy-eight percent sure she was going to puke. Before, it had been a desperate panic to get him to listen, to stop him from walking away. Now, she could actually think about what she was doing, what she needed to do and say and how to explain, and, yep, she was definitely going to puke.
This is what you wanted, she told herself. You wanted to explain it to him, wanted to share with him, wanted to make him understand.
So, she pushed her shoulders back and forced herself to do it. She moved towards him and held up the shirt she’d been clutching all this time. She shook it out, holding it by the sleeves. The familiar yellow arrow and red Van’s circle was printed in the center.
“Nothing in this time could possibly look like this. We call it a t-shirt. They’re made with big machines that haven’t been invented yet, and the design is put on by a special printing process. This one is from a concert festival I went to a while back.” He simply stared, jaw working. She took a deep breath and turned it around. “Look at the dates,” she said quietly.
There, on the back, was a list of cities and dates of shows. Granted, this was from a few tours ago, but still, the dates all began with 20, so it was as good as anything else she could show him. His brow furrowed. He reached out and took the shirt, studying the back closely. He ran his fingers over the letters, pulling them away and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, as if trying to figure out what the material was, if it had come off on his hands. He paled slightly but continued staring. She knew he was trying to process, his analytical mind doing its best to make sense of what he was seeing, though it was probably screaming that all of this was impossible. She went to the chest and grabbed her wallet, phone, and tablet. Juggling everything, she turned back, coming to stand in front of him, but leaving space between them, treating him a bit like a wild animal. She fished out her driver’s license.
“This is what we use for identification. It has my name and birthdate—1994. And see, the date the card was issued: 2018. Oh and here: money. Look at the dates on the bills.” He took everything she handed him, studying it all quietly, his green eyes grave and serious. She waited, not wanting to push too much on him too fast, but her heart was pounding in her ears, her entire body trembling slightly. Could he possibly believe her? Could he accept everything? She decided the tablet and phone may be too much just yet and set them aside. Baby steps, Elle. He’s trying.
He was quiet for a long, long time. She chewed on her thumbnail and desperately wanted to ask him what he thought, tell him anything and everything he wanted to know, but she forced herself to remain silent. She needed to let him absorb everything, sort through whatever he needed to, on his own. He came back, and for now, that was more than she could have hoped for.
“I…I don’t…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. It was shaking slightly. Elle felt a pang. She knew it was too much to put on him, but she was desperate for him to believe her, for him to understand that she wasn’t crazy. “I don’t understand how this is possible,” he said quietly.
“Neither do we,” she said quickly, relief that he was still sitting here and even trying to talk to her about this flooding through her like a tidal wave, “not really. There are these trees—”
He jerked his head up. “We?”
Oh shit. Jocelyn’s secret wasn’t hers to tell.
“Jocelyn and Callum know the truth,” she hedged. “You can talk to them about it if it will help you, uh, come to terms.” She swallowed hard. “But no, we don’t know why it happened or how. There are two trees deep in the forest on the other side of the property and they’re…fuck, they’re magic, I guess is the only way to explain it. I stepped through them, passed out, and when I woke up, I was here.”
“From…the future,” he said, a bit unsure, as if the words felt strange on his tongue. Hell, they probably did. Time travel wasn’t a big topic of discussion in this time as far as she knew. Wells hadn’t even written The Time Machine yet—she’d checked not long after arriving.
“Yes. Alec, I know it sounds absolutely insane, but I swear to you that I’m not crazy. It’s the truth. I will show you every shred of evidence I have, will tell you anything you need to hear. I just…I need you not to leave. Please. I need you to believe me. Or believe enough in me not to turn away.”
He met her gaze and reached out a hand, surprising her. He gently cradled her face, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. His other hand shot out and gripped her hip, tugging her forward and into the space between his thighs. She went boneless when he pressed his lips to hers. It wasn’t the frantic, carnal kisses they’d shared earlier. This was a deep, slow kiss meant to communicate words that couldn’t be said. She kissed him back, trying not to cry and failing miserably. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, gently wiping her tears away with his thumbs.
“I…believe you,” he whispered. “It makes no sense and part of my mind is screaming that I’m mad for even entertaining the thoughts, but the other part has always relied on facts and what you’ve shown me cannot be explained any other way. So…” he let out a shuddering breath, “the only explanation is that you are telling the truth.”
“‘When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’,” Elle recited quietly, pulling back to meet his gaze and brush the hair from his forehead.
“I…well, yes, that’s wonderfully put,” he said, brow furrowed, but the tiniest hint of a smile curling his lips on one side.
She laughed lightly. “I can’t take credit. A beloved detective in a series of books will say it one day.”
He shook his head slowly. “That will take quite a bit of getting used to, I imagine.” He exhaled roughly and glanced out the window. “We should get back. I’m sure everyone is quite worried…and most likely quite scandalized by our extended absence.” He leaned in and kissed her again, and she twined her hands around the back of his neck, fingers playing with the strands of his hair.
“Well, we did do a few very scandalous things out here, Lord Kentworth,” she agreed, breathless, remembering in great detail all the scandalous things, wanting to repeat them again all night long. He groaned lightly in the back of his throat and gave her one more quick kiss before pulling away. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Thank you for coming back, thank you for trying to believe me.”
“I’m not whole without you, Eleanor. If you say you have traveled through time to be here, then I will thank whatever magic brought you back. I cannot imagine my life without you, and while I can’t lie and say I understand how this is possible in the slightest, I…don’t care.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I will try to accept everything, but until then, I will trust in you. And that will be enough.”
Elle leaned in and kissed him, eyes watery.
“I love you, Alec.”
“And I you.” He sighed and a hint of a smile curved his lips. “Now, as lovely as I would look in your dress, I believe you should probably give me back my shirt instead.”
***
“Oh, Elle, we were so worried!” Jocy cried when they walked back into the study. She rushed forward and pulled Elle into a fearsome hug before holding her at arms” length, looking at her in that motherly way, searching for any signs that she was hurt. “You’re alright?”
“I’m alright, I promise.” She glanced between Alec, Jocelyn, and Callum. “I, uh, told him. About me,” she added hastily, “about…where I’m from.”
Jocy’s eyes flew wide and Callum pinned Alec with a hard stare, waiting to see how he’d responded, Alec imagined. And Alec didn’t blame him. He knew that Callum loved Elle and would be ready to defend her and do whatever it took to keep her safe—including tossing Alec out on his arse.
Alec stepped forward and intertwined his fingers with Elle’s. She let out a breath. Had she been holding it? Worried that he’d already changed his mind and was ready to run screaming for the hills? He squeezed her hand lightly, trying to reassure her. He didn’t understand much of anything that was going on, and could still scarcely believe that he was entertaining the notion that Elle had come from a different time, but he knew that he loved her more than his own life and would stand by her no matter what.
Callum nodded, taking this as a sign that Alec could be trusted and allowed to continue breathing air. A smile spread over his face, his eyes crinkling. Jocelyn smiled widely as well, laying a hand on Callum’s arm. They shared a look, somehow communicating without saying a single word.
Callum said quietly, “you’re sure, mo grá?”
“I am.”
Callum crossed to the door and closed it quietly, turning the lock with a loud click that Alec tried not to believe was ominous. Jocy gestured towards the sofa.
“Jocy, you don’t have to—” Elle rushed, looking upset.
“I do, Elle. If it will help you, help Alec and you be together, then yes, I do. And I’m happy to.”
Alec was confused, but he suspected that would just be his normal state of being for quite a while, so he made his way across the room, Elle in tow, and sat. Jocy sat on one of the chairs and Callum stood behind her, a protective and supportive hand on her shoulder. She smiled up at him, patting his hand, before turning back to Alec.
“Alec, I know all of this must be extremely difficult for you to understand or believe, but I assure you that it’s all true.” She took one quick, deep breath. “I know that it is because, well, I’m not from here either.”
Alec blinked. Was she saying…No. There was no way...
“Are you saying that…that you, um, traveled as well?” Alec cut his eyes to Callum, who nodded. He looked as if he completely trusted and believed in what Jocelyn was saying. Could Alec hope to one day have that kind of surety about all of this?
“Aye, Alec,” Callum said with a knowing smile. “I do no’ question it. My family has long believed in the tales of magic in those woods,” he said, tilting his head towards the window, “and we believe that it was that magic that brought them here, brought them back.”
Alec inhaled sharply but tried to remain calm. Then his brows drew down.
“My mother, she told me the stories of the woods. Fairies and magic and strange things happening…It’s all real?”
“Well, I doona know if it is fairies or no’, but there is magic, of that I am certain.”
“And,” he swallowed hard, shifting his gaze back to Jocy, “when did you come from?” Alec asked quietly, feeling incredibly silly and glancing to the door to be sure that no one had heard him ask such a thing.
“It was the year 2000 when I left.”
“And you came from the year…2020?” Alec asked, turning to Elle. He could scarcely wrap his mind around that. He’d been so shocked by the idea of time travel and everything else, that he hadn’t actually thought about the passage of time itself, of how far in the future Elle—and Jocelyn apparently—had lived. He suddenly wondered what that world might look like, what kind of advancements had been made over the years, how everyone lived then.
“Yes,” Elle said, squeezing his hand. Jocy and Callum didn’t seem to notice or care that he and Elle were being so forward, but he supposed in light of everything else, the two of them holding hands wasn’t much of a shock.
And so, they spent hours answering every question Alec had, and giving him time to just be silent and think through everything they’d told him when he needed it. When the sun had long since set, Alec felt…alright. He still had to force himself to accept everything every few minutes it seemed, had to tell his analytical mind that not everything could be explained—Elle said things like “relativity” and “wormholes” and “tachyons,” but it was all close to gibberish to him. Even still, he found himself feeling surprisingly ok, all things considered.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Elle asked for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Alec felt exhausted down to his soul, but as he reached out and cupped her cheek, felt her lean into his touch, he knew it was all worth it. He understood now how much of herself she’d had to hold back from him, how much he still had to learn. How much he still had to love.
“Well, that depends,” he said, and her face pinched with worry, paling slightly. Ever since she told him the truth, it seemed as if she’d been holding her breath, just waiting for him to decide it was too much and run from her—again. He almost winced. Of course, no one would possibly blame him for such a reaction, but he still felt a pang of regret and guilt. He’d hurt her when he’d turned away from her, and that was something he would spend the rest of his life making up for.
“On what?” she asked worriedly.
“On if you’ve changed your answer to my question from this morning.” She relaxed, lips curling upward. She feigned a bout of forgetfulness, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“Hmm, did you ask me something? I forget…”
Alec pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers, loving the feel of her smile against his mouth, of the way her body melted into his.
“Marry me, Eleanor,” he whispered against her lips. “Please.”
She pulled away and studied him for a long moment. “Are you sure? I know all of this…Well, I know it can’t be easy and if you need time to really think about it, to make sure you’re really—”
He cut her off with another kiss. When he pulled away, he brushed a curl from her face before cradling her face and making her hold his gaze, gently stroking her cheekbones with his thumbs.
“Eleanor Montgomery, there are many things that I am going to need time to process fully, things that I will be unsure of for quite some time. But my love for you, the way my soul aches for yours, the fact that a world in which we are not together is not a world I can even imagine, let alone deign to live in—those are not among them. Those things are as certain and sure to me as my own name.”
Her eyes were glassy and she gave him a smile that made his heart skip a beat inside his chest.
“Well, that was a hell of a speech.”
“Of course it was,” he said with his customary arrogance that she loved to loathe. “Now,” he brushed his lips against hers so softly it was almost the ghost of a kiss, “will you marry me?” he breathed against her mouth.
“Yes. Of course I will, you idiot.”
He pulled back and quirked a brow. “I do not think it bodes well if you insult me the very moment we become engaged.”
“I’ll take my chances,” she replied, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him hard against her, kissing him in a way that stole his breath and scorched him to his soul.