Chapter 31
Hunter stood by the nursery window, his daughter sleeping soundly in his arms, as he watched the sun go down.
It was a strange thing, to stand before a sunset and wonder if it would be the last one he ever saw, though it was an altogether more painful thing to look down at his daughter’s sleeping face and wonder if it would be the last time.
“She’s tryin’ to protect us, Freya,” he said softly, a sad smile on his lips. “And if I daenae make it tomorrow, I ken she’ll love ye as if ye were her own.”
He had never met a woman like Nancy, and though his heart fluttered at the thought of tonight, there was a heaviness at the thought of tomorrow.
He’d loathed his wedding to Rachel, a somber and miserable affair, where the poor woman had cried from beginning to end, between hard scowls. He wished he could look forward to this wedding, but despite what he’d said to Nancy, the threat was weighing on him.
“I wish she could’ve been me first and only wife,” he told Freya. “Yer real maither. Ye didnae deserve to be born out of hate, and yer maither didnae deserve to be married to a man she hated. It would’ve saved us all a lot of pain if it were just Nancy from the start.”
The baby didn’t stir, snuffling softly in her sleep.
“I’ll fight for us tomorrow, wee one,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for ye and for her. Excuse me language, but I’ll be damned if I’m goin’ to let someone take me away from both of ye.”
And though he’d vowed that he wouldn’t lie with Nancy at the risk of her having his child without his knowledge, whether by leaving or by his death, he couldn’t face tomorrow without having that strange, wondrous lass, body and soul.
If he died and she ended up carrying his baby, at least there’d be one more piece of him left in the world. If he lived and she decided to leave, at least he’d have a memory to hold onto, though he would never marry again.
“Sleep well, me sweet darlin’,” he whispered to his daughter.
As he watched the beautiful sunset, he began to sing a song of the mountains, so that Freya might distantly remember his voice if he was no longer around.
“It’s not one of your husbands, is it?” Nancy asked, discreetly watching the pendulum clock that hung from the wall in Adeline’s guest room. “They don’t have a secret vendetta against Hunter that I should know about?”
The Clark sisters had arrived an hour ago, though Eileen had been noticeably, disappointingly absent.
The sisters had assured her that she planned to attend the wedding and would arrive first thing in the morning with Beitris, but Nancy wished her former neighbor and sometime guardian hadn’t left it until the last minute.
There were so many questions she still needed to ask, and Eileen was probably the only person, aside from a historian in the future, who could answer them.
Adeline shook her head apologetically. “My husband likes him, and Logan doesn’t like many people.”
“Same,” Jane agreed. “Dougal thinks he’s a good laird: dutiful, powerful, feared but fair.”
Nancy groaned. “It has to be Laird MacLeach, then.”
“Occam’s razor,” Adeline said. “The simplest explanation is usually the right one. I mean, he blamed Hunter for his daughter’s death, and he had to fight a war because of Hunter’s cousin. It’s reason enough for him to want to kill Hunter.”
“I know.” Nancy puffed out a breath. “I know, I was just hoping it wouldn’t be someone who might bring a whole army with him.”
Jane made a pensive sound. “But if he was, then they’d have been spotted. It’s more likely to be an assassin.”
“Jane!” Adeline cried out, shooting her sister a pointed look. “We’re supposed to be calming Nancy down, not throwing her back into a panic.”
Jane pulled a face. “Sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
“Because it’s probably true?” Nancy replied with a tired smile.
Out of her bag, Jane pulled a battered hip flask and handed it to Nancy. “Have a sip of this. It’ll steady your nerves. If it doesn’t, just keep sipping.”
“Is that the doctor’s prescription, too?” Nancy asked with a glance at Adeline, taking the hip flask and sniffing it. Whatever it was, it smelled potent.
“Can’t hurt,” Adeline replied with a shrug.
With a grimace, Nancy took a hesitant sip. The smoky flavor of whisky hit the back of her throat, hurtling down into her stomach like a fireball.
As someone who liked to think she could hold her liquor, she was a little embarrassed as she began to splutter, holding the hip flask out as if it were some dangerous, corrosive chemical.
Jane chuckled as she took the flask back. “It takes some getting used to.” She took a sip as she sank onto the armrest of Adeline’s chair. “I’m sorry there wasn’t any news in the box. As I said, it’s incredibly unreliable.”
“It’s okay,” Nancy said, wiping her mouth. “It was a long shot.”
“I left word with Emma about everything, so if tomorrow goes well, she can send a note back to let us know if things have changed in the future,” Adeline interjected. “Unless you’re planning on going back yourself?”
Nancy looked at the clock again. It was ten o’clock. One hour and forty-five minutes until she was due to meet Hunter in his room, and she hadn’t even thought about wrestling herself into her wedding dress yet.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just… I don’t know.
I want to believe there’s a way around history, but what if there isn’t?
What if this is some time travel carousel, and every time I’ve tried, I’ve failed?
I know I’m the bride he dies protecting on June 10th, but if there’s no bride to protect, he might survive.
Then again, he might just die another way, at the hand of the same person. ”
Adeline sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Even after going through it myself, this time travel stuff hurts my head.”
It hurts my heart, too, Nancy neglected to say, wishing she had taken a few more sips of that powerful whiskey.
“I’ll bring the note with me, in case I need to make a hasty exit,” she said, frowning as a thought came to her.
“Speaking of which, did one of you write the note about the Hawk? It was in your apartment, Adeline. I wouldn’t have gone to the museum without it, though I thought it was weird that two people were writing a book about the Hawk at the same time. ”
Jane shook her head. “What did the note say?”
“Look for the Hawk. Might help with the book,” Nancy replied.
“Adeline?” Jane looked down at her sister, who also shook her head.
“Wasn’t me.”
Jane turned to stare at Nancy. “Maybe it was you.”
“Me? I didn’t write it,” Nancy protested.
“Or, you haven’t written it yet,” Adeline emphasized.
“You needed a reason to visit that museum and see that tapestry. What could have guided you there, other than a note about the Hawk? To get you in the right place at the right time. You found it in my apartment, yes? Of course, you’d think it was weird.
Weird enough to follow a trail that took you to the museum. ”
Nancy shook her head. “No… no, that can’t be it. Otherwise, I’d have already written and sent it. There’s no time now for me to send it.”
“Maybe you stay no matter what happens tomorrow,” Adeline suggested, her smile sad.
“Then I’d be more likely to write myself a warning not to visit that museum under any circumstances,” Nancy pointed out, her head beginning to hurt again. “Besides, it wasn’t my handwriting.”
Adeline puffed out a breath. “It could be that Emma leaves it, misunderstanding the message in the box. I did mention the tapestry in the letter. I mentioned it all, to be honest. I’m not much of a writer, but if you don’t go back, at least Emma will know your story.”
Nancy stared at her in open disbelief. “After you told me off for wanting to write an article about you, you wrote about me?”
“Emma won’t tell anyone,” Adeline assured her. “She just catalogs everything, for posterity.”
With a half-smile, Jane tutted at her sister. “One rule for me, another for thee. Shame on you, Addie.”
“I… didn’t think.” Adeline cringed. “Sorry, Nancy. It won’t go further than Emma, I swear.”
Nancy knew she should probably be more annoyed than she was, but as she glanced at the clock again and thought of what tonight and tomorrow would bring, a clash of pleasure and potential agony, there was a funny feeling of…
gratitude. A sense that, even if she didn’t return to her time, her story wouldn’t be lost. She wouldn’t be another forgotten missing woman, even if no one ever read about her.
But how does it end?
She took a shaky breath, for a story was worth nothing without an ending. And it was only a matter of hours—midday tomorrow, to be exact—before fate wrote hers and Hunter’s.