Chapter 23
The voice on the wee phone told Callan to turn left in five hundred feet. She was most insistent, repeating herself just as he caught sight of the blue and white house the police chief told him to look for.
Whilst the house itself was only a short distance from their campground, it took fifteen minutes instead of five because of all the Saturday traffic today.
He and Daisy had been excruciatingly polite to each other, neither of them willing to discuss her overreaction and what came next.
Pain lanced through him at the thought of never hearing her laugh or seeing her eyes light up, but he refused to spend the rest of his life with a woman who always assumed he would leave, no matter how much he loved her.
A man singing about taking it easy had Callan drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for a break in the traffic to turn.
Finally, a bright yellow sports car stopped, motioning him to go ahead.
With a nod of thanks, Callan turned into the space under the house.
A carport, Daisy called it. It was shaded so the dogs would have somewhere cool to wait as they talked to Lucy’s kin.
It was cloudy today and by the way his shoulder ached; he knew it would rain before the day was done. The wind off the water carried the tang of the sea, the salt sticking to his bare arms.
Normally, his lass would be talking, pointing out an interesting dune or bird, but she had been quiet this morning, her face drawn.
Before he picked up Brodie to lift him out of the van so he wouldn’t jump down on his injured paw, Daisy picked him up, holding the dog in her arms like a wee babe, talking softly to him, before kissing him on the top of his head.
Callan was jealous. Of a wee injured dog. He was a hopeless dolt.
“It’s cool under the carport. I’ll hook their leashes through the fence and fill their bowls with water.”
Frankie patiently waited as the lass attached his leash and checked to make sure he had enough room to move around comfortably. Then she did the same with Brodie, who was wiggling around, eager to be somewhere new.
She didn’t meet his gaze, her back stiff. “I’ll wait outside if you prefer to talk to them alone.”
“Nay, you have been with me every step of our journey. I wish ye to come with me.” He paused. “If you wish to.”
“Okay.” She nodded, pouring water into the bowls of the dogs. “It’s so beautiful here.” His lass looked out past the dunes to the water. “I could live here and be happy for the rest of my life.”
With a glance at the steps, he swallowed. “Shall we?”
She simply nodded as they climbed the steps leading to the back porch, leaving the dogs comfortably lounging under the carport, the sound of the waves and the calls of the gulls doing nothing to ease his nervousness as if he were a green lad facing his first battle.
Squaring his shoulders, Callan raised his hand and knocked, blinking as the wind gusted, kicking up the sand on the porch.
“Might I help you?”
For a moment, Callan hesitated, something about the cadence of the words ’twas familiar, reminding him of William. The man was older, with the bearing of a warrior. Tall with dark hair threaded through with silver and sharp blue eyes.
“Aye, perhaps.” He took a breath as the man tilted his head, hearing Scotland in Callan’s voice.
“Will, the Chief of Police in this village of Holden Beach, told us we might find ye and Mistress Merriweather here.”
He stood, feet apart, hands loose at his sides, wondering how many blades the man had hidden on his person, for Callan swore he could smell the steel.
“Might ye be Drake Gregory?” Though it pained him to do so, he’d left his blades hidden in the van, not wanting them to consider him a threat.
“Aye. Who wants to know?” The man leaned against the doorway, the arrogant look reminding Callan of when he first met his half-brother.
“Will always was a nosy bastard.” Drake grumbled to himself, making Callan press his lips together to hide his smile.
With a deep breath Callan said before he could change his mind, “My name is Callan Graham, once of Clan Graham, kin to Lord Blackford of Blackford Castle, and lately of Boston.”
He gestured to Daisy. “This is Daisy Smith. My … she kindly took me in when I first arrived in this land.”
The man before him drummed his fingers against his hip, a pattern that seemed instinctual. William had done the same thing, and Daisy had pointed out that Callan did the same thing. The absence of a blade. William always said not having it by his side felt odd.
Could it be?
The man waited as if time had no meaning, and something in his gaze made Callan send up a plea to the fates, and take a chance.
“William, Lord Blackford, is my half-brother. I met him after aiding his lady, Lucy Merriweather, in escaping a wee bitch named Agnes who was most intent on murdering us both.”
The man blanched. “Merde. You do have that look about you.” He stood back. “Both of you better come inside.”
He turned and called out. “Mildred? We have guests. Guests that say they know Lucy.”
“Hell’s bells.” Came the voice from the stairs.
As he let Daisy go ahead of him, the weight of the moment, all the unspoken questions, hung heavy in the air.
The man led them to a sofa, politely ignoring the towel wrapped bundle Callan held in his hand.
Before he sat, Callan reached in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out one of the three coins he had kept.
He had decided to keep the other two. One for luck, and one, in time, to hopefully pass down to his own son or daughter.
“I brought this with me,” he said simply as he held out the coin.
Drake’s eyes widened as he took the coin, examining it closely.
“What year was it when you brought it with you?” He asked, cautiously, turning the coin over and over.
“The Year of Our Lord 1311. And ye, when did ye travel to come here? For I hear my brother’s voice in your speech.”
Drake leaned back against the cushions, fingers tapping against his thigh. “1335.”
Mildred strode into the living room, fussing at Drake, a tray of sweet tea and cookies in her hands. He rose to take the tray, kissing her on the cheek.
They shared a look between them, the love for each other evident on their faces. He and Daisy might have such companionship and love, if only she would let go of her past.
“Gracious. Why aren’t you all sitting out on the porch while it’s still cool?”
“It’s going to rain.” He and Drake said at the same time.
Mildred turned to Daisy, hands on her hips. “Isn’t it annoying how they always know?”
The first smile since their stramash last night crossed her face. “It is. But I’m glad when I don’t want to carry an umbrella.”
The older woman laughed, and while she was still attractive, Callan could see she must have been a great beauty in her youth.
“Be careful. Sweet tea takes some getting used to,” Drake said as he handed a glass to Daisy and then to Callan.
“Aye. I found out when we arrived in town yesterday.” He took a sip. “I have come to like this tea.”
The sofas were upholstered in a sand dollar print; the chairs adorned with starfish patterns, all covered in plastic to protect the fabric.
His lass shifted, making the plastic squeak, and her face turn bright pink.
The walls were painted a soft blue, the same color as the shirt Daisy had put on this morn.
Drake leaned forward. “How did you find your way here?”
Callan gave them a brief version of his journey, touching upon his life in 14th-century Scotland and how he had found himself catapulted into the present day. Daisy listened, quiet as he talked.
“Before I tell ye about Lucy, I found something at the Renaissance Faire where Daisy and I worked in Boston. Bought it from a merchant who said it had ties to Blackford, though he could not prove it.”
He handed Drake the towel, and as the man unwrapped the broken dagger, his eyes narrowed.
“That blade was stolen from my car last year,” he said, voice tinged with disbelief. “I found records indicating it had once belonged to Lucy.”
They talked as Callan told them how he had been captured and met Lucy, also a captive of Agnes, the daughter of William’s first wife. How Lucy defended her son, stabbing Agnes, then pushing her over the parapet to her death.
“When she told me her sisters were far away, I had no idea she meant seven hundred years in the future.” He snorted.
Mildred nodded, thoughtfully. “She wouldn’t have known yet…” With a glance at her husband, who nodded, she turned back to Callan.
“Melinda, Charlotte, and my niece Chloe are all… gone.” She swallowed. “They traveled to the past. Not together, but they all made it.”
Drake jumped in. “We found evidence that they all found each other.”
“When I met Lucy, she never told me she was a … time-traveler. It wasn’t until I remembered certain things she said that did not make sense when I arrived in this time that I knew for certain.”
He took another drink of the tea, grateful when Drake refilled his glass.
Mildred wiped the tears brimming in her eyes. “Tell me everything you remember about her.”
So he did.
When he finished, Drake cleared his throat. “I found a document mentioning Falconburg Castle, where Melinda lives … lived.” He stood. “I’ll be right back.”
When the warrior returned, he handed Callan a document encased in a protective sleeve.
He moved closer to Daisy so she could see too. She looked up. “The words are too hard to make out.”
“Turn it over,” Drake said. “I had the translation printed out.”
“Millie, don’t cry. They are well.” Drake took his wife’s hands in his.
Daisy touched the document, her voice full of wonder. “It almost looks like some kind of journal entry.”