Chapter 21 Rhys
Rhys
Rhys was still unable to move as he watched Magellan leave with his mother. Someone had come to collect her. A surge of panic hit him, and he launched out of his chair. He hurried to the salon to find Magellan’s father.
Terrance Brighton was a well-dressed heavyset man from America who seemed both anxious and mortified to find his beloved daughter being housed by the Earl of Liron.
He and his daughter were in England visiting his cousin, a vicar at one of the neighboring estates to the north.
Magellan’s horse had returned without her days ago, and they’d been scouring the countryside, frantic and fearing the worst. His eyes glistened as he spoke, and Rhys felt guilty he had not sent out the inquiries.
His mother joined them after depositing Magellan with Polly. Flustered, she waved her lace handkerchief around in the air as she talked. “Vee sought she might have suffered an accident. She doesn’t zeem to remember who she is.”
“My deepest apologies, my lady. I’m not sure that’s the truth,” the man said, wringing his hat in his hands.
Rhys stepped forward. “What do you mean?”
“She’s probably worried I’ll be upset with her.
Your father, God rest his soul, was safekeeping a diary for us until I was ready to sell it.
He offered to hold on to it until my return.
We had met in London while I was visiting the Historical Society.
When Maggie discovered my plan this trip, she ran away.
I never imagined she would turn up at your doorstep or I would have come sooner. ”
Maggie? Rhys listened perplexed as Magellan’s father fully explained the situation.
“One of her favorite stories, it is. Her mother used to read it to her.”
Rhys’s eyebrows shot up. “Her mother reads Old English?”
The man chuckled. “No, no, of course not. I have a translation.”
Everything Terrence Brighton was saying was causing Rhys’s fury to rise. The hours he had spent squinting over candlelight with his father’s spectacles. How she must have laughed at him when she already knew the story quite well!
“I see” was all Rhys could get out.
“Your father was quite aware my daughter is a special girl, full of imagination. She loves her fairy tales and her music. I’m sorry if she’s been a burden.” He looked so remorseful.
“Why did she say she had amnesia? Did she say it out of fear?” An alarming thought hit Rhys. “That you would take your anger out on her?”
The man put his hat over his heart and swore, “I would never lay a finger on my girl. She is my precious angel.”
Rhys relaxed at hearing the promise. Yes, Magellan was precious.
And a liar. His thoughts were in a tailspin.
While his mother offered Magellan’s father tea, Rhys hurried back to the library and retrieved the diary from Erickson, who sputtered in surprise when he heard Magellan’s father had arrived.
Erickson of course had to follow him back to the salon, where he introduced himself to Mr. Brighton. Rhys did not know how to handle the situation. He handed the diary over to the man. “Here is your property returned, sir. Your daughter should be down any minute.”
“Thank you, my lord.” The man slipped the diary into his coat pocket. Then he sipped his tea while they waited.
“We have been admiring your glorious book,” Lord Erickson said and politely enquired if he had any interest in selling it, to which Mr. Brighton replied he had already secured a buyer in London. Erickson looked crestfallen. An awkward silence ensued.
“May I call on her when she is settled?” Rhys asked, still needing to talk to Magellan. This could not be their end. Now that he knew the truth he had so many questions.
“Of course, my lord. Give us a few days to help her come to her senses again.”
Rhys expelled a breath, running his hand over his face to cover a pained laugh.
Come to her senses? That was putting it mildly.
Her medical affliction was so much worse than he had thought.
His heart was breaking in this parlor in front of Magellan’s father and his mother. She looked as stunned as he was.
“Where did Magellan learn to play the piano and harp so well?” he asked her father.
“She was born with the gift, and I hired the finest teachers.” Mr. Brighton gave him a tight smile and went back to his tea, clearly uncomfortable.
His mother asked, “And vhen do you return to zee United States?”
“In less than a fortnight. I own a small business and must be getting back.”
Rhys frowned. That didn’t give him much time to decide the best course of action. “And Magellan’s mother? Did she travel with you?”
“Her mother died years ago,” the man said bluntly. “Which is probably why my daughter’s a bit wild, running off alone all the time. She hasn’t had a mother’s hand to guide her.”
Rhys glanced toward the door, impatient to see her, to watch her face when she saw her father.
Only Polly returned alone, looking nervous. “Miss Brighton . . . she’s gone.”
Rhys jumped up. “Gone? What do you mean? You were with her.”
Polly’s lip quivered. “She seemed quite upset and asked for a few minutes alone after I helped her change. When I came back to get her, she was gone.”
Springing into action, Rhys issued orders to the servants to search the house and to check the stables to see if any of the horses were missing. Magellan’s father looked just as alarmed, and Rhys rushed to assure him, “Do not worry, sir. We will find her.”
Rhys strode away to join the search, heading immediately to the conservatory in the east wing.
When he walked into the empty room, his eyes went to the glass doors, and he knew exactly where Magellan was.
He hurried outside, keeping to the side path, and ducked into the labyrinth.
The second he was inside the maze he began to run.
His heart was beating furiously with a mixture of anger and worry coursing through him. When he turned the last corner leading to the center, at first he didn’t see her and fear slammed into him he had been wrong. She hadn’t come to the labyrinth.
Then he spied her on the other side of the standing stones. She was sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up. She had changed into a simple brown travel gown with a high neck and long sleeves. Vivianne had given her an old pair of travel boots as well.
Magellan looked up at him. Tears streaked down her face.
Her despair took away all his anger. Whatever lies she had told, it was because she was ill.
“Magellan,” he said gently.
“He’s not my father.” She did not seem surprised to see him, as if she knew he would figure out where she’d gone. “I swear, Rhys. He’s not, and that’s the truth. I was adopted in New York by a couple named Harold and Margaret.”
Harold and Margaret. Her father said she had an active imagination. “He said you ran away because he was planning to sell the diary. Your horse turned up days ago, and he’s been worried sick.”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks. “I didn’t run away. And you know I don’t know how to ride.”
No, he didn’t know. Her lies hardened him. “He said he has his own translation, and you’ve read it many times,” he gritted out.
She jumped up in outrage. “He’s lying! Rhys, I’ve never read it before.”
“He knows about your musical ability. He knows you!” He was yelling now too. “Magellan, stop. You don’t have to lie anymore!”
“I’m not lying. Maybe I lied before about not remembering, but it was for a good reason.”
“Why? Is your father cruel? Are you afraid of him?”
“No! My father is kind. He is the sweetest man, and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you would believe the truth.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge what I’ll believe?”
“Fine! The truth is I’m not from this time. I’m from the future.”
Rhys’s heart fell as he watched her pace back and forth. His eyes went to the standing stones, remembering the ridiculous “time machine” his father had tried to construct. Had he and Magellan been in conversation by letters? Had Godwin encouraged her whimsical notions?
She began to babble, waving her arms as she explained.
“I was playing the harp at a wedding. There was a panic because the North and the South Poles are about to flip just like Gwynedd wrote about. I ended up playing Bach on the church organ, and I think the music brought me here on a Ley Line. You said Merlin himself built this stone circle.” She turned to face him, wild-eyed.
“Gwynedd wrote her diary for me, and somehow . . . somehow your father ended up with the book. He wrote me a letter, knowing I would end up here.”
“How? He’s dead!” Rhys felt like he was losing his mind.
“He wrote it before he died.” She took a step toward him. “He said you’re supposed to help me.”
“Help you what?” He held his breath and prayed she did not say save the world.
“Find the song? Save the world?”
Good Lord, she said it. He rubbed his brow.
She held up her hand in front of his face. “This is the ring, Rhys. I have Gwynedd’s ring. Look!”
He refused to look. Instead he took her hand in his. “So you think Gwynedd’s diary is real?” he asked gently, as if she might break.
“It is real.” She began to sob, the words tumbling out of her.
“My whole life has been about music. I can play any instrument, and I never knew how or why. For the first time I have answers. And I know Garesh! He is just like Gwynedd described. He was my teacher and gave me the ring. I don’t know how he was there in Gwynedd’s time, but he was. ”
“Magellan, the story is make-believe.”
“It’s not! Can you for one moment suspend your disbelief?
” She took a pleading step toward him. “Please, Rhys. I need your help. The world might be ending on Winter Solstice, not just in my time but yours too. It’s all connected.
That’s only six weeks away. Gwynedd said I need to find the women’s four parts of the song in order to get back. ”