Chapter Thirty-Five
Joey
Once everybody stops trying to hug and kiss us, Rachel hands the book to Efrica. Okay, maybe Kieran didn't hug and kiss me---thank God---but I swear his eyes teared up just a little. Yeah, the Big Guy missed me. Ain't that sweet?
Kieran smacks my arm---hard. "Joey Finnegan, 'tis good to see you alive and well. I know Rachel would return, but you...well, we assumed the mafia would recapture you and drop your erse into a bottomless pit."
"Gee, thanks for the heartwarming welcome speech."
His smug smile proves he's razzing me.
"I missed that razor-sharp wit," Kieran says, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. "'Tis a wonder the mafia didnae kill ye just to silence your tongue."
I rub my arm where he smacked me. For a medieval guy, he's got a modern understanding of how to bruise without breaking bones.
Rachel stands beside her father, the smile on her face and in her eyes proving she's glad to be home. The Highland sun catches her golden-brown hair just right, giving her the aura of a fashion model who belongs on the cover of a "Visit Scotland" brochure---if they had those in the seventeenth century. Yeah, I kinda doubt those exist yet.
"The book, Father," Rachel says, nodding toward Efrica who's turning the ancient tome over in her hands. "The timeline has been restored, aye? No more interlopers can force their way into the wrong era?"
"Patience, child." Efrica's fingers trace the Celtic symbols embossed on the leather cover, then she flips the book open. The wrinkles around her eyes deepen as she squints at the text. Efrica mutters wordlessly, not bothering to glance up. "Ancient magic doesn't reveal its secrets to those who act hastily."
Rachel sidles closer to me. After everything we've been through---mobsters with guns, witches with grudges, time portals that fling us from one century to another like some demented carnival ride---I don't blame her for wanting reassurance.
I slip my arm around her waist, and she leans into me, fitting perfectly at my side. My brain still short-circuits a little when I remember that this gorgeous, fierce, time-traveling witch actually chose me, Joey Finnegan, former mob errand boy with a talent for getting into trouble.
"Well?" Kieran demands, his patience clearly wearing thin. "What does the book say, Efrica?"
His aunt throws him an annoyed glance. "The ancient ones didnae write their secrets for impatient warriors who cannae wait two minutes for an answer."
I bite back a laugh. Watching Kieran---all six-foot-something of Highland warrior---get scolded like a schoolboy by his plump, gray-haired aunt never gets old.
"The timeline..." Efrica says, her finger tracing the faded script. Her gaze flickers with something between relief and concern. "It has been mostly restored."
"Mostly?" Rachel and I blurt out in unison, our momentary comfort evaporating.
"What does 'mostly' mean?" I ask as I pull Rachel closer to me. "Because in my experience, 'mostly fixed' is like saying someone's 'mostly alive' or a bomb is 'mostly disarmed.' It's the kind of qualifier that ruins your whole day."
Efrica rolls her gaze up to mine without lifting her head. "The book shows that the major pathways between times have been sealed, but there are...ripples. Wee disturbances where the fabric hasn't fully mended."
"Ripples?" Rachel repeats. "Such as when a stone is cast into still water?"
"Aye," Efrica nods, her fingers dancing across the ancient text. "The magic recognizes your efforts. The book speaks of warriors who traveled the impossible path and returned victorious." She glances up at us, a hint of pride in her eyes, before bowing her head again to study the yellowed pages. "But magic that powerful leave scars."
"What you're saying," I suggest, "is that we patched the leak but there might still be a few drops getting through?"
Kieran crosses his arms over his broad chest. "I dinnae like the sound of that. We've had enough trouble with time-hoppers to last several lifetimes."
"The ripples are not permanent," Efrica says, closing the book with a decisive thump. "But they need time to heal properly. Like a wound that must be allowed to mend without being disturbed. Believe me when I tell you that neither An Bodach nor those mafia intruders will never again harass you, Rachel, or any of us."
"And until then?" Rachel asks. "Are we vulnerable to more...visitors of other sorts?"
"Not vulnerable precisely. But certain individuals---those with a connection to the original breach---might find passage easier than others would."
I groan. That's just awesome. "Anyone connected to the mafia guys we just dealt with could potentially pop through. Is that the gist of it?"
"There might be moments and places wherein the veil between centuries grows thin enough that small things might slip through."
I cross my arms over my chest. "Define 'small,' please. Are we talking squirrels and butterflies, or handguns and hitmen?"
Efrica's green eyes veer to me. "Information. Memories. Perhaps smaller objects. I dinnae see anything as substantial as a full-grown man passing through. But dreams, visions...those could filter between worlds for a time."
"Terrific," I mutter.
"Or warnings," Rachel suggests. "Perhaps 'tis not all bad, Joey."
I give her a sideways look. Only Rachel could find the silver lining in magical time-space tears. But then, that's one of the many reasons I'm crazy about her.
Kieran paces the stone floor, his boots echoing in the chamber. "How long will these...ripples persist?"
Efrica clutches the book to her chest, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the worn leather. "The next full moon should see the last of them sealed. Until then, we must be vigilant."
"Three weeks," Rachel calculates. "That's not so terrible."
I want to agree with her, but my experience with the MacTaggart clan has taught me that three weeks of "magical ripples" undoubtedly translates to three weeks of absolute chaos. "And what exactly does 'vigilant' mean in witch-speak? Because in my world, it usually involves guns and lookouts."
Kieran grunts. "Yer living with several witches, laddie. Have a wee bit of faith in their talents."
I turn toward Rachel---and smile. "Maybe having faith isn't that difficult after all."
Rachel's brow furrows. "How long were we gone in this timeline? Days? Weeks?"
"Oh, no, not that long," Alyssa confirms. Then she glances at her husband. "Isn't that right, Kieran?"
"Aye. 'Twas no more than a matter of hours." He turns to me. "When are ye planning to wed my daughter? She must be with child by now."
I hadn't even thought about that. With all the commotions we've experienced lately...well, I still should have guessed that our frequent lovemaking would result in a baby. Rachel can't be more than three or four weeks pregnant. And that realization leads to a question. "How could anyone know that Rachel is, uh, with child? We've known each other for barely a month."
Kieran smirks. "Yer living with witches, mo macan . Nothing is impossible."
I smack my forehead. "Duh. I should've guessed as much."
Big Daddy claps a hand on my shoulder. "Ye have an urgent task to complete, aye?"
"Urgent? No, I don't think..." Then his meaning finally hits me, and I give an exaggerated wink. "Oh, right, yeah. That thing I need to do."
Kieran smirks again, lines of humor crinkling around his eyes. "Best get to it, eh, laddie?"
I salute. "Yes, sir."
Then I seize Rachel's hand, hauling her out of the solar and out of the house. I don't stop dragging her along with me until we've left the castle grounds and are heading to a place that has come to mean a lot to us.
I stop and turn to face Rachel. "Remember this place?"
"Aye." She surveys the area, moving her head left and right. "It's the waterfall where the Ashrays live."
"And it where they imbued us with a sliver of their magics, giving us incredible sex."
Rachel blushes, the warmth spreading across her cheeks.
I wink.
"Joey!" she hisses, but there's no real indignation in her voice. "The Ashrays didnae give us 'incredible sex.' They merely...enhanced our connection."
"Enhanced. That's one way to put it." I wiggle my eyebrows at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I catch the smile she's trying to hide.
We settle on a flat rock overlooking the waterfall, its constant rush drowning out the rest of the world. Mist rises from where the water crashes against the stones below, creating a fine veil that catches rainbows in the afternoon sun. It feels like our own private sanctuary, this little corner of the Highlands where magic hums just beneath the surface.
"So," I say, trying to sound casual while my heart hammers against my ribs. "You're pregnant. Right?"
Rachel's hand instinctively shifts down to her still-flat stomach. "I reckon I am." Her voice is hushed, almost reverent. "The aunts would never lie about such things."
"Are you...okay with that?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. We've fought mafia hitmen and evil witches together, but somehow this conversation feels scarier than both combined.
She laughs, the sound mingling with the waterfall's rush. "Am I content to carry the child of the man I love with all my heart and soul? The man who crossed time itself to save the MacTaggart witches' sacred book?" Her eyes meet mine, blue as the Highland sky. "Aye, Joey Finnegan. I'm more than 'okay' with it."
The relief that floods through me is so intense I almost feel dizzy. I grab her hand, threading our fingers together like I'm afraid she might float away if I don't anchor her to me. "Well, I guess your dad was right about one thing. We should get married."
I tried for a casual tone, but my voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word.
Rachel tilts her head, the sunlight glistening on her hair. "Is that your idea of a proposal, Joey Finnegan?"
"What? No. I mean---" I stop, take a breath, and realize I'm messing this up spectacularly. Now for take two... "I had plans, you know. Before all the time-hopping and mafia-dodging. I was going to do this right."
The love in her eyes gives me a pang in my chest. "And what would 'right' entail?"
I gesture vaguely at our surroundings. "Not sitting on a rock after just finding out I'm going to be a father, for starters." I run my hand through my hair, feeling every bit the out-of-place modern guy I am. "Maybe dinner somewhere nice. That's what I would've said before I met you. Now...All I can say is this. I love you with all my heart and soul, and I'll go on loving you even after we've both shuffled off that old mortal coil. We'll be together for eternity."
She sniffles, wiping at her eyes. "Oh, Joey---"
"Not done yet." I dig an item out of my hip pocket and hold it out to her, lifting the lid from the tiny box. I tilt it toward her, so she can see the diamond ring. "Will you marry me, Rachel MacTaggart, good witch of the Highlands?"
Rachel's eyes widen, shimmering with unshed tears as she stares at the ring. "Joey, where did you...how did you...?"
I wince and scratch the back of my neck. "Well, I didn't have the dough to buy the kind of ring you deserve. While I was pinching that book for you at the Met, I kinda...stole a ring for you too."
Her eyes flare so wide they seem like they might pop out of their sockets. "You stole it? From the museum?"
"That ring was just sitting there in an unassuming case that nobody looked at, I'm sure. The plaque described it as 'unknown diamond ring, possibly circa 1600s, 1.50 ct., silver.'" I shrug. "Why let that poor little thing get dustier? It belongs on your finger, baby."
She stares at me, wide-eyed, not blinking.
My shoulders sag. "You hate it, don't you? I shouldn't have snatched the ring, I know. But you deserve the best of everything."
Rachel bursts into a fit of laughter. When she finally stops guffawing, she wipes her eyes. "Joey, mo chridhe , you are the sweetest thief. How could I reject the ring you stole for me? It's beautiful. Let me try it on."
I offer her the ring and wait with bated breath to see if the thing fits her finger.
She slips the ring on---and it fits perfectly, as if it had been waiting in that museum for me to find it and take it back to the past for Rachel.
The love of my life flings her entire body at me, smacking kisses all over my face.
Rachel is thrilled with the diamond ring. But how will Big Daddy Kieran feel about that?