43
FINN
As they walked east, away from Faversham, Finn broke off a piece of the bread Cecily had purchased. He chewed for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “The monastery in Graston,” he began, “I found the family records. Birth, death, inheritance… the monks keep everything.”
“And?”
He looked at Cecily. She said nothing, but her hand found his.
“He wanted another heir to secure the succession. He had my younger brother, but he wanted another.” Finn’s throat constricted. “The banns were recorded, but the wedding never occurred because he fell ill the next year. The records say he died in 1241.”
“What?” said Cecily. “So soon after we left?”
“Yes. My brother Geoffrey inherited the estate and barony instead of me. He was only ten years old at the time. A steward ran the estate until he came of age.”
They walked in silence for a moment. A cart passed them going in the other direction, the driver nodding as he went by. They kept their heads lowered as it passed.
“Geoffrey had children,” Finn continued. “His line continued. Eventually, one of his descendants became baron.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Julian.”
Cecily’s eyes widened. “Julian is descended from your brother?”
“From the brother who should never have inherited Veyron Hall. If I’d stayed in 1239—if I’d been there when my father died—I would have become baron. Geoffrey would have remained the younger son. And Julian’s line would never have held Veyron. Perhaps he would never have been born.”
“So if we go back,” Cecily said slowly, “to 1239—”
“The succession changes. I inherit. Julian never becomes baron. I could marry…” He hesitated and turned toward her. “I could marry you.”
The words came out before he’d fully decided to say them.
He felt her go still beside him and waited, watching her face.
Her eyes were bright. Were those tears? He couldn’t tell.
He wanted to say more, to explain what he meant, that it wasn’t just a practical solution to the succession problem, that he’d been turning the thought over for months without letting himself finish it.
That he was in love with her. But the words stuck in his throat.
“And the other Lady Cecily… she never marries Julian,” he said, the words coming out clipped and formal. It felt safer to talk about the plan. “He won’t marry her because he won’t have the title.”
“Then everything that happened to her—”
“Doesn’t happen. That entire timeline, the one where we disappeared and she… you… I mean the other Cecily… married Julian, it won’t exist.” Finn took her hands. “I believe we can prevent it. All of it. But we need the machine. And we need to go back. Back to our time.”
“Then let’s go back for ours.” She said it simply, as if the answer were obvious. “We know exactly where it’s hidden. You marked the trees yourself.”
Finn’s eyes held hers. “We can’t.”
“Why not? It carried us across all these decades. It can carry us back.”
“It carried us wrong the last time.” He needed to say it plainly.
“I set those dials in the dark, half-blind. We meant to travel ten years and it gave us one, because I rushed it. Your grandfather told me what rushing costs.” He paused, not sure what to say next, then, “I would need a full day or two before I’d trust those dials again.
Clear light. A quiet hour, maybe tools to make repairs.
We don’t have that much time. She doesn’t have that much time. ”
Cecily’s steps slowed on the rutted track, though she kept walking. “So we leave behind the machine in the woods,” she said slowly, “and go hunting instead for one we have never laid eyes on, hidden somewhere on an estate thick with Julian’s and Benedict’s men.”
“Yes.”
“That is not, I think, the wiser plan.”
“No,” Finn agreed. “But we can’t trust our lives to a machine that’s not ready to use. And if we wait, then Lady Veyron—the other you—could die. That’s the choice.”
She let out a breath. “When you put it so reasonably, I find I have no argument left to give you.” She laced her fingers through his again as she said it.
“What will become of it, the other machine, if we leave it in the woods?”
“Nothing, most likely,” he said. Brambles grow thicker and cover it.” He paused. “Or someone finds it and pulls the lever, and off they go.”
“Cecily’s mouth tightened. “Or perhaps, if we go back to our time and alter the future, this future, the machine ceases to exist. If not, let us hope for brambles.”
They walked on. Then he looked toward the road ahead.
“How much farther?” he asked. “To your uncle’s estate.”
“Before nightfall. I’m sure he’ll take us in.”
“It will be safer than Faversham,” Finn said. “And we need somewhere to rest. To plan.”
∞∞∞
The sun was setting when Malethurst appeared in the distance. It was an impressive manor estate, well-kept, with fields stretching around it, yet smaller than Veyron Hall.
They approached the main entrance. Finn’s clothes were mud-stained from days of travel. Cecily’s gown, despite the inn maid’s efforts, looked worn and dirty. They both looked like the weary travelers they were.
Finn knocked. A servant opened the door. Behind him, an older man, gray-haired and round-faced, approached. His eyes widened when he saw Cecily.
“Cecily!” His eyes then narrowed slightly as he took in her disheveled state. “They told me you were at death’s door. You look disheveled, hungry, but not unwell. What is this?”
“A foolish journey from Graston and a lame horse, Uncle Stephen,” Cecily said, forcing a weary smile. “We had to walk. Malethurst was closer than Veyron.” It was the story they’d rehearsed, and she prayed it was enough.
Concern was evident on her uncle’s face. “Heavens! Come in, come in.” He looked at Finn. “And this is?”
“Finn, my lord,” he said with a bow. “I’ve been escorting Lady Cecily.”
“Thank providence she had protection.” Stephen stepped aside. “Come, both of you.”
The hall inside was warm and well-lit. Servants appeared at her uncle’s call. He fussed over Cecily, ordering clean clothes brought for both, hot water prepared, and food readied.
“I’ve been so worried,” he said, guiding Cecily to a chair by the fire.
“The rumors about your health. Some said you were very ill indeed. I tried to visit you twice last autumn.” His brow creased.
“Julian’s men turned me away both times.
Said you were too ill for visitors. I should have insisted.
” He shook his head. “I should have insisted.”
“I’m much better now, truly.” Cecily sat, and Finn saw her shoulders relax slightly. “Uncle, could we stay the night? We’ll return to Veyron in the morning.”
“Of course! You’re always welcome here. You are family.” He patted her hand. “I’ll have rooms prepared immediately.”
At dinner, Finn watched Cecily navigate her uncle’s worried questions.
Stephen fussed, bemoaning the state of his kitchens since she’d left, then pressed for news of Veyron.
Cecily answered with a calm Finn knew was forced, a shield against her uncle’s well-meaning intrusion.
Finn said little, focusing on the roasted meat and warm bread, luxuries he hadn’t realized he’d missed so acutely.
Later, when the house fell silent, Finn slipped from his room in the servants’ quarters. He moved through the unfamiliar halls, grateful Cecily had pointed out her chamber’s location before they parted. Finding the door, he tapped lightly, and it opened at once.
“We have to leave first thing,” Cecily whispered once he was inside. “Julian can’t find out we’re here.”
“I know,” Finn said. “We’ll leave at first light.”
“And go where?”
“Toward Veyron. We have to find the machine.”
“We don’t know where it’s hidden.”
“We’ll find out,” Finn said. “I know every hiding place on that estate. Every outbuilding, every cellar, every corner my father thought was secret. If the machine is anywhere on Veyron land, I’ll find it.”
Cecily sat on the edge of the bed, her voice a whisper. “What if we can’t get it? What if Julian—?”
He sat beside her and took her hand, his grip firm. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low and certain. “We will get it. We have to.”
She tucked her head against his shoulder. They sat in silence as the fire burned low. Finally, she said, “You’d better go back to your room, and be careful of the servants. I’ll miss…” She didn’t finish her thought.
“I know,” he said. “I’ll miss you tonight too.”
Back in his room, Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. He thought of Cecily, both versions of her. If only she knew how much he cared for her. How difficult it was to hold her at night and not ask for more.
His last thought before sleep was of her in the chapel ruins, her face smudged with dirt, her eyes fierce.
The way she argued with him even when she was wrong, and especially when she was right.
The way she’d looked at him like she couldn’t decide whether to strike him or kiss him. The way she always, always got back up.
He had no idea how to tell her any of this. He worried he might be running out of time to try.