Chapter Nine

The eerie-green of the lichens in twilight captured his attention first, then the impressive trunk of the tree to which it was attached. His eyes traveled up, adjusting to the fading light of day, and he saw the notches he’d placed there as a child, as he learned how to climb it. The branches, thick and sturdy, jutted out proudly, as though welcoming him home again. As was his custom, he slowly refocused his senses: first, he allowed the chill in the air to reach his skin; they’d need a fire tonight. He then attuned his ears to the sounds of the forest, listening for either the stealthy slip of an enemy’s knife from its sheath, or the welcoming song of the birds as they sang their lullabies.

A feeling of peace settled over his soul as he looked down at the small body coming to in his arms.

He drew in a deep, cleansing breath, trying to assimilate the sensation of having his past and present collide.

“What the hell…?” She glanced at him. “What are you wearing?” She glanced down at herself. “What am I wearing?”

He helped her to her feet. The deep garnet brought out the fire-red streaks of her long curls, which rained freely down her back. The strands at her temples were braided and tied together behind her head, highlighting her pixie face and vibrant green eyes.

“You are…” Struggling to find the right words, he stood to his full height, and allowed himself the pleasure of truly seeing her. “Captivating.”

She blushed prettily. “Thanks, Ry.” After a couple of seconds, she paled. “What the hell just happened to us?”

He busily checked himself for his weaponry. Thankfully, all of it seemed attached to the places he’d attached them to, so he was relatively happy about that.

He was not relatively happy about anything else.

“The Fates,” he answered succinctly. “You just met the Crone and the Maiden. Who knows where the Mother was.”

“Maiden, Mother, Crone,” Gwen whispered. “I remember that from my Greek studies class! In those stories, they never moved from a hearth, where they spent their time snipping pieces of yarn to end people’s lives.”

He let out a sigh. “It’s close enough to the reality that you don’t really want to know more.”

She finally noticed their surroundings and her eyes widened. “Um…where are we, again?”

He swore suddenly, then gave her a look of pure agony. “My bike!”

Confused, she shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, Is that really the issue at hand here?

He dragged his hands through his hair. “They better protect that bike. I love her.”

Gwen merely watched him fret about his Victory, but she didn’t know how much time and energy and money he’d sunk into that motorcycle. Love wasn’t a strong enough word.

“Reilly, I know you’re missing your baby right now, but could you please focus for a minute? I’m still a little fuzzy on the details. You know, like where the hell are we?”

“When. The better question is when are we? And I’m not entirely certain.” He patted himself down, relieved to find that though the Fates took his keys, they’d left his more practical metal. He shoved his hands through his hair; he hadn’t wanted to introduce Gwen to the less savory side of medieval Ireland, if that was indeed their time period at the moment, but he knew better than any that danger could be just behind the next tree. “Promise me you’ll never fear me, Gwen.”

She frowned. “Why would I ever fear you? Because of your unhealthy love of a machine?”

He tugged the sleeve of his tunic up, revealing a sheathed dirk tied to his forearm. “Nay. Because of this.”

He slowly tugged up his other sleeve, revealing an identical dirk. Then he showed her each thigh, each calf, and the ones tucked inside his medieval boots.

“Well,” she managed.

He would’ve like to flatter himself that her sudden short breaths were a reaction to his baring all sorts of places on his body to her, but alas, her gaze remained fixated on the various bits of steel on his person.

The Fates had certainly dressed him well for his unexpected fall through time. He was grateful they hadn’t stripped him of his knives, though he would do almost anything at the moment to feel the comforting weight of his sword against his back.

By the time he was finished revealing the various weaponry on his person, her eyes were glossy, and he worried that she would start running. But she needed to know. He needed her to understand.

“Every one of these blades has ended at least one life. A life who had tried to take mine, or the life of someone who is under my protection. There may be more lives taken with this steel, but it is never for naught. Do you understand, lass? I kill not for the sport of it, but for the survival from it. We may be in a dangerous time, and the best policy is to act first and ask questions later.”

She was about to see a side of him that she’d never seen. She might have been aware of it; his very first charge, Brianagh O’Rourke, often told him his chivalry was only a veneer to his uncivilized side.

Bri was not wrong.

Gwen’s face softened. “Reilly, fear is the exact opposite of what I feel when I’m with you. You would never hurt me, and I am so honored you would even think to protect me with your weapons.”

“With my life,” he corrected her.

She smiled, though serious. “I couldn’t have asked for a better guardian, then. Thank you. I’m not scared, Ry, not with you.”

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and though he kept his face impassive, inside, he smiled with relief. He unsheathed his most wicked-looking dagger and held it loosely in his hand.

Couldn’t be too careful, especially as he wasn’t quite sure when they were.

“Are we near Brianagh again?”

He shook his head. “Nay. We’re about a three-days’ walk from the O’Rourke castle.” He smiled at her, allowing a bit of his dimple show. “Welcome to my other home, Gwendolyn. Looks like we’re visiting a bit sooner than even I expected.”

She started to reply, but her eyes grew large and she made incoherent noises and pointed behind him.

She didn’t need to, though. The glancing blow off his back told him all he needed to know about what stood behind him. He took a chance and trotted out his medieval Gaelic. “Truly, lad?” he asked.

“Not a lad,” the man replied, also in medieval Gaelic. “I’ll be wanting my dirk back, ye know.”

Well, there was proof enough of the general time in which the currently found himself. He had a suspicion, of course, based on his and Gwen’s clothes, but he didn’t trust the Fates. He could admit to being grateful they didn’t send him somewhere like 17th-century England, where, garbed as they were, he would’ve had to use most of his wits and all of Gwen’s charm to extricate them from a stay somewhere unsavory.

The very medieval bloke in front of him was dressed in MacDermott colors.

By the saints above, how Reilly loathed the MacDermott clan. They caused no end of unnecessary grief and annoyance to all they crossed paths with.

The man was eyeing him speculatively. “You’ll pay for walking upon my clan’s land; I’ll be taking all you’ve got.”

“All I have is what you see,” Reilly replied easily, ignoring the slight burn on his shoulder blade. “A dirk worth nothing.”

The man looked past him. “Oh, you’ve got something else, I’ll wager. You’d be an O’Malley, and I’ve never been one to trust one of your ilk. I’ll be having your weapon, and your woman there too.” He drew his sword casually. “I won’t make her scream loudly if you’ll hand her over without complaint.”

Reilly’s dagger found its mark before the man finished his sentence.

The man’s eyes opened wide, and he staggered back. He looked down at the dagger protruding from his chest, and his mouth formed a silent O before he fell over.

Quickly, Reilly yanked the knife from its resting place, cleaned the blood on the man’s tunic, and grit his teeth.

He’d wondered how he was to protect Gwen without a sword. Well, the Fates certainly gave him the opportunity to answer that question.

He pulled the sword from the dead man’s fingers, then braced himself to view the horror on Gwen’s face. Slowly, he turned.

If he thought her pale a few minutes ago, her face was now a ghostly white.

“I think I need a drink,” she whispered, then promptly fainted.

He swore, then vaulted over a log and felt her head and body for any signs of broken bones. It seemed like she’d missed hitting anything important, but she was fully unconscious.

Reilly rubbed his hand, hard, over his face, and swore again. He needed to hide the man’s body, and fast, before anyone happened upon them. He could handle one, but an entire clan? The rules were kill first, and don’t bother with questions, ever. If an O’Malley was found with what he suspected was a MacDermott, especially a dead MacDermott, his head would be removed from his shoulders without much fanfare.

He took another breath, looked heavenward for a moment, then dragged the man off into the woods. He returned swiftly, then decided the past wasn’t the place he wanted to woo Gwen.

He held out his right hand, fingers splayed, and murmured the ancient Celtic words the Fates had given him the night he swore his loyalty to them. More guttural words, long forgotten by all living beings, burst from his lips, and he quickly twisted his outstretched fingers into a tight ball, curling in from his smallest finger to his thumb, and…

Nothing.

He cursed. Did those witches strip him of his time travel ability? He and Gwen couldn’t be stuck in the past; they had too much to live for in the future.

He knew he was without aid, and that his decisions needed to be more measured now.

His instincts kicked in then, and he knew he had to get them away from the MacDermott border and closer to the O’Malley stronghold. He raced into the woods again, keeping Gwen’s unconscious form in sight, and gathered a few plants that smelled altogether revolting. He ran back to her, crushing them in his hands as he did so, then tucked them under her nose. He praised himself on not flinching too much when she vomited all over his boots.

It was going to be a long night, for certain.

• • •

Gwen blinked slowly, the sound of Reilly’s voice realigning her senses. She wiped her mouth, immediately embarrassed about losing the contents of her stomach all over Reilly’s leather boots.

She focused on them. They were not the riding boots he’d had on earlier. There were no laces to the shoes he now wore; instead, they looked like they’d been stitched out of large pieces of leather and crisscross tied, all over, with smaller straps of leather.

Ry’s words filtered to her brain, but they arrived in a different order than how he spoke them. She raised her eyes to him, still unable to process what was happening, but wanting very much to do whatever he said. He sounded anxious.

That couldn’t be right, though. Reilly was never anxious.

He was saying the words again, and she concentrated hard to understand him.

“Gwendolyn, we need to move. We’re too close to the border, and we risk discovery on unsafe land.”

She nodded, swallowing past a very dry throat, and wished for water. He understood what she needed, and he helped her up.

“We will stop by a stream a bit further on. Hurry, Gwen.”

They began walking at a pace mall walkers the world over would envy.

“Too fast,” she managed.

He shook his head. “Nay, lass, not this time. If you can’t keep up, I’ll carry you.”

Well. She didn’t care to be carried. She picked up her pace.

“Was it real, Reilly?”

He didn’t pretend to misunderstand, for which she was grateful, and replied grimly, “Unfortunately, aye. I suspect he was a MacDermott. There’s a large clan war happening in this time, if we’re in the time I think we’re in, between the MacDermotts and the O’Malleys. He was going to kill me and take you.” He slid a look to her. “Your fate would’ve been worse than what was promised to Eleanor.”

Gwen felt the bile rise again; with effort, she pushed it back down. Ellie had been kidnapped in medieval Ireland, where she was almost forced to wed a very unpleasant, very forceful, and very nasty man. Ellie had been shell-shocked for quite some time after that affair, and had flashbacks every once in a while.

Gwen had enough flashbacks of her own, but she was rational enough to know that Reilly did what had to be done. Death was never easy…yet it was sometimes necessary.

It was that man’s life or Reilly’s. There was no gray area there, and, understanding the difficulty of that stark contrast, Gwen understood the necessity of it. The brutality of the times.

It wasn’t so different from her time. She’d had many dreams where she redirected that grenade back to the ones who threw it at their caravan, and she knew that, if she had been given that chance, she probably would have done just that.

Their lives, or her friends’ lives. Black and white.

“Thanks,” she finally whispered.

He nodded curtly. “Keep up, lass.”

Mentally girding her loins, as it were, she put everything out of her mind and hurried onwards.

An hour or so later, after being bodily placed on a sturdy log, Gwen felt a little more like herself. She looked around and wondered if Reilly knew where they were. Imposing evergreen trees stretched toward the darkening sky above them while birds called out their goodnights to each other.

“Are we in the right place?”

Reilly began gathering twigs and fallen branches. “Depends on what you mean by the right place.”

“All right then. Are we in a safe place?”

“For the moment, aye, I believe so. In the morning, we’ll head to my mother’s cottage, see if she’s in attendance. We’ll make out plan from there.”

She propped her chin in her hands. “Okay. So, tonight, what’s next? Shelter?”

“Aye.”

“Fire?”

“Aye.”

“Anything else?”

He grunted, and she rolled her eyes. “Easy, Ry. Don’t overwhelm me with details.”

He slid her a sideways glance. “I’m merely looking out for your delicate constitution.”

She snorted. “I had a bit of a shock back there. All that walking helped clear my mind.”

He nodded briskly. “Good. We’ll also need dinner.”

“When you time travel, do you always get to choose where you’re going? And do you get there every time?”

He huffed out a laugh as he dumped some sticks in front of her. “Now I truly believe that you’re back to normal. Can we postpone the questions?”

“Nah,” she replied with a smile. “Talking helps pass the time, right?”

“Oh, aye, of course it does,” he returned dryly. “Aye, I usually end up where I want to be. I’m never off by more than a day or two, and I haven’t gotten my location wrong in more years than you’d believe. But this time, I had naught to do with when, where, or how we got here.”

“Yeah…about that. How exactly did we end up here? Why were two Fates visiting you in Mayo? And why couldn’t I hear or say anything? I didn’t like that very much.”

A wry smile touched his lips. “Aye, I imagine you didn’t. They had a debt to settle with me, and I fear you’re part of my payment plan.”

“Me?” she squeaked. She cleared her throat. “Explain, please.”

He motioned for her to start picking up sticks, and they continued to gather wood for a fire. Gwen didn’t see much dry kindling, so she set about gathering leaves and tree needles.

“Remember when I told you that I brought Aidan to the future?”

“Yes…” she trailed off uncertainly.

“His fate was to remain in the past, and Emmaline’s fate was to remain in the future. I displeased the Fates greatly by bringing him to Emmaline.”

“But you always say Aidan’s a ‘pain in the arse!’” she exclaimed, using finger quotes. “Why would you help someone you so obviously dislike?”

Reilly shrugged. “I don’t dislike him, per se. He is a pain in the arse. He made my life hell when I brought Bri to the MacWilliams. The crafty bastard had me locked in the dungeon for the wedding ceremony. He slipped something in my drink, then had the guards chain me up.”

Gwen gasped. “Well. I’d be pretty mad at him, too! Obviously, you escaped.”

“Chains can’t hold someone who isn’t there,” Reilly agreed with a mischievous smile. “I traveled back to the present day and waited until the Fates called me again. It wasn’t long before they sent me back to Brianagh and her beau. Aidan again tried to chain me, but I was smarter that time. He didn’t trust me at all—he knew nothing about the magic then. I’ve never said he wasn’t intelligent.”

“And after all that, you still went back for him.”

“I went back for Emmaline,” he corrected her, and her heart melted a little at the obvious half-truth. “Besides, Aidan and I have moved past his previous actions. Mostly.”

A sharp cry from a bird made her glance up at the darkening sky. “Um, are we very far from your mother’s house?”

He dumped an even more impressive pile of sticks onto the ground and began to form them into a circle. “Far enough. We’re safe for the moment, though. Travel at night is dangerous in this time, and I can much better protect you here, where I know the dips and swells of the terrain, and where to hide you in a pinch.”

“I like the sound of that. Well, the hiding, not the need to do so. Can we get back? Will those two Fates allow us to?”

He snorted. “Eventually.”

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, which were swirling even faster than the words she was speaking. “That was the Maiden and the Crone, right? What was the other one again?”

“The Mother is the third one. I’ve no idea where she was, but I’m glad you didn’t have to see them all together. Their collective power can overtake most people, which is why it’s a rare thing if they allow a person to see them.”

She cocked her head. “I still half-believed they were a myth.”

“Not a myth,” he confirmed.

Silently, she chewed on that for a few minutes. “You know, I don’t think I want to know any more about all that magic for the moment.”

He sighed audibly. “Praise the saints.”

Gwen added her bounty to the pile, the silence of the night pressing in on her. About five minutes passed before she couldn’t take the quiet any more. “So you grew up here?”

He smirked, as though he knew she couldn’t hold out.

She didn’t care.

“For a bit,” he replied, focused on arranging the wood. “I left when I was thirteen.”

Reilly never spoke about his past. He couldn’t, actually, while Gwen was ignorant of his time traveling abilities. But perhaps now was her chance to plumb the depths of Reilly O’Malley. She had, after all, spent more nights than she could count wondering about him. When they first began their friendship, he refused to answer anything. He’d dodge questions, or redirect the conversation. By the time she’d figured out what he was doing, he moved on to ignoring her questions altogether. At the time, she suspected he’d had a rough go of it, and respected his boundaries. But now that she knew it had been off-limits because she didn’t know his secrets, well, she wouldn’t be able to resist.

As he finished setting up the fire pit, she hoped he would tell her now. She risked a glance at his face; his eyes remained fixed on his task, and his arms flexed as he placed large rocks around the wood.

He stood and brushed his hands together. “Come, we must catch our dinner before the light fully runs out.”

She frowned, but dutifully followed him until they reached a quick-moving stream. She helped herself to a long drink, and he removed a dirk from his arm. He quickly fashioned a long, thin branch into a spear. Within just a few minutes, he’d caught three good-sized trout. They headed back to their camp, Reilly instructing her to pick up as much dry wood as she could find on the way.

She brought her meager offerings to the pile and sat down on a fallen tree he’d helpfully pulled over, then used one of his dirks to begin preparing the fish. “So, you left when you were thirteen? Was that normal?”

“Nay. What was normal was to leave your parents at nine. I stayed longer because my sire requested it of our laird, and he agreed because I was already an accomplished warrior.”

“You were a warrior at thirteen?” Gwen echoed, a little horrified.

He raised his eyes to hers. In the rapidly fading light, she couldn’t see their hazel color, but she could see the corners of them crinkle with humor at her surprise.

“I was a warrior at seven.”

Gwen tried to digest that. A child, sent into war, to kill for his clan.

“If your dad had to ask permission from the laird…where did that leave you on the society scale?”

“Just another member of the clan.” Reilly created a nest of dried leaves and grass, then, from the small bag at his waist, pulled out a stone and a small, C-shaped ring of hammered steel. “We weren’t wealthy, but we always had food in our bellies. My mother is a master weaver and tapestry seamstress; it brought in a good amount of coin for us and the clan.” He swiftly struck the flint onto the steel, and a small wisp of smoke curled from the nest. He blew it gently, and within seconds a small flame burned brightly.

“Wow,” Gwen noted, impressed. “I’ve never seen that done so fast.”

“I’m an expert level Boy Scout,” he quipped. After another moment spent coaxing the nest, he carefully placed it into the kindling.

“Do they have Boy Scouts in Ireland?”

“Don’t know. Colin and James were in it in America growing up, though. I went on many camping trips with them.”

Gwen nodded, then furrowed her brow. “Reilly?”

He sat back on his heels, satisfied, as the fire caught. “Aye, Gwendolyn?”

“Can I ask you…questions…now?”

His body stiffened, and she gulped.

She quickly added, “About your past. Questions about your past. I’ll understand if you don’t want me to…but you can trust me with your secrets, Ry.”

She patted the ground next to her, then continued to clean the fish. He rose, brushing his hands on his red and gold léine, then squatted in front of her, his thigh muscles bunching as the léine fell between them.

He took her hands in his, warming them with his thumbs. “Thank you for your loyalty. I regret that I was never able to tell you of my past.”

She clasped his hands to her chest. “Ry, you don’t need to apologize. I get it. You have a lot on your shoulders. I might not be able to carry some of your load, but I can certainly share it from time to time.”

He speared her with a look, and she shivered from its intensity.

She was either fully misreading his intentions—which, based on her past history, was more than just a little possible—or Reilly was showing interest in her. Which was ridiculous. He loved her like a best friend. Yes. A platonic best friend.

“Your hands are like ice. Move closer to the fire,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

She hated herself for wanting him the way she did. Rationally, she knew it was because just a few days ago she was ready to commit herself to someone else for the rest of her life, and letting go of all those feelings was, naturally, quite difficult.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

They both stood, and he dragged the log toward the flames. When they settled back down, she took her courage in hand and asked, “How did you become what you are now? A Protector? The boss of all Protectors?”

The firelight danced over his features, and he stared straight ahead for almost a full minute. Gwen held her breath, hoping he’d satiate her curiosity, but willing to let it drop if he refused to talk.

She was, she thought wryly, quite good at accepting his reluctance.

He reached for some of the large leaves he’d gathered earlier and began to weave them together. Finally, his voice still low, he replied, “Are you sure you want to hear the tale?”

She snorted, relieved he was even considering it, and bumped his arm with her shoulder. “Are you kidding? I’ve been trying to get you to open up to me for more than ten years. You bet I want to hear the damn tale. So if you’re talking, let’s go back a second and start with how old you are.”

“Two hundred and twenty-nine.”

She looked at him for almost a full minute before replying, “Come again?”

He repeated it, and she blinked owlishly at him. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“If it helps, I was born in 1245.”

“Reilly!” she exclaimed. “You know that just makes it more confusing!”

He fully turned himself to her. “Aye, I know.”

“Walk me through it. And feel free to talk to me like I’m two, so I’ll understand fully.”

Reilly placed the fish over the fire in the makeshift basket he’d made. “All right, lass. The important thing is that I was 183 when Brianagh was born.”

Her mouth worked, but no sound came out for a moment. She swallowed hard. “I think your driver’s license is a little off.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not exactly.”

She frowned at him. “If I’m supposed to be figuring this out myself, I’m failing pretty hard.”

“I stopped aging at thirty.”

Gwen furrowed her brow. “Stopped aging? What have you done during all this time?”

He sighed. “’Tis confusing even for me, and I’ve lived it. At thirteen, the Fates took me in. I’m not even sure where it was, save that there was forestry. For the first decade, I stayed with them, going only where they told me to go. I needed a full education in all things relating to what my life was going to be like.”

“Sword skills and stuff?”

“Swordplay was part of it. I had to learn languages, mythology, history before it happened. My days were filled with tales, books like I’d never seen, experiences that no man had ever experienced. The first couple of years, I walked around in a fog of shock. But sometime in the third year, I began to realize that this was all real.” He stared into the fire. “Time passed then the same way for me as it does for you now. When I was twenty-three, I was sent on my first mission. ’Twas a small thing—rescue a child from a tree where he’d been stuck for a few hours. I had to travel backward in time, locate the boy, convince him to trust me, return him to his parents, and return by sundown.”

“Did you find him?”

“Aye. But it took me much longer to convince him I was trustworthy, and I almost didn’t make it back in time.”

“What would’ve happened if you were late?”

“It would be over. All that training for naught.”

“Trial by fire,” Gwen murmured, awed.

He nodded in agreement. “’Twas difficult. Later, there was more mercy. If I didn’t complete the mission within the Fates’ time table, I’d be stuck in that time period for maybe a day, sometimes a week. But I learned more about people during those early missions than I ever did in the tales and books.”

“Like what?”

“Well, each argument has more than one side. And each situation can have different outcomes, depending upon the words chosen. And I learned patience.”

“You do have legendary patience,” she broke in with a smirk.

He arched a brow at her. “It well prepared me for you and your smart mouth.”

She grinned at him, then motioned for him to continue.

Sobering, he folded his hands, then leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. “Eventually, time began to slow, though the years passed still. It was strange, watching those around me grow old, while I remained the same.”

“So you kind of…froze in time?”

“Aye. I was to be at my peak, my most battle-ready, for my most important task. A child was to be born, one who would be the bearer of all other time travelers, all of whom would be destined to protect the family line for a greater purpose.”

“Brianagh,” Gwen guessed.

“Aye. An O’Rourke, the Fates told me. One of my own distant relatives. She was to be protected at all costs, but she had to learn independence, confidence, and grace. And she was not to be told of her legacy, for it was her trial to be had.”

“Last summer, when Ellie and I, um, got lost in your woods after being chased by the paparazzi, we could’ve landed anywhere in time?”

“Aye.”

“How did you know we were at Brianagh’s?”

“Colin was—is—tied to Eleanor. They’re soul mates. Each Protector only gets one, and once he claims her, he’s bound to her for eternity. I knew their connection would lead us straight to her.”

The fire popped, and the smell of their dinner filled the air. Gwen watched the flames for a moment before asking, “Why did it take so long to get to us?”

Reilly tossed another log onto the fire. “Colin needed some time to admit it to himself. Once a Protector admits such a thing aloud, he’s bound to her, even if she doesn’t return his feelings. If she doesn’t love him back, if she doesn’t claim him, which she must do without his interference, he’s tied to that woman forever…it’s a situation no Protector wants to find himself in.”

“Have you found your mate?”

Reilly froze. It was a small thing, unnoticeable if one didn’t know his every expression and body language, but Gwen wasn’t just anyone.

“Aye.”

Her stomach plunged to her knees. Of course he had a soul mate. She had sensed it, but it was another thing entirely to hear it fall from his lips.

She reminded herself that it was a good thing she was moving on from him. She wasn’t the one for him, and he could only find happiness with that person.

She didn’t want to be the source of his unhappiness.

He continued with his story. “Brianagh was to be raised by someone else, but my life centered on her protection. I knew every move she made. Every holiday she went on, I was there, though she wasn’t always aware of it.”

“Was it always Brianagh?”

“Aye. Before her, the Fates sent me various O’Rourkes who needed training in the ways of a Protector. I became the teacher. When Brianagh grew into a young adult, it was her cousin, Colin, who was the next trainee. I was to not only watch over Brianagh, but train Colin as well. It was a challenge I needed, for being Brianagh’s babysitter was not exactly the most thrilling thing I’d ever done. She was almost a full-grown woman; I needed something more to do than simply sit around and watch over her.”

The fire popped again and Gwen jumped. She scooted an inch closer to him, a little spooked by the stillness of the forest around them. “You had your hands full. But what happened after Bri married? Was your task over?”

“Aye.”

“Did you go back to teaching other Protectors? Do you have new missions?”

“I haven’t had any as of yet, as there’s been no new Protectors since Colin. I’ve had various visitors drop by my humble home, lost souls who traveled by accident or those who need my services. But lately, I’ve had little to do. It’s why I opened the school.”

The firelight was in full play on his face now; the angles of his cheekbones cast long shadows, painting his skin with dancing shades of orange and black. His eyes shone in the light, though his expression remained somber.

“Will you ever die?”

“I hope so.” His throat worked, and he rubbed his hand down his face. “I enjoy life, but…”

His jaw twitched, and she instinctively grabbed his hand between hers. “But?”

He swept his eyes over her meaningfully, leaving her breathless and breathy at once. “But I’m only a man. A man destined to watch the ones I love grow old without me.”

“You can always travel back in time to see them, though. Right?”

“Aye. But never for long periods of time. And I’m always brought back to the furthest point I’ve seen in the future. Right now, that’s your time.”

Gwen frowned. “So, theoretically, when I die, you’ll be able to come back and visit me in the life I’m living now?”

“It’ll give you pains in your head if you think on it overmuch. But aye, I would have to live the rest of my life with only glimpses of you. If I stick around you until the day you die, I’ll never be able to interact with you the way I am now. I can’t double back on myself, if that makes sense. And only the Fates know how long I’ll live.”

“Oh, Ry.” Sadness swamped her. Of all the people in the world, Reilly shouldn’t suffer like that. He always gave so much of himself to others; for him to live forever by himself was more than her heart could bear.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Do not grieve for me, Gwendolyn. I’ve made peace with it.”

“I can’t imagine the loneliness you must feel,” she whispered.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him, and she snuggled into his warmth. “I’m never lonely when you’re near, Gwen.”

She took a moment to bask in the glow of that statement before asking, “Are we stuck here?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nay, I don’t think so.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

“But I don’t know when we can return. During the few times I’ve been sent places, I’ve some purpose in being there at that time. I can’t go back until that purpose has been realized.”

“Do you know why you’re here this time?”

He seemed to work out his response for a moment before replying. “I have a suspicion, but only time will tell, Gwendolyn.”

The sadness in his voice hurt her heart. She didn’t fully understand the weight he carried, only that it was a hefty one. She could be a sharer of that weight, if he would but let her in.

No more of those thoughts, she told herself firmly. Tonight, and for their time in the past (however long that was going to be), she was going to enjoy the company of the man she now understood why she could never have.

• • •

Reilly left Gwen in charge of turning the fish over the fire and quickly scouted the area for long sticks to create a bed for them. He still could only guess at what year they’d landed in; his plan was to head toward his childhood home and hope someone still lived there.

He had a feeling his mother would be waiting for him.

He wondered what his mother would make of Gwen. She knew so much about her already; he suspected that she knew Gwen was the one for him, though she’d never come out and said it before. She always asked what Gwen was doing, or where she’d been recently. His mother, he knew, was a little bit in awe of Gwen. Her independence, her strength of character, her desire to help others.

He felt the same.

He returned to the delicious smell of dinner, with Gwen gently shaking the basket over the fire, and began to set up the bed frame. Longer sticks on the bottom, filled in with smaller sticks. Test the resistance, fill in with more sticks. He made it a point to sleep off the ground anytime between August and May; though an unexpected warm front was always possible in the fall, more often than not it’d be a sudden frost, and he’d rather wake up without frostbite in case of the latter.

Once the frame was built, he pulled soft moss, lichen, and leaves to lay over it. By the time he was finished constructing, the fish was thoroughly cooked and Gwen was pulling it off the fire and laying it on a plate she had made of leaves.

“It’s not gourmet,” she laughed as she slid him a perfectly filleted piece, “but I bet it’s tasty.”

“Where did you learn to clean a fish?” he asked.

“Mozambique. Our group ran out of rations and one of the locals taught me how to clean and fillet fish in exchange for some English lessons.”

He chuckled; he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Your life experiences are indeed varied, Gwen.”

She snorted. “Um, I think this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, yeah?”

They enjoyed their dinner in companionable silence, and when they finished, Reilly buried the bones. Then, with a glance to the nearly-full moon overhead, said, “If we turn in now, we should be able to start early in the morning and arrive by the noon meal.” A look crossed her face, but he wasn’t sure how to interpret it. “What ails you?”

She fidgeted. “Well, let me say that I don’t doubt your abilities at all. But what happens if someone tries to sneak up on us while we’re sleeping? Should we take shifts?”

Reilly reached behind his back and slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard, the sound making a satisfying cccchk sound.

“I’ve never been caught unawares. You may rest easy, knowing I am here to defend you, should the need arrive.”

Her pupils dilated and she sucked in a breath; Reilly’s chest puffed a little at her awe.

“Okay,” she whispered.

She lay down on her side on the bed, the sticks barely moving under the thick blanket of flora he’d laid, and he settled against her back. Carefully, he reached over her and laid his sword in front of her. “Now you’re protected on all sides. Sleep well, Gwendolyn.”

She murmured something, and within moments, was fast asleep.

Reilly, however, stayed awake long into the night, and took simple pleasure in the feel of her in his arms.