Chapter Ten

“How should I greet her? Do I curtsy? Do I shake her hand? Is that even done here? Do I hug her? Oh my God, what if I step on her toes when she hugs me? Will she hug me?”

The next morning, while Reilly silently erased all evidence of their fire and dismantled the bed, Gwen continued to work herself into a cold sweat over meeting his family. He smiled to himself as she gasped and jerked to a stop.

“What if your mom doesn’t like me? Oh no. I couldn’t handle that. I mean, I’m pretty likable, right?”

“Very likable,” he agreed, though she didn’t seem to be listening. He withheld his smirk as she paced nervously and wrung her hands.

“Maybe you could tell me a little about her, Ry. You’re not exactly forthcoming with the details. Is she sweet? Or tough? Does she speak English? What should I be expecting?”

She bumped into him, unaware of herself as she fretted, and he gently took her by the arms.

“Gwendolyn.”

She looked up at him, her eyes clouded with worry.

“Assuming she’s there, things will be fine. She speaks peasant’s English, so she will be able to understand most of your words, and you hers. A simple, ‘Pleasure to meet you, Mary,’ is all that is required of you. Nothing else.”

She bit her lip. “Should I call her Lady O’Malley?”

Reilly gave her an incredulous look. “Are you out of your mind? She’s not married to the laird. You remember how it’s done from the last time you were in the past—laird and lady titles only go to the leaders of the clan. Everyone else goes by first names, as we all share the last. Call her Mary. And no, there’s no need for a curtsy, she’s not a queen. She’s just a woman.”

Gwen’s eyes softened. “No, Reilly. She’s more than that. She’s your mother, and that makes her even more important than a queen. To me, at least.”

His heart clenched, and in that moment, he loved Gwen even more. He wanted to swoop down and claim her lips with his own to show her how much she meant to him. How much her words meant to him.

Because she was right; his mother was that important to him, too, and he wanted Gwen to like her, and her to like Gwen. They were more alike than not, though he couldn’t ever see his mother building a schoolhouse for poverty-stricken children. She was stern, fair, stubborn, kind, and loved him unconditionally.

All the things Gwen was…and hopefully would be in the future.

“What do you call her?” Gwen asked, her nerves returning.

Reilly released Gwen’s arms and continued to break camp. “Mam. It’s a form that’s still used in Ireland today.”

“And your sister?”

“Ah, Sorcha. She’s a good lass, though her tongue’s a bit sharp. She should be here, unless she’s visiting friends of another clan. And the Fates know not to send me to my da’s time period,” he added in his ask-me-no-more-questions voice. It was the same voice that made enemies think twice before opening their mouths, and all other men clamp their lips closed for worry of what might come if they don’t.

Unsurprisingly, it was ineffective on Gwen. “Why not?”

Reilly let out a long-suffering sigh. “Because, Gwendolyn, he asked me not to.”

His da wanted Reilly to always look forward, not back. “Though ye can travel freely throughout time,” his da had said as he lay in his sickbed, his face pale and his eyes bright, “I want ye to rely on your memories. Someday ye might not have this ability, and ye must keep the mind strong.”

While he’d understood the reasoning at the time, Reilly hated it. But he respected the old man’s wishes, and now all his memories were fuzzy. He couldn’t quite remember his da’s voice, but he remembered the feeling of security. Of pride.

It took Reilly decades to realize that he remembered exactly what his father wanted him to remember, so that he may one day recognize it again.

It took even more decades to realize exactly what it was—his soul.

“Okay,” Gwen replied slowly, in the tone of voice that he knew meant, I’ll let it go for now, but when you’re ready, I’d love to hear more. “So. How do we get there?”

Reilly surveyed their campsite, which now bore almost no trace of them, and brushed his hands on his léine. “We can walk or ride. Your choice.”

Gwen pursed her lips. “Horses seem to be a bit scarce at the moment, so that leaves us with only one viable option.”

“Ye of little faith,” Reilly chuckled. “We walk for now. In a couple hours, I’ll whistle and see what comes our way.”

“Because wild horses roam the medieval Irish countryside?”

“Because well-trained horses within hearing distance come when they are called,” he countered. “Ready?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t get cold feet on me now,” he said, mock-seriously. “You’ve already come all this way…doesn’t a few hundred years in the past seem like a long way to go, just to back out with a few hours left?”

“Oh, shut up,” Gwen laughed. “Let’s go, tough guy.”

He held up a hand. “A quick review of the rules, if you please.”

“Do we really need those still?” she asked. At his unyielding look, she scowled. “Fine, fine.”

“Tell me what you remember of them.”

She rolled her eyes. “I will do exactly as you say, when you say it, without questioning you.” She paused, then added quickly, “In public.”

“And the other rule?” he prompted.

She nodded. “We leave when you say we leave, and not a minute later.”

“Aye. They’re important for your safety, Gwen. I wouldn’t want your pretty neck severed.”

“Aw, you do care,” she teased.

“Only insofar as I don’t want to be the one to tell your parents that you weren’t on a safari somewhere.”

She tried to pretend outrage, but the flash of her teeth ruined the effect. She sobered. “Seriously, Ry, I get it. You have my word. This is your world, and after what Ellie went through, I am more than willing to be the helpless maiden here.”

“Helpless is hardly the word I’d use to describe you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment, as I’m sure you meant it to be. Can we go already?”

He drew his sword. “Aye.”

• • •

Gwen stood nervously, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, and stared in wide-eyed amazement.

The smell of a peat fire thickened the air, and Reilly’s childhood cottage stood proudly, a wattle-and-daub, thatched-roof affair. It looked as though the cottage had sprung from the earth, which had in turn gripped the abode with lush emerald vegetation that extended up the walls. A beautiful, arched, solid entry door stood on the right side of the home. The long wall to the left held three tiny windows, each with a rustic flower box attached to the bottom. A dirt path extended from the front door outward, then wrapped around the dwelling and disappeared from view.

The cottage resembled Reilly’s present-day home so closely, she half-wondered if they hadn’t simply walked back into the future.

Gwen studied it a moment more, fascinated, and eventually let out a low whistle. “Well, well, Mr. O’Malley. Just when I think I’ve uncovered all of your secrets…”

He cleared his throat. “Aye, well…you know. It’s a good structure, so I thought by, uh, recreating it, it’d provide a safe place. For travelers,” he added hastily.

“And memories?” she guessed.

He gazed at it fondly. “Aye,” he admitted. “And memories, too. Let’s just be grateful it’s here, and that it’s occupied. Come on, I’d like to introduce you to my mam.”

Gwen’s stomach tumbled over itself as she slowly followed Reilly. Her throat dry, she remained silent as he called out a greeting in medieval Gaelic.

Someone answered from inside, and his face lit up. “That’s her. This is…”

His excitement was palpable, and Gwen couldn’t help smiling back. “Weird?”

“Unexpected,” he corrected her. “My worlds colliding like this. It’s wonderfully, fantastically unexpected.”

He took her hand and led her through the wooden arched door that was all the way to the right of the cottage. Stepping inside, Gwen was surprised to find that the long room was walled off halfway into the house, splitting the first floor into two rooms. In front of her was a matching door to the one through which they entered, presumably leading to the back gardens. To Gwen’s right, within arm’s length, sat a large, solid table with high-backed chairs tucked in around it. Above, in varying heights, bunches of drying plants hung from the low ceiling. More herbs lined the short wall, giving off a heady fragrance, countering the peat scent. To her left, the room held an empty, suspiciously modern-looking rocking chair. A basket overflowing with all sorts of materials sat next to it on the stone flagged floor, on which a beautiful spun wool rug lay. A long wooden bench was pressed against the back wall, decorated with fluffy, pretty pillows and blankets.

Gwen was enchanted.

An older woman serenely walked through the archway to the other room. Unmistakably Reilly’s mother, her features were softer, her stature not nearly as tall, and her pride nearly swallowing the entire room. Gwen bit back her smile.

“Ah, you’ve finally brought her to meet me! I thought the day would never come!”

Gwen gave her a friendly smile. “Hi. I’m Gwen—”

She was cut off by the strongest hug she’d ever received. When her vision began to swim, the woman released her and stepped back, eyeing her critically.

“You’ve the look of a Scot about you.”

Gwen pressed her lips together. The way she said “about” sounded like aboot, and she spoke quickly. Decisively.

Just like her son.

“I’m Mary,” she continued, oblivious to Gwen’s thoughts. “Welcome to me home. I’ve been waiting for years to meet you! Reilly, be a good lad and fetch us some ale? I’ve a batch all ready, sitting in the kettle by the hearth. Go on with you.” When Reilly good-naturedly kissed his mother’s cheek on his way to do her bidding, Mary gave his wrist a loving squeeze before turning back to Gwen. “My, you’re a wee thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s a blessing and a curse,” Gwen agreed.

“Och, I think I like you!” Mary looked her over, then ushered her to the bench. “Forgive an old woman, but Reilly’s told me so much about you, I feel like I’ve known you forever. You’re even prettier than he said, and he did say you were quite the most beautiful creature on God’s green Earth.”

Gwen blinked. “Um…he did?”

Mary took her own seat in the rocking chair. “Of course!” She made the word sound like cairse, echoing strongly of Reilly’s accent, and Gwen gave her a small smile.

“Well, that was very kind of him. He’s told me precious little of you, I’m afraid. Not that he didn’t want to,” she hurried to add, “but I’ve only recently found out about his, um…special talent.”

She flushed dark red. That came out wrong! Oh god, did she just make an innuendo in front of Reilly’s mother?

Reilly reentered the room at that moment, smirking at her. She must’ve looked as mortified as she felt, because he took pity on her.

“Gwen took a little trip back in time and needed a rescue.” He handed Mary and Gwen each a cup made from smoothed wood and continued, “Lucky for her, I was there to save the day.”

“He didn’t show up for three days,” she informed Mary.

Mary laughed. “Made you worry, did he?”

“Pfft. There was nothing to worry about,” Reilly boasted. Gwen chuckled, and he arched a brow at her. “There wasn’t.”

“Actually, there was, but that’s not what I was smiling at. Your mom and you say the word about exactly the same way. I always thought you said it strangely, even a little bit different than the Irish of our—my,” she quickly corrected, “time. But now I see it’s your own accent. Your medieval one.”

Mary beamed. “Aye, he was raised right proper by his da and me! Said his first word when he was less than a year, he did. ’Twas amazing. He spoke clearly just a few months after that. Smartest lad in the clan, to be sure, and the most handsome, too.”

“Mam,” Reilly protested mildly.

As Mary went on to tell all about Reilly’s childhood (the good, the bad, and the embarrassing), Gwen soaked in every last detail. Reilly brought food at some point, but Gwen was too enthralled with Mary’s stories to ask what it was, so she ate it as the daylight waned.

She traded stories of her own childhood, trying to omit anything that would be too difficult to explain to someone who had no knowledge of modern-day conveniences. She told of her parents, her lack of siblings (“a true tragedy,” Mary clucked), the people she knew, and the work she did.

It was one of the most pleasurable days she’d ever had, and all she’d done was listen, talk, and listen some more.

When the sun began to set, Reilly lit some oil lamps in the house and stoked the fire in the other room. Gwen couldn’t cover her yawn fast enough.

“Time travel does wear on a person,” Reilly noted. “Last night couldn’t have been comfortable for you. Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

“Go, go.” Mary waved at her. “Tomorrow I’ll show you me garden and we’ll talk more. I’ve great interest in your bravery and helping with the unfortunate folk. I’d like to hear more about those places.”

“Absolutely.” She turned to Reilly. “Thanks. I’ll follow you.”

He led her into the other room, which consisted mainly of a massive hearth set into the far wall, which was fully opposite the table in the sitting room. Clay and steel pots and pans hung from these walls, and a large island stood in the center, clearly where food was prepared.

“I thought that these houses usually had farm animals in them,” Gwen whispered.

“Those are called longhouses, and they do. But my mam never kept any animals until after my da died, as he spent his days at the castle and didn’t have time to tend them.”

Gwen followed him up some rickety steps to the second floor, and he continued, “When she got around to having some, she hated having them in the cottage. I built her a little barn in the back where she keeps the cow and the chickens. I insulated it sort of like a greenhouse, so in the winter, the animals stay warm from the heat of the sun. And when the sun is too weak to warm it, Mam burns a peat fire in there during the day, and when it dies out, the barn holds the heat of the fire through most of the night.”

“That’s pretty smart.”

“Having lived as long as I have, I had time to figure out ways to modernize for her that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.”

The second floor had three rooms, all without doors. The far room had clothing and chests, the middle and first rooms each had a four-poster bed with bed hangings.

“This is adorable,” Gwen declared.

Reilly shrugged. “I suppose. You’ll be sleeping there, in Sorcha’s bed.” He pointed to the middle room. “She’s probably visiting a friend. Usually she’s home.”

Pointing to the bed in front of them, she asked, “Is this one your mom’s bed?”

“Aye. She goes to bed late and is up before dawn, to tend the animals. Though I do it when I’m here, she insists on standing out there, watching over me like I’m an errant lad of six summers.” He rolled his eyes, then muttered, “I vow, family will bring out the child in anyone.”

“Too true,” she laughed. “Wait a second. Where will you sleep?”

“Belowstairs, by the hearth.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, Ry, you take the bed. If you’re our last line of defense out here, I want you fully rested—”

He snorted. “I’m your first, last, and only line of defense.”

“Isn’t that a line in that Men in Black movie from the nineties?”

He blithely ignored her. “In the far room, you’ll find nightclothes. Dress warmly for it does chill up here. In the morning, choose a dress from the chests on the left. Those are Sorcha’s, and though they’ll be too big, Mam will fix it for you before I’ve even finished collecting the eggs.”

“That sounds…”

“Provincial?”

She frowned at him. “No, Reilly. It sounds lovely. Stop fretting. This is amazing. Thank you for bringing me. It’s more than I ever dreamed.”

“Are you saying you dream of me, lass?” Though he was teasing, his eyes darkened and his nostrils flared as he inhaled.

It was the same look she’d seen at the dress fitting. Gwen felt the flush start at the base of her spine and rapidly travel up her body. She was suddenly off-balance, the desperate wish of a thousand nights filling her senses. She worked to form words, but none would come out.

“Breathe,” he commanded softly, and she forced the air from her lungs. He searched her eyes for a moment before slowly touching her face. “Things are changing, aye?”

“Are they?” she whispered.

He pulled his hand back and dropped it to his side. “It feels like it.”

His expression didn’t change, sending a frisson of alarm—or thrill, she couldn’t tell which—racing through her veins.

“Well, then,” he replied, his voice almost hoarse, “Sleep well, Gwendolyn. I do hope your dreams are as vivid as mine.”

“Goodnight,” she whispered, confused and more than a little short of breath, as he quickly descended the stairs.

She touched her cheek, his light touch burned into her skin, and wondered, not for the first time, what is was that someone like Reilly O’Malley dreamed about.

• • •

When he was certain Gwen was deeply asleep, Reilly sat down with his mother and told her everything, from the time Gwen announced her engagement, to the Fates, to their arrival.

“Those Fates gave you but three weeks?” she exclaimed. She smoothed her features into one of supreme confidence. “Of course, if anyone can do it, ’tis you.”

“I’m not to interfere with her free will.”

Mary sat a bit straighter. “What does that mean, exactly?”

He bounced his knee. “I can’t do or say anything that will affect her own decisions.”

“I don’t understand…?”

Reilly stood, unable to sit any longer. “I think that, were I to tell her that she is my soul mate, she’d claim me back simply to ensure my happiness. She has some understanding how it works.”

“Ah.”

“And, though she’s no longer betrothed, she stated that she would be doubtful of my true intentions. How am I to convince her that I’m the one she is destined for, without claiming her openly?”

“Well, seeing as she’s yet unmoved by your sweet self, I’d say you need all the aid you can get with wooing her.”

“Aid?” Reilly exclaimed, breaking his tension with a laugh. Oh, he had no doubts that his mother loved him, and that she was indeed full of pride when it came to talking about him, but she’d made certain over the years to keep his head from getting too big. She would take him down a peg—or three—whenever she felt he needed it.

Which was almost every time he visited her.

“Aye, aid. Don’t you laugh at me, lad. This, at least, is one area where I know more than you.”

“You know much more than me, Mam.”

She patted his cheek. “Of course I do. I was just trying to make you feel a bit better.”

He threw his head back and laughed again. By the saints, ’twas good to be home.

“So, her former betrothed told her he’d wait for her?” Mary repeated, bringing him back to their conversation. “And he spoke those precise words?”

Reilly nodded his head curtly. “His exact words were, I’ll wait, Gwen and Maybe it’ll be enough, and you won’t allow the person who doesn’t love you keep you from the one that does.”

Mary rolled her eyes and settled herself in her rocking chair, which Reilly had pulled closer to the light of the fire. “’Tis a man we speak of, aye? Not a green lad?”

Reilly sat heavily in the stool by the hearth. “It doesn’t matter what I think about him, only what Gwen does.”

“Your future wooing is overly complicated. Your da decided he wanted me as his wife, then he set out to prove he was the best one to care for me.”

“How did he prove it?” Reilly asked curiously.

Mary pulled a dress from her enormous sewing basket and settled it over her lap. “He told the laird, and the laird saw it done.”

“Aw, Mam, things are different in the future. Women don’t need surnames for protection in Gwen’s time. Also, the people of Ireland and Gwen’s country frown upon arranged marriages.”

“Pity. It’s much more effective.”

“Agreed, but if it were as easy as that, someone would’ve claimed her long before I came along.”

“Nothing to be gained by griping about it. What do you plan to do now?”

Reilly grumbled, “By the saints, woman, you claim you know more than me in these matters. I was hoping you would have some ideas.”

She gently rocked back and forth, carefully stitching. Reilly, for his part, stoked the fire, hoping something brilliant would come to one of them.

Wooing Gwen wouldn’t be as easy as a bauble and a kiss, no matter how much he wished it to be.

His mother lowered the dress. “What does the betrothal contract contain? What did she lose when it was broken?”

He explained that engagements were based on the word of two people instead of the transfer of goods and belongings. When Mary had fully wrapped her head around that notion, her eyes were watery.

“How far our fair isle has come in its view of women,” she murmured.

“According to Gwen, it has huge amounts to go before she would agree with you.” Reilly sighed. “I’m at a full loss here.”

“Surely you’ve some idea, aye? You know her quite well. Do you think she’s reconsidering her betrothal? I don’t think any man would want his betrothed to sleep under another man’s roof. Would you? Of course not,” she answered for him. She held up the forest green dress and inspected the seam, then tied off the final stitch.

Reilly groaned. “I’ve never said—or thought—so many words about feelings and such nonsense in my life as I have these last pair of days. My head spins from the lack of sense pummeling it. Truly, Mam, I can’t make head nor tail of it.”

“What a strange saying,” Mary scoffed. She pinned him with her deep brown eyes. “Are you still smitten with her?”

“Still?” he grumbled.

Mary rolled her eyes, then rocked, contemplative. Reilly remembered the day he finished that chair for her; she’d never seen a moving chair, and her excitement when she realized how soothing it was for her mind made him smile each time he thought of it.

“Do something with your hands,” she instructed him suddenly, noting his bouncing knee. “Carve something. And don’t mince words with me, lad. You are smitten with her. But do you think you can love her? Forever?” she added pointedly.

“I don’t think there was a time I didn’t love her, Mam.” He took out his smallest dirk and selected a nub of wood from the kindling pile. He began to gently shave the bark from it.

Mary’s eyes softened. “Oh, Reilly. She’s the one, isn’t she? Your mate?”

“If I were to admit such a thing aloud, I’d be tied to her forever, even if she didn’t love me back,” Reilly reminded her.

“Do you want to be tied to her forever?”

He chipped a little too hard at his almost-formed wooden figure. “Aye, I do indeed want to be tied to her forever. I claimed her, out loud, in front of two of the Fates.” He smiled a little at his mother’s gasp. “I never thought I would claim anyone.”

“Well, you’ve never had reason to before,” Mary pointed out sagely. She leaned over and patted his arm reassuringly. “Now, you’ve got to build a relationship with her, which won’t be too difficult for you. The secret to any relationship is compromise, and we both know you’ve no troubles with that. Your Gwendolyn is a lovely lass, though a bit headstrong. Do you think you can rein her in a bit?”

Reilly blinked and paused his hands. “Why would I ever want to rein her in?”

Mary chuckled, delighted, and reached for her sewing basket. “That’s a good answer, lad, and she’ll appreciate you not wanting to change her to your liking instead of liking her for what she is.”

“Aye. But it might not matter. I had her love for so long, but I couldn’t tell her about my life. My…gift, as you like to call it. And so, rightfully, she decided to be happy with her own life. She moved on, and that included—” he swallowed past the distasteful words “—someone else.”

Mary tapped her cheek, lost in thought for a moment. “If a lass gives her love freely to her mate, does she ever really stop loving him?”

“I’ve no answer to that.”

Mary eyed him speculatively. “Ah, but that’s why you’ve come here. To find out.”

“Perhaps.” He carefully continued his carving, the small shavings pile at his feet growing. “The Fates sent me here. I had no hand in it this time.”

“What is the one thing Gwendolyn has with you?”

He thought for a moment. “Trust.”

She nodded slowly. “Aye, Reilly. Trust. She trusts you. Do you ken why?”

He looked up wearily. “Mam, please don’t make me guess. I’ve used enough words with Gwendolyn over the past few days that I’m fair certain my tongue will fall out of my head soon.”

“Exactly! She trusts you because she can talk to you! Have you told her how you feel? Give the words to her on a trencher and see how palatable they are to her?”

He sighed heavily. “’Tis the trouble, right there. Gwen is clever. Very clever. If I were to suddenly claim that she should be with me now, she’ll believe I’m saying the words because of her betrothal, not because of her. She’d compare herself as a prize to be won in a jousting match.”

“Well, isn’t she just that?”

“Nay!” he exclaimed vehemently. At his mother’s smug look, he took a deep breath and tried to regain control of the conversation. “Nay, she is not. She is…” He struggled to find the words.

“Something else is holding you back, lad.”

Reilly sighed. “I made a mistake, Mam. A big one. She and I…well, our passions were…”

Mary chuckled. “I see. Did you take her maidenhead?”

He bit back a smile. If Gwen had any idea what they were speaking of, she would be mortified and horrified and generally ready to castrate him.

“Nay. I stopped us before it became too late, but I did not handle it in a graceful way.”

“Ah. So you shamed her.”

“Nay, never! I told her that I had needs, and she wasn’t the woman to see to them.” He felt the rise of his own shame in his neck. “I didn’t want to use her link that, and I was angry. I was driven by battle-lust.”

“I can only think that she heard shaming, as though she wasn’t good enough for you,” Mary said gently. “As a woman, ’tis a vulnerable position to place oneself in. And to be roundly rejected, with words such as those…it’s shame. Shame for not reading the situation clearly, or shame for doing something you’d never meant to do, or shame for simply not being enough. But ’tis shame, Reilly, and that lays on your shoulders.”

“I never meant to hurt her,” he said hoarsely. “I wanted to protect her.”

Mary stood and padded to him, then sat down near him on the bench. “These emotions, they’re big. Bigger than you, and you’ve no idea how to control them.” She softened her voice, watching him dig at the wood in his hand. “Perhaps you’ve yet to learn that you can’t control everything.”

“Lately, I can’t control anything. But I can control this,” he muttered. He drew his hand over his face, wiping the beads of sweat that had inexplicably formed on his forehead. “I will control this. It’s naught but my next lesson.”

“Aye, everything’s a lesson with you,” Mary replied, holding her hand out for his latest piece of art. “But perhaps this time, this is a lesson best learned from someone other than yourself.” She held it up to the lamplight, delighted with the small fairy he’d started. She handed it back to him and headed back to her rocking chair, where she picked up the tapestry she’d been working on. “Perhaps, this is one time you mustn’t rely on the Fates for aid.”

“I haven’t had their aid for more years than I care to count,” Reilly said after a moment of companionable silence.

“Haven’t you, though?” Mary mused. She carefully pulled a bright red thread through the thick fabric. “Answer me this, Reilly. How many swords should’ve cleaved you in two? How many times should a horse’s hooves pounded you into the ground? How many times were you sent somewhere, with naught but a vague message, and a helpful sort of person was placed in your path?”

Reilly considered her words, but ultimately, he shook his head. “Mam, I haven’t died, but only because I’m still useful to the Fates. And I haven’t been trampled to within an inch of my life for probably the same reason. I’m worth more alive than dead. There are more Protectors to train, more lost travelers to direct.”

Mary snorted delicately. “Oh, you poor man. Are you truly believing you understand the Fates’ plan for you?”

“Stay strong, take care of lost wanderers, protect the O’Rourkes. There’s not much else for me.”

Mary held her tapestry up to the firelight, then brought it back to her lap. “When Sir Colin decided he didn’t want to be a Protector anymore, those long years ago when he was but a young warrior, what did those Fates do?”

“You know the story.”

“Humor your dam,” she demanded.

His stomach rumbling, Reilly walked to the side table and loaded a trencher with some food. Over his shoulder, he said succinctly, “He was given three tasks by each of the three Fates, and upon completion of each task, realized the deep and lasting impact in his sacred vow.”

“Three again. They do love that number—three tasks, three Fates, three weeks.” She fixed a snag in her fabric, then continued. “And with the other Protectors you’ve trained. How do you know they’re ready for their own quests?”

“They must complete three trials after they’ve been properly instructed in swordplay, knife fighting, history, and the how-to of time travel.”

“And what were your three tasks?”

“I had many more than three.”

“Aye, I suppose you did. And at some point, when those Protectors found their mates, they were released from their Protector duties. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Reilly glanced up and replied quietly, “You know what goes for them doesn’t necessarily go for me.”

“Because you’re their laird?” she asked mildly, her eyes following the path of the needle. “I don’t want to know how many years you've been doing this. But as your mother, I see the weariness in your eyes. Your shoulders are strong. Your mind is brilliant. But your heart? It’s losing itself. You’re only human, lad. The Fates know this. You can’t be this forever. ’Tisn’t natural, and at some point, they’ll know your time with them must end.”

While Reilly would have loved to believe her, the cold, hard facts said otherwise. He’d been wandering through hundreds of years, doing exactly as the Fates decreed. When did his determination to follow their exact orders begin to fade?

He didn’t really have to ask himself the question. It was when he broke the first rule he ever learned about time travel—that he could only do so to protect the O’Rourke line (or visit his family, as was the contract his da made with the Fates). He saw, back when they were unfathomable distances apart, how miserable Emma and Aidan were, and he went directly against his orders to not return to medieval Ireland…the Fates were sure to punish him for that. He had known it was coming.

It didn’t make it easier, though.

Mary smoothed out her tapestry, pleased. “Aye. Look here at this. I’ve been working on it for months now.”

He stood over Mary’s shoulder, ensuring he did not block the weak light. He admired the small, tight stitches and rich colors of thread. The main focus of the tapestry was a woman in a chair by a blazing hearth. She cradled a small child in her arms. Behind her, in an open doorway, stood a man with long hair, home from battle. His attention was focused on his wife and child, and his bloodied sword hung above the door. Woven into the blood on the sword were the Latin words, Pro domo focoque pugnamus.

We fight for hearth and home.

“This hangs in the MacWilliams’ castle,” Reilly remembered, running a finger over the intricacies. “In the laird’s solar.”

“Well, that’s a high honor, indeed!”

“How did it get in a MacWilliam castle, though?”

Mary smiled with satisfaction. “Sorcha.”

“How would my sister have anything to do with a tapestry that hangs in another clan’s castle next century?”

“Sorcha married a MacWilliam. I believe she’s very in love with him. He’s a good lad.”

Reilly frowned, certain he heard his mother wrong. “I thought she was to marry an O’Rourke?”

Mary frowned. “Sir Lochlan O’Rourke perished last year in battle. She didn’t grieve overmuch, as she’d never actually met her betrothed. But our laird never sought to renew the agreement with any other of that clan.”

“The MacWilliams, though?” Reilly shook his head, disappointed. “They are a weak clan right now. They will be for years to come. And the strife they must endure…O’Rourkes would be a better choice.”

“Aye, ’tis the truth. But love had other ideas. She’s safe enough, Reilly. I’ve no concerns.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “If there’s a way out of the betrothal, Laird O’Malley should rethink it.” Not that it would matter, he thought to himself. He knew his sister wouldn’t marry. He visited her once, as an old maid, a respected elder of the O’Malley clan. She had no children, but was happy. “When are they to marry?”

Mary’s voice went soft. “’Twas all so unexpected. They met at a tournament a few months back. Cormac approached the laird within days, and they wed shortly thereafter.”

“What? They’ve already married?” Reilly laughed. “Mam, no, she couldn’t have.”

Mary raised a brow. “I can assure you they have.”

“I know you’re wrong, Mam.”

Her eyes flicked up to him, a touch of sadness in them. “Oh, the things you must know, my dear. But for this, she did marry him. And she seems quite content.”

“No, Mam, you don’t understand. Sorcha doesn’t marry. I know this. I’ve visited her, later in her life. She never married.”

“Well, methinks the Fates have changed things up on you.”

Reilly shook his head, an unfamiliar sense of dread rising. “Mam…no. They’ve never done that before; they’ve never changed the past.”

She canted her head. “And how would you be knowin’ that for certain? You've always claimed you’d never try to understand women, especially those particular ones. Why wouldn’t they change things to suit their purposes?”

“But Sorcha…”

Mary stood resolutely. “Perhaps you ought to take it up with those Fates, Reilly. For me, I was at that wedding, saw it with me own two eyes. Vows were spoken, bedding happened, and a tasty brunch was had by all. Sorcha is happy, her new husband is proud, and both clans have exchanged dowries and goods. This tapestry is the final part of my wedding present to her; it’s late because it took so long to get the red thread, you see. She’s a MacWilliam now, and may she have a long and healthy life as one.”

Reilly’s eyes flicked to the folded cloth, confusion fogging his brain. That tapestry hung in Nioclas MacWilliam’s solar.

If it hadn’t been handed down, as Nioclas himself had told Reilly it was, then how else would the MacWilliams have gotten it?

His mother, bless her, quietly left him to his troubled thoughts.