GAVIN EXPECTED CATRIONA to take him to the boat she’d been using to travel to the island, but instead of heading for the shore once they were packed she led him down the path to the falls.

“Do you leave from the other side of the cliffs?” he asked once they’d passed the cascade and stopped at a fork in the trail. “And dinnae tell me that you climb them.”

She chuckled. “I dinnae have to. Now, you mustnae ask more questions, or ’twill spoil the surprise.”

The trek ended with the two of them standing in front of a cliff that towered at least fifteen meters overhead. Gavin caught her arm as she made as if to walk into the rocky face, and then saw half her body vanish from sight.

“Another hidden entrance?” he asked, and when she nodded he gripped her hand and followed her into the narrow gap he hadn’t seen. Just inside the entry a heavy curtain of flowered vines covered what lay within.

“Falling vine,” Catriona told him as she swept aside the mass. “’Twill grow anywhere, so my tribe planted it to make a door of sorts.”

Gavin went with her into the tunnel behind the vines. Judging by its symmetry and the marks left by the excavation work, her people had spent months, maybe years digging through the cliff. Strange symbols had been etched into the walls in two parallel lines, and had been punctuated with spiral shapes sprouting small leaves.

For the first time since he’d come to Everbay he felt uneasy. Where had he seen that image before?

“’Tis just outside the passage,” Catriona told him, gesturing to the lighted end of the tunnel. When she glanced at his face she squeezed his hand. “Dinnae worry. I’ve left and come to the island so many times this way, I cannae count them. I’ve never once come to harm, I promise.”

Gavin nodded, but when they emerged from the passage he didn’t see a boat or a shore. A huge grove of trees encircled a wide clearing, the center of which had been decorated with carved stones. The carvings appeared to be smaller renderings of the symbols from the tunnel, and each had been topped with a leafy spiral.

He felt a tug in his chest as he stared at the very center of the place, a pull that felt almost pleasant, as if he were wanted.

Catriona stopped at the edge of the clearing. “My tribe planted oaks here to grow and protect the place from the shore. Only through the passage can it be reached now.” A flicker of worry passed over her pretty face. “Do you trust me, Gavin? I cannae take you with me unless you do.”

“Aye, but I dinnae see how we may leave Everbay.” He glanced around. “Do you perform a spell here to fly away to another island?”

“No, lad, ’tis all done by the gods. They’ve made open the door. We’ve only to take a few more steps to go through it.” She pulled on his hand, urging him into the clearing.

Every step Gavin took felt heavier and slower, and the tug in his chest became a frantic thud. At the same time his legs didn’t stop moving, even when he tried to lock his knees. Whatever was going to happen, he couldn’t avoid it now, he thought, his heart hammering as he stepped with her into the center of the stones.

The ground dissolved beneath them, and Gavin plunged into a dark, whirling tunnel of curving, thrashing oaks. He was crossing over again, just as he had when he and Jema had fallen into the pit at her dig in the future. He could hear Catriona laughing, and felt his body stretching and then shrinking, as if he were dwindling away. Pain seeped into his joints, and his muscles locked. Finally, he landed on a hard, grassy surface, his chest sinking under his tunic as he struggled to breathe.

All around him the mountains of the highlands rose, as ancient and majestic as Gavin remembered them. A tractor blooming with rust sat not two meters away behind a wire fence, which stretched out on either side of a utility pole with a boxy distribution transformer bolted on one side. A shadow passed over him along with a quiet roar as a jumbo jet soared through the clouds above.

They were still in Scotland, but no longer in the fourteenth century.

Catriona took several steps, her arms flinging wide as if she meant to embrace this new world. Her long fiery hair had been shorn away into a delicate pixie cut that spiked all around her head.

He did his best to stumble after her, but only made it a few paces before his spindly legs collapsed beneath him.

“Welcome to my other home, Gavin. ’Twill seem odd to you, but ’tis the same Scotland you ken, just older.” She spun around, showing him a slightly different face, with a small scar dividing her right brow, and a light sunburn pinking her cheeks and nose. Under the bangs of her bob haircut, her blue-violet eyes flared wide as she stared in horror at him. “Mr. McShane?”

“Iona,” he breathed, finally understanding why she’d somehow seemed familiar. He took as deep a breath as he could, for if he passed out like this she wouldn’t know what to do. “How?”

She shook her head helplessly, and then flung herself down on the ground beside him. “’Tis you. But how can you be… Oh, gods, no.”

“The same man. Gavin McShane. You ken.” He struggled for more air, hating the way he had to gasp out his words. “I dinnae have…ALS in your time.”

She went so white her sunburn looked blazing red now. “You’re a traveler, like me.”

“Crossing over healed me.” Spasms racked his legs, and he gritted his teeth. “Coming back did the opposite.”

Two middle-aged people in modern clothing appeared behind her. One Gavin recognized as Ennis, Iona’s father and the head gardener at his family’s old estate. They had to be the couple she’d told him about that had taken her in—when she’d crossed over from the past, he now realized.

“Master McShane,” Ennis said, his eyes wide. He turned to Iona. “Moggy, how is he here? He vanished with his sister a year ago.”

“Aye,” Senga said flatly. “And now he’s back, and he can’t breathe.”

Catriona seized Gavin’s hand as tears rolled down her cheeks. “Never did I dream… Oh, gods, Gavin, what have I done to you?”

“You’ve brought him for a visit,” Senga said as she lowered herself beside Gavin and propped him up with her arm. “’Twill be a short one.”

Catriona hadn’t told him she’d come from the future for the same reasons he hadn’t admitted the same, Gavin thought, wanting to laugh over the irony.

“’Tis why you didnae ken so much on Everbay,” Catriona said. “Why you’d never caught sandies or made baskets or ken the basker wouldnae harm us. You never learned it.”

“I couldn’t tell you. I believed you would have thought me mad.” It depressed him to hear the modern English coming out of his mouth. “You were a fine teacher, Iona.”

“And your sister?” Senga asked.

“Aye,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. “We traveled back together but…we were separated.”

“I’d never dreamed you were that poor man in the window,” Catriona said.

“She watched for you every time I went to the estate,” Ennis said.

“Even when I could sneak in the house,” Catriona said, “the maids never let me come close enough to see your eyes.”

“I never suspected that the pretty lass who brought lavender for my room was my island beauty.” He gulped some air and managed to lace his fingers through hers. “Some days all I had to hold onto was watching you work in the gardens.”

“Cat has told us crossing over heals all of her wounds,” Senga said. She tapped her eyebrow in the same spot as his lover’s scar. “Once there I reckon you’ll go back to being a great strapping highlander.” Sympathy filled her eyes. “And I fear you cannae be that here, Mr. McShane.”

“Oh, aye,” Catriona said as she sat up. “On Everbay you’ll be well and whole again.” As quickly as she had become elated, her face fell and her shoulders slumped. “Only there is Uncle, and if he finds us–”

“He willnae touch you,” Gavin promised her even as pain lanced through his legs. “In your time I can protect you.” He looked at Ennis and Senga. “You’ve my word on it.”

“That’s what I wished to hear,” the older woman assured him.

“Daimh is dangerous to more than the two of you,” Ennis said. “I’ve thought a great deal on it since she came to us as a wee lass. Cat told us her uncle was made to leave the tribe because of his use of dark magics. Mayhap he planned the massacre as part of some evil ritual. A man capable of killing all of his kin is a monster.”

“One who should be brought to justice,” Senga said, and regarded Catriona. “I ken how your uncle frightens you, lass. He murdered your family and took your people from you. But think on it. What if he tried to do the same again to others?”

Catriona’s mouth went tight. “’Tis been twenty years, and still I’ve nightmares. I wouldnae wish it on anyone.”

“Nor I,” Senga said. “For I’ve held you every night here that you’ve woken screaming.” The older woman kissed her brow. “With Gavin to protect you in your time, you can go to those in authority, and tell them what you witnessed. Daimh will be made to answer for what he did.”

Gavin saw the fear that tightened Catriona’s expression, and expected her to refuse. She surprised him again when she said, “Aye, I can, and I will.” She smiled at him. “Then we never have to hide again.”

* * *

Though Daimh would like to have seen the legion’s lair on the Isle of Staffa, the captain had informed him that his orders were that the druid would remain aboard the black ship. Though disappointed at first, the older man found other ways to occupy the day until the tribune and his men could board that night. In the brief time he’d been on deck, the furtive glances of the crew had not gone unnoticed.

Daimh lingered on the companionway, just below the quarterdeck. Above him the sound of clanging metal and boots hurrying back and forth drifted down.

“Swords here and cudgels there,” said one rough voice. “Where’s the sense in hiding them?”

“’Tis no’ for ye to ken,” said another man, sounding tired but irritated. “’Tis orders of Prefect Strabo.”

As the footsteps stopped, Daimh heard the clatter of weapons being dropped, followed by a loud thump.

“Och, that one with but half a face,” said the first man, as the footsteps resumed and crossed back the way they’d come.

“Cap’ns orders too,” said the tired voice.

“Look lively there!” said a third voice, cutting off more conversation. “Quit your dawdling!” The two sets of footsteps hurried off.

By Daimh’s count, that had been the third trip.

He sat down on the ladder, easing his aching joints, but smiled to himself. It didn’t take scrying or spellwork to hear that the tribune had a fair amount of trouble on his hands.