Chapter Six

A burbly half-laugh, half-sob rocketed up Fiona’s throat at hearing Iain’s grand plan. She disguised it with a cough. “Duncan?”

“Yeah.” Traci climbed back onto the bed. “He’s hoping this will spur him into action.” She slapped her thighs and grinned.

Fiona groaned. “If you’re saying my hopes are pinned on Duncan offering for me instead, we’re doomed. I can bet you on that.”

“Why? I see the way you guys look at each other when the other isn’t aware. No way you’re gonna convince me there’s not something there. What happened that night at the inn?” She pointed her finger. “And I’m not making any more bets with you.”

Fiona snatched the sack she’d been packing and cinched the ends closed. “Nothing happened.”

God, she’d have to just lay it all out. She couldn’t be separated from Duncan, and she had to make her sister understand why.

“What do you remember of the legend?”

Traci’s brow furrowed. “What legend?”

“The one about my, um, namesake.” Unlike Traci, she’d eaten up every story about their family. Their parents didn’t need to drag her to the annual Highland Games in Stone Mountain, Georgia. She never could understand her sister’s aversion.

I mean, come on, they had fascinating lives!

But none was more fascinating than their fabled immigrant ancestor, William Campbell. He’d had the guts and the conviction to leave the comfort of his home and family in the Highlands of Scotland to seek his fortune in Virginia when it was still a colony, coming over in this exact year. Bought a farm that stayed in their family for generations, founded a school, served in the Virginia Council, and more. His grandchildren fought in the American Revolution.

And all because she had saved his life. Would save his life.

But true to form, Traci just rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you put a lot of stock in that stuff, but it’s all just family lore.”

“How can you not find it interesting?”

Traci swished her hands in the air. “I just don’t. It’s in the past. What we do now is what matters.”

“Traci, we’re living in the past.”

“Yeah, but it’s my present now.”

“That makes no sense.”

Traci just shrugged and flopped onto her back.

Gah. Not caring about the past was practically sacrilegious.

A memory reared of a fight they’d had as kids because this had always been a sore point between them. The one sore point. Even then, Fiona had been a bit of a dork about family history. She’d created family trees on scrap paper in her childlike handwriting, drawing lines to connect each member of her tree. Each person represented a whole dynamic history—love, adventure, politics.

Nothing like her boring self.

As a kid, she daydreamed how she’d fit into the annals of her family. That is, until she grew up and realized she wasn’t all that interesting. She had nothing to contribute. Couldn’t even picture how she’d make her mark.

But that morning during the summer, she’d been scribbling away, drawing lines to connect various members of their family tree, and Traci had wanted her to play outside. Fiona had refused, and in retaliation, Traci had torn up her carefully drawn family charts. There’d been screaming. And hot tears of childish rage on both sides.

Fiona shoved away the unpleasant memory and settled on the bed next to her sister. “Humor me. What do you remember about the legend?”

Traci sat up and waved her hands. Her voice took on a sing-song quality that was slightly mocking. “A fair lass by the name of Fiona came to the rescue of our ancestor William Campbell during his time of need.”

“That’s it?”

“I know there’s more, something about a siege and a man with a scar, but that’s all I remember.”

Great. No help there.

How could she and her sister be so different? But they were. Fiona looked at her now—how confident and put together she was, even in a past she’d never cared about before—and was struck by an uncomfortable realization. She’d always been a bit jealous of her older sister. How she seemed to know how to maneuver in the world and make her mark. While she’d had the guts to move to England for her career, Fiona had felt frozen—overwhelmed—just graduating from college this past spring. How could she live up to what was expected of her and their family? She’d always been intimidated by their achievements, but now…

Now she could finally rival it. Now she had a chance to be part of their family’s story. If she could stick to Duncan’s side.

She’d just have to risk Traci’s scoffing. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“I’m Fiona.”

Traci cocked her head. “Nice to meet you, Fiona,” she said in a polite voice. In her normal tone, she continued, “What the hell? Did you fall down the stone stairs earlier?” She put her hand on Fiona’s head, feeling around.

Fiona swatted her hand away. “I mean, I’m the Fiona. The one from the legend.”

Traci opened her mouth. Shut it. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

Fiona pulled the necklace free from her bodice and angled it into the light from the fire. “Yes. It’s why I escaped from the MacDonells and went to Urquhart.”

“I’m not following. And back up. Why do you believe you’re that Fiona?”

Fiona filled her in on the legend, the scar on Duncan, how it matched the legend’s description, and her rush to Urquhart, only to find out the siege wouldn’t start until later that year.

Traci fell back against the bed. “Wow. Shit. Okay. Let me see if I get this straight. Duncan’s going to fight our ancestor sometime soon, and you need to be there to save him.”

Some of Fiona’s tension eased—Traci wasn’t dismissing her out of hand. “Yes. We can’t let our ancestor be killed. Then we wouldn’t be born.”

Traci sat up and shook her head. “That’s not how it works. I know that’s the popular theory, but it’s wrong.”

“What do you mean? We’re not in danger of disappearing then?”

“No.” Traci hopped off the bed and started to pace. “I told you about Mr. Podbury, right?”

“Yeah.” While Fiona had never met him, Traci had told her about the funny scholar. About how he was a Regency-era gentleman obsessed with time travel and recruited by some organization from the future.

“Well, as far as I understood him—given that this stuff messes with my brainpan—our ancestor can’t be killed. If you’re that Fiona, you will save him. If you’re not, the real one will.”

Fiona scooted closer to the bed’s edge. “But I thought you altered the timeline when you saved Dundee?”

“No.” She waved a hand in a circle. “We’re in a closed loop. What we do here now was already done by us by the time we’re born.”

“Huh?”

Traci stopped pacing and faced her, her forehead scrunched up in concentration. “Well, because when we’re born, our future selves had already been in our past, doing what they will—creating our history we learned in school. I sucked at history, but you don’t. Not Scottish history. Tell me, when you learned about this rebellion, did Dundee live after the Battle of Killiecrankie?” She raised her brows.

“Yes.”

Traci smiled and put her hands on her hips. “Then there you go. I’d already been in the past and saved him. See?” With that, she rejoined her on the bed, sitting cross-legged.

“I guess. But then why did you say he wasn’t supposed to?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know if I said that precisely, but according to Podbury, there are other alternate worlds out there similar to ours where I don’t go back in time and Dundee dies.”

“So the timeline can change?” Fiona clasped her necklace tight in her fist.

“Not easily. According to Podbury, it’s not normal. Some anomaly happened that allowed Katy’s friend Isabelle to change the timeline by spawning a new closed loop. But Podbury conducted tests, and our world is proceeding like it should. My saving Dundee was one of the signs that it is unfolding like it should.”

Fiona dropped her head into her hands. “This is so confusing.”

“Tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes. “Fries my brain.”

“If all this is true, then you see why I need to stay here. I have to be where Duncan is.” When she’d pushed Duncan away, she’d only known he was her ancestor’s enemy. She hadn’t realized her own role until she’d been held captive by the MacDonell chief. Not knowing where Duncan was, she’d escaped to Urquhart instead.

Traci rubbed her arms. “Well, this just gave me the chills.”

“Why?”

She leaned forward, still holding her upper arms. “Because Duncan’s going to the MacLeods, so if you need to stick with him, you can’t stay here.”

Wait—

“Duncan’s going?” Relief made her slump.

“Yep. Which makes me wonder—maybe you are that Fiona, because it’s all unfolding to keep you two together.”

Well, shit. Dunvegan castle it was then. That simplified everything. As long as she stayed close to him, she could be there when he tried to kill William Campbell.

The kindling crackled, settling in the fire with a schlump. “When did you learn to build a peat fire anyway?”

“I’m learning stuff.” Traci blew a strand of hair off her cheek and looked her over, hands gripping the knees of her crossed legs.

Fiona looked down and back up. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Traci bit her lip. “For falling into my old resentment with all that family stuff.” She placed a hand on Fiona’s knee and squeezed. “Just because I…have issues with it doesn’t mean I have the right to dump on you. You love it? Fantastic.” She pulled her hand back. “And that reminds me—I shouldn’t have made that quip about your spelling bee.”

Fiona waved it off. “It’s an inside joke in the family.”

“At your expense. It always bothered me that Mom and Dad made that into a family joke.”

Fiona had no idea why she’d believed she could compete in the eighth grade spelling bee. Actually—she did. Her teacher had been so convinced Fiona would be good at it, and she liked the idea of being what her teacher saw. Someone accomplished.

But she’d failed. Spectacularly. She’d aced super long words that day only to bomb on the most ridiculously easy word. She flushed hot, still remembering how she stood on the stage so confidently, the judges arrayed behind a table, and piped out, “Canoe. C-A-N-O. Canoe.” And the immediate rush of oh-shit-no as she realized her mistake. She couldn’t look her teacher in the eye when she left the stage.

At home afterward, when she’d told her family what happened, her dad had swished his hand in her hair, teasing her, and said, “What were you thinking?”

Yeah. At the time, she had no clue. But looking back now, she thought she could see—she’d wanted to feel special. Her teacher had seen something in her other than the boring youngest Campbell daughter.

Fiona swallowed hard. God. It was hard to admit, but, yeah, she didn’t feel like she had much that was interesting about her. All she had was her family history—that was how she bonded with her parents. Kept their interest. And now? Now she had something better.

She was the friggin’ Fiona of legend.