A minute later, after practicing twice, she managed to step out of time. Wickham was frozen in place. Not a blade of grass stirred. She jumped up and down and squealed, she was so pleased. But after feeling completely alone and cut off from the living, she frightened herself.

  What if I can’t step back in?

  She moved behind Wickham, so he’d know she’d succeeded. Then she closed her eyes, imagined Time as a living thing, and politely asked if she could step back in. The breeze rushed into her ears, blew at her hair, and she squealed again.

  Wickham whipped around and caught her, then lifted her in the air and laughed. “I spent 60 years sealed inside a mountain to pay for that gift. And all you needed was an explanation!” He set her back and just stared at her for a minute. “There is so much ye can learn.”

  A shadow fell across his expression, and she knew he was thinking of the darker possibilities that went hand in hand with power. She couldn’t bear him even imagining such things, so she squished his face between her hands and laughed at him. “We’ll go slowly, aye?”

  He smiled, relieved. “Aye. Verra slowly.”

  “I’d like to go back to camp now. Do ye suppose I could take us?”

  Wickham instantly sobered. “Nay, never. To go that far back, it takes much greater power over Time than even a Third might wield. Ye’ll harm yerself, seriously, if ye attempted time travel.”

  “I knew ye were powerful, uncle, but—”

  “Aye. I have great power…to borrow when needed. But it is not strictly my own. I was not born with it. The power of an entire clan of witches was used to create that tunnel we speak of. Walter made me part of that tunnel and that tunnel became part of me. Aye, I was released, but the power of that tunnel—the power over Time—remains inside me.”

  “So, that image of Time as a living breathing thing…”

  He grinned. “Looks a lot like me.”

  Back at camp, all thoughts of Thirds and time travelling were forgotten.

  Soni took a cup to their small rain barrel on the side of the wagon, then went searching for flowers again. Only this time, she made sure to make them last a few days.

  She sat the cup on the ledge above the wagon wheel. When Simon saw them, he’d be reminded of kissing her.

  Of course she didn’t need to be reminded. She had a hard time thinking of anything else while she waited for him to come back. In fact, she was so distracted, she bumped into Wickham twice in less than a minute.

  He grunted. “I take it yer birthday trip is going well?”

  “Auch, aye.” She dug into the bag of fresh food he’d produced the day before. She found a few potatoes, turnips, and carrots and wondered how long it would take to make a soup.

  “Then ye’re happy I didn’t take ye home last night?”

  “Aye,” she said. “The girl was his cousin. Easily jealous, Simon said. But she’s gone to Oban, so I won’t be crossing her path again.”

  “Grand. Grand. Enemies in this day and age are dangerous things to have. Especially for us. And while we’re at it, I trust I won’t have an argument when I say I will never bring ye here again. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And no, I’ll not drop ye off for a day or two, just for a visit. On yer own, ye’d be like a kitten with no claws. Easy prey. Even with me here to protect ye, I’m nervous.”

  “Maybe it will help to know, for sure, it was meant to be.” She told him about Simon calling her Harry, then she explained that he’d slipped more than once, as a ghost on the moor, and called her the same. “Not when I was little. But in the last few years. I thought he’d just made it up as a pet name. Now I know where it came from, and I know he remembers me from here and now.”

  Wickham nodded his head slowly. After a long minute, he looked up and smiled, then tossed a handful of beef jerky into the small pot. “For flavor.” He pulled a short blade from his belt and used it to cut up the carrots. “Ye understand ye can’t tell him ye’re a witch. No matter how tolerant he claims to be. In a village of ten or a hundred, it only takes one accuser to create a mob mentality.”

  Soni didn’t comment.

  Wickham took her elbow and forced her to face him. “Ye must promise me, Soncerae, and ye must keep that promise. It is not yer wisdom but yer lack of maturity that makes ye believe ye’re invincible. But remember, it is not yer own life ye risk when ye open yer mouth. It is mine as well. And if nothing else can stay yer tongue, remember only that I brought ye here when ye asked. None of this was possible without my help. And I demand that debt be paid with yer silence.”

  Soni took a deep breath and nodded. “I am sorry I considered it. I promise not to let my excitement turn into abandon. I will pay the debt just as ye say. No more joking about fairies or Rom, or witches.”

  “I admit the Romani plan was ill-conceived. If we suffer for it, I hope ye can forgive me.”

  She forced a smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine. Simon’s uncle seems to have been the biggest threat, and he sent us his home brew, remember?”

  “Aye. No doubt potent stuff as well. Mind ye don’t take a drop of it.”

  They put everything into the pot, added water, then Wickham gave it a stir while he scanned the trees all around them.

  She perked up and tried to sense what he sensed, then whispered. “Is someone there?”

  Wickham shook his head. “Precaution, for this.” On top of the pile of wood and shavings he’d laid in the center of the fire pit, he placed the cooking pot, then blew. An eager flame jumped to life beneath it all, and the wee bits and branches caught fire. After another sly glance around the clearing, he reached inside his shirt. “And this.” He pulled out his cell phone.

  “Wickham! I thought ye said—”

  “I ken what I said, lass. But I see no other way to appease yer parents. I think we should go inside the wagon and record a message for them. Tomorrow, I will pop back and send it.”

  “Please leave the mobile phone there. Ye’ve got me paranoid now.”

  “Aye. Beneath that Rowan tree, as I’d planned.” He tucked the phone up his sleeve while they moved inside the caravan and closed the door.

  “What should I tell them?”

  Wickham shrugged. “Best not to be too practiced. I’ll just start recording.”

  “What about my clothes?”

  “Improvise.” He pulled the mobile out once more, pressed a button, then aimed the lens at her. “I’m recording.”

  She smiled for the camera. “Hiya mum! Hiya, da! We’re here in the Canary Islands, on the beach. Perfect weather. Uh…” She gestured around her. “This is one of those little caravans for changing clothes. This one is all ours for the week. Kind of like day camping. And we bought some of the crazy outfits the locals wear. Maybe this will work for Halloween, yeah?

  “Anyway. I’m sorry I lost my mobile phone. But I promise ye won’t have to pay for a new one. I can live without for a while.” She shrugged, then smiled again. “I’m having a great time. Just what I’d hoped for. I can’t thank ye enough for letting me come.” She blew a kiss at the camera. “See you soon.”

  Wickham pushed a button and it was over. He stuffed the 21st century machine back inside his shirt, but she thought that was too dangerous and made him tuck it under her mattress instead.

  She thought about the message again and sighed. “I do hate lying to them.”

  Wickham took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “It is no sin to make sense of things, so they don’t worry over-much. It is one of the kindest things we can do if we are to live in their normal world. I would love nothing so much as to explain everything to Ivy, but I fear she cannae forgive me. She can never know what I’ve done in order to spend a lifetime with her. And so I lie. And as far as yer parents and this mortal Simon are concerned, ye must lie as well. Fate plays the tune…and we dance as best we can.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Simon was well and truly stuck.

  His mother was in the mood to talk about his father, and since Simon’s current mood didn't accommodate hers, she headed off to her brother's house to see if she'd have better luck there. Archie’s talent for brewing spirits might have played a role in her decision.

  This created a new problem. Simon couldn't beg off and claim Archie needed him. And he couldn't very well let his mother go alone—when her brother’s hospitality dried up, she’d be returning in the dark, and with no arm to keep her steady. She was no drunkard but for those nights she mourned Simon’s father. And until her heartache eased, he had to be on hand.

  His only hope of seeing Soncerae that evening was if Archie Stewart had gone to the camp himself. And if the man couldn’t be found, Simon’s mother would have no choice but to go home again. If she made an early night of it, and if the lass and her own uncle made a late night of theirs, he’d see his Soncerae again, as he’d promised to do.

  Other clansmen from Appin were also a worry. A gypsy caravan was a rare bit of excitement many could not resist, and someone, at that very moment, might be filling his own spot at the campfire. But even more of a concern would be if a few men like his uncle were to get their hackles up and harass the strangers into leaving.

  What if, by the time he arrived at their camp, they were gone?

  The whirlwind of his worries caused his chest to tighten, and he stopped suddenly to catch his breath and wait for it to ease.

  "Simon? Are ye unwell?" His mother put a gentle hand on his arm and looked into his face.

  Unwell might be a good reason to stay behind, but then he'd never ken when his mother might come home again, worried for him.

  "Nay. I am well enough. Just a passing pang."

  "Not enough supper?"

  He laughed. "If anything, too much supper." He offered her his arm and struck out again. He might use the idea of an inhospitable gullet as an excuse to leave for a while, but if he were gone long, his uncle might wonder aloud if he’d run off to visit the comely lass camped in the area.

  Nay. By far, his greatest fear was that the lass and her uncle were gone, that Fate had reached in a hand and snatched Soncerae away from him. But surely, Fate would not be so cruel.

  To pass the time, Soni fussed around the campsite. With very little help from her, Wickham had carried an enormous dead tree back to the fireside so she would have something more than dirt to sit on. Chopping off branches ate up an entire hour and left them with a sizable pile of wood for the evening.

  If only the intended guest of honor would show up, the evening could start!

  As she’d seen done on television, Soni used handfuls of leaves to brush their poor, bored pony, then she had a rude awakening.

  "Wickham! I smell like a horse!"

  He chuckled and never looked up from his whittling. "And what did ye expect?"

  "I must have a bath. But what if Simon comes while I'm gone?"

  Wickham straightened and set his branch aside. "I am more worried he might find ye in the middle of yer bath." He held his hand open and waved his fingers. "Come. I'll take ye to the burn. And if ever I catch ye going alone, I will tan yer hide, bare or not. Is that understood?"

  Soni bit her lips together to keep from laughing. Such a heavy-handed father figure. Perhaps he didn't know how deft she was at protecting herself with simple spells. But since he seemed to embrace the character of protective papa bear, she allowed him the delusion.

  With Wickham standing guard, she made no attempt to be quiet with the water so cold and finished cleaning herself in a mere ten minutes. All the while, she'd worried Simon would arrive at camp and leave again, finding no one there.

  She hurried back up the road and to the sunny clearing off to the south, leaving Wickham to follow. But the place was deserted, just as they'd left it. She checked the mild ward she'd placed around the caravan, but not so much as a mouse had come sniffing after their soup.

  Soni shook out her hair to help it dry while ducking and shuffling to stay clear of the smoke. She would have bathed for nothing, trading the smell of horse for campfire, if she let it reach her clean blue dress.

  Inside the wagon, she decided the two large orange cushions would be a nice addition to the large log she and Wickham had hauled into camp. After she sat down upon one of them, she stared at the other for a long time, then found Wickham staring at her from across the fire, where he sat on the hard ground.

  She sighed. "Am I trying too hard?"

  He shrugged, then nodded. She was just grateful he didn't laugh. She took the extra cushion back inside. After sitting by the fire for another ten minutes, she took the second one in as well.

  Wickham made no comment.

  Soni tried to keep her sighing to a minimum, knowing it would only drive Wickham crazy. But when the sun went down and still, Simon didn't come, she couldn't help herself.

  She found the nerve to speak her worry aloud. "Maybe he forgot."

  Wickham snorted and shook his head. "That lad has not forgotten. When ye kissed, the earth moved."

  "Then something is keeping him. Maybe he needs help."

  "He does not need yer help. If he can come, he will come."

  "Maybe he's hurt."

  Wickham lifted his eyebrows, stretched half-heartedly, and got to his feet. "I am going to bed. Wake me if he shows up. I'll not have ye playing patty fingers in the dark, alone."

  "Ye don't trust me?"

  "Not an inch."

  Well, at least she had something else to fume about while she waited. Hours later, the insult was long forgotten and the wood pile all but gone, and still, Simon did not come. She looked at the billions of stars overhead and guessed it was midnight when she finally gave up and kicked dirt over the embers.

  When she reached the steps, Wickham's voice rumbled out from under the wagon. "He would have come if he could."

  She nodded at the darkness. "Goodnight."

  Emotionally exhausted, she climbed onto her bed with her clean clothes on, then kicked off her boots. And just in case Simon needed it, she said a quick prayer that he would be safe.

  Soni woke slowly, and tried to remember where she was. The low murmur of a man's voice rumbled from beneath her and through her pillow.

  It was Wickham; he was talking to someone.

  She sat up quickly and unlatched the little door that opened to the driver’s seat.

  "Aye. It is I, Simon McLaren."

  "My niece is asleep, Simon."

  "I assumed as much."

  "And still, here ye are."

  "I didn't want her to think I'd forgotten her. But my mither needed me all evening. My fither died recently--"

  "She knows ye wouldn't have forgotten. Isn't that right, Soncerae?"

  "Aye," she whispered out the window, then grinned like an idiot.

  "Tell Simon goodnight."

  "Goodnight," she whispered louder.

  "Bid Soni goodnight, Simon."

  "Goodnight, Harry." he whispered back, but she heard no footsteps.

  "Go away, Simon," Wickham said.

  "Auch. Aye, sir."

  Soni listened to every footstep until she heard nothing more.

  "Stop grinning and go back to sleep."

  Soni's laugh was more of a bark, but she did exactly as she'd been told--for once in her life.

  Soni woke the second time to the rocking of the wagon, but kept her eyes closed until she heard the quiet shuffle of a foot on the floor beside her. She held her body perfectly still while she reached her hand beneath her pillow and found her knife.

  Wickham chuckled. "T'is only yer foolish uncle. Pray do not stab me. I have come for the mobile phone."

  Soni sat up and flipped open the small hatch to let in some light. It didn't do much good, however, because it was so early.

  "I moved it to the back corner, under the mattress. If someone was snooping, they would have found it right away."

  "Good thinking." He lifted the end of the mattress and reached beneath. "I'm going to send the video and call my wife. I shouldn't be long." He shuffled back to the door, opened it, then closed it again. "Soncerae?"

  "Aye?"

  "If anything should happen and I do not return by the time ye've had yer breakfast, I want ye to find Simon McLaren and not leave his side until I find ye. Will ye do that for me?"

  "Ye have no faith in me," she teased.

  Wickham stomped closer. "I don't care if ye're the greatest swordswoman since Joan of Arc. I will not have ye fending for yerself here. And the only man I can trust is Simon. A mere lad, but a canny one. And in this century, ye will check any notions ye have about the equality of women. To some of these men, ye're less important than a cow and worth half a chicken." He moved back to the door again, grumbling. "And besides, yer far prettier than anything they've seen, and I don't want to come back and find ye married off to the winner of some fist fight."

  "Thank you," she said, then laid down again.

  "What are you thanking me for?"

  "For caring so much for this chicken."

  "Well." He sighed. "Ye're welcome." Then he slipped out the door and closed it quietly.

  Soni went back to sleep and tried to dream of Simon, but got only farm animals.

  Simon rose early, fed the animals and left the cow's milk on the kitchen table before sneaking away. He'd tossed and turned all night, worried that the campsite would be empty, but he couldn't have gone any earlier. Had he found her gone, he would have been so distraught he'd have been late getting back and starting his chores. Had he found her there, he wouldn't have been able to leave again, no matter how upset his mother might have been. The only reasonable course was to do his chores first and hope for the best, and if the caravan was still there, he'd happily wait in the shadows until the lass and her uncle decided to greet the day.

  His feet knew the way after the last night's venture. He might have found his way back with his eyes closed now.

  "Idiot," he chided himself. "She's just a bonnie lass, and will soon be gone. All of Appin will call ye a fool after this."

  But all of Appin were still in their beds, and none stood by to watch him running up the road for a few extra minutes of looking at that bonnie face.

 

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