The Mammoth Book of Time Travel Romance

Sandy Blair MacDuff’s Secret

Edinburgh, Scotland

Present day

How bad could it be?

That was Sarah Colbert’s only thought when Mr Morrow, the leader of their school’s tour group, had announced he was ill and that she, alone, would be taking their unruly crew of sixth graders on their first tour of Edinburgh. Eyeing her five jostling charges in the Hotel Balmoral lobby she now prayed they’d be better behaved than they usually were in class.

Her gaze settled on the tall lanky heir to Elgin Aircraft Industries standing in the back. “Mr Elgin, where’s your windbreaker?”

“Aww, come on, Miss Colbert.”

“Mr Elgin, you know the rules.”

While Peter grumbled and dug inside his backpack for the bright yellow windbreaker each student had to wear on every field trip so their chaperons didn’t lose sight of them, Bryce Allen, the son of movie mogul Mike Allen, cuffed him on the head and started bouncing around like a prize fighter. Not to be outdone, Jeremy Babcock, an investment banker’s prodigy, put his fists up and, laughing, took a swat at both of them.

“Gentlemen, knock it off.”

God grant me patience. Having been an only child, she’d had little experience dealing with children prior to accepting her teaching position at the London branch of the prestigious American International Schools, and her students, sensing it, regularly ran roughshod over her. But she took comfort where she could. Today would be a trip down memory lane, to that carefree summer when she’d been an exchange student in Edinburgh. And she’d be able to put her hard-earned degree in European history to excellent use.

Seeing Peter had his windbreaker on, she started walking. “This way, gentlemen. We’re off to tour the 140 acres known as Edinburgh’s New Town where at one time the greatest minds on earth could all be found living shoulder to shoulder. Our first stop will be Charlotte Square, named after King George III’s wife and designed by renowned architect Robert Adam.”

Three hours later, having described every nuance of Georgian architecture and the gruesome details related to Edinburgh Castle’s body-laden moat being drained and turned into the lovely garden in which they now stood, Sarah, hoarse and dead on her feet, asked, “Is anyone hungry?”

“Yes!” they all shouted.

Ty Clark III queried no one in particular, “Anyone see a McDonald’s around here?”

Behind him Bryce whispered, “You think the Spaniel will let us order some stout?”

Peter Elgin answered for her, muttering, “Hell, no.”

Sarah sighed. “Watch the profanity, gentlemen.”

A creative lot, her students had code names for all their instructors. Her boss was the Bull. Their headmaster, the Bear. They’d tagged her Spaniel the day she — running late — had shown up at school with her shoulder-length hair curling about her shoulders. She’d never made the mistake again but the moniker had stuck.

Sarah looked about. If memory served there was a nice pub that specialized in fish and chips two blocks west, near the intersection of King’s Stable Road and Lothian Road. All kids like French fries, right? “OK, boys, this way.”

The pub, awash in dark wood and stained glass, reeking of ale, fried fish and tobacco, hadn’t changed in her ten-year absence. The hostess warily eyed Sarah’s boisterous crew then led them to a private room at the back of the pub. As the boys settled around the long trestle table and tried to convince her that just one Guinness wouldn’t kill them, Sarah opened her menu. Mmm, Arbroath Smokie and stovie tatties. She hadn’t had smoked haddock in years. Haggis? No. Forfar Bridies –

“What’s Hotch-Potch?” Ty Clark III wanted to know.

She grinned. “A thick mutton stew. It’s good.”

He made a face.

To her left, Peter asked, “What’s in ‘authentic Shepherd’s Pie’?”

Sarah looked over the top of her menu at their school’s star soccer player. “Think about it, Peter. What do shepherds tend?”

“Oh.” He went back to studying his menu.

In the end, they ordered six servings of fish and chips, five colas and one Guinness. For her. Their next stop was Edinburgh Castle. She could only pray the castle’s armour displays would still be standing when they left.

“Miss Colbert, do you have a boyfriend?”

Bryce’s question startled not only her but his classmates who, laughing, slapped his shoulders. She didn’t have a boyfriend — never had. She’d spent the last twelve years either caring for her mother who’d had Alzheimer’s or attending night school to get her degree. But that was none of their business. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “You’re always at school, never—”

Booooooommmm!

The violent explosion knocked them off their benches. The wall separating their private dining area from the main room collapsed around them. As they cried out, tried to make sense of what was happening, the customers in the front of the pub, buried beneath collapsed timbers, brick and glass, screamed.

Sarah, choking on smoke, her ears ringing, scrambled out from under their upended table. Reaching for her nearest charge, she shouted, “Bryce, are you OK?”

“Yes … I think.” He wiped ash and tears from his eyes as he struggled to his knees. “What happened?”

“I don’t know how but we’ve got to get out of here.” Flames were consuming what little remained of the front of the building. People continued to scream. As the fractured ceiling above them groaned, she grabbed the edge of the table. “Help me lift this!”

Together they shoved the table away and found the rest of her students, choking and bleeding. Peter Elgin was the first to come to his senses. As he staggered to his feet, he took hold of Ty’s arm and pulled. When his friend remained rooted where he’d fallen, Peter shouted, “Help me!”

Sarah crawled over rubble, grabbed Ty’s left arm and hauled the stunned kid to his feet.

Tears streaming, Peter told her, “His parents died like this.”

Sarah nodded, frantically searching for a way out. “I know … in Indonesia. There, behind you. There’s a door. Take him out that way. I’ll follow with the others.”

She had her students on their feet and at the doorway before realizing the door didn’t lead to a back alley as she’d hoped but into a cellar. Bitter bile rose in her throat. “Shit.”

Peter called from the bottom of the stairs. “Down here, Miss Colbert! There’s a way out.”

At the bottom she found Peter and Ty standing hip deep in rushing water.

“Oh, God. A water main must have broken.” Above them rafters screeched then collapsed, sending more dust, debris and smoke raining down the shaky staircase. Several of the boys cried out seeing the doorway they’d just passed through fill with rubble. There was no going back.

“Peter, did you see a door, a bulkhead?”

“No, but I can see daylight over there.” He pointed to his right past an ancient cast-iron coal burner. “A window.”

The frigid water continued to rise, now lapped at their chests. “OK. Can everyone swim?” When only Peter nodded, she screamed, “Answer me, damn it! Can everyone swim?”

She wasn’t about to pull them from a fiery hell only to have them drowned in a flooding cellar. At her elbow, Jeremy said, “Ya, we all can.”

“Good. OK. We can do this.” Please God.

She knocked a floating carton out of her way. More debris took its place, the water starting to churn around their shoulders, their necks. “Everyone follow Peter. Swim towards the light.” She’d take the rear. Make sure they all got out alive. And maybe she would too.

Heart thudding, she slogged past the burner and saw the window only to gasp when the stone wall behind them gave way and thousands of gallons of high-pressured water swept her off her feet. As water closed over her head, she prayed the pressure of so much water would blow out the window, for her children to survive. If only she’d learned how to swim …

Hamish MacDuff jumped into what he’d come to think of as his magical pool, scrubbed his skin, then surfaced. Raking his wet hair back, he turned his face to the sun and sighed. ’Twould be another glorious day. “And sad that only I get to enjoy this place.”

Aye, but ’twas safest.

Plush hemlock and pine surrounded his wee glen and pool, but they hadn’t when he’d first arrived ten summers past. Then there were no birds or hares, no bees or hedgehogs. The only sounds to be heard then were those made by his ragged breathing and pounding feet.

Wounded, bleeding, parched and panicked, he’d somehow managed to outrun his enemies — the only one to survive out of more than 2,000 clansmen — only to stumble and fall face first in this very spot where a wee bit of cool water had soothed his slashed face. Had he the strength he would have laughed. He’d landed in a puddle no bigger than his fist, the only water he’d seen in days. He drank his fill from what he now knew to be a spring and then passed out.

He awoke to find wispy columns rising like ghosts from charred timber for as far as the eye could see. Not a soul stirred save him and a few beetles and the many-legged meggy monyfeet sifting through ash and charred branches, all that was left of the ancient forest after the Norman-set fires had done their worst. And the wee puddle had grown to the size of his head.

Deplete of strength, no longer having hear th or kin after the battle, having had his fill of grasping incompetent princes and kings, of fire and war, he remained, surviving on water and whatever hapless creatures happened to venture close to the pool.

With time his wounds became scars and his renowned strength returned. And as he mended, so did the land. Grass sprouted and scraggily saplings became bushy boughs. He cleared the dead wood from around the pool and his wee glen began to take shape. And the crystal clear pool continued to grow. ’Twas now the breadth of two oxen standing nose to tail, was bottomless at its core and loaded with fish and happy he was for them.

His middle rumbled. He climbed out of the water and wrapped his woollen feileadh-mhor about his waist then over his shoulder and across his chest. Securing it with his belt, he again noted its holes and sighed. A new garment would come dear and require a trip to Edinburgh, something he was loath to do. His middle rumbled again and he picked up his fishing pole. As he readied to cast his line, the normally calm water at his feet began to bubble and roll. Startled, he dropped the pole. “What’s this?”

Before he could contemplate a reason for the water roiling, a thrashing lad popped to the surface gasping for air.

“St Columba’s God and the fairies!”

Would wonders never cease?

He grabbed the tow-headed lad by the scruff and tossed him on to the grass like a landed fish.

Staring down at the dripping, gasping pup of a man he asked, “And who the hell might ye be?”

“What? I don’t understand.”

English!

Before he could ask how this could be, the water roiled again and another head and pair of thrashing arms shot out. Hamish grabbed the second lad by his bright yellow cloak and tossed him next to the first. Before he was through snatching and tossing there were five gasping lads dressed in yellow at his feet.

Hands on his hips, he glared at the youths. In the language he’d learned at his grandmother’s knee but hadn’t used in more than a decade, Hamish growled, “Dinna just sit there gaping like besot asses gleaming yer first teats, laddies. Answer me. Who be ye?”

The tallest lad, all joints and long bones, scrambled backwards like a crab. “Who the hell are you?”

Affronted the whelp should use such language when addressing an elder, Hamish reached out, but before he could snatch him, the black-headed lad jumped up shouting, “The spaniel! Where’s the spaniel?”

They all rose, shouting at once in obvious panic. The fair-haired lad pointed at the pool. “Look! Oh crap, oh crap …”

Having no idea what a spaniel might be, Hamish looked. The pool was roiling again and at its centre floated yet another lad, this one the largest yet, face down and lifeless. Cursing, Hamish jumped into the pool. Careful not to step off the hidden shelf at the edge of the pool because he couldn’t swim, he snagged the drowned lad’s legs and hauled him into his arms.

The yellow-clad lads drew close as Hamish strode from the water and dropped to his knees, draped their hapless companion head down over his lap and pressed hard on the lifeless lad’s back. On the second push water gushed from the lad’s mouth. Hamish pushed down again. More water rushed out, the boy gagged then finally gasped.

Greatly relieved, Hamish rolled the hapless lad face up and placed a hand over his heart. To his shock his palm rested not on bony rib as he’d fully expected but on something round and soft. A breast. Aye, he’d not been alone so long or grown so auld that he’d forget that particular feel.

He scowled at the lads now kneeling around him. “’Tis a woman!”

The tall blond brushed a water-matted tress from the woman’s face. “No shit, Sherlock.”

The woman in his arms coughed, then sputtered, “Watch … your —” she coughed again “— language, Mr Elgin.”

The lads issued a rousing cheer as the woman Spaniel stared up at him from bonnie brown eyes rimmed by thick spiked lashes. Liking the soft feel of her, the smooth contours of her oval face, the way her full lips were parted in surprise, he smiled. “Good day to ye, mistress.”

“Uhmm … Hello.” Her gaze then swung to the lads and her eyes grew larger still. She bolted upright, her arms reaching out to the lads. “Oh, God! Are you all OK?”

They clustered about her like hungry pups around their bitch, babbling excitedly in English but not in a manner Hamish had heard before.

Teeth chattering, Spaniel staggered to her feet and gave each lad a hug before looking about. Marvelling at the way her strange clothing clung to her lithe form, Hamish grinned. How could he have possibly thought her a lad? Ten summers were apparently far too long for a man to go without a woman.

He rose and she, clutching the closest lads to her sides, took several hasty steps back. “Who are you and where are we?”

He bowed. “Hamish MacDuff at ye service, and ye be in MacDuff glen.”

“And where is that exactly?”

He scowled, not understanding what more she needed to ken.

One of the lads whispered, “He looks like an escapee from Braveheart.”

Spaniel signalled the lads to silence and smiling at him asked, “How far is it to Edinburgh?”

Sarah stood atop MacDuff’s watchtower and stared in utter disbelief at the small stone and wood fortress perched atop the huge stone promontory she knew as Castle Rock, upon which should have bristled formidable Edinburgh Castle. There was no city — old or new — no church spires, no anything but forest for miles and miles around her. Mouth dry, she stammered, “Wh … what year is this?”

At her side, Hamish MacDuff shrugged.

Deep breath, Sarah.

OK. If all she feared was true — that she wasn’t simply trapped in a ghastly dream but they’d truly time travelled — then the powerfully built giant at her side probably didn’t have a concept of time beyond the passing of seasons. “Do you know who lives there?”

“Aye. The Malcolm.”

Her heart nearly stopped at the mention of the eleventh-century kings.

“After the Norman war, the ravages of which ye can still spy yon,” he pointed to the blackened timber poking up through new growth, “Malcolm became ruler of this territory.”

Oh God. Lonely as she’d been of late she could well imagine herself concocting a dream about a beautiful glen and a handsome Highlander, but she seriously doubted she’d have included an explosion, nearly drowning and five rambunctious, pampered students. Which made all before her that much more frightening … and real. “Do you know the way there?”

Logic dictated that if — and she would only concede if — they’d time travelled then they’d have to get back to where they’d entered the time warp in order to return to the twenty-first century.

“Aye, but I shan’t advise you go.” He started down the spiral steps he’d made by imbedding thick half-timbers at ninety-degree angles to the stones that made up his tower.

Grabbing what purchase she could on the ragged stones, she chased after him. “Why not?”

He stopped two steps below her and turned, his long broad sword sheathed in a simple leather scabbard strapped to his back scraping stone. Standing at eye level, he frowned as he studied her.

God, he’s magnificent.

Standing well over six feet tall, heavily muscled, blue eyed and blond, he wasn’t handsome in the classic sense, but definitely arresting. His chiselled features were almost gaunt. And that scar running from his left cheekbone to his jaw. The wound hadn’t been stitched but had healed on its own, drawing the left corner of his lips up, giving him a permanent smirk. As if he knew a secret he wasn’t about to tell.

He fingered one of the curls draped around her shoulders, startling her. “Ye are most fair and fulsome, lass. Without a clansman to guard ye, ye’ll be harassed, if not claimed. Ye and yer bairns.”

Had he just called her pretty? She couldn’t be sure. Chaucer and his ilk’s writings hadn’t been her strong suit in college. “But we wouldn’t be alone. You’ll be with us.”

Left to her own devices within the dense woods below, bracketed by hills and ravines, she’d lose her bearings. He had to guide them.

He started down the steps again, his broad shoulders rolling with each step. “Nay, I shan’t.”

As they stepped into sunshine she grabbed his thick forearm bringing him to a halt. “Why not?”

His right hand covered hers. “Look at me, mistress. ’Tis obvious I’m a warrior. Should I be caught I’ll be forced to my knees and they’ll demand I swear fealty to Malcolm … or die.”

“Is he your enemy?”

“Kith but I’ll slit my throat before swearing fealty to another errant hedge-born mammon.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand. If he’s kith, a friend—”

“Mistress, unbridled avarice has nay friends. I — and thousands more — lost all we held dear thanks to one such liege. I say never again.”

Good Lord. “Do you never go to Edinburgh then?”

“I go on rare occasion. But only whilst in the guise of a leper to keep them at bay.” MacDuff brought her hand to his lips. “My apologies, lass.”

As her heart stuttered, he strode towards her students, who sat in only their briefs before his stone hut. She followed, asking, “We’re in Scotland. How is it that you speak English?”

“My mother’s people fled the south to escape the Norman invader.”

“And your father?”

“A Highlander.” Coming abreast of her students he asked, “Have ye had yer fill, lads?”

She should hope so. They’d decimated the huge mound of oatcakes, honeycomb and berries MacDuff had set before them. How they’d managed to eat so much was beyond her. Her stomach was still in knots, had been since the explosion. When they nodded, their host grunted and strode towards their clothing which they’d draped on branches to dry in the sun.

While Hamish MacDuff frowned and fingered Velcro closures and zippers, Mark Gibson asked, “Does he have a car? Will he take us back to Edinburgh?”

She squatted before them. “Gentlemen, I hate to tell you this but we’re miles from Edinburgh and there is no car.” She took a deep breath and related as best she could what she knew and what she feared.

Peter jumped to his feet. “No way! I have a soccer match this weekend. This is all bullshit.”

Before she could admonish him, MacDuff was at her side and had Peter by the upper arms, holding him at eye level.

“Laddie,” MacDuff snarled, one hand moving to Peter’s jaw, “heed well for I shan’t spake of this but once. Spaniel is a lady and ye shall treat her as such.”

Fearing he’d snap Peter’s neck, she grabbed MacDuff’s arm. “Put him down! Please.”

Ignoring her, MacDuff hissed, “Do ye ken me, lad?”

Peter, white faced, nodded. MacDuff humphed, opened his hands and Peter, gasping, fell to the ground. Sarah dropped to her knees and checked the red marks beneath Peter’s jaw. “Are you all right?” When Peter nodded she snarled, “MacDuff, you could’ve killed him!”

MacDuff, standing with legs splayed, hands fisted on his hips, shook his unruly sun-streaked mane. “Nay. He appears a good lad for all his ratsbane of a tongue.” To the others he said, “Who among ye best wields a sword?”

Mark, turning pale, raised a tentative hand. “Uhmm … I’m on the fencing team.”

MacDuff eyed him then, apparently satisfied, asked, “Who best tends coos?” When they looked at him blankly, he pointed to the three shaggy, long-horned beasts grazing beyond the pool. “Who kens those?”

When they all raised hands, MacDuff pulled a rough-hewed bucket from a peg imbedded in his stone croft’s wall and tossed it to Ty. “Dress then milk, laddie.”

Apparently deciding it was wiser to obey than admit he’d never milked in his life, Ty elbowed Bryce. “Come on.”

Sarah whispered to the other boys, “Gentlemen, why don’t the rest of you get dressed.” She had to speak to MacDuff. Alone.

They took off at a dead run as MacDuff settled on his haunches to pick up the remains of the boys’ lunch. “What say you, Spaniel? Do you stay or go?”

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “You can’t manhandle children that way.”

His eyebrows shot together as he came to his feet. “Is it not the rule of clan and church to discipline in a parent’s absence? Ye told the lad three times within my hearing — and God only kens how many more times without it — to mind his tongue and he had yet to pay ye any heed.”

“Yes, but—”

He leaned forwards and tapped the tip of her nose. “Nay buts, mistress. Ye want them to grow into good men who respect women, aye?”

She heaved a sigh. “Yes, of course. But please don’t pick him up like that again.”

MacDuff grinned. “Ye’ll find I shan’t have need. He’s learned his lesson.”

“And please don’t call me Spaniel.”

“Oh? ’Tis what the lads shouted when they could not find ye.”

“My name is Sarah.”

“Why then do they call ye Spaniel?”

Bone weary, she settled on the grass and tucked the huge, coarse linen tunic reeking of male musk, sawdust and smoke that he’d loaned her about her legs. “They think I look like one.” When his brow furrowed, she said, “A spaniel is a spotted hunting dog.”

Laughing, he sat down next to her. “Ye have bonnie brown eyes and charming spots upon yer cheeks, but without a long snout and tail I have to say nay, ye do not.”

“Thank you.”

He studied the boys for a moment. “Ye call them children, not bairns. Are they of royal blood then?”

She watched Peter, Jeremy and Mark romp through the field as if they hadn’t a care. “In our world, yes.”

“And ye?”

“I’m their teacher. Well, one of them. The children often move from place to place. Our school, with its many branches in different cities, provides continuity, some measure of stability.”

“And where is yer world?”

Dare she tell him? Would he think the boys and her bewitched? “You won’t believe me.”

He grinned. “I believe there is more to life and this place than priests will allow.”

Didn’t she know it. “We live in London but in a different—”

“Nay!” MacDuff had jumped to his feet and was pointing at Bryce and Ty who’d been peering beneath one of the long-coated cows. “Are ye daft, lads?” he shouted. “Them’s bollocks!”

Bryce straightened and looked over his shoulder. “Huh?”

MacDuff grabbed his crotch. “Bollocks!”

When the boys just looked at each other then shrugged, MacDuff raised his kilt and swung his hips. “These, lads!”

“Ohmigod, MacDuff! Stop that!”

MacDuff didn’t so much as glance at her as his kilt fell back in place and he pointed to the two hairy beasts grazing to the boys’ right. “Ye yank on coos, lads. Those with teats!”

Boyish hoots and laughter erupted on both sides of the field as understanding dawned and MacDuff blew through his teeth. Turning his attention to her, he said, “Two of yer princes were nearly knocked into the morrow. What have ye been teaching them that they have yet to ken the difference betwixt bullocks and teats?”

Aghast that he had the nerve to call her to task, Sarah shouted, “I can’t believe you just exposed yourself like that! Are you out of your mind?”

MacDuff looked at her blankly for a moment then laughed, a deep and rich rumble that rolled like thunder about the glen. When he finally collected himself he asked, “And what did my lady see?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “Well, nothing — naught, but—”

He tapped her nose. “Then ’tis naught for ye to fash over, now is there? Men ken these things.” He pointed to Ty and Bryce in earnest conversation squatting beside a cow. “The quiet one has the look of ye about the eyes. Is he yer bairn?”

The man was impossible. “No, I have no children, and his name is Ty. He’s an orphan.”

MacDuff’s brow furrowed. “And the rest? Have they no parents as well?”

“The rest do have parents.” Parents, who are doubtless going out of their minds right now, listening to news broadcasts, punching cell phones, wondering why their children aren’t answering their calls, can’t be reached.

He bent and plucked a blade of grass. Chewing it, he eyed her in speculative fashion, the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Are ye not spoken for, then?”

“No.” Men rarely gave her a second glance. So why was he scrutinizing her so closely?

“Humph. Ye’ve slothful kin, then.”

“No, no kin, slothful or otherwise. My parents married late in life, never expected to have a child, then I came along. My father died when I was three and then my mother developed Alzheimer’s.” Seeing his frown deepen she clarified, “A disease that destroys the mind and then the body. She passed — died — last summer.” Which, although leaving Sarah bereft, had been a blessing for her mother.

“My sympathies.” To her relief he turned his attention back to the boys. “Ah, they’re done.”

A heartbeat later, Bryce and Ty, grinning from ear to ear, placed their bucket on the ground before her.

She was amazed to find it half full. “Wow!” They’d not known the difference between a bull and cow when they started. But them drinking raw milk was out of the question. Their parents would never forgive her if they came down with tuberculosis.

To MacDuff, she said, “Before they can drink it—”

“Drink it? God’s teeth, woman, why would ye have them do that?” He shuddered and grabbed the bucket. “Nay, ’tis for making crowdie. Come along, lads, we’ve much to do.”

Skipping to keep up with MacDuff’s long strides, Bryce asked, “What’s crowdie?”

As she said, “Cheese,” she heard MacDuff say, “Ye’ve not had crowdie?”

When they shook their heads MacDuff gave her another incredulous look then, leading the boys away, muttered, “’Tis a wonder any of ye live.”

Hamish looked about his crowded croft, at the exhausted lads curled in sleep on their pallets, and warmth bloomed in his chest. Far too many years had passed since he’d shared a meal or heard bairns laugh. Were it not so unmanly to shed tears, he would have.

He sighed. If only the Spaniel were as relaxed as the lads in his company.

She would have taken her brood off to Edinburgh had the lads, consumed with their fishing, not begged her wait just a wee bit. Thankfully, gloaming came early to his glen.

By the time the lads were done fishing, the sun was setting and they were hungry. Then the moon rose and the wolves of the forest started to howl, which proved too much for the lady and she agreed they should spend the night.

He reached out and ruffled Ty’s hair as the lad sat beside him carving a rabbit from a soft hunk of pine.

In a whisper Ty said, “We were at this pub when a bomb went off. Miss Colbert got us into the basement but it was flooded. Then we somehow ended up here.”

“What means bomb?” The Spaniel had said much the same but he’d been loath to admit to her that here was yet another thing he did not understand.

“A device made from gunpowder and metal that can kill hundreds of people all at once.” When Hamish continued to frown in confusion Ty crafted an imaginary ball in his hands, lobbed it, then saying kaboooom, fell backwards and feigned death.

Alarmed, Hamish pulled him upright. “Ye have such weapons?”

Ty, his brown eyes welling with tears, nodded. “My parents were killed by a bomb two years ago. Dad was a foreign diplomat.”

Hamish brushed a tear from the lad’s cheek. “My heart greets for ye, lad.”

“Mine, too.”

“Here ye may rest easy, lad. We have no such weapons. To kill ye must look a man in the eye as is only right.”

After a long moment Ty whispered, “Did she tell you that we come from centuries ahead of this time?”

Hamish nodded. “But ’tis difficult for me to give such wild tales credence.”

“You should because it’s true. You saw Peter and Mark’s iPods. We have loads more stuff than that. Like aeroplanes and computers. Stuff you haven’t even dreamed of yet.”

Hamish had no idea what he meant by air plains but had seen the lads’ pods. Not that the shiny boxes adorned with strange squiggles did anything, much to the lads’ consternation.

Taking up his carving and wee blade again, Ty asked, “I don’t suppose you know how we came to be here?”

Hamish did — or rather suspected he did, but he wasn’t about to speak of it just yet. “Tell me about the Spaniel. Is she content where she lives?”

Ty gave the question some thought. “I don’t think so. She doesn’t smile much and the kids take advantage of her.”

“How so?”

“They horse around in class. Throw stuff. Talk too much. She doesn’t send them to the headmaster like she should. I think she’s afraid he’ll fire her, make her leave.”

“Ah.” Their world was most odd. No man in his right mind would ever think to cast out so lovely a lass as Sarah Spaniel.

Ty shrugged. “I like her though. She’s nice.”

“Aye.” And lonely, if the haunted look he’d caught in her eyes had meaning. “Ye need put yer whittling away and get to sleep. Dawn will be here ’fore long and the coos will need milking.”

“They’re cows, not coos.”

Grinning, Hamish ruffled Ty’s hair. “Ye say it yer way and I’ll say it mine.”

When Ty settled on his pallet Hamish stood and found Sarah in the doorway. When he smiled, she blushed, making him wonder how long she’d been standing there listening. She pointed behind her. “It’s raining.”

“Is it?” He eased past her, caught the heady scents of rain and woman clinging to her — that caused his blood to stir — then looked at the sky. Seeing light weave in brilliant arcs across the western sky, it was all he could do to keep from grinning like a village dolt. Thank ye, St Bride!

“Ach, lass, the sky does not bode well for ye leaving come morn. If the rains continue the bog betwixt here and Edinburgh will swell to a river, become impassable.”

When they woke to more rain on the second day, Hamish did his best to keep them from worrying. He’d taught Sarah how to separate hull from oat kernels using a stone pastel. At her side Ty and Peter tried their hands at whittling simple animals out of small blocks of dry pine. Mark and Jeremy were stripping bark from foot long hunks of sapling pine, which they’d make into buckets. Bryce was in charge of making the cheese.

Hamish put more wood on the fire then set a crock full of milk before Bryce and lifted the lid. “Ah, ’tis ready.”

Bryce wrinkled his nose. “It’s spoiled.”

Hamish, laughing, reached for one of the small crocks lining the shelf above Bryce’s head. “Nay, ’tis just clabbered. Now ’tis ready for rennet, which will turn the milk to curds and whey.”

Frowning, Bryce asked, “What’s rennet?”

MacDuff opened the small crock and poured several tablespoons of dried beige powder into Bryce’s palm. “Dump that into the milk and stir.”

Bryce sniffed the powder then did as he was told, muttering, “Is this some kind of plant?”

“Nay.” Hamish looked at him and winked. “’Tis the dried lining of a calf’s stomach.”

Sarah tried not to laugh as her students shouted, “Ewwwwwwww!”

As Jeremy nudged Mark and whispered, “The Lion’s joking, right?” Bryce looked at her in horror. “Miss Colbert?”

Sarah nodded, liking the boy’s moniker for MacDuff. He did look like a lion. “It’s true. And there’s no need to ewwww. You’ve all eaten rennet custard at home and liked the cheese Mr MacDuff gave you yesterday. Rennet provides the acid needed to turn milk into cheese.”

Ty, looking worried, asked Hamish, “Did you kill the calf?”

“Nay, the poor wee beast died during a late spring blizzard. Nearly broke my heart finding him that morn, but there was nay undoing it, so …” He shrugged.

When several continued to eww and shuddered, Sarah reminded them, “We eat veal and lamb at home, gentlemen. The parts not suitable for the table aren’t wasted but used to make custards, gourmet cheeses, leather products like lambskin blazers — which several of you own — pet food and fertilizer. It’s simply a case of waste not, want not.”

Beside her, Jeremy muttered, “That’s it. The minute we get home I’m going vegan.”

“Miss Colbert, he’s cheating again!”

Sarah, shielding her eyes against the brilliant sunlight, laughed. Hamish had Jeremy under one arm like a sack of grain as he bobbed and weaved his way down the makeshift soccer field he’d made in the hopes of easing the boys’ melancholy after two days of solid rain. Their soccer ball, made from straw and leather, had flattened and was tucked neatly under his other arm, the game having degenerated into a free-for-all football.

As he scooped up Mark, she hollered, “Get him, Ty! Grab his belt and pull him down!”

When Ty lunged and missed, Sarah raced towards Peter, their goalie, who stood before two sticks set in the waterlogged ground. Emulating Peter’s stance, she spread her arms and legs wide and shouted, “We got you now, Highlander!”

Hamish slowed and an evil glint took shape in his eyes. He put the boys down, then, laughing, charged straight at her. As he caught her by the waist and spun, Ty and Mark caught his belt and Hamish toppled, making a great show of being brought down, as much a boy at heart as her students.

“ Ooomph!” While her victorious students shouted, Sarah tried to catch her breath. MacDuff held much of his weight on his arms, but had a muscular leg nestled squarely between her thighs.

Oh my God! Is he aroused?

Grinning down at her, his blue eyes dancing with mirth, he asked, “Did I score, mistress?”

Oh yes.

She’d long imagined what a man’s heat and weight might feel like, but my, oh my, her imagination hadn’t taken flight nearly far enough. Her heart was racing, sending warmth and need sluicing through her.

“Miss Colbert, is it dinner time yet?” Peter wanted to know.

I neither know nor care, Peter.

“What are we having?” Jeremy asked.

Hamish, his hooded gaze fixed on her lips, slowly rose to his knees and cleared his throat. “Crowdie and havers,” he told them, “unless ye can garner more blackberries.”

Almost in unison they groaned.

When the boys walked off, Hamish slowly rocked to his feet and held out a large calloused hand to her. “We’d best get the rest ready. Ty alone can eat his weight in oats and honey.”

Dazed, she took his hand. “He’s … He’s grown very fond of you.”

“And I of him.”

“In ten months this is the first time I’ve seen him really smile. He’s blossomed under your attention.” And he wasn’t the only one. She too had blossomed. She laughed and pondered what might have been under Hamish MacDuff’s sometimes awkward, usually funny, and occasionally heated perusal.

Watching the boys, Hamish absently toyed with the broad brass cuffs decorating his wrists. “He longs for a father.”

Sarah nodded, only too familiar with that particular heartache.

“And they all lust to be home. Aye?”

“Yes, they’re homesick.” With their game over, the boys were again quiet, walking with slouched shoulders and worried expressions. Last night in the darkened croft she hadn’t been able to tell who’d wept in the wee hours of night but several had.

“And ye, mistress? Do ye lust to be home as well?”

Did she?

She no longer had any family, nor any close friends after caring for her mother for so many years. She’d applied for the overseas teaching position in the hope of finding a new beginning. Instead, her lonely life had simply changed addresses. Home was no longer the rented Chicago duplex she’d grown up in but a tiny rented flat in a grey London suburb full of strangers. Her days were still challenging and worrisome. Her nights filled with mundane television and Chinese takeout.

And then there was Hamish MacDuff. He was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man: strong, handsome, funny, not the least self-conscious. Tender and considerate. Firm when he thought it necessary. And he thought her pretty, followed her every movement with hungry eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. When she did look at him, he simply smiled as if he hadn’t a concern or desire in the world.

No, she didn’t lust to go home, but then it never mattered what she wanted. She just put her head down and did what was expected, what had to be done.

Knowing she had no choice but to do so again, she reached out and boldly took Hamish’s hand, threading her fingers through his, memorizing the feel of his touch, of his callouses and strength, of what might have been.

Hamish finished his tale of how he’d come to be in his glen and wished the lads goodnight. ’Twas time to speak his heart to the Spaniel.

He found her, arms wrapped about her shapely legs, sitting at the edge of his pool. Watching her curly hair billow like a dark cloud under the light of a full moon his chest tightened. God’s teeth, he longed to hold her, to claim her.

But then he was only a warrior without a liege. He had his sword and this glen but naught else to tempt her to remain. She was one of the gifted, a teacher, who could read and write, which he could not. Aye, she was well beyond his grasp, yet he wanted her. Wanted her as he’d wanted little else in his life, with a need so bone deep it hurt.

At his approach she looked over her shoulder and her full lips parted into a smile that made his heart stutter.

As he settled next to her on the lush turf surrounding his pool, she asked, “Are they asleep?”

“Aye or soon will be.”

She pointed skywards. “Look at that.” Her voice, soft and sweet, was filled with awe. “In a world without street lights — lit only by fire — you can see so many stars.”

Seeing only the heavens as they always were, he cleared his throat. Before he could speak his heart, however, she asked, “Do you have many visitors?”

“Nay. Ye and yer bairns are the first.” When she frowned, he shrugged. “I think it odd as well.” Peddlers and armies had marched past many times over the years yet no one had ever taken notice of his glen. ’Twas almost as if he and this wondrous place did not exist. “’Tis almost as if this place were …”

“Shrouded in magic?” She smiled.

“Aye, so why not remain? Ty’s most content here, blossoming as ye say.”

She sighed. “If I had only Ty to worry over, I think I would remain. I’ve been content here, too. Happier, in fact, than I have been in years.”

Emboldened by her words, he ran a finger along her jaw. When she looked up at him and smiled he cradled her cheek in a broad calloused palm. Looking deep into her eyes, he whispered, “I dearly lust that ye do remain, Sarah. I truly do.”

Dare he kiss her? Aye, he must. How else would she ken what lurked beneath his breast, in his soul? He settled his lips on hers, marvelling at their soft texture. When a groan escaped her, he, heart soaring, deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, stroking her as his hands longed to do.

Please say aye, that ye’ll stay.

Too soon she pulled back and his arms, which had boldly found their way about her, reluctantly fell away.

“Oh, Hamish.” She traced his lips with a delicate touch. Seeing her bonnie brown eyes grow glossy, his hopes again soared.

“I want to stay. Truly. But the other boys have parents and they’re doubtless frantic with worry by now. I have to get them back. Somehow, some way. I don’t want to leave. I have to.” She took a deep shaking breath. “I understand why you can’t take us to Edinburgh but would you be willing to lead us part of the way? So we won’t get lost.”

So, ’tis the end after all.

He took her right hand in his and heaved a resigned sigh. “Ye dinna have to go to Edinburgh, lass. I think — nay, I believe — all ye and the lads need do to return home is to wish whilst in this pool. ’Tis all I did to make the fish and coos come. To make ye and the lads come.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Whilst bathing, I was pondering this place, how lovely ’twas but how lonely. I wished I had someone to share it with and—” he snapped his fingers “—there ye all were.”

She shook her head. “An explosion sent us here.”

“Mayhap, or mayhap my wish and your world simply aligned.” He forced a smile. “Or collided.”

The next morning at dawn Hamish stood in his magic pool next to Sarah. The lads, silent and dressed again in their yellow livery, stood by her side. Praying his stoic countenance would remain intact — wouldn’t collapse and expose the heartache already tearing him asunder — he reached betwixt the folds of his plaid and pulled out the five wooden animals he’d made for each of the lads. The most complex, a long-horned coo, he gave to Ty. “To remember me and the coos by.”

Lastly he turned to Sarah. He removed one of the brass cuffs that had belonged to his father and his father before him, a symbol of his once proud lineage, and placed it about her upper arm for it was too large for her wrist, and squeezed. When satisfied it would not fall off, he took her right hand in his. “I shall miss ye most dearly but wish ye well.”

“And I you.” She placed her free hand upon his chest where his heart beat painfully. Did she ken the agony their leave taking was causing him? Aye. Her bonnie eyes were filling with tears. She stood on her toes and kissed him.

Too soon she pulled away. He swallowed the aching thickness in his throat and stepped out of the pool. “Now make yer wish and fall backwards into the water.”

Gasping and gagging, Sarah staggered to her feet and raked wet hair from her face. She opened her eyes and blinked in disbelief. “Oh my God, it worked.”

She was in modern-day Edinburgh, standing in the Princess Street Gardens’ fountain. She quickly counted heads. The boys were all with her. Across the park she could see the ruined pub, a half-dozen satellite news trucks, a dozen emergency vehicles and hundreds of milling people.

“Look!” Peter shouted, pointing to a man and woman huddled together, their arms locked about each other’s shoulders. “That’s Mom and Dad!” He scrambled over the edge of the fountain and took off at a run.

“Jeremy, your parents are here, too,” Bryce shouted, “and there’s mine!” The boys bolted over the granite rim shouting, ‘Mom! Dad!” As Mark followed suit, Sarah fell to her knees.

She’d done it. Done what she’d had to do. Gotten them home safely. Now she could cry, grieve.

“Miss Colbert?”

She looked up to find Ty standing before her and dashed the tears from her eyes. “Hey, why are you still standing here? Go, join the others.”

He shook his head as she came to her feet. “There’s no reason.”

“But your grandmother—”

“She’s in a nursing home, doesn’t even remember who I am any more. Dad’s lawyer oversees my schooling … and the money.”

“Oh, Ty, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He shrugged as he took a shuddering breath. “I want to go back. The food’s terrible and there’s no doctors and stuff but I was happy there.” He studied the destroyed pub through unshed tears and whispered, “He made me feel safe. He cared.”

Her tears spilled. “Yes, he did care. Very much.”

On the other side of the park her students’ happy reunions were being interrupted by a gaggle of excited reporters shoving microphones in their faces. Shaking her head in disgust, she murmured, “I want to go back, too, but I don’t know that we can.”

Seeing his classmates point towards the fountain, Ty put his hand in hers. “We won’t know that unless we try. Please. Before they come, before it’s too late.”

Reporters began pointing at them, shouting orders to cameramen who lumbered forwards with large shoulder-mounted cameras.

She looked down at Ty. He was right. Why not try while they had the chance? She and Ty had so much to gain and nothing to lose should they fail. She’d fallen in love with Hamish MacDuff and him with her. Of that she had no doubt. More importantly, Ty needed a caring man in his life; a father, not an investment lawyer.

Sarah took a deep breath then squeezed Ty’s hand. “All right. Let’s do it. Wish as hard as you can and, for God’s sake, don’t let go of my hand.”

Hands locked, they closed their eyes, squeezed their noses shut and together fell backwards, the fountain’s cold water closing over their heads.

A world away in a lovely glen Hamish stood in his pool, his hands pressed to burning eyes. He’d not wept in years but did so now. His lovely Spaniel and lad were gone. He wished with all that remained of his heart that they might return then threw back his head and roared to the gods of his forebears, “ Why? Why did ye give them to me if ye only meant to take them away?”

Receiving no answer, unable to bear the thought of life in the glen without them, he took a step on the slanting shelf upon which he stood. Only six more strides and he’d step into the abyss. Aye, ’twould be better this way than to simply exist until his bones grew too frail and his spirit too weak to hunt.

He took another step forwards then another, his warrior’s heart beating a painful tattoo of protest against his ribs. As he took his next step the water before him began to churn and roil.

To his utter astonishment and joy his bonnie Spaniel popped up — then Ty — sputtering and flailing for all they were worth. Heart soaring, he nearly fell over the edge, grasping at his heart’s desires.