I walked toward Ferrari. “We didn’t look in this one.” I opened the top and dug through it to find Torin’s sporran. I yanked it up, “Another win! We just keep winning!”
“Och aye, my sporran!” He opened it. “My coins, my…” He held up the pencil box with the matches.
“Oh that is good, we find matchesafterwe get to go home. A fire would have been nice here today. But we don’t need them now.”
He put the sporran on around his waist.
I said, “So next we have to set the vessel, you remember the markings?”
“Aye.”
“Good, we just have to get them right.”
He balanced the vessel in his hands as if he were checking the weight.
I said, “Except last time you did this, you were in my basement.”
“We established twas safer.” His eyes flicked up at the trees. “Doing it outside is how a man ends up jumpin’ intae a tree five centuries away.”
He exhaled, crouched low, and placed the vessel on the ground.
“Do you mind if I hold on?”
He extended his elbow. I knelt beside him, gripping his upper arm, needing the proximity while he worked.
He set about adjusting the vessel’s markings, careful and methodical. He would turn it, get the markings in order, then quickly roll it onto the dirt. Then we would both peer down on the symbols. Again and again, until every line was exact.
The process felt endless. My knees ached, my nerves frayed, I shivered a bit in the chill afternoon in my dripping wet hair — but I did not want him to rush.
“I am sorry tis taking so long.”
“No worries, I’m just happy to go back. When we get there I am going to make you a steak dinner. I’m already planning it.”
We both peered down at the vessel lying still in the soil. Torin didn’t reach for it. He just stared, tense, like the thing might grab him and drag him away.
I whispered, “Does it have the right markings?”
“Aye,” his voice was low, certain. “We are verra fortunate. We hae a vessel. I will get ye home.”
“This feels like even more winning.”
“It does.” We both stood and he adjusted the belts at his waist. His eyes shifted to the horses waiting nearby. “I haena time traveled with a horse afore. I wonder will it be enough tae hold their reins?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Wish we had instructions — should we sit on them?”
“Nae, I daena like that idea. If I land in a heap, I daena want a horse on top of me, even if tis a fine horse. We will hold their reins.”
“As good an idea as any.”
He gathered the reins and drew the horses close, until their warm muzzles pressed into a tight circle around us. He slipped an arm around me, clutching the back of my wet sundress, as if holding on, and I tucked myself against him, gripping the reins alongside his hand.
Torin spoke to the animals as if they understood. “Horses, forgive me for what I am about tae do. Ye are goin’ tae hate time travel, but sometimes ye hae tae do things ye daena like.”
Then his eyes met mine as I was stoically holding onto his arm. “Ye arna afraid?”
“Last time I was assaulted and kidnapped away from my home. This time, I’m going back by choice. I’m not afraid.”
His jaw flexed. “Tis painful.”
