“Please—” Nathaniel cleared his throat. “Please. Where’s Emma?”
“She went to Mrs. McCreedy’s for more eggs. She promised to return.”
“And why not?” Nathaniel croaked. “When she has this to come back to?”
Patrick smiled dryly. “She said almost the same thing. I think you two have a glorious future ahead of you.”
“Congratulations on seeing the truth as well.” He sat down next to his, er, cousin, and looked at him. “Thank you—and I apologize for all the names I called you over the last several hours.”
“Days, rather,” Patrick noted mildly. “You’re welcome, and don’t fash yourself. Trust me, I’ve heard much worse, and that from both my wife and sister-in-law.” He handed Nathaniel a mug of something steaming. “Lovely of your lady to rescue your sorry arse.”
“Indeed it was.” He had a drink, then came damned near choking. “If that’s coffee, I would hate to taste what you use in your driveway.”
“Gravel, which that is not,” Patrick said. He helped himself to a hearty sip of his own brew, then cradled his mug in his hands. “Emma said you found your mother, but left the details for you to relate. Was she one of the Fergussons’ gels?”
“Actually, she’s one of Malcolm MacLeod’s bastards.”
Patrick choked. Nathaniel would have taken a bit of pleasure in that, but he found he couldn’t. He waited whilst his guest got hold of himself, then looked at him seriously.
“You didn’t know?”
“Hadn’t a bloody clue,” Patrick said, looking at him with wide eyes. “I thought she was a Fergusson.”
“So did we.”
Patrick shook his head slowly. “Genealogy is a dodgy business.” He leaned back in his chair. “Feel up to giving me the entire tale?”
Nathaniel supposed there was no reason not to. He had another sip of truly awful coffee, then told Patrick in as few words as possible about his initial journey to the past, the impossibility of convincing his uncle to come forward withhim, and the absolute improbability of finding that his mother had been helping Emma get him away from the Fergusson keep.
“It was Emma to realize who my mother was, of course, thanks to her own brilliance and a quick look at some notes Alexander Smith sent me.”
Patrick lifted his eyebrows briefly. “Alex does love a good mystery.”
“I won’t ask for a list of things he’s already solved,” Nathaniel said. “But a mystery it definitely was. We encountered my uncle—my father’s brother—in the forest, he offered to take my mother back to the MacLeod keep, and I’m supposing the tale ended well since I’m still breathing.”
“Balance is restored, I suppose.”
“I think my uncle said exactly that.”
“A wise man, your uncle.” Patrick shrugged. “He eventually sends her forward, he stays in the past, there are no stray threads in the plaid of time.”
“Save that my mother bore three children where she wouldn’t have if she’d stayed in medieval Scotland.”
“Well,” Patrick said with a small smile, “I didn’t say ’twas a perfect system now, did I? Just don’t tell Jamie.”
Nathaniel snorted. “There isn’t a damned thing I can do about it now, is there? And before I forget to ask, was I having a nightmare, or did I see my grandfather here yesterday?”
“Day before yesterday, and aye, that’s who you saw.”
“And Emma’s father?”
“Can’t vouch for the spot he takes up in your dreams,” Patrick said with a smirk, “but aye to that as well.”
“Where are they now?”
“Jamie’s.”
“Good lord.”
