Ciara rested her hand atop Maxwell’s shoulder. “I knew Latharn had done well. Faolan will be so pleased to hear this news.”
Maxwell snorted. “Aye. Latharn’s done better than well. And Faolan will be more than pleased. He’ll be relieved.”
At that moment, Trish stirred beneath the covers, shifting her head from side to side. With a weak moan, she dragged a hand over her eyes, her pale fingers trembling. “Ramsay. Would you please turn the TV down and shut off a few of these lights? Auntie Trish’s head is about to split wide open. This migraine appears to be a doozie.”
Joy radiated from Ramsay’s face. His mouth stretched into a wide, toothy grin. “It’s not the TV, Auntie Trish. And the only kind of lights we’ve got in this room are bunches of candles. Ye want me to blow a few of them out?”
Trish’s squinting blue eyes appeared between her spread fingers as she slowly shifted to her side. “Son of a—”
“Auntie Trish!”
Maxwell bit back the laughter threatening to spill and grabbed Ramsay by the shoulders, gently moving him to the side. “Ye would fare better if ye kept still, lass. Ye’ve got quite a gash across the back of your head and a fearsome bruise forming over the ribs on your right side.”
Trish flinched as her hand slid away from sheltering her eyes. Lifting the blankets, she tucked her chin and peered beneath covers. “Uhm. I appear to be naked.”
“Don’t worry, Trish,” Ciara interjected. “I’m the one who undressed you once Maxwell brought you to the bed.”
Pulling the blankets higher about her neck, Trish squinted up into their faces. Her voice trembled as she mumbled, “Thanks.”She flinched as she gently pressed her fingertips against the edges of the cloth bandage wrapped around her head. “What exactly happened?” Reaching out, she grabbed a hold of Ramsay’s sleeve and pulled him over beside her. “Where are we, Ram?”
“Ye are at MacKay keep.” As Trish flinched, Maxwell lowered his voice. “Ye are safe, lass. Nothing will hurt ye here.”
Trish snaked an arm around Ramsay’s chest and hugged him closer still. Choking out a husky whisper filled with uneasiness, Trish closed her eyes as she spoke. “I thought you said we would end up in my room?”
Ramsay looked at her with an apologetic shrug as he pointed at the highly polished stonework patterned into dark curlicues around an extremely unique hearth. “We are in your room. Kinda.”
“Kinda, my—” Trish stopped, her cheeks reddening as she struggled to continue. “You better be glad it pains me to move or I would have your butt, Ramsay Alexander MacKay.” Trish hissed out a pain-filled groan as she fell back against the piles of pillows.
Maxwell couldn’t resist a chuckle. Lore, the woman’s tongue matched the fire of her hair even when she lay weak as a kitten. “What year are ye from, boy?” Perhaps if he gave Trish a bit of time to regain her strength, she would talk more with them later.
Ramsay clamped his mouth shut and returned his arms to their stubborn position of folded over his chest.
Trish cracked open an eyelid and poked Ramsay’s shoulder. “Answer him, Ramsay. You are not going to be able to single-handedly bail us out of this one. We’re going to need their help.”
“But I’ve heard of him, Auntie Trish.” Ramsay turned with his hands up against his mouth as though he could hide his words. “Da told me about a man named Maxwell that was Uncle Faolan’s best friend.”
“And what exactly did your da say?” Maxwell hooked his thumbs back into his belt, struggling to keep from grinning. He had a pretty good idea of the words Latharn would’ve used to describe him. Maxwell and Latharn had never seen eye to eye because Faolan had always been closer to Maxwell than he’d been to either of his brothers. Maxwell and the eldest son of clan MacKay were best friends. Maxwell and the other MacKay siblings were not.
Ramsay remained silent.
Trish covered her eyes with her hands and deflated with a sigh. “Say it, Ramsay. I’m sure it was something brilliant.”
Ramsay took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and met Maxwell’s gaze. “He said ye were a pompous arse hole that thought entirely too much of yourself.”
Trish groaned and held her head as Maxwell and Ciara both snorted with laughter.
“Did he now?” Maxwell chuckled and nudged Ciara with his elbow. “Well, perhaps ye’ll find I’m not nearly as big of an arse as your father described.” Shoulders still shaking with silent laughter, Maxwell motioned the boy away from the bed. Poor Trish looked as if she was about to retch and every time the lad jarred the bed frame, her skin paled to another shade of sickly yellow. Maxwell bent and leveled his gaze even with the boy’s. “Now, tell me. What year have ye traveled from?”
After a quick glance at Trish’s pale face, Ramsay tucked his chin and mumbled a barely audible 2020.
“2020?” Maxwell repeated.God’s teeth.A wave of uneasiness shuddered across his body. The woman and the boy had traveled back across the web of time nearly six hundred years.
“What year is this?” Trish croaked with one arm still thrown across her eyes.
“In but a few days, ’twill be the year 1425.” Maxwell cleared his throat as he smoothed the sides of his unruly moustache. “Today’s date is the tenth of December in the year 1424.” Maxwell blew out a groaning sigh as he shook his head. “Winter Solstice.”
“Can’t be,” Ramsay countered. “Winter Solstice is December twenty-first.”
“Not in the year 1424, Ramsay,” Trish rasped in a weakened voice from the bed.
