He couldn’t resist a smile as he scooped his jeans up from the floor and slipped them on. “Ye need not worry about that, lass. I assure ye my job is quite secure.”
Before she could turn back into the bathroom and head for the shower, he gave her a suggestive grin. “What time do ye have to be at work?”
“We don’t have time,” she said, regret lacing her tone. “But tonight…” She gave him a suggestive look of her own.
He pulled her close and confirmed the date with a powerful kiss that hinted at even more—if only they had the time. Once he made her properly breathless, he drew back and smiled. “Until tonight then, lass.”
She gave a heavy sigh and backed toward the shower. “Shame we can’t jump to tonight and skip the working part of the day.”
“Aye, lass.” He clenched his teeth to keep from revealing anything more. “A damned shame we canna jump across time.”
“I dinnaken how to tell a woman from this time that I need her to come home with me to 1379.” Caelan shifted in place, watching a sleek turtle, more black than green from the muck at the bottom of the pond, crawl up onto the large limb sticking up out of the water, and stretch its wee head toward the sunlight dappling down through the trees.
While Caelan enjoyed a sense of contentment this morning, nay, it was more than contentment—it was a feeling of completeness—yet still, worry and dread about the next task looming on the horizon threatened to steal his joy. He eyed the rippling rings spreading from the turtle’s perch as another turtle joined the first. An ache for his home filled him. He missed the sea’s crashing waves around the castle of Clan MacKay.
“What can I say to her that’ll not sound as if I’ve gone mad?” he asked Emrys.
The druid frowned as he idled his way around the bank of the pond, stroking his beard with every footstep. “It may not be as difficult as ye think. There is something mystical about this place. I saw that violet orb surround the two of ye yesterday evening. Perhaps the lass won’t think it so strange if she’s open to the energies.”
“We haven’t talked about the light that brought us together and helped us see each other’s hearts.” Caelan resettled his stance and adjusted that dratted seam in the crotch of his trews that was doing its damnedest to split the hard rising the memory of last night gave him. “We nay talked verra much yesterday evening.”
Emrys shook his head and rolled his eyes as he settled himself down on his limestone ledge. “Ye best set your mind on more talking with the lass. We’ve but a short time left here in Kentucky.”
He offered his staff and inclined his head toward the deepest end of the pool. “Take this and stir the waters. With any luck, the energies of this place will guide ye.”
Caelan clenched his fists while eyeing the staff. To take hold of that thing would be like grasping hold of a poisonous adder. “I canna call to the powers of this place.”
Emrys pushed himself to his feet, stepped down off the ledge, then shook the staff at Caelan. “Ye ask me to advise ye, andthen ye refuse to listen! So, ye've become a coward, then? Has traveling to the future stripped your manhood from ye?”
“Ye forget your place, druid!” Caelan growled. “When have ye ever known me to cringe from a battle?” He snatched hold of the staff and barely controlled the urge to snap it in two.
Emrys tipped his head to a submissive angle and slowly backed away. “Forgive me, my laird. I was merely frustrated that ye lost your belief in the ways. After all, ye ordered a chapel built next to the keep and brought a priest in for those in the clan who might find comfort from it.”
“I can believe in both, old man. A wise leader keeps his mind open to all possibilities.” He strode to the darkest waters of the pond, lifted his face to the heavens, and sent up a silent prayer to every benevolent power he had ever known. After breathing deeply to slow the pounding of his heart and clear the chaos from his mind, he touched the tip of the staff to the pond, the waters dark in the shadows of the trees.
At first, nothing happened. Caelan focused harder, holding Rachel clearly in his mind. Shimmering colors, golds, silvers, reds, and violets appeared where the rod touched the water, flowing out and spreading as though pouring out of the staff. Then the image of an overwrought Rachel came into focus. Eyes wide with fear, hands held up in terror, she backed away from something that was still too smudged and foggy to make out. Then the snarling face of Jayden Smith cleared in sharp detail. He was the one making Rachel retreat.
Rage sent Caelan’s blood to a slow boil. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance.” Teeth clenched, he tightened his hold on the cane, envisioning his hands around the man’s throat.
The image disappeared but was replaced by one of Rachel sitting on an ancient stone bench, her face buried in her hands. As Caelan studied the vision closer, he recognized the garden asthe one enclosed by the protective walls of his castle. Rachel was weeping, her shoulders shaking as though her sobs would never cease.
He looked up at Emrys, his heart turning to lead in his chest and sinking like a weight to the pit of his stomach. “What do these images mean? It looks as though she returns with us but ends up miserable. Will she not be happy with us in the past? Will she not be able to join us and settle in like one born in that time?”
Emrys frowned, his wild white brows knotting over his troubled eyes. He took the staff back from Caelan and slowly shook his head. “I canna tell ye what the images mean. Only that what ye have seen will come to pass.” His gaze dropped to the ground. “Her weeping in your garden could be explained easily enough since we dinna ken what has come to pass right before that moment. Perhaps we should not have looked for guidance. Sometimes, following your heart is best.”
Caelan narrowed his eyes, glaring at the old man. “So, what ye are telling me is that we’ve merely complicated matters by toying with your wee crystal ball here?”
Emrys bowed his head. “Aye. My deepest apologies, my laird.”
“Hey,Hawk! What am I supposed to do with all these roses?” Mercy’s voice filled the crane cab, drowning out the local radio station currently playing one of Rachel’s favorite songs.
“If they’re from Smith, then find out if any of the guys in the mill want to take them home to their wives.” Rachel released the mic on the radio and added, “Or call Mr. Smith’s office and leave a message for the roses to be shoved where the sun doesn’t shine—preferably with the thorns fully intact.” She adjusted her safety glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and stretched to peer down at the bundle below her magnets.
“And all these balloons?” Mercy’s voice was taking on a decided strain in her struggle to keep from giggling over the radio.
“Pop them,” Rachel said as she picked up the bundle of steel, maneuvered it over the roll line, and positioned the long bundle of channels for cutting at the offline saw.
“And then there’s the candy?” Mercy had given up on trying not to snicker. She merely keyed off the mic to keep her fit of giggles from clogging the airwaves.
