He purchased water for them, water. People paid for water in this time. ’Twas absurd.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she accepted the bottle of water, drinking deeply.
Callan only nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he looked up, his gaze meeting hers in the dim light.
’Twas time to tell her the truth.
“Daisy?”
She touched his arm. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to be sick. Did you get hit on the head in the fight?”
“Nay, lass. My head is hard as a rock, remember?”
He led her over to a wooden bench. They sat, listening to people laughing as the music played on.
“There is much to discuss. Much about me ye do not know.”
Her touch burned through the sleeve of his shirt.
“Your memories came back?” Her eyes shone. “That’s great news. Tell me everything.”
With a deep breath, he told her his tale.
“I did not lose my memories.” He told her how he’d been treated when he arrived in this time and tried to tell the truth, so when he met her, he did not wish her to think his wits addled.
“… I found myself somewhere out of time.” He paused, watching her reaction.
Daisy blinked, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “Out of time? What do you mean?”
Taking a deep breath, Callan lowered his voice. “I am not of this time. I am from the year 1311. And I lived in the Scottish Highlands until … until I found out I had a half brother. A bloody Englishman named William, Lord Blackford.” He told her of aiding William’s wife, Lucy, as they escaped Agnes, of the mercenaries, and of the great storm on Samhain.
“… so ye see, I must return to my own time. To my brother. He offered me a place at Blackford, a home. Family.”
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with Daisy’s rapid breathing, the distant sounds of a lute carried from somewhere far off. She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of jest.
“You’re serious,” she stated. It wasn’t a question.
“Aye, lass,” Callan confirmed, his expression grave.
He watched her face, tense, wondering if she would run from him.
When she touched his arm, her hand was trembling.
“So, all this time, the way you talk, the way you act—it’s because you’re actually from the past?”
“Aye,” Callan said, his Scottish accent more pronounced with his confession. “I ken it’s hard to believe. I scarcely believe it myself, but I was on the battlements at Blackford, then the storm came and when I woke, I was in an alley here in Boston, my blades and St. Christopher medal gone.”
Daisy laughed, a short, disbelieving sound. “It’s not just hard, Callan. It’s … it’s unbelievable. But somehow, looking at you now, hearing you say it—” She paused. “In a crazy way, it explains a lot.” She held up a hand. “I’m not saying I believe you, because if time travel is real, wouldn’t we have heard about it? It would be all over the news, no matter how the government tried to hide it. But I do think there’s something more to your story than amnesia.”
He took her hand in his. “’Tis more than I hoped. Will ye forgive me for not telling ye sooner?”
“Everyone has things they keep to themselves.” A shaky laugh escaped as he put a hand on her back to steady this fierce woman.
“This is a doozy, but still. I can see why you’d worry about telling me. It does make you sound a little unhinged.”
Their eyes locked, and for a long moment, the world seemed to pause around them—the noise of the Faire fading into a distant background.
Just as Callan leaned in, a loud crash from the pavilion shattered the moment. Daisy jumped up, startled, as the sounds of people calling out and laughing broke them apart.
