“Drawings for my own home.”
Unlike the gothic revival design of Argyll’s castle, Finn’s was more palatable to the eye. An elegant, wonderfully detailed manor of four stories with rows of windows to look out over a lovely fountain. “Beautiful. Where are ye going to build it?”
“Northwest of Elgin. Near where my castle stands on the Firth of Moray.”
“Gorgeous area,” she commented, shuffling to the next page that showed the rear of the manor with a tangle of gardens leading to the sea. The drawing was rendered with obvious love. “I’ve driven through there.”
“Driven?” he repeated. “A carriage? I suppose I shouldnae be surprised.”
With a sigh, Aila turned back to him. “There’s so much to tell ye.”
“So ye’ve said.”
She sat before him, close enough that her bare toes brushed the stiff leather of the tall boots he wore to the worksite. She stared at her reflection in them, wishing it might reveal an easier way. Secrets kept for the indeterminable number of years Boyce had kept the necklace hidden would have to wait. She needed to start with the basics. “The Dress Act of 1746 made the wearing of Highland dress illegal, including the kilt.”
“Aye, I ken —”
Aila held up a hand and continued. “The law will be repealed by Parliament in 1782.” Finn subdued his exclamation under her tight stare. “Before that happens, things are going to get far worse for Scotland. For many reasons, including the economic downturn following the battle of Culloden, agricultural landlords will be forced to turn to pastoral farms. Sheep, the nasty buggers. As a result, tenants who had farmed those lands for generations are going to be displaced.”
“Displaced?”
“Evicted. Hundreds of thousands of them. It’s called the Highland Clearances.”
“Such a vision extends beyond reasonable deduction, lass. As ye’ve already said that ye’re nae clairvoyant, how can ye kent such a thing?”
A logical question. And the one she’d come to answer. “I ken because where I come from it isnae only theory. It’s fact. History.”
“Ye’re off yer head, lass.”
“Nay, Finn. I’m from the future.” He might look at her as if she was deranged but it felt rather good to put it out there. No more secrets. Ever.
Or for as long as she had before he kicked her to the curb and fled.
Finn said nothing. Did nothing beyond watch her with an inscrutable look upon his face. Silence stretched until her nerves felt ready to snap. “I’ve learned the hard way that knowing what a person truly thinks is far more beneficial than assuming ye ken a person’s mind. Talk to me, please.”
He shook his head. “I fear ye maun be suffering the same fever as the others, lass.”
“I’m no’ ill, Finn. Or mad or havering nonsense. It is a simple truth. If ye care to take a little walk with me, I can provide proof to my claim.”
Aye, she’d learned much about time travel from Brontë’s adventures and from her mistakes. There had also been something to be gained from her successes. Her friend had launched Tris into their time to show him the truth of which no words could convince a hardheaded man. The proof had been in the pudding, as they say.
Hard to deny what was right in front of their faces.
Aila meant to take the same approach.
“Bollocks. If ye expect me to believe such nonsense, yer at it.”
“I am no’ acting the idiot,” Aila insisted. She reached behind her for her discarded trousers and fished her time travel device out of the pocket. “I ken it seems impossible that such a wee object could hold such power. Nevertheless, it can transport people from one time to another. In this case, me and Rabbie from the twenty-first century to 1748. If ye’ll come with me, ye’ll see.”
This version of show and tell gained her nothing more than transparent disbelief. Damn, she should have gone big as Brontë had. Shown him the future first and explained afterward. He didn’t believe her and why should he?
“Och, I kent ye could weave a fantastic tale, lass. If ye’d wanted to keep my attention, ye shouldnae have spun such outlandish fiction.” His frown deepened and he climbed to his feet. “What is all this? A ploy to divert me from my revenge?”
“Finn, ye have to listen to me. Let me show ye.”
* * *
“Ye maun be right chuffed with yerself to distract me so.” Ignoring her outstretched hand, Finn yanked on his shirt. “There’s nae tale tall enough to prevent me from heaping justice upon Etteridge for the evil he’s done.”
