Ciaran Kerr.
And damn, why had she said what she did?I’ve been waiting for you.Where had that come from?
Claire startled when Ivy appeared at her side, threading her arm through hers. Distractedly, Ivy introduced Claire to Alaric, a huge bear of a man, with a bearing and countenance that made Ciaran Kerr seem almost friendly. Claire mumbled some vague greeting, entertaining a fleeting thought of how mismatchedthey were, Alaric and Ivy—he so big and brutal looking and Ivy so petite and pleasant. At the door, Alaric paused and extended a hand, a silent courtesy that implied Claire and Ivy should enter ahead of him.
Inside, Claire’s focus once more snagged stubbornly on the broad back of the man in front of them. He was met at the dais and table by several men who seemed to be waiting for him, likely to catch him up on castle business. She recognized the steward, Seoras, and several men-at-arms from the house guard that had stayed back while he’d taken his army off to war. A few other men who converged on him Claire did not recognize.
Alaric addressed Ivy as they walked slowly toward the front of the hall, his deep voice pitched low, though not so low that Claire missed all of it. “Best I attend him...too many wanting his ear.”
Ivy nodded quickly, her hand still looped through Claire’s arm. “Yes, go. We’ll be fine.”
Claire and Ivy paused as Alaric continued forward. “Let’s go above,” Ivy suggested, “and find some quiet.”
Grateful for the escape—not sure she could withstand another withering stare from the laird of Caeravorn— Claire nodded eagerly and they turned, walking up the stairs, the sounds of the hall fading behind them.
When they reached the landing, Ivy paused and pinned Claire with an anxious look. “Claire—what was that about? The way you reacted when you saw Ciaran? My God, you looked just as he did, when he saw you in the back of the cart when you came in with the tinker—like you’d seen a ghost.”
Claire blinked, shocked by this new bit of information. “What?”
Ivy nodded and spoke in a rushed hush. “When Ciaran looked at you—you were unconscious at the time—I swear to God, his face went white, and he...he just stared at you. I askedhim if he knew you—obviously, that’s not possible... but now... Claire, you just had the same exact reaction to seeing him.”
“I don’t...” Claire began, still unable to process the coincidence—it was more than that, though, right?—let alone put it into words, “I don’t know, but...” she paused and straightened, blowing out a long breath. And then she explained as much as she knew, or thought she understood. “Ivy, nine years ago I was in a car accident, a really bad single car crash at nighttime on a quiet country road. I thought I would die there, that I wouldn’t be found in time. It was terrifying, thinking you’re going to die all alone. Anyway, I guess I probably floated in and out of consciousness, but for quite a while there was a man there with me. I don’t know where he came from and he never said a word, but he opened the driver side door,” she said, and swallowed before continuing, “and he just sat there with me. And...I knew such peace, like just his being there eased all my fear.”
“And?” Ivy prompted, with a trace of impatience.
Claire breathed a laugh, still incredulous. “And the man, he looked exactly like Ciaran Kerr. I mean, exactly—that’s not a face you mistake for another, right?”
Ivy’s jaw dropped. “What? But that’s not—how is that even...?”
“I know, right?” Claire concurred heartily. “That’s why I just freaked out. I was so sure it was him.” She shook her head, frowning rigidly. “But it’s not. Of course, it can’t be. But wow, Ivy, the resemblance is...unreal. Down to his expression, it’s spot on.”
“But it was nine years ago...” Ivy put forward delicately.
Claire shook her head again, not unaware of the years that had passed—not any less aware that she was now seven hundred years away from that moment. “Trust me, I...I think about hima lot. I can never...unsee him. His image, his face—it’s always so crystal clear. I never lost it. It never fades.”
“Ooh, you just gave me goosebumps,” Ivy said. “Claire, that’s...amazing, astonishing, but what do you think it means?”
Claire laughed, she couldn’t help herself. “Well, hell if I know,” she replied. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore. Time seems to have...departed. Or it never was, not as we know it. I’m so confused.”
“But you have to tell Ciaran,” Ivy insisted. “You have to ask him how he knows you. Or where he knows you from. I’m telling you, Claire—he knows you. I saw the recognition. Somehow, someway, he knows you. Maybe only in the same way you know him, like in that wispy, nebulous way you just described.”
“I will,” Claire agreed, but knew she wouldn’t be anxious to approach the medieval laird, and ask him if he knew her, and oh, by the way, I wasn’t born for seven more centuries—but do you know me? Another shaky laugh followed. “Just when I thought I couldn’t be more confused than I already am.”
Ivy grinned irreverently. “Welcome to time-travel.”
***
The keep should have felt like sanctuary after more than three weeks away on campaign, but Ciaran found no rest in his bed. The stone walls seemed closer than he remembered, the silence too loud after the constant thrum of men and horses. Two hours after finding his bed with the hope of sleep, he rose and donned his breeches and tunic, and shoved his bare feet back into his boots.
He did not prowl the keep like a restless hound but went directly outside, into the night, where the stair to the battlements beckoned him, seeking high ground as if he were yet on expedition, in pursuit of the English. His boots rang softon the steps in the midnight quiet, and the night air met him cold and sharp, brine from the firth riding the wind, familiar and welcome, and he breathed easier for it.
He nodded once to the first guard he passed. Giles straightened quick enough, though his jaw cracked with a yawn he couldn’t hide. Farther on, another lad leaned against the parapet, his back to the dark hills, idly picking at his nails with the tip of his dagger.
Ciaran’s gaze and jaw hardened. A Kerr guard with his back to the world was about as useful as any other man lucky enough to be asleep in his bed. He didn’t bark at the lad, but let his stride become heavy, just enough for his boots to scrape the stone. The sound was warning enough; Andrew jolted upright, dagger vanishing, nodding a greeting before whirling around to stare out over the vast expanse of Caeravorn.
Ciaran carried on without a word, having let his displeased glare speak for him.
Further along, on the sea side of the wall, another figure stood near a brazier set against the wall, the fire’s glow catching on the fall of dark blonde hair, over the folds of a wool shawl wrapped close against the night. She was still, her gaze lifted to the sky where the moon rode high among the clouds.
