The Key to Her Heart: A Time Travel Romance

by Dabney, Blanche

  She didn’t start driving until the tears had stopped. She sat behind the wheel, refusing to look at the twinkling lantern light over by the gatehouse. The custodian was watching her. Let him watch. She had nothing to say to him.

  She got home a little after three in the morning according to the clock in the car. Parking up, she sat still for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. She wanted to go inside and sleep, hope the headache would have faded by the time she woke up.

  She almost made it to her bedroom before her feet turned and then she was in Tabby’s room, sitting on the end of her bed. “Tabby,” she whispered. “Are you awake?”

  “Daisy?” Tabby said, yawning loudly as she sat up. “I’ve been worried sick about you. What happened? What time is it?”

  “Three.”

  “A.M? I don’t think I’ve ever seen three in the morning.” She sat up and stretched. “Oh crumbs, look at you. I better put the kettle on.”

  A few minutes later they were together under a blanket on the sofa, the radio on low. Tabby had a decaf tea, Daisy gripped her Lapsang Souchong tightly in her hand, not drinking it.

  Tabby hadn’t asked her again. The silence was comforting. Having a friend who wasn’t going to laugh at her when she told her story was more comforting.

  Finally, Daisy opened her mouth. It all came out in a vomit of words. She told her about going north, about the silver key finding its own way into the door, going with Jock to the party, coming back only for him to tie her to his bed.

  “I wouldn’t mind a rugged highlander tying me to a bed sometime,” Tabby said at that point.

  Daisy didn’t laugh. “Not with what he was about to do.” She told her about the scourge, how close it came to hitting her, then about using the key again, and finally being back in the now derelict castle, Jock’s bedroom long forgotten.

  “He didn’t hit you though, did he?” Tabby asked when she was finally done. Her tea was cold. She put it down, ignoring it in favor of closing her eyes and lying back on the sofa, her head on her friend’s lap. “He could have done but he didn’t.”

  “You think that’s what matters? I think I’ve traveled through time and you care most about domestic violence?”

  “The point is there wasn’t any violence. He thought you were possessed. You can kind of see why, can’t you?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “You turn up out of nowhere and vanish just as quickly. You wear weird clothes and talk about weird things. I’d have thought you were possessed too. Or a witch. Not that I mind witches. That’s not the point. Oh, Daisy, I’m sorry, I’m not being helpful, am I?”

  “At least you believe me.”

  “Of course I believe you. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because it sounds insane.”

  “I’ve believed far stranger things than you’ve told me. I’ve believed vegetarian hotdogs might taste decent one day.”

  “Never going to happen.”

  “What I mean is you’ve just proved what it said in the book. The keys are what matter.”

  “And I lost mine so there’s no chance of seeing him again.”

  “Wait. Did I miss something. I got the impression you didn’t want to see him again.”

  “I don’t. I mean I do. I mean, I don’t know.”

  “Well, shush. What you need is to get some sleep. See how you feel in the morning.”

  “It doesn’t matter how I feel. I lost the key, I can never go back even if I wanted to.”

  “I don’t know about that. The key turned up out of nowhere last time, didn’t it?”

  Daisy sat up. “I was thinking about that. Who sent the key in the first place?”

  “Just be grateful it did turn up. You’ve got to see something most people will never ever see or understand. You’ve been to the past.”

  “And now I’m back in the present and I’m going to bed, my head’s killing me.”

  “Take something for it.”

  Daisy did as she was told, downing a couple of tablets with a glass of water before undressing in her room. All she wanted was to sleep and not dream. She managed one of the two.

  Her regular dream came back to her almost as soon as her eyes closed. It was as if her brain was trying to make sense of what happened, getting confused as to the time it could have happened.

  She dreamed she was in the bedchamber with him, once again tied to his bed. This time he held no scourge. This time he held nothing at all. He joined her under the blankets, holding her in his arms, making her feel safe.

  Then there was a knock on the door. She had to answer it thought she didn’t want to. Her feet were already sliding across the floor, the silver key gripped tightly between her thumb and forefinger.

  She unlocked the door and pulled it open. On the other side was a gaunt bald figure in a monk’s cowl. His feet were bare.

  “Good evening, Daisy,” he said. “I believe you have something for me.”

  She looked down at where he was pointing. The key in her hand. Instinctively she wrapped her fingers around it, taking a step back from him. He shook his head, beckoning her.

  Though her feet didn’t move, she slid across the floor, getting closer to him as if the room was tilting ever steeper. He opened his mouth to reveal razor sharp teeth, getting wider and taller and he was about to swallow her whole.

  Jock was by her side in an instant, slamming the door shut. “The barefoot man,” he said by way of explanation. “Lock the door. Quickly.”

  It crashed open and there he was again, beckoning her forward. Jock had hold of one hand and the barefoot man had hold of the other. She felt herself tearing in two, her soul ripping in half.

  She sat bolt upright in bed coated in sweat, panting for air. That wasn’t like the dream had ever been before. Something had changed. The barefoot man. Who was that? Jock hadn’t mentioned him. Had her imagination conjured him up?

  She tried to settle back down but it was a long time before she closed her eyes. It was even longer before she slept again. When she did, mercifully she didn’t dream.

  Somewhere in the distant past a figure sat up. He smiled in the darkness. It had been a long time since one of the keys had been used, long enough for most people to forget they even existed.

  But in the darkest corners of the most disreputable taverns, talk could still be heard about the six silver keys. Many offered to find them for a price. No one had ever managed it. Nothing but empty boasts. Until now.

  The man in the dark had found out where one was. All he had to do was get to it in time. He did not sleep again that night.

  He began pacing, his bare feet making no noise as he made his way slowly back and forth across his bedchamber.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jock knew how it sounded. “I swear I am speaking the truth.”

  To his surprise, Lachlan only nodded in response. “I believe you.”

  The two of them sat in the corner of the tavern. The place was less than half full. Most people were busy making preparations for the arrival of the king.

  “He’ll be here tomorrow night,” Lachlan said, holding up the silver key and examining it closely. “Do you think you’ll have enough time before then?”

  “I dinnae ken whether it will even work or not. What do you think?”

  “Many years ago, back when you were naught but a wee bairn, I sat and had a talk with your father about a key much like this one.”

  “You did?” Jock said, looking across at his sword master. The man suddenly looked much older than his years, his eyes misty and not just from the wood smoke that drifted out from the hearth.

  “Time is a strange thing, he told me. Not as fixed as you might think. Morag had a key like this one, almost exactly the same in fact. Did he tell you where she came from?”

  “He mentioned something,” Jock replied, thinking of his father’s story about his wife coming from the future.

  “You are the third generation of MacGregors to end up with on
e of those keys in your hands. You should ken it means something.”

  “What?”

  “That is perhaps for you to find out.”

  “You think I should do it then?”

  “I think there are dangers in trying and dangers in not. My concern is that you may not return in time to deal with Robin before the king gets here.”

  “If I am to make this journey, it will not be a long one.”

  “It might be longer than you think. Time is not always on our side, my laird.”

  Jock had cause to remember those words afterward. He lapsed into silence, watching the key closely as Lachlan slid it back across the table toward him.

  He slipped it into his pocket alongside the pen she had given him, the one piece of evidence he had that he had not imagined her all along.

  He could share his thoughts with no one but Lachlan. Only the sword master would tell him the truth, anyone else would be too afraid of angering the laird to be fully honest with him.

  The silver key had opened the door to another time. That was the only explanation that made sense. She had walked through and vanished from his time, presumably to return to her own. The question was could he follow her?

  Until the letter arrived, he had no clue what to do. It was the letter that took him to Lachlan to discuss his options.

  He had been examining Daisy’s fading footprints on the floor of his bedchamber when a messenger ran up the stairs to him. “For you, my laird.”

  Jock took the scroll and broke the seal, unfolding it to find a letter that was unsigned.

  The key brought her to you. It will take you to her if you desire. Know this, my laird. The key to her heart is now with you. Make your choice. Choose wisely and the barefoot man will be dealt with once and for all. Choose poorly and none can save you or her.

  Jock looked up at the messenger. “Who gave this to you?”

  “It was left by the gate just now. There was no one there. We searched well.”

  “Search again. Letters dinnae appear out of thin air.” He glanced down at the half footprint in the doorway. Was that as true as he had once thought?

  The world he thought he knew was no more. It had changed. She had changed it. When the messenger had gone, he had hunted out Lachlan, finding him in the tavern drinking alone. Rain was falling outside. Jock noted that Lachlan’s hair was dry. He’d been there for some time then.

  Jock showed him the letter and the key and then explained his plans, drying himself by the fire while Lachlan listened.

  He could use the key to unlock the bedchamber door as she had done, follow her to wherever she’d gone. Or he could let her go and concentrate on what mattered, getting the truth out of Robin before the king’s arrival.

  “Robin has been gone all day,” Lachlan told him. “I have men out searching for him in case he has fled.”

  “Has anyone seen him at all?”

  “No but he told the almoner he was merely going to pay the last of the masons who worked on his house. Said he would be back by tomorrow.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I have men watching the borders. If he tries to run, they will find him.”

  “They better.”

  Jock and Lachlan drank steadily as the night wore on. Jock felt the key weighing heavily in his pocket. “I shall go and see her,” Jock said at last. “I will not be long.”

  “That may not be up to you.”

  The door burst open and two heavily armed men appeared, water dripping down their armor. “We found him, attempting to hire a boat.”

  Jock got to his feet. “Where is he now?”

  “Outside, my laird.”

  Jock and Lachlan followed the men out. Robin cut a forlorn figure. He was soaking wet, his clothes ruined and splattered with mud. He was trying to reason with his guards as they walked out. “I am financier of this clan and I demand that you release me.”

  “Why would they do that?” Jock asked. “They do not answer to you. They answer to me.”

  “For now,” Robin said, turning and looking straight at Jock. “How dare you do this to me? I have done nothing to deserve such treatment.”

  “Where were you going, Robin?”

  “Going? I wasn’t going anywhere.”

  “Then why were you at the docks trying to commission a ship to sail under you?”

  “That’s a lie.”

  Jock sighed. “Put him in the dungeon for the night. Maybe he’ll feel more talkative in the morning.”

  “No,” Robin said as the men dragged him away. “You can’t do this to me.”

  Jock marched up to him and lowered his voice to a growl. “You did this to yourself when you forged my signature on the assignation.”

  He stepped back, watching them go, Robin mixing pleas with threats as he was dragged over to the keep.

  “So much for subtlety,” Lachlan said, slapping him on the shoulder. “At least he’s back. Do you think he’ll talk?”

  “He’ll talk,” Jock replied, heading back into the tavern, wiping the rain from his face as he did so. “He’ll talk or he’ll die.”

  “And what about the other matter?”

  Jock pulled out the key. “I will be back before morning no matter what. We will deal with this once and for all.”

  “And if you do not return?”

  “Then the clan is yours.”

  “I appreciate the offer but I am far too old to make a good laird.”

  “Then choose my replacement for me. If the king doesn’t exile the entire clan, of course.”

  Lachlan looked more serious than he had in a long time. He took Jock’s hand in his own, looking him right in the eye. “You just make sure you come back.”

  Jock shook before saying one final thing. “I doubt it will even work.”

  The keep felt different when he walked into it. There was something in the air that he couldn’t put his finger on, like the sensation just before a lightning strike in the worst of the winter storms.

  He paused inside the entrance hall. Two floors below him, under the stores, Robin sat in the darkness. He needed the truth from him before the king arrived if he was to keep his head and save the clan from ruin. Did he really have time to be chasing after women?

  It won’t even work, he told himself, looking at the key by the light of the candle skewered on the sconce beside him. The key might have worked to send her wherever she’d gone but it would be madness to think it might work for him.

  He would try it, nothing would happen, then he would go and talk to Robin, find out where the clan’s money had gone.

  With the key in his hand, he made his way up to his bedchamber. Reaching the corridor, he was brought up short by a figure in front of him.

  “My laird,” William said. “Come quickly, your father is ill.”

  Jock followed the guard up the next flight. The door to the top chamber was open and inside Eddard was sprawled the length of the floor, eyes tight shut, shallow breaths the only sign that he was alive.

  “Father,” Jock said, kneeling beside him. “What happened?”

  William stood beside them. “It happened after supper. Morag slept so Eddard ate alone. Then he just collapsed.”

  Eddard’s eyes opened and fixed on his son. He reached up, grabbing Jock’s baldric with superhuman strength.

  “The barefoot man,” Eddard said, his voice strained. “He returns. I feel him again.”

  “What? Who’s the barefoot man?”

  “He comes for the key. Dinnae let him take it.”

  “But who is he?”

  “He needs the key to get to the future. He tried with your grandfather and with me. He returns for you. I feel him like poison in my veins. Take the key, my boy. Hide it. Hide it well. The one you love will protect it and you from him.

  “I thought him gone forever but he returns. He is coming.” Eddard’s grip slackened and he fell back, his eyes closing once more.

  “Get him to the infirmary,” Jock said to William. “
With the utmost haste.”

  “Aye, my laird. What of your mother?”

  “Where is she?”

  “She sleeps still.”

  “Then let her remain there. Send a replacement guard for yourself. You will protect my father until I come to the infirmary. I shall not be long.”

  The guard lifted Eddard into his arms and headed out the door. It pained Jock to see his father like that. Should he go to him at once?

  He shook his head. No, there was nothing he could do that Alan could not. He thought about what his father had told him. Take the key. Hide it from the barefoot man. Whoever he was.

  Jock crossed to the bedchamber, observing his mother resting well, peace upon her face. Would she even know Eddard was gone when she woke up?

  He would have given all the money in the treasury, the key, anything, for his parents to be back to normal.

  He hardly heard the guards arrive. They had to knock twice before he acknowledged them. “Guard my mother well,” he said, marching past them and out, heading down to his own rooms.

  He opened the door to his bedchamber with the usual key and let himself inside. Then he closed the door, standing back for a moment and contemplating what he was about to do.

  What if she was a witch? What if all of this was an elaborate ruse to cast a spell upon him? Was the key about to send him to his doom?

  “Only one way to find out,” he said out loud, pushing the key into the lock and turning it a moment later. The clunk of metal shifting told him he was locked in. The key fit. That was something.

  Taking a deep breath, he turned it the other way, sliding it free and waiting, listening. What was that on the other side? Was that her voice?

  He pulled the door open and was hardly able to believe what was there.

  The corridor of the castle had gone. In its place was a small porch like none he’d ever known. It was white, painted wood. At his feet was a rug with the word ‘Welcome,’ stamped into it. In front of him was a second door a mere two feet from where he stood.

  He reached out and touched it. It was real.

  There were two panes of glass neater than any in the castle, symmetrical squares and clear beyond measure. He could see through them into a hallway beyond though the hall itself was in darkness. She was on the other side somewhere. He could just tell.