“Aye,” Patrick agreed, following his brother’s lead as one of the stable boys led his exhausted mount toward the stable.
Food and drink was what they both needed. Food and drink, and, for him, a moment alone with Syrie.
At the thought of her, his eyes were drawn upward to the high parapet, long a favorite retreat of the Faerie’s. No sign of her there likely meant he’d find her in the gardens. If she wasn’t one place, she usually could be found in the other. Either that or creeping up behind him when he least expected it.
He repressed the smile tickling at the corner of his lips. It was far too soon for him to allow himself to relax. He’d reserve that luxury until after he’d spoken to her, after he knew what her feelings for him were.
As they came through the great door, he heard his sister-in-law approaching. Two steps from the bottom of the staircase, Dani caught sight of him. Squealing in delight she launched herself to the bottom of the stairs, running toward him, arms outstretched.
“You’re home!” she proclaimed laughingly as she hugged him tight. “We missed you. Malcolm’s been beside himself since you’ve been gone.”
Next to him, his brother’s face wrinkled in displeasure. “So you think that’s a wise thing for you to be doing, wife? Throwing yerself from the stairs like that? What if you were to fall, eh?”
Dani rolled her eyes, grinning as she stepped back from Patrick to turn her attention to her husband. “But I didn’t fall, did I?”
“But you could have,” he insisted, reaching out to tuck her protectively under one arm. “You need to be ever mindful of yer condition, wife.”
“Condition?” Patrick echoed, stopping to study the couple moving ahead of him toward the Great Hall. “What’s wrong with you? Has something happened since I’ve been gone?”
She looked fine to him. Her cheeks glowed healthy and pink. If anything, she appeared a bit more filled out than the last time he’d seen her.
“Nothing at all is wrong with me,” she called over her shoulder. “Malcolm’s just being a fuss-butt, like always nowadays. I told you, didn’t I? He missed you. And thank goodness you’re back so you can be the one to fuss with him. I’m going ahead to get Cook started on something wonderful to celebrate Patrick’s homecoming. You two go on in and have a seat. After so long a time, I’m sure you have all sorts of things to catch up on, don’t you, Malcolm?”
“Yer a fuss-butt now, is it?” Patrick turned a questioning look in his brother’s direction. “Whatever that is, I can only imagine. Well? I’d have an answer. What’s going on here?”
Malcolm grinned, a smile so large, Patrick wasn’t sure he could remember seeing the like of it on his brother’s face since they were children, except for, possibly, the day of his marriage to Dani.
“Damnation! I’d planned to wait to share the news until I could pour us a wee drop, but it would seem I’ve ruined that now.” Malcolm slapped him on the back, urging him into the Great Hall and toward the table at the front. “Congratulations are in order, brother. Yer going to be an uncle.”
“Uncle?” Patrick shook his head in wonder. “Well, I’ll be. Of all the things I should have guessed, that one never came to mind.”
“Aye,” Malcolm said, still grinning. “I’ll admit to having been fair surprised, meself. But now that I’ve grown used to the idea, I find I’m quite pleased. Now, if I could only get that woman to do as I say and use more caution.”
There was an idea that made Patrick smile. Dani had never been one to quietly do as she was told. But her independence was no more than his brother should have expected when he chose to marry a woman born and raised in a future time, sent to him by the power of the Fae. Well, the power of one Fae in particular. And thinking of that particular Faerie, he’d be willing to bet Syrie had plenty to say on the subject of the impending birth, too.
“Where is—” he began, cutting off his question as Dani hurried into the room, followed closely by Cook and two of her helpers, all bearing trays laden with tempting fare for a man who hadn’t eaten since the evening before.
“Here we go,” Dani said, sliding in to sit next to her husband, not looking nearly so happy as she had when she’d left them. “Now that you’ve had some time alone, I assume you’ve told him?”
“He did,” Patrick answered for his brother. “Any more of that stair-jumping, lass, and you’ll be answering to me, as much as to our laird. And to the Elf as well, I’d imagine. Where is she, by the by?”
He hoped the question had fit into the conversation as naturally as it had popped out of his mouth, though he doubted it had from the troubled look that passed between Malcolm and his wife.
“So you didn’t tell him,” she said flatly. Her voice carried no question, only a touch of disappointment.
“Tell me what?” Patrick asked, a small tendril of dread curling in his stomach.
“Syrie is missing,” Dani said. “For over a week now.”
“Missing?” His voice sounded strangled, even to his own ears.
“Likely it’s nothing to fash ourselves over,” Malcolm reasoned. “You ken how she is. It’s no’ like she’d take the time to tell us where she was going if she took it into her head to pop back to…well, to her own home.”
Malcolm was wrong. Patrick could imagine nothing else. Syrie well might have chosen to return to the Land of the Fae but, based on the little things she’d said here and there about her home world, he doubted it. At least he doubted she would have returned willingly.
He was on his feet, at a run, taking the stairs to the floor above, to reach Syrie’s chamber. He burst through the door, coming to an abrupt halt just inside, his heart beating as if he’d been in a daylong battle.
The chamber sang with an echo of the woman who had claimed it as her own. Covers on her bed were neatly drawn up and straightened, though her nightgown lay across the foot of the bed as if she’d tossed it there to await her return at end of day.
He crossed to the center of the room, breathing in the air that still held the delicate herbal scent he associated with Syrie. He scanned the room more thoroughly, searching for any little detail out of place that might serve as a clue to her whereabouts. After a moment or two, he was drawn to a chest standing under the one high window. On its top lay a hair comb.
Her comb.
Patrick ran his fingers over the wooden tool, brushing against one long red hair tangled in its teeth. If she had left at a time of her own choosing, she wouldn’t have left such a personal item behind.
His fingers closed around the comb and he dropped the item into his sporran just as he heard his brother and sister-in-law enter the room behind him.
“She disappeared the same day the Tinklers left, so…” Malcolm shrugged, his meaning clear enough.
“But you and I both know she didn’t go with them,” Dani argued, her voice leaving little doubt that she and Malcolm had discussed this line of reasoning more than once. “She was still here hours after they left. I talked to her myself because she seemed so upset, so I know for a fact she didn’t go with them.”
“You searched for her?” Patrick asked, unable to get more of his thoughts into words.
Malcolm nodded. “Everywhere. I even sent riders out, but they found no sign of her.”
“Then I’ll find her myself,” Patrick growled. “Which way were the Tinklers heading when they left?”
“I think Editha mentioned Inverness as their next destination,” Dani told him. “I’ll have a bag of food packed for you by the time you have your horse ready.”
With a nod of thanks to his sister-in-law, Patrick strode from the room. There was no doubt left in his mind. Wherever Syrie had gone, it was not at a place or a time of her own choosing.
“Have you a plan?” Malcolm asked when he’d caught up with Patrick. “Any idea at all as to where you’ll begin yer search?”
“I know exactly where I’ll go,” he answered, breaking into a trot.
He didn’t want to talk about
it. He only wanted to be on his way. Fear knotted his stomach and dried his tongue. Though he teased the woman at every opportunity about being an Elf, he knew what she really was. He knew who her people really were. And because of that, he recognized the danger she faced. The Fae were a powerful race in this world. In their own, they were without match.
He forced his mind away from the danger and back to the woman herself until all he could think of was his driving need to find Syrie and bring her back where she belonged.
Did he have a destination and a plan in mind? Indeed he did. To discover where Syrie had gone and to see her safely home at Castle MacGahan.
And the best way to discover where Syrie had gone appeared to be to find the Tinklers.
Chapter 5
Ft. Collins, Colorado
1968
“Miss?”
Floating in a fuzzy blanket of endless black, Syrie tried to ignore the irritating noise that threatened to pierce her slumber.
“Time to wake up.”
Some unknown instinct warned against leaving this comforting cocoon, but the outside world, in the form of a vague male voice, grew increasingly insistent.
“C’mon, honey, up and at ‘em. The city isn’t running a hotel out here.” A different, deeper voice this time.
Something nudged Syrie’s arm and, like glass tapped with a hammer, the dark world sheltering her cracked and shattered, forcing her to open her eyes.
“That’s a good girl,” the deeper voice that had awakened her encouraged. “Let’s sit you up, okay? Are you hurt?”
Syrie managed to shake her head in response to the question. Blinking against the glare of the light coming from a tube in the man’s hand, she tried to focus on him rather than on the light.
“Think we have one of the frats to thank for this?” the second man asked. “Must have been some party, from the looks of that outfit.”
“Could be,” the deeper voice answered. “What’s your name, hon?”
Her throat was drier than she could ever remember, and it took two tries before she could make her mouth form the words to respond.
“Syrie,” she croaked at last. “Elesyria Aĺ Byrn, but I’m called Syrie.”
At least she was pretty sure she was called that, and by someone important to her, too. She could almost, just almost, hear her name being spoken by someone…but no, the memory was gone before it could ever be fully recalled.
“Well, Syrie Alburn, how’d you end up out here in the park tonight?” The man with the deep voice squatted beside her, one arm behind her, lending gentle support to her back as she sat.
Syrie stared into Deep Voice’s expressive eyes and knew he was someone she could trust. She couldn’t say how she knew, any more than she could remember how she got to this place. Or even where this place was. A second man stood a few feet away, one hand resting on an object strapped around his waist. Both of them were dressed identically, so she could only suppose they wore uniforms of some sort. It appeared as though these men held some authority here.
“I don’t know,” she answered at last.
Deep Voice nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Then maybe we should just get you home for now and worry about how you got here later.” He stood as he spoke, helping her to her feet, as well. “Where do you live?”
Where did she live? Syrie lifted her fingers to her temple, and stared at her feet, stalling for time. Where did she live?
She had not the slightest idea.
“I…I don’t know.”
“Well, what do you know?” the second man asked, his voice tinged with impatience. “Drugs, you think? I didn’t smell any alcohol.”
“No,” Deep Voice responded. “I don’t think that’s it. Trauma, maybe. What’s the last thing you do remember?”
Syrie searched for a memory of any kind, but found nothing but a dense, prickly black void, as if she were bumping up against a wall of invisible thorns. “Waking up here. With you.”
“Should we take her down to the station? Let them deal with it?” the second asked.
“Them?” Deep Voice repeated. “I’m senior officer tonight, in case you forgot that. Them is me. No, I have a better idea. We’re not too far from Ellie’s.”
“Your sister’s place?”
Deep Voice nodded, his hand at Syrie’s back, urging her forward. “I know this must be upsetting, but you’re okay now. I’m Sergeant MacKail and this is Officer Stevens. We’ll get you someplace where you’ll be safe for tonight.”
They walked across an open stretch of land and stopped at a black and white object, easily large enough for all of them to fit inside.
Sergeant MacKail opened a door and encouraged her to step inside. “Have a seat in the car,” he said. “Watch your head.”
Syrie waited quietly as the two men also entered, using different doors. She bit back a scream of fear when the car, as he’d called it, roared to life and began to move. By the time they came to a stop, fear had been replaced with total awe for the power of this amazing conveyance.
The door opened again and Sergeant MacKail assisted her out. The house they walked up to was large, with a light burning outside. Her companion knocked on the door and, after a few minutes, it opened to reveal a sleepy young woman.
“Danny? Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly,” he said, pulling on Syrie’s arm to bring her up beside him. “This is Syrie Alburn. We found her unconscious in the park. She can’t seem to remember anything except her name. I thought maybe this would be a better place for her tonight than down at the station.”
“Absolutely it is,” the young woman said, holding the door open wide in a clear invitation to enter. “You’re more than welcome to stay here, Syrie. Come on in.”
“Thanks, Ellie,” Sergeant MacKail said, backing away from the door as if relieved to hand over his charge. “We’ll check with campus police tomorrow morning to see if they have any missing reports that fit our little lady here. Until then, just give me a holler if you need anything, okay?”
“Go on back to work, Danny. I got this.”
The woman closed the door and then turned to face Syrie, shaking her head. “Sounds like you’re having a real bad day, Syrie. But don’t you worry about a thing. You’re going to be just fine now. Let’s get you a bedroom and then we’ll figure out everything else.”
“You’re called Ellie?” Syrie asked, following the woman toward a large staircase.
“Ellen,” her hostess corrected. “Ellen MacKail. My brother’s the only one that calls me Ellie, and I still hate it from when I was little and he called me Ellie Bellie just to make me crazy.” Ellen smiled, and started up the stairs.
There was something in the woman’s eyes that reminded Syrie of the brother who’d left only moments earlier. A goodness she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“He’s your older brother?” she asked, realizing as she compared the two that there appeared to be a big difference in their ages.
Ellen nodded as she stopped in front of a door midway down the upstairs hallway. “Older by fifteen years. I think he was supposed to be an only child, but my parents got a little careless and next thing you know, there I was. Danny always says Mom and Dad only had me to make his life more difficult.”
She grinned, her expression making her look even younger than she had before, and she pulled open the door to allow Syrie to step inside.
“The house is old and built mostly by my great-grandfather in a wonky kind of way. For some reason, he thought doors should open out into hallways rather than in to the rooms. But it’s comfortable and, having pretty much grown up here, I do love this old place.”
Syrie might not remember anything about where she came from, but she knew lovely when she saw it. “This is wonderful. I’m to stay here?”
“Yes,” Ellen said. “We’ll deal with clothes and stuff tomorrow. You’re a good six inches shorter than me, I’d guess, but I doubt having a nightgown that’s too long will mat
ter all that much. Tomorrow, when Rosella gets up, we’ll see if she has any regular clothes you can wear. She’s closer to your height than I am.”
“No need to wait until tomorrow.” The young woman who stood in the doorway grinned. “I heard voices and thought I’d come see what was going on.”
“I’m sorry we woke you, Rose,” Ellen said. “I was trying to be quiet.”
“Oh, don’t worry. You didn’t wake me.” Again the other woman grinned. “I was up late reading and I heard the door. I waited as long as I could stand it before coming out. Who’s our guest?”
“Syrie Alburn, this is my tenant and best friend, Rosella MacKeon. Syrie’s going to be staying with us while she works her way through a bit of a rough patch.”
“Welcome, Syrie,” Rosie said, casting a quizzical glance toward Ellen. “Family troubles?”
Syrie smiled in acknowledgment of the introduction and then tried to be as inconspicuous as possible while Ellen recounted Syrie’s troubles to her friend.
A bit of a rough patch, Ellen had labeled her situation. That hardly sounded awful enough to encompass just how lost she actually felt. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she remembered hearing someone speak of amnesia, and this certainly seemed to fit the bill for what she suffered. Still, she could hardly have imagined that amnesia could mean that everything and everyone she’d ever known was suddenly hidden away from her. Not even the everyday things that these people took for granted seemed the least bit familiar to her.
“Syrie? You okay?”
Syrie jerked her attention back to her companions to find them both staring at her with concern.
“I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”
Tired and confused and feeling so far out of her element, she couldn’t even remember what her element was.
“Well, of course you are. What should we expect for three in the morning?” Ellen shook her head as if annoyed with herself. “And here I am, keeping you up when I should have gotten you right into bed. Your bathroom is through this door. It’s shared with the attached bedroom, but nobody is staying there right now, so it’s all yours.”
Anywhere in Time (Magic of Time Book 2) Page 3
