“Aye,” he said slowly, gazing up at the tapestry his mother created so many years ago. The Fates certainly marred the fabric of time in whatever ways pleased them. Perhaps, Reilly mused, it was time for him to mar his own tapestry. He handed Nick his cup. “’Tis about time I took my life in my own hands.”
“You might fail.”
“Thanks for the confidence.”
Nick didn’t look perturbed. “It’s a fact we all must face at some point in our lives, Reilly. ’Tis only then that we begin to truly live.”
“The Americans have a saying. Failure is not an option. And it isn’t, not now, not with Gwen.”
“Ah. So we are talking about her.”
Reilly chuckled. Nick’s nonchalance fooled no one. “I claimed her to the Fates. So it’s out there, swirling about the universe.”
“The Fates aren’t the ones who make this decision, O’Malley. ’Tis but you and your lady love. You have to give her the choice. Look at what happened to Colin. The fool almost lost his soul mate because he was trying to make the decision for her.”
“I don’t want to make the decision for her,” he admitted, shoving his hands through his hair. “But her happiness is more important. For a long time, I went back and forth. Do I let her go, and allow her to live a lifetime of peace with another man? Do I push her into his arms, and revel in the fact that she doesn’t have to watch me watch her die, or wake up to a cold bed because I’ve been called away for some mission?” He stopped and drew a deep breath, then looked at Nick. “I’d never been so undecided about anything before. Every path had been clearly marked out. I knew the consequences of my actions before I took them. But in this? I’ve no idea which way is up, nor down.”
“Blind faith,” Nick repeated, although his tone was one of understanding. “You must trust in something, O’Malley. May as well make it love.”
“Love seems a risky trade.”
“Oh, ’tis. But the riches of it can be worth more than you could ever imagine.”
• • •
Gwen separated the strands of her hair, hoping it would dry faster in front of the fire. A lady’s maid laid out a beautiful gown of deep navy with silver trim.
The MacWilliam colors.
The chambermaid helped Gwen into a long white nightgown, then bobbed a curtsy before leaving Gwen with her thoughts.
Easing back onto the small-backed stool, Gwen tried to relax her shoulders. The window in her chamber showed night had fallen in full.
As she looked around the luxurious chamber, she admitted to being grateful for accommodations such as this. The large, four-poster bed had its curtains drawn back, showcasing the sumptuous furs and coverings that looked soft enough to bury into on a cold night.
And, being that they were in Ireland, in October, the nights weren’t exactly tropical.
She knew from experience that the feather and straw mattresses in the MacWilliam castle were free of vermin and fleas; a luxury, to be sure. And she dragged her bare toe over the uneven but smooth stone on the floor, marveling that they didn’t feel gritty. When she was in the castle last, Reilly had told her many stories of staying in various places where the floors were covered in rushes filled with rotting foodstuffs and the mattresses were so infested with fleas that the stables were a preferable chamber in which to pass the night.
Brianagh had very high and exacting standards, and though the chambermaids might grumble about the extra work, they all slept in fine beds, ate good food, practiced rather twenty-first century hygiene habits, and were healthier than anyone had a right to be in the Middle Ages.
A gentle knock on her door revealed Brianagh, carrying a tray of food. “I thought you might be hungry. Time traveling tends to do that to a person.”
“Sorry I missed supper.” Gwen smiled at the trencher, which was laden with meat, vegetables, and bread. “I didn’t really care to socialize.”
Bri filled her cup with wine and nodded her head. “Reilly won’t tell me what’s going on. And you don’t have to, either. But you’re among friends here. So you do whatever it is you need to do.”
“Thanks.” Gwen chewed thoughtfully. “What makes a good match, Bri?”
“Well,” she replied slowly, “it depends on the goals of each person. Sometimes, it’s for a life partner. That’s what I specialized in. But there are other matches, too, like when two people marry for legalities such as insurance purposes.”
Gwen toyed with the cup. “What if one person loves the other person more?”
Bri’s eyebrows knit together. “That’s part of any relationship, really. Can you give me an example?”
Gwen rubbed her temples. “I have two scenarios for you. In the first, the woman loves a man. She’s loved him for as long as she’s known him, but he loves another woman—but that second woman is, for all intents and purposes, out of reach of that man, so he settles for the woman who is there, and who does love him.”
“Ah. So this woman, she loves him despite his love for another woman?” Bri asked.
“Unfortunately.”
“Hmm. What’s the second scenario?”
“That same woman is in the reverse situation. A man loves her very much, but she loves another. But the man who loves her can offer her everything the one she loves cannot. Stability, a home, children. Normalcy.”
“Ah. Normalcy is a variable term,” Bri said thoughtfully. “It means something different to everyone. But for this woman, that’s what she wants, yes? In a perfect world, she would have the man she loves, in the life she envisions for herself.”
“The world is far from perfect.”
“Then perhaps it’s time for her to redefine what normalcy is, or what perfect is.” Brianagh smiled softly at Gwen. “But the reality is, she has to determine what will be the best choice for herself long-term. Will she grow to resent the man she loves, when she believes his heart is with another? Or would she be content in the knowledge that he chose to be with her, despite loving someone else, no matter how far out of reach she is? Only the person deciding could know the answer to that.”
“Or,” Gwen said glumly, “she knows when to cut her losses and try to love the man who loves her.”
“And that is certainly possible,” Bri agreed. “Love is as much a choice as anything. That fiery passion that consumes people is often mistaken for love. But you and I both know that’s naught more than lust. And lust is intense, but it burns out over time. Love is what’s behind that emotion. It’s in the choices you make. It’s your love’s best interests, no matter the personal cost to yourself. It’s in the words you speak to him, the way he cares for you when you’re sick, the sweetness in everyday gestures. That’s love. And if it’s true love, the kind that lasts forever, the lust doesn’t actually burn out. It simmers, always there, but no longer as consuming as it once was. It can easily be stoked into flames again, but then it’s the knowledge of what awaits when those flames calm again. And they will calm.”
“What did you mean, that one person loves another more, being a part of a relationship?”
“Well,” Bri mused, her cobalt eyes twinkling in the firelight, “the thing many people don’t understand is that love is a give-and-take. There will be times when you want to wring your husband’s neck, or he yours. In those moments, during those arguments that last for longer than either of you care to admit, one of you has to make the choice to love the other enough for both of you, until the other person regains his or her balance. And it changes throughout the years. The secret is to never fall out of love at the same time.”
Gwen pushed the trencher away and stared at the dancing flames. “So you think it’s possible to grow to love someone?”
“Absolutely.”
“Even if your heart belongs to another?”
Brianagh reached over and touched Gwen’s arm. “Listen closely Gwen, for this advice comes not from the matchmaker, but from the old married woman in front of you. For the man who loves the woman more—does he love her enou
gh for the both of them right now? And does she think that she could truly grow to love him out of mutual respect and tender feelings?”
“I think she does,” Gwen whispered.
“That’s good. But the other scenario, the woman loving the man enough for the both of them, that doesn’t necessarily work in this case, does it? Because,” she guessed, “the man in this case has a soul mate who possibly isn’t the woman who loves him so desperately. The man might be tied to another person, never to be fully happy with anyone but her, whomever she would be. Is that correct?”
Gwen nodded miserably.
Brianagh got up and wrapped her arms around Gwen; it was only then that Gwen felt her own tears.
“I wish I could help you with this,” Brianagh murmured, “but only you can make the decision, Gwendolyn.”
“Do you know who his soul mate is?” Gwen asked, half-hoping Bri would say no.
“It wouldn’t matter if I did. The words have to come from Reilly, not me. And I think you know that.”
“I asked him if it was me.”
Bri pulled back. “That was very brave of you.”
Gwen swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Was it? It didn’t feel brave.”
“Of course it was brave. Reilly doesn’t lie, so you know you would be getting the truth from him.”
“He refused to answer me.”
Bri’s face fell, sadness eclipsing her. “Oh, Gwen. I’m…”
“I know,” Gwen whispered. “Me too.”
“What will you do?”
Gwen laughed miserably. “I have no idea.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Supper last night was indeed a solemn affair without your presence.”
Claire MacWilliam spun around, her hand on her chest, and nearly fell into Reilly’s lap. He stood and easily righted her. Once he ensured she was well, he carefully pushed his sword further onto the table at his hip. He’d been sharpening the blade when he saw her breeze into the great hall from the stairway; he was grateful she fell onto him instead of the sharp steel.
She threw her arms around his neck in a most un-lady-of-the-castle way and squealed. “Oh, Ry, I’m delighted you’re here! I’ve missed you so.” She released him and stepped back, peering at his tunic for, he well knew, signs of a specific present. “Did you perhaps bring me anything?”
“Spoiled wench,” Reilly replied with a smirk, but it faded quickly. “Alas, I apologize for the disappointment, but nay, I haven’t any of what you seek.”
Being, of course, Nutella. Claire had developed a fondness for the thick paste years earlier, and Reilly made it a point to bring her a jar each time he visited.
This time, though, he obviously didn’t have time to stop at the local Tesco and grab her any.
He didn’t explain why to Claire, though. The less the headstrong lass knew about time travel, and how it was or was not working for him, was best. The saints only knew what sort of plan she’d devise to attempt to fix his current misdirection.
He laughed lightly at her crestfallen face. “Cheer up, Lady Claire. I’ve brought you something even better.”
Claire pursed her lips. “I don’t believe there is anything better.”
“What about a visit with your friend Lady Gwendolyn?”
Claire blinked. “You brought Gwen here? I thought she was in France with her parents. Lady Erin is determined to marry her off to some French nobility.”
Reilly had almost forgotten that the MacWilliams’ closest friends and allies, Donovan and Erin Maguire, named their daughter Gwendolyn.
Reilly may have suggested that name, once upon a time, to the couple after having been newly introduced to Gwen of the modern variety.
“Nay, the other Lady Gwendolyn. The one who is well acquainted with Lady Eleanor and Sir Colin…?”
Claire’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. “Nay, you jest!”
He shook his head. “I do not. She has yet to rise, but she is staying in the east wing, in the chamber adjacent to mine.”
Claire gave him a strange look, but he merely raised an eyebrow at her. For all Claire’s boisterous ways, she did draw the line at questioning Reilly’s decisions. She understood that if he had a reason for keeping Gwen close to him, ’twas a good reason, and that was enough for her.
Smart lass.
“So before you rush off in haste to wake her, perhaps you can tell me why you secreted yourself away in your chamber all evening, with instructions to all that you weren’t to be bothered?” he asked mildly.
Claire wasn’t fooled. She took up her normal stance—one of immediate defiance—but then paused. Slowly, she unfolded her arms, dropped her shoulders, raised her head, and clasped her hands demurely in front of her stomach.
Reilly was instantly suspicious.
“I take many nights to myself, reflecting upon my life choices.”
He frowned. “Do your clansmen actually believe that pathetic bit of drivel?”
She smiled easily at him. “’Tis easy to believe when ’tis the truth. I’ve many difficult choices ahead of me. And very soon, I’ll have to decide which path to take. So I’m using my time wisely to reflect on how my life has been, and how I’d like my life to be.”
“Your da presenting you with ever more suitors?”
“Always.”
Reilly shook his head. “You’ll make someone very happy someday. Unbalanced in the head, perhaps, but happy nonetheless.”
“Reilly!” she exclaimed, giving him a light punch on the shoulder.
Actually, Reilly thought, that punch was a bit more than light. “Have you been training?”
Her face lit up. “Aye!” Her expression changed to one of concern. “Oh! Did I injure you?”
He snorted. “Nay. But I certainly did feel a difference. You’re stronger. Does your sire know about this?”
“You know he wouldn’t approve.” Claire twisted her hands into her dress. “But I’ve no idea what the future holds for me, and Mami has always told me to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. So I’m preparing.”
Claire was one of the mightiest women he knew; Reilly often thought it such a waste for her to be born the only daughter of a powerful laird. She was destined to marry for clan alliance more than love, though Brianagh was trying for both.
Hence why Claire had been allowed to turn so many suitors away, though Reilly knew Nioclas faced pressure to marry her to one of the Maguire lads. Erin and Donovan had six sons, but Claire had been brought up like a sister to them.
“I’ve the utmost faith in your abilities to make the correct choice,” he finally replied.
She smiled widely at him. “That means much, Reilly. My thanks.” She threw her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to find Lady Gwen.”
Reilly gave her an indulgent smile, and she hurried off, waving to people as she went.
Aye, Lady Claire was a special young woman. Reilly only hoped that her future husband did not attempt to clip her wings.
• • •
Gwen pulled the woolen cloak tighter around herself, warding off the chill coming from the ocean. Up here, on the battlements, she had space to think, and to breathe.
It was the first time she’d been out of Reilly’s presence for days, and she was both elated and sad. Her emotions, she admitted, were all over the place.
The sea glittered in the weak sunlight, and in the distance, there was nothing but the horizon line and a few puffy clouds.
“There you are!”
Gwen turned, surprised, as a figure emerged from the battlement steps, huffing. “Claire!”
They embraced, and Claire blew out a breath, frosting the air. “’Tis uncommonly cold today for October, isn’t it? Reilly said you were in your chamber. I’ve been looking for you for over an hour, and my feet are fair to freezing off!”
“I’ve been up here the whole time,” Gwen replied, tucking her numb fingers back inside her cloak. She shivered. It was colder than the day before. “Do the t
rees change color here?”
“Oh, aye. ’Tis a wonder.”
The women looked across the ocean again, as a few birds dipped and flew over the waves.
“It is beautiful here,” Gwen said wistfully. “It looks much the same on my side of the sea. If you were to travel mostly west and a little south, on the other side of the horizon lies my country.”
Claire shook her head in wonder. “My mother has told me of such things, but I confess to not quite believing it.” A moment of companionable silence passed. “If I were ever given the chance, I would but love to see such a thing.”
Gwen half-smiled. “There’s so much about this time that’s good, too, though. The simplicity. The anonymity or the notoriety, if you want it. The sound of the rain, the smell of the earth. In too many places in my time, these have all been lost.”
“How can one lose the sound of the rain?” Claire asked curiously.
Gwen glanced at her friend, who was almost the spitting image of her mother. “Imagine thousands of cows within your village, and they are all constantly mooing. Now put them in the rain, but don’t stop the moos. The sound of the cows becomes all you hear.”
“You have that many cows in the future?” Claire asked, wonder in her tone.
“Not quite,” Gwen hedged, wondering if she could explain horns and cars and buses. She opted not, and instead added, “But it’s similar to that.”
“The adventures you must have,” she murmured.
The Venezuelan jungle rose in her memory, and she swallowed hard. Determinedly, she focused her eyes on the swooping gulls, the waves crashing in the far distances, and the uncommonly blue sky.
All good things. All soothing sights and sounds. Just blue, blue, and more blue. Gwen breathed through her nose and exhaled slowly out of her mouth. In again. Out again.
Claire continued, her voice melodic, and her bearing relaxed, as though she was remaining calm so she could lend some of it to Gwen. “’Tis wondrous, the place I find myself in now. For the entirety of my life, I’ve watched my mother unite people. Good people, ones who might never have thought to be with the other. They marry and lead happy lives together. I was brought up to believe that one day, I would share that same fate. I would meet a man and fall in love. The tales my mother used to spin were so romantic!”
Falling Through Time: Mists of Fate - Book Four Page 26
