“Do you want to see the notes I took earlier? That scene has changed!”
She shook her head, feeling bombarded, almost frantic.
“Damn it, how can I prove it to you?” He turned away, running an agitated hand through his tousled hair. Suddenly he demanded, “What do you know about the Viscount Belmont who built this place?”
“I…I have the diary he kept. It’s locked in the safe.”
“So I keep a diary, do I? Then I’ll undoubtedly put in some clue to prove my story to you.”
“What?”
He shook his head, smiling suddenly. “How do I know? I haven’t done it yet. Of course, it is possible I am not able to get back to my own time. In that case, Viscount Belmont will be either Aubrey or Hillary.” He looked around the room, shaking his head. “This place is not like either of them, though. But it is like me. Where is the diary?”
There was something powerful, sincere—and desperate—about the man that made her almost believe him. Now, alert to danger, his resemblance to her birds became more than merely physical. He had the heart of a falcon, she realized, the keen instinct of the hunter. The comparisons both fascinated and frightened her.
Mutely, she led the way to her office. Built into the wall beside her desk was a fireproof safe, which she opened. She pulled out a handful of papers, then drew an ancient book wrapped in plastic from the bottom shelf. Carefully, she opened it.
“When the time is right, the need for the following chronicle will be understood.” The neatly inscribed words on the opening page jumped out at her. She had often wondered about them.
Belmont laughed shortly as he read over her shoulder. “That’s my hand, all right. I suppose I wanted to make it mysterious to intervening generations.”
“There’s nothing in here. I’d have discovered any message addressed to me at once.”
“Then obviously I wasn’t so coarse as to leave one. No, I’d be more likely to leave something subtle. There isn’t by any chance a portrait or a sketch, is there?”
She choked. Carefully, she turned the aging manuscript pages to the back of the book. There, attached firmly to the padded back cover, was a miniature.
Riki gazed down at the now-familiar hawklike features, that pepper-and-salt hair waving with a life of its own back from the high forehead. The mouth held a secret, sardonic smile.
“Gilbert Randall, Viscount Belmont,” she whispered, reading the painted inscription. She looked at the man who stood beside her, then back to the painted features.
There couldn’t be any doubt. It was the same man in the almost two-hundred-year-old portrait and standing now at her side.
She shook her head, fighting against the evidence of her eyes. “You planted this here!” she exclaimed, turning her wild, frightened gaze on him. “You and David—”
But even as she spoke the words, she knew they could not be true. David had never seen the diary. She had locked it away in the safe before ever turning the rookery over to her cousin. She hadn’t wanted the diary, which recorded the construction of Falconer’s Folly as a sanctuary for peregrines, to become a mere war-gaming prop. The lines, written in almost lyrical prose, amounted to a love paean to Belmont’s “dearest lady” and their birds.
Belmont took the book from her and directed the flashlight at the pages as he leafed through them. “I don’t suppose I really ought to read this. But it’s interesting to know what I’ll be doing in three years time.”
“If…if history hasn’t been changed by then.” Even to Riki, her voice sounded thin and nervous.
He looked down at her, his expression unreadable in the near-dark. “Do you believe me now?” he asked gently.
“It can’t be true.” But she was no longer so certain. That dome, which she would swear had been altered, the two-hundred-year-old picture of the man who stood at her side… Perhaps it was she who was insane, from living alone too long. But if his story’s true, then at least he isn’t crazy or playing some cruel joke on me! The relief that thought brought startled her.
Riki raised her gaze to his and found him watching her with so much understanding for her confusion that her last doubts fled. Only someone who had been faced with the impossible, who had been forced to accept it as true, could understand how she felt at this moment. Tentatively, she raised one hand to him, and he took it in a firm hold.
“It’s preposterous,” she said, her tone purely conversational.
“I know.” His smile faded and a grim note crept into his voice. “And now I have to discover how to return to my own time and prevent your cousin’s traitorous actions.”
“He’s not a traitor, though. He’s not British. He’s Ameri—” She broke off as horror dawned on her. “The War of 1812!”
“The what?”
“The British and Americans go to war. It must be after Napoleon is defeated in the Peninsula and heads into Russia. Our countries go to war.” But David and his current activities couldn’t be responsible for that! There were sound reasons, economic ones, for that conflict with England—weren’t there?
“With your cousin meddling, there’s a good chance Napoleon may win in the Peninsula after all.”
The potential consequences appalled Riki. If the utterly impossible had indeed happened and David now lived out his war-gaming fantasies to the detriment of history, he had to be stopped! And, with a gripping fear, she knew someone must convince him of the dangers of altering what had already occurred—someone from his time, someone he knew, liked and trusted. In short, herself.
“No!” Belmont shook his head, his features adamant.
She realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud. “I must go,” she repeated. “There’s no one else he’d listen to.” She saw the cold, unyielding determination in the depths of Belmont’s dark eyes, and shivered. “You aren’t even planning on talking to him, are you? You’re just going to storm in there Rambo-style and get rid of him—kill him!”
“I cannot permit such treachery, and in my own assistant!”
“I won’t let you murder David! He has no idea what he’s doing—it’s just a game to him!”
“Were you in love with your cousin?” he demanded.
“What? Of course, not! We grew up together as brother and sister. You’ve got to let me talk to him.”
Belmont’s expression softened but he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for you to try to go back through time. I must try, for that is where I belong.” He turned over the diary that he still held and gazed for a moment at the neatly inscribed cover. “This is no guarantee I will make it. This might be history the way it was, not the way it will now be.” He looked up and met her gaze. “There is every chance I will merely drown.”
An unexpected rush of fear swept through her—for him. She fought it down. “David is my cousin. It was my money that provided him with the financial freedom to pursue his war-gaming hobby ‘til he became a fanatic. So it’s my duty to stop him.”
“That’s utter fustian.” He tossed the journal onto the table and turned on his heel.
“Where are you going?”
“To make preparations. My staying here to study the battles didn’t seem to matter before. I thought your cousin was using his knowledge to help our people. Instead he’s using it against us. I’ve got to get back and stop him.”
“We’ve got to stop him.”
She shoved the book into the safe, locked it and ran after him. He stood in the hall, his head bowed, lost in thought. Slowly, she came up behind him.
“It’s going to be a hazardous endeavor,” he said.
“I know. But you’re not leaving me behind. Damn it, it’s my fault!”
He faced her and placed his strong hands on her shoulders. “So very brave. You even climb rocks in this storm to save a falcon. What would become of your Guin if you left?”
“I’ll radio Mr. Fipps. He prefers staying here to living on Jersey anyway.”
“I can’t let you risk your life.”
&nb
sp; She ignored his comment. “How do you plan to do it?”
Absently, his fingers stroked her shoulders. As if suddenly aware of what he was doing, he drew back and strode quickly into the living room. Riki followed.
“What are you going to do?” she repeated.
“The key to shifting through time must be a lightning storm.” He stared into the fire. “Your cousin disappeared in one and I came forward during another.”
Riki shuddered. “It would have to be, wouldn’t it?” She fought down the surge of terror she felt at the mere prospect of being outside during thunder and lightning. She had done it the day before to save Guin. She could do it again. “Do we just set sail?”
“We will do nothing.” He studied the flickering flames behind the fireplace door.
She expected him to elaborate but he didn’t. “David will listen to me. He must! I can convince him to stop whatever game he’s playing and come back with me.”
“I’ll need a boat.” He didn’t seem to have heard her last argument.
“I told you, the motorboat isn’t working—until Mr. Fipps looks at the engine. I have a ketch—” She broke off and a slow smile of satisfaction just touched her lips. “She takes two people to handle her.”
He turned at that and fixed her with a piercing regard. “No other vessels? And you alone on the island?”
She shrugged. “David had the smaller sailboat. I’ve only taken the ketch out with Mr. Fipps. Normally I use the motorboat if I have to run over to Jersey.”
He glared at her. “I’ll try it alone.”
“You’d be guaranteed to drown, then. With two of us, you’d at least stand a chance of controlling her. What’s more important to you—being chivalrous or getting back to your own time and saving your country?”
She didn’t give him the opportunity to answer. Taking the light from him, she turned back toward the office. “I’ll radio Mr. Fipps right now.”
“How soon can he get here? The storm isn’t showing any signs of letting up.”
“That won’t bother Mr. Fipps if he thinks the falcons need him. He has a forty-foot fishing boat that can get him through this,” she called over her shoulder. She sat down at the radio, switched its power source to the battery and turned it on. A low humming filled the air.
Mr. Fipps, standing by for emergencies as he always did in such weather, answered at once. The prospect of spending a week or two on the island delighted him. With promises to come over first thing in the morning, he cut off. He must be anxious to pack, Riki thought, amused.
She started to rise, then returned to her position at the desk. There was one more thing she really ought to settle. What if they didn’t make it back through time? Belmont had been right—they might very well drown. The whole idea was so crazy as to be unbelievable. No sane woman would undertake such an adventure.
A slight smile playing about her lips, she drew a plain piece of paper before her and carefully penned the words: “I, Erika Teresa van Hamel, being of sound mind…”
The document took her only five minutes to compose, being merely an update to her existing will. But just in case something happened, she wanted to leave Falconer’s Folly to Mr. Fipps. The lack of witnesses couldn’t be helped, but no one in her family was likely to go against her expressed wishes—at least not where this island was concerned. They simply wouldn’t care.
She found Belmont in the living room, staring into the fire with a deep frown creasing his brow. Intensity radiated from him, enveloping her as well until her skin prickled with his tension. This was no joke. He believed in his story—and in the danger of his intended undertaking.
She swallowed hard, summoning her inner strength. “Well? How do we begin?”
“There isn’t much we can do until morning. The clouds aren’t letting any light through from the moon or stars and I don’t care to try navigating through those rocks solely by lightning.” He raised his gaze to stare out the window. “I don’t like your coming.”
“Neither do I, but I’m the only one who can get through to David. Do we take provisions?” She couldn’t quite control the quaver in her voice.
He turned to look at her and his expression softened. “By all means, if it will make you feel better.”
“Nothing about this makes me feel ‘better’.” She moved up beside him, seeking the warmth of the fire. “This is all preposterous. What makes you think we can travel through time?”
“Because it has been done before—by your cousin going back and by me coming forward. On both occasions we were sailing during an electrical storm.”
“Other people have been crazy enough to do that and they haven’t gone hopping about in time. Why you and David? And why should we?” She shivered as a jagged streak flickered in the distance.
“The lightning struck one of our masts,” Belmont mused.
“That’s happened to boats before. What made it different for you?”
“The mast, I should think. It struck the shorter of the two. One of the sailors had rigged up a makeshift attachment for the sail on that one, using a metal link from a chain.”
“That would attract lightning, but I don’t see why that would cause a jump through time. Damn it, you’re talking as if this were reasonable, as if it happened every day!”
“I hope it will happen tomorrow.”
She could get no more out of him, so she unearthed another flashlight from the hall cupboard and made her way up to her room. As she crawled between flannel sheets, she wondered if this would this be the last night she spent in her bed for a very long while. She shied away from considering the entire matter. Determinedly, she concentrated on a sleep that eluded her.
She emerged from her room at first light, once again dressed in her jeans, bulky sweater and nylon windbreaker. She reached Belmont’s door and saw it stood open. The quilts had been drawn hastily over the pillow and his own rumpled antique clothing lay in a heap over a chair alongside a neat pile of David’s things that hadn’t fit.
As she reached the foot of the stairs, Belmont strode in the front door, shivering, his scraped-up boots leaving muddy prints. Riki stopped in her tracks.
How could anyone look so overpoweringly attractive at six in the morning? His shoulders stretched the knit wool of the sweater and those jeans should have prevented his moving without ripping seams. His rumpled, pepper-and-salt hair curled back from his high forehead, above thick brows that almost met over his aquiline nose. But instead of giving him a frowning expression, today they emphasized that hawklike, piercing gaze. He reminded her of a tiercel, circling his prey, preparing to strike.
As if aware of the steady gaze on him, he looked up and saw her. No smile lightened the intensity of his features. “I’ve had a look at the ketch. It’ll take both of us.”
Riki nodded, unable to find words. She had only managed to drift off to sleep last night by convincing herself this would be a normal day, that nothing untoward was about to happen. The alternative was too ludicrous—and too terrifying.
“I…I can make coffee,” she managed at last. “I have a little camp stove that isn’t electric. Would you like some?”
Belmont nodded. “I borrowed a link from a chain in the boat shed and attached it to one of the masts.”
She cringed as a distant rumble of thunder reached them. “What will we need?” How did one plan an impossible journey—especially a journey in which one really couldn’t quite believe?
“Warm clothes and food. I’m as hungry as a bear. You have brandy. Did your cousin keep a hip flask?”
“Yes, and I have one too.”
He regarded her quizzically but refrained from comment. “I think we should get underway as quickly as possible.”
“Then help me make sandwiches.”
He followed her into the kitchen, and in a very short time they had assembled a selection of food that should last them well into the following day. While Riki spread cream cheese and strawberry preserves on sliced bagels for breakfas
t, Belmont filled the flasks. He thrust one into his already tight back pocket and handed her the other.
Riki didn’t lock the rookery—there was no need. It wasn’t likely anyone but Mr. Fipps would come near the island, and he would be there within the next two hours. She paused in the trellised gateway, hunching her shoulders against the rain, and looked back at the cottage. Suddenly she hated to leave the safety of her home. “I can’t even feed Guin this morning without the microwave to defrost her something.”
“Your friend will take care of that.” Belmont took her arm and pulled her along with him. The tiny drops stung her face as the wind whipped them along. Lightning, for the third day without cease, flashed across the sky, and the accompanying rumble thundered as if it tore the charcoal clouds.
“At least the storm’s still with us.” An edge of repressed excitement touched his voice, and his eyes gleamed.
Riki cast an uneasy glance at him. Her tiercel, having spotted his prey, was about to swoop for the kill. The comparison caused an icicle of fear to jab through her chest, and the chill seeped all the way into her stomach.
The steep path led to a dock constructed of wood and rock. The ketch tossed and pitched at its mooring, ramming safely into the tires that lined the pier. Belmont threw their sack of provisions on board, then turned to hand Riki onto the heaving deck.
As soon as she found her footing, Riki grabbed the boathook and steadied the vessel against the tires while Belmont cast off the lines. In less than a minute he had clambered aboard, and together they eased the thirty-foot ketch away from the rocks and headed her out into the Channel.
Icy wind whipped wet hair across Riki’s eyes. She shoved it aside and crawled to the bow to secure the jib. The main sail luffed wildly in the wind, but Belmont drew in the sheet, bringing it under control. Only the mizzen remained loose. Ducking under the boom, Riki returned to the stern and secured it.
Another fiery streak tore across the sky, and she gritted her teeth, waiting for the rumble to fade in the distance. I must be crazy to go out in this! We’re both insane!
“Where did your boat go down?” she called. He shook his head, but whether he meant to indicate that he didn’t know or that he hadn’t heard her, she couldn’t be certain. For several minutes, he peered across the Channel as if searching for some familiar object to give him his bearings as he steered the treacherous course. Only low, rocky outcroppings surrounded by foaming white met their searching gazes.
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