Page 10

Ft. Collins, Colorado

1968

“What in the world is going on in here?”

Syrie waited in the doorway of the kitchen, surveying the disaster area laid out before her. Every conceivable flat surface in the room was covered with dishes, all of them either filled with food or dirty from the preparation of that food. In the center of the room stood Ellen, obviously the source of all the upheaval. Her apron heavily spotted with the evidence of her handiwork, she raised a hand to brush back a lock of hair that had escaped her neat bun.

“You’re home already?” she asked, a trail of flour now marking the spot her hand had touched a moment before. “I can’t believe it’s so late. I still have so much to do to get ready for tomorrow.”

Ellen’s celebration of two new tenants signing their leases. Their rent, along with what Syrie was now able to pay, would finally mean that Ellen’s boarding house was no longer losing money. She had announced the news to Syrie and Rosella four days ago and had immediately decided it was, in her words, a party-worthy event.

“I can help.” Syrie chuckled at the skeptical look on her friend’s face. “I may not be able to cook worth a darn, but dishes I can do.”

“Are you sure?” Ellen asked, her voice carefully modulated even though her expression gave her away. “You just got off work. You must be exhausted.”

Syrie was exhausted, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Ellen. Not now. After working the late shift last night and then both the breakfast rush and the lunch rush at the restaurant, the only thing that had gotten Syrie home was the thought of a late-afternoon nap. But there was no way she was going to dash the hope she saw glowing in Ellen’s eyes when she’d offered her help. She’d fit that nap in once the work here was finished.

“I’ve still got plenty of life left in me. After all the hard work you’ve put in, I think a little cleaning is the least I can do. After all, we’re all looking forward to your party.”

“ Our party,” Ellen corrected, flashing a smile in her direction before turning back to the little cakes she was frosting. “I’m celebrating financial independence, Rosella is celebrating Clint’s homecoming, and you’re going out on your first real date since you’ve been here. I think that means we all own a piece of this little shindig.”

Syrie’s stomach did a little flip at the reminder of the upcoming date . Why she’d allowed herself to get talked into it, she didn’t know. Well, in truth, she did know. She had agreed to it because she wanted to fit in. After all these weeks of feeling like a fish out of water, she desperately wanted to be like everyone else. Young women her age had boyfriends. Commitments. A sense of who they were. She didn’t have any of that. But, according to everyone she talked to and all the programs she saw on the television, if she wanted those things, she’d need to find a man. And to do that, she had to start by dating.

Even if she found the idea to be less than appealing.

“What are you sighing about over there?” Ellen looked over from her spot at the kitchen table, clearly determined to wait for an answer.

“I didn’t realize I was sighing,” Syrie answered truthfully. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing. Everything. Life in general.”

Ellen laughed and dusted her hands off on her apron as she crossed to the sink where Syrie had begun drawing water to wash the dishes. “Other people might fall for those lovely evasive answers of yours, Syrie Alburn, but you’re not fooling me for one minute. So, tell me, what specific thing is it that’s distressing you enough to drag those heartfelt sighs out into the open? Is it your job? Are you hating it?”

“Not at all.” Syrie hurried to deny even the idea of hating her job. She might not love it all the time, but it gave her a paycheck and it made her feel like she was doing her part to help out around here. “It’s just that…”

“Just what?” Ellen encouraged as she picked up a dishtowel and began to dry the dishes Syrie laid out to drain.

“This whole date thing,” Syrie admitted. “I’m not comfortable with it. I feel like I’m doing something I shouldn’t. Like I’m cheating, or something. Like, maybe I left someone behind and I’m being unfaithful to him.”

There, she’d done it. She’d voiced her fears aloud at last. Maybe exposed to the scrutiny of rational people, those itchy little feelings plaguing her would shrivel and die a natural death.

“You can’t live like that, Syrie. You’ll never be happy that way. Always worrying about what unknowns lurk in your past isn’t the way to go forward. You have to look at your life as a blank slate. Let go of everything that’s back there. Anyone special in your life? Well, not anymore, there’s not. They’re gone. All the good stuff is gone. I hate to be the one to say that out loud, but it’s true. On the flip side, though, all the bad stuff is gone, too. Any mistakes you made? They might as well have never even happened. You get the extraordinary chance to start all over. Fresh. You need to carry on as if nothing ever happened to you before the night you showed up at my front door. For you, nothing and no one existed before that night. You have to accept your reality.” Ellen gripped Syrie’s shoulders and turned her so that they were staring into one another’s eyes. “Listen to me on this. If you don’t let go of the past you can’t remember, you’ll make yourself crazy with worry. Letting all of that go is your only way forward.”

“I know you’re right,” Syrie said at last, following up with another deep sigh. “But doing is much harder than knowing.”

“I can’t even imagine how hard it must be, to have to give up a whole lifetime. But there really are positives. You get to create a whole new life. You just have to give yourself permission to do that. There are lots of people roaming the world who would love the chance to start over, to explore a new life.” Ellen paused and looked as though she might be about to say more, but the kettle she’d placed on the stove a little earlier began to squeal out its readiness. “Water’s hot. Let’s have ourselves some tea. Get off our feet and take a little break in the front parlor. How’s that sound?”

After the hours Syrie had put in on her feet today, the suggestion sounded like sheer heaven.

They carried their steaming cups to the front of the house and settled into their favorite spots before Syrie pursued the question that Ellen’s suggestion had planted in her mind.

“Are you one of those people, Ellen? One who’d like to explore a whole new life?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I am, I guess.”

The admission surprised Syrie. Not that she hadn’t guessed that her friend wasn’t completely happy with her life. She had. She was simply surprised that Ellen felt safe enough to admit that to her. It meant their friendship had grown to a whole new level.

“You always tell me that I don’t have to do anything that I don’t want to do. You know that goes for you, as well, right?” Syrie watched her friend closely over the rim of her cup.

“Of course I know that.”

“So, you know that you don’t have to marry Robert if you don’t want to, right? I mean, just because he asked and you said yes, that doesn’t mean you can’t still change your mind. You know that, too, right?”

“I do.” Ellen smiled, running her finger around the edge of her china cup. “I have every intention of marrying Robert. It’s only that, sometimes, I doubt my ability to fit into his family’s world.”

Insecurities? From Ellen? The very idea was something foreign to Syrie.

“Do you love him?”

“I guess so.” Ellen nodded absently as she spoke. “I mean, yeah. I do. Although do any of us really recognize what love is when we first bump into it? I’m not talking about attraction or desire or that physical mojo that happens. I’m talking about the kind of love that begins with a bone-deep connection, way down in your soul, you know?”

Syrie nodded. There was a whole lot she didn’t know. A whole lot she might never have known and even more that she couldn’t remember ever having known. But the kind of love Ellen spoke about was something that had to have been imprinted in the depths of her being. It was the one thing she longed for more than anything else. It was the one thing she feared more than anything else that she might have lost when she lost her memories.

Ellen shrugged and smiled again before taking a sip of her tea. “Who’s to say? I guess there’s no way to ever know for sure, is there? There’s only making your best guess at it all and then taking a shot and forging ahead.”

They might have pursued the subject more deeply, but Rosella’s feet sounded on the stairs, and within a moment, she appeared in the room, hair done up in curls and a bright smile on her face.

“And where might you be off to?” Ellen asked. “All decked out in your brand-new dress? Must be someplace wonderful.”

“Clint’s going to be here any minute. He’s taking me out to see the property he’s made an offer on. The place where he wants to build his ranching kingdom.” She giggled as she said the last, rolling her eyes. “He thinks he’s such a cowboy.”

“Must be some nice place he’s getting ready to buy, considering the way you’re all dressed up.”

Rosella’s cheeks took on a rosy glow as the smile on her face grew. “Not at all. In fact, it’s plain old raw ground, out in the sticks over toward Estes.”

“Then why aren’t you wearing something more sensible?” Syrie asked.

If ever Syrie had seen attire wholly inappropriate for the task at hand, what Rosella wore now certainly fell into that category.

“Syrie has a good point. That brand-new miniskirt of yours hardly seems—” Ellen suddenly stopped speaking, a silly smile of her own adorning her face. “Never mind. I get it now.”

“Get what?” Syrie asked, truly puzzled.

Rosella always struck her as such a practical young woman, but the outfit she wore was in no way practical for hiking around a large tract of empty land.

“First time you’ve seen your cowboy since he got back from his summer training, right?” Ellen sent an exaggerated wink in Syrie’s direction before turning back to Rosella. “I’m guessing she doesn’t want him to see her looking like she’s ready to work in the yard.”

“You got that right.” Rosella nodded, the flush on her cheeks growing more pronounced. “Longest six weeks of my life, I swear. I could easily hate that darn ROTC unit and their stupid summer training if it weren’t for the fact that they’re paying his way through school. Besides, I think tonight is going to be special.”

“Really? You planning something you haven’t told us about?”

The smile disappeared from Rosella’s face, giving way to a pensive expression. “No, nothing like that. I just have this odd feeling about going out to look at the property. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that my weird feelings are never wrong.”

“Never?” Syrie asked, a tingle filling her body as if the words rattled at some locked door in the recesses of her mind.

“Never,” Rosella confirmed. “In fact, I remember this one time when—” She stopped speaking and tipped her head to the side before hurrying over to look out the window. “Oops. He’s here. End of story time. Do I look okay?”

“You look outta sight,” Ellen said, though there was a good chance that Rosella didn’t hear, since she was already through the front door.

“See that? That’s exactly what I was talking about earlier,” Ellen said softly, staring at the empty doorway where Rosella had stood only moments before.

“What do you mean?” Syrie asked.

“Her,” Ellen answered, turning a broad smile in Syrie’s direction. “That girl hasn’t one single doubt about having found the love of her life. She knows to the depths of her heart that Clint Coryell is the one man meant for her. Now, if that wannabe cowboy would just get off the pot and pop the big question, Rosie’s life would be perfect.”

“Pop the big question?” Syrie echoed the words, not sure of their meaning.

“Ask her to marry him. Give her a ring to seal the deal. He hasn’t done that yet, you know.”

Ellen’s answer surprised Syrie.

“But I thought you said she’d be moving to Denver after graduation when they married.”

“Yes indeedy, that’s her current plan.” Ellen chuckled softly, rising to her feet and heading back to the kitchen. “I just hope Clint is planning the same thing. I’d hate to have to tear him a new one for breaking her heart.”

“I can almost see you doing exactly that,” Syrie said, chuckling as she picked up her empty cup and followed along behind.

“There’s no almost to it. You and Rosella are like family to me now, as much as Danny is. And woe unto anyone who thinks to mess with my family.”

Ellen spoke with a smile, but there was a glint in her eye that assured Syrie her friend was completely serious. The sentiment sent a wave of warmth through her heart, filling her again with wonder at her good fortune in ending up here with Ellen. One day, she would find a way to make all of this up to her friend. One day, she vowed, she would prove herself as good a friend to Ellen as Ellen was to her.

* * *

Highlands of Scotland

1295

“We’re close now.”

Patrick nodded his acknowledgment of the words Orabilis spoke, reaching around her to hold back a thick branch so that she might continue unimpeded along the path they walked.

As if drawn forward by a power outside herself, she kept moving at the same steady pace she had set for them more than an hour earlier when she had announced that the remainder of their journey would best be accomplished on foot. Leaving the wagons, horses and their companions behind, Orabilis had led him into a dense forest, following some hidden path only she appeared to be able to see.

At least he hoped they followed a path. The very thought of wasting more time lost in the trees and copious undergrowth of this forest galled him. He’d already wasted more time than he could have imagined when he first set out from Castle MacGahan to find Syrie.

As had become his recent habit when he thought her name, he saw her face in his mind and his chest tightened. Wherever she was, whenever she was, he prayed that she’d found safety and comfort. The very idea of her being alone and lost haunted him. He couldn’t bear to think of her frightened and in danger. Or worse. If anything happened to her before he could reach her—

“Very close.” The words Orabilis murmured drew him from his waking nightmare. Her steps drew to a halt as she spoke, and she turned to face him, her green eyes glittering when she captured him with a hard look. “Can you feel it?”

He could hardly claim he felt nothing. To do so would be a lie. But neither could he find the words to describe the odd sensations coursing through his body and nibbling at the back of his thoughts.

Whatever lay ahead, it indeed held an unusual power of some sort.

“Ever the silent, determined warrior, eh? We’ll see about that shortly.” She muttered the last, stepping back to allow Patrick to shove aside the thicket ahead of them to reveal that they’d arrived at their destination.

One look and he had no doubt this was the glen they had sought. It was exactly as he had pictured it in his mind. A large green pool of water, surrounded by a forest of trees. At the backside of the glen the land rose as if a small, rocky mountain had chosen that exact spot to break through the earth and reach up toward the sky. From its heights, a waterfall plunged down into the pool, rippling the waters in a sound that reminded him of laughter.

Syrie’s laughter sounded exactly like that. A tinkling, melodious sound that echoed in the back of his mind as her face floated into his thoughts. Her face, with those eyes that danced with mischief whenever she spoke. Or darkened with emotion in moments like the one they’d shared when he kissed her in the garden. It was that moment—

“Stop yer vagaries and pay attention to the task at hand, Patrick.”

He started, as if waking from a dream, when the old woman spoke. He’d been so far into his own thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed when she’d moved to the water’s edge and squatted down, though, clearly, she now waited for him to join her.

Hurrying to her side, he knelt down next to her, still struggling to wipe from his thoughts the visions of Syrie that assailed him.

“We’ve made it to yer glen, just as you insisted we must,” he said, covering his discomfort with annoyance. “What now? Will you travel to Wyddecol?”

The breeze swirled around him, and he could almost swear he heard the startled protests of hundreds of wispy voices carried on the air.

A trick of his imagination, no doubt, spurred on by his already raw emotions.

“Doona fash yerselves so!” Orabilis hissed. “Well enough I remember the dangers that lurk along such a path. It’s no’ as if I’ve gone brainsick.”

Patrick wasn’t so sure about that. “Yer words make no sense, witch.”

Orabilis jerked around to look at him, chuckling as a smile tipped one corner of her mouth. “They make plenty of sense to the ones I answer, lad.”

The ones she answered?

He cocked his head to one side and strained to hear whatever it was that she seemed to be listening to, but the only sounds reaching his ears were those of nature: the waterfall splashing into the pool and the breeze rustling through the leaves.

Orabilis, meanwhile, had turned back to the pool, her gaze fixed on the water. Once again she turned back toward him.

“The time has come for you to know the truth of the task ahead. Time for you to decide if yer truly willing to risk all to bring Elesyria home.”

“There is nothing to decide,” Patrick answered, knowing he would risk anything for Syrie.

“Do you love her that much? Truly love her?” Orabilis asked. “Does she return those feelings?”

“I…”

How could he bring himself to admit to this woman that which he had only come to accept for himself so recently? And certainly there was no way he could speak for Syrie. That was the question he’d planned to have answered when he’d returned to Castle MacGahan and found her gone.

“Well? Do you?” she asked again, more harshly this time. “Because if yer answer is no, then our journey has come to a close.”

He opened his mouth to tell her again that nothing would keep him from going after Syrie, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

“They have the right of it. Asking a commitment of you without telling you what you face is wrong of me.”

“Though it will make no difference, say what you need to say.”

As long as she didn’t take too long. He’d wasted more than enough time already.

“There’s a war brewing in Wyddecol,” she began, but he stopped her.

“I doona care about the political unrest in yer home world, Orabilis. I care only for Syrie and her safe return. I want only to know how to find her and bring her back.”

“Yes, Patrick. That’s what we all want.” Orabilis patted his shoulder as she might approach an unhappy child. “But to do that, you must understand what has happened to her. The sooner we get through this, the sooner you can be on yer way, aye? Are you prepared to listen?”

He nodded, feeling more than a little foolish for having interrupted in the first place.

“The Goddess insists upon our people following the law of the land. The High Council seeks total control to do as they please. To do that, they have no choice but to overthrow the Goddess.”

“How does one even begin to—”

An upraised eyebrow from Orabilis had him quickly silencing his question. He had agreed to listen, and that was what he would do.

“It would appear the High Council chose to utilize Syrie’s punishment as a cover for doing exactly that. Though their judgment was that her memories and Magic would be stripped, it appears they didn’t remove anything. They only locked them away in the recesses of her mind. It is only due to this negligence on their part that we are allowed a chance to bring her back.”

“But why would they—” Again he caught himself and stopped talking.

Orabilis shrugged, shaking her head. “I canna know the reason for sure. But I suspect they were rationing their own strength in order to turn on the Goddess. Completely removing the memories and Magic from a Faerie is no’ an easy task. The energy required to accomplish that would have been immense. But, whatever their reasons, they did what they did, leaving an opportunity for us. Or, better said, for you, should you choose to take it.”

Should he choose to? He’d already told her no risk was too great.

“What must I do?”

“I will send you as close to where she is as I can. You’ve but to reawaken her memories. Specifically, you must awaken her memories of you. Once that happens, she’ll be able to return the two of you to yer own time.”

He rubbed a hand across his face, stalling until he could force himself to confront the question that had troubled him for more than a month.

“And if she canna remember me?”

It was as close as he could come to voicing his real fear. What if she did not love him?

“Then you’ll both be stranded in that time with no way home. I willna be able to help you. Knowing this, do you still choose to go?”

“Aye.”

It was no hardship to choose. His time, Syrie’s time, anywhere in time, none of it mattered if he couldn’t bring Syrie home safely.