Marjorie studied Colin, who was sharpening a stick with his knife thoughtfully. She hadn’t even considered that Colin might actually want to go to the future. He loved the clan, and it would be difficult leaving everything he knew behind—his grandfather, his uncles, his home…
“No. I’m sure he doesna want to. His whole world is here. He’d never want to leave the clan.”
“Ye stubborn Cambel,” Isbeil murmured. “Ye’re even more hard-headed than yer father. And as long as I lived, I havna met anyone as stubborn as he is.”
Marjorie clenched her jaw tightly. “Ye dinna ken my son as well as I do, Isbeil…”
“Ugh!” Isbeil splayed her hands in the air, her face distorted in an angry mask. She was angry. Marjorje had never seen her angry in her life. “I swear, ye Cambel children will be the end of me one day.” She sighed and watched Marjorie as though contemplating her next words.
“Lass,” she said, “I have not lived all these years to watch ye crumble and darken and curl into a ball again. A part of my soul would die. Did ye ken yer son came and asked me why his mother is so sad? If there is something he can do to put a smile on yer face? He asked me if I have a magic potion that would make his mother happy.”
A pain as sharp as the tip of an arrow pierced Marjorie’s chest. She looked at her son, who’d now found a hazelnut cluster and was kicking it around, just like Konnor had. Her eyes blurred with tears.
“Konnor came,” Isbeil continued with her index finger pointed in the air, “and there was no magic potion needed. Ye bloomed. And so did Colin.”
Oh, Jesu, she was right! He had seemed happier and more excited. His eyes had shone when Konnor had told him tales of the twenty-first century.
Marjorie swallowed a painful knot. “But the clan is more important to him. He’s a Highlander. He’s a Cambel. I canna just uproot him from everything he kens.”
“And how do ye see his future? He doesna have an inheritance. Ye dinna have land. When yer father dies, Glenkeld will belong to Craig as the oldest, aye? Domhnall has an estate already. Owen is entitled to land, as well, if yer father ever decides he’s mature enough. There is nothing left for ye, lass, and therefore nothing for Colin. As long as yer father lives, ye live with him. But what next? Will ye be forever at the mercy of yer brothers? Will ye leave Colin forever at their mercy, too? Will the lad have to bow down to that MacDougall scum and beg to be made his heir after all?”
Marjorie inhaled sharply. “My brothers will never betray me.”
“Aye. Of course they wouldna. But will ye like to live forever at someone’s mercy, for yer son to?”
Oh, she hadn’t even considered that. Isbeil was right. Marjorie would hate it with every fiber of her soul. Konnor had told her that women were as strong and as rich as men in the future. They earned their own fortune and didn’t need to depend on a husband to have a good life.
What world did she want to live in? And what world did she want Colin to grow up in? She was sure it wasn’t as simple as Konnor described, and she had no idea if she could find her own place in that future world, but she liked the idea of equality. She liked the idea of being independent. And she wanted Colin to experience that, too. He was a bastart here, no matter how much her family loved him and treated him like he wasn’t. He’d never have the same rights here as a legitimate child. He’d always be treated like an inferior man by those born in a legitimate marriage.
What would he become? A mercenary. A knight, perhaps? He could still have a good life here, but only if it was connected to war and full of dangers.
Or he could accept John MacDougall’s offer to legitimize him. But Marjorie couldn’t stomach the thought of her boy in their hands.
Though Konnor was a warrior, too, the twenty-first century he’d described sounded like a more peaceful and healthy time.
And yet there was so much she couldn’t even imagine. How would she even find Konnor? How would she make sure she and Colin were safe? Would Konnor want them there at all? Would he send them back? What if Colin got his hopes up only to be rejected and hurt by Konnor?
She couldn’t let her son get hurt. And yet she wanted to go. She wanted to dare. She wanted to see the future. Most importantly, she wanted to be with Konnor.
“Colin, son,” she called. “Come here, please?”
Colin caught the hazelnut cluster in the air and came to Marjorie. “Can I help ye with something, Mother?”
Marjorie inhaled and looked at Isbeil, who chuckled a sly, satisfied smile and busied herself with another thistle plant.
“Tell me something, son,” she said. “When Konnor told ye all those stories of his time, what did ye think of them?”
His eyes sparkled. “I enjoyed them very much.”
She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Would ye like to see it?”
His eyebrows rose to his bangs. “Aye, I would. Of course I would.”
She squeezed his hand. “Me, too. And could ye imagine…” She chuckled softly, not believing she was about to ask this. “Could you imagine living in the future?”
He stilled and blinked. “Living there? With Konnor?”
She nodded. “Aye. I hope so.”
“And what about Grandfather? And my uncles? And Isbeil? What about Glenkeld?”
“They’d stay here. Ye’d probably never see them again.”
She bit her lip, gathering strength for what she was about to say next. “There’s one more question, Colin. The question of yer inheritance. Yer grandfather MacDougall wants to have ye. He wants to legitimize ye. That would mean ye’d have right of inheritance. Ye could stay here and get lands and status from him. I just want ye to ken all yer options.”
His nostrils flared. “Never. Nae land nor inheritance will make me want to be related to the man who tried to harm ye.”
The weight of a boulder lifted off Marjorie’s chest. She beamed. “Oh, thank Jesu.”
He frowned and looked at his shoes, thinking. “Mother, I’ve never been anywhere other than Glenkeld in my life.” He looked around the woods longingly. “And I really want to.”
He glanced at Isbeil and sighed. “I’d be sad to never see my grandda and uncles. But I’d be sadder to see ye the way ye’ve been since Konnor left.”
Oh, her kind, brave, loving boy.
His eyes shone. “And I really want to see the carriages that drive themselves and the giant iron dragons that fly in the air…”
Her vision blurred with tears. “Are ye certain? Ye want to go?”
He nodded, a fervent smile on his face. “Aye. I want to play soccer with Konnor.”
Chapter 32
Five days later…
What the hell was Marjorie supposed to do with this godforsaken rock? It lay flat and round and as large as the seat of the great chair in the great hall. The carving of three wavy circles lay and a thick, straight line piercing it brought a nervous shiver through her. By its side was an imprint of a large hand, right in the stone. It looked like someone had pressed their hand in clay, and it had dried up this way.
Marjorie was no Isbeil, but even she felt something—like the waver in the air over rocks in direct sunlight on a hot day—except today was as gray and as cold as this rock.