“We’re safe here,” Robbie said, reaching down and picking up Catherine’s stick that had come through the storm. He handed it to her but was unable to read her expression now that night had finally settled over the forest. “Here, this should make you feel a bit safer.”

She clutched the stick to her chest and tugged the hem of her plaid down over her bare knees. Ian headed out of their tiny clearing in search of firewood, and Robbie took off his sword, set it on the ground beside Cat, and looked at Mary.

“We could use something for breakfast,” he told the owl. “A plump rabbit would be nice.”

Mary silently opened her wings and lifted off her rock toward the night sky.

“Y-you talk to Mary?” Cat asked. “And she understands?”

“Aye. She even talks back, though not out loud,” he said, sitting down beside her.

“Remember the magic I spoke of? And my duty?” She nodded, and Robbie shifted to face her more fully. “I truly am a guardian, Catherine, charged with the duty of watching over my family. And I, too, have powers that allow me to manipulate not only time but other things as well.”

“You mean that wasn’t only an expression? You don’t just consider yourself a guardian angel and onlyfeel that you need to take care of everyone?”

“Nay. It’s my calling, ordained by providence.”

“Robbie,” she said, leaning toward him and placing her hand on his arm. “Magic isn’t real,” she whispered, as if trying to break the news to him gently. “It’s what we tell children when we can’t explain something, like how Santa Claus can go to every house in one night and how tooth fairies can take a tooth from under their pillow without waking them up.”

Robbie decided he would give up his sword to have Libby or Aunt Grace here with him now. How in hell was he supposed to explain to Catherine what he was just beginning to understand himself?

“Cat,” he said, covering her hand on his arm. “It’s as real as the sunrise. The magic is everywhere and in everything; it’s the miracle of life itself, the air we breathe, the blood that pumps through our veins. It’s been with us since the beginning of time, and it’s only been in the last few centuries that man has thought to explain it with science.” He reached up and gently ran his knuckles over her cheek. “But magic is the foundation of that science, Cat. That some of us can manipulate it only proves how real it is.”

“Are you a… are you saying you’re a wizard or something?”

“Nay. I’m only a man who’s been given the duty of protecting my loved ones.”

“Protecting them from what?”

“From the magic itself, should it be used improperly. And from those who would change destiny to suit themselves. Fromdrùidhs like Father Daar, who have the power to bend the laws of nature.”

“Father Daar is bad, then?”

“Nay. He’s merely an ancient who can’t see beyond his own wants. He brought Greylen MacKeage to our time thirty-five years ago to sire his heir. That my own father and Ian and the others got sucked into the storm with Grey is proof that Daar needs watching over. He’s selfish and often manipulative, but his intentions are not evil.”

“But why do you keep coming back here? Did Ian come with you each time?”

“Nay. My father and the others don’t know anything about my journeys here, and that’s why I couldn’t tell them. They can’t know because they would want to help me, and that would only upset their wives and families.”

“Help you what?”

Robbie sighed and pulled Catherine into his lap, pleased that she didn’t shrink away but leaned into him instead. “The spell that brought the Highlanders to modern time will reverse itself on this summer’s solstice, and they’ll be sent back to their original time. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen. And to do that, I have to find a tree of spells for Daar, so that he can stop it.”

“You mean that on the summer solstice, your father and uncles will just disappear?”

“Aye. Their lives will be uprooted again.” He lifted her chin to look up at him, wishing he could read her expression. “Are you starting to believe me now, little Cat?”

“No.”

“No? Then how do you explain what’s just happened?”

“I’m dreaming. Just like Dorothy inThe Wizard of Oz, I was hit on the head during the storm and knocked unconscious, and I’m dreaming.”

Robbie gave her a firm kiss on the mouth. “Ah, Catherine,” he said, tucking her against his chest. “Now I’m understanding why you’re being so calm.” He leaned down and tried to see into her eyes, using his thumb to lift her chin. “But what if it’s not a dream?

What if all of this is really happening?”

“It’s not,” she said, reaching up and feathering her fingers over his smile. “Because it’s impossible.”

“Okay,” he conceded. “So will you allow me to be your guide through this dream? Will you promise to listen to me when I tell you to do something?”

“It’s my dream,” she said, turning rigid in his embrace. “You can’t boss me around.”

“Catherine, you’re dreaming that we’re in the thirteenth century, when women had little or no say in their lives. If you wish to survive here, you’ll have to defer to me. Especially in front of others,” he added.

“No. I promisedmyself never to be in that position again.”

Robbie pulled her back against him with a weary sigh. How in hell was he going to protect her if she wouldn’t cooperate? How could he make her understand?

Ian came back and dropped his load of firewood, then sat down beside them with an even wearier sigh of his own. “I’m old,” he muttered. “And my eyesight is gone. I can’t tell what I was picking up for wood. Hell,” he said, waving at the pile of sticks. “There could be a snake in there for all I know.”

Robbie set Catherine back beside him and used a piece of the wood to scrape out a fire pit. He then started arranging the damp sticks in the middle of it.

“Matches weren’t invented in the thirteenth century,” she said, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning closer to watch him. “How are you going to start the fire?”

“With magic.”

Ian sucked in his breath and leaned away. “Ya can do that? Just like the priest?” he whispered, sidling farther away.

“Aye, Uncle. I’ve recently discovered I can do a lot of neat tricks.”

“Like what?” Ian asked, moving a few more inches away.

“Like this,” he said, reaching his hand into the center of the pile and coaxing the wood to release its stored energy. He leaned over and softly blew on the smoking sticks until they burst into flames.

Ian stood up and moved a good distance away. Robbie chuckled and also stood up. “It’s okay, Uncle. I’m still the nephew you used to carry on your shoulders. That I’ve finally realized the full extent of my calling is to your benefit,” he said, reaching out and laying a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “It’s how you got here,” he softly reminded him.

The flames from the now dancing fire reflected in Ian’s hazel eyes as the old man stared back at him. “I… I’m just surprised, is all,” he whispered, suddenly wrapping Robbie in a fierce embrace. “Aye. Ya’re still my young pup,” he said gruffly, pounding Robbie’s back before stepping away and swiping at his eyes. “I hate being old,” he muttered, walking to the edge of the clearing. “It’s a terrible affliction. The air is always making my eyes water. I’m going to look for more wood.”

Robbie watched him disappear into the night forest and turned back to the fire, only to find Catherine staring at him, her jaw slack.

“You’re dreaming, remember?” he said, sitting down beside her again. “Now, how about I show you how to wear a plaid properly?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “As cute as you look, you’re going to be laughed out of the village tomorrow if you walk in dressed like that.”

“Ian’s not coming back to modern time with us, is he?” she whispered. “You… you brought him back here to die.”