He had two young time travelers in his charge and he didn’t understand his own powers. How could he teach them anything? Meanwhile, Catriona’s real father was popping in and out of time like a person walking in and out of a room.
Catriona’s real father bent time to his will.
Jealousy boiled in Sean’s veins.
Not that it mattered now. He wasn’t even in the same century as his children.
Sean’s eyes opened again.
Rune is.
He’d almost missed the worst part.
For the short time he’d been able to dwell on the events of his very strange day, he’d been running under the assumption Rune wanted revenge for the loss of his arm. But what if his gunplay wasn’t revenge? What if he wanted Catriona and Broch dead as well?
Sean felt his body slipping left and tightened his grip on the mane to right himself. He squeezed his thighs against the horseflesh.
I’m tired.
He couldn’t stop. There was nothing he could do to help Broch and Catriona now. Today was his only chance to save Isobel.
Perhaps that was the key to helping the others.
If I save Isobel, it will change Broch’s fate as well.
He could remain in Scotland with his wife and child. Then, maybe, when the boy grew older, they could find Catriona together. From what they’d been able to put together, she and Broch had met once before in ancient Scotland so she was here, or would be here, somewhere. They could find her and they could be together again, just not in Hollywood.
And there was hope for Catriona and Broch in Hollywood in the meantime. Luther was there. He’d protect them—his most loyal friend would go on alert when he showed up missing—though Sean cursed himself for not better prepping Luther for the event of his disappearance. When he’d confessed his time-traveling past to the big man back in the nineties, Luther had barely reacted. As if Sean had told him he was from Albania or Canada, not some other century.
Sean spotted a tree that felt familiar to him and adjusted the path of the horse.
I’m nearing home.
He was close. Memories of his time with Isobel flooded his synapses. Her hair, her eyes, the feel of her skin. He needed to get to the cottage in time, find a weapon, and be ready to fight off Thorn’s men. He’d have to explain to his wife why he looked thirty years older than he had when she’d awoken beside him that morning, too. That wouldn’t be easy. Maybe he could pretend to be his own long lost uncle.
Hopefully, he could keep his wind long enough to defeat the men determined to burn his home to the ground. Maybe he could remember how to use a sword. Swordplay wasn’t a skill that came in handy in Los Angeles. The last time he’d used one was to cleave Rune in half.
Those were the days.
Sean spotted a thin trail of smoke rising into the air in front of him.
No. No no no...I can’t be too late.
He spurred on the horse and the creature found a new gear, eating the ground with long strides.
As he and his mount crested the hill, he saw his cottage, flames already licking one side of the thatched roof.
Two men stood outside his door, holding it shut.
Laughing.
Sean felt his anger blaze, his brain buzzing like a hornet’s nest. One of Thorn’s men turned as he approached and tapped the other on the shoulder, pointing. The cowards abandoned the door and bolted to their own horses. The thinner of the two leapt into the air as if spring-loaded, straddling his steed and galloping away from Sean’s approach. The other man, more stocky, fumbled for the stirrup of his saddle, making one attempt to mount and then another.
Sean rode up beside him and jumped from his borrowed horse, forgetting his bones had aged since his last visit to Scotland.
The wind knocked out of him as he collided with the man and pulled him to the ground. Sean punched the would-be murderer in the side of his head. His knuckles screamed with pain but his blind rage prevented him from adjusting his aim towards softer flesh.
He struck again, landing two more blows to the man’s temple. His foe’s eyes shut and his head lolled on his neck. Sean scrambled to his feet, leaving the unconscious man behind.
“Isobel!”
He ran at the cottage, throwing his shoulder at the door. It gave way with little resistance. Smoke billowed outside as he plunged into the cloud, heading towards the outline of his wife on the ground. She lay on her stomach, hands stretched above her head, as she reached for the far corner of the room.
She looked up at him as he crouched below the worst of the smoke.
“Broch—”
Sean turned in the direction Isobel had been crawling. Broch lay on the bed in his swaddling clothes. The flames traveled along the back of the cottage wall. Any moment the bed would light like a tinder.
Sean scrambled to the straw mattress and snatched the boy into his arms, pressing him against his chest. Even in the smoky room he could smell the sweet scent of the boy’s soft hair. His head spun with memories of holding his newborn son.
The pride he’d felt.
Still crouching, Sean ran outside. He set Broch on the ground a safe distance from the fire and glanced towards where he’d left Thorn’s man. The bastard and his horse were gone.
Good.
The craven wretch might have played possum or he might have awoken. It didn’t matter now. There would be time later to hunt him and his friend like the dogs they were. For now, he didn’t have to worry for the boy’s safety.
Sean ran back inside the cottage and dropped to his knees beside
