He paused as his voice broke, and he chewed on something. His eyes reddened and watered.
“And it isna worth it, lad,” his voice shook. “It isna worth it. Before ye ken it, ye’re as old as I am and stink like a fart. And all ye have is yer past. And if ’tis full of misery and loneliness and regret…ye realize nothin’ is worth it.”
He met Ian’s eyes, and Ian held his breath at the amount of pain in Manning’s gaze.
“I canna do anything about it now,” Manning said. “Yer father couldna do anything about yer mother in his time. But ye can do something.”
Ian studied Manning, speechless. Was he going mad, or was there truth in Manning’s words?
“But ’tis different for me, Manning. I let her go because I canna make her happy.”
“Why nae?”
“Because I’m broken. Some wounds are too deep and never heal.”
“Aye. I ken. And some people want ye nae matter what. Wounds, cracks, scars, and all.”
Ian shook his head. “Nae. I canna make her happy. I dinna deserve her.”
“Ye shouldna decide it for her, dinna ye think?”
Ian stiffened. Manning was right. Ian was deciding for Kate. Just like his masters in Baghdad had decided for him: who he killed; what he ate; when he went to piss. He was taking away Kate’s freedom to choose because he was convinced he would never be whole. But what if he didn’t need to be whole? Kate wasn’t entirely happy with herself, either, yet Ian loved her more than anything in this world.
What if he’d been terribly, terribly wrong? What if God had forgiven him for all the murders he’d done? What if his way to redemption was protecting his people, which he had done and continued to do?
The dreadful feeling that he’d done something irreversibly wrong bit into him.
“Nae, I shouldna decide for her,” Ian said. “But I did.”
How would his life be, had he let her stay? She’d cook him dinner. He’d get fat from all the delicious food. He’d make love to her every day until she forgot who she was from sheer bliss. He’d marry her—make her his and make honoring and protecting her his life’s mission.
Mayhap, that would be the best redemption for his sins that he could wish for. Making the best woman he’d ever known deliriously happy. Giving her children. Giving her her heart’s desires.
Ian’s eyes watered, and he pressed a thumb and index finger against his eyes to stop tears from spilling.
What had he done? Chased Kate away when she’d wanted to stay with him. When she’d said she loved him. When the happiness of a lifetime had been within his grasp and he’d just had to reach out and take it.
“I didna like the lass because she came so righteous into my kitchen,” Manning said, “but I do see what she meant about cleanliness. The food tastes better, and I am nae sick as often as before. She’s good for ye, Ian. Find her. Ask her to come back.”
Ian nodded. “I would. But I canna. She went home. And ye ken she’s from far away.”
Manning hung his head. “Aye, ’tis bad, Ian. Mayhap she’ll come back?”
Ian shook his head. “I’m afraid ’tis too late. After what I’ve said to her, she’s never going to come back. So mayhap I did get my punishment from God after all. Life without the love of my life.”
Chapter 33
New York State, late August 2020
Kate straightened the gray medieval dress she had from 1308 with trembling fingers. It had been so hard to put it on in the first place when she wouldn’t be wearing it to go back in time to Ian. She glanced at the gatehouse of the Renaissance fair. People dressed in bright medieval costumes and in regular modern clothes entered and exited the gates, faces relaxed, cheerful.
They enjoyed pretending they were in medieval times. If she told them she’d really made the trip, would they believe her? Would they be envious? Or call 911 to commit her to a psychiatric unit?
It had been about a month since Kate had moved to New York City and worked on opening a new restaurant. This one would be medieval with a modern touch. Inspired by her experience, she wanted to bring the historic and the modern together in a mix that would be beautiful and unforgettable.
Like her and Ian. Yes, that was what the restaurant represented to her. Her and Ian. The strange mix between times that had changed her whole life.
How was Ian? She thought about him every single day, hoping, praying he was okay and alive in his own time, and that he had survived those wounds.
She couldn’t be with Ian physically, but at least by cooking and working in her restaurant, she’d feel closer to him. Be able to think of him, pretend that she was cooking for him. Imagine his awestruck expression as he devoured her food.
Kate walked to the gates, checked in, and stepped into the fair. White German houses with dark-brown timber framing lined the central street. There was an inn, an apothecary, a “drinking house,” a tailor, and a shoemaker. All that looked more like a fairy tale than what Kate had seen in medieval Scotland, with its low, gray stone buildings and thatched roofs.
Nevertheless, her heart thumped in her chest. Behind every corner, she was looking for Ian’s tall, mighty frame, for the fire of his red hair, and her heart froze when she didn’t see him.
Why was she even here?
She’d told herself it was to get inspiration for the menu and for the restaurant, but now, having come here, she wasn’t sure if this modern representation would do anything but remind her of her heartbreak.
The truth was, she wanted to feel
