The ritual he would perform at Ban Drochaid required certain formulas that must be without error, and he was uncertain of three of them. The critical three. But who would ever have believed he would be trapped in a future century? If they arrived at the stones and Castle Keltar was gone and the tablets were missing—well, that was why he needed Gwen Cassidy.
Ban Drochaid, his beloved stones, were the white bridge, the bridge of the fourth dimension: time. Millennia ago, Druids had observed that man could move in three ways: forward and back, side to side, up and down. Then they'd discovered the white bridge, whereupon they could move in a fourth direction. Four times a year the bridge could be opened: the two equinoxes and the two solstices. No simple man could avail himself of the white bridge, but no Keltar had ever been simple. From the beginning of time, they had been bred like animals to be anything but.
Such power—the ability to travel through time—was an immense responsibility. Thus they adhered unfailingly to their many oaths.
She thought him mad now; she would surely abandon him if he overburdened her mind with more of his plans. He couldn't risk telling her anything else. His Druid ways had made too many women flee him already.
For what time they had left together in her century, he'd like to continue seeing that glimmer of desire in her gaze, not revulsion. He'd like to feel like a simple man with a lovely woman who wanted him.
Because the moment he finished the ritual, she would fear him and mayhap—nay, assuredly—hate him. But he had no other choice. Only the ritual and a fool's hopes. His oaths demanded he return to avert the destruction of his clan. His oaths demanded he do whatever was necessary to accomplish that.
He closed his eyes, hating his choices.
If Gwen had awakened during the night, she would have seen him, head tossed back, gazing up at the sky, speaking softly to himself in a language dead for thousands of years.
But once he'd spoken the words of the spell to enhance sleep, she slept peacefully until morning.
* * *
september 20
10:02 a.m.
Chapter 6
Gwen had never felt so acutely five foot two and three-quarter inches in her life as she did trailing behind the behemoth who didn't understand the concept of physical limitations.
As she stretched her legs, swinging her arms to generate greater forward momentum—fully aware of how futile the effort was because momentum was contingent upon mass, and his mass was three times hers, ergo, he could outwalk her to infinity barring any unforeseen complications—her temper snapped. "MacKeltar, I'm going to kill you if you don't slow down."
"I am curious to know how you plan to do so, when you can't even pace me," he teased.
She was not in the mood for teasing. "I'm tired and I'm hungry!"
"You ate one of those bars from your pack a scarce quarter hour past, when we stopped to examine your map and plot the fastest course," he reminded.
"I'm hungry for real food." And I'm going to need it, she thought with a sinking feeling, for the tourist map in her pack had indicated the fastest course from their current location to Ban Drochaid was eighty miles, cross-country.
"Shall I snare and spit a rabbit for you?"
A bunny? Was he serious? Eww. "No. You should stop at the next village. I can't believe you didn't let me go into Fairhaven. We were right there. There was coffee there," she added plaintively.
"To reach Ban Drochaid by tomorrow, we must travel without pause."
"Well, you keep stopping to pick up those stupid stones," she grumbled.
"You will understand the purpose of my stupid stones tomorrow," he said, patting his sporran, where he'd stored them.
"Tomorrow. You'll show me tomorrow. Everything will be explained tomorrow. I don't live for tomorrow, and you require a lot of faith, MacKeltar," she said, exasperated.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Aye, I do, Gwen Cassidy. But I give much in return to those people who have faith in me. I could carry you, if you wish."
"I don't think so. Why don't you just slow down a bit?"
He stopped, evidencing the first hint of impatience she'd glimpsed. "Lass, if that map you have is correct, we have until the morrow's eve to travel a distance of nearly eighty miles. That is three of your miles per hour, without stopping to sleep. Although I could run much of the way, I know you cannot. If you can manage four miles each hour, you may rest later."
"That's impossible," Gwen gasped. "The fastest mile
I've ever run on a treadmill was ten and a half minutes and I nearly died. And it was only one mile. I had to rest for hours and eat chocolate to revive myself. MacKeltar, we need to rent a car," she tried again. Earlier, upon discovering the length of the hike he planned, she'd proposed the alternative, but he'd simply dammed up and dragged her off at a brisk pace. "We could travel eighty miles in one hour in a car."