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“Wait,” a female voice said behind her, and the scent of lavender and grass reached her nose.

Colin and Marjorie both turned their heads. A woman in a dark-green, hooded cloak stood nearby, copper hair cascading in perfect waves down her shoulders and on her chest. She came closer, her eyes studying both Marjorie and Colin with bewilderment.

Marjorie stood up and pulled Colin behind her back, her hand on the hilt of her sword. The woman may be a faerie or a queen, but until Marjorie was sure she meant no harm to her son, she wouldn’t be calm.

“I’m Sìneag.” The woman smiled. “No need to be afraid, Marjorie.”

“I’m not afraid,” Marjorie said. How did she know her name? Knowing everyone’s names must be among the faerie’s magical abilities besides time travel.

She glanced at the rock, and her face gained a sly satisfaction. “Were ye trying to go through time? To Konnor?”

Marjorie raised her head. “Aye. We were.”

“Usually ‘tis just one person.”

“Usually?

Sìneag laughed. “Aye, ye dinna think ye’re the only one this has happened to, do ye?”

“I did.”

Sìneag shook her head. “Nae. ‘Tis what I do. I match people through time. Yer brother Craig and Amy. I hope ye and Konnor… Who kens how much happiness through time I can create?” Her voice rang with excitement.

Marjorie’s mouth opened. So she was right about her sister-in-law’s accent and some of the words she used, that she sounded like Konnor. Marjorie hadn’t spoken with her long when they gathered the family in Inverlochy, but she remembered an odd feeling about the woman. Why would Craig not have told her? Maybe for the same reason she hadn’t wanted anyone to know about Konnor’s real origin. She wouldn’t have believed Craig. She was glad she’d decided to tell him the truth in her letter, after all. He was probably the only one who’d believe her.

“Ye too, lad?” Sìneag said.

Marjorie looked back at Colin, and he stared at Sìneag with an open mouth and eyes full of wonder.

“Aye.” He stepped from behind Marjorie’s back. “We both.”

Sìneag sighed and pressed her mouth mournfully. “Oh, lad, ‘tis wonderful that ye want to travel in time, too. But ‘tis nae possible.”

“What? Why?” Colin said, the wonder in his face replaced by disappointment mixed with anger.

“Because the tunnel of time can be opened only three times for a couple. Those are the faerie rules.”

“He’s part of the couple,” Marjorie said. “I’m nae going anywhere without him.”

Sìneag pressed her lips together, thinking. “Aye. A good mother wouldna leave her child behind, but the two of ye just isna possible.”

“Can ye make an exception?” Marjorie said, something inside of her shaking with worry.

Sìneag mournfully tilted her head to the side and bit her lip.

Colin said, “In one of Isbeil’s stories, the faerie asked for a sacrifice. All I have is Arthur, my sword.”

“Do ye love it dearly?” Sìneag said.

“Aye. ‘Tis like my great-grandfather’s sword. ‘Tis all I have until I can wield a great claymore like my grandfather’s.”

“Aye. I can accept it.”

Colin’s hand shot to the hilt of his wooden sword. “Arthur…” he whispered. He looked down at the sword and swallowed. “Grandfather made it for me. Uncle Owen suggested the name and trained me with it for the first time.”

Marjorie’s heart bled for him. It was probably like leaving a part of his childhood behind. Colin took a deep breath, pursed his lips in a mournful grimace, and gave a curt, decisive nod. He took the sword and carried it in front of him ceremoniously.

“I sacrifice ye, Arthur, for passage to the future.”