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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 closer to Ian. She missed him so much it was hard to breathe. Her new life in the Bronx, the small apartment she shared with three roommates, her search for a place to rent and preparation of a business plan to show potential investors—all that distracted her for a short while from thinking of him. But eventually she’d have a second to herself, and her mind would flip to Ian.

Kate walked past the central street and into a market with different stalls and booths. People wandered around, drank, ate, and looked at belts, beaded necklaces, silver jewelry, dresses, tunics, knives, swords, and spices. The scent here was divine—freshly grilled meat that had been marinated in vinegar, baked goods, along with beer and wine, which were sold from giant barrels, much like the ones she’d seen in Manning’s kitchen.

The thought made anguish rise in her like heartburn.

Even in this fake medieval world, she felt more at home than in New York. She didn’t miss just Ian. She missed the sight of the loch and the mountains. The scent of a freshly baked bread in the open fire. The comforting feeling of honest work in the kitchen, where everything was done by hand not machines, and food was grown on the land, not bought in plastic packages from a supermarket.

Farther along, two small towers stood, not taller than two floors, and probably made of foam plastic. Kate thought of Inverlochy, its massive, impenetrable towers and walls, and chuckled to herself. There surely weren’t any Pictish time traveling rocks underneath the foundation of that castle.

But if there were, would she go?

Just as she thought that, her eyes fell on the tall broad-shouldered figure of a man with short red hair, dressed in a tunic and the leine croich, the heavy quilted coat Ian wore instead of armor. He stood half turned, with his back to her, fiddling with a knife in his hands. There was a claymore in the sheath at his waist.

Kate’s knees shook violently, and she locked them, but they only trembled harder. Her breath rushed in and out as though she were having an asthma attack. She walked on weak legs towards him.

She stood right next to him, still unable to see his face.

“Ian?” she said.

The man turned.