“But surely Jamie didn’t leave your other self to rot there—or did he just not know what you’d done?”
“He knew,” Zachary said, “and he did try, more than once. There was—and still is—something temperamental about that particular gate. I’m not sure if it was because there were two ofme making trips through it at different times and the gate lost count of the return tickets, or there was something else going on.” He shrugged. “It didn’t work for Jamie that second time, either, so there’s that.”
“Couldn’t you have used a different gate?”
“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? Not only did that gate take us to the 1640s, it took us across the Pond to New England.” He smiled without humor. “Hopping across centuries and large bodies of water in a single bound. Hard to top that.”
Oliver decided it was best to allow the utter improbability of that to continue on past them without comment.
Zachary looked at him and there was pity in his eyes. “Sometimes things happen for a reason.”
“And if I could find a reason that a particular event would have been better not happening?”
“I think you could spend every moment of the rest of your life making a list of those kinds of things,” Zachary said with a sigh, then he smiled. “But given that I suspect you’ve already made that decision for at least one thing, let me tell you why I really wanted to talk to you. Do you know Thomas McKinnon?”
“Never heard of him.”
“You should look into him.”
“You should save me the time.”
Zachary shot him a dark look, then sighed. “Without invading their privacy too much,” he said, sounding as if he were trying very hard not to do exactly that, “I’ll give you a few details about Thomas and his wife Iolanthe.”
“Interesting name.”
“More interesting birthdate,” Zachary said. “Sometime during the late 14th century, I would guess.”
Oliver shook his head. “It’s just a hotbed of paranormal activity up here in the wilds of Scotland, isn’t it?”
“It is, which is why I sleep so well in my unassailable keep in England, though my wife’s relatives do seem to show up with alarming regularity.”
“Carrying swords,” Oliver noted.
“More often than not,” Zachary agreed. “But here’s the interesting thing about Iolanthe, something I don’t think she would mind me telling you. When I first met her, she’d been a ghost for over five centuries.”
Oliver almost fell off the wall. He was generally a man of few, though sometimes salty, words, but he couldn’t find even one of those to lay his hand on at the moment.
Zachary nodded knowingly.
“How did she die?” Oliver asked, wishing he didn’t sound quite so hoarse.
“She was murdered in England, though the exact details aren’t important. What is important is that Thomas met her because he’d bought the castle she was haunting.”
“Yet she’s here? Alive?”
“They live in Maine, but yes, she’s alive.”
Oliver pushed off the wall. “Let’s walk.”
Zachary only nodded and started across the garden with him.
“I assume he rescued her?” Oliver asked.
“He did, but that’s not what I think will interest you. You see, while Thomas was off attempting a rescue and Iolanthe was still a ghost, she had anyone who would sit with her write down everything she could remember.” He smiled. “Sort of as a backup, if you can call it that.”
“Interesting idea,” Oliver managed. He walked with Zachary for a bit, turning that over in his head for comfort, if nothing else. He finally stopped and looked at Jamie’s brother-in-law. “Did she read her book?”
“I’m not sure she did at first, but in the end it didn’t matter.”
