Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(168)

“We could have drowned in the river,” Cynda protested. It seemed odd arguing with yourself.



“It was worth the risk.” She turned to Theo. “Harter has to come with us.”

Theo’s frown didn’t diminish. “I don’t know what’s going on in your time, but I know Harter. He needs to be with me.”

“It’s got to be this way,” the future Cynda insisted. “If he stays with you, he’s in danger.”

“He’s my best friend. It is my duty to help him in any way I can.”

Her future self lightly drifted across the grass and touched his sleeve. It wasn’t an awkward gesture, but one that seemed natural, like she’d done it a thousand times. It was a gesture of respect. Love.

“The danger is not just to him,” she said, her voice uneven now. “Please, Theo, let us help him.”

His dark eyes turned Cynda’s way, pleading for guidance.

Oblivious to the conversation, Defoe was clutching the rose stem, now devoid of petals. He didn’t seem to notice. One moment he was grieving, the next maniacal. A mental seesaw.

Theo took a deep breath, bordering on a shudder. “He can go with you.” She swore she heard his heart tearing in two.

Cynda knelt next to the grieving man who was staring blindly into the grave. “Come on,” she urged him gently. “It’s time.”

Defoe shot a look over his shoulder at Theo as they rose. “He did this,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret. “But I can make it right. I know how.”

The mania was growing again. She shot an urgent look at Anderson.

“Harter…” Theo began. It was too late. He was talking to air where his best friend and Anderson had once stood.

Cynda’s future self leaned closer to him, whispering to him, then brushed a kiss on his cheek. He murmured something, and she whispered again. Whatever she said earned her a faint smile. After holding their gaze longer than necessary, each of them turned away.

Without a sound, she vanished.

Cynda stared at the empty space, then down at the coffin. Around them she could hear birds settling in the trees, the hoot of an owl. Theo grasped her hand tightly in his, tears forming streaks down his face. He made no effort to wipe them away.



“We should stay...” his voice broke, “until they’ve buried her.”

“Find the gravediggers. I’ll stand vigil.”

As he strode away across the darkening landscape, a single rose petal floated downward on the breeze. Cynda caught it between two fingers, remembering Defoe’s boutonniere. This petal had a fragrance. She tucked it away in her pocket, a memento of a love lost to fate.

~??~??~??~



The silence inside the carriage was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. Part of it was grief. Part of it was uncertainty. The sure knowledge that things couldn’t remain the same between them.

Unfinished business.

They held hands, a simple bond of flesh against flesh. It was comforting.

When he placed his arm around her, she pulled off her hat and veil, not willing to relinquish the warmth of his shoulder.

His embrace suddenly tightened. “Why did you confront Copeland alone? You should have left when Hopkins didn’t arrive on time.”

She turned toward him. “If you didn’t want me to fight for myself, why did you teach me?”

“I wanted you to be able to defend yourself, not go into battle like some Valkyrie,” he retorted.

She liked that image. “Copeland would have found us, one way or another. I made sure he came to me, on my terms, not his.”

“I should have been there with you,” he insisted.

“You did your hero bit. You saved thousands of lives. Taking down Copeland was my job.”

“It could have gone so wrong, Jacynda. I could have lost you.”

He hugged her tighter, gently brushing back a strand of hair. Touching her cheek as delicately as a faint autumn breeze, he leaned close and kissed her. It was a powerful beginning to whatever lay in their future.



When they broke apart he began whispering to her, so quietly she had to listen closely to hear his words over the sound of the carriage wheels.

“Harter was right,” he admitted. “I would have been jealous of him if it hadn’t been for you.” His voice gained strength. “I was not in favor of Chris and you being together. I thought you too erratic, and I told him so. After you were knifed, it all changed. I was there when you arrived. Though you were dying, you clutched your Gladstone like it held the Crown Jewels. What a silly woman, I thought, worrying about a piece of luggage.

“Then I found my nephew’s ashes in that case, and realized you’d risked your life to bring him home.” He swallowed heavily. “I felt a heartless fool. It made me look inside myself, and I loathed what I found.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Every trip you took to 1888 became harder for me,” he told her. “By the last time, I almost refused to allow you to leave.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

“I know. I realized that I couldn’t very well spout platitudes about choosing your own path, and then proceed to put myself directly in the middle of it.”

“It was the right decision.”