Page 5 of No Place in Time

At the name, Finn went rigid. He shot a look at Anton, his expression so fierce it startled her. He said nothing, but the silence from his corner of the workshop was suddenly heavier than any words.

“That cannot happen,” Finn said.

Anton shot Finn a warning look, a silent command to hold his tongue.

Cecily looked between them. “Why? This doesn’t concern you.” She looked pointedly at Finn.

Anton exhaled slowly. “What Finn means is that Alard is not a man who accepts refusal. Everyone knows this.”

“And yet,” Cecily said, squaring her shoulders, “refusal is exactly what I seek.”

Her gaze drifted to the table. “What is all this?”

Anton followed her look. “It’s something you were not meant to see,” he said at last. “And never touch, do you understand?”

“Grandfather, you once told me you were not born in this time,” Cecily said. “What does that mean?”

He looked from her to the machine, his face grim. “It means I know the dangers of meddling with things man was not meant to touch. This machine is proof of that.”

“Can’t there be another path for me?” she said, a pleading note in her voice.

As she stepped closer, a low hum started from the device, a sound she felt thrumming in her teeth. It grew steadily into a whine that made her ears ache as one of the metal rings on the frame began to vibrate violently, rattling against its fittings.

Anton swore and lunged for a box mounted on the machine, yanking a lever. The sound cut off. Smoke, smelling of hot metal, curled from the frame. The ring was still.

“That,” he said grimly, “is what it does when it’s merely warming itself up. That is why you must not touch it.”

Her grandfather was trying to warn her of something—but what?

Despite his caution, she could not stop looking at the machine.

3

FINN

1239

Finn had not intended to see his father that morning. But when Cecily spoke his name, his resolve hardened.

Finn crossed the inner court at Veyron Hall without breaking stride.

His father, Lord Alard de Veyron, received him in the solar, the small upper chamber where the lord of the house spent his private hours. He was seated at the long table reviewing his accounts. The windows stood open to the gardens beyond.

“You are up early,” Alard said, without looking up.

“So are you,” Finn replied.

Alard lifted his gaze with studied calm.

“I’ve come to speak of your proposed marriage,” Finn said. That earned his father’s full attention.

“Ah,” Alard said mildly. “Then the Lady de Malet has been talkative.”

Finn’s jaw tightened. “You frightened her, so I heard.”

“On the contrary,” Alard said. “I explained her obligations. Her duty. She is of excellent lineage. Her mother’s bloodline is solid, and her father, despite his beginnings, has proven himself useful.”

Useful. As though Thomas de Malet, a knight of the realm, was a trained pet.