Part of me had believed that I’d fallen through time and into 1921 as an odd way of saving myself from something in 2001. But Liam Gallagher was as real in 1921 as he’d been on the lake that day, before I’d even realized where I was. I’d rowed away from the shores of 2001 and into another world. And in that world, Liam Gallagher had tried to kill me.
He must have been among the men in the barn, the men who brought the guns. But my attention had been riveted on Robbie, my fear and apprehension focused on the threat to Garvagh Glebe and the people she sheltered, and I hadn’t looked at any of the men closely. But Liam had been there, and he’d seen me. And tonight, he came back again, sitting down to a supper of roast beef, potatoes, and carrots in a caramelized sauce as though the day on the lough never happened.
Maybe it didn’t.
I considered for the umpteenth time that I might be mistaken, that the trauma of my trip through time had skewed my vision and altered events. But there was a thick pink scar on my side as evidence to the contrary. And Liam Gallagher was a gunrunner.
He’d already been seated at the table when I’d walked into the dining room that evening. He and Brigid had ignored me, and Eoin had patted the chair next to him, excited that I would be sitting by him for the first time. I’d almost fallen into the chair, sick and shocked. Thomas had come in a few moments later, and he’d been drawn into conversation with Liam, leaving me to shrink in petrified silence.
I’d excused myself as quickly as I could, but Eoin had slipped his hand in mine and begged me to give him his bath and a story. Brigid had agreed eagerly, clearly wanting to spend time with her son. Now I sit in Eoin’s room in the dark, watching him sleep, afraid to be alone, afraid to move at all.
I will have to tell Thomas. I will have to tell him Liam shot me. But he will want to know why I’d said nothing before. If I was Anne Gallagher, I would have recognized Liam. And Liam would have recognized Anne. Yet he’d tried to kill her. Me. Us.
A terrified moan slipped through my lips, and Eoin stirred. I pressed my hand over my mouth to muffle my distress. Liam hadn’t been afraid. He’d sat across the table from me and made small talk with Thomas and his mother, eating everything on his plate and asking for seconds. He must feel safe; I’d been at Garvagh Glebe for almost two months, and I hadn’t made a single accusation.
If I did, it was my word against his, and I was the one with the most to explain.
I spent the night sitting in the chair in Eoin’s room, too afraid to return to my own. Thomas found me there early the next morning. I was curled in an unnatural position, my neck stiff and my dress rumpled. He leaned over the chair and touched my cheek. I came awake gasping and flailing, and he shushed me, putting a hand to my mouth.
“Your bed hadn’t been slept in. I was worried,” Thomas said softly. “I thought—” He straightened, not finishing his sentence.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I wasn’t the only one still dressed in the clothes from the night before.
“Robbie’s taken a turn for the worse. He needs a hospital. I think he’s got some swelling—maybe bone fragments—in his brain. I don’t have the facilities or the expertise to do what needs to be done. I’m taking him to Dublin.”
“Can I come with you?” I asked. I didn’t want to be left behind again. Not yet. Not with Liam Gallagher still lurking around. When the guns were gone, maybe he would go too, and I would have nothing to fear.
My question surprised Thomas. “You want to come with me to Dublin?”
“You drive, and I’ll do my best to take care of Robbie.”
He nodded slowly, as if considering.
“I wanna come too,” Eoin mumbled from his bed. “I’ll help take care of Robbie.”
“Not this time, Eoin,” Thomas soothed, sitting on Eoin’s bed and pulling him close for a quick embrace. “I miss you, lad. I would like nothing better than to bring you with me everywhere I go. But Robbie’s very sick. This won’t be an outing you would enjoy.”