Page 128 of Promises to Keep

He waved my words away, irritated, “Don’t know what you’re talking…” He disappeared behind a truck.

The security guard said, “You don’t have to keep it, no one’s supposed to pass out leaflets here, it’s trash.”

“Yeah.” I said, “Will you be extra watchful for a moment? I need to go talk to someone inside.”

He looked confused, because I was not a fellow guard, or his boss, but said, “Sure,” anyway. We had been standing in front of the door for a long time together that day.

I found Quentin beside Beaty’s bed. She had the baby on her chest and was beaming, a tray of food in front of her. “They are feedin’ me, Hayley, I am the luckiest. I wish I could take a box tae the bairns at Balloch.”

I said, “Me too, I had McDonald’s. I think Kaitlyn is going to cry, speaking of crying.” I shoved the envelope against Quentin’s chest.

“What’s this?”

“A note, a homeless guy gave it to me, looks like Magnus’s handwriting,” but Quentin had already torn into the envelope.

He looked down at the letter. Then he flipped it over and wiped the corner of his eye. He read it again and then handed it to me.

It read:

Congratulations, Quentin and Beaty, on the birth of yer son.

I canna wait tae hae a bowl of ice cream with ye tae celebrate.

Yours, M.

I said, “He’s alive.”

“Yep. And fucking all-knowing.” He turned and looked around at the corners of the room. “Is he here?”

“He’s probably just seen the birth listed in the… shit, I ought to go back out and guard.”

“Yep, and speaking of the birth, we need a name, don’t we, Beaty?”

“Ye can name him, Quennie. Ye are the father, tis yer choice. Besides, I named Mookie, tis yer turn.”

He laughed. “Now I’m really glad I didn’t argue for my name choice for Mookie then, or you might name our son, Mookie.”

She said, “I might be silly, but I am nae goin’ tae name the son of Quentin after a pig. I would name him something strong and biblical, he would get a hero’s name.”

“I always liked the name Noah.”

She beamed at him. “That is perfect, Quennie, Noah! I love m’wee Noah, he built the ark for the animals, tis a wonderful name. And we can put a saddle on Mookie and put the bairn on top and take photos for m’Insta.”

Quentin chuckled, “Someday, as soon as Magnus has secured the kingdom, you can post as many photos of wee Noah on a saddle on Mookie as you want. I, along with your Instagram fans, definitely want to see that.”

I said, “So you and Beaty need to stay here, right? When should I head back and tell them the baby is here? Or do you need me as a guard?”

He looked down at the note in his hand. “I think this means that we’re close. Why don’t you head back? I got us, here, until the bairn is ready to travel or we’ll drive to meet you somewhere — everyone is coming back here, right? To present day, eventually?”

I looked around. “Seems weird to call this present day when most of our family is in a different century. So what are you going to do?”

“What any soldier does when he’s at home, sharpen my swords — you know, relax.” His eyes drew to the baby’s face.

“You’re going to sit around watching the baby all day every day, and next time I see you you’ll be all, ‘Sword? What’s a sword?’”

“Never.” His eyes didn’t leave the baby’s face.

“You love him so much, right?”

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