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enemy, rode in full gallop toward Robert with lance extended. Do you know what Robert did?” Uncle pauses a moment for dramatic effect. “He lifted his ax, and with a single mighty downward blow, clove Sir Henry’s helmet and the head within in two.”
    Too much information.
    â€œYou may ask what all of this has to do with you. Why would your dear Uncle bring you to this place and bore you with tales of kings and battles that history has long forgotten?”
    He’s right. That was one of my questions. But my main one is: what is going to happen after he stops talking? Is he going to propose a toast to my homecoming? Yes, that’s exactly what he’s going to do. And mine will be the only cup with that little something extra in it: hemlock, the poison of choice for the royal set during the Middle Ages. On the plus side, not counting a short interlude where I’ll feel a cold sensation creeping up from my toes, it’s supposed to be a mostly painless death.
    â€œThe reason I have brought you here,” says Uncle, “is to remind you that history is not the static, dead thing found in dusty tomes. It is very much alive. And because of the special advantage we have, history is even more alive for us than for others.
    â€œRobert the Bruce is more than just a historical figure. He was the greatest leader of the Scottish people. And on this, the anniversary of the most important battle in the history of Scotland, I pledge that I will follow the example of Robert the Bruce. I will lead you from the front. I will not waver from our cause. Together we will weather defeat and rejoice in triumph. I will be your statesman, your king and your hero.”
    As I listen to Uncle, it occurs to me that I haven’t heard him mention the Great Friendship or the emperors of ancient China once. And this from a guy who wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything other than a
hanfu
with dragons up and down the arms. But then again, I suppose there’s not that much difference between calling yourself a king or an emperor.
    â€œNow, without further ado,” continues Uncle, “I will leave you to enjoy your lunch. After you have eaten, Luca will direct you to the first stop on today’s special outing, where I will join you.
Chi mi a dh’aithghearr sibh!
See you soon!”
    With a flourish and the clanking of his chain mail, Uncle spins on his booted heel and departs the Great Hall.
    Wait. What just happened here? I was certain he was going to punish me.
    I should feel relieved, but instead there’s a sick feeling in my stomach. He must have something in store for me. Otherwise, why bother sending his brute all the way to 1968 to yank me back?
    But I’ve got to put all of that out of my mind right now and concentrate on the one thing that matters most: getting out of here and back to Zach.

October 4, 2061, 12:42 P.M.
    Doune Castle, Scotland
    Y ou heard Uncle,” Frank says. “It’s time for lunch. Luca, cut me a hunk of that roast meat.”
    I glance over at Luca, expecting him to say something like “cut your own bloody piece,” but amazingly, he doesn’t say anything—just begins hacking at the pig.
    â€œWhat else is on the menu?” asks Lydia boldly.
    â€œPorridge, haggis and blood pudding,” says Luca in a flat voice. “Sit down if you want some.”
    â€œI’m afraid I can’t have blood pudding,” she says. “It makes me break out in hives.”
    Baloney. She’s only saying that because she doesn’t want to have it. Mind you, if that line works for her, I might try the same one.
    â€œI will be reporting to Uncle who has eaten what,” says Luca dully.
    â€œIn that case, I think I can manage a smidge,” she says. “But not too much, please. I’d like to save some room for the haggis. It’s my absolute favorite.”
    Liar. I bet she doesn’t even know that haggis is sheep