The door to the bullpen flew open, and the young man blew in like a storm. With long chestnut hair flying wildly behind him, his intense blue eyes flashed with excitement. He paused only long enough to scan the room, his quicksilver gaze not lingering on any of the familiar faces turned to look at him with blatant curiosity. When he didn't find the object of his search, the young man's shoulders slumped slightly as a bit of the excitement dimmed in his eyes. For an instant, he resembled a lost child more than the police detective he truly was.

A heavy hand clapped his shoulder as a friendly voice boomed out. "Hey, Hairboy! Where's the fire? You come in here all guns blastin' like that, you're gonna scare off the witness Rafe's interviewing, babe!"

Blair Sandburg perched on the corner of his desk. "Where's Jim, Henri?" His blue eyes raked over the neat piles of papers on his partner's desk next to his own. He'd long ago concluded that police paperwork was like rabbits. It multiplied prodigiously. Blair winced at the sight of the files waiting for his attention. "Doesn't look like my partner has been hitting the paperwork today, that's for sure."

Henri chuckled. "Ellison do paperwork? Not with you around, Sandburg. Nah, he and Simon ran down to forensics about an hour ago. Should be back any time now. I take it your interview up in Vancouver went well."

Blair nodded. "Got all we needed to close the file. Man, Jim will be glad to hear that. He's been working this missing person case since before I got here. Now that we've positively ID'd the body as that of Frank Tanner, the book's finally closed."

Henri's dark brown eyes regarded Blair curiously. "Something wrong, babe? You sure seemed all worked up when you burst in here."

Blair shook his head and grinned. "Everything's fine, H. I just had some news to share with Jim. That's all." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "It's nearly time for us to get off anyway." Reaching for a pad and pen he added, "I'll leave him a note. If I hang around, he'll just try to get me to work on those reports piled up on his desk. Tonight, that's the last thing I'm in the mood to do." He scribbled a quick note, then he tossed the notepad in the center of Jim's desk. "Will you make sure he sees this?" As if Jim wouldn't notice the smallest thing misaligned on his meticulous desk.

"I'll tell him it's there, Hairboy." Henri glanced over at his partner, who was typing furiously on his computer. "Speaking of reports, if I don't get myself over there and help Rafe, I'll be in the doghouse until my next promotion."

"And we all know how long that'll be," Blair joked. He deftly avoided the good–natured swipe Henri made at the back of his head.

With a quick wave at his friends and co–workers, Detective Blair Sandburg exited the Major Crimes' bullpen in only slightly less of a hurry than when he entered.

Jim Ellison stared down at the note lying on his desk, wishing his sentinel abilities extended to reading between the lines of his best friend's often cryptic messages.

Jim,
You're not going to believe who I heard from today! I'll have a couple of beers waiting out on the balcony, so hurry home, okay? Oh, and would you go by and grab some take out? I so do not want either of us to have to cook tonight! See you in a few!
Blair

That was all. At least nothing seemed to be wrong, regardless of how little the note actually revealed. Jim's sensitive fingers could almost feel the heat of excitement burning from the page long after its author had left it behind.

Whatever's going on, Chief, at least this time, it seems to be a good thing.

The detective glanced at his watch. It had been a rather slow day. He did have plenty of paperwork to catch up on, but the next day Blair would be back in the bullpen after his two day trip to Vancouver, and his partner had more talent for completing reports in his little finger than Jim did in his entire body.

His decision was made.

Grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair, Jim picked up Blair's note and headed for the door.

By the time Jim arrived home after stopping by for some Italian take–out, the sun had disappeared, and the stars were brightly shining overhead. At least, to his sentinel eyes they were bright. That was one of the things Jim had learned to appreciate most about his enhanced senses – the lights of the city no longer kept him from enjoying the beauty of the stars. The early fall air was crisp, but not too cold to make the outdoors unpleasant.

True to his word, Blair was waiting on the balcony, sitting with a beer in one hand, an envelope in the other, and a huge grin splitting his face. His blue eyes shone with excitement. "Jim! Hey, man, about time you got here!" He handed his partner a bottle, still cold from the refrigerator.

Dropping into the chair next to Sandburg, Jim took a long drink. "Sounds like you've been waiting for me, Chief. Say you've got some news?" He looked past the balcony wall out at the city of Cascade, idly wondering if somewhere at that very instant a crime was being committed that would occupy his mind for the next day and beyond.

Let it go, Ellison, he chided himself. You're home. Check the job at the door for once. Relax. To speed up the process, he took a deep breath, willing his muscles to relax, coaxing his mind to unwind.

If Sandburg noticed Jim's efforts to ease into the relaxation of the evening, he gave no sign. "Oh, man! This is just so cool!" He stared at the envelope in his hand as if looking at a pot of gold.

Grinning affectionately at his friend's exuberance, Jim slapped him lightly on the back. "Okay, Chief! I give. What's your big news?"

Inexplicably, Jim cringed inwardly as chill gripped his heart. What if...?

Memories of a long–ago message on an answering machine came unbidden to his mind. Could this be another Borneo? Blair was his partner now, a gold shield–carrying detective, but still...

If the possibility ever opened up for Blair to resume his doctoral studies in anthropology, Jim wasn't sure what his decision would be. Rainier wouldn't take him back – Blair's press conference had cut those ties permanently – but there were plenty of other universities.

Universities far from Cascade.

Jim's reverie was cut short as he sensed Blair's bright eyes watching him closely.

"Jim?" The younger man's voice was warm with concern. "You okay, man?"

Forcing himself past his concerns, Ellison nodded. Whatever was happening in Blair's life, it wasn't going to disappear even if he ignored it the rest of the evening. "Yeah. I'm fine. Tell me, Chief. What's going on?"

"This came in today's mail." Blair held out the envelope, and Jim took it from him.

He studied the writing. Slightly shaky and varying in pressure. Maybe written by an older person? The return address was written neatly in the upper left corner.

Jim looked up at Blair, surprised at the familiar name.

"Fiora?" His eyes widened. "How did she know where to reach you?"

Smiling guiltily, Blair admitted, "I gave her our address at the airport in London the last time we saw her."

"Not surprising, Chief. You two hit it off pretty well."

"Look who's talking! Seriously, I don't think I've ever met anyone with as much natural insight about people."

The words especially about us hung unspoken in the air.

Silence reigned comfortably for several moments while both men recalled the elderly Irish woman they'd met near Killarney when Blair had been asked to return an old friend's ashes to his homeland. Almost instantly, Fiora had understood the deep friendship they shared, even giving them the gift of a wonderful Irish legend to explain their unique relationship.

" 'Anam cara'," Blair said softly, his eyes fastened on a single, bright star overhead. That was what Fiora had called them. Anam cara, friends of the heart, soul mates joined forever.

Jim glanced at his companion and smiled. "Anam cara. She had us figured out pretty well, didn't she, Chief?"

Blair nodded toward the letter in Jim's hand. "Wait until you read what she has to say."

Without waiting any longer, Jim unfolded the single, thin sheet of simple ivory stationery and began to read.

My Dearest Blair and James,

Though it has been long since last these old eyes beheld your smiles, I have not forgotten your visit nor your kindness in bringing my dear brother home to Ireland for his final rest. It is good hearts you have, and it is hoping to return your kindness I am now.

Fiora

Blair didn't look at Jim as the older man read the letter. He continued watching his star. Was it really still there? Or had it died thousands of years before, its light only now reaching this small blue planet so far away?

Blair's gaze wandered. There was Orion and there...Cassiopeia. Years ago, he and Naomi watched the stars. She would teach him the constellations and tell him stories about huge hunters stalking giant bears in the sky. He smiled at the memories and waited.

Jim cleared his throat. "This is all very interesting, Chief, but what do you think it means? Couldn't it just be Fiora's sense of the romantic running away with her? She's a very old woman, you know."

Blair's voice was soft and gentle. "Is that what you really believe?"

There was no hesitation in Jim's reply. "No. Fiora knew too much about us too soon for me to believe this is merely an old woman's imagination. But, what did she really tell us, after all? That she found herself thinking of you while she was a guest in a Scottish castle? That she had some dreams? That's really not a hell of a lot of information, Darwin."

Considering his friend's words, Blair pointed out, "True, she didn't give us many details, but it's obvious that Fiora definitely had a very strong feeling, a premonition even, that we would visit the castle, and that we had something important to learn there. Do you doubt her?"

Blair shifted to look at his best friend and read clearly the resignation in Jim's eyes. Accepting the mystical side of their relationship wasn't easy for the practical, no–nonsense James Ellison. Blair felt a strong surge of pride at the way Jim had eventually come to accept, and even honor, the spiritual connection between them. Their mystical bond had grown stronger through the years as they learned and experienced more and more of what it meant to be a sentinel and guide.

Jim leaned back and rested his head back against the chair. "See that star, Chief? The brightest one? Right there – to the right?"

Of all the stars in the sky, Jim had pointed out the same star he'd been watching. Wild. Smiling secretively, Blair whispered, "I see it."

"We don't really know, do we, that the star even still exists? It could have exploded or burned out a thousand years ago, and yet, because its light is still reaching us, we look at it and believe that what we see is real." Jim didn't speak for a few moments, and his inward struggle to express his thoughts was painfully obvious to his guide.

At last, he spoke reflectively, "You've taught me a lot, Chief. You...Incacha...and a certain jaguar and wolf. Not everything that's real can be seen, and a hell of a lot we see and believe is real isn't." Jim turned his head and smiled apologetically at his guide. "I may be a little slow, Darwin, but I have learned to trust you. If you think Fiora's onto something here, then...well, I'll be there right beside you every step of the way."

Blair smiled, grateful for Jim's trust. It had been a long time coming and hard won. "I don't know, yet, Jim. I think it's worth investigating, though." He considered his options for a few moments. "I think I'll start with Naomi," Blair said thoughtfully. "I really don't know that much about my heritage. Naomi always felt that those kinds of things weren't very important, and that we should be concerned about developing our inner selves for a better here and now and for the future, not worry about the distant past. I asked questions when I was a kid, of course. I know, of course, that we're Jewish. She never said much about her grandparent's family, though, on either side. I think they butted heads a lot when Naomi was growing up. When she ran away from home as a teenager, it was to get away from her parents. And to stretch her wings. I don't think she ever looked back, and I'm sure she never investigated her family tree." Blair shot Jim a wry grin. "A family tree means roots, and my mom's never been one to settle for a life planted in the suburbs, you know."

Jim's laugh was warmly affectionate. "You got that right, Chief. I just can't imagine Naomi with a white picket fence and baking cookies." He reached over and patted Blair's arm encouragingly. "Do your research, Darwin. If anyone can find out if there's really some connection between your family and Fiora's castle, it's you."

Fall blended into winter, then winter turned to spring. Cascade experienced its usual share of criminal activity, but on the whole, the Major Crimes team couldn't complain about their workload. Compared to times in their past, things had been relatively quiet.

By early May, Jim was beginning to think the criminal element had packed its bags and moved to LA. He had come home early that evening, a welcome end to a day which had required him to spend the entire afternoon in court. If there was one thing Jim disliked more than paperwork, it was court appearances.

Jim jogged up the stairs to his bedroom, unknotting his tie on the way. He smiled as he dialed up his hearing to listen to the sounds of the gulls down by the bay, accompanied by the deep bass drone of the buoy bells farther out to sea. As Jim stripped off the more formal trappings of his job, he considered how fortunate he had been to find this place. The loft suited him perfectly. Open spaces. A great view of the city and the water behind it with the mountains towering in the distance. The perfect home.

He pulled on his jeans and looked out over his loft and grinned. Sandburg claimed that the sentinel in him had selected this place as a lookout point over the city. Even his bedroom was perfect for a sentinel, Blair had theorized enthusiastically one evening as they had discussed the idea. Jim had scoffed at the theory then, but secretly, the thought had pleased him. The sentinels of old might have chosen to reside on a cliff or hillside or to use the canopy of the jungle to keep watch. This sentinel had his loft in the city that had become his to protect.

Tucking an old, soft pale blue t–shirt into his jeans, Jim headed barefoot back downstairs. He checked his watch. Sandburg would be home in an hour or so. Blair had gone down to the forensics lab to pick up a report they'd been waiting for. He'd insisted that Jim go on home, promising that he wouldn't be far behind. Blair had mentioned picking up a video on his way home to go with the popcorn they'd bought at the market a few days ago. A nice quiet evening at home with a good movie, hot popcorn, and a warm, spring night.

Life was definitely good.

Jim was humming to himself in the kitchen when he heard Sandburg's key in the lock. The smell of steaks sizzling on the grill permeated the loft. Jim dropped the last of the tomatoes into the salads and called out to his partner. "Hey, Chief! Chow's almost ready. Get yourself cleaned up, and let's eat. Got some great looking steaks down at Miller's Meat Market, and they're gonna be ready in just about four minutes. Hustle, Junior!"

"Hey, Jim?" Blair leaned against the counter, arms crossed, with a thoughtful expression. "Do you believe in synchronicity?"

Jim set the salad bowls on the table. "You want to eat in here or outside?"

"In. There's something I need to tell you."

"You said something about synchronicity?" Jim reverted to Blair's earlier question, hesitant about proceeding too quickly into whatever it was his friend needed to tell him.

"Yeah, you know. Order in the universe. No such thing as coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. That sort of thing."

Jim took the baked potatoes from the oven. As he sliced them open, he commented, "Maybe. Guess I haven't given it much thought. Why?" Even as he asked, he felt the old familiar tightness grip his heart. Once again, his mind flashed back to the message about Borneo.

Blair moved toward the bathroom. "I'll tell you in a sec. Let me wash up a little and change clothes. Back in a minute, okay?"

Swallowing the urge to grab his best friend by the shoulders and shake an explanation out of him, Jim calmly replied, "Better hurry, Chief. Don't want that steak to get cold."

Why was it every time something got Blair excited, he remembered that damned message on the answering machine so long ago? Even then, Sandburg had turned down the chance to go to Borneo because, as he had put it so wonderfully, "It's about friendship. It always has been. I just didn't get it before."

If the kid had felt that way then, why did Jim's over–active imagination seem to be eternally fixated on the possibility that he might accept such an opportunity now, after all they'd been through in the years since?

"The old fear response rearing its ugly head again," Jim muttered as he expertly turned the steaks onto a platter. He's not leaving. He promised you that a long time ago, and if there's one thing about Sandburg you can count on, it's his honesty. He's not going anywhere.

Mentally crossing his fingers, Jim went back into the loft and awaited his guide's explanation.

It wasn't long coming.

As Jim watched Blair move about the kitchen as they finished dinner preparations, he was taken back to their first few years together. Then, whenever Sandburg had been excited or nervous or happy or worried, he bounced. As the years rolled by and the young man matured, the bouncy occasions had been fewer and farther apart. Jim hadn't realized just how much he'd missed that energetic show of enthusiasm until he saw a full–fledged display of Blair–bouncing once again.

He flitted from living room to kitchen, setting the table...lighting at least a dozen candles...putting soft Celtic music on the stereo. One task was barely complete before he flew to the next.

Grinning, Jim reached out and snagged his friend, grasping his shoulders firmly. "Chief. If you don't stop bopping around, you're gonna wear out the floorboards. Sit. Eat."

"Yeah, you're right, man. Sorry." Blair sat down and took a bite of salad. "Good salad, Jim. The steaks smell really great, too. Makes me glad I haven't had red meat for a while so I can splurge. You really should try giving it up occasionally, man. That way, when you eat it again, it's something so special, not just..." Blair caught Jim's eye and grinned sheepishly. "I'm babbling, right?"

Arching an eyebrow, Jim asked, "Really? Hadn't noticed, Chief."

Blair's laughter rang through the loft. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath, followed by a sip of water. "It's just that today has been not your normal, run–of–the–mill day."

Jim waited a few moments, just to be sure Blair really had calmed down enough to discuss whatever was on his mind. When he saw that the younger man was managing to cut his steak, chew, and swallow without uttering a single word, Jim asked, "So, what's going on in that head of yours, Junior?"

"I heard from Naomi today."

"Really? How is Naomi? We haven't heard from her in a while."

Blair smiled warmly at the mention of his mom. "You know Naomi. Busy. Happy. She's been in the British Isles."

Jim's eyes rose to meet Blair's. "England?"

"No." Unwavering blue eyes held Jim's firmly, singing with barely contained excitement. "Scotland."

Blair's eyes were dancing, blue flames in the soft light of the candles flickering throughout the loft. "You are so not going to believe this, man" he cautioned with a smile.

Quietly, Jim replied, "Try me, Chief."

Now that his initial excitement was under control, Blair was calm, presenting his story carefully and clearly. "You know I've been trying to get in touch with Naomi to ask her some questions about what Fiora wrote us a few months back. We've talked briefly a few times, but either the connections weren't good, or Naomi was in too big a hurry to really talk. But today, I found out what I wanted to know."

Jim took a drink of water, then glanced at Sandburg's steak. "I've got a feeling this is going to be a long story, Junior. Why don't we finish these steaks, then move to the living room and get comfortable? I want to hear everything, but I think once you get rolling with this, that steak's going to be forgotten."

Blair grinned. "Got a point there, partner. I guess can hold my news a few more minutes." He looked down at his steak as he began slicing the tender meat. "Anything happen on the Morrison case after I left?"

Blair settled back on the couch, a glass of red wine in his hand. Jim sat in the chair beside the fireplace and sipped his wine as he waited for his partner to begin. A sense of anticipation settled over the sentinel, as if he already knew that the first step in an important journey was about to be taken.

"There definitely is a Celtic connection in my family, Jim," Blair began quietly. "Naomi told me so much I never knew. Her paternal grandmother's side of the family is Scottish; in fact, her father's mother came over from the countryside near Aberdeen in the early part of the 20th century. Her family name was Blair, and I was named for that side of her family."

Jim listened carefully, but he didn't comment or question, for fear of breaking the spell. Blair's voice had slipped into the melodic tones he once used when teaching, full of enthusiasm and enchantment for his topic, and like those former students, Jim was captivated.

"The family was centered in Ayrshire and was probably of Norman origin. The clan motto is pretty appropriate, I guess. Amo probos: I love the virtuous."

Jim smiled at that. More than appropriate. Blair respected truth above anything else. He remembered his friend's anger at the rich student, Brad Ventriss, granted special consideration by Rainier even in the face of his cheating.

I love the virtuous. Definitely a Blair thing.

Sandburg continued his story. "One ancestor, Roger de Blair, was a comrade–in–arms of Robert the Bruce. After the battle of Bannockburn in 1314, he earned royal favor as a result of the part he played in the Scottish victory. It was the defeat of the English at Bannockburn that insured Scottish independence, an independence which lasted until Mary Queen of Scots' son James ascended the English throne to become king of England. The various branches of the family owned several castles, including one now known as Blair Castle." The glowing blue eyes grew wider. "The same one Fiora visited and described in her letter."

The words the elderly Irish woman had written whispered in Jim's ear.

"...Whilst there...I felt a powerful connection between the castle and you. In fact, I had a premonition that you would walk in my footsteps there one day, and that your blood had already known that place. The feeling was undeniably real. Perhaps there truly is some Celtic blood running in both your veins?"

"That's not all," Blair continued, interrupting Jim's reverie. "Naomi visited Blair Castle last August. She and some friends were in Edinburgh to attend the Military Tattoo – that's the yearly presentation of drums and pipes held at Edinburgh Castle – when she read that Blair Castle wasn't very far away. She said that was too good to pass up, so she took the train to Aberdeen, then a bus on to the castle."

Jim waited for the words he could already hear in his head. If there was ever a case of déjà vu, he was experiencing it as Sandburg spoke. When on earth had he managed to take up full–time residence in the Sandburg Zone?

"Jim, she experienced the same thing as Fiora!" Blair was definitely less scholarly now, and much more excited. "She felt a connection there as well, but not for herself and her own heritage really, which is really a little weird when you think about it. More for me, and, as strange as it sounds, for you."

Blair hesitated a moment, he eyes locked on Jim. "She felt it has something to do with us both." The Celtic music played softly on the stereo, its hauntingly familiar melodies an appropriate backdrop for the drama unfolding.

"What do you want to do, Chief?" Jim watched his friend for any clue as to what this all might mean. Or was Blair as much in the dark as Jim felt?

"I have a feeling this all has to do with the sentinel thing, Jim. Don't ask me why. I'm not sure how I know, I just...know."

The intensity in his friend's voice caught Jim off–guard, and the older man tilted his head as he studied Blair's face carefully. Since when had this thing become so important to Sandburg? Yet, Jim wasn't really surprised. Anything involving sentinels immediately had Blair's undivided attention.

Blair grimaced. "I know...I know. This sounds really crazy, doesn't it? I just can't help feeling there's something to all this, Jim. I mean, things like this don't just happen, you know? There's gotta be a reason, a synchronicity to why it all's coming down with such perfect timing."

"You haven't answered my question," Jim pointed out. "What do you want to do?"

Blair looked up with a guilty smile. "Yeah. I haven't, have I? I didn't really know what I wanted to do until today, but when I talked to Naomi, it just all became clear. I know I haven't built up a lot of leave yet, but I have put in hours of overtime even before I became 'official'. If you talk to him, then maybe Simon will let me off for a while and..." Blair's rapid–fire words slowed, then stopped.

"You want to go."

"I...I guess so," he stammered. "I mean, there may be something to learn here, right? I could write the laird, you know, and ask him for a copy of this journal, but what if there's more? Something that isn't written down? Or something else that Fiora just wasn't aware of? Nothing can take the place of field work, right? I might..."

Jim's laughter stopped the flood of words. Looking at his partner curiously, Blair blurted, "What?"

Shaking his head in amusement, Jim chuckled. "Just you, Chief. You're really fired up about this, aren't you? Of course we should go. You don't have to give me your Anthro 101 lecture on the importance of field work in any investigative study."

Smiling, Blair shrugged. "Guess I just didn't figure you'd be convinced quite so easily, man. I mean..." As if Jim's words had only just begun to sink in, Blair stopped and looked at his friend with wide blue eyes. "We...? You said we should go?"

Jim leaned back in his chair. He took a slow sip of wine, regarding Blair over the rim of his glass with a bemused expression. "If you think I'm letting you take off for parts unknown to do sentinel research without your number one research subject, then you don't know your Blessed Protector as well as I thought you did." A small smile played around the corners of his mouth. "We're a team, Sandburg. Partners. Remember?"

His voice warm with emotion, Blair agreed. "Partners. Right. Thanks, Jim."

"You want to what?" Simon Banks asked, his brown eyes wide as he stared at his friend.

Jim's gaze never wavered. "I've got plenty of vacation time, Simon. I'm just asking to take two weeks in a block this summer."

Simon scrubbed his hand across his hair. "Of course you've got the time, Jim, and if all hell doesn't break loose between now and then, it shouldn't be a problem, but why Scotland? And what about Sandburg? He certainly doesn't have two weeks built up yet."

When Jim didn't respond immediately, Simon had to bite back a smile. Jim could use a touch of his partner's talent for obfuscation; sometimes Ellison was too straight forward for his own good.

"Well? Okay, if you can't answer that one, then tell me this. Why the hell do you two suddenly feel the need to visit Scotland?" Simon recognized clearly the signs of discomfort his best detective was exhibiting and purposefully kept his 'captain's face' on. He fully intended to approve Jim's request, but out of pure stubbornness, Simon refused to make it too easy for his friend. There were some advantages to being the boss.

Jim leaned forward and rubbed his jaw. "You see, Sir, it all started with a letter from an elderly Irish lady we met on our last trip..."

As Jim spoke, Simon knew his disbelief was obvious, but he couldn't help himself. Would there ever be an end to the strange events directly connected to this sentinel thing? Of course, compared to visiting dead shamans, invisible black jaguars, and bringing your partner back from the dead, a story about a castle in Scotland seemed rather tame.

"...Sandburg thinks there might be something to learn there, Simon. Anyway you look at it, the kid's earned some time away, don't you think? Even if it's not officially? Working two jobs for all those years, not to mention doing so much of my paperwork here, and..."

Deciding Jim had groveled enough, Simon cut him off with a wave of his hand. "You're preaching to the choir, Jim. Take your vacation time, go visit this castle, see what happens. Just don't send me any postcards about séances or visits from the other side." He gave a mock shiver. "Don't want to hear it; don't want to know."

With a rare Ellison grin, Jim jumped to his feet. "Thank you, sir. We'll take a couple of weeks to wrap everything we can up before we go. I really appreciate this, Simon. It means a lot to Blair." The words ...and to me hung unspoken in the air.

Turning his attention back to the open file on his desk, Simon ordered, "Go. Tell your partner, then both of you get back to work. You're not off–duty yet, either one of you." He shot Jim his best captain's glare.

Simon looked up after Jim closed his door behind him and chuckled. Ellison and Sandburg. What a team.

The days passed quickly as May turned to June. Jim and Blair prepared for their time off by closing out as many open cases as possible and briefing Rafe, Henri, and Joel Taggart, who'd be covering their open cases while they were gone.

As their departure date grew nearer, Blair's excitement grew. He carefully planned their route and itinerary, laid out his laundered and ironed clothes, ready for packing, and organized their passports and tickets into the new leather document wallets Jim bought for them both.

The week before the trip, Blair looked up to see the sentinel entering the loft, a large package wrapped in brown paper balanced in his arms. "Hey, Chief!" Jim called. "Get in here!"

Dropping his old duffel bag on the floor outside his room, Blair scurried to help Jim with the big box. "What's this, man? You starting your Christmas shopping early?"

"Not quite, Darwin. It is a gift, though." Jim maneuvered the box onto the couch. "Open." He gestured to the package.

Confused, Blair looked from Jim to the package and back again. "Me? That's for me? It's not my birthday, man."

Ellison shrugged. "I know that. Does there have to be an occasion for a friend to buy you a gift? Just a practical something I thought you needed. Go on. Open it."

Like a child at Christmas, Blair ripped into the brown paper wrapping. Tearing open the box, he gasped as he withdrew a brown leather suitcase. "Jim! This is...Oh, man, this is so great!" He ran appreciative fingers over the softly tanned leather and eyed the shiny brass locks. "It's too much, though. You shouldn't have done this."

Ruffling his guide's curls affectionately, Jim teased, "That old duffel of yours has definitely seen better days, Chief, and you know how hard the airlines are on luggage. It probably wouldn't survive the trip over. Then we'd have to spend half the trip dealing with the airline and the other half shopping for appropriately grungy clothes for you. Look, just consider this a thank–you gift, okay?"

Turning curious blue eyes upward, Blair asked, "Thank–you gift? For what?"

Jim looked suddenly embarrassed, and he looked down at the suitcase, running a sensitive fingertip over the close, tight stitches and the supple leather. "For everything. The last few years. All you've done. Everything."

Understanding what his normally reticent friend was trying to say, Blair smiled gently. Resting his hand on the small of Jim's back, he said quietly, "You're welcome, man. And thanks for the suitcase. It's beautiful. Really great."

Reaching out, Jim cuffed Blair gently. "You're welcome, Chief. C'mon. Let's go grab some supper. I'm not in a cooking mood tonight. My treat."

"Hey, man, did you come into an inheritance? New luggage. Dinner." Blair joked as they closed the loft door behind them. "I'm not complaining, you understand, it's just..."

"Watch it, Sandburg," Jim warned. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth?" He jogged down the stairs. "Let's eat! We've got packing to do."

It really is all about friendship, Blair thought as he followed his friend, awed by the message behind Jim's seemingly simple gesture. Once again, the man was willing to put his own life on hold and follow his guide on another of his unorthodox hunches. Blair shook his head as he considered his friend. Jibes, jokes, and gentle horseplay, accompanied by a new leather suitcase – just because. All wrapped up in a seemingly tougher–than–nails exterior and all part of the complex package that was Jim Ellison.

And Blair wouldn't have wanted to live his life in any other place than at his side.

They were leaving the next day. As Jim settled his shaving kit into the one remaining empty corner of his suitcase, he sighed heavily. He could no longer put off one thing he'd been dreading ever since they had decided to travel to Scotland.

He had to call his father and Steven.

Blair was still at the station putting the finishing touches on the last of their reports. This would be the best time to get the dreaded phone calls over with. Jim had no desire for his best friend to overhear whatever fireworks might erupt during his call to dear old Dad.

To warm up, he called Steven first.

His brother was in his office and after Jim explained that he'd be out of town for a while on a vacation to Scotland, Steven wished him well in a rather distracted voice. An important meeting in less than half an hour, his brother pointed out, and he'd had little time to prepare.

Like father, like son. At least you have one 'chip off the old block', Dad.

He dialed the second number.

Jim wandered around the living room as he listened to the ringing phone in his hand.

Sally answered. Jim smiled warmly as he chatted with the older woman who had practically become a surrogate mother after Grace Ellison had disappeared when he had still been a child. Sally told Jim to wait while she called his father to the phone.

"Hello?" William Ellison's voice never changed. Always filled with authority, certain, and unwavering.

"Dad, it's Jim." He drifted over to the bookcase and looked over Sandburg's collection of artifacts and the pictures displayed there.

"Hello, Jimmy. Anything wrong?"

Did he detect a note of suspicion in the tone? Give him a break, Jim scolded himself. You seldom call the man unless there is something wrong. What else should he think? Of course, he never calls you either, so...

"No, everything's fine. How've you been?"

Jim studied a photo in a blue frame. Sandburg on a dig, apparently in some hot locale. A young Sandburg, probably not a day over eighteen, eyes full of excitement as he looked up from the dry sand where he'd been working, a trowel clutched in his hand. Same long hair, same azure eyes, same joyous enthusiasm. Jim smiled back at his friend's image. Some things never changed. Thank God.

He forced his attention back to his father's voice.

"...investments are doing well. You should have taken me up on those tips I gave you." When Jim didn't respond, William changed the subject. "The doctor says my heart condition's stabilized with the medication. Shouldn't need surgery this year anyway."

"That's good, Dad," Jim said sincerely. What a damned shame he and his dad had never found a way to bridge the chasm between them to become close. Some his fault, some the old man's.

"So, why did you call, Jimmy?"

Cut right to the chase, Pops. We've exchanged pleasantries. Enough small talk.

"I'm going to be out of the country for a while, and I wanted to let you know. I don't have a number yet where I can be reached, but if you need me, Simon should have the number in a day or so. I'll call him as soon as we settle in."

Jim's gaze wandered to another photo, this time of the two of them playing two on two basketball against Simon and Daryl. Joel had snapped it with his new camera. After they had scored the winning goal, Blair had run up to Jim and wrapped his arms around the larger man in a big bear hug. Joel had taken the picture just as Jim's arms tightened around Blair, and they beamed at each other with huge, silly grins. Good times.

"I can't anticipate any reason I should need to call, Jimmy, but it was good of you to let me know. Is this trip business or pleasure?"

Jim could hear his father turning the pages of his newspaper as he spoke. Probably the Wall Street Journal. Never missed a day reading all the latest economic news.

Business or pleasure? Good question.

Dad, Blair and I are traveling to Scotland because an elderly Irish lady and his off–beat mother believe we have something to learn at an old castle. Jim grinned as he imagined what his father's reaction would be to the truth.

"It's a vacation, Dad. We're going to drive through the Highlands and see the scenery. We didn't get to see Scotland when we went to Ireland and England a couple of years ago."

Immediately, the air was almost palatably heavier. "So, your friend is accompanying you?"

Jim felt his defensive hackles rise. "If you mean, Blair, yes. He's going with me. There are some places there we both want to visit." The challenging note in Jim's voice was unmistakable.

"Jimmy, do you really think it's such a good idea to spend so much time with that young man? What do we really know about him, after all? About who he is, who his people are?"

Too perfect. Jim chuckled. "Believe it or not, Dad, that is exactly what this trip is all about. As for my spending time with Blair, don't look for that to change. It hasn't in the past six years, you know." Before his father could start another of his arguments, Jim managed to squeeze in a quick lie, "My cell's going off. Probably Simon. We'll be back in a couple of weeks. Bye, Dad."

When he broke the connection, Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe the conversation with his dad hadn't been the casual, caring visit he would have preferred, but at least he'd managed to avoid a major confrontation. Reaching out, Jim fingered one of the old pieces of pottery on the middle shelf of the bookcase. Sandburg had told him where he'd found this old pot, but he couldn't remember the location. Pretty thing, though, all the same. He'd only been able to keep it because they had found dozens just like it in the area. Broken, yet mended and still able to perform its intended function.

If such an old vessel could be put back together after a thousand years, why the hell couldn't he and his own father manage to mend their relationship?

Tired of contemplating the unanswerable, Jim turned from the pottery and resumed his packing.

The next morning, as they were finishing a few last minute chores, the phone rang. "Sandburg!" Jim called from the kitchen and his chore of cleaning out the refrigerator. "Get that, will you?"

No response. Jim stretched out his hearing and zeroed in on the familiar 'Blair sounds.' The kid was out on the balcony, muttering something about the neighbors and how they'd better remember to water his plants.

"Sandburg!"

When no response was forthcoming, Jim hurried into the living room himself.

"Hello?" He glanced out the sliding doors at Blair, calmly picking brown leaves off a potted plant, blissfully unaware of Jim's attempts to gain his attention. Ellison smiled when Blair caught him watching and tossed a thumbs–up and a grin in his direction.

"Jimmy?"

His father.

"Yeah, Dad, it's me. What's going on?"

His father hesitated a few moments before responding. "I was thinking, Jimmy. There's probably something you'd want to know before you take off on your trip. I mean, it's not important, really, in the grand scheme of things, but you might find it interesting, I don't know."

Jim leaned against the couch. C'mon, Dad. We gotta leave for the airport in an hour. Pick up the tempo a little.

Trying not to let his impatience creep into his voice, he asked, "What's that, Dad?" Probably another investment tip. He caught Sandburg watching him this time, a hint of concern in the expressive blue eyes. To reassure him, Jim shrugged and grinned, giving him a thumbs up sign. Immediately, the shadow of concern vanished. Jim could hear him whistling a bright tune as he worked with the plants.

"You've got some Scots in you, Jimmy."

Now, his father had Jim's attention. Interesting. Probably meant nothing, but interesting just the same. "Really, Dad? I never knew that 'Ellison' was a Scottish name."

"It is. The name Ellison is part of the clan MacPherson." A slight hesitation followed. "They do call that a clan, right? I don't know much about my side of it all. My parents were never into that sort of thing. There's also a Scottish connection on your mother's side, Jimmy."

William Ellison's voice hardened a bit at the mention of his wife. "Her mother was a Montgomery, and Grace knew all about her family's history. Grace's grandmother came over from Scotland in the early 1900s. The family was from somewhere near Aberdeen, I think. Her mother used to talk about it some. She was into all that genealogical stuff, long before it became so popular. Anyway, that's about all I know." William sounded uncertain now that the factual part of the conversation had been taken completed. "I just...I just figured you might want to know."

Jim was genuinely touched by his father's consideration. He stared out the window at Cascade, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. Reminders of his mother never got easier, especially when they came from his father. Jim knew the phone call hadn't been easy for the elder Ellison to make. "Thanks, Dad. Really. Blair has some places he wants to visit that are connected to his family, and it sounds like they might be in the same general area. He has some reference books on the clans. We'll see what they have to say about the Montgomerys."

Jim could almost hear the battle his father waged before managing to force the next words out. "Good. I..." He stopped, then started again. "I hope you...and Blair...have a nice trip, Jimmy. Call me when you get back?"

"Sure, Pop. And, thanks. It was nice of you to call, and remember that if you need me, Simon will know where we are. I'll let you know when we're home. Bye."

"Good–bye, Jimmy."

Blair came back inside just as Jim was settling the phone back in its cradle. "Who was that, man? I take it from the thumbs up that it wasn't Simon ordering us in to work some really hot case. Right? Please, man, tell me it wasn't Simon!" Blair grabbed his upper arms and looked upward with pleading blue eyes, only halfway joking.

Jim playfully slapped both Blair's cheeks. "No way, Junior. We're on our way to bonnie old Scotland, as planned." Jim headed back toward the kitchen. "That was my dad. He had some news for me."

Following his sentinel into the kitchen, Blair grabbed a Coke from the refrigerator and popped it open, leaning back against the counter. He eyed his Coke, then grinned guiltily. "Any chips left?"

Reaching up to the cabinet where they stored the snacks, Jim tossed a half empty bag to Sandburg. "Junk food, y'know, Chief."

Munching on a handful of chips, Blair muttered, "That's the pot calling the kettle black, man. How often do I get a craving for this stuff?" Washing down the chips with a swig of Coke, he added, "Tell me the news."

Jim looked purposefully confused. "News?"

Blair swatted his shoulder lightly. "C'mon, Ellison. You're not that forgetful. Yet. Your dad. You said he had news."

"Watch the age cracks, Junior." Jim reached into the refrigerator and check a couple of storage containers. "You still got that reference book on the Scottish clans around?" He tossed the contents of one container of leftovers into the trash, then added the second one to it. No point in keeping anything in the fridge while they were on this trip.

"Yeah, sure. Why?"

Satisfied with the cleanliness of the refrigerator, Jim turned to face Blair and shrugged. "Turns out I've got some Scots in my family tree, too, Chief."

Blair's grin was a mile wide. "See? I told you this trip was gonna be great! I've got my book packed in my carry–on bag. We can read all about your family on the way over. What's the name anyway?"

"The name Ellison is linked to the clan MacPherson, but there's also a connection on my mother's side. Montgomery, Chief. My mom's grandmother's name was Montgomery."

Blair had the book out before the jet had even leveled out to its cruising altitude. Watching Blair turn the pages in obvious excitement, Jim grinned at his friend's enthusiasm. He hadn't seen the younger man so worked up about anything in quite some time.

As Blair devoured the pages, Jim leaned back and closed his eyes. It was going to be a long flight – first to New York and a change of planes at La Guardia, then on into Edinburgh, and flying was never comfortable for him. Long legs and the closely spaced seats in coach equaled a cramped journey. Might as well try to rest a bit while he was still fresh.

He was just dozing off when he felt Blair's elbow dig into his ribs.

"Hey, Jim! Listen to this."

Jim ignored the intrusion. With any luck at all, Blair would settle down if he though Jim was napping. He concentrated on breathing deeply and feigning sleep.

No luck.

"C'mon, man, you can't be asleep yet. We've got lots of time for napping. Right now, listen up."

Slowly, Jim's blue eyes opened, and he stared over at his best friend, hoping the glare he shot in Blair's direction was suitably intimidating. "I was resting, Junior. This better be good."

Blair just smiled broadly, ignoring Jim's attempt at intimidation. When the hell had Sandburg stopped fearing his patented Ellison glare? The kid was getting way too comfortable with his place in Jim's life and heart. He'd have to work on that.

"This is fascinating stuff, Jim. Really." Big blue eyes stared at Jim with obvious hope. "C'mon, man... you know you want to hear this."

Unable to keep up the facade of irritability, Jim gave up and grinned at Sandburg. So what if Blair knew that underneath the rock hard exterior he presented to the world, Jim had a soft and vulnerable heart? His secrets – each and every one – couldn't be in better hands. "I'm listening, Chief. Tell me."

Immediately, the look that Jim had dubbed Blair's 'professor face' fell into place. The younger man settled back in his seat, reference book open on his lap. "Okay, let's start with the Ellison side of things. You already know that the Ellisons came from the clan MacPherson. You won't believe what's on your crest, Jim." Blair waited a moment before springing his surprise. "A cat! But this doesn't look like just an ordinary cat. Look!"

Blair held out the book, pointing to the illustration. A rather ferocious looking feline was pictured with one clawed paw outstretched. Jim studied the illustration for a moment then looked back at Sandburg.

"That's called a 'cat sejant Proper'," Blair noted with an air of authority. "At least that's the heraldic term to describe it."

Jim's eyes narrowed. Sometimes the kid tended to talk way too fast. And too far above his head, truth be told. "In English, Sandburg."

"Okay, man. Take all the fun out of it, why don't you? 'Sejant' means the cat's seated. 'Proper' signifies that it appears in its natural colors. Anyway, that picture combined with your clan motto is a real kick."

When Blair paused, seemingly in no hurry to complete his explanation, Jim prodded, "And this family motto is...?"

Blair chuckled. " 'Touch not the cat but a glove.' In other words, don't mess with the jaguar, man!"

As Blair's words sank in, a slow grin turned up the corners of Jim's mouth. He stared down at the illustration of the crest. Touch not the cat but a glove. Don't mess with the jaguar... For an antiquated family motto, it wasn't bad. Not bad at all. "Appropriate enough, isn't it?" he mused thoughtfully.

Blair's words poured out in an excited rush. "That's not the best part, though, Jim. Like the Blairs, the Montgomery clan – your mom's side of things – is also of Norman descent. In fact, there's a line tracing all the way back to William the Conqueror, and several of the family members were with him at Hastings in 1066. Anyway, the Montgomerys lived in the same area of Scotland as the Blairs, even owning, from what I can tell from this limited source, adjoining lands!"

Jim cocked his head to the side. "What are you saying, Chief? Our families could have known each other?"

"Not could have. Must have, Jim! Both families had men who fought side by side with Robert the Bruce at Bannockburn in 1314. The Montgomery family had an estate called Eglinton Castle." Blue eyes twinkled as he asked, "Guess where it is?"

Jim stared at him. "No. It can't be."

Blair laughed quietly. "Yep. Less than two miles from Blair Castle."

Both men sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the new information, then Blair looked up at Jim with wide eyes. "There's one more thing. Jim, guess what the Montgomery family motto is?"

Silently, Jim shook his head.

"You are so not going to believe this, man. Jim, it's...Garde bien.

Ellison shook his head. "My French isn't too great, Sandburg. That means...?"

In a voice reverberating with quiet awe, Blair whispered, "Watch well. It means watch well, my sentinel."

Jim passed the rest of the two long flights in a surreal fog. In some strange way, the other passengers, the flight attendants, and the general, quiet commotion that accompanies an international flight faded away, leaving him alone with his thoughts – and with Blair.

For even as the rest of his surroundings became less clear, less real, the reality of Blair never wavered. Once they departed New York City, after the in–flight dinner was served and cleared, Sandburg slept.

Jim tried to sleep, but his thoughts refused him rest. He tried focusing on the peaceful rhythm of Sandburg's breathing and the accompaniment of his steady heartbeat. He tried controlling his own breathing – deeply and slowly – tried imagining himself in a quiet, restful place. He even attempted to relax each part of his body, beginning with his toes, just as Blair had taught him, but abandoned the routine on the third time through.

Nothing helped.

His mind, steadfastly refusing to be calmed, whirled around and around the possibilities lying before them. The clan mottos...the seemingly undeniable truth that their ancestors had known each other...the strange feelings experienced both by Fiora and Naomi.

What the hell did it all mean?

What were they going to find there in the Scottish highlands?

Frustrated at the lack of answers and his inability to take any kind of action for the next several hours at least, Jim shifted in his seat, turning slightly on his side toward his partner and smiled.

Blair had curled into a ball, his face turned toward Jim, the thin airline blanket tucked high under his chin. In a deep sleep, his eyes quivered beneath the pale lids as thick, curly lashes lay dark on his cheeks – wisps of coal resting on a blanket of snow. One hand was tucked up beneath his head; the other lay open on the seat between them.

"Who are you, Chief?" Jim whispered. "And why the hell are you here with me? What did I ever do to deserve you, huh?" Reaching over, he smoothed a stray lock of hair from his friend's forehead. "Seems like just when we've got this whole deal figured out, someone – or something – throws us a curve, don't they?"

Blair shifted slightly, moaning softly in his sleep. "Jimm...?"

Instinctively, Jim captured Blair's hand in his and squeezed. "Shhhhh...easy, Blair. It's okay. I'm right here." His thumb stroked the soft skin between Blair's knuckles, and he smiled when his partner immediately calmed at the familiar touch.

Safe in his warm cocoon, seemingly shut away from the rest of the people on the jet, Blair slept peacefully again. "Hey, Chief," Jim whispered, confident no one could hear him above the sound of the engines. "Whatever happens over there, whatever we discover, it's not gonna change anything, is it?" He tightened his hold on Blair's hand. "It can't change this, can it? Listen, what I said before? I know..."

Jim hesitated, reluctant to verbalize the words to his sleeping friend, words he would never have the courage to speak aloud were Sandburg awake. "I know I've never done a damned thing to deserve your friendship, but I'm eternally grateful to whatever power gave me these senses then brought you into my life."

Jim stared at the sleeping face for several long minutes. A trace of a smile flickered on Blair's lips, and Jim smiled softly in response. "Sleep well, Chief. Sleep well."

A few minutes later, Jim was asleep, his hand still curled loosely around Sandburg's.

Blair was enchanted by the old city of Edinburgh. Dominated by the great stone walls of Edinburgh Castle, rising high above the town on the remains of an extinct volcano, the city retained its old world charm while still moving forward into the 21st century.

They spent two days exploring the old city and letting their bodies adjust to the time difference. Strolling along the Royal Mile, Blair entertained Jim with stories of John Knox, Scotland's religious reformer, Mary, Queen of Scots, and the origins of the legend of Jekyll and Hyde.

"Jekyll and Hyde? I thought that took place in London," Jim commented.

"Hey! You remember your college lit, Jim. I'm impressed." Blair deftly dodged the hand that darted out to swat the back of his head and laughed. "Deacon Brodie. An upstanding, respected councilor by day. A thief by night. So begins the story of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, although you're right, Stevenson did set his tale in foggy London rather than here." Blair looked around him in appreciation of the city. "Isn't it amazing, Jim, how much history there is all around us here? So many stories, so many lives lived and lost right here in old Edinburgh."

They turned a corner and spotted a pub across the street. A statue of a small Scottish terrier stood guard out front. Grabbing Jim's arm, Blair hustled them both across the street.

Watching anxiously for oncoming traffic, Jim chided, "Sandburg! Slow down! What's the hurry?"

Blair ran an appreciative hand over the statue. "Have you ever heard of Grayfriar's Bobby? It's a true story. Disney made a movie about him a while back."

Slipping into his 'teacher's voice', Blair began the story. "There was a policeman in Edinburgh who walked a beat with his little dog alongside. This little guy here. Every day at the same time, they'd stop by the pub here for lunch, the policeman and his dog. A few years passed, and then the policeman died and was buried. His little dog, Bobby, spent the rest of his life at his master's graveside, going around to the neighbors for food, visiting the pub at exactly the time he and his master had while the policeman was alive, and returning faithfully to the grave every night. This is the statue erected to honor Bobby's faithfulness, and when he died, he was buried just outside the cemetery where his master lies."

"That kind of loyalty is rare," Ellison said softly, still looking at the statue of Bobby. "It's right to honor loyalty when it's found. Maybe Bobby's story will keep someone from taking it for granted one day."

Blair stole a quick look at his friend. Jim's stare was focused on the statue of the little dog, and for an instant, Blair thought he caught a glimpse of moisture at the corner of the sentinel's eye. Jim's hand found the small of his back, resting there in warm communion, saying more than words ever could. After a few more minutes of contemplation at the shrine to enduring friendship, Jim and Blair continued their tour of Edinburgh.

By the time they picked up their rental car on the third day, both sentinel and guide were relaxed and looking forward to venturing from the city into the rural countryside of Scotland. It was a short drive from the bustle of Edinburgh through the pastoral lands of Scotland to Blair Castle. Jim drove through small villages as the road wound through the countryside. In pastures, sheep grazed peacefully as creeks tumbled over gray rocks.

During the trip, Blair was uncharacteristically quiet. Jim glanced over at his friend often, but the younger man seemed not to notice. "Deep thoughts, Chief?" he asked at last.

"I guess." He gestured out the window with his right hand. "I mean, look around us, man! Hundreds of years ago, our ancestors lived right here. This is the land where they were born, grew up, fell in love, married and bore their own children. If someone in our pasts hadn't immigrated to the U.S., this would be our home, too."

Blair shook his head slightly as he continued. "It's so not like anything else I've experienced, y'know? I've been pretty much around the world, seen the cradles of ancient civilizations, and yet this place..."

Blair fell quiet for a few moments, and Jim allowed him time to gather his thoughts. With a deep sigh, Blair continued quietly, "I feel connected to this place, Jim. In a way I never have before." Shrugging, Blair added, "I can't explain it, but I feel like I've been here before. Like I belong here, man." After a moment's hesitation, he added quietly, "Guess you think I've lost it, huh?"

Jim looked out the window at the gently rolling green hills. Gray boulders lay strewn about as if cast there by the hand of some ancient giant. He looked at the neat, tidy cottages scattered about distantly from each other. Long, low walls of stone separated the fields of neighbors, looking like gray ribbons twining the landscape.

This wasn't the emerald loveliness they had seen in Ireland, but Scotland had a wild beauty all its own. This was a strong place, a country that knew well the ravages of war and had gained strength in the knowing. Jim could sense a quiet strength lying about him, a power in the land as well as in the people. "I don't think you've lost it, Sandburg," Jim said at last. "I feel it, too."

The sentinel expected his friend to jump on that statement, to begin dissecting their experiences to figure out what was happening to them.

But he didn't.

Blair's gaze returned to the waters of the North Sea, lying off to their right, and he remained silent for the rest of the journey.

Within an hour, they saw the signs directing them to a small, unpaved road turning off toward the sea.

Blair Castle

The towers of the castle rose above the green fields like a white cloud hovering low above the earth. The main section of the castle stood five stories high, with a square keep or watchtower lying off to the left. Cone–topped turrets broke the flat planes of the old walls, and notched battlements crowned the roofline. To the left was a clock tower, its hands showing half past five o'clock. From the original center portion, latter day additions sprawled out in both directions, their gray pitched roofs lower than those of the main structure. Above the arched front door, the coat of arms of the Blair family graced the entryway. Even though the castle itself did not perch directly on the coastline but stood back from it, separated from the sea by several acres of pasture, the smell of brine was strong in the air.

Jim and Blair stood in dwarfed silence before the imposing structure, gazing upward at the ancient, white castle. At last, Blair looked up at Jim. "Man! Would you just look at this place, Jim?"

Ellison's gaze remained focused on the towering walls. "It's impressive, Chief. That's for sure. Do you...?"

The wide, heavy oak door swung slowly open, interrupting Jim's question.

"May I help you?"

An elderly gentleman stood in the doorway, blinking rapidly in the bright sunlight. What hair he had remaining was totally white, a vivid contrast to the deep tan of his wrinkled skin. At least in his mid–eighties, his blue eyes were watery and showed signs of cataracts, although he wore no glasses to correct his vision.

Blair took three steps forward, holding out his hand in greeting. "I'm Blair Sandburg, and this is my friend, Jim Ellison. We're from the U.S. Some of my family was Scottish and from the Blair clan." He flashed a bright smile at the elderly man. "That's where I get my name. Anyway, we traveled here to visit the castle. An Irish friend of ours was here a few months ago and told me about it. She seemed to think that it was very important that I visit here."

The dour old man stared at Blair without speaking and didn't raise his own hand to take Blair's. The younger man let his hand fall to his side.

Jim glanced at his partner briefly then stepped forward himself. "There's a journal in the library here that Fiora felt Blair should see. We wondered if we could spend some time..."

The old man interrupted. "We let out flats. By the week or month. Got one left. Can be yours if you want it."

Surprised, Blair and Jim exchanged glances. At Blair's quick nod, Jim smiled.

"We'll take it, Mr...?"

Snorting, the elderly Scotsman nodded curtly. "Blair, of course. Who else would I be but a Blair, this being Blair Castle? I'm Laurence Blair, currently chief of the clan and laird of this castle." He turned and entered the darkness of the entry hall, calling back to them, "Bring your cases. Come on inside."

Laughing, Blair stretched out full–length on the soft feather mattress. He studied the vaulted ceiling high above them.

"Oh, man, Jim! Just look at this place! Those are frescoes, you know. They'd have to be at least seven hundred years old."

As he arranged his clothes in the drawers of the antique wardrobe in his room next to Blair's, Jim called, "What's a fresco, Chief?"

Blair replied in a normal conversational tone, knowing full well his sentinel could hear every word. "It's painting done directly onto wet plaster. Like in the Sistine Chapel. You couldn't afford to make a mistake. If you did, you had to plaster over the whole area and begin again." He shook his head in amazement at the artwork above him. "Look at the colors in this thing. Still so vivid after so many centuries. Amazing."

Closing the heavy wardrobe doors, Jim ambled into Blair's room. Gazing up, he studied the heavily decorated ceiling. "Mine's plain. Just dark wood beams on a white plaster ceiling. What's the lettering say, Chief?"

Blair looked where Jim was indicating. Around the edges of the vaulted ceiling was calligraphy. "It's Latin. Give me a minute, and I'll see if I can translate."

A few moments later, Blair sat up on the bed. "I think they must be Scottish sayings. Listen to this." He read from the wall directly over the door leading to Jim's room. " 'Many's the men who've battled foe...many the number slain...many the lads have fallen, though Scotland shall rise again.'"

Jim sat down next to him. "Not bad," he said with an approving nod. "What else?"

Blair laughed. "Hey, man, here's one for you! 'Those that board with cats may count on scratches.' Maybe that explains why I'm always ending up in the ER."

Cuffing him gently on the head, Jim growled, "Watch it, Junior. This jaguar's got claws."

With a flash of hurt in his deep blue eyes, Blair turned his attention back to the ceiling. "How about this one, then? 'The worth of a thing is best known by the want of it.' "

Now the pain flared in Jim's light eyes. "Ouch," he said softly. "I guess I asked for that one, didn't I?" Laying his hand lightly on Blair's leg, he apologized, "You were right both times. You've been scratched way too many times on my account, and I never did appreciate what I had until I almost lost it."

"It's okay, man. Forget it." Blair looked at the antique grandfather clock by the window. "The laird said dinner is promptly at seven. Think we've got time for a quick stroll around the grounds?"

The castle was surrounded by acres of forest interspersed with rolling green pastures. Docile sheep grazed contentedly as Jim and Blair strolled along the narrow paths leading between the rock walls.

Blair wrapped his lightweight jacket around himself more tightly. "Cooler than I thought," he commented with an exaggerated shiver. "Of course, we're on almost the same parallel with the southern tip of Norway. What did I expect?"

Jim chuckled. "Shame I can't share the dials, Chief. One of the blessings of being a sentinel. Never too hot, never too cold."

Blair elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Shut up, man. You don't have to rub it in."

A half hour later, they stood on the rocky cliffs high above the North Sea. Blair crept as close as he dared to the edge and watched the waves crashing in onto the gray stones below. The wind had picked up, and his long, loose curls were tossed freely in the strong breeze. He really hadn't expected Scotland to be quite this chilly.

Such a rugged place, he mused. Ireland, in his memory, was gentle emerald knolls and peaceful, winding roads. A peaceful, dreamy country. Scotland, in contrast, was a warrior's land – tried and tempered by struggle and conflict... baptized in the blood of its clansmen.

A sudden crash of wave upon rock brought captured Blair's wandering attention. He shuddered at the realization of how far he'd have to fall should he take misstep, and Blair moved back from the edge of the cliff. "Long way down, isn't it?" He turned to his partner, but the look on Jim's face erased his smile immediately.

Jim was standing absolutely still, his sky blue eyes focused intently on the rocks below them. A puzzled look, bordering on confusion, darkened his chiseled features. He did not respond to Blair's comment.

Ghosting his hand along the small of Jim's back, Blair moved closer to his partner. "Jim? What is it? Are you with me here?"

Jim's eyes flickered to Blair's face, then back to the sea. "This is strange, Sandburg."

So it wasn't a zone. "What, Jim?" Blair kept his voice purposefully calm and reassuring. "What's strange?"

"This place." Jim gestured down to the rugged shore. "It's...familiar. Almost like I've been here before, but that's not quite it either. Those, rocks... the waves... I..." Jim hesitated, then shook his head and spread his hands helplessly. "I can't explain it."

Blair knew his friend was relying on him to interpret the strange sensations he was experiencing. That was his job, after all, as guide to his sentinel.

Perhaps even more important, it was his role as best friend to the unique man that was Jim Ellison.

"Jim?" Blair said quietly, "if it's true that your ancestors lived in this place, then maybe..." He thought for a long moment, trying to organize his bustling thoughts. "You saw Molly, right? And the little girl in York when we were in England."

Jim didn't reply, but he nodded slightly, his eyes still fixed on the gray boulders below.

More sure of himself, Blair's words picked up speed, his tone authoritative in his certainty. "You're connected to the spirit world, there's no denying that. Besides Molly, you've seen Incacha, the wolf, and the jaguar. You used the energy they provide to solve a murder case. To save my life."

Excited by the possibilities, Blair turned to Jim, grasping his friend's biceps and forcing him around to look at him. "Maybe you're picking up on some kind of psychic energy here, man. You're sensing the presence of your ancestors in this place. Maybe through some kind of sense memory I hadn't even considered until now, you're able to feel what happened here so long ago."

He waited for the eruption of denial, but it never came.

When Jim didn't argue, Blair pressed on, encouraged by Jim's seeming acceptance of what he was saying. "What kind of feeling do you get about this place? How does it make you feel to be here?"

Jim held his gaze for a long moment, then turned back toward the sea. "I..." He stopped and tilted his head upward, his eyes closed, and a slight tremor went through his body. The cold? Or something more?

"I feel fear. Desperation. A sense of hopelessness. But nothing that is recent. It all feels like...leftover emotions...remnants of energy...from a very long time ago."

Without warning, Jim suddenly turned back to face his partner, his blue eyes wide with confusion, maybe even shock. "Blair, I..." He stopped as quickly as he'd begun and stared down helplessly at Sandburg.

Blair's heart leapt into his throat. What was happening here? "Jim, what is it? What are you feeling?" Again, Blair's hands grasped Jim's forearms, holding on tightly.

"An overwhelming sense of death, Chief. A strong sense that someone...no, a feeling that I nearly died... right here on this cliff." Jim's voice took on a tone that sounded suspiciously close to fear. "What the hell went on here, Blair? What could have happened to make me feel it this strongly centuries later?"

Before Blair could respond, Jim's head snapped around as he stared intently toward the forest bordering the sea.

"Jim? What is it, man? What'd you hear?"

Without taking his eyes off the forest margin, Jim replied quietly, "They're gone now. We weren't alone, Chief. Someone was definitely watching us."

During dinner, the six other guests staying at Blair Castle carried the conversation, leaving Jim and Blair the welcome privacy of their own thoughts. Chatting about the villages they'd visited and the shops they'd seen kept the others from noticing the silence of the two men at the far end of the long, dark oak table.

After their meal, the other guests disappeared for a game of billiards in the game room. Jim and Blair sought out the laird, Laurence Blair.

They found him in his study, working on the estate's books. He looked up at Jim's knock on the paneled door, obviously annoyed to be interrupted.

"Good e'en," he said curtly.

"Good evening," Blair replied politely. "Sorry to disturb your work, but I wondered if you could show us the library. I'm interested in the history of the castle, and I figure the library might be a good place to begin."

The elderly Scotsman stood up slowly, stretching his cramped limbs. "The library hae many books. I dinae know if any of them could help you, but I will show you the way." Passing Jim and Blair, he led the way down the long corridor toward the rear of the castle.

Stopping before a huge, heavy oak door, Laurence Blair waved them inside. He followed and began searching the shelves lining three of the four walls. Each shelf was filled with leather bound volumes, and the smell of old paper permeated the air. A warm fire blazed in the massive stone fireplace, knocking the chill from the air.

The old man muttered to himself as his crooked forefinger touched each spine. "'Twas history you said you are interested in. I do believe there are some old journals here. I ne'er read most of them myself. Too busy tending to the business of the present to read much about the past. My gude wife organized this library. A blithesome woman she was, my Annie, and a more organized female you'll ne'er find."

A smile threatened to crack his perpetually dour expression as the old man's finger paused on a series of thin volumes bound in rich red leather. "Here they are. Each one hae got the dates of its writing on the cover here." He traced the spine of one volume with a shaky finger. "You may gae through them all if you like." Turning away from the shelves, the elderly gentleman headed out the door. "I wish you well. G'night."

Blair smiled broadly as the elderly man departed, closing the massive oak door behind. "Not one for needless conversation, is he? I've told him I'm a distant relative, and he hasn't asked a single question of me or tried to hold a conversation."

Jim gently slapped Blair's cheeks with both palms. "Guess your gift for gab isn't an inherited trait, is it, Junior?"

"Smart ass," Blair muttered with a smile, turning to the shelf Lawrence Blair had indicated. "Let's start looking through these journals. It may take quite some time to figure out which ones, if any, we might be interested in.."

After a few minutes of browsing, Jim turned to Blair with a helpless shrug. "It would take me forever to find the right one. These things aren't even in English."

They were sitting in two soft leather wing chairs before the crackling fire. Blair looked over at the sentinel. "Yeah, I noticed. They're in Latin."

Ellison closed the book he was holding. "You speak more languages than I ever knew existed. Can you read this?"

Blair studied the page before him. "Yeah, probably. Eventually. I've studied Latin, of course, but I haven't had to use it in several years. I'm more than a little rusty." He looked over at Jim. "This could take a long time."

Seeing the disappointment in his friend's eyes, Jim thought for a time, entranced by the crackling flames, as Blair read slowly from his book. "Chief? Don't sweat it. You've forgotten more about Latin than most of the world will ever know. It'll come back to you. Just like riding a bike. Didn't the laird say there were dates on these journals?"

Blair nodded and indicated the dates neatly written in gold on the rich red spine of the journal he held. "Right. This one's from 1228 – 1231. These people had to be wealthy to have been able to even afford books with parchment pages like these."

Jim thought carefully. "Why don't you start with some of the earliest ones? They're bound to be interesting for you."

His eyes growing bright, Blair smiled eagerly. "This is what we're here for, isn't it? I've been interested in the time period around Bannockburn. After all, my ancestors were there. I guess that would be a place to begin."

Jumping from his chair, Blair hurried through the thin volumes. "Here!" he announced triumphantly. "But there are two that might be considered from the early 1300s. One starts in 1301, and this one begins in 1310." He opened the second small book, and a single sheet of lavender stationery fluttered to the floor. Blair bent to retrieve it, then returned to sit beside Jim.

So you have arrived, my dears. It touches my heart to know that you have heeded the words of such an old woman. You are well on your way to the answers you seek. I believe that here in this place you will find a rich affirmation of what you already know to be true, yet another connection to your gift of anam cara. Good luck with your search, James and Blair. May it strengthen the bond already between you.

Fiora

As Blair's wide blue eyes rose to meet his own, Jim smiled gently. "I guess we're on the right track, Chief. I think we've found what Fiora wanted us to see."

An hour later, Blair stood up and stretched. "This is gonna take some time, man. My Latin is way past rusty."

"Why don't you take that volume with you, Chief? I don't think Laurence Blair would mind, and you can work on it as you get the chance." Jim stretched his hands out toward the flames.

"Sounds good," Blair agreed. "I have figured out a little." He moved to stand in front of the fireplace, facing Jim. The warmth on his back felt wonderful. One thing about old castles – they were definitely cold and drafty.

"Tell me. I'm in no hurry to head back upstairs. Those smaller fireplaces in our rooms don't seem nearly as inviting as this one."

Blair's face grew animated as he outlined what he'd read in the journal so far. "Okay, get this. The journal was written by a Colum Blair, beginning in 1310. Even though I haven't read the prior volumes, there's enough in the beginning of this one to piece things together. I've translated it into what would have been the spoken language of the time. Listen."

"I have settled into my father's house at last. Even now, it is difficult to believe that my dear minny is gone and that for the mercy of my laird and father, I would find myself lone. I shall never forget the last view of her puir clay–cauld corp as it lay in the kirk. My heart keens yet.

The lady of the house, the lady Elaenor, my father's true wife, looks at me as if I were diseasit, and..."

"Hang on, Chief," Jim interrupted. "I'm sure what you just read makes perfect sense to you, but if you'll remember, I'm a mere Neanderthal throwback. I want to hear this story – I really do – but I think I'll understand it better if you just translate it into modern English."

Blair grinned. "Sorry, Jim. I did translate a lot of it. I just thought it added some, I don't know...color...if I left in some of the old Gaelic words."

Jim waved a dismissive hand. "Forget the color. Just tell the story."

"Okay, man. If you want the modern version, then this is what Colum was saying." He winked at his partner. "In English you can understand." Blair began to read again.

"I have settled into my father's house at last. Even now, it is difficult to believe that my dear mother is gone and if not for the mercy of my lord and father, I would find myself alone and destitute. I shall never forget the last view of her poor, dead corpse as it lay in the church. My heart mourns yet.

The lady of the house, the lady Elaenor, my father's true wife, looks at me as if I were diseased, and..."

Blair glanced over at Jim as he settled back down in his chair. His backside was getting too warm, an unusual occurrence for the perpetually cold young man. "Better?"

Jim smiled. "Much. Makes sense now. So Colum de Blair was the illegitimate son of the laird?"

"Right. As such, he had no claims to his father's estate. The eldest son inherited. A second son was fortunate to inherit anything at all. He was expected to go out into the world and make his own way. That's why so many of the early settlers of our country were second, third, and fourth sons. So Colum, as a bastard, wouldn't have rights to Roger's estate at all." Blair's eyes clouded over briefly, lost in thought. "Guess we had something in common, huh?"

Jim smiled affectionately. "Your father's the one who missed out, Junior. Trust me."

A gentle and appreciative smile curved Blair's lips at the familiar pet name. "Thanks, man," he said softly. In his entire life, he'd never had a nickname before, at least not from a friend. He'd heard the other kids joking around, using the familiar shorthand of nicknames in which he had never been included. Oh, they'd called him names all right, but never had they been said in friendship. Hippie...punk...long–hair...freak...nerd. Names that stung, that cut deeply whenever they were uttered.

Like so many other things in Blair's life, Jim had changed all that. Jim's nicknames for him were terms of affection. Chief... Darwin... Junior... buddy... my little guppy. How had Jim managed to hang so many on him so quickly? That was Jim, though. Stoic though the world might see him, the man had a heart as big as the Cascade Mountains. His nicknames, along with the little pats on the cheeks, the tugs of his hair, and pats on the back, were just Jim's way of showing his feelings. He might not always say how he felt, but to those versed in Jim–speak, his emotions were clear.

Pulling himself back to the present, he asked, "Want to hear more?" At Jim's nod, he continued.

"I almost prefer the treatment of my 'brothers' who look through me as if I were but a shadow. Even so scorned, I have a place to lay my head at night, and they feed me well. Most happily of all, those of this house leave me to my studies, at least for the most part. My brothers, Philip and Roderick, go out of their way to disturb my reading, and I must hide my manuscripts for fear that they would mean them harm.

Surrounded as I am by those of kinship and not, I am utterly alone in this place. Yet I harbor within me a secret knowledge, a surety that in time, I shall find the one who will stand beside me and call me 'brother'. My dear mother spoke of her anam cara, her best friend, Rachel. They grew up as sisters, although from different blood, and both lay still inside the church walls within the same month. I can only pray that the Great God will grant me the same favor in His own time – to go to my rest beside my own anam cara."

Blair closed the thin leather–bound journal and sat silently staring at the flames.

At last, Jim said softly, "That's...amazing, Chief." He reached over and took the journal as Blair handed it to him. Opening it, he stared at the old words scratched on the pages so many centuries before. Jim ran his fingers over the words. "Fiora knew what she was doing, didn't she?"

Eyes glittering brightly, Blair nodded. "Jim? I don't know what else we're going to find in those pages, but I think we've just touched the surface."

While Blair spent much of the next three days at work in the library translating Colum's ancient journals, Jim grew restless within the great stone walls. He ventured out on the castle grounds, exploring a little farther each day. Somehow, the countryside called to him in a way no land had before, with the exception of the jungles of Peru.

He had felt at home there in the Peruvian rainforest, more alive and more himself than he had before or since. It had been in Peru that his blood burned, and all his talents joined forces with powerful instincts he'd never known existed to produce the legendary sentinel that Sandburg nearly worshipped.

Jim knew he could never live in the jungle; he understood that Cascade was his home. He was resigned to only reach back into memory to recapture those feelings of power, of oneness with...

With what?

With whatever it was that made him so unique. Jim had never dared hope to experience that sensation away from the jungle, and he hadn't.

Until now.

Just as he'd done for the last three days, Jim found himself drawn to the cliffs overlooking the turbulent gray waters of the North Sea. Staring down at the crashing waves far below, he closed his eyes, letting himself drift farther and farther away from himself. Giving himself permission to let go.

The sensation was close to a zone, yet substantially different. Jim felt if he could only reach a little farther, the answer would be within his grasp.

The answer to what question, he was not certain. That, too, danced just out of sight, somewhere in the mist hovering about in his mind.

He could taste fear and fell pain in every fiber of his being. Pain he knew did not reside in the present, but was oh, so determinedly calling out to him from the past. The distant pain and fear became more and more intimate, enveloping Jim, cocooning him within its darkness, wrapping its fibers around him.

Deep in his soul, the despair grew.

The rocky cliff called to him, beckoned him closer, ever closer, tempting him with the possibility of ending the desperate hopelessness.

Jim took two steps forward toward that blessed relief, his eyes still tightly shut.

His toes touched the margin of earth and sky, and he flirted with the nearness of deliverance. It would be so very simple, infinitely easier than the alternative of never–ending misery. Lost in a fog of despair, Jim shifted infinitesimally closer to the abyss.

"Jim?"

From behind him, a quiet voice whispered to him, calling him back.

Somehow, even without taking that final step, the hopelessness retreated ever so slightly.

"Jim? I need you to open your eyes, man."

There was a hand at his back, a gentle pressure against his spine, its warmth seeping through his wool sweater to warm his skin.

"C'mon, Jim. Open your eyes. Come back to me."

Like the mist at the emergence of the sun, the despair evaporated.

Jim Ellison opened his eyes.

And stared out into nothingness.

Jim jerked back a step, jerking his body away from the edge of the cliff, his feet once more planted firmly on solid ground. Blair's arms moved quickly around him, supporting his weight as he sagged, his knees unexpectedly buckling.

"It's okay, man. It's okay. I'm here, Jim. I'm here." Gently, Blair eased Jim down to the grass, following him to earth and sitting beside him facing the sea. "What happened? That must have been one hell of a zone." Blair shivered as he looked down over the edge of the cliff. This was way too close, Jim. Way too close. "Just another couple of inches and..."

"It wasn't a zone." Jim's voice was neutral, showing no sign of the fear he'd felt so strongly only moments before. "It was like nothing I'd ever felt before, except..." Puzzled blue eyes met Blair's. "Except that first day here. Remember? I told you that I sensed...death? My own death?"

Another shiver shook Blair's slender frame. For a long minute, he could not answer. The sight of his best friend standing on the edge of that cliff, his eyes closed, his body swaying ever so slightly, had shaken Blair to the core. He didn't want to consider what might have happened had he been only a moment later. "Yeah, I remember," he replied weakly.

Jim forced a smile. "It's okay, Chief. It's only a feeling, remember? I'm fine."

"Sure, man. If you call being inches away from taking a plunge into the North Sea 'fine'." Blair jerked his head toward the cliff. "What was going on with you, Jim?" Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. The sun was lower on the horizon, and the temperature had fallen several degrees already. Dark clouds loomed in the distance, and it looked as though rain was on the way.

Ellison scrambled to his feet. "It's getting colder. Let's head back to the castle, and I'll tell you after we've warmed up by the fire."

Blair stared in disbelief at the calm face of his best friend. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, man. We should cut our losses, go home, and forget the whole thing."

Jim chuckled. "Just because I'm having creepy feelings?" The fire popped loudly, echoing off the tall ceilings of the castle library. The room had quickly become their favorite in the castle. It offered warmth and privacy, two valuable commodities in an ancient bed and breakfast.

Blair's hands gestured emphatically as he paced nervously in front of the huge, stone fireplace. "They're not just 'creepy feelings', Jim, and you know it. You were a couple of inches from...dying...today, and frankly, that scares the hell out of me! What if I hadn't come looking for you, huh?"

"Why did you come, Blair?" Jim asked softly.

"What?" Blair looked at him in confusion. The question caught him off guard.

"Why did you come after me? You didn't yesterday or the day before. Why today?"

Seeking escape from the question, Blair walked over to the bookcase on the far wall, absently fingering the old leather bindings. "I don't know. I just did, okay?"

"No," Jim insisted. "Not okay. You do know. Why did you come for me?"

Blair whirled around to face him across the cavernous room. "Because I knew you needed me, all right? I knew you were in trouble! Don't ask me how, 'cause I'm clueless, man!" Suddenly realizing how loud his voice had become, Blair grew quieter and moved to sit in the chair next to Jim.

His intent blue eyes focused on Ellison's face. "I was here in the library, translating some of Colum's writings, and I just got this uneasy feeling. About you. I tried to ignore it, but it got stronger and stronger until..." Blair forced the words out past the catch in his throat as he added weakly, "I had to find you, Jim."

Reaching over, Jim patted his knee. "It's okay, Chief. I'm glad you came. You said that maybe I was sensing some kind of psychic energy. Can it be as strong as what I was feeling? Strong enough to make me...do what I did tonight?"

Blair shrugged slightly. "I don't know. Maybe. I guess so. I mean, nobody else was able to see Molly. I've never seen the spirit guides, except for the vision we both had at the fountain. You're obviously highly in tune with psychic energy, man." He hesitated, then said softly, "Plus, it ties in with what I discovered today."

"What was that, Chief?"

A hint of a smile broke through the clouds that had darkened Blair's face since the incident on the cliffs. He picked up his notebook from the table beside the chair he now thought of as his. "Listen," Blair said simply.

He began to read.

My life changed forever on this day...

Jim wasn't in a hurry to break the silence. He needed time. Time to digest exactly what the journal had revealed. The words his guide had read astonished him, and for the moment, words failed him.

Sandburg has always said there was a genetic component to this sentinel thing. He wasn't kidding.

Before he could recover, another thought stole his breath away with its implications.

If Colum de Blair was destined to find James Montgomery, then Fiora was right. Blair and I were destined to find each other. It really didn't matter how much I doubted him in the hospital that first day or how hard I shoved him against the wall. Nothing I did to drive him away could have made a difference in the end. It never was in my control. The decision was never mine to make.

And if that vital episode in his life had been out of his hands all along, what other false illusions of control – delusions of self–determination – had there been?

"Jim? You okay, man?"

The concern in Sandburg's voice drew Jim's attention back to the surroundings of the castle's library. He lifted his eyes from the flames to stare directly at his partner and nodded, but he didn't speak. It was impossible to form words. He could only sit in silence, trying to come to grips with the realization that his precious control had been no more than an illusion all along.

Blair's voice was sharper now, demanding attention. "Jim!" He leaned forward in his chair so his face was only inches from the sentinel's. "If you've zoned, man, so help me..."

The irritation in Blair's tone snapped the trance. Jim's mouth crooked into a half–smile. "I'm okay, Sandburg. Just...processing... everything."

Blair grinned at Jim's choice of words. "Naomi would be proud, man." He stood up and warmed his backside at the fire. "So, what'd you think?"

"I'd rather know what you think." Jim spread his hands helplessly. "You're the expert on all this."

"It's amazing, Jim." Blair quickly warmed to his topic, and his words flowed freely. "I've always known – in fact, Burton was positive – that the genes for sentinel traits were passed on. What I never was sure about was how it all worked for the guide. Did he inherit certain traits that enabled him to be an effective partner for his sentinel? Or was it mainly an acquired skill?"

Blair's energy seemed to build and pick up speed along with his train of thought. He began to pace around the library, his hands gesturing emphatically like birds fluttering through the air. "I mean, sometimes I just know what to do! It isn't something I've read or even thought about really. It just is, like a part of my soul I didn't even realize was there until I called upon it."

"Now," Blair explained as he held up the small journal, "I know why. My ancestor was a guide, Jim. I carry part of Colum inside me, and it's those traits he passed on that make me who I am. What I am." Blair turned to gaze at Jim with wide, wondrous eyes. "Your guide, man. I was born to become your guide." The final words were a near–reverent whisper.

Jim knew Blair awaited his own reaffirming words, but he held back. He'd just realized exactly how thin his illusion of control had always been, and his first instinct was to either run like hell or attack. That was the famous James Ellison modus operandi, after all, wasn't it? Hurt first, before he could be hurt. Leave first, before he could be left.

The sentinel drew a deep, unsteady breath, remembering. Snippets of his life flashed through his mind like scenes from an oft–viewed film.

Blair in a hospital coat with the wrong nametag...a much–younger Sandburg bopping to the music in his basement office, and the smile that lit up his eyes like the sun when he looked up and saw Jim standing there...the nearly–destroyed loft and the fear that filled Jim's heart when he returned one night only to discover that David Lash had raped his home and stolen his guide...the paralyzing terror in the police department garage as he blindly cradled Blair in his arms and prayed fervently that his young friend be spared a golden death...Alex...the reoccurring nightmare of shooting the wolf – of killing his very soul...a vision of tear–filled blue eyes staring into a camera as his best friend sacrificed his life to save Jim's own.

The final vision, however, was not from Cascade. Jim remembered sitting in the cathedral in York, England on their previous trip to the British Isles. He could almost taste the peace that had flowed through him as he listened to the heavenly harmonies from the choir and thought about his life. He had almost lost Blair again on that trip; it seemed they couldn't take a vacation without their lives being in jeopardy.

They had survived, however, and on that day in the majestic cathedral, Jim had fully realized exactly how much a part of him Blair had become and how much he needed his presence in his life. The acknowledgement that he loved Sandburg as a brother brought no sense of weakness or of denial. Blair's rightful place was at his side, and anyone who couldn't accept that fact be damned. A wave of gratitude had washed through Jim, and he had felt a rush of release. That release seemed like a long–anticipated surrender that, once accomplished, no longer seemed painful after all. After all was said and done, Jim sat silently in York Cathedral in awe at the peace that surrender could bring.

Returning to the moment, Jim realized that Blair was too quiet. Ellison could sense the euphoria seeping out of him second by second as his sentinel remained silent. Realizing what Sandburg must be thinking – that Jim wasn't comfortable with the new insights the journal had brought – he stood up and moved to stand beside his partner and friend. Blair's words from moments before were still singing in his ears... "Your guide, man. I was born to become your guide."

"And I," Jim said quietly, his warm voice thick with affection, "was born to be your sentinel. But I didn't need Colum's journal to show me that, Chief. I've known it for a long time."

The reward for his candor was a blinding smile and the warmth of Blair filling his arms in a grateful hug.

For the most part, the following days spent at Blair Castle were peaceful and stress–free. For Jim, that was a welcome respite from his job as detective for Cascade P.D.'s Major Crimes unit. He could truly unwind, and he did just that, becoming more relaxed with each passing day. Yet at the same time, being in the Scottish countryside and castle brought Jim closer to his own center, and he felt himself becoming more focused upon his heritage and upon his senses.

One of Jim's favorite pastimes was strolling through the ancient castle, and early in the evening on the day that marked the end of their first week, he found himself doing exactly that. The old castle was a cornucopia of sensory input. Scents teased the sentinel with tendrils of memory reaching out from the past, tickling him with distant recollections of what might have been.

As he climbed the steps leading to the keep, Jim placed his hands flat against the walls. The stone was cool to his touch, even cold, and Jim found himself touching the walls often, as though he were touching the heritage of his best friend.

And perhaps, brushing against his own history.

How many generations of Blair's ancestors had walked these very halls? What if Naomi's grandmother had feared immigrating to America and opted to stay here in Scotland? What courage it must have taken for the young Scottish woman to leave her home and family to face life in a strange, new world! Much like Naomi, he thought with a smile. It couldn't have been easy to leave everything behind and venture across the wide Atlantic to an unknown country. Just as his own ancestors had done, he supposed.

What if... ? So much could have happened, so much might have gone wrong, and he'd never have met Sandburg at that crucial crossroads in his life.

Such were the fragile twists of fate that had conspired to link his life with Blair's.

Or, perhaps, it had not been fate at all. Wasn't that exactly the lesson being taught through the journal of Colum de Blair?

Too much analysis of the unknowable made his head hurt.

Jim abandoned his musings in favor of a visit to Blair at work in the library. He jogged quickly down the wide, stone stairs, then took the hallway leading to the wing of the castle containing the library. As he turned left, something behind him caught his attention.

Footsteps, following closely behind. He inhaled deeply and caught a whiff of lavender in the air.

Whirling around, he glimpsed a flash of scarlet disappearing behind a heavy drapery hanging at the window.

Stealthily, Jim crept to stand beside the drapery and waited. Long minutes ticked by, during which the sentinel stood in motionless silence. His military training had taught him well how to wait unseen... undetected by the enemy.

Jim could hear faint breathing from the other side of the heavy fabric, and again, he could smell the scent of lavender. At last, the drapery stirred, and a gnarled hand reached out to draw it aside.

"Why were you following me?" Jim asked casually.

The hand jerked in surprise, revealing the face behind the drapery. It was the visage of an elderly woman, at least in her nineties, by Jim's best judgement. Rather than appearing startled that she'd been found out, her leathery skin stretched out in a welcoming smile.

" 'Tis my own fault, I suppose, for trying to hide from the likes of you."

Emerging from the coverage of the drapery, the elderly woman straightened her full skirts with all the dignity she could muster. No more than five feet tall, she was dwarfed by the tall sentinel. "I was overtaken by curiosity, that's all."

Jim cocked his head, regarding her carefully. "Curiosity? About what?" Spreading his hands wide, Jim added, "I'm just a tourist, like the others here."

A bright, cackling laugh shattered the silence of the cavernous hallway. She laughed for a long while, then, wiping tears of amusement from her damp blue eyes with the corner of her apron, the elderly woman looked up at Jim. "You are like no others, sir, and that is no lie. My name is Bridget de Blair."

It was Jim's turn to be caught off guard. "You are related to Laurence, then?"

Wise blue eyes studied his face boldly. "Brother and sister, we are. The last of the family to reside within the walls of Blair Castle. Long have we awaited your arrival – you and the young one."

At the mention of his guide, Jim's expression grew wary. Who exactly was this woman, and why was she so concerned with him and with Blair? "You must get plenty of distant relatives visiting here. We're not so special that you would wait for us to arrive."

The sound of the dinner bell chimed from outside, calling all to the evening meal. Bridget's head turned toward the sound. "I must go and help serve our guests. Just know that in many centuries none such as yourselves have trod here.