Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

  “More?” Margaret asked her grandson when he peered into the basket. “Go on, laddie, eat your fill, my boy.”

  Callum greedily reached in without speaking. Come to think of it, she’d never heard the boy speak, not even when she’d been in his head.

  “Return on the morrow.”

  It took a minute for Caitlin to register Faolan’s voice. When she did, he jutted his chin to something in the corner of the room.

  Her sack—sans the tonics—and her sword.

  For the second time in as many minutes, her jaw dropped. Relief rushed through her chest. She sprang up and reached for the bag before he could change his mind. She grabbed the strap, and for what should have been an empty bag, it felt...heavy. Looking inside, she’d didn’t even bother to prevent her mouth from dropping a third time.

  Two leather sheaths, a dagger, and something wrapped inside a linen cloth. She clutched the sack to her chest and reached for the sword. “Thank you.”

  “Tomorrow you will train.”

  “Uh...okay. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  Her escape plans would have to wait another day.

  THIRTEEN

  THE CLICK of the door jarred Caitlin awake. She opened her eyes. It took a few seconds to orientate herself before she heard the rustling to her right.

  Footsteps?

  A pulse of alarm shot through her.

  Someone was in her room.

  Holding her breath, she peered into the darkness, straining to divine the origin of the whoosh-thump sounds echoing ever closer. A soft, multi-hued light appeared, like floating, colored pinpricks, only now she could see a face through the dots.

  Magic.

  Caitlin shoved her hand under her pillow, grabbed Faolan’s dagger, and bolted out of bed with a wince as every muscle in her back screamed in protest. She pointed the blade directly at the hazy light. “Who are you?”

  Another noise tore through the silence, this one sounding more like a sudden gasp than an ominous moan.

  “You can see me, lass?” asked a familiar man’s voice.

  But whose? Someone from the keep? Or a clever god with the ability to change not only his looks but his voice as well?

  “Tell me who you are and why you’re here.” Of course, she wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do should he—whoever he was—choose to ignore her, so she packed extra oomph into her next words. “I won’t ask again.”

  “Put down your weapon, lass. ’Tis I, Brother Rupert. I’ve come to speak to you about an urgent matter.”

  Her mouth twisted into a frown. Brother Rupert? The monk?

  Sure, now that he’d said his name, she recognized the voice, but with magic involved, she wasn’t about to take his word for it. Hell, who was to say Bres hadn’t found her, and now the crazy god was standing before her veiled in magic pretending to be the monk?

  “Move closer to the window so I can get a better look.” Her arm muscles shook from the strain of holding up the dagger. What she wouldn’t do for a tube of Icy Hot right about now.

  Thanks, Faolan.

  Squinting, she tracked the moving orb of light toward the window where a faint stream of moonlight showered the room. Of course, she couldn’t imagine fancy-pants Bres tiptoeing around dressed in a dowdy monk’s habit sans his glowing tattoos and golden headdress, but anything was possible.

  “You…” Dipping his head, Brother Rupert scrunched his nose, his golden eyes disappearing beneath his heavy brows as he peered through the darkness. “You can see the concealment charm?”

  The shock in his voice was convincing. She waved the dagger at him again. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

  He reached into his collar and pulled out a silver chain. Three interlocking circles resembling her grandmother’s pendant were stamped to the front of a silver medallion the size of her thumb in diameter. “I belong to the Brotherhood of Lumen, a Benedictine order dedicated to the preservation of the lore at Iona.”

  A hazy memory pushed itself to the forefront of Caitlin’s brain. An identical pendant worn around another man’s neck, but she couldn’t make out the face, nor where she’d been at the time.

  Why can’t I remember?

  The monk released the chain. The medallion fell against his chest and sent a ripple of dread up her spine.

  “These are dire times, lass. You’ve reason to be wary. I’ve come for your help.”

  Her heart went cold. Brother Rupert had gone off with Ewen and Donald to investigate the attack. If the monk was here, alone, in the middle of the night, without—

  Her breath caught.

  “Is Ewen okay?”

  “Aye, he is.”

  Thank god. She eased her grip of the dagger. “Is it Bres, then?”

  “Bres?”

  “Yes. The rituals.” She glanced at the door. Gowan was stationed outside. “The bodies found in the circles. Bres is behind the murders. Have you found him?”

  The monk’s upper lip twitched. He clenched his fist, and then a sneer rooted over his mouth.. “Confounded woman lied to us.”

  “Who lied to you?”

  “Never you mind.” Brother Rupert shook his head. “I need to get you to the abbey. The Abbot will know what to do.”

  “Oh, no.” Caitlin took a step back and shook the dagger in the air. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you explain yourself. Who lied to you? And what do you know about these rituals Ewen is investigating?”

  “’Tis no’ my place to divulge truths long guarded by the brotherhood.”

  A snort escaped her mouth. Oh, but it was okay for him to fully expect her to lower her guard and take off with him in the middle of the night without a single explanation as to what the heck was going on?

  Unh-unh. No way.

  “Then we’ve hit an impasse, Brother Rupert. You’re on your own. I’m going to take my chances with the MacLeans.”

  His jaw dropped. “You canna breathe a word of what ye know to the MacLeans.”

  Caitlin’s blood boiled. Ewen trusted Brother Rupert. “Why can’t I?”

  “Why?” His eyes bulged. “Because...you cannot. That’s why.”

  “Oh, really? Well, that’s exactly what I intend to do.” She bluffed. “I’m done being manipulated by people with hidden agendas. You expect me to accept your word on faith alone? How do I know you’re not working for the Order?”

  “The Vertendi?” The monk guffawed. He made the sign of the cross. “Never.”

  Well, she’d gone and ruffled his feathers. Good.

  “If you’re not willing to be honest with me about what you know, then how can you expect me to do the same?” She wasn’t the same naïve woman who’d held a medieval warrior’s hand and jumped out of a second story window a week ago. MacInnes had changed her.

  And so had Bres.

  “If you want me to meet your abbot, then you’ll have to come clean. Tell me what you know.” Wow. She liked this new and assertive Caitlin. “Furthermore, you should be aware that I have abilities. Abilities that will allow me to discern if you’re lying. Actually, that’s not completely true. I can read your mind. I’d prefer not to. I’d prefer you tell me what you know because it’s the right thing to do, but if I have to rip the information from your mind by force, so be it.”

  God, she really hoped it didn’t come to that. According to Janet, she had lousy technique. What if she turned the monk’s brain to mush?

  Brother Rupert cocked his head, his expression blank. “You would filch what is not yours to behold?”

  She was going straight to Hell.

  “Yes, I would.” Swallowing the trepidation rising in her throat, Caitlin straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. Hopefully, her expressive face wouldn’t give away the truth. “There’s too much at stake.”

  The monk’s lips stretched into a wide, tooth-flashing grin. “Good,” he said before her nerves could run off with her overactive imagination. “Glad to hear it, I am, for I would expect no less.”<
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  “Wait.” Caitlin fingers tightened around the dagger’s hilt. “You were testing me?”

  She’d expected anger, maybe even horror, but this?

  He shrugged. “A wee bit. I had to be sure your heart was in the right place, and now I am.” He gave her a hearty nod. “I will tell you what I can, but perhaps we can do so elsewhere, away from prying ears?” He gestured to the door. “My magic will not hold much longer, and it cannot drown the sound of our voices within these walls.”

  Her eyes dropped to the sparkly light encircling his broad frame. “So how do you propose I get by the guard?”

  “Leave it to me. I’ve a spell that will lull him to sleep, but for no more than a few precious moments.” Brother Rupert pulled a weathered leather pouch from his pocket.

  At the sight of the monk’s bag, Caitlin’s temple throbbed. She bent forward and rubbed her palms to the sides of her head. What the hell? A headache, now? Really?

  The monk’s brow wrinkled with concern. “Are ye ill, lass?”

  “No”—she released a slow breath—“I’m fine.” And for some odd reason, she knew she’d feel a hell of a lot better once he put the pouch away. “Just an inconvenient headache. We should go before I lose my nerve.”

  He gave her a look that told her he didn’t buy her last statement.

  She shrugged. She was much better at playing a badass than being one.

  “Could you turn around? I need to raise my skirt to sheath the dagger.”

  “Oh.” The monk quickly spun on his heel, and despite the darkness, Caitlin swore she saw his face flush. Quickly, she raised her skirt and slipped the dagger into the thigh sheath Faolan had made for her. Grabbing her cloak, she bounded around the bed and met Brother Rupert at the door.

  “Enter the hall and distract Gowan. I will follow behind and chant the spell,” the monk whispered

  “But, he’ll—oh, right, he can’t see you. Okay.”

  “After I say the words, run to the end of the hall and wait for me at the stairwell.”

  Crap. What was she supposed to do if she encountered someone on the way up the stairs?

  “Okay.” Caitlin draped the cloak over her shoulders, quickly tying the ribbons at her neck. If she got caught, the last thing she needed was to be parading around the castle in a flimsy dressing gown.

  Brother Rupert nodded at the door.

  Caitlin sucked in a breath and grabbed the knob. She stepped into the hall. Gowan watched her warily like a man spying an ominous cloud brewing on the horizon.

  She smiled sheepishly. “I need to, um”—her gaze landed on the door at the opposite end of the hall—“use the garderobe.”

  Gowan frowned.

  Yeah buddy, the thought of sticking her butt out a hole in the castle wall grossed her out too. “I— Well….” She rubbed her belly. “I probably shouldn’t use the chamber pot. I think Trina’s pie was a bit too rich.”

  The guard blushed then cleared his throat.

  Brother Rupert’s robes rustled behind her.

  “Where is it again?” she asked sweetly then pointed in the wrong direction. “Down there?”

  “Nay, ’tis a short…” Gowan’s eyes widened. “What the devil—” He flinched and swatted at the herbs flying at his face.

  The monk’s voice rose in a soft chant, then he gently pushed the guard against the wall.

  Gowan’s eyes closed.

  Brother Rupert gave her a quick nod and closed the door to her bedroom chamber.

  Caitlin sped down the hallway, her bare feet skidding around the corner that led to the stairwell, her lungs threatening to seize. Yeah, the warrior woman façade was all show. She was no Diana Prince.

  “Follow me,” the monk whispered as he scooted around her for the stairs.

  Caitlin grabbed hold of her hem and descended the staircase behind him. They reached the landing and raced down the hallway leading to the kitchen and great hall. In her haste, she didn’t register the click of the solar door until it was too late.

  “And where are you off to, lass?”

  The voice reached from behind her like an invisible arm yanking her by the shirt collar, stopping her dead in her tracks.

  Caitlin squeezed her eyes shut.

  Busted.

  So very busted.

  Her stomach dropped to her feet. Not because she’d been caught. Oh, no. The sudden influx of adrenaline jamming her heart and frazzled organs was all thanks to the owner of said sexy voice who also happened to be the one and only man with the power to leave her in such a profound state.

  She opened her eyes and turned to face Ewen.

  Leaning one muscled shoulder casually against the door jamb, his jet black hair tied at his nape, Ewen MacLean embodied the cool confidence of a seasoned warrior. His too-relaxed demeanor triggered her cavewoman instincts. She was either going to turn tail and barrel over the invisible monk at her back, or jump forward and tackle the war chief to the ground in her haste to kiss every inch of that chiseled face.

  She chose plan C. The put-on-your-big-girl-panties and deal-the-deck-you’ve-been-given option. “I didn’t realize you were back. Mari said you’d gone off to Lochaber to investigate the attack.”

  “Did she now?” Ewen folded his arms across his chest and eased off the wall. Those blue eyes narrowed, spiking her pulse.

  God, he was gorgeous.

  “Um, yeah,” she said, gesturing with her hands. Now to get herself out of this little quandary. “I, um, was feeling a bit peckish and thought maybe I’d find some bread or something in the kitchen.” She forced her wayward hands to her side.

  “Ah, ye were on your way to the kitchen.” He took two steps forward. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  Instinctively, she took two steps back.

  Those killer eyes zeroed in on her face, watching her like a mountain lion stalking its prey.

  Oh, crap. She knew that look. Even in fifteenth century Scotland, Ewen MacLean could read her like a book.

  Caitlin sighed. “No, I wasn’t, but you already knew that, didn’t you?’

  Something flickered in his eyes, and then his focus seemed to intensify, as if he were piercing through the layers of her soul, one fragile piece after another. Without shifting his eyes from her, he said, “Show yourself, Rupert.”

  Her jaw dropped. She didn’t dare turn around to look at the monk.

  Ewen shrugged. “Or doona. The choice is yours. I’ve all night. I can prowl the halls until your magic fades. Either way, the lass stays with me.” The threat was accompanied by a panty-melting grin that slowly spread across his face.

  If she’d had half a brain, the look in his eyes would have scared the bejesus out of her. Instead, she bit back a smile. “The gig’s up, Father.”

  “Not all monks are priests, lass.”

  Huh. “I didn’t know that. You learn something new every day.”

  “However, our Rupert is ordained and quickly destroying what little faith I have in the church,” Ewen added drily.

  “You were a wily boy who grew up to be a pain in a man’s arse,” Brother Rupert grumbled in a vexed tone. He was still invisible to everyone but Caitlin. He pulled out his magic pouch, sprinkled a pinch of herbs over his head and said, “Prius incoepit claritas.”

  When he materialized, Ewen stiffened, but quickly recovered.

  Brother Rupert shoved the leather pouch into his robe pocket. “What gave me away, lad?”

  Good question.

  “I’ve been watching you since our return from Lochaber. I had a feeling you’d be seeking the lass.”

  “I’m that predictable, now, am I?”

  “Depends on who you ask.” Ewen’s lips flattened. “I wasn’t expecting to see ye disappear before my eyes.”

  “Ah. So now we’re to spend the remainder of the night blathering in the hall. Is that your plan, boy?” a grumpy Brother Rupert asked.

  “Blathering, yes. In the hall, nay.” Ewen stood aside and motioned to the room whose
doorjamb he had been leaning against. “After you. I’ve questions you will be answering.”

  The monk groaned.

  “And that goes for you as well, lass,” he told Caitlin.

  She met his steely stare head-on. “Absolutely.”

  No secrets. That was the promise she’d made him. The one she intended to keep. But how this Ewen would react to the truth was anyone’s guess.

  There was only one way to find out. Caitlin balled her fists and marched into the room.

  FOURTEEN

  SO THIS was Donald’s solar.

  Caitlin surveyed the space. Lanterns flickered along the walls. It was unusual for this type of room to be located on the same floor as the great hall. Most of the solars she’d visited in the past were situated on a higher floor and encompassed multiple rooms, a ginormous bed, and lavish furniture typical of a chieftain’s private quarters.

  Donald’s didn’t follow the normal pattern. Although a good size, the room was sparse. A large, polished table was positioned several feet from the back wall with a grouping of chairs, and to her left was a massive fireplace. She could easily stand at the center of the firebox without stooping or hunching down to fit. Additional seating—larger, more comfortable chairs meant for sipping whisky or watching the fire—were neatly arranged in front of the hearth. A wide window graced the back wall with what she assumed was a view of the rear grounds. Blackness colored the panes, and what little moonlight escaped through the clouds did little to illuminate the property outside.

  With his back to Ewen, Brother Rupert whispered, “Say naught. Let me speak to the boy.”

  Yeah, like that was going to happen.

  Evading the monk’s silent appeals proved to be more difficult than ignoring a text alert during a staff meeting. Caitlin waved him off and turned her back, but damn if the monk wasn’t persistent.

  After checking the hall, Ewen closed the door then strode across the room. He reached the table and half-sat, half-leaned against the edge.

  She bit her lip and dragged her gaze to the stone floor between her bare feet to keep from drooling. The man made her pulse race. Where did she begin? She couldn’t babble. Nope. No babbling. That would be disastrous. Facts. Plain and simple facts told with as few words as possible was her best course of action.