Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

Kära nodded.

  “Well, I don’t have magic.” Not without the pendant. “Neither does Deidre, or the warriors, so we train with weapons.” She thrust with her right hand, mimicking the same technique Brigid was demonstrating to Deidre. “Swords. Axes. Weapons.”

  “You magic none?” she said again, a doubtful tone to her voice. She scrunched her face when she glanced from Caitlin to Brigid and Deidre. “You magic.”

  “Nope. I’m human.” With god DNA.

  Kära cocked her head. “Nope human.”

  This conversation was going nowhere fast. “Would you like to meet Brigid and Deidre? Maybe watch them train for a bit? Maybe learn, too, if you’d like?” Caitlin could also give her a tour of the grounds. Oooh, maybe the abbey. The abbot would love that.

  “Yes. I learn. Please.”

  Caitlin noticed her webbed hands. Gripping a sword would be difficult. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. She gestured to the field. “Okay. I’ll show you what I know.”

  “You…” Kära paused as if searching for the right word. “Land different?”

  Land different. Different land? “Am I from a different realm? No. I was born on Earth in a place called Massachusetts. It’s a different country.” In a wholly different time zone.

  They walked across the grass, Kära’s gait strong despite the perplexed look on her aquatic features. Caitlin hustled to keep up.

  The mermaid shook her hairless head from side to side. “Smell.” She tapped her nose. “You.”

  “I smell?”

  Kära nodded.

  Really? Even after a sponge bath and yesterday’s salt-water dunk?

  Her face went cold.

  Oh, crap. She’d been all over Ewen yesterday...smelling funky? God, how embarrassing.

  Nonchalantly, Caitlin lowered her nose and raised her right elbow and took a good whiff of her armpit area. The scent of wool and damp fur wafted from the cloak. Her skin smelled like she’d been outside all day, and her hair could use a shampoo, but she didn’t smell that stinky. Either the mermaid had amazing olfactory receptors or she’d mixed up her words.

  Caitlin was hoping for the later.

  Brigid signaled for Deidre to stop when Caitlin and Kära reached the training area. Deidre’s cloak was thrown on the ground. Sweat glistened on her face.

  “I learn,” Kära said before Caitlin could introduce her to the women.

  Brigid said something in the mermaid’s language. Kära’s silver eyes lit, and she nodded enthusiastically.

  “The Havet are strong warriors,” Brigid told no one in particular. Her eyes focused momentarily on something behind Caitlin. “She has shown interest in fighting on our side. I will find her a sword worthy of her talent. And one for your friend.” Then her green eyes found Caitlin. “That blade”—she gestured to Faolan’s sword gripped in Deidre’s hand—“was forged specifically for you. It will feel unbalanced in the hand of any other. Never lend it. Guard it with your life.” The goddess stepped past her.

  Deidre frowned a what-is-that-all-about frown.

  “She hates me,” Caitlin mouthed.

  Before Caitlin could say another word, she felt Ewen’s presence.

  “Work on her stances,” Brigid told Ewen. “They are deplorable.” To Deidre and Kära, she said, “Come” and led them to the tent with the weapons and supplies.

  Caitlin let out a slow breath. “That woman makes me crazy.”

  “She is single-minded.” Ewen watched the women disappear behind the canvas flap. His dark hair was braided at the sides, the length falling off his shoulders like the night he’d caught her and Rupert sneaking out of the castle.

  “I guess that’s one way to phrase it.” Bitch was more accurate.

  “Brigid will teach you well.”

  If she doesn’t kill me first. “And that’s why I bite my tongue.”

  The blue tunic stretched across his powerful chest, accentuating the color of his eyes. Like her, he wore pants, err trews, that showcased muscular thighs and legs. A large satchel fell at his left hip, the strap splayed across his torso.

  “Have you a moment, lass?”

  “Sure.” There was something about his demeanor that poked her senses and made her edgy. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

  He looked at her sideways without a hint of a smile teasing those sexy lips.

  Serious Ewen. Oh, boy. Her pulse skipped.

  “Walk with me.” He gestured to the field on the right then peered up at the gray sky from beneath knit brows. “We may see more rain.”

  His words sounded like an apology.

  “I won’t melt. It’ll be an adventure, right?”

  “Aye,” he said without looking at her.

  She wanted to reach for his hand to squash the unease building between them. And then she remembered her stench. “Wait. Maybe I should clean up a bit first. I’ve been outside all morning, training...” And stinking around the man you’re crushing on is a total libido killer.

  The vee between his eyes dipped, but a grin crept over his mouth. “You look fine, lass. And ye doona smell.”

  She gasped. “Tell me I didn’t just say that out loud.”

  Ewen chuckled. “I’m an observant man. Besides, you’re clamping your armpits tight enough to crack walnuts. I’ve sisters both by birth and marriage. I know a wee bit about the lasses.” At her opened mouth, he chuckled harder and started down the path away from the abbey.

  She set off after him. “I was not clamping my armpits together.”

  He made a noise in his throat that sounded like uh-huh.

  “I wasn’t. Okay maybe a little bit. It’s just…hygiene is so different in your time. In the twenty-first century, we have deodorant and hot running water.” And flushing toilets.

  When he stopped, she almost banged into his back. Turning, Ewen leaned over and lowered his face until he was inches from her ear. “You needn’t worry, lass.” His eyes flashed hot. “I like how you smell.”

  “Oh.” Her girly parts sighed.

  Ewen looked away, a sexy half-grin firmly locked across his chiseled jaw and refocused on the path. “Will ye forgive me my teasing?”

  “Depends.” Her knees shook. She watched her footing. “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?”

  His grin died.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  EWEN LED Caitlin north of the abbey along the old path he’d run as a lad to escape the confinement of the monastery and its rules. Stepping foot on the fertile soil of Iona brought him back to a place he didn’t want to return. Not for the memories, for his time here was not unpleasant, but for the feelings Iona stirred in his heart.

  “Any luck with the portal?” Caitlin asked. She matched his gait, step for step, eyes bright and her cheeks rosy from the brisk air.

  “Aye,” he said without looking at her. “Rupert has gained the assistance of three monks. Combined, we believe they hold enough magic to open a portal.” Once. There was no telling how much power the spell would drain from their medallions.

  “Oh wow. And the abbot approves?”

  Ewen nodded.

  “That’s huge. Congratulations. I imagine it took a lot of persuasion and patience on your part.”

  She didn’t know the half of it.

  “But that’s not what you want to talk about, is it?” Caitlin said. “You’re quiet, and you’ve put enough space between us for a train to pass through. So either I really do smell, or your mulling some bad news in your head you’re trying to break gently. I’m guessing the latter.”

  He smiled without meaning to. Beauty and brains. It was a lethal combination. “Watch your footing.” He guided her to the left up the face of the hill. “The death my father recounted yesterday occurred near a village in Ganavan.” She wouldn’t know the history between the MacDougalls and the Campbells after the war. “This village is outside Dunollie Castle in Oban where the current Lord of Lorn, a Stewart, resides. His older daughters are married to Campbell sons.”

  “Okay.
”

  “It’s also about a half mile from the former seat of the MacDougalls. Dunstaffnage Castle, like all of McDougal’s holdings, was seized by the King and transferred to his supporters. Men like Stewart and Campbell.”

  She nodded her head. “So the castle belongs to the Campbells.”

  “Not exactly. The Campbells are hereditary keepers of Dunstaffnage.”

  She paused mid-step, the facts falling into place. “Oban is close to Lismore.”

  “Aye.” Too close. “We know Bres requires blood to fuel his magic.”

  “Of course. He would have topped off right before launching the attack on the prison. And Oban is a pretty convenient location, even without use of a portal.”

  Good. She was catching on. “Dyn returned from Oban earlier with report of a healer missing from Ganavan. She did not return home to her family yesterday.”

  “You think Bres is responsible?”

  The morning rains left the turf damp and slippery. He held out his hand to help Caitlin ascend a steeper portion of the dun. “Aye, I do. He’s injured and in need of a healer. The Norn may be with him. They are at a disadvantage without her hale. It may be coincidence, but given the nature of our opponent and the timeline of the siege…” He rubbed his nape. Every instinct told him Bres was in Oban.

  “Shit. So when do we leave?”

  He regretted what he was about to say.

  But he didn’t have a choice.

  She forced a breath through her nose. “I’m not going.” Her hands slapped the sides of her legs. “The answer is written all over your face. This is what you needed to discuss with me.” She twisted her mouth, then turned and continued climbing, her cloak flapping in the wind behind her. “When?”

  “Upon Braern’s return. He’s procuring the last of our provisions for the voyage.”

  “Oh.”

  Christ, she had to understand she was no’ yet ready to face Bres. Maybe with more time and training, but now? The god would kill her.

  Caitlin reached the top of the hillock first. She exhaled and swiveled slowly to take in the view.

  It was the reaction he’d been hoping for.

  “This is the highest point on the island.” Although the sky was overcast, Ewen could make out the outline of Bac Mòr from the sea. He stood behind her, closer than he should, his chest to her back, breathing in her scent. He leaned over and extended his right arm over her shoulder, pointing to the sea. “That island is Staffa, home of the Uamh-Bin.”

  “Cave of Melody?”

  “Aye. The legends say the Irish warrior, Fionn Mac Cumhaill, built a bridge from Ireland to confront an angry Scottish giant named Benandonner. When the giant raced across the causeway to confront Fionn, the mighty hero realized his folly. The giant was huge, much larger than himself, and formidable.” When Caitlin settled against his chest, he resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her. This, whatever this was between them, felt right.

  “So,” he said, his voice thick, “Fionn had his wife disguise him as a bairn, and like a good wife, she offered Benandonner griddle cakes filled with iron while feeding her wee bairn the same, or to the giant’s eyes, what appeared to be the same.”

  “Ha. Like any sane person would fall for that trick.”

  He smiled against her hair. “Poor Benandonner suffered through her teasing but could not eat the bluidy cakes. He looked upon wee Fionn chomping happily and fear found him, for if this iron-eating bairn was this large at his age, imagine the father? The giant turned home to Scotland, destroying the causeway as he went. Now all that remains are the parts left in Ireland, and those inside Uamh-Bin.”

  “Ugh. That story is probably about Fionn, which makes Benandonner a Fomorian.”

  Ewen snorted. “You might be right.”

  “We call it Fingal’s Cave, now. I mean, in my time.”

  “Ah.”

  “Is that Mull?”

  Ewen followed the swing of her hand. The island’s dark silhouette pinched his heart. “Aye. And over there”—he directed her down to the field—“down below, see the wee building?”

  The back of her head moved up and down against his neck.

  “That’s the abbey.”

  She stepped away from his body and closed the ends of her cloak. Loose strands of her dark hair fluttered around her face.

  “Are you cold?” He’d brought an extra blanket.

  “No.” She pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Tell me you’re not going alone.”

  Ewen wiped a hand over his jaw. She worried for him. The realization twisted his gut. “I’m bringing a small team with me. Rupert. Fionn. A few of Lachlan’s hardiest warriors, and two artifacts Rupert believes will give us a feather of a chance. We’ll travel through the portal.”

  “And just show up at the first castle unannounced?”

  He shrugged. “We are weary warriors returning home in search of shelter.”

  “Ewen, this isn’t funny.”

  “The laird canna refuse to offer hospitality. He’d no’ dare breech time-honored code.”

  “Bres doesn’t give a crap about your codes of honor, Ewen.”

  “In two days’ time, we’ll cover the territory between the two castles and return directly to Mull. All will be well.”

  She rubbed the sole of her boot on a tuft of grass. “If Balor is at full strength…”

  “The Draconians fight for us.” Grabbing the satchel’s strap, he pulled it over his head and removed the blanket from inside. “We are evenly matched to fight the Fomorians, and that includes Bres.” He had to force more conviction into his tone. She wasn’t convinced. He spread the woolen on the ground. “Sit.”

  Without arguing, she lowered her body onto the blanket, folding her long legs beneath her.

  Ewen crouched and unloaded the bread and fruit he’d packed and set the items down. Caitlin chewed her lips, furiously twisting the ends of her hair around a finger.

  “I’ve sent word to our allies.” He pulled out two cups and the jug of mead. “We’ll hire an artist to render Bres’s likeness should we not find him in Oban. Orhavet and his daughter are searching Loch Fyne as we speak.”

  She looked up. “While I stay safe and protected at the abbey? That’s not how this is going to play out,” she said, crossing her arms. “You know that, right?”

  “What do you propose? Follow me to Oban unprepared to fight a god?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You have talent, aye, more talent than some of the warriors I’ve trained in the past, but can ye best a human male? Can you defend my men?”

  “Well, the answer isn’t locking me up either. This is my fight.” She stabbed her chest. “Mine.”

  “And as long as you’re a liability, we’re vulnerable. You said it yourself. Bres used our bond to force your compliance. Think you he won’t try again?”

  Caitlin squeezed her eyes and balled her fists.

  He softened his voice. “The fight is ours. Yours. Mine. Every man, woman, child, or creature alive. You can’t fight this evil in isolation. It will only grow. He’s been hunting my people long before you became involved. This is bigger than you or me.”

  “God, this sucks. This really sucks. Do you know what it feels like to be the weak link? To be the one left behind holding your breath while everyone you love puts themselves in jeopardy because of you? I won’t do it again.”

  “No one is getting themselves killed. Do you hear me?”

  She rubbed her eyes and her body seemed to deflate.

  “This is not your fault,” he said. “Train. Get stronger. The goddess will remain behind to continue your instruction.”

  “Yippee.” She waved her fists. “I’m so excited.” She blew out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t like having my choices made for me.”

  “Fair enough. And I take no pleasure in restricting your will.”

  Her shoulders slumped with the explosion of another breath. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” he a
sked.

  “Yeah. Okay. Fine. You’re right. I’ll train.”

  He didn’t want to be right. For once in his life, he wanted to be wrong. And right now, with her distress thick and palpable between them, all he wanted to do was pull her into the safety of his arms and make her forget gods and battle plans. But that wasn’t to be his course. Or hers. Fate had other plans. He felt it with every scar etched onto his jaded body.

  He tore bread from the loaf and handed her a piece.

  “Thank you.” Caitlin watched the progress of a birlinn crossing the sound.

  “I would sneak up here as a lad to watch the galleys sail from Mull and beyond, dreaming of the day I’d be old enough to man the oars.”

  “I can see why. It’s beautiful here. Peaceful.”

  The sun broke through the clouds.

  She played with the chunk of bread in her hands. “Has Brigid made progress removing the torque?”

  “No.” Ewen poured fresh mead the monks had brewed and balanced the cups on flat ground. “Deidre and Ian will leave for Mull tomorrow. Dyn will fly them under cover of night.”

  “Yeah. A griffin landing on the castle grounds in broad daylight would be hard to ignore.”

  He cleared his throat. “About the ceremony. Lord MacLean has extended you an invitation to the wedding.” His father had taken a sudden fancy to Caitlin. Ewen wasn’t sure what to make of his interest, given the man had been anxious to marry him off to a Cameron lass a fortnight ago.

  “Why do you call him Lord MacLean?”

  Ewen laughed. “Because it pokes the bear when I do.”

  She twisted her mouth and nodded. “Do you want me to accept?”

  Lord help him, the uncertainty in her voice slayed him. Aye, I do, he wanted to say. The vain part of him wanted this beautiful woman on his arm for the whole world to see. “The choice is yours.”

  “Did you…?” She frowned. “Did you pack all this yourself?” She covered her mouth, her eyes going wide as they fixed on the food. “Is this like a date? I mean, are you courting me?” Her lips curled into a radiant smile. “If you were, this could be considered our first “real” date.”

  A real date?

  Ewen cleared his throat, his mouth going dry. “Look inside the bag, lass.”