IntoEternity

by Christina James

  “I told you. You made a mistake in that last incantation. You should have said ‘spot’, not ‘pot’.”

  “Well what do you want from me, old man? It was an emergency. We didn’t have time to nitpick every little detail. The rogue was about to make off with her.”

  A torch flared, illuminating the rest of the room and the two old people arguing behind her. Gusty stared over her shoulder, mouth hanging open. Her heart raced. Her head swiveled from side to side in denial of the sight before her. Her lips moved but no sounds came out.

  How could this be? What were they doing here? They were dead, weren’t they? There were really no words for the emotions that swamped her as she stared into the beloved faces of the two people who had raised her, who had loved her and then who, she’d thought, had been taken from her.

  But there they stood, her beloved grandparents, apparently alive and bickering with each other just as she remembered them doing throughout all the years she had lived with them. The situation defied logic and a thought occurred to her.

  “I’m dead. There’s no other way of explaining it,” she said.

  “Oh nay, my child. You are not.”

  “Don’t lie to her, Hagen.” Maeve snarled as she swatted at her husband with a large wooden spoon before turning back to Gusty with a gentle smile.

  “You are dead, dearling, but then again you are not.” She nodded as if her cryptic words made complete sense and she had explained everything.

  “I don’t understand. Am I dead or not?”

  “Let me explain it to her, Maeve. You have made a complete disaster out of it. Can’t you tell the girl’s head is spinning from your words?” Emulating his wife, Hagen spoke harshly to his spouse then turned to Gusty and spoke to her as if she were a fragile flower and the slightest breeze would knock her flat.

  “You see, my dear, you did die…in the present, which is this time’s future, as Maeve and I did.” He smiled in a self-congratulatory way and continued on as if what he had just said was as clear as the blue sky. “But you are very much alive here in the past, which is now your present.”

  She shook her head, struggling to comprehend his meaning. If she were indeed dead, that would explain why she was visiting with her grandparents. But what about the rest of what she had experienced? Gusty needed more details.

  “Where is here exactly?”

  “Why it’s the beginning of the twelfth century, Augusta. And you have finally returned home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, dear. You have finally come home to the Highlands of Scotland.”

  “Would you like something to eat? You must be starved. I know after we made the journey we were as hungry as ravenous wolves.”

  Gusty stared at her grandmother. Was Maeve really rambling on about eating a meal as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened? Unbelievable…

  “Are you saying I have traveled back in time nine hundred years to somewhere in Scotland and this is my home?” Her voice rose, alarmingly high pitched, and she gasped for much-needed air. Their explanation had literally knocked the breath right out of her. “Don’t say another word please! I need a moment to think about all this.”

  Her grandparents looked at each other, a silent communication exchanged between them. How many times over the years had she seen them do the exact same thing? She had always thought the deep love they shared allowed them to understand each other without saying a word but now she thought there might be more going on there. Was it possible they could read each other’s minds? With everything else that had happened, the idea was not so far-fetched.

  “It is all right, dear, this”—Maeve waved her arm to include the hut—”is not your home. You have yet to travel there.”

  Obviously her grandmother was not going to give Gusty the chance to think about anything at the moment.

  “Come, you must be hungry. How about I fix you something tasty to eat? Oh no! Hagen, just look where she has landed.” Maeve used her spoon to point toward Gusty, who still stood in the large, tub-like pot over the fire.

  Gusty was beginning to become a little uncomfortably warm. If she stayed in the water much longer, her boots would soon be tender enough to eat. What she originally thought was a bathtub was actually a large black caldron used for cooking.

  “Well I guess she will just have to extract herself so we can start supper. Help the poor girl out of the water while I see to making the soup,” Maeve commanded before she shuffled off to the cupboard.

  Hagen nodded and moved to give Gusty a hand out of the caldron. Once her feet were on solid ground, Gusty allowed Hagen to help her remove her coat, which now had a soggy hem, and while he hung the garment on a peg by the door, she sat down to remove her sodden footwear. He handed her a small piece of cloth to use as a towel and she dried her feet and then tried to squeeze as much water as she could from the hem of her skirt.

  “Here, take off your skirt and wrap yourself in this.”

  Hagan thrust a wool blanket into her hands and then turned his back while she complied with his suggestion.

  As she shed her skirt and covered herself in the soft wool hundreds of questions whirled around in her brain. Where to start? She’d need a week just to prioritize them all, but for now she would ask for a few basic pieces of information and then bide her time and enjoy having her grandparents back in her life.

  “Are we or are we not in Scotland?” She voiced the first question that came to mind. Had she spent three days in the company of a large Scottish laird and his band of warriors or had her overactive imagination conjured them up?

  “Oh aye, we are in the Highlands.”

  Gusty stared at the bald spot on the top of her grandfather’s head as he stooped to pick up her boots and place them on a low stool next to the fire.

  “But how can all this be? You died. You were killed in that car wreck. I know this for a fact. I was there, remember?”

  “Nay, honey, it only seemed that we died in the future. It was time for us to come home.”

  “But how? How can that be?” She remembered the memorial service she and Michael had attended in honor of her grandparents. They had the remains cremated and put in urns. Michael had taken care of the whole thing. Hadn’t he?

  “Oh, dearling. It is so hard to explain to an ephemeral just how these puzzling things happen. Sometimes we oracles don’t even understand exactly what we are doing. Only an exceptionally receptive seer understands the eccentricities of the Portal of Time and in our case it took two of us to manipulate the gates so we could get you and Michael to the future and to safety.”

  “Michael knew?”

  Maeve nodded and Hagen looked away, his face flushed.

  “When? How?” Her brother had never said a word. He knew about Maeve and Hagen and all this time-travel business and he didn’t tell her?” She shook her head, trying to clear the buzzing as her vision grayed and then cleared again.

  “You made this happen before, didn’t you?” Gusty drew a deep breath. Unbelievable. But… Something had brought her to this time and place. “I want to know,” she demanded and watched the look that passed between the couple before Hagen answered her.

  “Aye we did, with great success. But when we decided it was time to return to this century, things got a bit bungled in the doing.”

  “How so?”

  “Well you see, dear, you were supposed to come back with us but something went awry with the Portal and you were left behind. We are fortunate you were not caught in the fissure between times.”

  “We are so sorry, child. We didn’t mean to hurt you. We did not intend for matters to get so far out of hand. It was as if some other force was at work, challenging our powers. But now you are here and that is all that matters.”

  Again a look passed between them. They were still hiding something…but what?

  “So why did you bring me back now? How did I end up in the middle of the forest with that young boy? Why not bring me directly here in the first place? W
hat about Michael? He was there in the future with me. Why didn’t you bring him back as well?”

  “We didn’t actually bring you back, dear.” Maeve placed a basket of hard bread and a crock of fresh butter on the table.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We were going to bring you back with your brother. But not for a while yet.”

  “What happened?”

  “Someone else brought you back.” Maeve gave Hagen a worried look, a look that also held a great deal of fear.

  “Someone else? Who?”

  “We don’t know, Augusta. We just don’t know.”

  Chapter Five

  Alexander was restless. Again.

  He retired late to his chambers to seek his bed but found he could not sleep. He’d suffered the same way night after night for weeks. As he lay in the dark, visions of his beautiful, dark-haired, golden-eyed Selkie haunted him. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her lovely face and feel her luscious body pressed against him, he could still taste her honey-sweet lips under his.

  He dreamed of her nightly and always the dream ended the same.

  He kissed his lovely lady and she responded to him so beautifully. He found his self-control slipping as his lips moved over hers and his hands roamed over her supple curves. He laid her down on his plaid on the forest floor and covered her with his body. She was hot for him. His passion grew by the minute and he was aroused to the point of exploding, but as he moved to make his sweet selkie his in truth, she vanished from his arms.

  Each night, he woke up hot and sweaty, his body aching for what his mind had conjured up. The realization of just how much she had affected him was startling. He tried not to ponder on the mysterious occurrence in the woods all those long months ago. But he could not free himself from the dreams. Nothing he tried kept them at bay.

  Six months ago he had stood dumbfounded in that glen after Gusty had suddenly vanished, trying to understand what had happened. His men had finally come to find him. Davin had looked at Alexander for a long time and then shook his head in resignation. The Norseman knew better than question Alexander about the matter.

  Duncan had demanded to know to know where Gusty had gone. Alexander had informed his young cousin that the woman had gone back whence she came and had ordered him to speak no more of her. He had been curt in his instructions, having been both angry and devastated by her desertion.

  Alexander did not believe in woodland sprites and such but what had transpired in the forest before his startled eyes, he could not deny. How she’d disappeared, where she’d gone, he had no notion. She was there one moment and gone the next. He had thought up several ways to tell his men she had disappeared into thin air but he had not the courage to face their laughter. So he had told them she ran away. Maybe he had just dreamed her up?

  Nay! Impossible. Others had seen her—his cousin, his men. But he had no other feasible explanation. And he could not, did not want to analyze his feelings on the matter.

  Duncan had been downhearted at the woman’s desertion but only for a short while. By the time they made it home he had bounced back and picked up the threads of his life as if nothing unusual had happened. The only reminder of the lad’s flight of folly and his encounter with the mysterious “Gusty of the Isles” were the extra chores Alexander had assigned Duncan as punishment for endangering himself and his clansmen.

  Tonight started out no differently than the other numerous nights Alexander had lain awake with only his thoughts to keep him company. But after lying in his large, empty bed, imagining a woman he wasn’t even sure existed, he decided to take Caesar on a moonlit ride.

  The stallion had found his way back to the keep soon after being abandoned in the Ross forest. Caesar had shown up at the outer gate one morning, waiting to be let in and fed. The magnificent steed had been a gift from Alexander’s older brother, Seamus, before he had been killed in a late-night raid just over a year earlier. Alexander’s cousin, Allister, had also been killed in that raid. It had been a hard year for the Sutherlands, losing two of their strongest warriors, one of them the laird. Alexander had not only inherited the title of chieftain of the clan, he had also gained the guardianship of Allister’s young son, Duncan.

  It had taken some adjusting to get used to being the laird. Before the fatal raid he had only himself to worry about. Now he had the entire clan. He had already been appointed the war chieftain of the Sutherlands, while his brother had seen to the politics and leadership issues. But he now had both tasks to see to and he found that under his guidance, his clan was prospering and they had not had any significant raids of late.

  Having Duncan under his guardianship helped to soften the pain caused by his brother and cousin’s deaths. The lad was more than a handful at times, his constant antics and stubbornness a challenge to Alexander’s patience. But he loved Duncan as if he were Alexander’s own son. The death of the boy’s father only a year after losing his mother under similar circumstances had been hard on him and he seemed to be taking his grief and anger out on everyone in the keep. Duncan had the look of his father and many of the man’s mannerisms and some day he would grow to be a great warrior. For now he needed the love and patience and discipline of his older cousin and his clan.

  Having donned nothing but his plaid and his boots, Alexander exited the darkened keep. He made his way down the abundant stairs from the motte, upon which the main keep was built, to the lower bailey. When he reached the lower enclosure, he turned and headed toward the stables. All was quiet. The only people moving about this time of night were the watchmen on the top of the wall. He waved and waited for the gate to rise.

  Alexander held Caesar to a slow walk, checking the desire to race headlong down the treacherous trail to the rocky seashore below. A lengthy ride along the shoreline to his favorite hideaway was the only thing he could think of to help keep his mind off his beautiful selkie. But so far his venture was not working. Her image in his brain was so clear, as if he could reach out and touch her. He shook his head and urged on his steed. When had he sunk so low that the desire to possess one woman had him riding the edge of insanity? Nay…the lack of sleep had him on edge and made him want to howl like a lust-crazed wolf. He needed to focus on the affairs of his clan not the affairs of his heart. He vowed to himself then and there that he would banish the mysterious woman from his mind forever. Never again would he lose a night of sleep over her.

  * * * * *

  “It is not enough, Bart. I want her dead! Immediately and completely! That is why I brought her back. It has taken years to find her but now that she is here she can be eliminated.” Imogen had turned into a little mouse of a woman, with her pinched lips, lined face and clawlike hands waving about in agitation. She minced around the oversized throne-like chair.

  Bart sat in silence, pretending to be listening diligently to all she said, but in reality he was busily calculating into his plans the events that had taken place within this last year.

  Black Bart craved power. He dreamed of having it night and day. When he eventually accomplished all his goals, he would be in the position to punish those who had dared to insult him over the years and reward those who had been blindly loyal to him. The annoying prune of a woman who walked circles around him, shrieking at him in her highly irritating voice, fell into both categories. True she had been useful to him over the years, had helped him gain a position in Edgar’s court and had bred him children, though they were useless girls.

  He had put out time and coin for extra men toward Imogen’s plot to draw the Sinclair lass out of hiding. But lately Imogen had grown irrational and he found it harder to control her rages. She would get a crazed look in her eyes every time someone mentioned the Sinclair name. Her hatred and bloodlust for Malcolm Sinclair’s bastard grew by leaps and bounds as the days passed.

  Bart feared he would have to eliminate her sooner than later. Especially since he had revised his original plans and he no longer needed his lover’s help. He could not afford
to eliminate Augusta Sinclair now. She was no longer the obstacle in his path to becoming the King of Scotia. She had become a valuable bargaining piece to achieve his goal instead of one more body he needed to remove. Even at this moment she should be on her way to marry the laird of Clan Ross. When he heard this bit of information from one of his informants, Bart had mentally rubbed his hands together. Things were falling into place and he had not even had to lift a finger. Fate was indeed smiling down on him.

  With the death of Alexander Sutherland and his brat of a nephew and with the Sinclair bastard wed to the Ross, Bart was more than half way to controlling two of the most powerful clans of the north. He would eventually be as mighty as—if not mightier than—Edgar himself.

  Aye. I will be the most powerful man in the Highlands and I will rule all of Scotia.

  Bart had but one last unfortunate task to accomplish. Another raid on the Sutherland’s holding to draw the laird out of his fortress and he would see the man dead and buried. Then he could move right in to console the wee lad. Perhaps a handful of years would then pass before the young heir to the Sutherland lairdship would meet with an unfortunate accident…and then nothing could deter Bart Sutherland from his ultimate goal. There would not be a soul who could stop him. By the time anyone realized what was happening he would be re-shaping the future. His lifelong ambition would be set in stone.

  Chapter Six

  “Alexander! Alexander! I found her! She’s here! She’s down in the glen!”

  Duncan’s high-pitched voice had Alexander swinging around.

  “Watch out!” Davin shouted.

  Alexander looked back at his opponent and then leaped to the side, just as the point of the young man’s blade whizzed past Alexander’s chest. He turned his glare on the young warrior and the boy nearly broke down weeping at the close call.

  “God Almighty, Alexander, keep your mind on what you’re doing. The lad nearly put his sword through your gut!” Davin walked toward Alexander, frowning fiercely.