IntoEternity

by Christina James

  “Aye, I’m sure it is but it will have to wait until Alexander and his lady come down tomorrow,” Davin said. “If they come down at all.”

  “But, Davin. Please. It is really important. Alexander won’t be mad, I swear it. He’ll understand as soon as I tell him what I heard.”

  “Nay, Duncan. Nothing can be that important. I have orders no one is to disturb Alexander and his lady.”

  * * * * *

  Michael sat in the great hall, having outlasted all his drinking buddies. Not such a difficult feat as he never touched liquor himself. He had sipped watered-down ale throughout the afternoon and evening, preferring to keep a clear and sober head at all times. He was thankful for his self-discipline now that he had arrived in the past. His sobriety had saved his life more than once as he had made his way across the Highlands to Sinclair Holdings. He noticed his father had the same habit of not imbibing, even though the older man tried not to draw attention to the fact. Michael apparently had inherited many of his father’s characteristics and that pleased him. His father was a good man, a great man, not like a few other Highland lairds he had chanced to meet on his journey here. Only his habit of staying sober—plus a little luck—had saved him from being murdered in his sleep several times.

  Now that he was finally reunited with his sister he could quit worrying about her. Her new husband inherited that privilege. He should have had more faith that Maeve and Hagen would see to her safety when Gusty had disappeared right there on that city street. The horror he’d felt when she stepped out in front of a car was something he never wanted to feel again.

  He smiled at the memory of her one-liner when she jumped into his arms at her wedding. Yeah, she would definitely be gunning for him for not telling her about the whole time-travel thing and their past. He had protected her as best he could.

  The twelfth century was a real eye-opener. He had thoroughly studied the medieval era, especially England and Scotland, but he had never guessed just how different reality was compared to what he had read in books. Even Hagen and Maeve’s tutoring did not prepare him for what he found. In fact he’d discovered he’d had to rethink a lot of his ideas and principles about living and dying since arriving here. You learned fast when you had to defend your life everyday with weapons no more mighty than a sword and knife. Nothing was as he had expected it to be, except for the costumes and the weapons. With only his thoughts to keep him company, he stared at the dancing flames of the low-burning fire until he finally dozed off.

  Michael came awake with a start and sat still, listening. A disturbance across the hall caught his attention, a noise where there should not have been one. He opened his eyes but a slit, turned his head slightly to see what the commotion was and who caused it.

  What he saw surprised him, as little could these days. As he watched, his mother made her way around the edge of the body-covered floor until she got to the front door. An enormous man, who was definitely not his father, accompanied her, carrying a large bundle over his shoulder. Isabelle stopped and glanced about the hall but she apparently did not notice she was being observed. With a few quietly spoken commands she unlatched the heavy doors and pushed. She and her companion slipped out without a sound, the door closing quietly behind them.

  As soon as the door shut Michael came to his feet. He began to make his way through the mob of bodies toward the door, anxious to find out what his mother was up to at this time of the night. Stumbling over a body here and there, he moved as quickly as he could across the hall. His only major hindrance was when one very burly fellow, out cold from too much liquor, rolled his considerable weight into Michael’s leg, wedging his foot between the man’s great girth and that of another unconscious drunkard who lay nearby. Michael tried to pull his foot free but it was firmly caught.

  The time he wasted trying to free his foot left him far enough behind his quarry that they were nowhere in sight when he finally did reach the front steps of the keep. His mother and her large companion had vanished.

  With a curse on his lips, Michael chose to go left toward the stables in hopes of catching up with the pair once again. The night was dark and mist rolled down the hillsides, covering the moon and swallowing up the land and its inhabitants. He squinted toward the road and caught a glimpse of two horses, their riders bent low as they disappeared around the bend.

  * * * * *

  Gusty awoke with a start to find herself alone in bed. She sat up and glanced around. Where was Alexander? Her growling stomach reminded her that he had promised to fetch something to eat just before she had fallen asleep. How long had she slept? She stretched her limbs and yawned before relaxing back on to her pillows, hoping Alexander would return soon. She was starving.

  As the thought of hot, freshly baked bread with butter and honey filled her mind, a quiet knock sounded at her door. Gusty smiled a knowing smile and slid from beneath the bedcovers. She grabbed her wrap and slipped it on as she walked across the room. She opened the door slightly, looked out and frowned. The hallway lay empty. She had expected to find Alexander in the corridor, holding a tray loaded with breakfast. Where was he?

  As she stepped out into the hallway she kicked something with her toe. Looking down, she discovered a small rolled-up piece of paper. She glanced up and down the empty corridor. Who had knocked on her door and left the scroll? With a sigh she retrieved the paper and took it inside her room where she quickly broke the seal and read the nearly illegible scribble. Her heart jumped to her throat and she found it hard to catch her breath. Her knees buckled under her and she sat down in the middle of the room on the cold floor. She read and reread the note, unwilling to believe the words.

  “This cannot be.” She denied the proof even as she held it in her hand. “This is but a bad dream.” But the words were there in absolute black against the stark truth of the white parchment. Within only a matter of moments she went from being so devastated she wanted to cry to being so angry she wanted to scream her rage from the rooftop. But she could do neither. She had no time for hysterics and the letter had instructed her not to tell anyone about this matter. So she could do no more than fume silently as she prepared herself for what she must do. There was no time to lose. She didn’t have any idea when Alexander might return so she dressed quickly and then searched through her husband’s arsenal of weapons for the one she’d find most useful. Since she couldn’t even pick up his large claymore she opted for his still-awkward but smaller skean and a short dagger. She slipped the dagger into the belt she wore and tucked the sword under her arm. She threw on her heavy cloak and left the safe haven of her room to take on an evil enemy who had her mother in his clutches.

  The hour was still early and since the revelry had lasted well into the night there was nobody awake and moving as she made her way out of the great hall. Even the stable boys were still abed but she had no trouble securing a mount and she chose the best and fastest available horse. After struggling for several minutes she finally managed to get a saddle on Caesar. She then led him outside and mounted before heading out of the courtyard and through the outer bailey gate. As she rode she congratulated herself on sneaking away from the castle without anyone noticing.

  Duncan had followed Gusty’s every move and as soon as she headed off he sprang into action. This might very well be the best adventure of his young life. But first he had to tell his cousin what he had seen. This time no one would keep him from his purpose. He’d been lectured time and again about running off alone without telling anyone where he was going. He had sworn to never do such a foolish thing again so now he would do something Alexander would be proud of—Duncan would squeal on Gusty.

  Alexander returned to the room with enough food for him and his new wife to break their fast. But as he set the heavy tray on a table near the bed he noticed the mattress was empty. A quick look around told him Gusty had gone somewhere and judging by the room’s disarray, she’d left in a hurry. He turned to leave the chamber to wake the entire castle, if need be, in ord
er to find his wife, but as he threw open the door he found Duncan standing on the threshold, hand raised as if he was about to knock.

  “It will have to wait, Duncan. I am in a hurry.”

  Duncan didn’t move and Alexander gave him his best scowl, which said better than any words that he expected to be obeyed. Still the child did not budge.

  “What is it then?” Alexander snapped with impatience. Perhaps if Duncan was given the time to expound on whatever it was he thought to be important, he would do so quickly and then Alexander could get down to the serious matter of finding his wife.

  “I saw something outside,” Duncan started, drawing his story out like a good bard.

  “Tell me as we walk.”

  Alexander started down the corridor, Duncan bouncing alongside like a yapping dog.

  “I was out in the pig pen,” Duncan went on.

  Alexander glanced down and noted the child’s filthy clothes and pungent odor.

  “Davin had been looking for me ever since I escaped him early this morning.”

  Alexander bit back a shout of frustration and clenched his hands to keep from pulling his hair from his skull. If the child didn’t get on with his tale, Alexander surely would do something violent.

  “Well I was there in the pig pen, trying not to make that old sow too angry with me, when I noticed something odd.”

  “What, Duncan? What was odd?”

  “A lady came rushing out of the keep. The sun was not quite up so I couldn’t see who it was but when she exited the stable and rode by me I recognized her.”

  “Who was it, Duncan?”

  “Gusty!” He fairly hooted with laughter as he related the rest of his tale. “It was Gusty and she rode away on Caesar. I thought you might want to know that your new wife stole your prized stallion.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gusty was so angry she wanted to spit but at the moment her mouth was as dry as desert air and she had a hard time swallowing past the lump of fear that threatened to choke her.

  How could she have been so stupid? How could she have been so naïve? Had she learned nothing after spending the past year acquainting herself with the barbaric behavior of the people of this century? She should have been more cautious. After all, being kidnapped had become a common occurrence in her life. Up until now she had been fortunate and had to face nothing worse from each experience than a few bruises, a little fever and being locked in her bedchamber.

  This time matters were a bit more serious and someone was out to do her real harm. She shivered at the thought and pushed it away. No time to turn into a weak, simpering miss and a little too late to worry about her carelessness. What was done was done. All she could do was pray either her husband or her father would discover that both she and her mother had gone missing and would come looking for them. But until then she had to stay strong and resolute. She reached deep inside for what courage she could find and wrapped it around her like an invisible shield.

  Fear of the unknown plagued her but she fought to focus on the present. She had to find a way out of this predicament. She refused to let fear paralyze her. Setting her jaw at a stubborn angle, she schooled her face into a mask of disinterest, even as her stomach twisted with inner turmoil. The irony of her situation was not lost on Gusty. She couldn’t believe she had succumbed to the predicament in which so many storybook heroines found themselves. Of course in books and movies the hero knew the exact moment to make an appearance and rescue his true love. Gusty prayed Alexander had come to realize she was not at the castle and had begun a massive search. She prayed he would show himself soon and would indeed play a real, live knight-in-shining-armor to her lady-in-distress.

  In her blind rush to save her mother Gusty had not used her head. As a result she’d ridden right into a trap. In a hurry to follow the instruction given to her in the ransom note she let her impetuosity lead her right into an ambush.

  As the narrow trail she’d followed passed through a copse of trees someone had reached down from one of the low-hanging branches and had literally scooped her off the back of her mount. In the brief struggle that had ensued she’d lost both her weapons and when she’d opened her mouth to scream, the ugly giant who held her captive bashed her in the side of her head with his large fist. She instantly had lost consciousness.

  She woke up chained to the wall in a chamber of horrors that looked as if it were a dungeon scene right out of one of her favorite animated movies. The only thing missing was the cackling old witch hovering over the pages of an ancient, crumbling tome of incantations and the black raven that sat at her elbow while she worked her evil magic.

  The unmistakable medieval décor included chains and shackles, and the smell of death and decay flooded her senses. She was not sure whose castle dungeon she had landed in but by the looks of it, it had not been used in a great while. Knowing she was in trouble, she began tugging at the shackles that held her to the wall.

  “Come on, come on,” she chanted as she twisted and pulled at the chains.

  The cave of a room was wide with a low ceiling, dimly lit by a few torches placed in sconces at intervals along the walls. The smell of decayed straw and mold was thick and brought to mind awful, indescribable things that might be hiding in the shadowy corners. She glanced around, half expecting to find a decomposed body or two hanging from the walls. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found none. As her eyes grew accustomed to the poor lighting she found she was not the only guest being held prisoner here. In the center of the room next to a wide plank table her mother sat slumped in a high-backed wooden chair. Isabelle’s arms were drawn back and tied behind her, her chin sank low on her chest and her eyes were closed. Gusty prayed her mother was merely unconscious and not badly injured.

  “Mother?” she whispered hoarsely.

  When she got no response she cleared her throat and raised her voice a bit.

  “Mother! Are you all right? Have they harmed you?”

  Still no answer. Gusty tried several more times but her mother did not stir from her stupor. She was either injured seriously or she had been drugged—Gusty refused to consider her mother might be dead.

  Turning her head, she examined the chains that held her wrists to the iron rings in the wall behind her, hoping she could squeeze her hands free of them if she pulled hard enough. But as she made the effort the heavy wooden door across the room flew open and a short white-haired woman entered the room. The ugly giant who had snatched Gusty from the back of her horse followed close on the old lady’s heels but it was the woman who captured Gusty’s full attention. She gasped and the two people turned toward her.

  At first Gusty thought she might be seeing things. The woman looked like a slightly older version of her own mother. She glanced at the unconscious woman tied to the chair in the middle of the room and then back at the newcomer. Her eyes widened as she realized this must be the infamous Imogen, Malcolm Sinclair’s wife. She remembered Maeve and Hagen telling her about her father’s wife but why hadn’t anyone bothered to mention that the woman was still alive or that she might be carrying a giant grudge. As she stared at the small white-haired woman she marveled at the uncanny resemblance between the two sisters. They could have been twins! Though Isabelle MacKay had maintained her looks as she grew older, holding on to a head of lovely black locks colored with a few white strands at her temples. Imogen had not fared as well. The only black hair she had was the stripe that colored the center of her head.

  Even from across the room Gusty saw the cruelty that masked the older woman’s face. Clearly life had not been kind to her. The harsh lines and hollows of her face told a tale of hardship and bitterness. As Imogen moved closer, Gusty found herself staring into pale-green, unscrupulous eyes. It chilled her to the bone to be the recipient of the hatred radiating from the woman’s steady gaze. Gusty could not suppress the shiver that coursed down her spine. Pure evil surrounded this woman like a dark aurora and when Imogen turned her vicious smile and malicious gaze
on Gusty, she had the urge to cross herself to ward off that evil.

  “My my, aren’t you the pretty one. Almost as pretty as I was when I was your age. I saw you yesterday. I was there at your wedding celebration. But you are even lovelier up close than you appeared from a distance.”

  Her soft words did not ring with sincerity. They were cold and spoken as if she’d uttered a hate-filled curse.

  “What is it that you want?” Gusty managed to choke out, ignoring the compliment that was no compliment. The words held a threat of some kind and she knew she was not going to like what came next.

  “You mean, my sweet bastard, you do not know?”

  Whether the woman’s look of shock was real or feigned Gusty could not tell. But when Imogen threw back her head and a cackle of laughter burst from her throat, Gusty’s blood ran cold. The laugh held a deep, dry, rusty timbre, the kind of sound a crazed witch might make in a horror movie.

  “Did you hear that, Kermit?” The witch turned and shouted at her ugly bald helper.

  The giant’s expression had not changed. His cold black eyes never strayed from Gusty’s face. The cackling laughter stopped abruptly and Imogen’s face fell back into its mask of icy hatred. She turned to the table in the center of the room and stopped in front of Isabelle. With cruel hands Imogen roughly grabbed a fistful of the unconscious woman’s hair. She jerked Isabelle’s head up and back at an impossible angle, turning her so Gusty could see both sisters’ countenances.

  “Look at us!” Imogen shouted. “What do you see, little bastard? Do you not see the resemblance between us? We are sisters, after all.”

  Gusty looked but she could not bring herself to answer. Even with the evidence clear before her eyes she found it hard to believe this creature was related to her mother in any way.

  She did take a good look at her mother, however, and saw the reason why Isabelle was still unconscious. The whole left side of her face was one big bruise, colored in shades of black, blue and purple. Obviously she’d suffered a nasty bashing. Blood dripped from a cut on her lip and a small gash to her forehead had slowed to a trickle.