Time of the Picts: A Time Travel Romance (Hadrian's Wall Book 2)

by Jane Stain

He held her more fiercely still, and then stood up and helped her to her feet.

  But they both froze when they turned around. All the Druids were looking at Breth.

  He looked from one to another, his own face in puzzlement.

  "What?"

  The lead Druid held out his arm toward Breth, beckoning him over.

  Breth turned to Jaelle and smiled excitement, taking her along with him toward the natural focal point at the bonfire, a slight hill on one side of it.

  But the head Druid spoke up.

  "Leave Jaelle there, Breth. Just you come to us. Come stand with us in ceremony."

  Breth stammered.

  "I was just going to ask you to marry us. Isn’t that what this is about?"

  The druid gave Breth a solemn look.

  "Nay. Nay, it is not."

  The statuesque but grizzled man turned and spoke to Jaelle directly, and she felt slightly mollified to be at least accorded the status she deserved as a warrior consort to someone who'd eventually be a planning chieftain.

  "Jaelle, you need to remain there and let Breth come face this alone."

  Jaelle knew she should be quiet, really she did, but her mouth…

  "For the land’s sake, will someone tell me what this is all about?"

  By now, Breth was standing beside the lead Druid, who turned him to face all the chieftains, prodding him in the small of his back. This caused Breth to take the warrior stance: shoulders squared back, chin raised high, and legs braced for action as, with pride, he faced his parents and all the other chieftains and their families.

  The lead druid waited again for quiet and got it quickly.

  "This very evening, Breth will champion the clans in this momentous trial, the trial by combat of Drest."

  Chapter 30

  Jaelle jumped up to say ‘No, Breth can’t face Drest. I have to do it. I know all of John's weaknesses. I beat him almost every time we spar. I’m the one who should fight him!’

  But a hand went over her mouth. Another snatched her arm and jerked her around. Expecting to see Richard, she prepared a particularly nasty kick and waited to site his groin. But Alasdair stood behind her, putting his finger over his lips and gesturing for her to run after him.

  "John is coming, and he canna see ye yet."

  Relieved it wasn’t Richard but still desperate to save her love’s life, she resisted, shaking her head furiously.

  “I need to tell them Breth can't fight John! It should be me—"

  Alasdair tugged on her arm urgently, pulling her away from the area so insistently, her feet started moving of their own accord, following him.

  "Nay ye dinna,” he muttered. “Trust me. I can help ye help Breth, but it will work much better if john doesna see ye till the last moment."

  Trust Alasdair? Jaelle thought back to their talk on her couch and the odd experience of having the man in her mind. He had done just what he said he would. The wizened old druid was her best bet. She knew it was true, but still, she despaired when she looked back at Breth one more time and saw him surrounded.

  The two dozen druids had removed Breth’s baggy Pictish shorts, his form-fitting linen shirt, his scabbard and sword, and even his boots. They already had him half painted up with battle woad.

  Breth's eyes met hers. He stood there resolutely confident, ever the warrior.

  Without taking her eyes off Breth, Jaelle walked backward as she followed Alasdair, speaking to him out of the side of her mouth.

  "You can help me help him?"

  Alasdair hissed his answer, jiggling her hand almost frantically in some kind of warning.

  "I can and I wull. Howsoever, Richard can and wull help Drest. We need to prepare. Now hush and turn aroond and follow me!"

  She did hush and follow him, but she didn't turn around until her view of Breth was blocked by the trees.

  Chapter 31

  "Yer notice tae the museum is taken care o," said Alasdair's voice in Jaelle’s mind as they went to the tournament arena the long way, through the trees. Although it was dark, she didn’t stumble, and she had no choice but to attribute that to Alasdair’s magic somehow.

  The old grey-haired druid continued to think aloud inside her head.

  "Whether or na any o us survive this day, yer friend Lauren will inform Jan, Cinnead, Vivian, and yer family that ye willna be coming back."

  "Thank you," she told him in their mixed mind.

  In the distant broch meadow, she heard Drest being called over to the sword-fighting tournament arena and the sounds of hundreds of excited people heading that way as well, with general calls of ‘Trial by Combat!’ ‘Breth and Drest!’

  "Shall I let Breth in on oor conversation?" was Alasdair’s next thought.

  "I'm afraid that would distract him."

  "I wull leave it up tae ye," he thought back instantly.

  The two of them had reached the torchlit arena but were still hanging back a bit, hidden in the crowd of eight clans and Drest’s outcast army. As Jaelle watched Breth warm up for battle, she was overwhelmed by an urge to have him near her in some possible way before he faced death.

  "You're right. Add him. Wait! Is he in yet?"

  "Nay, ye caught me in time. What is it?"

  "Will he be able to hear my thoughts like you, or just what I deliberately say to him?"

  "Again, up tae ye."

  "Maybe it's best if he hears my thoughts. They work faster than anything I could deliberately say, right?"

  "Aye, but Jaelle…"

  "Don’t worry, I have nothing but contempt for John anymore. Breth can hear anything I have to think."

  "Good."

  And then Breth’s voice was in her mind as well, but it wasn’t just his voice. His … essence swam about in her mind. It made her love him even more, with its purity, its nobility, its goodness.

  "So,” said Breth, “Alasdair tells me you've been holding back some special moves, eh?"

  Her essence tangled up with his so that in their minds, they were in each other’s arms. She put on a teasing air, trying to keep his spirits up.

  "I know so many moves it would take a lifetime to teach you them all."

  His essence caressed hers.

  "Challenge accepted."

  Meanwhile in the outside world, the lead druid — Morleo was the name Breth inserted in her mind — came into the center of the torchlit arena and raised his hands. Instantly, eight hundred clans people and another three hundred outcasts fell silent and crowded around to watch.

  With Breth off to one side of the arena near Alasdair and John off to the other near Richard, Morleo spoke with absolute authority.

  "Drest, your authority as chieftain over all these people has been challenged, and you are called to trial by combat.”

  John approached Morleo with less than his late air of defiance, Jaelle noticed, and the two spoke to each other in low tones while ‘Drest’s men’ grumbled among themselves all around and Richard stood there with his arms folded over his chest, looking smug.

  Meanwhile, Deoord left the nearby clump of two dozen druids and walked up to Breth, his pasty white face looking especially primitive in the firelight coming from the circle of torches on pikes all around the arena. He checked the woad designs all over Breth and then nodded his approval. Through Breth’s ears, Jaelle heard Deoord speak softly, soothingly.

  “As the challenger, this fight is on you. Do you wish to proceed?"

  Jaelle couldn't help the thoughts she was having.

  "Can't you just call it off, Breth?"

  "And let this Drest continue degrading the honor of the clans? No."

  "But—"

  Alasdair’s thoughts came in.

  "Breth, with yer permission, I'm gaun'ae let Jaelle help ye move the way ye need tae.”

  Like a mental newsreel on fast forward, Alasdair quickly played snippets of all Jaelle’s memories of beating John in battle, hundreds of them. To be sure, these were Society for Creative Anachronism battles with blunted woo
den practice weapons and shields, but they were battles nonetheless: chaotic and full of real sword-fighting, not ‘one-two-three go!’ duels or fencing bouts. No.

  More of Breth’s warm mental energy came over Jaelle as she watched him enter the torchlit arena to stand near Morleo, awaiting the end of the druid’s counseling session with Drest and the pronouncement that the trial by combat was on.

  "I have no objection at all. Do your best, Jaelle. I yield to your superior range of training."

  The odd feeling of being in Breth’s head intensified until Jaelle had the sensation that at the same time, she was standing right here and also walking toward John. How different it felt to be in Breth’s body! He was heavier, and his limbs longer. And strong. Such strength as she had never imagined wielding. He was not so agile as she, judging by the way he moved.

  This wasn’t going to be easy at all.

  Both of them glanced over at Drest/John in anticipation, but he was still urgently whispering with the lead druid.

  “Breth, John could talk his way out of this—”

  “No, Morleo won’t allow it. The fight is on. Let’s use this time to be as ready as we can.”

  “Yes, we need practice, even if it’s just for an hour.”

  Breth looked back over toward Drest and Morleo, and she could see through his eyes that their counseling session was winding down. At the same time, Breth’s thoughts asked her how long an hour was, and she pictured the sun moving across the sky with a measure in front of that, dividing the sun’s day/night path into 24 equal parts.

  “We have perhaps the twelfth part of an hour,” he thought then.

  “Better get to it. I’m going to just pretend I am you and test the balance of your sword, OK?”

  “Yes, and do whatever else you want to quickly.”

  By exerting suggestion in his thoughts, she had him swoosh his sword a few times, testing how it was weighted, and lunge a few times, testing his reach. Next, she had him lean back as if dodging a lunge, then pivot and thrust to the side. Then he ran across the area so she could measure his strides, pivoting and coming to attention once he got there so she could feel his stance and how he balanced on the balls of his feet.

  And all the while, her mind was dancing with his, exchanging surprise at how easily he moved his heavier sword for how graceful were the movements she suggested he make, and so on went their exchange of knowledge and experience.

  And she felt just how much he loved her. So much. As much as she loved him. With emotional thoughts that weren’t in words, he praised her, and she admired him. Their union was so beautiful, so intensely beautiful.

  Alasdair put a hand on her shoulder, and she knew their practice time was up, much too soon. Breth felt it too, and he went back to his side of the arena near Morleo, watching for the druid’s signal, he informed her in thought.

  "Morleo!” a man called out, “Drest can’t have the help of the druid Richard during the battle. Look! He’s wearing a torque!”

  John was still for a moment, probably listening to Richard in his mind, and then he turned on the man and then pointed at Alasdair. He looked so smug and confident. And cruel. When did he get that cruel?

  "Breth has the same sort of aid, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about. The sides are even, now let’s get this farce over with so I can get back to leading you all."

  Sensing her cue, Jaelle took a few steps forward out of the crowd with Alasdair by her side and stared at John, waiting for him to see her.

  He rolled his eyes and turned back to Breth, but of course Jaelle could see him through Breth’s eyes. He showed absolutely no signs of regret, nor sympathy, nor anything honorable at all. But for a fraction of a second, he had shown fear when he first saw her. But he quickly shrugged it off.

  “So Breth’s famous Jaelle is you. Ha! Too bad for you, they won’t let you fight his battles for him, eh?”

  She didn’t answer, just leaned into Alasdair as if for comfort, thinking “How could I have been with such a hard-hearted person and not known it?”

  Alasdair cut into her thoughts.

  "People dae change. Stick wuth the business at hand. Ye need all yer concentration for this."

  He was right. She concentrated on Breth — on his larger muscles, longer reach, unfamiliar weapon, and woad armor.

  John was all woaded up as well, which made sense. This way, it was less likely one of them would die.

  Have to stick to the bludgeoning moves, if both of us are impervious to cuts.

  Morleo still held up his hands. Once he had Breth and Drest’s attention as well as everyone’s silence, he lowered his arms to signal the beginning of the fight.

  Chapter 32

  John opened with an ordinary sword move from this time period.

  Jaelle didn't try anything fancy at first, just let Breth parry in the period way.

  John tried another move, and another, all period so far. Jaelle knew he was testing Breth’s strength. She was getting used to it, too, and she held out hope that John was afraid, seeing how Breth’s strength was so much greater than her own — which had always been more than a match for John's, with his smaller half-Filipino stature.

  The two woaded warriors circled in the torchlight, half crouched and eyeing each other, until with a sneer on his face, John taunted Breth, or who he thought was only Breth.

  "Afraid to make a move?"

  Breth started to fall for the taunt, started an all-out lunge.

  But Jaelle held him back and spoke soothingly in his mind.

  "He's very quick. The way to beat him is—"

  John struck like a snake. His extra-long sword spat at Breth’s middle.

  Jaelle bent Breth away from the jab Aikido style.

  But Breth’s own reflexes were strong. He moved to parry Drest’s thrust. And almost got bluntly eviscerated. Only his superior strength saved him, moving the blade aside at the last instant.

  “That was close.”

  “That worked once, Breth, but it won’t work next time. He’ll adapt. Let me dodge you next time!”

  “I’ll try.”

  “If only we’d had that hour of practice.”

  “Let’s rush him this time.”

  Instead of answering in words or trying to control his body, Jaelle sent Breth a kinesthetic memory of how she would go about attacking John from their current relative positions.

  Breth executed it perfectly, and the two shared a moment of mental triumph.

  But John remembered this move too. He pivoted at the last second and moved his sword into Breth’s path.

  Again Jaelle tried to dodge Breth out of the way.

  And again Breth’s own instincts were faster. But not fast enough. The blade scraped its evil path. Only the woad saved Breth this time, preventing a deep cut, once again into his abdomen.

  Alasdair’s voice came in.

  “Wull ye allow me tae give Jaelle brief instants o ultimate control, Breth? I ken they would serve ye in those times when ye need tae move tae the side a wee bit, as I can see in her intentions.”

  “Yes!”

  “Tis done.”

  Not a moment too soon, either, as John rushed Breth.

  Jaelle was ready. She had Breth twist out of the way while at the same time jabbing at John with his sword pommel, figuring his superior size and strength would make this move count. It hit. And once you hit John, you had to just keep hitting until he was down. Otherwise, he was just too fast. So that's what she had Breth do. And it worked.

  As Drest, John lay at Breth’s feet, bloodied and beaten.

  Jaelle thought, “You can hold him now alone. I’m coming over to talk to him as myself."

  "Very well,” Breth thought back to her, “but you will have to teach me all those moves, you know."

  Jaelle bathed Breth’s thoughts in her joy. "I have a feeling I'll be teaching the whole clan fighting for a long time, as your wife."

  Her joy filled both of them as she walked up to lord it over Jo
hn as herself.

  John was reaching out for Breth to help him up, but Jaelle stayed Breth's hand and stood there in his place with triumph on her face so that he would know what happened here.

  "You made your bed," she said to John, "and now you have to sleep in it. You joined up all these clans along with your men, so they’re our men now.” She looked up and addressed the crowd. “Drest’s men, you are welcome to stay if you follow our lead."

  One of the outcasts threw up his hands.

  “Works for me!”

  Another chimed in.

  “Aye!”

  But then a bloodcurdling cry was heard from Richard's direction.

  Grasses grew up around Breth and Jaelle, but mostly around Breth. They were tough grasses, wrapping around calf muscles and soon to be strong enough to pull the two of them off their feet.

  They both re-drew their swords and hacked for all they were worth, cutting the grass as with scythes.

  The grasses grew back a little farther each time they were cut, swirling around knees. And then thighs. The shorn ends of the grasses bled green goo that made bare legs itch, even Breth’s woaded legs.

  Alasdair was ready, however.

  The grey-haired druid gestured, and a cloud of locusts emerged from thin air, gobbling up the grass faster than it could grow. Farther and farther down the green stalks the locusts ate, until they burrowed underground and raised the dirt as they chomped on grass roots.

  Simultaneously, Alasdair also summoned in his hand a small flame. It emitted a deep dark cloud of smoke, which floated on its own against the wind over to Richard, swirling around him in ever tightening whorls.

  The younger druid’s eyes went wide in fear, and he put his hands out in front of him, pleading with Alasdair for his life.

  “You can’t! Celtic U forbids the smoke death!”

  Alasdair shook his head and smiled in ironic sympathy.

  "Richard, Richard, Richard. You were safe until you attacked Breth directly. That unlocked the forbidden spells. You know that."

  With a snide grin on his face, Richard whipped the helmet out of the bag he must have been hiding with illusion and went to put it on.