Born of Mist and Legend (Highland Legends Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  A metallic screech scraped across her eardrums as he fitted the iron grate back into place, from the outside. Not followin’ at all, then.

  “Your name?” she called to the mysterious knight.

  “Wilhelm.” The faint echo muffled, from behind bramble that rustled back over the grate.

  On a determined exhale, she turned and forged ahead through the darkness, drawn toward the light. Exactly as she’d begun her journey. Into the unknown.

  Chapter 8

  Skorpius stood deep within the shadows of the forest and watched with fascination.

  Coincidences didn’t happen in the mortal world. Divine plans did. Regardless of what humans theorized about the subject.

  Therefore, to believe that a dozen knights from the Templar order had miraculously arrived on scene, their sole aim to aid Brigid? Not a chance.

  Nevertheless, Brigid appeared to have accepted their assistance.

  At least her expression had evidenced some skepticism. And a healthy dose of wariness.

  Good. That self-preservation will serve you well.

  Brigid may have thought he’d abandoned her right at a critical moment: Her unhidden dismay and indignant glances shot outward and upward since she’d fled the castle grounds left nothing to his imagination.

  But Skorpius had done exactly what the situation required.

  The unprecedented situation. With the unknown factor embodied by her. With unidentified others attracted to her uniqueness. So he’d been forced to alter course, into the unconventional.

  Intuition fully guided him for the first time. Which had led to the conclusion that to guard Brigid and time effectively, he’d needed to fade back, observe from the periphery, and intervene only if he deemed one or the other gravely threatened.

  And in that observational role, if a conflict arose? Time took priority over Brigid’s welfare. Even if the one required the sacrifice of the other.

  Even if he’d begun to dislike the mandate. Greatly.

  Because, against his rigid code, he’d begun to like the fierce and beautiful Highlander.

  Templars. Skorpius narrowed his eyes at them.

  Snuffed torches did nothing to hide the noble warriors from his detection. Two scouting ahead, one escorting alongside, and two trailing behind, along with teams of two strategically flanking at key points within the surrounding forest, spirited Brigid away from the castle toward the relative safety of adjoining clan lands.

  Brigid and…

  Templars. In unusual numbers for such a rugged northerly neck of the woods. And not garbed in white with their supposed red cross to proudly identify, but in black, to move covertly in the shadows. But as he’d witnessed with Orion in their archival map and time’s rapidly appearing anomalies, only a drop in the bucket of the goodly number of Templars that had begun to move through.

  On the pre-altered Julian Calendar timeline, under the cover of a new name, only a handful of Templars had fled into Scotland to avoid capture by the French. But not for another decade. The Scottish holdings that their predecessors had been granted in the century and a half prior? Were located in eastern counties near Edinburgh, a great distance from their current location.

  And as irrefutable evidence unfolded before his eyes, the Templars’ altered timeline event? Seemed tied to Brigid.

  Are you attracting the anomalies? The lure of Brigid’s power? Or the desire to protect it?

  Time would tell.

  Skorpius tracked their company while incorporeal, ghosting through the forest on higher ground. After a fair distance, he relaxed his muting camouflage enough to allow Brigid to feel his energy presence, let her know he still kept silent watch.

  In reply, a half-relieved half-miffed emotion pinged back from the ether. The fiery gold-dusted essence of it? Unmistakably Brigid.

  Once her disguised knightly escorts successfully guided her across the boundary line, Brigid and the Templars parted company.

  And yet, Skorpius waited.

  Through the darkness, along a game trail, she continued on.

  Once she traveled far beyond the watchful gaze of the last Templar, Skorpius materialized by her side.

  Brigid shot him an irritated glance. “Where were you?”

  Wild amusement had him fighting a smile. In eight hours’ time, they’d advanced from her wanting him “knee-deep in muck, on the other side of a freezin’ loch” to her indignation that he hadn’t been hand-holding her through her first day of school.

  “With you.”

  In a way. Without trace of an energy signature, but still tethered to her. No matter what he did or where he went, he’d remain tethered to her until the issue had been resolved, one way or another. But the fact that she hadn’t detected even a hint of their connection proved her powers still lingered in their infancy, her ability to gather and control magick still developing.

  “In the keep?”

  “Thereabouts.” He owed no one an accounting. Especially not her.

  “Weel, then. You saw the old man.”

  “What old man?”

  “Nay?” She shot him a haughty look. “What about the young man?”

  Neither. Skorpius had transformed into a stealth presence, not part of their material world, yet a part of its undetectable background energy. In that elusive form, he didn’t see anything. He sensed. And the only subtleties that registered through to him when he became part of the ether were fluctuations in energy signatures.

  And he’d perceived nothing out of the ordinary. Until the unmistakable yank of his tethers had demanded he protect Brigid and time from impending harm.

  “Tell me what you saw. What you felt.” Her intuition mattered more than anything. Because escalating events, small and large, appeared to be gravitating toward her.

  And Skorpius may have missed witnessing her encounter because he’d dampened his magic. But the encounter had likely happened only because he’d removed his powerful presence from the equation.

  Motionless, she stared at him with an inscrutable expression for several seconds. Then she gave a barely discernable nod, turned, and tugged her satchel from her shoulder, began to remove her weapons. “The old man became the young man. ’Twas the aggressive male other from my bedchamber, the one I’d first thought had been you. But tonight, his magick was…different.”

  “Dangerous?” She’d know. If she could now discern between their power signatures—and any nuanced changes in her hunter’s—she’d grown to identify the makeup of energy signatures on an elemental level.

  “Aye.” Her low tone held no fear. She dug into her belongings, withdrew a thick plaid woven in Clan Brodie’s green-and-black pattern, then unfurled it onto a drier patch of ground under tree cover.

  “Threatening?” What he’d sensed amid the chaos in the keep. But he needed her take on it.

  “Aye.” After taking a seat and another few seconds of digging in her satchel, she pulled out a crusty roll and a wedge of cheese. She took a large bite of each, then continued with her mouth half full. “To me…or you. I haven’t decided.”

  Fair enough. Sides were being taken. Lines drawn. Power did that: seduced, invited, lured. Until core values were stripped bare, held in place by fragile unraveling threads.

  I haven’t decided either, he thought to himself. Which side I’m taking. With you…or against. “And the Templars?”

  Brigid yawned. Then her brow gradually furrowed. “Templars?” Weariness tugged her shoulders forward. Heavy eyelids dropped halfway closed.

  And Skorpius was struck by her.

  For the innocent beauty of the female warrior shone brightest when she let her guard down.

  “The soldiers,” he murmured in a soothing tone, coaxing her to rest. She’d depleted a good amount of her reserves already. And bread and cheese served as poor substitutes for the vital nourishment of phytonutrients and pure sunlight.

  Skorpius needed to work on instructing her to use a broader imagination when manifesting.

  But th
ere hadn’t been time. And his gut screamed they were quickly running out of it.

  Succumbing to the drowsy pull, Brigid curled onto her side and closed her eyes. “Aye. Wilhelm.” Her breathing slowed. “And his brothers…” Her voice trailed off before another deep inhale. “They’re my kin, in truth,” she murmured on a final exhale before drifting off to sleep.

  Skorpius stared in wonderment at her vulnerable sleeping form.

  Your…kin.

  Astonishing.

  And yet Brigid’s own stark half-aware confession solidified his suspicion.

  Who…and what…she’d become? No longer remained a mystery.

  The how it had come to pass? Bewildering.

  Yet whatever Brigid’s role in the unfolding reality, irrespective of his grasp of the situation—which was tenuous at best—some chain of events had triggered her appearance, here and now. And with her thunderous power signature, of course the Templars had been drawn to her. As had the dangerous “old-young” man.

  Others will come. And soon.

  Only the Templars had her interests at heart. Because hers aligned with their own. For now.

  Skorpius stared at the remarkable slumbering beauty for long moments.

  Blissfully unaware of who she’d become, his apprentice had fallen into a deep restorative state. A faint golden glow shimmered over her form in the darkness, the protective warmth of a magick blanket that she’d unconsciously wrapped around herself.

  Since that foreign presence had visited Brigid’s bedchamber nightly in the past, it meant either she hadn’t before developed that protective blanket, or she had, but it had routinely slipped. In either scenario, while her guard remained down, her golden energy transformed into a bright beacon of succulent nectar. And through the ages, dark forces were irresistibly drawn to a nubile flower just beginning to bloom.

  Guardian of Time. Skorpius sighed at the needed reminder. It meant he couldn’t forsake his role. Nothing he wanted—even that he’d begun to like her—mattered. And even if he willfully disregarded his mandate, he still couldn’t interfere. Brigid had to choose her path. For the vast consequences were determined by her choice. Hers. Not his.

  But he could protect her. Even in his absence. Up to the fine line that the action didn’t interfere. Therefore, to be certain her protective blanket held for a while, he gathered additional elements, suffused them with his own magick, and floated his darker bluish layer over her own.

  As his essence hailed from the elements of shadow, none of her energy could be detected from the outside now. Not even to those who hunted magick. Because he needed to keep her safely tucked from harm while he ran an important errand. One that ensured that no hunter of a certain breed came looking for her.

  “Sleep, apprentice. We’ve much to do upon my return.”

  In the meantime, Skorpius had a fearsome Scot to face—and convince.

  Chapter 9

  Silvery moonlight beamed down from a peaceful night sky, blanketin’ the inhabitants of the Highlands in a translucent bridal veil.

  One chosen Scot, by birthright and destiny, slumbered on the eve of a strange weddin’ night.

  No dowry would pass, other than her own worldly sacrifice.

  No groom would take her hand, aside from one who surrendered his life.

  No home would shelter her body, for she belonged to the mountains and to the verra wind.

  Cold. So…cold.

  Nocturnal animals howled and hooted.

  Insects trilled their matin’ songs.

  “Ye’r not alone.” A deep male voice caressed her ear, bathed her in warmth, even as the darkness increased. “Come to me.” Power-laced quiet words, seductive, entrancin’.

  “Aye,” she murmured in eager reply. How could she not?

  Greater warmth radiated across her face, over her breast. Golden light drew her forward. Soundless, featureless, an undeniable peace flooded her being.

  Colder. Darker. Freezin’ bolts of ice stabbed forth. “Everra…thing! Any…thing!” boomed the voice, a solemn vow, shot through with desperation.

  Urgent tension crackled into existence, sparkin’ and dischargin’ energy from earth to sky.

  The melodic night hushed in awestruck silence.

  Dark clashed light.

  But no Earth-bound being could see the electrical storm.

  The beautiful woman still slumbered.

  “Brigid,” the deep voice implored, calmness injected into unhurried tones. “Trust me. Join me.” Heavier warmth flamed over her skin. A thick plaid tightened, bindin’ her arms and legs. Tapestries whipped taut from corner to corner, blockin’ the windows. An iron bolt scraped, barrin’ the door. And in the center of the cavernous room, a wicked fire blazed, ravenously consumin’ every last molecule of oxygen.

  Nay!

  Warmth. Knowledge. Security. All rang hollow, false.

  Escape. Away from all she knew, chase the darkness into the light.

  Breathe. Inhaled deep from within, fresher-than-air filled her lungs.

  Freedom. Beyond all walls, grounded by that which gives more than takes.

  A wild rush buffeted her awareness.

  Within.

  Throughout.

  Bitter cold battled scorchin’ heat.

  A whirlin’ inferno tossed the world.

  On a ragged gasp for air, Brigid startled awake, tremblin’. Curled onto her side in a tight ball, muscles clenched and achin’, she tentatively unfolded herself. When no ill consequences transpired, she stretched open a hand over dewy blades of grass, then pushed herself upright.

  In the middle of a glade on a crisp cloudless night, she sat alone. Claspin’ her cloak about her, she took stock of her condition. Even though her heart still raced, she forced her shallow breaths to deepen. Soon her pulse began to calm. And after stretchin’ her muscles, they no longer ached. In truth, they’d been warmed, as if she’d been chasin’ butterflies in the summer sunshine.

  Yet the faint memory of the harrowin’ dream shimmered over her mind.

  The sheer power that had swirled around her had been humblin’.

  And the pull of temptation toward the unknown force? Nigh irresistible.

  Which frightened her. Because its magick tasted familiar. Ancient.

  But not like another’s Brigid had only just begun to know. She ran shaky fingers over the bared skin at her neck. The slight residue of warmth there vibrated with traces of her angel’s energy. As if Skorpius had covered her with a plaid of his magick.

  But the absolute silence remained odd.

  “Skorpius?” Brigid called out into the vastness of the night.

  No reply came.

  His powerful essence no longer existed there. Her guardian had abandoned her once again.

  She blinked up at the glitterin’ peaceful sky. Settled within, grateful for the respite, she closed her eyes.

  But in the next instant, she gasped for air. Her eyes popped open, wide with alarm.

  The wild rush buffeted her with greater force—within.

  Unearthly howls echoed in her head, but none sounded aloud in the glade.

  Searin’ flames scorched her lungs, though the night sky remained crisp and calm.

  Solid ground beneath her trembled, then calmed. Trembled, then calmed.

  She exhaled a slow breath and her eyes drifted closed. Then she straightened her spine, tightened her core on a deep inhale, and gathered her energy.

  Fate bore down on her.

  I’m prepared. With her mind’s eye focused on the still calm at the bottom of a deep internal loch, she centered herself.

  Great clawed feet tore into soft turf. Snarlin’. Racin’.

  On another measured breath, she drew in power from the elements.

  Smoky fire blazed through pure air as enormous wings beat. Screeching. Quickenin’.

  Cool as the clear night sky, calm as the solid earth, Brigid embraced the hidden whispers of magick from her world. Raw sparkin’ energy suffused her verra bein
g.

  “You may not be here, Skorpius,” she murmured. “But I remember.” How to control the hot energy: a calm coolin’ exhale. How to wrap herself in soothin’ magick: a slow warmin’ inhale.

  Silence followed.

  Insect chirps and buzzes from the surroundin’ forest gradually filtered into her ears. The hoot of an owl sounded from somewhere off in the distance.

  “’Tis but a dream,” she murmured from the bottom of her loch of calm. An unsettlin’ dream.

  Thunder boomed.

  The ground shook.

  On a startled gasp, Brigid blinked her eyes open again.

  “Och! ’Twas no dream.”

  She spun up from the ground, shrugged off her cloak, and unsheathed her daggers. The rasp of the razor-sharp edges over leather sobered her.

  “’Tis real,” she whispered as her senses prickled with keen awareness.

  The dark clear sky split open on the near horizon. Brilliant orange light exploded into existence from nowhere, followed by roilin’ storm clouds. Flashes of movement burst forth from the wide pitch-black hole, some arcin’ upward, others spillin’ downward.

  Guttural snarls and growls echoed into her mind. And her ears.

  Deafenin’ screeches pierced the night, which flushed roostin’ birds from their night perches.

  “Verra real,” she murmured.

  Seconds later, the magnitude of what descended upon her grew crystal clear. Surrounded. Outnumbered. Out-magicked.

  “Nay!” Brigid gave a hard headshake, refusin’ to give form to even one negative thought.

  Instead, she flooded her awareness outward, into the darkness. And as she focused her greater attention everywhere, her vision sharpened, turnin’ predatory. Then she evolved even further, beyond all earthly possibility—into somethin’ preternatural.

  Myriad shapes bounded over tremblin’ land and soared through a stormy sky. And their energy signatures tasted otherworldly.

  Chargin’ beasts broke into the glade in a semicircle, pallid wolf-like creatures with gruesome wrinkled muzzles and oversized curvin’ teeth and claws. As one, the hounds paused, their ghastly faces orientin’ toward her. A brightenin’ red glow rimmed their nostrils as they flared, as if the beasts drew in her scent. Long metallic spines covered their hides from shoulders to haunches, barbs whose spiked tips gleamed their menace under the moonlight.