Born of Mist and Legend (Highland Legends Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  A larger hound arched its massive leathery neck up and bayed an unearthly howl. Its brethren followed, howlin’ in reply. Then their heads dropped below their shoulders, muzzles aimed her way once again. All flashed now-glowin’ red eyes, dug hind claws into the turf, then charged, clods of soil cloudin’ up in their wake.

  Great twisted birds swooped down in response to the beastly call, opened elongated reptilian snouts, then exhaled streams of fire that torched the far treetops before they banked and dove, flankin’ her from the opposite side as the hounds.

  On instinct, terror flashed through her. But then she blinked, shook off the fear, and took a cleansin’ breath as she banished the destructive emotion.

  She hadn’t fled Brodie Castle. She’d drawn danger away from her people, those she loved.

  She raced toward somethin’ greater than herself, greater even than her clan.

  And some menacin’ force sought to stop her. In the dead of night. While I sleep.

  Beasts charged her from one direction. Winged fury plummeted from the other. As if the creatures had plotted their attack, to guarantee no means of escape.

  As if you expected I’d flee.

  They’d hunted her, come for her.

  Verra well. She gave a resigned nod. Because as apart as she’d kept her tender heart her entire life, as alone as she’d been for so many years, even with her brothers—even with Finn—she no longer remained apart, was no longer alone.

  Clan duties and family obligations may have kept her struggles hidden to all but the most watchful eye. But steadfastness and loyalty hadn’t been her only secret trainin’.

  Every solitary afternoon of quiet reflection had grounded her.

  Each moment amidst gardens and wildflowers had connected her.

  And then came the magick. Which had set her free.

  On a slow inhale, she glared back at those that dared hunt her.

  Immense energy surged through her veins as she connected with the vast space around her, one with the verra elements, askin’ for what she needed with steady focus. Warmth radiated from within, fueled in endless supply from the natural world.

  A bright glow shimmered over her skin in a rollin’ wave.

  Her vision sharpened at the world awash in a magickal golden hue.

  As a furious nightmare descended, she blew out a hard breath, eased her hold on her weapons, and bent her knees, balancin’ on the balls of her feet.

  Time ta prove I’m no easy prey.

  Chapter 10

  “’Bout time you showed up.” Isobel dropped Skorpius a deadpan look.

  “It is?” A rhetorical reply. He governed time. The concept did not govern him.

  Tension reigned within Iain’s sizable map room, where parchment scrolls were stacked in honeycombed pockets carved from two stone walls and a roughhewn oak table commanded the center. On the corner opposite Skorpius, half of Iain’s elite guard stood on either side of their laird as the men pored over a large vellum map, the corners of which were secured by obsidian paperweights. From atop stone perches in the walls, beeswax tapers flickered, dancing light and shadows over hardened expressions.

  Robert, Iain’s commander, angled a larger candle over the map as he pointed toward various positions while issuing clipped orders to his men.

  A percussive boom sounded.

  The walls shook.

  Dust rained down, and Robert cupped a protective hand over the flame.

  But no one seemed fazed by the quake, as if explosions had been rocking their castle long enough to numb the surprise out of them.

  Skorpius tucked his wings tight to his back as a scout rushed by him. Another followed. Each relayed urgent information to the eager strategizing warriors: coordinates, numbers of enemy forces, strange beasts.

  “Yeah,” Isobel continued as she strode past the busy men. She went to the far wall and drummed short nails on its black surface. “Your magick wall is on the fritz.”

  Interesting.

  He scanned the inert stone that spanned an entire side of the room. The portal wall, constructed as a living part of Brodie Castle, had been crafted by angelkind long ago. Its root purpose had been safeguarded from all, while it discreetly obscured the castle for generations of Brodie. But the wall had never once failed to serve its purpose, to protect Clan Brodie, home of the prophesied Traveler.

  “Not my magick wall,” Skorpius corrected. “The threshold between worlds protects your clan, belongs to your clan.”

  “Whatever.” Isobel rolled her eyes. “The thing hasn’t been working. Not only that, shit’s hit the fan. I’m not totally spot on about every detail in history, and I know this particular Brodie Castle didn’t exist in my prior twenty-first-century timeline—”

  “This castle exists now, therefore has always existed. Your erudite historians were unaware of it. By design.”

  She shot him a shut-up-you’re-trying-my-patience glare. “What I’m pretty sure didn’t happen was thousands of English soldiers laying siege to one side of said ‘secret’ castle while several united Scottish clans attack the opposite flank of said ‘secret’ castle—even though we’re supposed to be able to make said ‘secret’ castle…” She leaned toward him, arching her brows.

  “Secret.” Skorpius finished, tone flat.

  She snapped her fingers with a nod. “Bingo.”

  A third scout raced in and shouted an update, the arrival a new roaring beast: enormous, hairy, brown, tusked. At the keep’s west flank, right in the midst of a large group of Brodie warriors, the creature flashed into existence facing the towering stone wall. Then, apparently enraged at having shouting men surrounding it and a solid wall in front of it, the hairy beast proceeded to ram its giant forehead against the stone.

  Another boom reverberated. The walls shook. Dust fell.

  Skorpius sighed. Time mocks me.

  “A woolly mammoth,” Isobel murmured then stared at Iain when he glanced up at her. They exchanged a flabbergasted look, supported by their combined twenty-first-century experience.

  Then Isobel shot Skorpius a scathing what-the-hell?! gaze. “A whole ten-thousand years out of place. Inside the curtain wall?”

  Iain growled and pegged Skorpius with a harried look. “We’ve not been able to go invisible.”

  Isobel folded her arms. “And since when are the English and Scottish clans battling here? At this time?”

  “Never,” Skorpius grumbled. “Until now.” Because, by his own explanation of their unique Brodie Castle existing, so did everyone’s faulty timeline. “Iain. I need a word. In private.”

  Iain held his gaze for a moment, gave a nod, then uttered a dire phrase to Robert in Gaelic regarding their ongoing bizarre battle. His commander issued final orders to their guard and gestured a quick plan over their map. Then all but Iain and Isobel vacated the map room.

  Skorpius glanced at Iain first. Then he stared pointedly at Isobel as he broached the bound-to-be-inflammatory topic. “I bring information about a missing Brodie clansman.”

  Understanding gradually registered on Isobel’s face. She averted her gaze, took a few steps away from her commanding husband, then hopped up to take a seat on a corner of the table.

  Skorpius pegged her with a hard look. Distance won’t help you, Runt.

  Iain arched hopeful brows at him. “Fingall? You know where Fingall is?”

  Skorpius frowned, let out a slow breath, then stared up at the ceiling a beat.

  I do, but that’s beside the point.

  Skorpius leveled an expectant stare at Isobel again. “No. Perhaps I should’ve said clanswoman…”

  The Traveler had two options. She could fess up to Iain, to foster the most civilized conversation conceivable between two men and an impossible situation, or she could remain silent and force her mentor to take the yoke.

  Skorpius leaned back against the wall, propped up a casual foot, then waited with the patience of a granite mountain.

  And as the awkward silence grew, the tension
mounted further.

  Iain moved forward and stood beside his wife. Then he stared down at her, puzzle pieces likely assembling into a whole that would inevitably uncover Isobel’s imprudent deception.

  Skorpius began to realize sometimes patience wasn’t merely a virtue. On rare occasion, the quality he’d taken for granted could be thoroughly amusing.

  Iain squinted back over toward him, with a ruler’s assessing gaze.

  Isobel glared at Skorpius, then softened her eyes and raised her brows. A silent plea.

  Skorpius smirked. With pleasure, he drawled to her telepathically. Oh, yes, Runt. This will cost you.

  Isobel heaved out a resigned sigh and gave a slight nod.

  “Your sister is missing.” Blunt. Efficient.

  Isobel’s jaw dropped at Skorpius’s brusque candor.

  “What?” Iain roared as he advanced a couple of steps toward him.

  Skorpius raised his hands, arching his wings slightly. “Don’t yell at the messenger. I’ve found her.” In a manner of speaking. “Brigid is safe.”

  Iain spun around, his broad shoulders blocking out his wife. “Tell me you dinna lie to me.”

  Isobel softened her voice. “I didn’t lie to you, Iain. I said Brigid was worried about Fingall and unable to break fast with us.”

  “Because she isn’t here.” Iain stated the obvious.

  “No,” Isobel admitted.

  “What do you know of her absence?” he demanded with a harsh tone.

  “More than I’ve shared with you.”

  Iain slowly shook his head. “Woman, you continue to test my limits. You and I are gonna have a serious reckonin’.”

  Skorpius cleared his throat.

  Iain spun back around.

  Two unhappy people faced him. Experience suggested it was about to get worse.

  But with attackers sieging their castle, serious consequences would have to wait. And Skorpius had a charge to watch over. And time to save. Blessedly, the lovers’ spat would have to continue in private. Later.

  “Brigid is safe, she refuses to be deterred from her mission”—no point in rectifying that said mission encompassed a task far greater than her hunt for a missing Viking—“and she is under my protection.”

  “What do you mean she’s under your protection?” Iain’s breaths shallowed as he rocketed from agitated to fully enraged. “Where the fuck is she?” Iain stomped toward him with measured steps. One. Two. But then Iain halted his aggressive approach.

  Wise man.

  Nevertheless, Iain’s frame tensed, a coil readying to spring: thighs twitching, shoulders curving, fists clenching.

  Skorpius slowly pushed off the wall with his bent foot and eased closer to the man whose only intent in the unexpected mess was to protect his sister. “Brigid’s gone north on a mission to rescue Fingall. I can attest firsthand to the fact that she’s well trained to protect herself. I’ve been sent to guard her for reasons that have not yet been made clear to me.”

  Partial truth. But all he was willing to divulge.

  Iain’s body relaxed a degree as he processed the information. “I’ll not let her run off into enemy territory without the protection of my guard.”

  “And do what? Bring her back and chain her somewhere? Keep her under constant guard? In the middle of your castle being under siege? Brigid is adamant. I suspect it will be impossible to dissuade her.”

  Total truth.

  Iain’s expression shifted from concern to contemplation. The man knew the truth of his sister’s stubborn determination as well.

  “She’s out of her mind.” Iain sighed. “Surely you can see that.”

  “I’m not there to judge her mental capacity.” Which was remarkable, all things considered. “But I believe she has her full faculties. My presence as guardian by her side is not my choice. It’s been mandated and cannot be altered. We all would be wise to let the events take their original course.”

  Iain glanced at Isobel, as if some answer lay with the one who’d become the most important person in his life. She gave him an imperceptible nod.

  All of a sudden, Skorpius’s tether to Brigid twanged with intensity. Then it yanked taut.

  The guardian tie.

  Only grave danger to Brigid’s person would demand such urgent attention. Then a second twang snapped so hard, the inside of his sternum burned from its violent sting. “I have to go.”

  Iain gave him a weighted stare, filled with grave warning, then waved a dismissive hand toward him. “Keep Brigid safe. You’ll get no quarrel from me.”

  Skorpius gave Iain a nod. As far as I’m able.

  But before he strode out to find a darkened space to dematerialize, he paused. He tilted his head in thought, then glanced at Isobel. “When did the wall go inert?”

  “About the same time that Brigid left.”

  They’re tied to one another.

  That final elusive puzzle piece clicked into place. Evidence to his suspicion about Brigid. No wonder her ability to wield magick had advanced at such incredible speed.

  The portal. How she’d gained access to angelkind’s source magick in the first place. “Exactly when she left,” he muttered.

  Nothing to be done about it now. The connection had been made, the chain of events barreled forth. And they would continue to steam forward however the source energy—and the power players who tapped into its limitless possibilities—dictated.

  Isobel hopped off the map table, then angled straight toward him as she fastened leather scabbards with custom-made short swords around her hips.

  Skorpius snorted, amused at the fierceness in the fledgling’s expression. “Where do you think you’re going?” Moments ago, he’d vowed—more or less—to protect one woman in Iain’s life. There wasn’t enough leeway in Skorpius’s mercy or mission to expect more—not from a far fallen angel.

  But of course, in all the castles in all the realms, he had to align with the one where prehistoric creatures winked into existence and a laird pawned off his females to an outcast angel. Because Iain folded his arms and stared hard at his wife—the mother of his unborn babes—and issued his request to Skorpius the only way a Highland laird could: as a command. “Take Isa somewhere safe as well. I’ll not be havin’ her at risk here, if the wall canna protect us.”

  Great.

  Isobel trotted over to her husband with a beaming smile and gave Iain a sound kiss. Then she returned and stood by Skorpius’s side. “Ready, my protector.”

  Skorpius let out a weary sigh. “Your escort,” he clarified. Then he led her out into the hall. “I’m not protecting you. You’re the Traveler, for Authority’s sake. You can take care of yourself.” Granted Isobel did so differently than Brigid, didn’t mold magick to her every wish. Only wielded energy as needed for a specific mission. And the Traveler used the electromagnetic field as a personal highway through space and time. If Isobel ran into trouble, she blinked into any place in time, no portal required. She’d become her own portal.

  At a bend in the hall, where the relative darkness and silence obscured their presence, Isobel extended a fist out and stared at him, issuing a mental decree: Let’s do this.

  Done. Skorpius closed a hand over her fist.

  The next instant, they materialized at the fringe of the glade where he’d last left Brigid.

  Chaos erupted around Skorpius and Isobel the instant they materialized.

  Bloodcurdling snarls vibrated through the foggy glade.

  Unearthly shrieks pierced stormy skies.

  Thick mist burst outward into a wake of spouts spiraling into the night as a giant balled creature bowled past them, as if flung from a cannon. The moment the monstrosity stopped rolling, the snarling miscreation unfolded into a macabre lupine-like beast, dug massive metallic claws into rocky ground with earsplitting scrapes, then bolted by them again, charging in the direction from which it had been flung.

  Another snarling ball whipped by on one side. A third barreled past so close, Isobel j
umped aside to avoid being steamrolled.

  Once the last hound churned up turf and raced back for more punishment, Isobel stared after the creature, mouth agape, eyes wide. “Ummm… What the hell are those?”

  “No idea.” Not that Skorpius needed one. With how fast and strong magick had begun to bleed into the human world, any manifestation had become possible.

  “They look like the hounds of hell.”

  “Probably are.” Skorpius materialized his sword and flexed his fingers around the hilt. Magick alone might work. But that depended on the beasts’ source magick, where they derived their energy from—or who’d summoned them forth. But he’d learned long ago never to depend on one weapon. Better to dispatch unknown threats with everything in their arsenal.

  On a smooth exhale, he radiated his magick outward. Cold blackish blue flame flowed from his hands and licked over his sword, infusing the blade with his ancestors’ ancient power. With a stronger power flex, he burst a wave of low frequency through the entire glade. The obscuring fog fanned outward to reveal a raging battle taking place in the middle of the clearing.

  Bright white light pulsed in a slow rhythm from its epicenter, spreading outward.

  Myriad magickal creatures assailed the pulsing energy, some charging by land, others swooping down from the sky. A hundred-foot circular perimeter had been blasted of all attackers, hounds and avians shaking off their beatings.

  When his magick wave washed through the beasts, all paused for an instant, then flung themselves inward with renewed ferocity, charging and plummeting toward their target.

  Skorpius focused on the brilliant light at the epicenter.

  Brigid stood within it.

  No. She’d become the light. Glittering. Magnificent.

  Unimaginable energy vibrated from within her, increasing in degrees of power with each successive pulse, a blazing star about to go supernova.