by Kat Bastion
They’d stolen him. Forces still conspired to take him. Yet he clung to life by a thread . . . for me.
My gaze lifted to Sunshine as I slowly knelt. Everything in my programming made me fight for the man I loved with every weapon in my arsenal.
A whisper fell from my lips. “Will it work?” I raised my hand to a wall humming with power. It begged for my touch.
Those iridescent, blue-green eyes pierced into my soul. “For a price. Everything has a price.”
“If he lives, I will pay the price.”
Sunshine nodded once.
I pressed my palm onto the heated surface. Raw energy poured into my hand, running hot and furious through my body. I gritted my teeth and tensed my arm. The conduit fired so much power into me, I barely maintained the connection.
My free hand hovered above Iain’s chest, over his heart. With a focused determination I’d learned from the hunts, from the meditations, from every soul-searching, self-finding reflection, I aimed the exhilarating energy straight into Iain’s body.
Before I even touched Iain’s skin, a reaction happened. Warm, yellow light emanated from my hand, and Iain’s body jerked. Sunshine shot an arm over Iain’s abdomen, holding him securely.
I lowered my hand onto Iain’s chest. The contact sent the glow deep into his body. Iain’s lungs shot up, his mouth opening on a loud gasp. I clenched my jaw. His face contorted in pain, and I felt his suffering. Beads of sweat trickled into my eyes. I pinched them closed.
The wall’s energy buffered me from feeling the brunt of Iain’s pain as it assaulted me. If Iain could take every blow, every strike, every consequence of protecting people he loved, so could I.
Then it ended abruptly. The pain . . . gone.
I opened my eyes, and Iain’s bright, hazel eyes stared up at me in wonder.
Well, hell. That made two of us.
I quickly scanned his body. His skin was still dirty; his hair still encrusted with blood. But his color was pink and healthy. No more broken limbs. No more bruises. He’d been made whole.
Iain flicked a glance at Sunshine. His gaze returned to me, tearing away from the shocking form of an angel hovering over him.
“Och, lass. I’ve died, haven’t I?”
I laughed, so damn happy. “No, love.” I bent down, brushing trembling lips over his in the gentlest kiss. I pulled back, kneeling over him, staring into the beautiful olive eyes I’d missed. “Iain, you have no idea. The living’s just begun.”
* * *
Behind the castle, I walked in the rays of the sun while Sunshine kept to his beloved shadows. Iain bathed upstairs. Rowena insisted on preparing a special meal for the two of us, saving the enormous celebration for tomorrow at my request. Tonight would be a private reunion.
“Thank you for your help, Skorpius.”
He growled. I laughed.
It bothered him that I saw the teddy bear behind the dragon. I wondered if I’d see him again since the adventure had ended.
“You have many adventures still to come. You know how to reach me. My aid will follow.”
“My own genie in a bottle,” I mentally teased.
“Hardly,” he choked out, and I laughed, imagining his eye roll hidden in the darkness.
“What did you mean about the price to be paid?” I asked.
“Ahhh, now she’s curious. The fool acts now . . . questions later.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’m the fool. Tell me the consequence of hastiness—the price of saving a man not yet destined to die.”
He barked out a laugh. “Destiny. A word humans use to explain what they can’t control. How does it feel to be different now?”
I digested the way he phrased his words. Their meaning dawned, even if acceptance did not. “I’m no longer human?”
Rich, deep laughter boomed out. “Ms. MacInnes, with everything you’ve been through, you’ve become more human than most of humanity. Due to your travel through time, not to mention all the power you absorbed from that wall, you’ve also become something more. The babes you carry as well. I’d imagine Iain has also, now that I think about it.”
“And what’s that?” My short-bus mind slammed to a stop. “Wait. Babes?”
The breeze changed direction, and the feeling of power emanating from Sunshine disappeared. A whispered word carried on the wind tickled into my ear.
“Immortal.”
My jaw dropped. Without thought, my hand flew to my belly. It never occurred to me the power flowing through me . . . had changed me . . . on a molecular level. And Iain?
I rushed into the castle, raced up the steps, and burst into our bedchamber. Iain’s broad smile greeted me, his relaxed body soaking in the wooden tub. I’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
A slow smile spread across my face. I unsheathed my sword, pointing it at him, stalking across the room.
“Och, Isa. I’ve been back but an hour and already you’re pickin’ a fight. You doona think I’ve been tortured enough?”
I smirked, propping a hip on the edge of the tub, reaching down, and grasping his hand. “Yes, you’ve suffered enough for a thousand lifetimes. Apparently, I’ve committed you to suffer an eternity.” I aimed my blade toward his open palm.
“Donna stab me!”
He yanked his hand away, but I jerked it back, and the sharp point of my sword pierced the center of his hand.
“Ochhh!”
I pulled the blade away from his skin. A stream of blood trickled across his open palm and into the water. Within seconds, the wound closed and the bleeding stopped. Iain dipped his hand under the water and lifted it. He stared at the unmarred flesh.
“What magick is this?” he asked on a whisper.
“Exactly. And Sunshine, I mean Skorpius . . . you know, the big, black, badass angel? He said not only are you immortal. So am I. And”—I sheathed the blade back into its scabbard and gazed lovingly into Iain’s eyes—“Skorpius also said so are the babes I’m carrying.”
“Bairns? You’re carryin’ my bairns? Two of them?” His eyes widened as he grinned like an idiot.
I laughed lovingly at his instant pride and happiness. “Damn. I hope there’s only two.”
His strong grip seized me, and I toppled into the water on top of him. Waves sloshed out of the tub, splashing everywhere as he kissed me soundly.
I pulled away. “My weapons!”
Iain tossed them out, the metal clattering onto the stone floor. “We’ll forge you new ones.”
He ripped the clothes from my body, holding me down. I struggled, trying to sit upright.
“Hold still, woman. You look—and smell—like you’ve been to hell and back.” He flipped me over, pulling the last torn scrap away. “Let . . . your . . . man . . . take care of you.”
I relaxed in his hold.
What a wonderful idea.
CHAPTER Thirty-six
UCLA Archaeology Department—Twenty-first Century
The letter had been penned on parchment from the thirteenth century . . .
written in ink from the thirteenth century . . .
tied with a silk red ribbon from the thirteenth century . . .
wrapped around a Pict short sword and battle ax . . .
forged twelve hundred years earlier than that.
I exhaled slowly through pursed lips, carefully positioning the time-capsuled package in the center of Professor MacLaren’s desk. Out of nostalgia, or unsolved mystery, MacLaren had left the box exactly where I’d placed it. Good thing too. If MacLaren hadn’t kept my mysterious disappearance that coincided with the box’s appearance a secret, we might’ve ended up in the back forty of a police station’s evidence lockup.
The desk’s immaculate, shining surface showed that MacLaren had been in residence within the last few days. Iain and I had no idea if we’d arrive alone or shock the hell out of my mentor, but the risked chance outweighed the not knowing.
Iain stood behind the desk in his finest plaid. The heirloom brooch fastened to
his hip gleamed in the light of the room. He lifted his gaze up to me. We owed everything to that box.
I walked to the far wall of the professor’s enormous tribute to the past. Dusty tomes were stacked neatly on their sides to protect the aged spines. Definitive proof would be found in the facsimile edition of the Codex Laurentianus Mediceus by Tacitus, but the horrific Latin scrawl was nearly illegible. My index finger hovered over the books until I found a powder-blue, unjacketed cover. I lifted three other historical first editions to free the one that would tell us everything: Clarence W. Mendell’s Tacitus: The Man and His Work.
With bated breath, I curled into a corner of the coffee Chesterfield sofa, the leather softly creaking as I tucked suede-clad legs beneath me. I flipped the pages to the second half of the book, scanning every section that mentioned Agricola. Everything had remained the same.
I glanced up at Iain who remained rooted where he stood, silently watching. “Nothing’s changed.”
He nodded once.
Satisfied for the moment, I replaced the book and methodically stacked the professor’s other collectibles into their rightful place. A light layer of dust coated the mahogany shelf. I drew a smiley face in the evidence that a cleaning lady had never touched its surface; MacLaren refused to trust anyone to care for his treasures the same way he coddled them . . . well, besides me.
A huge grin stretched onto my face. Everything I needed to assess my historical impact was hidden in plain sight. I stepped back, scanning the entire wall on a reminiscing scavenger hunt.
“What’re you doin’, Isa?”
I glanced over my shoulder. Iain had moved closer and stood with his arms crossed in front of the gilded mirror. “Shhh . . .” I cringed the moment the sound left my lips, knowing I’d pay for the inconsiderate silencing later.
My gaze roved a shelf at eye level until I’d found it: the pressed orange poppy I’d hidden for MacLaren to find, if he’d ever bothered to clean. A few shelves down to the right . . . and there was the second: the hot-pink corner of a smartass note I’d left on the virtues of cleanliness. It peeked out from between two volumes of George Buchanan’s History of Scotland. I tugged at the corner, pulling it out a bit further to announce its presence and, I supposed, mine.
I tapped a finger to my lips, trying to remember where I’d placed other clues of my existence. Firm hands gripped my shoulders, turning me around.
“Enough, Isa. You were here. To know that is enough.”
I nodded, laughing. “Yes, you’re right.”
He wisely tugged me from the modern-day static wall where I could spend days researching through books on the effects of my presence in history, all illustrating the same clear and undeniable conclusion: I’d been there all along.
Iain paused as we stood by our box. His gaze tracked left toward the mirror. Mine followed, and the reflection took my breath away.
He wrapped his arms around me. I slid a hand around his waist, tipping my head onto his shoulder, admiring the beautiful couple: his chestnut hair, bronzed skin, and white linen shirt beneath a green-and-black plaid; her wild, unbound blond locks, tanned skin, and new deerskin hunting outfit he’d had newly made for her and insisted she wear.
Iain hooked a finger under my chin, and I gazed up into his olive eyes. They conveyed trust, protection . . . love. The last time we stood together in the room, I was unsure. But I doubted no more.
He whispered, “Isa, our history had been written long before it ever began.”
I smiled, beaming up at him. He’d spoken the utter truth.
“Iain . . . take me home.”
EPILOGUE
From A Dark Corner of the Room—A Few Seconds Later
It took an obscene effort to mute my innate powers, hiding my presence from the couple so brilliantly in love with one another, a mere mortal would have to wear three pairs of sunglasses. Cue the eye roll.
I stepped from the shadows the moment the blissful pair disappeared, raising both hands as I gestured high into the air my masterful orchestration. “Aaand . . . they lived happily ever after.”
My heavy military boots thudded with every footfall as I crossed before the mirror, perfect peripheral vision telling me what I already knew as a black reflection blurred over the flat glass. Darkness existed, ironically epitomized in the flesh and blood of a beautiful, yet feared, creature. An abomination. A savior. A world saver.
Okay, the last moniker stretched the truth beyond even my sardonic belief. All the glory rightly went to Isobel. A facilitator, perhaps, would be a more accurate title for my unique services.
Isobel had done such a beautiful job in handwriting the heartfelt note to her professor about her experiences. The restraint she showed in keeping only to the most pertinent details—striving to keep history from unraveling again by the accidental slip of her pen—was truly commendable.
Fortunately for Isobel, I saw my mission through to the end. Lucky for the world, she had the Guardian of Time to peer over her shoulder and make certain she had a little push at the exact moment she needed it.
I lifted the perfect, ribbon-wrapped parcel in one hand and the box with the other, tucking the latter under my arm, mentally adding “cleaner” to the endless list of hats I wore without complaint.
With a single nod, I paid respect to a place in time Isobel would never see again—a world she’d left behind the moment she truly accepted her role. Priorities had a way of reordering themselves when circumstances changed. She’d almost made me believe in the human race again.
It had been a long haul. So many things had been arranged to achieve the near impossible. My deep rumbled laugh echoed into the room as I vanished, reflecting on my favorites.
Sheep across a road . . .
A push into a stream . . .
Stealing away a box . . .
. . . or a beloved, seven-foot-tall Highlander Viking . . .
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’ve been blessed to have numerous people provide me with insight and guidance during my journey as a writer. To all those who offered support, in gestures big and small, I thank you. A diverse team of people were directly involved in the making of this novel and are mentioned below; however, any errors within the published novel, whether existing there intentionally or not, are my errors alone.
On a hot, muggy night at RWA Nationals in 2010, in an overcrowded restaurant with three of us huddled around a tiny table as we practiced pitching our manuscripts, a new friend asked what other story ideas I had. When I shared the rough synopsis of Forged in Dreams and Magick, she looked at me wide-eyed and said, “That’s the story you need to write.”
I am indebted to that now-dear friend and critique partner Heather, aka “City Beta,” for all the advice, support, tough critiques, laughter, and commiserating every step of the way.
Appreciation goes to my dear friend Misty, aka “Swamp Beta,” for the endless support and love, for trying out a Highlander time travel romance for the very first time, and for texting me while reading with every OMG!, sigh, and character-rooting shout.
I am profoundly grateful to my “Alpha Beta” who is my most fervent supporter, my best friend, my advisor, my counselor . . . my beloved husband. Words will never be able to adequately describe how important you are to me, but know that you make me the vibrant person that I am. It is because of your immeasurable love, patience, and support that this book exists.
Enormous thanks go to Kristi Yanta, my editor, who helped me polish the story into a diamond. Thank you for every feisty comment, every smiley, and every OMG! I cherish them all.
Gratitude also goes to my proofreader and formatter, Claire Ashgrove, for straightening out not only my grammar errors, but also for going above and beyond to offer valued comments and suggestions.
I am thankful to the contest judges and coordinators who read early versions of Forged in Dreams and Magick and challenged me to hone my craft, especially those who granted my writing awards as a finalist or winner in their paranorma
l categories: Gateway to the Best; Hold Me, Thrill Me; The Catherine; Unpublished Beacon; and Lone Star Contest. Your encouragement and belief in my writing was instrumental in motivating me to finish the story.
An immense thank you goes to all my friends and family for your encouragement through this three-year adventure. Your love and support have meant the world to me.
KAT BASTION BOOKS
Highland Legends Series
Forged in Dreams and Magick
Bound by Wish and Mistletoe
(November 2013)
Born of Mist and Legend
(Releasing in 2014)
Found in Flame and Moonlight
(Releasing in 2015)
Romantic Poetry for Charity
Utterly Loved
(Foreword by Sylvain Reynard)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kat Bastion is an award-winning paranormal romance writer, poetic warrior, and eternal optimist who loves getting lost in the beauty of nature.
On a never-ending, wondrous path of self-discovery, Kat throws her characters into incredible situations with the hope that readers join her in learning more about the meaning of life and love.
Her first published work, Utterly Loved, was shared with the world to benefit others. All proceeds from Utterly Loved, and a portion of the proceeds from all her other books, support charities who help those lost in this world.
Kat lives with her husband amid the beautiful Sonoran Desert of Arizona.
Visit her blog at www.talktotheshoe.com, her website at www.katbastion.com, and her Twitter account at https://twitter.com/KatBastion for more information.
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