by Hazel Hunter
“You’re getting a full bucket of oats for not running off this time, Slappy.” It took two tries before she could get into the saddle. “Personally, I could use a big, stiff drink. Only someone would question why I’m knocking back the whiskey before noon.”
On the ride back to the stables Rowan rehearsed under her breath what she would say to the chieftain.
“Guess what? I’ve got a body-switching famhair spying on Hendry and Company for us. Just FYI, he looks a lot like Taran. It’s because of that thing between me and your horse master that I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” She felt her eyes sting and shoved back the tears. “I think it’s what makes me puke every time we have a chat, too. After we chat, I mean. Can’t let the spy know how much he nauseates me.”
Whatever spin she put on it, Brennus would not be happy. Since the chieftain had never liked her anyway, finding out she’d been secretly meeting with the enemy might make him blow a gasket. He’d probably toss her in the clan’s inescapable eagalsloc and leave her there to rot.
“Maybe if I point out that Ochd came to me, and not the other way around,” she told Ceann. “That might work.”
She also felt certain that the chieftain would understand, once she explained. Brennus might not like her, but he’d never toss her in the punishment pit for trying to protect the clan.
By the time she reached the stables Rowan felt reasonably sure she could handle confessing all. She simply had to avoid volunteering too many details. The new intel Ochd had provided gave the Skaraven a very limited window to carry out a first strike. She’d emphasize that.
Not finding Taran in the stables made it easier to look after Ceann. Giving him a cool-down walk through the rows of stalls, she then dismounted to water and untack him. After rubbing down and brushing the gelding Rowan brought the promised oats into his stall.
“Wish me luck, Slappy,” she said, and stroked his broad neck. “I’m going to need it.”
The gelding snorted, but bumped her shoulder with his black nose and batted his long eyelashes at her before he stuck his face in the feed bucket.
Rowan cleaned the tack and washed up before she ate a pear and a couple of oatcakes to settle her stomach. Taran always left something for her to eat after she went out on a ride, which she’d considered a nice thing. Now she wondered why. She hadn’t gone inside Dun Mor by herself, she realized, since Brennus had planned the counterattack at the McAra stronghold.
He doesn’t want me to go anywhere without him. He even followed me when I went to get water this morning.
Leaving the stables, Rowan entered the stronghold through the side passage she preferred to use. She paused just outside Kanyth’s workroom to soak up a little of the heat his constantly-blazing forge furnace generated. When she peeked around the threshold to offer a hey to her new brother-in-law, however, she didn’t see the weapons master anywhere.
“Weird,” she muttered.
Kanyth usually spent most of the day smithing iron. The fact that he and Taran weren’t where they were supposed to be made her wonder if Brennus had called everyone together for a meeting.
“Everyone but me, of course,” Rowan muttered as she headed for the great hall.
One of the other advantages to using the side passage was that she could check out who occupied the huge front room of the stronghold before they saw her. That had helped with her determination to avoid Perrin. Stopping in the shadows just before the entry to the hall, she peered out and saw Brennus, his clanmasters and their wives gathered around one end of the big table where the clan ate. The rest of the hall stood empty, so the chieftain must have chased everyone out, which was also very odd.
Seeing them all sitting together made Rowan feel a familiar surge of loneliness. They’d all made their mystical matches and were happy, and it showed.
Her gaze went to Dr. Althea Jarden’s copper red hair and frosty blue eyes, gorgeously vivid even in torchlight. Althea had always been the self-appointed leader of their little group, probably the main reason why she and the doc had never gotten along. She appeared perfectly content beside the big, dark Skaraven chieftain. Brennus rarely went for PDA, but he held the botanist’s hand in his and stroked the back of it with his thumb. Since they’d gotten hitched Rowan had hardly ever seen them apart.
On his right War Master Cadeyrn had his arm around his chef wife, Lily Stover, their streaky fair heads close together as they murmured to each other. Both of them had always been very cool customers, but that remoteness didn’t exist between them. It had never surprised Rowan that Cade had been the one to rescue them, or that Lily had sacrificed herself to protect her husband and the other women from the famhairean. Both of them had the kind of courage that came silent and brought lots of teeth.
The clan’s massive shaman, Ruadri, shared an aura of patient empathy with his mate, the curvy and darkly beautiful Emeline McAra. Rowan especially envied these two because their love for each other radiated from them. Part of it came from Emmie’s gift of empathy, but it also flashed in their smiles and glowed in their eyes. Maybe that was because they’d both earned each other’s love the hard way, and had been willing to die for it.
Immortality had given all the women more than eternal life and intensified beauty. They each had found their forever love in their mates. Rowan’s shy, sweet sister Perrin now looked like the Goddess of Confidence beside her impossibly handsome husband, Weapons Master Kanyth, Brennus’s half-brother. That they were insanely happy together glowed like a neon sign in their eyes. Even actively avoiding her sister, Rowan couldn’t miss that.
Rowan didn’t hate the four of them, although she often felt like a troll by comparison. Every one of the women had suffered, and been rewarded for it. She just wanted some of that for her and Taran. Once they worked out the nuts and bolts of their thing she felt sure they would. Why else would they be so crazy for each other?
Be nice to them, Rowan told herself as she put on a friendlier face. Then maybe they’ll let you sit at the big kids’ table.
“In our mortal lifetime ’twould be my decision alone as chieftain,” Brennus said to the others. “We’ve since decided the clan neednae follow the old ways. I’d hear what you and our ladies reckon should be done with her.”
Her. Rowan froze, staying back in the shadows. There was only one her not at the table.
“Why don’t we talk to Rowan first?” Althea Jarden suggested. “Now that Perrin’s mated maybe she won’t feel she has to stay and look after her. We might not have to force the issue at all.”
“Have you met my sister?” Perrin asked her, and shook her head. “Look, whatever you guys think of Rowan, just know that she never, ever gives up a grudge. Our mother has been dead for years, and she still hates her. Believe me, she won’t budge an inch until she settles the score with Hendry and Murdina.”
I’ve always looked after you, Rowan thought, and behind my back this is how you talk about me?
“Perhaps we’re being too hasty in deciding this now,” Emeline McAra said, sounding worried. “Rowan could still find a husband among the clan.”
“Have you met my sister?” Perrin asked, turning to regard the nurse.
Rowan noticed all of the clanmasters were busy shifting in their chairs and sharing pained looks. All except Taran, who sat watching the others and said nothing.
“I guess discussing this with her would be a little difficult,” Althea said. “Rowan tends to be very… ah…”
“Miffed, narky, cheesed off,” Lily suggested. “The minute she’s crossed she does her nut. The only time that bint’s not steaming is when she’s having a kip. Then I imagine she dreams of going to spare on someone.”
The botanist frowned. “I don’t think she’s that bad.”
“Don’t you, Dr. Useless?” the chef said, reminding Althea of Rowan’s pet name for her. “You were there when she went off on Brennus in front of the whole clan. I thought she’d skewer us all for a jot.” She glanced at Emeline. “You know how she can be
better than anyone, Em. How many times did you have to calm down Rowan while the nutters had us? Dozens.”
Now the nurse looked uncomfortable. “Everyone reacts to stress differently. Anger isn’t all that unusual. I know she often felt frustrated, and even frightened.”
The Brit definitely hadn’t forgiven her for the last time they’d mixed it up, Rowan decided. Which was fine with her. She and Lily had never been besties anyway. But Emmie talking openly about Rowan’s private feelings definitely crossed her off the friendship list.
Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. Marion had told her that once, before she’d… Rowan couldn’t remember what she’d done. Probably made her rewash the dishes that were never clean enough for her the first time.
“My sister was angry long before they brought us here,” Perrin told them, and sighed. “She’s always been that way. Like the world is her enemy. It’s why she’s never had any friends. She’s just a very unlikeable person.”
And there we have yours truly, in a nutshell. It was as if she’d been slapped repeatedly. The angry, obnoxious chick no one likes. After all I’ve done, that’s who I am to them.
“None of the men show any particular regard for the lass. Indeed, most of them avoid her,” Brennus said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “She’s no’ the easiest female to ken, and her temper rivals my own. Then too her tongue cuts as deeply as any axe she wields.”
So, I’m also a tool, Rowan thought, pushing back at the hurt swelling in her chest. Good to know.
“There’s something else you’ve all forgotten,” Althea said. “Rowan hasn’t changed. She’s the same as she was when we were taken from the future. The rest of us aren’t.”
At least the doc was finally sticking up for her, Rowan thought. Which was weird.
“We know that Hendry and Murdina needed us for something other than using the portals,” the botanist continued. “Rowan is the last druidess left, and I imagine they’ll do anything to get her back. Once she’s returned to the future, they’ll not be able to do that. Without someone to open the portals for them, they won’t be able to follow her.”
The Doc wants me gone, too. Rowan dragged in a breath, and held it until the pain ebbed again. Four for four.
“I don’t want to lose my sister, but Althea is right,” Perrin said. “We have to think about Rowan’s life. Since she’s never going to mate, she’ll always be mortal. She’ll die here, all alone. That’s not what I want for her. This is the right thing to do.”
Rowan watched Brennus nod, and heard the other men murmuring in agreement.
And it’s unanimous.
“Tran, you’ve said naught about the lass,” Cadeyrn said, looking at the horse master. “You’ve been working with her for weeks now, and befriended her in a fashion. What say you?”
Taran didn’t reply for a long moment. Rowan knew he was trying to think of how to tell the others about them. It would be tricky, especially when he revealed all the obsessive-compulsive stuff. But he cared about her, that much she knew. With whatever was happening between them no way would he let Brennus boot her back to the twenty-first century. No, Taran wouldn’t sign off on this. If anyone in the clan could possibly become her mate, it was–
“No one wants her here,” Taran said, his voice devoid of emotion. “Send her back to her time.”
Chapter Four
LEAVING THE STRONGHOLD felt to Taran like being able to breathe again. To sit and listen to his brothers and their mates denounce Rowan had been a slow throttling. It had also roused him to such anger he’d been unable to trust himself to speak. It astonished him as well, for he’d never once lost his temper with any member of his clan. Among the Skaraven the horse master was regaled as the calmest, most dispassionate of warriors.
Did none of them see Rowan in truth? Did the other women not recognize her pain?
The rage still burned in his heart, a blaze settling into scalding embers. Still, his silence had brought about the necessary decision. Rowan would be sent seven hundred years into the future, where she would live a comfortable, ordinary mortal life. That he would rather set himself afire than permit her leave him, he would have to accept. The only place she could go that he could not reach her was her own time.
Getting her away from him was the only true kindness he could ever offer her.
The horses looked out of their stalls as he walked in, and nickered greetings to him that held a hint of alarm. He went to Gael, and the moment he touched the white stallion he knew what had disturbed the herd.
“Rowan?”
He glanced up at the hayloft, just in time to avoid a falling bale. He rushed to the ladder, hauling himself up with three arm pulls.
The druidess had stripped down to a sleeveless chemise that showed the words inked along the inside of her right arm. No one among the clan but Taran had yet seen her skinwork. He found the quote both endearing and somewhat disturbing.
“What do you here?” he asked her,
“Getting rid of the bed dividers. You won’t have to share your loft anymore.” The dark lass didn’t spare him a glance as she kicked another heavy bale over the side. “Sorry I cramped your space. By the way, when you want someone to get out of your life, don’t ask them to stay. It sends mixed messages.”
Taran frowned as he saw she’d gathered her garments to pack into a satchel. “You wish to return to the stronghold.”
“Nope. I’m going back to my time.” She shoved her faded blue trews into the pack, and added a red and gold scarf Emeline had knit for her. “It’s like you told Brennus.” She glanced at him, her dark eyes chilly. “No one wants me here.”
That she’d listened in on their discussion made him wish he’d said nothing, but it was too late to take back the words.
“I didnae say thus to be hurtful.”
“You were honest, and I always appreciate that.” She closed the satchel and buckled the strap. “What was cruel was saying it to them instead of to my face. That I’m not going to forgive. But since I’m an angry bitch who holds grudges for eternity, not really a shocker, right?”
“’Twas no’ the truth.” When she said nothing he added, “I lied to my brothers and their mates, Rowan. What I told them, ’twas meant to protect you.”
“You do want me to stay? Aw. That’s so sweet.” Rowan regarded him with a broad smile. “I’ll write that in my journal when I get back. ‘Dear Diary, the biggest horse’s ass I’ve ever met finally confessed all. But I left anyway because, you know, it was the right thing to do. P.S., I plan to find a very rich handsome guy and devote myself to having scorching hot nonstop sex with him for the rest of our mortal lives. I’m glad I like kids, too, because we’ll probably have a dozen.’”
At any other moment Taran might have ignored her anger with him. But she spoke of loving another when she knew she was his, as much a part of him as his own flesh and blood and bones.
“Dinnae speak to me thus.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, and knotted her hand. Taran dodged her fist as it plowed toward his face and jerked her into his arms.
Now he knew why he’d hungered for and dreaded holding her. Rowan fit against him as if they had been one flesh carved in two. Every sound dwindled, and the air became her scent, rushing into his lungs and heating his blood and scouring away his anger. His hands filled with her thick, soft hair as his vision narrowed to just her face. Neither of them moved or breathed as the strange bliss came over them, an enchantment that locked them together as surely as if they had always been one.
Her lips moved, but no sound came from her. Even now, furious and hurt and prepared to leave him, Rowan did as he’d told her. She wouldn’t speak to him in anger, and that left her with nothing to say.
“Forgive me, lass.”
If this was to be the only time he’d ever hold her, then he would not be content with just looking upon her lovely features. He would take one more thing from her before he lost her to time. He bent his head do
wn.
Rowan groaned against his mouth, her breath sweetly blending with his. She tasted of pears, and her own delicious sweetness. Taran felt the need for more rising in him, and then shuddered as she parted her lips. To stroke her tongue with his was to be inside her, part of her, and it went to his head in a burst of hungry pleasure.
The sunlight faded and the stables darkened around them. Taran felt the air change and rain pattering on their faces, and finally took his mouth from hers to look up at gray clouds gathered in the midst of a summer sky. All around them gnarled trees held small, blushed amber apples by the dozens from their thick branches. The fruit colored the cool breeze with tender ripe notes amidst the heavier green smells of the leaves. On a slope half a league away, he saw a shepherd using his staff to herd sheep into a pasture protected on three sides by birches and weathered cairns.
This land felt familiar to him, as if he’d ridden through it many times. He knew the bountiful orchard lay two leagues from a settlement by a lochan. He could smell the woodsmoke from the cottages on the air. But he no longer carried a sword, and the garments he wore felt odd. Even his hair sat heavy and thick on his head.
“I told ye ’twould rain,” Rowan said breathlessly.
Taran looked down at her, wet and smiling in his arms. Droplets ran down her rosy cheeks and made dark streaks in her shining red hair. The changes in her didn’t startle him, for he knew her here as surely in the other place. What he felt was the urgency to claim her, burgeoning in his body like a fruit ready for plucking.
“So you did, lass.” He kissed away a drop from her pert nose before he drew back, and took hold of her hand. “Run with me, quick.”
They hurried through the orchard, laughing as the rain grew heavier. By the time they reached the old shelter in the rocks their garments hung sodden and dripping.
Rowan wrung out the hem of her skirts as she eyed the storm. “We shouldnae have come walking so far.” She tugged on one of his black curls. “’Twill be hours before it passes, ye scamp. Ye foresaw it, didnae ye?”
