“Are you ready?” Kensa asked them, but Diana knew the question was mostly directed at her.
Three days had passed since she'd arrived at the cottage with Kensa. The day before she’d spent the entire day learning Time-weaving spells. She'd barely seen Artair yesterday, and she'd wondered if he was avoiding her after telling her that personal story about his sister.
Diana felt as if they’d barely scratched the surface of the spells, but Kensa assured her that such magic was mostly instinctive, that the portal of Tairseach would do most of the heavy lifting when it came to traveling back through time.
“You just say the words and focus, and it’ll guide you to where you need to go,” Kensa had assured her.
Now, Diana gave her aunt a nod, though she was still uncertain if she was ready for this. Kensa was using magic to transport them to Tairseach; it was faster, and she wanted them, especially Diana, to get used to magical means of transport.
Kensa took both of their hands and closed her eyes, murmuring the words of a spell in Gaelic.
“Gabh sinn gu Tairseach.”
Diana felt a tug of wind on her body, and a spiraling darkness filled her vision. When she opened her eyes, she stood on the outskirts of the ruins of Tairseach.
Artair stumbled back, taking a deep breath.
“I donnae think I’ll get used tae that mode of transport,” he said, shaking his head in amazement as he looked around.
Diana stepped forward, her gaze trained on the ruins of Tairseach. How many times had she come here as a child while her parents performed rituals with the other stiuireadh? How many times had she giggled and played among the old, crumbling buildings with the other children until her parents found her, playfully scolding her as they swung her up into their arms?
“Diana?”
Diana turned. She hadn’t realized that she still lingered on the outskirts of the village while Artair and Kensa had already stepped forward. She mentally shook off the vestiges of nostalgia and approached them.
“This is where I leave you,” Kensa said, stepping forward to embrace Artair, before turning to embrace her. “You’re stronger than you realize,” she whispered in Diana's ear, giving her hand a squeeze.
And before Diana could reply—or ask her to stay to make sure she performed the spell right—Kensa vanished. Diana frowned at the empty space where her aunt had just stood; she had done that on purpose. The message was clear: it was time to use her own magic.
She turned to face Artair, who looked at her with calm expectation. It struck her then that this man had put his life in her hands. She couldn’t let him down. She wouldn’t. She took a deep breath, approaching him. You can do this, she thought to herself.
“Take my hands,” she said.
He obeyed, slipping his hands into hers, and a sense of calm settled over her. A sense of . . . rightness. She closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation, and whispered the words of a Time-weaving spell, words she’d practiced repeatedly the day and night before.
“Snàthain ùine, cluinn m 'ghairm. Snàithnean tìde, cluinn m'anam. Stiùireadh a thoirt dhuinn sàbhailte tro do shlighe chun an ama a dh'fhalbh.”
As she murmured the words, she drew on Artair’s memories. She imagined the grove he’d told her about in her mind’s eye—leaves dappled with sunlight, the scent of damp earth. She thought of the pain and emotion in Artair’s voice as he spoke of his sister.
Soon, she felt the wind pick up around them. Diana held tight onto Artair’s hands, continuing to repeat the words of the spell, and as she opened her eyes to meet Artair’s—the modern-day world vanished around them.
Chapter 4
Unknown Time
Unknown Place
When the world faded up around them, Artair lay sprawled on the ground. Somehow, Diana had ended up on top of him, her breathing rapid, her heart thundering in tandem with his. She opened her eyes, her lovely brown eyes locking with his, and time seemed suspended for a moment as they gazed at each other.
And then she seemed to realize where she was, hastily rolling off of him, her face flaming. He stumbled to his feet, looking around as he forced himself to quell his arousal—which had grown at the feel of her body against his.
Awe spiraled through him as he looked around. Had Diana’s spell truly drawn them through time?
They stood in the center of a wide, open glen, covered in a light frost. A thick patch of trees dotted the horizon. The sun was setting just beyond it, casting the sky above in an array of colors—deep orange, pink and lavender.
He realized with a sinking dread that he didn’t recognize their surroundings; he knew every detail of the lands that surrounded his manor. They could be anywhere.
“This isn’t it, is it?” Diana asked, as if reading his thoughts, her voice shaky with apprehension. “I knew I would fail at this. I’m so sorry, Artair.”
“There’s no need tae apologize, lass,” he said, trying to feign a calmness he didn’t feel as he faced her with a gentle smile. “We’ll just have tae figure out exactly where—and when—we are.”
He was grateful that Kensa had insisted on placing coins into hidden pockets in their clothing, money they could use to travel in case they ended up in the wrong place. He’d widened his eyes at the amount she'd given them. When he’d asked how she’d gotten so much coin, Kensa had merely given him a mysterious smile.
“Is it just me,” Diana said, pulling him back to the present. “Or is it colder in this time—whenever we are?”
He studied her, noticing that besides her paleness, she was shivering. It was bitterly cold, and that wool cloak wouldn’t be enough to keep her warm. He reached out to draw her into the circle of his arms. At his action, she looked at him with surprise.
“Ye need tae keep warm,” he said, keeping his tone even, though her nearness had reawakened his arousal. “Let’s walk.”
He picked a direction—north, from the direction the sun was setting—and they began to walk. They’d only made it a few steps when he heard the approaching thunder of horse hooves.
“Stay behind me,” he said, moving to stand before her, his eyes trained on a patch of trees to the north, where several men on horseback raced toward them.
“Try tae avoid speaking if you can,” he told Diana. “If we’re in the past, yer way of speech will only cause suspicion.”
Diana swallowed, but nodded her head in agreement.
As the men drew near, he took in their clothing, and a small fissure of relief filled him. They wore tunics and breeches similar to his own—they must be in the right time, or at least close to it. But wariness replaced his relief as he took in the looks of suspicion and restrained hostility on the men’s faces.
There were a half dozen of them. They all looked to be around his age, their strong bodies apparent even from atop their horses. These men weren't mere farmers or peasants. These were men accustomed to fighting. His body tensed as he noticed the way one of them, a burly red-haired man, studied Diana—with a hunger he didn’t attempt to hide. Artair straightened to his full height, a surge of fierce protectiveness roiling through him.
“What brings ye tae our lands?” asked a tall dark-haired man with a ragged scar that slashed down his left cheek, giving him an air of danger.
Artair’s heart sank. The man didn’t speak with the Highland brogue he knew well; it was pure lowland Scots. He’d heard this same accent when he’d traveled along the border of Scotland. His chest tightened as he realized that could be where they were—the conflict-riddled Scottish border.
“We were traveling, and bandits robbed our traveling coach. We've lost our way,” he said evenly.
He noticed with dread that the red-haired man continued to stare at Diana. Though she stood behind him, he sensed her unease. He moved to block Diana from the man’s view, giving him a challenging glare.
“Where are the other travelers?” the first man who'd addressed him demanded.
“Scattered. We havenae seen them since the r
obbery. We were going tae make our way on foot tae the nearest village tae arrange for further transport,” he said, pleased with himself for his spontaneous lie. But he just wanted to get these men away from Diana. He ached for his sword—for any weapon. “Can ye direct us tae it?”
The men exchanged a glance, a silent understanding seeming to pass between them. Artair braced himself. If necessary, he could tell Diana to run—or perform a spell to get herself out of here—while he tried to fight them off.
He waited in tense silence. Finally, the dark-haired man, whom Artair assumed was their leader, spoke.
“It wouldnae be hospitable for us tae allow ye tae travel on foot in this cold. It looks like it will snow. We can take ye tae the nearest village; my brother and I run an inn there. Then we can see about getting ye horses. I'm called Tamhas,” he continued, and pointed to the red-haired man, who continued to stare at Diana. "And this is my brother Iomhar."
Tamhas introduced the rest of the men, who did not nod or give them any sort of greeting. Artair hesitated, his instincts for danger on fire, wanting to refuse and chance their way on foot. But he had a feeling Tamhas wouldn’t take no for an answer—and that would increase the already thick tension between them. He turned to Diana, who looked pale and shaken.
“’Tis all right,” he whispered, reaching out to grip her hand. “I’ll make sure ye donnae come tae any harm.”
She swallowed and gave him a jerky nod, not taking her eyes off of the men.
“Very well,” Artair said, addressing Tamhas. “I thank ye for yer kindness.”
Iomhar dismounted from his horse, practically licking his lips as he approached Diana.
"I'll ride with the lass," he said.
Acting on pure instinct, Artair tucked Diana closer to his side.
“I’ll ride with ye,” he said, giving him a challenging glare. “My wife will ride with another one of yer men.”
He didn’t know where this lie came from, but he knew Diana would be safest if they thought she was his wife, and therefore under his protection. He prayed that Diana went along with his lie. To his relief, she remained silent.
Iomhar's face tightened. He turned to look at Tamhas, who gave him a subtle shake of his head. Iomhar returned Artair's glare but turned back to his horse without another word.
Artair climbed onto Iomhar's horse, trying not to react to his pungent smell of old ale. He glanced over at Tamhas, watching as he helped Diana onto his horse. Tamhas treated Diana respectfully, not touching her longer than necessary. Still, he could see that Diana was shaking, and a rush of sympathy coursed through him. The lovely lass had transported him through time for his sake. He would make certain she got safely back to her own time. As soon as they were alone, he would insist that she perform whatever witchcraft she needed to get herself home.
As they rode, Artair eyed his surroundings. It was growing dark and nothing looked familiar.
The ride was brief, with the large glen leading to a dirt road that took them to a small village. They rode until they arrived at an inn, dismounting as two stable boys hurried forward to take their horses.
As soon as they all dismounted, he hurried to Diana, taking her hand. She met his eyes as if to ask, What do we do now? He hoped she could read his answer in his eyes: Just trust me.
Keeping her hand in his, he followed the men into the bustling inn. Dread pooled in his stomach at the sight of even more men inside, sitting at various long tables, stuffing themselves with bread and ale.
“Loirin, ale and bread for our guests,” Tamhas said, addressing a dark-haired woman who was pouring ale to several male patrons.
Tamhas took a seat at one of the few empty tables and gestured for Artair and Diana to sit. Artair felt every male eye in the room on them—on Diana—and he wanted to refuse, to ask Tamhas to just take them to their room. But again, he had the feeling they had no choice.
He took a seat next to Diana, making certain to put an arm over the back of her chair as Iomhar trained his lecherous gaze on her. Loirin approached, keeping her gaze low, and he noticed that her hands were trembling. He wondered why she was so terrified. Were these men keeping her prisoner?
“This is our sister, Loirin,” Tamhas said, as if reading his mind. “I donnae ken why she feels the need tae act like a frightened mouse around her kin.”
Loirin said nothing in response, only giving them a brief nod of acknowledgment before scurrying away.
“I’d recognize the Highland accent anywhere,” Tamhas continued, studying Artair intently. “What are ye called? And what’s a Highlander doing this far south?”
“I’m called Domnall,” he lied. It was best they didn’t know his real name—or that he was a wealthy Highland laird. He wasn’t known in the Lowlands, but they could send a spy to the Highlands and inquire about him if they knew his name. “This is my wife, Ilsa. My wife and I were visiting her family in England,” he said, emphasizing the word “wife.” “We made our way just over the border when those damned bandits set upon us—stole our horses and our belongings.”
Tamhas just stared at him, his expression unreadable; Artair couldn't tell if he believed his story or not. Iomhar, however, scowled at him, and again turned his focus to Diana.
“How did such a bonnie Sassenach such as yerself end up married to this beast of a Highlander?”
Artair could tell his words were supposed to be said in jest, but there was a harshness to his tone, and Diana tensed at his side.
“I married the man I love,” Diana said simply.
As he feared, both men stiffened at her accent. Tamhas's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
“’Tis an odd accent ye have, lass, and I've heard men from France speak," Iomhar said, prompting laughter from the men at the adjoining table who were openly following their conversation. “What part of England are ye from?”
"A small village in the south," Diana said. Her hand trembled on his leg; she wasn't prepared for such questions. He needed to get them out of here.
“We thank ye for the food,” Artair said, setting down his ale and getting to his feet. He hoped that his smile and tone was light though his heart pounded so furiously he feared they could hear it. “But my wife and I are weary from our journey.”
“Ye've only just arrived," Tamhas said, with a smile that didn't reach his dark eyes. “Why donnae ye stay for another round of ale?”
Artair's chest tightened. Again, he suspected this wasn’t a request.
“Well, I’m not one tae turn down more ale," he said, forcing false cheer into his tone. "But my wife needs her rest."
Tamhas studied him. The silence crackled with tension. Artair was very aware of every eye on them, watching the exchange with interest.
“Clear out,” Tamhas announced to the other men in the room. “We wish tae speak tae our guests alone.”
Hot panic consumed his entire body. He cursed himself; he should have refused to come here. He turned to Diana, who had gone pale, keeping his voice low.
“Get out of here,” he hissed, as the men cleared out—all except for Iomhar and two large men, he noted with unease. "I donnae care if they see ye vanish—leave now."
“I won’t leave you,” Diana said, looking at him with wide, panicked eyes. “We'll both leave.”
“Neither of ye are going anywhere," Tamhas said.
Artair faced Tamhas, moving to stand in front of Diana. Tamhas was smiling, but there was no trace of amusement in the smile.
“Not until ye tell me who ye really are.”
“I donnae ken what ye—” Artair began.
“There’s no clear road where we found ye—especially if ye were crossing the border into Scotland,” Tamhas said calmly. “Truth be told, the only bandits who roam these parts are me and my men. And ye and yer wife have been on edge since ye entered the tavern. If this is even yer wife.”
"Of course she's my wife," Artair snapped, but Tamhas clearly didn't believe him, his eyes narrowing.
He st
ood, and Artair sized him up. They were the same height and build, but Tamhas had the benefit of numbers on his side.
“Step aside," Tamhas said coolly. "I wish tae address yer "wife."
Artair gave him a mirthless smile of his own.
"Ye'll not speak tae my wife. We'll leave, and ye and yer men willnae follow," Artair returned.
Iomhar and the other men stood, their hands going to the hilts of their swords.
“I tried tae be friendly," Tamhas said with a sigh. He turned to his men with a bored gesture. “Take them. I want tae question them separately.”
Fury paired with panic roiled through him as one of the men moved toward Diana, and she let out a startled, frightened cry. Artair lunged toward him, but someone struck him from behind, and his world dissolved to black.
Chapter 5
I knew I couldn’t do this, Diana silently railed at herself as she paced the small room that one of the men had thrown her into, her heart in her throat. Not only had she transported them to the wrong place—she’d landed them right into danger. She should have refused Kensa's request and insisted that she find someone else.
If those men hurt—or killed—Artair . . .
Anguish twisted her gut, and she closed her eyes, trying to quell her panic with several steadying breaths.
After one of the men had knocked Artair out, another had approached her, grabbing her arm and leading her up the stairs and into this room, where he'd locked her in. She could hear his breathing outside the door; he was standing guard.
She leaned back against the wall, pressing her fingers to her temples. She had briefly—but only briefly—considered doing what Artair had told her to do, to perform a spell and get the hell out of this time period. But she couldn’t leave him behind with those men.
Artair's Temptress: Highlander Fate Book Five Page 3
