by Hazel Hunter
Bryn lay back on his bed, and parted her naked thighs. “Fack me now, and I’ll tell you.”
Chapter Six
NOW THAT IT was night, Gavin spread his jacket on the sand beside the fire they’d built by the rocks, and invited his new neighbor to share it.
“My skirts are still damp,” Catriona said, and then shivered visibly as the chilly breeze swept over her. “Mayhap ’twill help them dry.”
He nodded, and dropped more dried driftwood onto the flames before he settled down beside her. Tending the fire kept him from staring at her face, which already haunted him like some cursed cameo. She had delicate features, just sensual enough to avoid looking girlish, with velvety dark red brows and matching eyelashes framing her tanzanite eyes. The color of her skin was one shade more golden than alabaster, and translucent enough to show the blue of her veins like shadows of dark lace.
For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she was familiar—and yet not. Her fragrant scent cast his mind to the future. Had he perhaps known a descendant of hers? Or perhaps a relative on the mainland?
“You have left the island, Highlander,” Catriona said, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow—which he noticed but tried to ignore. “Where do you go in your head?”
Should he tell her that in seven hundred years she might have a lovely descendent? If he did that, he would have to admit to being a time traveler, dropped into the past by some force that had also healed him of an incurable disease.
She would think he was insane. He sometimes wondered himself if he was.
“You dinnae have to tell me,” Catriona said. “Oft times the past is too painful for words.”
“I was thinking about my parents’ place.” That had been a poor choice of lies, he thought. Although it had been years now, Gavin still hated that his sister had been forced to sell their family home to pay his medical bills. “We lived in a country farmhouse. No’ grand at all, but a happy place for a lad to grow up.”
“Away from here, I live in a small village.” She plucked a bit of dried kelp from her skirt and flicked it into the flames. “’Tis quiet, but the people are kind and caring.” Her mouth thinned. “If no’ for my family… I’m most fortunate.”
She didn’t want to offer many details of her life away from the island, Gavin suspected, and wondered why she feared being more specific.
“I’ll no’ tell anyone what you confide in me, Mistress.”
“Catriona,” she said, giving him a wry look. “No fine lady would ken how to fish, or share such a meal, or sit on your coat. Besides those things, I’ve seen you naked.”
“There is that.” He chuckled. “Agreed, if you will call me Gavin, or Highlander, if you prefer.”
“You’re no’ in the highlands anymore, lad, but you’re no’ yet an islander. Gavin ’twill be.” She looked out at the dusky purple horizon. “I never tire of being here. Sometimes I’ve thought of coming back to stay. The winters are no’ so harsh. There’s snow, but no’ the great storms that bury you in it.”
As she talked about the seasons on the island Gavin gradually realized her knowledge could not have come from spending a few days visiting now and then, as she had claimed. When she fell silent he asked, “How long have you been coming here by yourself?”
Catriona cocked her head and thought about it. “’Tis twenty years now. I come for some days when I dinnae have work, or when my family is away. Sometimes I stay a week or two, when the weather is fair.”
Gavin had never seen her on the ferry, but if she lived on one of the smaller islands to the west she could row herself across the channel. “Do you ever bring your family with you?”
“No. They ken ’tis my place, and I would never…ask it of them.” Her shoulders shook, and she wrapped the shawl tighter around herself. “The fire wants more wood.”
If they hadn’t been sitting on his jacket Gavin would have given it to her. Instead he extended an arm to her. “Come closer. I’ve enough heat for us both.”
“’Tis no’ seemly,” she pointed out, but her teeth chattered on the final word. Her face grew stern as she focused on the space between them. Finally she met his gaze. “Just for warmth, naught more.”
“Naught more,” Gavin echoed as she scooted closer, and he wrapped his arm around her.
At first Catriona felt like a bundle of kindling against his side, but gradually she relaxed and snuggled closer. The wind caught her hair and wrapped it around the back of his neck like a fragile scarf of copper and bronze silk. The scent of the sea came from her drying skirts, but beneath it he caught a trace of something soft and green, the way the ferns in the glen smelled when they first sprouted. This close he could see the calluses on her hands—only wealthy women in this time had soft, pampered skin—but the ovals of her fingernails were trimmed and clean.
It seemed impossible that this ethereal creature had been rowing herself back and forth to the island for the last twenty years. Still, Gavin knew even the children of this time were much tougher and self-reliant than their counterparts in the future. They had to be. Silje had told him that his oldest son would be joining the crew as a deck hand next year at the ripe old age of eight.
He heard a low purr, and looked down to see Catriona had fallen asleep. Her face looked much younger in repose, as if sleep smoothed away her years and returned her to the little girl she’d been.
Twenty years coming alone to this island inhabited only by a ghost village. Just to think of how alone she must have felt made his heart clench.
Gavin settled back against the rock, and gently lifted her onto his lap. She stirred briefly before slumping across his chest and tucking her face under his chin. Catriona likely would never have come so close to him awake, so he felt a twinge of guilt. Holding her in his arms while she slept, however, was the best feeling he’d had since coming to the islands.
Stars twinkled blue-white against the dark navy sky as the wind settled and the waves lapped the shore. Gavin couldn’t remember ever feeling more at peace than he did in this moment, holding his elusive new friend. Everything that had preyed on him had dimmed. The pain from his disease, the terror of losing his sister, the fear of being hunted or killed. It was as if the universe had decided to make his life a clean slate, on which he could write whatever he wanted.
Catriona. Gently he stroked his big hand over her long hair. Hers was the first name he wanted to write on his new life’s slate, but he’d not yet erased the old one. The night was growing colder, and even his profuse body heat wouldn’t keep her comfortable for much longer. He needed to see her safely home.
“Time to wake, lass,” he murmured, rubbing her back.
“Hmmm.” She shifted against him, lifting her head to meet his gaze with a drowsy smile. “You make a fine bed, Gavin.”
The sexy huskiness of her voice whispered with her breath on his mouth, and hot desire rushed through him. “You make my thoughts turn unseemly, my lady.”
He bent his head to kiss her brow just as she straightened, and their mouths brushed. For a moment she went still, and then curled her hand around his neck.
“Again, please.” When he didn’t move she smiled. “I’m no’ a lady, Gavin. If you’re to kiss me, do it proper.”
That was all the permission he needed. Gathering her to him, he tilted her so that her head lay in the crook of his arm, and put his mouth to hers. She made that slumberous purring sound, like a beguiled feline, and parted her soft lips for him. Gavin cupped her jaw as he tasted her, her skin like satin against his rough fingers. The very air around them seemed to fill with some strange, unseen energy. Maybe it came from her, for she went to his head like chugged whiskey, her scent filling his chest with their mingled moans of pleasure. He could hold her and kiss her like this until the sun rose, until winter came, until time ended. She felt it, too, her willowy body pressing against him as if she wanted no space between them.
No woman had ever kissed him with such frank, sensual honesty. Not even Thora–
Gavin
took his mouth from Catriona’s, and eased her back. “I forget myself. ’Tis been a long time since I’ve held a woman. Forgive me.”
She stared at him, her breath rushing from her parted lips, and then she touched his mouth with trembling fingers. “We share blood.”
Had he hurt her? No, he could see that her mouth, still damp from his, didn’t have a mark on it. “I dinnae understand your meaning.”
“You are druid kind, Gavin.” She took his hand in hers, and he felt the shimmering sensation again. “As I am. Seeing you from afar, I thought mayhap you were, but now I feel it. ’Tis how you were able to come through the spell barrier around the village. Only a druid may.” Anticipation lit up her face. “I’ve never learned the old ways. Would you teach me what you ken?”
Gavin had seen enough magic since crossing over not to doubt her sincerity. He also hated to disappoint her, but all he knew how to do was use his own strange gift, which would be useless to her. “I’ve learned naught about druids or their ways. I was, ah, raised by others.”
“Aye, the same for me.” Her shoulders slumped as she released his hand. “’Twas foolish to hope.”
The despair in her voice cut through him like a dull blade. He’d felt the same after Thora’s betrayal of his love, and Jema’s relief in thinking he was dead.
“’Tis growing cold.” He stood, drawing her to her feet as he did, and bent to retrieve his jacket. After shaking the sand from it, he draped it over her narrow shoulders. “Come, now. I’ll walk you home.”
Catriona hardly spoke as they made their way to the glen. Once they reached the spell barrier, she didn’t release his hand, but made as if to lead him through it.
“I’ll say fair night to you here,” Gavin told her.
She gave him an odd look. “Are you done with me then, Highlander?”
“’Twould please me to have you as my first guest at the cottage.” He nodded toward the forest. “Come tomorrow at sunset, and I’ll cook for you. ’Twill no’ be duck or hare.”
“My thanks.” Quickly she stood on tiptoe to brush her lips across his cheek. “Tomorrow, then.”
Her shawl fluttered as she stepped through the barrier, and vanished from sight. Gavin stood listening as the sound of her footsteps retreated, and touched his face where it still tingled.
Chapter Seven
CAILEAN LUSK’S ROBE swirled around his boots as he climbed the slopes above the druid settlement. After having his evening meditation disrupted by yet another spell ripple, he knew he had no choice but to disturb his master. Bhaltair Flen would not be pleased, but if what he suspected was true, more than the old druid’s ire would descend on him.
The questions that plagued him all distilled into one: How could it be happening, after all this time?
The altar to which Bhaltair tended had been dedicated to the Great Mother, with two overlapping circles of carved stone forming a third pointed-oval center. Standing in the center invited the pleasure of the gods to provide the path of decision, which his master had been consulting regularly as to the fate of their Great Design. Thus far the gods had been silent, but Bhaltair remained optimistic.
As Cailean approached the altar clearing he politely coughed to announce himself, and then waited at the edge of the outer boundary for his master. Moonlight cloaked the old druid and the aura of his spell work, which appeared like a curtain of crystal. The casting encircled him for a moment before it floated to the ground and sank into the soil.
With an audible sigh Bhaltair knelt in gratitude before he left the center and walked toward Cailean. “The gods dinnae reveal their purpose—again. Either I have displeased them, or they are no’ yet ready to enlighten me. Mayhap both.” His sharp dark eyes shifted as he inspected Cailean’s face. “You are looking wan. Never tell me another female from the future has arrived. We shall be overrun.”
“Not as yet, Master.” He belatedly remembered to bow. “I seek your guidance with an old matter, from my last incarnation.”
Bhaltair’s brows drew together. “’Tis been twenty years since you transcended.” His gaze searched Cailean’s face. “Naught to do with Everbay.”
“Aye, I fear ’tis, Master.” Cailean folded his chilled hands into the ends of his sleeves. “May we walk?”
The old druid accompanied him from the sacred ground along a trail that led to the small loch near the settlement. A flock of their sheep grazed near the water’s edge, where the soft grass grew in abundance. Cailean drew comfort and calm from the bucolic sight, for just the opposite crowded his thoughts.
Bhaltair stopped and sat on a flat-topped rock, groaning a little as he rolled his stiff shoulders. “My knees willnae propel me another step. Best tell me, lad.”
“Just before the end of my previous life, the conclave sent me to Everbay, to perform the last honors for the Moon Wake people.” He reached down as a small ewe wandered over to him, and scratched the dense wool around her floppy ears. “’Twas just after we had word that the undead attacked their island, and killed all but one of the Harals.”
“I remember. When Daimh Haral returned from his journey to Francia, he grew so distressed we thought he might disincarnate to join them.” The old druid planted his gnarled hands on his knees as he leaned forward. “’Twas a painful task, I imagine.”
“Honoring the dead by burying them is never a joy, but we did more than put the bodies in the ground. The tribe had unusual powers, and their village remained a hub of such. The conclave felt it could be dangerous to unknowing mortals.” He made a circling gesture. “We cast a spell barrier around it to protect the place. I then directed our mortal allies in the islands to spread word that Everbay was forever haunted by the spirits of those massacred.”
Bhaltair nodded his approval. “A sensible solution. When did the conclave send you to dismantle the village?”
“They didnae.” As his master’s jaw dropped Cailean grimaced. “’Twas the conclave’s aim to resettle Everbay again someday when the Harals were reborn. The barrier was left intact to guard the village until that day came. The tribe hasnae returned to us yet. Daimh didnae take a wife to continue the bloodline, so he remains the last Haral.”
“A deserted druid settlement left intact. Gods protect us.” The old druid dragged his hand over his halo of silver hair. “What more?”
“I’ve been feeling the spellwork left there ripple many times over the last weeks,” he admitted. “‘Since it cannot be breeched by anyone but druid kind…”
“’Tis a sacred grove on this island?” When Cailean nodded his master groaned and stood. “We must see what conspires there.”
Cailean accompanied Bhaltair to his home, where they both washed and changed into fresh robes before entering the old druid’s spell chamber. The room appeared empty until the door closed, and the protective wards dispersed. In the center of a spell circle stood a flat-topped stele of petrified wood. Beyond it on the wall, shelves held various focal stones and crystals which Bhaltair used when casting. He went to retrieve a large, pointed agate with a starburst of multi-colored striations framing a long, convoluted heart of purple and bronze crystals. Cailean recognized it as a window stone. The interior crystals glowed softly in response to the old druid’s touch.
“I havenae attempted such a viewing, Master,” Cailean felt he had to confess. “’Tis no’ permitted at my level, and said to be fraught with hazard.”
“Aye, for that is what we tell you ovates, to keep you from tampering with old enchantments.” Bhaltair placed the window stone atop the stele. “Join hands with me. You will need my power meshed with yours for the stone to make such a reach.”
Casting off his qualms, Cailean gently clasped the old druid’s fingers from the other side of the crystal, forming an oval around it with their arms.
“Open your thoughts and see the place as ’twas at the time you cast the barrier spell,” Bhaltair murmured as he joined his magic to Cailean’s. The sphere took on a brighter luminescence before it turned a vivid s
ky-blue and showed waves crashing onto a rugged cliffside shore. “Everbay?”
Cailean nodded. “The Moon Wake tribe dwelled in the glen in the center of the island.”
The image shown by the crystal shifted to that of a lush grassy stretch of land wrapped around a small spring. A long wall of reflective enchantment stretched across the glen, dividing it almost in half.
Bhaltair scowled. “You mirrored the whole of the glen?”
“At the time ’twas the most enduring enchantment within my means, Master. The islanders were convinced to fear the place.” He felt the knot in his belly tighten another notch. “The Moon Wake were a strong, healthy tribe with many bairns. After burying them all, I never wished to return to Everbay. I deliberately put it from my thoughts. I was happy the next winter, when my old body finally wore out. I thought I wouldnae dream of them again when I reincarnated.”
“We cannae escape our memories, even in death and rebirth.” The old druid’s expression softened. “Dinnae torment yourself, lad. You shouldnae have been given such a responsibility. Still, we may attend to it now together. Recall now the first ripple you felt.”
Reaching into the part of his mind closely connected with his magic, Cailean summoned the sense of the disruption, and projected it to the stone. The sun rose in the west as time reversed, and a large, bare-chested male stepped out of the barrier. The ink work on his shoulder showed a lion rampant against crossed bars. The male ran backward as another figure, a smaller, slender female in a torn blue gown, also emerged.
Cailean watched as the crystal replayed the scene again as it had happened in real time, with the male chasing after the female. He did not recognize either of them, but the ink on the male’s shoulder had already been described to him.
“They are both druid kind,” Bhaltair said, “but it appears that the male caused the magic to flux.” He released Cailean’s hands and the images from the glen vanished. “Why do you look as if I’ve kicked you in your smalls?”
