Why can't Centurians of this time just believe in fairies? The spaceman explanation rang with a bit of Truth. Ironically, the guess about the sword would be correct, just not what these Centurians defined as extraterrestrial. Human exploration and conquest of space revealed Earth as the origin of all sentient life. The sword was fey-forged, birthed by Earth one way or the other. Earthlings just needed to tweak their definition.
The tires squealed. The vehicle's force slung me sideways. My cheek smashed into the cold glass of the passenger door's window.
Katie screeched like a banshee. "You're going to kill us."
The car slid across the road toward a sign wielding a snaking arrow. Big John braked, straightening out the car's trajectory, then he gunned the gas.
"Let me drive. I haven't had any beer tonight," Katie pleaded.
The worry in her voice could kill a man.
"There's no time. The brothers will meet us at Gordon's house," Big John countered.
The car slid sideways again, throwing our bodies sideways.
Mine into the door. The my body bounced up from the seat. My head slammed into the ceiling. The car threw us all forward and abruptly stopped.
The safety harness sawed into his neck.
Choking me. I peered over the dashboard, downhill.
The headlights illuminated an earthen embankment.
"Ditched," Katie droned. "At least we're alive. You're going to kill us like that drunk driver killed my parents."
The insult to Big John's honor is certain to ignite the man's anger.
"You're right." Big John pummeled the steering wheel.
The engine revved.
The vehicle lurched backward.
Big John looked over his shoulder.
The car rolled uphill and lurched to a halt.
"You drive, Katie," Big John bellowed.
Talk about miracles. If only one more hid under the full moon, I still had a chance to retrieve both my sword and honor.
****
What are these crazed Scots doing? The glinting chrome trim of at least fifteen cars waited in the darkness like the campfires in the circle of covered wagons from an Old West movie. But, masons? Talk about the kooky stunts take place beneath the cloak of night. Just what unfolded beyond the cars? "What's happening?" I glanced in the rearview mirror at my uncle.
Uncle John didn't bother meeting my gaze. Instead, he scanned the murky scene. "They're going to help us find John."
Hallelujah. I peered at Murdo in the front passenger's seat.
He studied the scene too.
What I'd give to know what thoughts whirled inside his head. I steered the car into the half-formed vehicular circle and killed the engine. "Welcome to a three-ring circus."
"Wait here," Uncle John commanded. He swung his door open and stepped out of view.
Murdo turned a curious gaze to me. "The Freemasons?"
Maybe. Whatever. Uncle John would finish and we'd move on to find the sword. "Must be." I shrugged and watched Uncle John maneuver through the cars, toward the tam-capped crowd of covert locals. "What do Freemasons do in New Zeal--I mean the future?"
"Congregate in secrecy." Murdo pointed his chiseled nose at the pack of shady male figures gilded in moonlight.
So much for evolving into a better cult. "I can't see who's here."
"You're not supposed to know who's in the Order."
"But--Why not?" All this secrecy is childish.
"'Tis a secret society."
Yeah. "Yeah. Yeah."
The huddle of men shifted.
Uncle John plied through the crowd, back toward the car and sank into the backseat. "He's meeting Gordon by the cliffs."
The car bobbed as if in agreement.
"Eight miles," John insisted. "Get back on the road. Head south."
Chapter 22
"I'm tired of playing secrecy games." I glared into the rearview mirror at my uncle. Someone had best fill me in. Men played stupid games. Childish games.
Shadows grabbed at Uncle John's face. "That we all are, Katie, my dear. I don't know what happened to my son, but when he was fifteen, he suddenly changed. I often blamed the shift on adolescence. You know, the lad testing his power."
"So Cousin John was normal once?" How bizarre. Just like the cliffs? I had never heard anyone talk about cliffs around the loch before. Probably secret cliffs with the way things panned out.
"He just changed one day," Uncle John stated grimly. "I don't know what triggered the shift in behavior."
"Perhaps a changeling scenario," Murdo added.
"I think you're right, lad. Aye. Now, slow down, lass. We're almost there. About a quarter of a mile."
I braked a little. At least, Uncle John had calmed. Hopefully, sobered.
The chrome on the back end of a small brown car flashed at them.
Sticky Fingers' car, no doubt.
"Kill the lights," Uncle John blurted.
I turned the knob cutting the lights' beam off.
"What are they doing up here?" I rolled the car up beside the camouflaged box of an automobile and killed the engine.
"Sneaking around, lass," he replied.
Cousin John had mastered sneaky. What did Murdo think? "Do you know what this place is known for?" Surely, he'd been here. He claimed to be connected to Freemasons.
"No."
So much for profound revelations from one's time-traveling husband. "Well, what will we do now?"
"Hoof it." Uncle John pushed his door wide. "Careful now. He's armed."
Smart call.
We clambered from the car.
"Stay close," Murdo whispered, squeezing my hand, pulling me along through the moonlit darkness.
Where else would I go on the mysterious night-cloaked cliffs? I'd fall to my death if I didn't follow in Murdo's footsteps. Thankfully, Uncle John took the lead like a man seriously into covert operations.
Freaky.
Water lapped nearby. Stars twinkled in the distance. Everything was so calm. Someone needed to explain. "What is this place, Uncle John?"
"A secret."
What a sorry answer.
Murdo squeezed my hand.
As if he heard my thought. So much for consolation. Maybe trusting these two men was a mistake. But my father wouldn't have promised Uncle John would take care of me if something ever happened to him and Mother. I had to trust Father.
"Head to the cliff's edge," Uncle John instructed. "You'll find a trail heading down to the loch. I'll search in the copse."
Trees? Where in this darkness? I squinted to the left.
Uncle John shrank in the moonlight.
"Do you really not know what this place is?" I asked Murdo's barely-discernible form.
"Quiet."
His tone meant business. Okay. I'd find out later. Focusing on the darkness, I searched for the cliff's edge.
"Watch your step," he whispered, stepping into a puddle of black nothingness, turned, and reached up to steady my progress with strong arms.
Moonlight painted the edge of the cliff gray. Beyond lay darkness.
Are we nuts? Who can see anything in this blackness? Is this sword really so important? Trusting Murdo or Uncle John would get me killed. Damn. But what's a girl have to lose when her life had turned into a three-tent circus act?
"Careful," he whispered.
The shadowy void engulfed him completely.
The brush of his kilt against my blue jeans and his gripping hand continued to note his presence. Three steps later, my vision acclimated, again to the darkness. Faint outlines in various hues of gray etched out the surrounding stone wall.
Niches or boulders? Knowing didn't matter. Rocky ledge or spouse. Something was there to catch me if I fall. I hope. I gazed down at the murky water lapping the cliff's base.
Murdo stopped, turned, and drew me into an embrace. His lips fell against my ear. "The trail broadens into a ledge here." His warm whisper caressed my ear. "Step back from the edge while I look
."
Okay. I shuffled to the cold stone wall, feeling for a foothold with the toes of my hiking boots.
The distant starry sky outlined Murdo moving toward the edge.
He'd fall. Die. And where would I be? Alone again. I wanted to call out for him to take care. But Cousin John is nearby. I bit my cheek instead.
"Christ! What are you doing here?" the familiar voice goaded.
Sticky Fingers.
A flash of light zipped through the darkness from where we had been headed.
Perhaps moonlight dancing on metal.
"Never think your Brother is only your Brother," Murdo noted.
"I'll finish you. And when you're gone, she's mine."
His? I cringed at Sticky Fingers' tone. And he's a sword smith. With a sword, the sword smith had an upper hand. "Be careful, Murdo. He's got a sword."
"Aye, Murdo McEwen," Cousin John patronized.
The sword sang, whispering as the blade struck air molecules.
"Shall I take you quickly? Or slow and easy the way I plan to take Katie?"
Darkness lunged at Murdo.
No. I can't live without Murdo. Where's Uncle John? He can help. "Uncle John!"
****
Blind. A Ring Master hated stepping into a fight blind. Literally seeing naught but a bit of light gleaming on a long whistling sword blade. And the white shirt on my back is lit up like a glowing flag in the moonlight in a sea of inky black night. Curse the protective fey who required a Brother's success on a mission they sent him on. Time to focus on this swordsman. Measure his movements. Watch for an opportune moment. Avoid disembowelment by this phantom blackguard's sword. Help Cousin meet his fate.
Cousin's sword slashed through shadow.
Disappearing and reappearing like an ephemeral spirit. So much for hoping for divine intervention. I sidestepped, bending, pushing a heavy stone that my boot lodged against.
So, the dolt has proven he's good with a sword. Not good enough. Almost good enough to be trained in the future's Brotherhood. Maybe Cousin is a changeling. No Time Guardian would put that past a god.
Smaller pebbles clattered in the darkness.
"Be careful, Murdo," Katie gasped.
"You'd best learn who to root for," the darkness growled with Cousin's voice.
No. She's mine. A changeling would know about anam cara.
"Let us go, John." Katie's voice warbled. "We'll leave you to whatever you were doing."
The blade fell a smidge where night held it high.
Speak again Katie. Reason with the fool. Distract him. I squatted to wait, react.
Cousin laughed a wicked guffaw. "I'm not falling for that lie. You'd call the bobbies just as soon as I set you free."
My fingers brushed the smooth surface of a round stone.
A handy large cobble. A weapon. I grabbed the cold rock.
A bright beam of light shafted down from overhead.
The flashlight.
"Katie? Murdo?" Big John called with his flashlight.
The brilliant beam swung scanned the ledge.
Revealed Katie's wide eyes. She leaned safely out of the blade's reach against the stone wall, searching the darkness.
The beam fell upon Cousin John and the bend in my sword. The bastard scowled at the light as if it burned through his soul.
Rather blinded his view. Time to recover one's time-travel key. I jumped to my feet, hoisted the rock high, aimed at John's hand, hurling the mass with all my strength. The stone struck Cousin's knuckles. Perfectly.
Cousin cried out and dropped my sword.
The Ring Master claymore's glinting metal blinked into darkness and clanked against the ledge.
"You bastard," Cousin snarled, rubbing his hand.
Oh to rip out his voice box.
Katie sprang for the sword.
Too close to the bastard. Damn wives. "No," I shouted.
She grabbed the sword and thrust the bent blade at her cousin.
John looked up, eyes widening, and stepped rearward.
But Druids are forbidden to kill. Even though she's untrained, she can't risk eternal damnation trapped inside some hideous form. She has to stop before she eternally curses herself. Just in case. "Don't, Katie. Leave it to me."
"I'm sick of his shit." She jabbed the sword toward her cousin. "Leave us the fuck alone," she growled and thrust again.
John took a second step rearward, his arms flying up, beating at air, then the bastard vanished over the cliff's edge.
Katie's foot slipped beneath her.
Gods' jest! I grabbed a fistful of her hot T-shirt and caught my legs beneath me, pulling her weight to my chest.
The flashlight's beam flicked away as if satisfied with our actions.
What would Big John say about his son falling to the rocks below?
The light bobbed along the highest level of the cliff top.
And now to contend with Big John.
Wee arms wrapped around me, squeezing. "It's all right, Murdo. We've got the sword and our lives."
Truth from unlearned lips never sounded so fine. But what will we have after Big John finished with us? "And a chance to discover what the fairies have in store for us."
The light glared down the path, blinding me.
"Are you injured, Murdo? Katie?" Big John's boots thumped down the trail.
Good to hear his concern. "No. But your son's fallen to the rocks below."
Big John stepped up beside me, then maneuvered to the cliff's edge.
Hesitantly. Arcing his flashlight's beam over the cliff as if searching with a spotlight. "You there, John Innis? If you're alive, you'd best know not to come home," the huge man warned. "I'm certain the French Foreign Legion will have you. I'll not harbor such a disgrace under my roof."
****
Driving the men home after the confrontation with Cousin John seemed surreal. Murdo hasn't spoken to me since he escorted me to the passenger's seat and closed my door. Apparently, guys from the future continued that respectful tradition.
Light from the high beams reflected off the tree trunks skirting the road's curving dull blacktop ahead.
Like the flashlight's beam at the cliff. One thing is certain. Sticky Fingers had gone over the ledge. Hopefully he's gone for good. "Do you think he's dead?"
Murdo just stared ahead. "I don't know."
Uncle John sat silently in the backseat.
Probably completely overwhelmed with the night's events. I peered into the rearview mirror at my haggard-looking contemplative relative. "I'm sorry, Uncle John."
His sincere gaze met mine. "There's something you should know, lass."
"What?" I steered into the driveway.
"We're home now. Park the car. Mother wants to tell you."
What now?
Everything echoed with the silence of bone-rattling mind-numbing imminent change. I went so numb I don't know how I perched myself upon the familiar brown sofa. I just blinked and discovered myself in the white living room with the large black box of a television. Auntie Iona and Uncle John nested atop upholstery in every direction.
"What should I know?" I searched their eyes for answers.
"Well," Iona began, "it's a long story, but your mother was special." She smiled sweetly.
Special? Does that imply good or bad? "Of course she was special. She was my mother. Or are you saying she was a lunatic?"
Iona patted my knee. "She was un-us-ual."
Great. Now my husband and my mother are nuts. And my cousin, well, he was something even worse. "Excuse me?"
Uncle John cleared his throat. "From another time."
What? Did he just say…Another time traveler? I turned to where Murdo rubbed the jaw of his speculative mask, seriously pondered something. "From another time?" I droned.
"Aye, Katie," Iona cooed. "She was a Druid."
As if things couldn't get any weirder. "My mother was a time-traveling Druid?" I found myself staring at a plain white wall across the room.
<
br /> "Aye." Iona nodded with a smile. "Your Da wanted you to be raised on another continent. Away from the predictable future waiting ahead of you. In the States. That way, you'd have a better chance of avoiding things associated with the Orders they had trained to serve."
How can anything be as unpredictable as a person's future? "What predictable future?"
Both of my relatives gazed almost cheerfully at Murdo.
"The only future awaiting a Druid's child." Iona blinked at my husband. "Tell her Murdo."
Murdo shrugged, wagging his head.
Everything transmuted into nuttiness. Funny how another aspect of life but completely opposite like Jennifer's promiscuity could have something associated with nuts like peanut-butter legs…What a thought. Yes, I'm insane. Not for long. I riveted a serious gaze on Iona. "What future?"
"A Druid's child usually took up her mother's mission. Wore the robes. Learned the tales." Auntie nodded. "Became a time traveler who studied the past."
Is she serious? I opened my mouth to ask.
Nothing came out.
"Since you were so enamored with Murdo," Iona patted Katie's knee, "we decided to let nature take its course. Your mother set a lot of stock in nature. She even noted the irony in your becoming a sword smith. All that artistry ensured time travel and magic were in your blood. And, as they say, Destiny has a way of righting itself."
Destiny? Blood sure could play games with a girl. Relatives. Genetics.
"Blacksmiths are magicians." Iona smiled sweetly.
Fate? Was this madness even ironic? "Huh?"
"I once saw a documentary about rafting down one of those rivers out West back in North America. I remember thinking of Destiny as that river. And you, lass," Iona patted my knee, "are on the raft, swinging your paddle, trying to travel along the water, floating toward your Destiny. Sometimes the river runs smooth. Other times, the river throws the raft every direction and you must cling to the ropes to fight the rapids. But you can't fight the water's pull." Iona actually winked.
"There's no time for you to sit and ponder reality. You must go," Uncle John said.
He's crazy. No more traveling until this three-ring night ended. "Where?"
Auntie and Uncle turned back to Murdo. "Where to Mr. McEwen? The law will be nosing around soon enough if a body washes ashore."
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 105
