Celtic Peril (Celtic Storm Book 6)

by Ria Cantrell

  Hesitantly, Tom raised it and he tried to arc it, but it fell to the ground in a loud a deafening clatter.

  “Ye’ need to get yer’ weight behind it. Ye’ are nay a puny man, Tavish.”

  “W-what did you just call me?”

  “Tavish. It means Tom.”

  “I think I may have told that girl my name was Tavish. It sort of just came out, but I rather like it. I may use it as my stage name…”

  “What’s a stage name?”

  “Never mind. Just show me what I need to do.”

  “Alright. Watch my stance.”

  Derek grabbed a much larger sword with one hand and he swished it around in a figure-eight motion, causing the air to sound in a whirring noise with each pass. Tom’s eyes widened and he murmured, “I thought they only did that in movies….”

  Derek just smugly passed the sword from his right hand to his left and repeated the exercise, which did not do much for Tom’s confidence at the moment. Hell, he couldn’t even hold the blasted thing with two hands, let alone switch it from hand to hand. Derek nodded towards the sword that had landed quite ungracefully at Tom’s feet and he said, “Pick it back up.”

  Tom wanted to pick it up alright and push it right through Derek’s stomach just to watch the self-assured smirk fall off his face. With a hearty laugh, Derek said, “T’will do ye’ no good to kill me, lad. There are nay many men from my time as far as I know, who can aid ye’ in this training.”

  “And stop reading my mind.”

  “Here’s yer’ first and most important lesson. I am nay reading yer’ mind. Yer’ face told the whole story. A warrior knows how to read a man with just a glance. Ye’ would be mindful to remember that. Now pick up the bloody sword and stop thinking about runnin’ it through me.”

  Derek was right. Thomas knew he had to focus and so he tried to make his expression as bland as possible and he tried lifting the sword again. This time, his determination paid off. It still felt heavy, but the more he got the feel for it, the more he felt the medieval weapon become a part of him. It was odd, really, but with each new motion, Tom was getting his legs under him and the initial fatigue soon evaporated into greater ability. Now, as Derek’s lips raised, Tom knew he was not mocking him. He was actually pleased, or so it seemed. That was, until Derek swung his sword and struck the flat edge of Tom’s blade. Pain hammered up his arm and he bit back a cry of anguish as the agony turned to numbness. This time when the sword fell to the ground, Derek did not revel in it. Instead, he said, “Sorry, lad, but I had to show ye’ what it feels like when steel strikes steel. T’is not easy to deflect. Give it a moment, and the pain will subside.”

  Tom bowed his head in defeat. It was useless really. Seriously, what could he learn in a few short hours? If he did have to use a sword, he would likely get killed within minutes. Derek could read his thoughts this time and he said, “Ye’ have to try. I know it seems useless, but ye’ have a natural feel for the steel. Ye’ will nay get used to it if you quit now. Pick up the sword.” It was not said to scold, but Tom honestly thought it was useless. He said, “I will be killed instantly. Perhaps, I need to learn to use….”

  Derek cut him off and said, “Look, ye’ know that guy…the one who ye’ said was an arsehole, well, most of the men I know, or rather knew were like that. There will be those who can continue in yer’ trainin’ if ye’ are there for a time, so long as ye’ dunna’ get killed first. In order to do that, ye’ must learn the basics and then with practice, ye’ will see ye’ have quite the knack for it. Look, I am nay a man to give false flattery. I tell ye’ Tavish, m’boy, ye’ve got natural talent for sword wieldin’. Now pick up the damned bloody sword and stand!”

  Tom did, fighting the pain that had replaced the numbness again. He watched Derek for the proper stance and he actually was able to deflect the next blow. Tom gritted his teeth as he held the sword firmly in the palms of his hands and as Derek seemed relentless in the assaults upon him, Tom held his own. Just when he was getting the hang of it, Derek said, “Now yer’ turn. Try to hit me.”

  “No way! I’m not stupid enough to try that against you. You have done this your entire life.”

  “Well, ye’ willna’ be able to just hold a sword and not strike. Try. Put yer’ weight into it. Use your body to bring ye’ into the arc, like this.”

  Derek swung his sword and it looked like he almost was practicing some sort of tai chi move. Derek halted the blow just before it would have hit Tom and countered the motion by raising it higher above his head. Tom stood in awe at the skill and control in which Derek used the lethal weapon. He saw that it was truly an extension of the man and he wanted to experience that power in his own, quickly callousing hands.

  Tom smiled tenuously and said, “I wish I could do that.”

  “Ye’ can. Ye’ve got the strength. Ye’ just need the know-how to parry, thrust and control yer’ blade. Make it part of yer’ arm; like yer’ flesh is one with it. Think of it that way, feel it like a livin’ thing in yer’ hands.”

  Thomas tried to do it a few times, taking Derek’s lead and before long, he was starting to get a feel for it. He understood the notion of becoming one with the weapon. Derek watched his opponent with marked interest. He would not have thought that the lad could have caught on so quickly, but sure enough, Tom was getting the rhythm of it. Again, he noted the natural ease that seemed to come with it. He got the strange feeling that there was more about this Tom than he had given him credit for. There was something about the man that reminded Derek of one of his own; like a man from his own time. Sometimes ye’ just sense these things. And Derek knew not to ignore his senses. He also knew not to disbelieve something that seemed impossible. Could it be that this one was from a time long ago? All would be revealed soon enough, Derek was quite certain. He could almost taste it.

  By the middle of the afternoon, Tom was exhausted, but somehow he felt invigorated as well. It wasn’t every day that he learned how to do real sword fighting. The pain had subsided, although he thought he would surely feel the results of it tomorrow. There was something about knowing that he held the power of the blade in his grasp. It was intoxicating; like a drug and almost as heady as the kiss he either dreamed about or had actually done. One thing was certain; Thomas wanted to experience both sensations again and with a little luck, he would sooner than later.

  ~

  Chapter Twenty-Three ~

  Morag led Kiera through the trees. The moon was high and it lit the night so that their walk was not a dangerous trek in the dark. Kiera was not surprised that Morag chose the night when the moon was full to take her to the distant past. Kiera was dressed in a plain grey woolen gown and a dark hooded cape, which she pulled about her face as if to conceal her. It was only the two women walking through the woods, but Kiera could not help the feeling that they were being followed.

  It seemed like they were walking for miles when they finally came upon a clearing, brightly lit by the moonlight. Kiera looked around, feeling a sense of unease come upon her. She was being watched. She knew it. She whispered to Morag, “I think we are being followed.”

  “Aye, t’is probably yer’ mate.”

  “I don’t sense him. It feels as if we are surrounded.”

  Morag smiled gently and she said, “T’is the Ancients, Lass. They stand before ye’.”

  As Kiera peered down through the trees into the meadow below them, mist slowly coiled from the ground. A chill seeped through her heavy clothes and then she saw them; the standing stones that were as old as time. How had she not noticed them as they had approached the clearing?

  “Are ye’ ready?”

  Gulping deep breaths of the crisp night air, Kiera said, “As ready as I shall ever be. What if…what if it doesn’t work?”

  “Then the Ancients will have spoken and I’ll nay bother ye’ again.”

  Kiera looked deeply into the Old One’s eyes, searching for what; she didn’t know. The silvery grey depths sparkled with untold wisdo
m and Kiera knew she was in the presence of someone who was not just an old feeble woman. Something in those sage old eyes, still un-dulled by time, calmed Kiera’s jangled nerves and she said, “You know, don’t you?”

  “What, lass?”

  “That it will work?”

  “Even I know not the minds of the Ancients. Come.”

  Kiera nodded and followed Morag down from shade of the trees. Just as she stepped into the clearing, Kiera felt the shimmer of power that seemed to radiate under her feet. “Oh God…oh God…it’s really going to happen.”

  “Hush,” Morag warned with a gentle sternness. “Let the Guardians speak. Open yer’ heart to hear them for their voices are but whispers on the wind.”

  Kiera

  She had heard it before; when she had first come to the Highlands. She thought it just had been her imagination, but as the stillness of the night settled upon her like the cloak of mist, Kiera knew that she had never imagined it all. They were calling her and just as she could never deny the call to love Derek, so too, could she not deny their call to the past now.

  Suddenly the grand Circle of Stones seemed filled with the murmurs of voices. Some were audible, some were felt inside, like a call to her heart, some were in a language that she was only just coming to understand. Taking Morag’s hand, she walked to the center of the stones. The moon cast shadows upon the grand monoliths and in the midst of Their great strength, it appeared that lines intersected and formed a vortex at the very core of the Sacred place.

  Morag drew Kiera into those moon-drawn lines and raised her staff in one outstretched arm. She spoke words that were foreign to Kiera’s ears and amid the pounding of her heart, Kiera felt the glamour of authority from the land itself. A loud roaring began to surge in her ears, and Kiera was afraid she would be sick. Her stomach lurched up and it was all she could do to fight down the gorge. Despite the chill of the night around her, beads of perspiration began to form on Kiera’s brow. “Oh God…Oh God…it’s happening.”

  She felt the gnarled arthritic hand of Morag clasping hers more tightly in reassurance when suddenly a bright flash arced above the two of them. Kiera thought that such a light would surely burn her eyes from their sockets and she silently prayed again that she would not vomit on the spot from the pain of it. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion and the sights and sounds appeared to be amplified. As Kiera felt the earth shifting beneath her feet, she heard what sounded like the snap of a twig. Looking away from the blinding light, Kiera turned and it was then that she saw him. She tried to cry out, “No, go back…” but it was too late. The world went dark around her as Kiera had the hideous feeling that the ground had given way, causing her to plummet into an unending abyss; free falling to probable death as she hurtled into the chasm.

  ~~~~~

  Tom had followed as stealthily as one could with a heavy sword strapped to his back. The moon light had given him his lead and it was not difficult to track the two women as they made their way into the woods beyond the castle walls. A few times, Kiera seemed to be looking in his direction, but he managed to duck behind a tree or a rock and he had remained hidden. When he saw the clearing with the ancient circle of stones, he felt a sense of excitement course through him. He had read about places like this but to actually see them in their great ancient majesty was quite another experience. He had almost forgotten his purpose as he stood mesmerized by their symmetry and grandeur. One way or another, these were the gateways to the past; even if he never passed through. These behemoths stood the test of time and none could deny their power.

  The moon was doing odd things with the shadows of the stones. It seemed to cut the circle within them into perfect “pie” pieces and he watched as the women stood in the dead center of it. He wondered about the old woman, as it was hard to see her face. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at her because both women wore dark hooded cloaks. The old one walked with a carved staff but once they had entered the standing stones, she raised it in some sort of invocation. Tom thought he was watching a scene from Lord of the Rings or Merlin, but this was no work of cinematic effects.

  Tom eased himself out from the cover of the large boulder he had been hiding behind and he started to silently make his way across the field. He knew he would have to wait for the perfect moment to enter the circle, else they would keep him at bay. He placed his hands on the flat back of one of the standing stones, and felt the cold strength of it beneath his palms. He felt something else; he felt a vibration, like that of the hum of speakers on the stage and it grew until the energy radiated into his arms and chest.

  Something was going to happen; Tom had no doubt about that. He could feel it; he could almost taste it. The old woman was speaking some kind of incantation. The humming grew louder and now came from the ground under Tom’s feet. As he stepped out into the midst of the circle, he saw a bright shooting star slowly make a path across the sky. It was now or never, Tom thought. He hurried forward and he stood in one of the dissected quadrants of the circle. He heard his cousin’s warning, but it was too late. The shadows of the stones touched him like a living hand and he perceived himself to be weightlessly falling…falling; Dear Jesus, would it ever stop?

  ~

  Chapter Twenty-Four ~

  Bronwyn had waited so long and it was now almost dawn. She had sat upon the rocky rise and she had lost track of the hours. She had promised Morag that she would not wait, but somehow, Bronwyn could not tear herself away from the meadow where the standing stones kept guard over the land.

  The stiffness from the cold had started to settle into her joints, even though she had been warmly dressed. Morag had instructed Bronwyn to go back to the keep if she had not returned by morning. Pink and lilac streaks of daylight were starting to line the darkened night sky. Morning was upon her and Morag was not back from the days ahead in time. Bronwyn wrung her hands. She tried to blow on her cold fingers to bring some warmth back into them, but the chill had seeped into her with icy precision and it was an effort to even flex her fingers.

  The discomfort Bronwyn was experiencing was nothing compared to the worry that had fraught her mind and heart. It was a bad idea to allow Morag to tempt the Fates. Perhaps she should have tried to stop Morag from making such an arduous journey. Morag was too old and frail and Bronwyn should have convinced her that walking through the eras was too dangerous for her now.

  Bronwyn would never forgive herself if something had happened to the Old One. It would be all her fault and now Bronwyn had no way of knowing what had befallen her mentor. How would she ever find her? Bronwyn did not share the sacred gift of time walking and she prayed that her dearest friend and confidante would not be lost to her for all eternity. That thought sent more numbing coldness into Bronwyn’s already chilled flesh than spending the night out under the frozen moon. Breathing a sigh, Bronwyn pushed herself up from the jutting rock that had been her seat for most of the night. She looked up toward the sky and prayed, “Please return her to me. I know she is old, but to not know what has become of her would drive a nail into my heart.”

  As the striated sky now streaked with crimson and purple continued to greet the morning, Bronwyn began to turn from the monoliths that she had shared the night hours with. Pulling her cloak tighter about her throat and drawing the hood upon her head, Bronwyn started to move toward the path that would lead her home. It was then that she saw it; a bright arc of light similar to the one that had marked the journey of the Old One. “Dear God, please return her safe to me.”

  Despite the stiffness in her cold legs, Bronwyn picked up her skirts and ran down the rocky trail, which lead back toward the standing stones. By the time she reached the Ancient Giants, her lungs burned and a stitch had nagged into her side, but she was undeterred. Morag was lying on the ground, not moving and there was a cloaked woman kneeling beside her. That must be the one who would be Jenna’s imposter. But something was terribly amiss. Beside the prone figure of Morag was one other visitor. A man; a young m
an stood next to the kneeling woman and the unconscious body of Morag. Fear pinned Bronwyn to the spot. That was not part of the plan. This could mean serious trouble for all of them. Bronwyn did not know how the walking through Time’s Wheel worked, but she was pretty certain that the more one disturbed its turning, the worse things would be. This added person returning from those ions centuries in the future could only bring terrible consequences that Bronwyn did not even want to imagine. Now, she needed to see to the Old One. She hoped she would not be too late, if only she could will her legs to move.

  ~~~~~

  Morag knew the minute she had taken Kiera’s hand that something had gone horribly wrong. Perhaps she should not have tried to take someone back with her to a time that was foreign to Kiera. Although walking amid the eras was natural for Morag, she knew it was not natural for others. It was her burden to bear and it was wrong to bring another to her time. Just as she had felt the pull of the Stones, something had shifted out of the shadows and it was too late to thwart the journey. She was getting too old for this, Morag had to admit and she momentarily doubted her abilities. Mayhap that self-doubt and the bringing of Kiera Campbell back in time had made a poisonous combination.

  As the swirling sands of time sucked Morag through the unending moments and years, she suddenly thought that this time, she may not survive the journey. What normally had been as easy as stepping through an open doorway, suddenly felt as if she was being pulled apart. Pain seared through her skull and she remembered nothing more.

  ~

  Chapter Twenty-Five ~

  Kiera was not sure what she felt as the never-ending fall seemed to last forever. She grasped at Morag’s boney hand, not even conscious of holding onto it for dear life. Her heart beat was pumping so rapidly that she was almost afraid it would burst in her chest. A loud rushing of wind was deafening and Kiera felt herself screaming, but the sound never left her throat. Then, as quick as it had started, all was silent. She had landed in a soft meadow, with a bed of grass to cushion her fall.