Blissful silence met her mind. It only lasted a moment, but it was there. Reluctantly, she removed her hands from Helen’s belly and opened her eyes.
Three sets of expectant eyes looked her way.
Amber connected her gaze to Simon. “Congratulations, Simon. Your wife will bear a healthy baby boy.”
Moisture gathered in Simon’s eyes and happiness punched Amber low in her gut.
Helen gasped. “He’s healthy? You can tell that?”
“I can. He’s very happy where he is for now.”
While Helen and Simon embraced, a strange wave of sorrow emitted from Mrs. Dawson. The sorrow was directed at Amber, for her loss of ever having the joy of a child of her own. Withstanding the bare touch of anyone proved difficult, anything more intimate she would forego. No, Amber knew she would have to enjoy the children of others.
When she moved to stand, all the emotions she’d pushed aside to search for Helen’s child struck her like a fist. She stumbled and fell into the table, knocking a lamp to the floor.
Simon hurried to her side and attempted to steady her. Her head swam, and nausea filled her throat.
“Her cloak,” Helen said.
Simon swiveled, grasped the cloak, and threw it over Amber’s shoulders.
She tightened the edges of the garment around her, muffling the outside world. It took several minutes before Amber could speak. “Don’t feel guilty, Helen. I wanted to do this for you. For Simon.”
“But you’re hurting.”
“I’m fine. Just a passing discomfort.” Only Amber knew it was more. Each time she attempted to live outside the cloak was worse than the last.
She knew her smile didn’t hide the pain in her eyes, but she kept it there anyway.
Chapter Two
2231, Los Angeles
Kincaid shed his costume, and removed the weapons strapped all over his body. He tossed the clothes down the chute to the cleaning room where someone would wash and mend any damage from the day’s battle. After stepping into the shower stall, he closed the door sealing him in.
He considered his choices for cleaning off the day’s battle, skipped over the dry shower, and hit the water button. It would take more than chemicals to wash the dead from his skin today. As the hot water poured from the rain shower, Kincaid tilted his head into the spray. He groaned and let the water remove the grime. Though he would have loved to stay in the hot spray for hours, he couldn’t be that selfish with all the others in the fortress.
He waved a hand over the chemical spray and let it shoot antibacterial disinfectant over his skin, and turned into the spray to catch the other side. After washing his hair the old-fashioned way, with soap, he rinsed it clean and watched the remaining water circle the drain. He could hear the pumps below the stall as it already worked on recycling the cast-off liquid.
He stepped from the shower minutes later and shook the water from his dark hair. It was getting a little long. Short cuts were a luxury he didn’t afford very often. It was hard to blend with warriors of the past with a haircut of the current century. He took a moment in front of the mirror to trim the thin goatee he preferred on his face before finishing his ritual. The light in the adjoining bedroom switched on as he walked through and stretched out on his bed. “Video display?” he called into the empty room.
From the hologram projector positioned above his bed, a digital screen lit the wall across the room.
“What can I do for you, Kincaid?” The voice of the room control was that of a woman. Her soft-spoken words always made him envision a long-legged brunette with bright red painted lips behind the voice. Problem was, the voice was probably computer generated, and his vision shouldn’t be anything other than soundboards and computer chips. But it still didn’t stop him from his daily fantasy.
“KTLA news.”
“Would you like me to interrupt the current broadcast or play from the recording?”
“Recording.”
He had at least thirty minutes before any of his team would be called for a debriefing of the evening’s events. Catching up on what had happened during his brief voyage through time was essential to his psyche. He needed to know that he was actually in his time…that the world hadn’t dramatically changed because of their interference.
The bright colored lights of the broadcast flashed on the wall. The polished anchorman sat behind the desk wearing a sleek coat without a collar over a turtleneck sweater. At his side, his co-anchor sported an over-puffed jacket with awkward shoulder pads. They wore plastic smiles and spoke false truths. There was no reason to believe the news would deliver facts…they hadn’t in some one hundred and fifty years…probably longer. But they did send out recordings of events…and with enough practice, Kincaid could peer through those events and pick out certain truths.
After introductions and short laughter about the unseasonably cool weather, they jumped into current events. “The president of Texas made a surprise appearance at the Governor’s State of the State dinner which took place in Westridge. It appears that both the governors of Northern California and Southern California are once again talking about following Texas in seceding from the Union.”
“Which would result in a civil war,” Kincaid said to himself. Though the secession was inevitable. History repeated itself…always.
Confident his latest trip in time didn’t result in anything catastrophic, he released a long sigh, threw his arm over his eyes, and let his mind empty. When it did, his memory of the painting he’d seen while fleeing up the MacCoinnich Keep’s massive stairs settled into his system. The woman’s troubled gaze followed him, made his heart rate climb. She was hauntingly familiar yet he couldn’t place her from his history studies. Was she from the original family? A grandchild to the first time travelers? Who is she? Or more precisely, who was she?
Unable to tune the image out of his brain, he gave up his quest for sleep, turned off the news, and left his room.
He passed the main living room where he heard several of his team talking among themselves while the same broadcast he’d been watching in his room blared in the background. Savory smells from the kitchen told him the cooks were working late to feed them after their battle. His stomach made a sound of protest when he turned down the short hall and into the fortress library.
The room hadn’t changed in centuries. Oiled oak bookshelves lined each wall from floor to ceiling. Each shelf housed books in all shapes and sizes. The collection wasn’t filled with fiction and fluff, but history and folklore. To the uneducated eye, some of the books might look like fantasy and nonsense, but Kincaid knew each book held the history of his people. There were books of witchcraft and sorcery, ancient beings and shape shifters…and yes, even time travelers.
He moved to the center of the library where a large table housed two computer stations. Each book had been carefully categorized and input into the data system. With any luck, the image in his head would be somewhere in the library and he could put a name to the face he’d seen on the wall of the Keep.
He sat in front of the computerized station and placed his palm on the monitor screen.
“How can I assist you, Kincaid?”
The computer’s voice was that of Giles, the keeper of the books, and often the teacher of everything Druid to those who lived in the house.
“Search artwork in MacCoinnich Keep in the seventeen hundreds.”
“Can we narrow the search, Kincaid?”
“Portraits.”
A giant image of a book circled on the massive screen while the computer searched its database.
Early portraits began to appear, which he flipped through one at a time. As always, the image of Ian and Lora started off the art. That painting still hung on the wall in the Scotland fortress and Kincaid had seen it several times in person both in the past and in his time.
There were very few portraits of the MacCoinnich family in their early years. In the mid sixteenth century, Kincaid knew paintings started to fill space on the
walls of the staircase. Though from his memory, most were of children. Apparently, those images were some of the only ones in the computer system. He was midway through the images of the seventeenth century when the door to the library opened.
“I thought I saw a light on in here.” Giles, the man and not the computer, brought his lean frame into the room and pushed his glasses up onto his nose. Why he didn’t just have the corrective surgery performed on his vision, Kincaid would never know.
“I’m borrowing your space,” he said.
Giles set the book he carried into the room on the table beside Kincaid and peered over his shoulder at the monitor. “Anything I can help you with?”
He wasn’t sure how to answer the man. To tell him the image of a long-dead woman on a wall back in time made his heart skip a beat might sound a little obsessive. Unstable even. Then again, following instinct was something every Druid man and woman was taught to do from birth.
“I noticed a portrait on the walls of MacCoinnich Keep as we were leaving, one that I’d not seen before. I thought maybe we had some reference of it.”
“A portrait of a child?” Giles asked.
“No. A woman.”
Giles lips lifted slightly as he glanced his way. The man was too perceptive. His Druid gift did make him the perfect historian. He had an ability to file away nearly every word he’d ever read. He seldom used the computer unless he was inputting data. The man didn’t need it.
“What did this woman look like?”
“Long dark hair, sad eyes.” Sad beautiful eyes.
Giles tapped his chin as he thought. “What style of dress?”
Kincaid closed his eyes and tried to picture what the woman was wearing. All he could see was her high cheekbones and full lips. “I’m not into women’s fashion.”
“Did she wear a hat? Was her hair bound?” Giles walked across the room, pulled the ladder along the bookshelf, and proceeded to climb to reach the top shelf.
“No hat. Her hair was down. She wore a long dress if that helps.” He gave up searching the computer files and let Giles do what he did best.
“And this was a woman, not a teenager?”
Kincaid shuddered. “No. She was a woman.”
Giles retrieved a leather-bound tome that was half the size of him. “That’s odd. Most women in that time wore their hair bound, unless they were unwed.”
“And most of the women were married early…” Kincaid said his thoughts aloud.
“Precisely.”
“Was the woman unattractive? Some alarming feature that might have made her an unlikely candidate for marriage?”
He rubbed the heat from the back of his neck and tried to appear unaffected. “She was beautiful.” He couldn’t imagine the men of the time looking past her. If she were a direct descendent from the MacCoinnich’s, she may have had a long list of must-haves in a potential spouse. Kincaid couldn’t imagine any of the original family letting their children marry just anyone. The family was much too private to marry outside their inner circle.
Giles opened the large book and proceeded to turn the pages.
“There you are!” From the door, Rory called out to him and beckoned him with a wave of his hand. “We’re waiting on you.”
Kincaid pushed from the chair. “Coming.” He patted Giles on his back. “I’ll be back after the briefing.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Giles was already moving to the bookcase in search of some lead only he saw.
The entire basement had been converted into a safe room years before. The far end of the massive room held their armory, both modern and ancient. The center of the room held a conference table and a monitoring system that linked them into the safe houses abroad so they might be able to obtain reinforcements if needed.
Kincaid stood before a chair between Rory and Colin. Across from them sat Allen and Joshua with Colleen standing at the head of the table. “Nice of you to join us.” Colleen scolded.
Dressed in full skintight leather with a body that would rock many a man’s world, Colleen’s cold stare was meant to intimidate. Only it took more than her piercing steel gray eyes to move him.
“I was following up on something.”
She tilted her head to the side at the same time the door to the safe room closed with a loud bang and the lock clicked into place. Colleen flexed her Druid powers without blinking an eye.
“Something important?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Just when he thought she’d pitch a bitch-fit, she folded into her chair and expected him to settle.
He did.
“Do you have the report?”
Colin, Colleen’s twin leaned back in his chair and grinned at his sister. The two of them were quite a pair. They’d run the fortress for as long as Kincaid had been there and neither of them appeared to age a day. Colin didn’t always lead the expeditions in time, but he nearly always accompanied them. Colleen would love to join them, from what Kincaid could see, but she wouldn’t blend well on a battlefield in a time where men ruled and women stayed behind to pine and worry over their men’s fate. It killed her and she took great pleasure in flexing her power whenever they returned to remind them all that she was just as powerful as they were, even if she was a woman.
Truth was Kincaid would welcome Colleen in battle any day of the week if given a choice. He’d seen her in action and knew she brought more cunning and power than many of the men in the room.
He also thought she’d relax a little if she’d just get laid.
Colin started talking, removing thoughts of Colleen doing the nasty, and reminding himself of their battle. “Everything was just as expected. While the men were outside the Keep battling their known enemy, the walls inside were breached and the women were vulnerable.”
“Did you arrive in time?”
Kincaid envisioned their arrival to the seventeenth century, his short trip down the stairway and straight into the path of a distant Highland clan who wanted to claim MacCoinnich Keep as their own. They were beyond surprised to find able-bodied men inside the walls of the Scottish fortress willing to fight to preserve the lives of those who lived there.
“We kicked ass.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“Of the battle, no,” Kincaid told her.
Colleen’s gaze narrowed. “But someone saw you.”
It wasn’t a question.
“A child,” Rory reported. “A girl, not more than eight or ten. She saw us entering the tower.”
“And?” Colleen asked.
“Druid. No doubt. Rory pulled a fireball in his palm and she attempted to do the same, smiled, and kept silent,” Kincaid reported.
Colleen once again moved her eyes to him. “You’ve spoken with Giles about the girls?”
Kincaid nodded. “I have.”
Rory nudged his arm. “What about them?”
Without waiting for Colleen to elaborate, Kincaid did. “Giles recently discovered first hand accounts of several children—all girls—who’ve reported time traveling warriors who helped in battles from the past.”
“We’re just learning about this now?” Allen asked.
Colleen leaned forward. “I’ve known about them for some time. But until now, we didn’t know if the girls actually interacted with any of us. Guess now we know.”
“I thought we have always been invisible,” Owen said.
“If we were completely invisible we would never know exactly when we were needed,” Colleen told them.
“I thought your visions told us where to go, where to fight.” Rory’s normal smile fell as he spoke.
“They do. But I have often had Giles consult his books to double check the time period. Make sure.”
This was news to Kincaid. If their trips in time were recorded somewhere they could be traced and attacked by the Others. Any of their trips in time could be virtual traps. The thought left him cold. He glanced at Colin, who didn’t seem fazed by the news. “You knew about this?”<
br />
He shrugged. “We’re twins. Little happens I don’t know about.”
“So we’ve been watched?”
Colleen shook her head. “Not watched. Seen. There are vague references of traveling warriors, who understood the family, who arrived long enough to help, and then left.” She lifted her fingers and quoted the word family in the air. “The references in the books came from mother to daughter and no one else.”
“You mean these girls never told their fathers…brothers?”
“Not that we can determine at this point. Giles is cross-referencing his books.” Colleen once again pinned her gaze on her brother. “I didn’t know Giles told anyone else about his discovery. I told him to keep the information between the two of us.”
“Give the man a break, Colleen. I walked into the library and found him franticly turning pages,” Kincaid told her. Others in the room laughed. All of them knew Giles’ perplexity when he worked on a puzzle in his books and how very narrow minded he became when he wanted to determine the end point. “He started rambling about the children knowing we were there, and how he swore he’d never read or heard of this before. I asked what he was talking about and Giles, being Giles, rambled on long enough for me to understand the situation. I suppose it’s impossible for us to have gone back in time as many times as we have without ever being discovered.”
Owen leaned back, ran a hand over his bald head. “I’m surprised there aren’t tapestries with all our mugs stitched on them.”
“Who says there aren’t?” Colin teased.
The conversation went around the table like that for several minutes, the men laughing and decompressing from their battle. When it became apparent there wasn’t more to report, Colleen dismissed the lot of them.
They moved to the dining room where they filled their stomachs and shared battle stories. The men in Kincaid’s century weren’t terribly different than those in the time from which they’d all just returned.
Except he and his men were much better armed.
Highland Protector (MacCoinnich Time Travels Book Five) Page 2
