by Katy Baker
A smile curled the woman's lips and she lifted an eyebrow. "You asked after her at most of the stalls around the square. It wasn't hard to work out."
"No, I guess not. Sorry," Thea replied feeling a little foolish. Then the woman's words registered and she turned to look at her once more. "Wait a minute. You know Irene?"
The woman nodded. "Yes." She leaned forward, holding out her hand. "My name is Kara Harris. I’m a friend of Irene’s. Well, she’s my grandmother actually. Although half the time I think the woman causes me more trouble than she's worth."
Thea reached out and shook Kara's hand. "I'm Thea."
"Yes, I know who you are."
Thea suddenly realized why the woman's accent sounded so familiar. She spoke more like Thea than the locals. She said 'yes' instead of 'aye' and the way she pronounced her vowels was different. An outlander then, like herself.
"Do you know where I can find Irene?" she asked. "I really need to talk to her."
Kara sighed. "I don't know where she is and even if I did, I wouldn't be able to take you to her. There are rules that must be obeyed and even Irene must adhere to them. She cannot interfere—the choices you make must be done of your own free will. I am pushing the rules by talking to you now but I think I can get away with it." Kara's piercing eyes fixed on Thea. "After all, I'm not the one who brought you here."
The back of Thea’s neck prickled. How did Kara know that Irene had brought her here? And what was this talk of rules and free will?
"Who are you?" she whispered.
"A friend," Kara replied. "I was once like you: snatched from my own time without an explanation and I know how difficult this is for you. I know you want answers and to find a way home. But Irene brought you here for a reason. To keep the balance. I, like Irene, am a keeper of that balance. I am intervening now only because we have almost reached the point where the balance will be tipped irrevocably. Clan MacAuley is about to go to war with Clan MacKinnon. If that happens the intricate network of alliances means the whole of the Highlands will ignite in bloodshed, the repercussions of which will echo through time like a rock thrown into a pond. Only one man can stop it. I think you know who that is."
Thea stared at the woman. Her words had sent Thea's heart pounding against her ribs. Brought here for a reason. She had always thought as much. Why else would Irene have given her the book and the story of Logan's curse?
"Logan," she breathed. "He's the one who can stop it."
Kara nodded. "And you are the key to him doing just that."
"How? What can I do?"
"You will have to figure that out for yourself," Kara replied. "Free will, remember?"
A hundred different questions swirled in Thea's head. She opened her mouth to ask them but the sudden crash of a cart overturning across the square caused her head to whip around.
When Thea looked back, Kara was gone.
She sprang to her feet. She spun around, searching in all directions. There was no sign of Kara Harris—as though she'd disappeared in a puff of smoke. A shiver slid down Thea’s spine.
"What the hell is going on?" she muttered to herself. Fae and curses and the fate of the whole Highlands. How did she get mixed up in this? She closed her eyes and counted to ten before opening them again. When she did, she felt a little calmer. A little.
She’d been right all along. Irene had brought her here for a reason, and that reason somehow involved Logan’s curse and averting a catastrophic war in the Highlands. The wind picked up, plucking at Thea’s clothes with icy fingers. With a shudder, she pulled her cape tight about her and strode from the square.
Chapter 14
Logan felt as though he was walking through a dream. This town was his home, where he'd grown up, and yet it felt utterly alien. He could have been a ghost for all the attention its citizens paid him. In another life, when he'd been the laird, people would call out greetings and go out of their way to have a word or two. The shopkeepers would offer him samples of their wares and the innkeepers would invite him in for ale and food. Sometimes, if he had the time, he would indulge them and spend a pleasant afternoon visiting with the townsfolk. Now though, it was as though he didn't exist at all.
There had been rain here recently and the hard-packed streets were beginning to turn into a mess of churned-up mud, made worse by the tramp of horses’ hooves and booted feet. Logan had never seen so many fighting men in one place. If he'd thought the muster at St. Berrick worrying, this was doubly so. Everywhere he looked there were signs of war. The blacksmiths, instead of advertising tools, horseshoes and bridles for sale, sported large barrels full of swords and spears. The taverns, instead of being full of farm laborers, were crammed to the rafters with fighting men, most of them mercenaries by the look of them, hard, scarred men who would kill for the highest bidder.
Logan scowled. Didn't Eoin realize how unreliable mercenaries were? What had possessed him to fill the town with such men? And where were the garrison patrols to keep the peace?
He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the growing sense of unease that filled his belly. It wasn't his concern anymore. Eoin would lead the clan how he saw fit and Logan must be content with that. He was here for Thea, nothing else.
Finally he spotted his destination up ahead, a large tavern that in his younger days Logan and his brothers had liked to frequent. Annie and Gareth were known to brew the best ale in the area and the whisky wasn't too far behind.
Logan walked up to the large oaken door but hesitated before placing his hand on the smooth wood. Steeling himself, he pushed the door open and walked into the large common room. It was exactly as he remembered it. Clean rushes covered the floor and the oaken tables were scrubbed to a high shine. His eyes flickered to the mantelpiece. Sure enough, a large gouge in the wood above the fireplace was still there from where Camdan had once gotten into a fight with a Moroccan trader and had narrowly avoided the curved knife that had been flung at him. Over in the corner was the table where he and his brothers had liked to sit but now it was taken by three mercenaries dressed in black who were hunched over, talking in low voices.
Logan drew in a deep breath and walked over to the bar. A large man with a bald head and his left arm missing looked up from the pewter tankard he’d been polishing.
"Good day to ye, sir," he said in his booming voice. "What will it be? Food? Ale?"
Logan resisted the urge to grin. Ah, it was good to see Gareth again, even if his eyes showed no recognition as they gazed expectantly at Logan. Lord above, how many times had Gareth helped Logan home after he'd had too much to drink? How many times had he spun a yarn to his father when he'd come down here demanding to know why his sons hadn't turned up to training on time? But now he looked at Logan with a slightly puzzled expression, as though something about Logan tickled his memory but he couldn't quite place it.
"Aye. Both," Logan replied.
“If ye take a seat, my wife will bring ye food and drink."
Logan inclined his head. "My thanks."
He took a seat close to the door so he could see whoever came in. Annie appeared at the bottom of the stairs, had a quick conversation with her husband, before dunking a big tankard in the ale barrel and bringing it over to Logan's table. Annie hadn't changed much in the years since Logan had last laid eyes on her. Her hair was maybe a little grayer but her broad smile and rosy cheeks were the same. She turned that smile on Logan as she placed the mug of ale on his table.
"Ye look hungry, my dear," she said. "Would ye like some mutton?"
Logan watched her, taking in her familiar face and mannerisms. An unexpected pang of homesickness washed over him and for an instant he was taken with the overwhelming urge to tell her exactly who he was.
"Aye," he said. "My thanks.”
Logan curled his fingers around his ale cup then leaned back in his seat to listen to the conversations going on around him. His father had taught him that taverns—and especially those frequented by fighting men—were an excellent pla
ce to gauge the mood of the populace and to pick up any bits of gossip and other information that might be going round. He hoped to pick up news of both Irene MacAskill and also the trouble with the MacKinnons.
A group of men dressed in the MacAuley plaid took up several tables nearby. From the colored sashes across their chests Logan knew they were members of the castle garrison but he didn't recognize any of them. By their glassy-eyed expressions it seemed they'd been in the tavern for some time. Two were engaged in a boisterous arm wrestling contest while the others spurred them on with shouts of encouragement.
A big man with a beard falling halfway down his chest slammed the arm of his smaller companion down on the table with a thud and then grinned round at his fellows.
"Ha! What did I tell ye? Our young Angus is all piss and wind! Ye'll have to do better than that, lad, when we come up against the MacKinnons."
The smaller man massaged his shoulder and scowled at the big man. "Nah. When we come up against the MacKinnons I'll have my claymore to ram up their arses."
Some of the other men laughed at this but the big man's scowl deepened. "Ye reckon it will be that easy? The MacKinnons have the best horse archers in the Highlands.”
Logan turned his ale cup in his hands then cleared his throat and leaned forward. "Forgive my interruption," he said to the men. "But I couldnae help overhearing yer conversation. I'm new to these parts and I wish to avoid any strife. I was mighty surprised to learn of the troubles when I arrived in town. I was always led to believe the MacAuley laird was a peaceful man."
The big man raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Were ye? Then ye were misled, friend. The only thing our laird loves more than trouble is chasing women. If ye wish to avoid getting tangled up in it ye'd be advised to leave MacAuley lands as quickly as possible."
"Ranulf, ye damned fool," growled the youngster, Angus. "Ye shouldnae say such things about the laird. Ye dinna ken who might be listening."
"I'll say what I damned well like, lad," Ranulf growled back. "Now pass me the whisky before I decide ye need teaching some respect for yer elders."
Sensing the tension amongst the men, Logan said nothing more and leaned back into his chair, sipping at his ale. Before long Annie returned with a steaming plate of mutton in gravy which Logan tucked into. He was ravenous. He’d eaten nothing since the previous night, since the evening he'd spent with Thea.
Nay, he thought. Dinna think about that.
But thoughts of her came unbidden to his mind. Her warm lips on his. Her soft body beneath him, her scent filling his nostrils.
Enough, he told himself. She isnae for ye. She will be leaving soon, the moment ye find that meddling old woman!
Annie returned to collect his plate and Logan looked up at her. “I dinna suppose ye’ve heard of anyone by the name of Irene MacAskill have ye?”
Annie frowned. “I canna say as I have.” Then she tapped a chin. “Wait a minute. One of the serving lasses mentioned buying a potion from someone wearing a MacAskill plaid. I only remember because we dinna normally see many of the MacAskills round here, it being such a small clan and all. Could that be her?”
Logan forced a smile onto his face. “Aye, mayhap it could. Do ye know where she might be found?”
“The market would be my guess. If she sells fertility potions and the like, mayhap she’ll have a booth there.”
Logan thanked Annie then pushed back his chair and made his way outside. So. Old Gregor had been right – Irene was here after all. Logan wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He ought to be pleased but he wasn’t. Instead of relief, all he felt as he strode towards the market square was a growing sense of despair.
***
Thea halted and looked around. She was in a narrow street lined with timber buildings that leaned together, making the street almost like a tunnel. She frowned. None of this looked familiar. How the hell had she managed to get lost?
All I had to do was walk back down the main street! she thought. How difficult was that? But as she'd left the square she'd been so lost in thought about what Kara Harris had said to her that she hadn’t been paying attention and before she knew it, had found herself in a maze of narrow side streets and alleyways that all looked the same.
Could this day get any worse? When she got back to the castle she was going to have a stiff drink or five!
She hurried down the street, head swiveling from side to side, searching for a landmark that looked familiar. There weren’t any. The buildings in this part of the settlement were some of the most dilapidated she'd seen. The thatched roofs were half-rotten, the windows dirty, the doors ill-fitting.
She reached an intersection and paused. Four streets met, each winding off in a different direction but with little to distinguish one from the others. She placed her hands on her hips. Would it be too much to ask for this place to have street signs?
"Why the stern face, my lovely?" said a voice. "Mayhap I could put a smile on it."
She turned to find three men standing behind her. They were dressed in dirty plaid and from the stink of them, had been drinking for some time. They eyed her up and down, a hungry look in their eyes.
"Excuse me," she said, fighting down a rising fear. "I must be going."
She began to move away but the man who'd spoken, a large man with a scraggly beard, darted in front of her.
"Where are ye going, my lovely? When we've hardly become acquainted?" He stepped closer and the stink of his stale breath almost made her gag. "I'd like to get to know ye better. I havenae seen ye round here before. Are ye one of Marie's new girls?"
They think I'm a prostitute! Thea thought in horror.
"No, I'm not," Thea said, fighting to keep her voice steady. "There's been a misunderstanding. Now kindly step aside so I may be on my way."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Ye speak strangely, lass. A foreigner are ye?" he grinned. "I like the exotic ones. Ah, the things they can do." His companions laughed.
The man laid a dirty hand on Thea's arm and she reacted instinctively. She rammed her knee into his groin with all her strength then, as the man doubled over, she ran. But her feet slipped in the mud and before she could right herself someone grabbed her arm and slammed her back against the wall of a building. The bearded man's face was mottled with anger.
"I was gonna be gentle with ye but seeing as ye like to play rough that's what ye'll get," he growled.
"Go to hell," she growled back. She swung her fist at his face but he caught it easily and pinned her arms above her head.
"My, my, but ye are a wildcat. It's just as well I like them fiery." His leering grin made Thea's blood run cold.
Then a fist connected with the side of the man's head so hard that the crack echoed off the walls like a gunshot. The man staggered away, releasing Thea and slumping to his knees. Logan suddenly stepped in front of Thea. Her heart soared at the sight of him. She didn't think she'd ever been so grateful to see anyone in her life.
"Bastard!" the man spat blood into the dirt. "Ye will pay for that." He looked at his companions. "Dinna just stand there, ye damned fools! Get him!"
The two ruffians advanced on Logan. They were both burly men who looked used to fighting. Logan watched them calmly, hands held loosely at his sides. One of them swung a left-hook in at Logan's mid-riff but he side-stepped, grabbed the man's arm, and used the man's momentum to send him crashing into the wall. He slumped to the floor, out cold.
The remaining man pulled a knife and darted forward, the blade flashing. Logan caught the man's wrist then head-butted him in the face. Blood exploded from the man’s shattered nose and as he staggered back clutching at his face Logan punched him square on the chin. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed unconscious in the dirt.
The man who’d grabbed Thea staggered to his feet. He looked from Logan to his downed comrades and back again. Then he turned tail and ran, disappearing down the street.
Logan turned to Thea, chest heaving. "Are ye all right? Did they hurt ye?"
&nbs
p; In answer, Thea threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. His arms circled her, holding her close for a moment before pushing her to arms length. "Come on. This isnae a part of town to linger in."
They stepped over the unconscious men and into the maze of streets. Logan seemed to know exactly where he was going and he walked slightly behind her, his hand a reassuring presence against the small of her back. It didn't take long before they reached the main street and from there made their way up to the castle where Logan quickly escorted her up to her room.
Logan shut the door behind them then stood leaning against it.
Thea tried to gather her scattered thoughts. She had so much to tell him about meeting Kara Harris and what she’d said. But the incident with those men had left her shaky and disorientated and she couldn’t seem to think straight.
“Logan. I need to tell you something.”
***
Logan laid his head against the hard wood of the closed door and forced himself to breathe steadily. He took in the scent of the wood and the more subtle smells around him: the mud on his boots, the lavender of the soap Thea had used for washing. He breathed it all in deeply, trying to regain control of himself.
He’d never felt such a deep, visceral fear as he had when that scoundrel had pinned Thea against the wall. Not in battle, not when he’d made his bargain with the Fae. At the sight, a rage had come upon him the like of which he’d never known. He didn’t remember much of the fight. It was hazy, like a dream. All he could remember was the burning, all-consuming need to protect her.
Now she was safe and the adrenaline was beginning to fade, leaving him a little shaky. And angry.
“Logan,” Thea said. “I need to tell you something.”
Sucking a deep breath through his nostrils, he looked at her. “What did ye think ye were doing?” he couldn’t keep the growl out of his voice.
“Doing? What do you mean? I just went out to see if I could find anything about Irene.”
“Against my orders!” he bellowed. “Do ye have any idea of the danger ye were in? Lord above, woman, do ye not have the sense of a bairn?”
