“That damn son of mine shot me! I should have drowned him at birth, but my wife insisted I needed an heir and a spare. Now my life is worse, for having two ungrateful sons.”
Struggling to his feet, Angus brushed off his damp plaid, and straightened his sporran. He shoved the hood off his head, wincing at the sudden movement. He fisted his left hand, but the arm was nearly useless. He had managed to escape by using the last of his potions, and hoped he had returned to his Scotland; to his time.
Glancing around, he prayed Niall stayed in the future, but in case he found his way back, he needed to replenish his stock of magical weapons.
“Lana will help me, or I’ll burn her over her own fire.” The lusty young witch lived on the outskirts of the village, near Castle Ruadh. Under threats of death, she had given him the means to travel through time.
When he came across Niall’s woman, Blair, beside the stream, it had made sense to take the woman and her bairn to the future, where he had once followed Gavin. Gavin had not come to heel, either, and had attacked him when he had tried to kidnap his woman, the lovely Jenny Morgan. Niall had done the same, following and attacking him. The blood pouring from his shoulder, proved that his plans had gone awry.
“This is no’ what I planned. Those ungrateful whelps will rue the day they turned their backs on me, their true laird.”
“For a laird, ye sure look a mess. Where be yer finery? Yer henchmen? Yer a sore excuse for a sire, as well.”
Turning abruptly, snow toppled from his head to the forest floor. At the edge of the glade stood an old woman in a gray robe. When she slipped the hood off, her silvery hair floated about her head, though no breeze moved the air. Her other hand grasped a crutch carved from the branch of a blackthorn tree. Recognizing her, Angus struggled to notch an arrow into his bow.
“Dorcas Swann? So ye wish to die here, today? Yer words are like a knife to me soul.”
“And yer heart is as black as that soul. Continue to kidnap young women, and yer life shall be forfeit. Or, do ye doubt my premonitions?”
“Witches are people, too, and can bleed and die, like those who dare get in me way.” He stepped closer, and stretched the bowstring as taut as possible against the pain of his damaged shoulder, but all he saw before him was a gray mist. The witch had disappeared.
Spouting curses beneath his breath, he headed toward the coastline. Darkness was almost upon him. He knew a meal, and the warmth of a fire, would give him the time to plan. His sons were problems, but he still had a certain potion that would allow him to conjure, and control, a dragon. Worried that his lack of skill in handling the beast had nearly killed his son, Gavin, and their attack on the pirate ship got him nowhere in his search for Niall, he had to do something new.
Trudging through snow that grew deeper with each step, and hid obstacles like rocks, he suddenly fell into a chilly stream. Regaining his footing on the opposite bank, he wrapped the driest part of his plaid around his shoulders, pulled his hooded jerkin tighter, and searched for Lana’s cottage. Stumbling into a clearing, he inhaled the smoke from her chimney.
“Aye, ‘tis a good sign. She be at home.”
He stomped his snow-encrusted boots on the steps of her cottage, then wrenched open the door. Lana stood with her back to him, stirring something in a pot that hung from a tripod, over her fire. When he sneezed, she dropped her spoon into her cauldron, and turned.
“Damn the Goddess, why are ye back?”
“I need something only ye can provide, witch.”
She sniffed, then twirled a lock of her coal black hair. She was a short woman, and enticingly pretty, but rumors had reached him that his son, Niall, had bedded her. He did not care to share.
“What can I do for ye, my…laird.” Her voice was jokingly obstinate, and he would punish her another day. Today, he required her healing skills.
“I need more potions, then I need ye to wrench this arrow out of me back.”
She nodded, and waved him toward her wall of shelves. Potions, packets of powders, and her mixing bowls stood ready. They discussed his requirements, and she created her potions while he spooned stew into a wooden bowl. Until his sons were back in line, and had pledged their fealty to him, he would keep the wench alive.
“Since yer also bleeding, ye need a poultice for yer shoulder, aye?”
“Aye. Be quick about it, as it pains me, deeply.”
She poked his shoulder. “Remove your clothes.”
Any other time, those words from a woman would have made his body spring to life. Now, he was in too much pain to care. He dropped his jerkin, unwound the draped plaid, and pulled off his bloodied shirt.
“Aye, ‘tis a deep wound. An arrow, ye say?”
He nodded. The arrow must have belonged to Niall. He had spotted him in one of the lines at the archery competition.
Too late to avoid him altogether.
He had need of coin, and once he had heard of the prize money, had ambushed another archer, and had taken his place. Truth be told, he wanted to compete. He wanted to show those other bastards his skill.
Niall had tried to alter his appearance as well, but he would recognize his own son anywhere, just as he had recognized the young lad, whimpering at Blair MacIan’s side. The imp looked like him, and Niall. He always assumed he had spawned bairns, other than Gavin and Niall.
Why not? He was a chieftain, or he used to be. Going back to the future, with the wench and the lad, had forced Niall to follow.
However, Niall had easily foiled his plan. As Lana cared for his wound, the pain was so intense, that he ignored her beauty. She was a comely witch, but he needed her healing touch, and potions, nothing more. He would bide his time, heal the damaged shoulder, then take back all that was his.
If my plans require heads to roll, and men to die, so be it.
CHAPTER 27
The moment Blair stepped from the open door of Wynda’s food cart, she was swept against Niall’s hard chest. After her surprise subsided, she said, “You’re back! Did you win?”
When he didn’t answer, and tightened his embrace, she worried he hadn’t accomplished what he’d set out to do. She had witnessed him shoot an arrow perfectly, then push aside the others, racing toward the far line of competitors, then run back toward the food vendors.
She had lost sight of him while winding her way through the crowds, keeping her hood up. She walked clear of any empty corners, until she stopped along the side of Wynda’s food cart. After she banged on the locked door, Wynda let her in, only when assured of her identity. She had thanked the woman for being careful, and was happy Niall showed up, unscathed.
Niall’s shoulders shuddered, which really worried her. “What happened?”
“Inside, lass. Too many prying eyes.”
Blair glanced around, but didn’t see a soul. It was mid-afternoon, and the athletes were turning the caber. After satisfying his sweet tooth with maple-glazed Scottish shortbread cookies, Keegan was napping.
“Okay, but keep your voice down. My son is sleeping. Wynda has been taking good care of him.”
She had removed her gray cloak. The food cart was a warm, delicious setting, made yummier by the presence of a sandy-haired Highlander. Niall bolted the door behind him, then brushed a lock of unruly hair off her brow. His touch was gentle and light, but worry immediately gripped her throat. His eye patch was gone, and he smelled of tar and…cow droppings?
“What is going on? You’re scaring me.”
“Angus…I tried to capture him.”
“Dear Lord!” She glanced out the open serving window beside Wynda, who was cleaning the counter. “Is he out there?”
“Nay. I wounded him, but he disappeared in a burst of putrid smoke, and a brilliant light.”
Blair swallowed, then wrapped her arms around her stomach. “So, he’s gone?”
“Aye. I must follow him, but without magic…” He glanced at Wynda, as if hesitant to share their time travel problems with her.
Wyn
da stared at them, with her eyes wide, and knowing. “Too bad Dorcas the witch isn’t around.”
Blair glanced from Wynda to Niall. Dorcas Swann was cagey, and seemed to know things, but last she knew, she was back in ancient Scotland.
“I like the old gal, and all those neat things she sells. If she was here, would she help you?” Wynda asked.
“Aye, I believe she would. She likes Blair and Keegan.”
Blair chuckled, then touched Niall’s arm. “Having a witch in your back pocket would help, otherwise what will you do? If you think your father went back in time, how will you get home?”
“He returned, but no’ to our home, where he ‘tis no’ welcome. Gavin told me, last we met, he had given orders to keep Angus Sinclair and his hired mercenaries from entering Tulac Castle.”
“Wow! You live in a castle?” Wynda asked. “Does Rae Wilson live there? He’s another reason I wish Dorcas was here.”
“I heard yer pleas, child. How can I help?” Dorcas asked.
Wynda shrieked, and Blair turned, to find the old witch sitting on the edge of Keegan’s cot. The boy was still asleep, but the shock of finding the person they talked about, sitting inside the locked food cart, was eerie. But, good timing.
“Can ye help us follow Angus Sinclair?” Niall asked.
Wynda shoved him aside. “Wait a minute. Me first! Have you seen Rae?”
Dorcas sucked on her empty pipe, with a thoughtful expression on her wrinkled face. She rose slowly to her feet, leaning on her crooked cane, then set it aside. She clasped Wynda’s hands in hers, smiling up at the young woman. “Aye, the lad is fine. He be waiting, back at me tent.”
Wynda screeched, and clapped her hands together.
It was obvious that Dorcas had answered Wynda’s prayers. The small, bent old crone might also be the answer to Niall’s prayers.
“Ye can moan about yer man later,” Niall said.
Wynda quieted.
Niall turned back to Dorcas. “Me sire?”
“Aye, lad. He has returned to his own time, but no’ Tulac Castle. He seeks out a young witch, in order to heal his wound.”
“The arrow found its mark? ‘Tis a good omen.”
“Aye, but he still has the power to destroy people, and places. He has darkness consuming him, and will take out his fury and rage on innocents.” She sighed, then headed toward the door. When she turned and faced them, Dorcas added, “Have ye met his conjured dragon?”
Without waiting for their reactions, the door popped open, and she hobbled down the steps.
Blair stopped her with a gentle hand on her bony wrist. “Please help us. Help Niall, I mean. He needs to return to his time, in order to protect his people from Angus Sinclair.”
The old woman winked at her. “I can help him…and ye.”
“Me? No need. I’m home. Keegan and I will stay…”
“Nay!” Niall’s outburst shook the food cart.
Dorcas snickered, and headed down the stairs and out the door. Wynda winked at Blair. When Blair glanced at Niall, he was glaring back at her. Why was he against her staying? They’d been intimate, and he was loving and responsive, but they were not a couple.
Right?
“You two can sit here and argue, but I am off to see Rae.” Wynda lowered the shutters, turned off the heat lamps and fryer, and raced out the door behind Dorcas.
Blair bit her lower lip, and nudged Keegan, who rose to his feet, and stretched. The boy’s cheeks had filled out, and he looked like he’d grown an inch.
“Good food, and plenty of rest has helped the lad.”
Blair nodded. “Another reason we should stay. With modern medicine, he’ll grow fast.”
***
“Modern medicine? Different ways of healing be why ye wish to leave me?” Without waiting for her answer, Niall stepped out the door and followed Wynda and Dorcas down the trail. As they neared the vendor tents, Dorcas waved her bony hand in the air. The buckles unlatched and the flaps opened.
“A potion is what ye need, though a spell might work best, since three of ye be heading back together.”
“I don’t plan to go anywhere. All I want is to talk to Rae,” Wynda said, slipping inside Dorcas’ tent.
Blair, and the lad, appeared at Niall’s side. She glared at Dorcas. “I am staying right here. Keegan, too. There is nothing for me, in Scotland.”
Niall shoved Keegan inside Dorcas Swann’s tent. “Stay with the old woman, lad. I need a word with yer mother.”
After a quick glance at his mother, Keegan did as he was told. Niall grasped Blair’s wrist and tugged her behind the large tent. Before venturing into the shadows, Blair glanced at the sky.
Niall followed her gaze. Pink and orange-stained wisps of high flying clouds filled the sky. He pulled her into shadows that darkened the area between the tent, and the large building Blair called a ski lodge.
“So, talk,” Blair said. She wrenched her wrist from his grasp, and crossed her arms over her chest. The green vest swelled above her arms, as if offering her breasts to him. He doubted she realized it. Her top teeth bit into her bottom lip. She was eager for an argument, but all he wanted was her breath mingled with his.
“Kiss me?” Niall whispered.
Blair’s eyes widened, and she stepped back. She was pinned against the stone building, in a perfectly private corner. He swooped, pressing his hands flat against the wall, so as not to touch her, which would be his undoing. He feathered his lips over her mouth, then stepped closer, until his lips caressed her mouth, then kissed the soft flesh beneath her right ear.
“Ye taste of sunshine and shortbread.”
“Keegan had a few shortbread cookies, and he shared them. He is such a good boy.”
“Cookies?” Niall sighed. “Yer odd words make me smile. The lad has a lovely, intelligent mother. Ye have cared for him when others would no’. My sire is an evil cur, for begetting him on his poor dead mother.”
“Begetting him? I bet he raped her.”
“I will no’ argue the point. I am no’ like him. I swear.” He kissed her again, then cupped her face in his hands. Her skin was smooth, and far lighter than his weathered skin. Pulling back to see her reaction, his eyes narrowed. When he felt her body stiffen, he remembered that a man she called husband had treated her ill.
He sighed, dropped his hands, and stepped back. “Here I am, touching ye without permission. Forgive me, love.”
Blair’s hands tugged at his belt, pulling him back into her softness. His erection pressed against the underside of his sporran, which nudged her belly, and she wiggled her hips. Before he could think of a private place to remove their clothes, and to delve deep inside her, someone coughed behind him.
Niall released her, and pivoted so fast, Blair slammed against his back. “What the..?”
“I beg yer pardon, Highlander, but we have a problem.” Dorcas Swann looked up at him. Her sheepish expression was disarming, and Niall relaxed. Blair stepped from behind him, and tugged at the edge of her vest.
“What’s happened, Dorcas?” she asked.
“Keegan--”
“Where’s my son?” she cried, then rushed around to the front of the tent, and disappeared inside.
“Dorcas, what has happened?” Niall asked.
“Let us join Wynda and Blair inside, and I will show ye.”
***
Blair’s eyes adjusted to the low light inside the tent, and searched for her son. Wynda’s face was ghastly white as she sat on an old rocking chair in the corner. A broad shouldered man with brown hair knelt in front of her, patting her hand. “There, there, lass. ‘Tis magic, and Dorcas will fix everything.”
“But, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t broken that vial…”
Blair stepped closer. Was Keegan hiding? “Wynda, where is my son?”
When she burst out crying, and tears dribbled down her white cheeks, the stranger stood and glared at Blair. “See what ye have done?”
“Me? I asked a questi
on. She was watching my son. Where is he?”
“She is afraid to answer ye lass,” Dorcas whispered at Blair’s elbow.
“Afraid?” The hairs on Blair’s neck stood on end. She raced around tables, peeked beneath them, then disappeared into the sleeping area out back. “Keegan!”
When she strode back into the larger room, Niall was listening to Dorcas, as she whispered in his ear. His skin blanched, and Blair’s heart stopped. Keegan was gone.
“Please. Someone tell me what happened.”
Niall walked over to her and sat her on a small stool. When he placed a warm hand on her shoulder, she gripped it like a life jacket in a windswept sea.
“Seems the lad was reading from an old tome. A book of spells.” Niall cleared his throat. “Wynda heard him, and came over to see what he had found. As she did, she knocked into the table, and several bottles fell, and broke on Keegan’s boots.”
No one said anything more, but Wynda was crying harder.
“And?” she asked.
“Keegan winked into nothingness.”
Her vision wavered, and Blair felt her body go numb. As she fell sideways, two warm arms grasped her, pulling her into Niall’s lap. He gazed down at her, but she all but ignored the concerned look on his handsome face. She struggled off his lap, landing on her feet.
“Dorcas,” she cried, turning to the older woman, “where did Keegan go?”
“Home.”
“Home? This is his home.” Blair couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “How do I get him back?”
“Dorcas says he is home, lass. He is a bairn born in Scotland. In the Highlands. He shall be happy, there.” Niall brushed a loose lock of hair off her shoulder.
She swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me! How could you think I am okay with this?” Blair turned back to Dorcas. “Send him back, or take me to him. Now!”
The old crone nodded, and shuffled over to the open book. She chose a few bottles, then looked at Wynda and Rae. “Do ye two plan to stay, or travel with us?”
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