Highland Wolf Shifters of Dundaire 4

by Angelique Armae

  “But I’m also half MacDougal, so between your right to go back as full wolf and as alpha, and Uncle Mortimer’s vampiric right as the MacDougal who owns Castle Dundaire, I should have full rights to time travel regardless of the fact that vampire blood runs through my veins. Mother was vampire and goddess, she was also witch and had wolf in her.”

  His son didn’t understand. “I’m sorry. It just doesn’t work that way. For you to go back, Castle Dundaire will have to be raised, permanently. I can make the castle rebuild itself, temporarily. But it’s also a risk because I don’t know how long that temporary action will hold. And if it returns to a pile of ruin while I’m over, then I won’t be able to return.” He lied about that last part. Going back secured his death, his inability to come back. But Callen couldn’t learn that now or being the stubborn man Bane knew him to be, he’d try to prevent him from returning to Medieval times.

  “So we’ll find a way to raise it permanently,” Callen said. “Then you can do what needs to be done no matter how long it takes. And I can go back with you. I can help you.”

  At least he’d instilled a fair amount of goodness in his son, and for that he thanked the Lord. “I appreciate your willingness in all of this, but Castle Dundaire can only be raised permanently if its main cornerstone can be reused, intact. And Mortimer only has half of it. The other part has been lost, probably crumbled when that bastard Rorik sacked the place. I am the last MacHendrie alpha to be able to time travel. And the same goes for Mortimer as his Katya is not a Celtic vampire. The mixing of her Norse blood and Mortimer’s Scottish lineage, will place any child they should have, in the same position as you.” He dropped his gaze to the right cuff of his shirt and toyed with the edge. Lying to his son was never easy, but in this case necessary. Thank God Conall went along with him and didn’t fuss over the situation.

  Callen reached for his arm. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Go gather your brothers. They’ll have to be told but not about the time travel or the portal’s location. I don’t need any one of them accidentally letting that information slip, because if any of my wolves get the notion in their heads that they can somehow go back to earlier days, they can cause all sorts of trouble in trying. And the portal must remain viable, even if it can’t be properly accessed by just anyone. If damaged, we’re all screwed because time itself will have been messed with. And that is why only an alpha and his beta can know about it.”

  “But what will you tell them?”

  He had to get this right or Callen wudna believe him. “Let’s agree to say I must leave to try and sort this mess out, but omit from telling them about the time travel. Your brothers know we have sacred places where we can talk to the old gods. Let’s leave it at that. And in the meantime, you are alpha in my stead.”

  Callen nodded. “I’ll be back in a few.” He headed out of the kitchen.

  Conall circled the table and came to stand in front of Bane. “Nice save, brother.”

  “I didna see the point in telling him about the sacrifice.”

  A look of grief crossed his brother’s face. “You have been the best alpha the pack has ever had. Even better than Da.”

  “Thank you. That’s means a lot to me, coming from your thickhead.”

  Conall’s lips curved in a wide grin. “You loveable bastard.” He reached over with arms wide and came in for a bear hug. “But don’t think once you go back you can still refrain from the duel I challenged you to over that lass from Inverness.”

  He backed away, pulling free from Conall’s grasp. “Are you still whining over that woman?”

  “You stole her from me.”

  “I did no such thing. In fact, I saved you from her, cleared the way for you to find Fiona.”

  A hearty laugh fell from his brother’s mouth. “Is that what you did?”

  A moment later they both fell silent.

  Bane let out a deep breath. “Take care of my sons.”

  “You are not going to start that shitty pessimism with me. Ye don’t know exactly what the gods will do, they may favor you, keep the castle standing long enough for you to return. Maybe even with Aine.”

  “The gods have done enough for me.”

  “Aye. And ye have done a lot for them, protected their Aine from Jarle all these years, gave up the life you should have spent together with her. And you’re giving up the pack now. The gods don’t need more than that. Make them see your worth when you go back.”

  There was no changing that part of his fate. Castle Dundaire would fall, of that he was certain. Him going back secured it since there was no full cornerstone. But arguing with Conall on the matter would only make the man feel worse, or maybe even make him stop the notion all together. And stopping him wasn’t an option.

  “I’m going to change my clothes, put on one of my old outfits so I look the part when I go back. While I do that, will ye check on the urn in the crypt? Make sure it’s still there?”

  Conall gripped the dagger at his side. “And if it is missing?”

  “Then call on the gods and warn them, though I doubt that will be necessary.”

  There was no reason for Abeille to have taken the love he shared with Aine. What the wolves in town had seen was probably just the witch shopping for trinkets to bring back to sell in her New Orleans establishment. He’d spotted a good number of global goods in her shop the times he’d been in there on clan business. But checking on the urn will keep Conall busy and give him the time to change and then quietly slip away. And the more he kept to himself, the less chance of his sons and his brother trying to stop him.

  Chapter Three

  Castle Dundaire Dig Site, Dundaire, Scotland

  Stepping over a pile of fallen stones, Bane headed toward the corner area of Castle Dundaire. Just being here brought back memories of that fateful moment when Jarle destroyed his world. That bastard was bad from day one. And to think he and Mortimer had originally offered the man help, going so far as allowing him and his army to camp out along the outer borders of the pack’s territory. What a mistake that had turned out to be. Jarle was one of the cruelest souls he’d ever encountered.

  But Dundaire wasn’t just about the bad times. He’d made many good memories here, moments he treasured despite the dark shadow that now clouded the place. And those memories he hoped he’d never forget, especially the times he had shared here with his sons. There was nothing better for a Medieval, Highland father than the moment his boys learned how to manage a claymore. His sons were all expert swordsmen. And their training had taken place not five feet from this very spot. If only those special days could have lasted forever.

  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Everything he’d known since the time Callen and the rest of his sons were just boys, might not exist in his mind once he went back. And that was killing him.

  An ache settled in his heart.

  Maybe Callen was right in what he had insinuated, despite not exactly coming out with the words. He hadn’t been a good father. If, when he crosses over, he ends up forgetting his children and grandchildren, then the sacrifice he was about to make would be more than justified. A man who can forget his bloodline didn’t deserve to live.

  Opening his eyes, he reached into the sporran draped across the front of his kilt and pulled out his mobile phone. He tapped the screen and smiled as the family portrait from last Christmas popped up. The phone cudna go back with him, but he needed that photo. Needed to be reminded at this last minute, of everything he had before he crossed over to the old days. If he was lucky, the image would remain in his mind, even if he no longer knew why or what it was. At least he hoped it would.

  He tossed the phone across the field. When the boys would eventually find it, hopefully they’d see the photo and know he was thinking of them at the very end.

  He prayed to God he was doing the right thing.

  A light breeze rustled the strewn straw covering one of the nearby squares where the pack had been excavating last summer re
claiming artifacts lost in the long-ago battle with Rorik and Jarle.

  The scent of lavender teased his nose. Visions of Aine sitting in the castle’s great hall, her long, delicate fingers binding ribbon around the dried flower bundles in her lap, flooded back to him. He missed those carefree days, those hours he would spend telling tales of his travels, making Aine laugh, sometimes even blush while she twirled the ends of her long, blond hair.

  He cleared his mind.

  It did no good mulling over what once was and no longer could be. He was here for a reason and the time had come to get on with that. Crossing over now was a must.

  Maneuvering over the fallen rocks, he continued into the area where the oldest section of Castle Dundaire had once stood.

  Wind billowed through his hair, lifted the long strands off his shoulders. He probably looked like a wild man. Between the kilt, the age-appropriate shift, his black-as-night hair, and the claymore strapped to his side, his appearance was probably more than frightening. Not so much to a pack member, but to one of those lone wanderers he’d sometime find sniffing around the dig site, he was sure to look out of place.

  Better to do this quickly.

  He stretched his arms out wide.

  His mind’s focus shifted to the past, to the day he’d first talked to Aine as someone who was more than merely her brother’s friend. They’d known of each other for years, but back then, as alpha, his world had been consumed by protecting his clan and providing for them. And carrying around a claymore most days was a heck of a lot harder than maintaining an online trading account. Caring for his pack, despite still having to protect them and provide for them, was a hell of a lot easier in current times. Down time rarely existed back in Medieval days.

  Thunder cracked above.

  Dust kicked up around him, small bits of earth battered his wool shift.

  Voices and noise came at him from every angle.

  Mortimer yelling.

  Aine laughing.

  The serving wench slamming a tankard of mead down on the long table in the castle’s main hall.

  A wooden bench being shoved from the wall.

  Heat seared his veins.

  A funnel of energy rose from the ground and sought his mouth, spreading his lips open and then snaking into him, down his throat until it reached the very core of his soul.

  Inch by inch the molecules of his body tore apart.

  The wolf in his soul, howled.

  He shifted faster than was normal, then shifted back to human form just as quick.

  Pain pummeled his bones.

  Light, then darkness, then light again flashed before his eyes.

  Rain, snow, and wind lashed against him in rapid succession.

  He felt all and nothing at the same time.

  Every memory he had ever had, flipped through his mind, swirled around and in his body, including scent, sound, touch. All that he had ever seen and heard came at him like a bulk of madness torpedoing through and around him.

  His veins bulged.

  His heartbeat raced.

  A loud whirling sound slammed his ears.

  Then the world went suddenly still.

  No noise.

  No sight.

  No smell.

  Just a blank numbness.

  Followed by darkness, an existence void of all and everything.

  He fell to the ground.

  ~~o0o~~

  Aine stood outside the stack of rubble she once called home and stared at the red clay fragment cradled in her hand. Using her ability to visually steal it from her brother’s New Orleans home, was not the nicest thing she’d ever done, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The piece’s rough edge cut her flesh.

  Her breath hitched.

  Blood beaded in her palm, the slow rise of the red dot pulling her thoughts into the past. She should have come back here years ago, but the pain of all that she’d lost by leaving Dundaire, always kept her away. Plus, there were the gods to deal with and they could have destroyed Bane and her boys if she’d disobeyed them for no good reason. Jarle causing havoc now was the best reason she could ever have for going back.

  Yes, she’d watched Bane and the boys from the Otherworld, but that was all from a distance, and physically being in a place was vastly different than just watching it.

  Maybe it was guilt.

  Maybe even sadness, but regardless, she’d stayed away.

  Going back to the time this place was a happy home should be a joyous occasion, but knowing she’d have to leave it all again or risk changing the present and risking the boys’ existence, or even altering the smallest detail in their lives, troubled her.

  But her trip back needed to be done.

  Bane had lived too long being alone and never truly happy. Getting Jarle to agree to a lesser amount would solve everything. Then there’d be no question of that vile Viking having a hold over her heart. She’d be all Bane’s, for all eternity.

  But she’d have to be careful not to interfere in the boys’ lives or who knew what could change as a result of that.

  She’d have to die in the past, for no way would the gods allow her to return now that she had disobeyed them by stepping from the shadows. There were strict rules concerning half-goddesses and time travel. Rarely was it allowed and it definitely wasn’t for her. Agreeing to that stupid ban was the dumbest thing she’d ever done, but she hadn’t thought back then that she’d ever have need to return to Old Dundaire.

  At least her death should leave her sons’ lives as is.

  And allow Bane to move on. Spending a millennium as an alpha bachelor had to have been hard on him. Her death would end that suffering.

  The decision eased her worries.

  She gripped her wrist, toyed with the bracelet Bane had given her on their wedding day. The silver cuff meant everything to her, especially the fact he’d gone out of his way to hand-hammer her full name across it.

  Aine Moira Kenna MacDougal MacHendrie.

  She ran her fingers over the uneven letters.

  Wind whipped across the field.

  Cold air filled her lungs, its chill veining through her body.

  She wrapped her cape close to her body. Thick wool warmed her hands, it’s red hue bright against her pale skin.

  She had better get this right because do overs didn’t happen when time traveling.

  She crouched and brushed away a patch of snow from the spot where Castle Dundaire’s cornerstone once stood. Small, reddish bits of clay brick peeked up from the snow-dusted frozen ground.

  The hint of sandalwood carried on the wind.

  Bane.

  She’d never missed anyone as much as she had missed him. What was she going to say when she saw him in the past? A goddess was immune to certain aspects of time travel. She would remember the current era and why she’d gone back.

  The giddiness of a schoolgirl rested in her soul. She had better make good use of the time she was about to get with Bane because it wasn’t going to last. Castle Dundaire would hold together for only so long and then she’d have to give up her goddess powers and her life.

  Her hand trembled.

  One wrong move, one wrong word said, and her sons might cease to exist. But not going back would erase them without doubt.

  Her heart pounded.

  She reached forward and gently placed the broken part of brick onto the dirt and then wiped her fingers across the skirt of her red gown.

  She concentrated.

  The day she’d met Bane she was frantic searching for a lost pearl earring her mother had given her. The tiny garnets surrounding the pearl had come from the Otherworld. She thought they were everything, the most precious thing she could ever own being they were the only physical connection to her mother’s world at the time.

  Then came Bane.

  And everything changed.

  Most people ran the other way when the strapping wolf came thundering into a room, but not her. That darn earring had consumed her th
oughts with such intent, that at first she hadn’t even noticed the hulking man sprawled on the floor, trying to see what she was searching for.

  She never did find that earring.

  But finding Bane was worth so much more than any jewel. He was a gem in himself.

  Aine stepped back.

  She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

  Words, in the ancient Celtic tongue, fell from her lips.

  The ground beneath her feet shook.

  Wind swirled around her.

  The sound of stones stacking one upon the other, piling at a furious pace, echoed at her ears.

  Her legs buckled.

  Her bottom hit a hard surface.

  The weight of her cape vanished from her shoulders.

  Lavender essence filled the space under her nose.

  Aine opened her eyes.

  Castle Dundaire had rebuilt itself, pulled her back into the past.

  And Bane was at her feet, his broad body sprawled upon the floor, just as she’d remembered.

  Chapter Four

  Castle Dundaire, Medieval Scotland

  “Sorry, lass, but I am afraid there are no pearl earrings down here.”

  Bane’s words were exactly the same as they were a thousand years ago. At least her coming through time hadn’t changed anything. Yet.

  Bane pulled himself up, a bright smile beaming across his lips. “But I have a plan, my sweet Aine.”

  She laughed. “And what is that, wolf?”

  He sat on the empty spot on the bench beside her, his kilt spilling over onto the patch of wood where she’d placed a bundle of dried lavender. “I will take your remaining earring and fasten it into the center of a silver cuff and give it to ye on our wedding day.”

  “You are a bold wolf, Bane MacHendrie. I am already promised to Jarle. A formidable Viking.”

  Bane leaned back, the scent of sandalwood permeating from his wool shift. “You don’t really believe Mortimer is going to let you marry that beast, do you, Aine?”