Tharaen (Immortal Highlander Book 2): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  Most wore variations of the guard’s costumes, but the big man who had almost found her was greeting two much smaller men dressed in long, plain woolen robes, who had been escorted in by a pair of the guards. The most striking thing about the room was that there were no women in it at all.

  Beyond them, the golden trail glittered, seemingly unnoticed, and led through an arch into a tower with a staircase.

  My lady awaits me in the tower, the man with the mellow voice had said.

  Diana sized up her options, and returned the way she came to look for a way to get to the tower.

  Chapter Three

  ANOTHER DAY RETREATED over the horizon, drawing the dusky hem of twilight’s coverlet over its sunny head. In the great hall Tharaen Aber watched the night guards on their way to relieve the day watch as they paused to light torches in the flames of the massive hearth. The strangeness he had felt in the kitchen still itched at the back of his neck, as if prodding him to return and perform a search. Yet he knew he would find nothing but foods and pies and dishes. No outsider could have entered the stronghold without first being seen by the curtain wall patrols or the entry guards.

  “Fair evening, Seneschal Aber,” one of the guards said as he passed Raen, and bobbed his head.

  Raen returned the nod, feeling again the uneasy weight of the position thrust upon him. “And to you, Fergus Uthar.”

  While serving as bodyguard to Lachlan McDonnel, laird of the McDonnel clan, Raen had never given much thought to the work involved with looking after Dun Aran, the clan’s stronghold. Hidden for a thousand and two hundred years in the Black Cuillin mountain range on the Isle of Skye, the castle served as home and outpost for the clan of immortal highlanders. Built by the McDonnels in a giant crater hidden within the keel of stony ridges, the castle required constant attendance by hundreds of mortal retainers and servants. Raen himself devoted nearly every waking moment to overseeing the work of the household since the former seneschal, Evander Talorc, had betrayed the clan.

  “Seneschal.”

  Raen turned to see a patrol team escorting a pair of robed men between them, and went to meet them. Both of the druids looked tired and untidy. “Fair evening, Master Flen, Ovate Lusk. What brings you so late to the castle?”

  The older, gray-haired druid drew himself up like an offended rooster. “We’ve urgent matters to discuss with Lachlan McDonnel. Where is he?”

  Everything Bhaltair Flen wanted done, Raen suspected, was urgent. “The laird has retired for the evening, Master Flen. If you wish to remain and speak to him on the morrow, I can offer you lodging.”

  “This cannae wait on the laird’s leisure.” The old druid’s flowing sleeve snapped as he made an impatient gesture. “Step aside.”

  “Master Flen.” Neacal Uthar strode over with a brimming tankard. “You’re looking parched. Here, have some ale.”

  As the chieftain distracted the old druid, his younger companion spoke quickly to Raen.

  “We’ve reports of groups of undead moving on the mainland,” Cailean Lusk said. His boyish face and soft, innocent eyes did not reflect the ancient soul behind them. “’Tis the first sightings of them since they vanished last year, Master Aber. The conclave feels ’tis a matter of great urgency to learn where they go, and what their intentions may be.”

  “So does the clan,” Raen said. “If you’ll convince your master to sit, I’ll go and speak to the laird.”

  He turned and headed for the tower stairs, but as he ducked under the arch he saw a pair of long, shapely legs in dark blue trews disappearing up the steps. The scent of spiced honey wafted over him as it had in the kitchens, and he hurried after the figure.

  The tall, lean stranger wore a strange cap, and in one hand held an oddly-shaped hunk of metal. When Raen’s boot slid on one of the steps the stranger turned and pointed the object at him. He frowned as he took in the sleek body under the clothing before he looked into large eyes the same light violet shade of thyme flowers. The high cheekbones and regal nose might have belonged to a man, but the lovely lips, fashioned for endless kissing, said woman. When she lifted her arm he saw her strange, boxy coat tighten over the curves of her breasts, confirming her sex.

  Whoever she was, she had the face of a goddess.

  “Stop right there,” the woman said in a commanding voice that seemed to hum inside his bones. “San Diego PD. Hands where I can see them. Now.”

  Raen obliged and showed her his hands. The woman’s accent sounded like Kinley’s, and her bizarre clothing was like nothing he’d ever seen. What chilled his blood were the words she’d said: San Diego. Kinley had come from the same place.

  “My name is Tharaen Aber,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “You’ve naught to fear, my lady.”

  Her dark red brows rose. “Cute. I’m a cop, Mr. Aber, not a lady. What is this place?”

  That he didn’t know what cop meant told him that she had likely come from the future, but her violet eyes seemed to reach into him as if she could see his insides. Recalling how the laird’s wife had behaved when she had crossed over into their time, he took care to choose his words.

  “It is called Dun Aran. You are among friends here, my, ah, Mistress.”

  “I don’t have any friends into Dungeons and Dragons, and I’m not your mistress.” She came down toward him a few steps. “Where is Captain Kinley Chandler?”

  Before Raen could reply footsteps thudded behind him, and he saw Bhaltair approaching. “Master Flen, please wait in the great hall.”

  “You’ll no’ delay me again.” The old druid’s eyes widened as soon as he saw the woman from the future, and his expression filled with shock. “No. It cannae be.”

  “Afraid it can, old guy. Lieutenant Diana Burke, San Diego Missing Persons Unit.” She took out a folded piece of leather, unfolded it, and held it up to show a gleaming oval of stamped metal and a printed card. “You can go right back out the way you came.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the hall, and then fixed her lovely eyes on Raen. “You are taking me upstairs. Now move it, nice and slow.”

  Raen nodded, and started to climb up to her. Instead of returning to the hall, however, the old druid followed him.

  “Hey, old guy,” Diana said to Bhaltair as Raen joined her. She made a prodding motion with the metal object. “This is police business. Go wait with the rest of the extras.”

  The old druid seemed to snap out of his trance, and his face reddened. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am Bhaltair Flen–”

  “And I really don’t care,” she said flatly. “Get your ass downstairs, pronto.”

  At that moment Raen snatched the object from her hand, only to find himself slammed back against the tower wall. Diana kicked, punched, and rammed an elbow into him before he could take a breath, and tried to take back the metal hunk. It bucked in Raen’s hand as a terrible explosion shattered the air, and filled it with a burnt stink. He looked down to see the old druid falling to his knees and clutching his arm as blood from a tiny hole in his robe soaked his sleeve.

  Chapter Four

  CAILEAN CAME RUSHING up the stairs to catch the conclavist, and gave Raen a look of horror.

  “Take him into the hall, Ovate,” Raen said.

  He snatched the weapon from Diana, which felt hot on one end, and wrapped his arm around her waist. Tossing her over his shoulder, he hurried up the stairs.

  Lachlan, wearing only a pair of hastily-donned trews, met him in the corridor outside his bed chamber.

  “What made that banger?” the laird demanded. His gaze shifted to Diana’s writhing, kicking body, and his eyes widened. “Oh, fack me, no.”

  “’Twas this that made the noise.” With some difficulty Raen passed the weapon to the laird. “Have a care, my lord. It put a hole through Master Flen.” He grimaced as a boot slammed into his hip. “She calls herself Lieutenant Diana Burke from San Diego. She mentioned a unit of missing persons. Another soldier, I think.”

  “I’m a cop, you
idiot, and if you don’t put me down, right this minute,” Diana said, her voice sounding almost reasonable and calm, “I’ll shoot a hole through your balls.”

  “I’ll keep the hole-maker,” Lachlan said and nodded toward the room at the end of the corridor. “Put her in there, and see if you can calm her. I’ll send Tormod to stand guard.”

  Raen kept tight hold on Diana as he carried her down to the room once occupied by the laird’s wife, ducked inside and shoved the door shut with his boot. As soon as he placed her on her feet she attacked him with another flurry of punches and kicks, but this time he expected them, and easily parried each blow.

  Diana moved away from him as if they were dancing, holding her fists up and ready to strike as she made a quick scan of the room.

  “You’re going down for assaulting a police officer,” she said. “Do you really want to add aggravated kidnapping charges, and whatever else I can nail you for? Because a year or two in county jail is nothing compared to twenty-five to life at the state pen.”

  “Lieutenant,” Raen said, guessing that using her rank rather than her name showed more respect, “if you will stop attacking me, we can talk.”

  “Your lord guy is sending someone to stand guard,” she said nodding toward the corridor. “That’s false imprisonment. Think about what you’re doing here, Tharaen. Twenty-five to life in a tiny little cell, eating crap food and fighting very bad guys in the yard. Big as you are? Every damn day.”

  “That may happen in San Diego.” Since there was no lock on the door, Raen shifted back and leaned against it. “But you are no’ there anymore, Lieutenant.”

  “Really.” Diana’s gaze kept shifting to every object around her. “Where do you think we are?”

  “Dinnae do it, lass,” Raen warned her as he saw her stance shift.

  But as soon as the last word left his lips she lunged at him. Knowing she might shatter a bone this time, he met her halfway and spun with her in his arms, using the momentum to fling both of them onto the bed. Their combined weight made the lower frame collapse beneath them, and he rolled atop her, pinning her under him to prevent another attempt at escape.

  “Be still now,” he said. He removed the odd hat that had slipped down over her face, and a long, thick mass of streaked light red hair fell around her face. He’d never seen lovelier locks on any woman, and couldn’t resist the urge to touch it. “Why do you hide all this glory? ’Tis like copper and gold made silk.”

  “I don’t,” Diana said and turned her face into her hair, closed her eyes for a long moment, and then regarded him. “I didn’t have long hair before I came here. I haven’t for years. None of this is real,” she murmured, sounding confused, and then drew in her lower lip to worry it with her teeth. “Can’t be. It’s impossible.”

  When she started struggling again Raen shifted. “Dinnae try to toss me. You cannae.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that.” She gripped his shoulders, giving him a tentative push. “I can’t even budge you. Why do you feel like you’re made of concrete?”

  “’Tis how I am in battle,” Raen said and paused.

  He had forgotten what it was to have a woman under him. Diana was nearly as tall as he, and her limbs felt sleek with tight muscle, but with every breath she took her breasts pressed against his chest. His blood went hot and thick as he drew one of her hands from his shoulder, and pressed it back against the coverlet.

  “You shouldnae fight me, lass.”

  “Then help me,” she said quickly. “Wake me up or talk me out of this or–” She flinched as he tore down the bed drapes. “Oh, no. Don’t you even think it.”

  Raen controlled her writhing form with his body weight as he ripped the drapes into strips and tied her wrists to the bed posts. Only when she was firmly bound did he rise and move to the bottom of the bed to catch her kicking legs and bind her ankles together.

  “If this is real—and the jury’s still out on that—you’re going to regret this,” she promised him.

  “Aye.” Looking down at her, he already did.

  The chamber door opened, and Tormod Liefson entered with a wary look.

  “The laird said I should guard the wench.” He glanced past Raen and grimaced. “Fack us all. Another one?”

  “Say naught to her,” Raen warned in a low voice as he passed the Norseman. “Stand guard outside. I’ll return with the laird once we’ve seen to Master Flen.”

  “Take whiskey,” Tormod suggested. “And some good, strong rope.”

  When Raen went down to the great hall he found it filled with clansmen, most of whom had armed themselves, and the laird and lady, who sat listening to Cailean relate what had happened on the stairs. He spotted the older druid seated in a chair covered with cushions, where Neac and some of his tribe were attempting to treat his wound.

  “Look,” Bhaltair said, gripping his elbow as he held out his arm to show Raen as he approached them. “There is a hole in my flesh. It goes straight through, from front to back. I believe that vicious, ill-mannered harpy meant to spit me like some great roast. Look at how she maimed me with her black magic.”

  “Now, there, Master Flen,” Neac said as he urged him to lower his arm. “’Tis but a flesh wound. We’ll see to bathing and binding it for you.”

  “Are you mad? I may be crippled. If the wound festers, I could lose my arm,” the druid said, grabbing the wound and then releasing a groan of pain before he called out. “Cailean, attend me now.”

  Raen gave the ovate a sympathetic look as they exchanged places.

  “My lord,” Raen said to Lachlan, “the druids came with news of sightings of the legion. Master Flen was coming to speak with you when he found me with the lady on the stairs. I believe she is another soldier from San Diego.” He related everything Diana had said to him, and then asked, “Is she someone you ken from your time?”

  “No, we’ve never met,” Kinley said, but glanced back at the tower, worry plain in her light blue eyes. “She’s not a soldier, either. A police officer is someone who enforces the laws. Like the king’s sheriffs do now on the mainland. A missing persons unit looks for people who have disappeared without an explanation. The lieutenant must be investigating my case.”

  Lachlan produced the weapon. “And this?”

  “This is a gun.” His wife gingerly took it from him and thumbed something on the back of it. “It’s a weapon from my time. I’ve put the safety on, so it won’t fire again until I take it off. Ah, it fires bullets, pieces of metal, that shoot through the air too fast for you to see. When the bullets strike a body, they bore through it.” She thought for a moment. “It’s sort of like a tiny cannon.”

  “Gods,” Lachlan muttered. His expression turned grim as he regarded the weapon. “But why would this police officer shoot Bhaltair?”

  “’Twas an accident, my lord,” Raen said quickly. “I took the gun from Diana, and while she tried to retrieve it from me, it fired a bullet at him.”

  “And that’s why we’re keeping the gun’s safety on,” Kinley said, and looked at her husband. “Lieutenant Burke must have crossed over through the oak grove where I did. I just don’t know why she’d still be looking for me. It’s been a year since I left home.”

  “She did ask after you by name, my lady,” Raen told her.

  “Kinley and I will speak to the Lieutenant,” Lachlan told him, and nodded at Bhaltair. “After we explain the accident to Master Flen, and hear this news about the legion.”

  Raen accompanied the laird and his lady over to the druids, and found Cailean using whiskey to clean the wound. Bhaltair lay on his side, his pale, sweaty face drawn with pain, but as soon as he saw Lachlan he bolted upright.

  “You must deliver this female to me immediately, my lord,” the druid demanded. “The ovate and I will take her to be judged by the conclave at once.”

  “Master Flen, please permit me to explain,” Raen said, and quickly related what had happened in his struggle to take the weapon from Diana. “Lieutenant Burk
e didnae deliberately shoot you, sir. If anyone is to blame for your wound, ’tis me.”

  “Nonsense. ’Twas her weapon, in her hand. I saw it with my own eyes.” Bhaltair’s color returned to flood his face. “You heard how she spoke to me. I wouldnae address a dog with so little consideration or respect.”

  Raen suspected the old druid’s pride had been injured along with his arm. As a member of the conclave, Bhaltair held the second-highest rank among his people, and had always been treated by the laird and the McDonnel clan with the utmost respect. At times he could become very unpleasant over anything he perceived as a slight. Yet something else seemed to be goading him as well. He behaved as if he had been offended, but the outrage in his eyes looked almost like hatred.

  “I regret that you came to harm here, Master Flen,” Lachlan said. “But this female crossed over from the future, as Kinley did. Mayhap by accident, while she was in the grove, seeking to find my wife. While she may be druid kind, we cannae punish the lass for being ignorant of your position, or for attending to her duty.”

  Now Raen recalled that only druid kind could use the oak groves to travel through time, which meant that Diana Burke shared her bloodline with the magic folk. That also made her answerable to the druid conclave.

  “Very well,” the druid said stiffly. “If she came by accident, then she doesnae belong here, and must be sent back. Cailean and I will see to it. Fetch her to me now.”

  “Bhaltair, you are in no condition to drag a frightened, unwilling woman all over Scotland,” Kinley told him. “Now what’s this news about the legion?” She looked at Cailean.

  “Our allies to the south report that the undead have been seen traveling from the lowlands,” the ovate said. “They move in groups of eight to the north. The conclave thought you might know what that meant, my lord.”

  “Eight is a contubernium,” Lachlan murmured, and then said to his wife, “’Tis the smallest legion formation. Mayhap they are being commanded to gather for some purpose in the north.”