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

by Hazel Hunter

  Ermindale made a contemptuous sound. “Why should I tell you anything, Roman?”

  “I can send for the battering ram,” Quintus reminded him. “And my men are very hungry.”

  “They did themselves in because they are magic folk,” the old man spat the words. “They cannae die a true death. They come back again and again.”

  Quintus had heard the old myth many times, and had scoffed at it. Now it gave him pause.

  “You believe this?”

  “I ken it, stupit, because I’ve seen it done. The druid that served my father died of old age when I first married. Twenty years later he returned to serve me. He looked a different man, but he remembered all of his former life. He spoke of things he couldnae ken. He revealed secrets my father had taken with him to his grave.”

  “He might have learned that from the elder druid before he died,” Quintus pointed out.

  “My father’s druid played the pipes,” the old man said. “It takes a lifetime to master. When he returned rebirthed as a young man, he could play any I asked, as well as the last.” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you doubt it? Your kind never die. ’Twas the talk of the king’s court when I last went.”

  Quintus suspected the marquess knew many things that would be useful, but he had to get the old man out of the solar before he could enthrall him.

  “Your counsel is appreciated, Ermindale. Come out of there, and I give you my word that you will be well-treated.”

  “We’ll be made slaves,” the old man countered. “Used and drained and then tossed away like rotted whiskey casks. I’d rather starve than feed your kind.” His eyes shifted left and he lowered his voice. “But give me what I want, and you will have my counsel. I can tell you how to get all the blood slaves you need. Indeed, I ken a way in which you may take control of Scotland.”

  Ficini made a rude sound, but Quintus felt reluctantly intrigued. “What do you want, Ermindale?”

  “To never die,” the marquess said. “Make me one of you. Make me undead.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  MIST ROLLED ACROSS the dark fields to float over the road from the village, and made Diana’s face feel as cold and damp as the night air. It’d taken a couple of weeks, but she’d finally gotten used to riding Treun, the big, muscular gelding Raen had given her to use on patrol—aka the most patient horse in the fourteenth century—but she felt frustrated as she scanned the area.

  “They didn’t leave the road here,” she told him. “They kept going.”

  “Then so shall we,” he said, and raised his arm to gesture for the warband to continue riding forward.

  They had been summoned from their search for the undead to look for a tiny band of villagers who had disappeared earlier in the day. Diana hadn’t found any signs of force or struggle in the fields where they had been working. The animals and tools they had been using had simply been left behind. She had tracked the people to this one road, but once they had reached it their individual trails converged with those of every other person who had used it. Just her luck, it happened to be a very busy road.

  But at least she didn’t see any of the dull red trails the legion left.

  Although nine people simply didn’t simultaneously walk away from their lives, this wasn’t the first missing group that had been reported. Over the past month dozens of mortals from towns, villages, and even well-guarded strongholds had done the same. The assumption had been that they were being abducted, until they’d discovered each time that the undead were responsible.

  “Kinley told me that last year she and the laird had been trying to pinpoint the location of the undead lair by triangulating the reported attacks,” Diana said to Raen. “Have you ever thought about doing the same thing with these mass disappearances?”

  “The undead are never seen near them,” he pointed out.

  “But we know they’re making zombies out of some of the people who go missing,” she muttered to her lover as they went over a wide bridge. “I hate rescuing them when they’re zombies. They never say thank you. They’re too busy trying to stab us with farm implements.”

  “When we kill the undead who enthralled them, their control over them ends,” he reminded her.

  “Unless they turn themselves into human body shields,” Diana said and shuddered, remembering one sweet-faced girl who during a battle had impaled herself on a clansman’s sword in an attempt to keep him from killing her fanged master. “We need to stop it from happening.”

  He guided his mount closer to hers. “Once Cailean discovers exactly the manner they use to enthrall the mortals so completely, he will devise a potion that will break their dominion.”

  “The few we have brought back don’t remember anything.” Diana said and sighed. “Druid Boy needs help.”

  That was the other problem that nagged at her. Since the night she’d joined the clan the druids had been boycotting the McDonnels. None of the magic folk came to the island, spoke to the highlanders, or even sent messages by dove. She was also sure that the only reason Cailean still remained at Dun Aran was because Bhaltair had ordered him to keep her under surveillance.

  A clansman rode up between them, startling Diana.

  “Fair night to you, Sister,” Seoc said, for once sounding sober. “Might I guard your flank?” He drew his sword and made a flashy, three-sixty swing with it. “’Twould ease my conscience.”

  She exchanged a look with Raen before she smiled at the stable master. “We’ve got this, Seoc, but thanks.”

  “Have a care with her, Seneschal. She is yet easy to kill.” He wheeled around to return to his former position.

  “It was nice of the laird to send him on patrol with us,” Diana said. “He needs to feel like he’s included.”

  Raen watched him and then shook his head. “Something is amiss with Seoc. He hasnae touched a dram of whiskey since we gave him Evander’s things. I wonder if ’twas a mistake.”

  “It was,” Diana replied. “Kinley said he tried to throw it all in the loch.” Diana felt a little worried about the stable master, too. “She had to convince him to cart the stuff down to the village and let the locals have it.”

  Peering ahead to see the condition of the road, Diana reined in Treun and dismounted, prompting her lover to do the same. She dropped down to examine a deep, fresh gouge in the hard-packed surface of the road, but found only a horseshoe with two broken nails hanging askew.

  “Four-legged, not two,” she told Raen as she turned to toss the shoe off the road, and saw something else. “Wait, I’ve got some boot marks here leading into the field.”

  She had to wave away the mist as she peered at the multiple prints left in the soil. They overlapped, but she was able to distinguish individual marks left by the soles, and counted nine distinct sets.

  “This is them,” she said. “They got off the road here.”

  Raen looked up at the hills rising to the south of the warband. “Then they went to the high land, through the pass.”

  “The tracks don’t go in that direction,” she said, shaking her head.

  Diana stood and inspected the surrounding area. The only structure in sight was a ramshackle outbuilding at the opposite end of a pasture. It seemed on the verge of collapse, but she could see a small mountain of hay bales stacked behind it. The tracks also led straight in its direction.

  “I’ll bet they’re hiding out in that barn over there,” she said, “waiting for their new masters. Or they got here already and they’re feeding them. Either way, we need to get them out.”

  Diana couldn’t see any sign of a single, dull red trail that the Romans always left, but that only meant none of them had come through the area that night. She had learned by observation that sunlight erased the undead trails just as quickly as it killed the undead.

  “We cannae let the legion retreat to the hills,” Raen said as he eyed the barn. “They’ll ken the caves, and have traps set.”

  Neac came to join them. “The lads become impatient, Senesc
hal. Are we to ride on, or weave our hair and gossip?”

  Raen explained the situation, but nixed the chieftain’s suggestion of setting fire to the barn. “We dinnae ken if the undead are inside with the mortals.”

  “Our guys could stay out of sight but surround the barn,” Diana suggested. “Then I can lure out the legion with a little of my yummy mortal blood. You know how much they love me.”

  When Diana had gone on her first patrol two weeks ago the chieftain have scoffed over using her as undead bait. Now he simply nodded and said to Raen, “I’ll lead the men into the trees, and cut off their retreat. You watch over our lass.”

  Raen waited until the warband dismounted, secured their horses, and disappeared into the woods.

  “’Twould work just as well if you would smear your blood on me, and keep your distance.”

  “We’ve talked about this,” she said and drew the beautiful dagger Neac had made for her. “I’m the mortal, so I stay out of the fighting, but I can do more than just track them. Also, you guys all smell like immortal ass-kickers, which always makes them run away. I don’t.”

  Her lover gave her a narrow look. “You enjoy baiting them.”

  “So much, I can’t even tell you. Come on, Big Man.” She tugged the hood of her cloak over her hair. “Let’s go fish for vampires.”

  They used what cover there was to approach the barn, until they reached a hillock. Diana shed her cloak and tied it around her waist to cover her trousers. Raen crouched and scowled as she poised the point of her blade against her fingertip, and peered around the mound before he nodded to her. She pricked herself on the dagger, squeezing her fingertip until a large bead of blood formed, and then smeared it against her neck.

  Low growls came from inside the barn.

  “Someone’s playing my song,” Diana said. She leaned over to kiss his mouth before she stood and walked toward the noise. In a sing-song voice she said, “Nothing to worry about here. I’m just a gal taking a long walk on a dark night with no one to protect me. A weak, helpless, unarmed gal. Oh, and look, I scratched myself. How clumsy of me.”

  Wood splintered as the door to the barn went flying across the field, and a horde of pale, black-eyed Romans came rushing out. As soon as they saw her they spread out in a circular formation, flanking her and coming around behind her to close her in.

  “Hi there,” she said and glanced past them into the barn. Several mortals holding pitchforks and cudgels waited inside. “Victims with weapons. Again.” She regarded the Roman stalking toward her. “By the way, how are you brainwashing them like that? Is it like a terror thing, or something you do while you’re using them as a sippy cup?”

  As the undead attacker showed her his fangs, a huge war hammer came flying past her and struck him in the face. The impact sent him flying into the wall of the barn, where he burst into a shower of gray ash.

  Diana looked at the other undead around her. “Sorry. My boyfriend gets jealous when I talk to other guys.”

  Blood-curdling bellows erupted as the McDonnels charged out from the trees, which was her cue to retreat. As swords clashed she ran for the hillock, and almost reached it when two Romans came at her from either side. Raen appeared to shove her behind him, while Neac came from behind them and used his double-edged battle axe to decapitate one and then the other.

  “I really want one of those now,” she told the chieftain, who beamed before he charged into the fighting. “Hey, wait for–”

  “No’ you,” Raen said, hoisting her up under his arm. He carried her back behind the mound. “You stay here,” he said sternly.

  “Fine, I’m staying,” Diana said and watched him go. She perched on top of the hillock to keep an eye on the fighting. She’d overestimated the number of undead by twenty, which annoyed her until she saw the mortal zombies rush out the back of the barn and attack a huge pile of hay bales. “Wait a minute. Oh, damn it.”

  Raen had retrieved his war hammer, and he and the men were closing around the ten undead left standing in front of the barn. They couldn’t see the reinforcements being helped out of the pit the hay bales had covered. Fifty more undead emerged, and Diana’s blood ran cold when she saw the flare of flames. At that moment the undead fighting the clan turned and ran back into the barn.

  Diana jumped down and ran, getting in front of the clansmen just in time. “Trap,” she shouted, and met Raen’s furious gaze. “Fifty more with torches behind the barn.”

  “Stad,” he bellowed, and all of the highlanders except one stopped in their tracks.

  “Why do you dally, Brothers?” Seoc yelled. “A glorious death awaits us all.” He hefted his sword and charged toward the barn.

  Raen moved like lighting, plucking the sword from the stable master and used his bulk to knock him to the ground. “Neac, taobh.”

  The chieftain echoed the order for the flanking maneuver, and the clansmen divided themselves as they streamed around the outbuilding and collided with the waiting undead. Diana knew she was supposed to take cover, but Raen was still trying to get Seoc on his feet. Suddenly the stable master hooked his arm around the big man’s knees and jerked him off his feet.

  “You cannae choose for me,” Seoc screamed and gave Diana a wild look before he rushed at the barn.

  Raen shoved himself up just as three of the legion came out and attacked the unarmed stable master, stabbing him in the sides and the front.

  “Talorc, no!” Raen shouted.

  Seoc smiled a little as he fell to his knees, spread out his arms, and ducked his head. One of the Romans lifted his sword and drove it into the back of his neck, killing him instantly.

  Diana knew how strong her lover was, but she had never seen him go berserk. She did now.

  Shouting the stable master’s name, Raen ran at the trio of undead, reaching them and smashing them with his hammer before they could react. His brutal blows decapitated all three of the undead, who collapsed into piles of ash around Seoc’s lifeless body. More came out of the barn, and from behind it as they fled Neac and his men. Raen became like a killing machine, thrashing his huge hammer and obliterating every Roman who came near him. Finally the last one threw himself at the big man, who split him in two with one last, brutal stroke.

  Diana wanted to go to him, but something told her to hold back.

  Raen stood over the dead highlander and looked up at the sky, lifting his arms toward it as he roared with pain and fury. The clan surrounded him, and held up their swords as they echoed his savage cry.

  A few dazed mortals came staggering out of the barn, and Diana rushed over to lead them out of harm’s way. As she did she looked at her lover, and saw the ink blazing white-hot on his face, and the tears in his eyes. Her own eyes stung as well.

  It was good that Raen was immortal, because she would love him forever.

  As she turned away to wrap her cloak around a trembling mortal, the old woman begged her to tell her where she was.

  “You’re with the McDonnels,” Diana told her. “We saved your life. You’re safe now.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  TORMOD STOOD WAITING for the warband at the edge of the loch, and when Diana and Raen emerged he scowled at her. “’Tis near dawn, Red. What have you–” He fell silent as he stared at the tartan-wrapped body Raen carried. “Who?”

  “Seoc Talorc,” Raen said. The big man started to carry him into the stronghold, and then stopped as the Norseman took his burden. “Go gently with him,” he told Tormod.

  Then he turned on his heel and strode into the castle.

  “Leave him, lass,” Neac said as Diana started to follow. “He has to tell Lachlan about Talorc.” He rested his battle axe on his shoulder. “Come and drink with us.”

  Diana nodded, but once in the great hall she couldn’t get down more than a sip of the chieftain’s whiskey. The rest of the warband also seemed uninterested in celebrating. Slowly they slipped away until only Neac remained with her.

  “Ask what you will of me,” the chieftai
n said once he drained his first tankard. “’Twill pain Aber to speak of it.”

  She decided to go for the big one first. “If the McDonnels are immortal, why did Seoc die?”

  “We dinnae age, or grow sick, but we can be killed.” He tapped the back of his neck. “A blade here, or being burned to ash, or giving ourselves to the loch again.” He saw her expression. “If we dinnae change back, in time we lose ourselves in the water.”

  Her stomach surged, and she emptied her whiskey into his. “I think Seoc wanted the undead to kill him. I saw him bow his head, like he wanted to make it easier for them.”

  “What Talorc did was the only way a McDonnel can end his life with honor.” Neac looked down at his whiskey before he pushed it away. “It doesnae happen often, but in these last years some of the lads have given up hope. Seoc is not the first we’ve lost.”

  Diana recalled the contempt on Seoc’s face as he had spoken against her joining the clan.

  “Was it because of me?”

  “’Twas Evander’s betrayal,” Neac said flatly. “The lad took it to heart. We all did. But I thought surely in time he would…” He waved a meaty hand. “Ah, it doesnae matter now. We’ve lost a brother, lass, and we’ll grieve for him.” He patted her shoulder. “I’m to bed.”

  Diana carried their cups into the kitchen, and washed them in the dish basin before she hung them on the drying rack. She hadn’t known Seoc, and she had never done anything to drive him to commit suicide. So why did she feel as if someone had punched a hole through her chest?

  She took the stairs to the upper hall, but hesitated outside the rooms she now shared with Raen. Pressing her hand against the door, she closed her eyes for a moment as she composed herself, and then went inside.

  The big man stood looking down at the fireplace, and barely glanced at her as she came in.

  “I am sorry I left you as I did,” he said. “I had to speak with the laird.”