by Hazel Hunter
Yet they had done so at five other strongholds that had been equally well-defended. How were they getting inside? And how was he to keep Diana safe from them?
Raen nodded to the gate sentries as he returned inside, where the laird’s steward stood waiting with a long-handled brush, the Gordon tartan, and a pinched look on his face.
“My lord,” the steward said, and handed him a message scroll. “This came for you. You must dress for the evening meal.”
He glanced down at the fine clothes he had borrowed from Gordon. “I am dressed.”
The shorter man leaned close and said in a bare whisper. “Our laird doesnae wear the same clothes from dawn to dusk. Also, you must wear the tartan. Always. ’Tis a mark of your position.”
“’Tis no’ my position,” Raen told him, and sighed as the man scurried around him to ply his brush over his garments. “I will remain as I am.” He looked around for Diana. “Have you seen my lady?”
“I believe she is being dressed.”
With a self-satisfied smirk the man stalked off.
Raen shook his head and opened the scroll, which had been sent by Neac. The chieftain wrote that he and Kinley had not found Bhaltair at the druid settlement. Rather than travel back to Dun Aran, they would spend the night there and try to convince the other conclavists that Diana should stay with the clan.
Raen knew Diana thought she was helping the clan by acting as bait for the undead, but he hated it. Each time she did so, she risked her life. He knew how fragile mortals could be. All it would take was one undead to get to her, and then–
“Can anyone else be the bait?”
Raen looked up from the message to see Diana walking very slowly down the staircase. For a moment he forgot to breathe. She looked like something from a dream in the soft lavender gown she wore. The countess’s delicate silver and amethyst jewels glinted from her fingers, throat and ears, and thick braids of her golden red hair had been arranged like a crown on her head. He went to stuff the message in his pocket, and realized the earl’s trews and coat didn’t possess any.
“You look like a countess,” he told her. “Also, Kinley is staying at the druid settlement with Neac tonight, and there are no other women in the house but maids.”
She squinted at him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Because he was in love with her and the thought of losing her was slowly gutting him. Yet someday he would, and he could tell her none of that.
“I have never seen you in a dress.”
“Did you know that it’s made of wool, and weighs about twenty pounds? I’m also wearing more underwear than a Mormon. My shoes are so tight I can’t feel my toes. Plus there are pins in my hair—huge, sharp, scary pins—that feel like they’re about to perform ad hoc brain surgery on me.” She winced her way over to him. “Why am I not getting hazard pay for this?”
He bent down to kiss her lips. “We dinnae pay you.”
“If this keeps up, that’s going to change.” She hobbled over to the nearest chair, sat down and tugged off her too-small slippers. “Ah. So much better. I’m wearing my boots under the dress. No arguments. No one will see them, and I can’t fight if I’m crippled.”
One of the housemaids hurried over to bob before Raen and said to Diana, “Lieutenant, the evening meal awaits in the dining hall.” She immediately froze. “I mean, my lady.”
“Not a lady, sweetie.” Diana handed her the slippers. “Burn these. Please. The countess will thank me.”
Raen escorted her barefoot into the dining hall, where the enormous table had been set for two at one end. Another half of the table had been filled with roasted haunches, stuffed poultry, fragrant breads, artfully-arranged vegetables and fruits, soups and sauces.
Diana went up to one of the guards. “Did you guys invite an army to have dinner with us, and forget to mention it?”
The man’s lips twitched. “No, my lady. The laird had planned to dine with his stewards and overseers tonight. In the haste to remove him and his wife, we didnae send word to the kitchens.”
“No one told the cook. Gotcha.” Diana glanced around the room, and said to Raen, “We’re not wasting all this food. Let’s send for some more dishes, and the guards can eat with us.”
Raen considered explaining mortal clan protocol to her, but Diana had little respect for rank or privilege. Being starved in childhood had also made her particularly sensitive to the waste of food.
“You heard the lieutenant, lads. Take a seat.”
While the Gordon clansman at first remained stiff and silent at the table, Diana started talking about riding Treun, and how the gelding wouldn’t spook, even when she had slid off the horse’s hindquarters to land between his back hooves.
“All I got was a tail in my face,” she said as she passed a bowl of cream to the guard beside her. “Which of course I grabbed, and yanked, and Treun just made this disgusted sound.” She imitated the horse by blowing air through her lips.
The guards looked startled, and then began to grin and chuckle. Soon they traded stories about their own mounts, which sparked a discussion on the merits of highland-bred horses versus the muscular destriers favored by the Spanish and French.
By the time the meal ended Raen felt melancholy as well as miserable. Seoc would have loved to be a part of this night. Why had he agreed to this ruse? He had survived losing Bradana, but if anything happened to Diana, he wouldn’t want to.
The door opened as an older woman in an apron and cap came in carrying a huge silver platter of pastries decorated with berries and flowers. “I have your favorite sweet tonight, my la–” She stopped and stared at Diana before looking around the table. “Who are you? Where is our laird and lady? Why do the men sit with you?”
“Because standing would make it harder for them to eat,” Diana said.
“The laird’s steward will explain everything to you, Mistress,” Raen said as he stood and took the platter. She looked up at him, squealed and fled. “The meal was much enjoyed,” he called after her as she ran out of the room.
“We need to get some of her recipes for Meg,” Diana said as she picked up a large round pastry covered with tiny rosebuds. “I love cake.” She bit into it with a sigh.
“Best take yours now, lads,” Raen told the guards.
After they finished the sweets Diana said good-night to the guards, and accompanied Raen up to the laird’s bedchamber. He stood by as a maid prepared her for bed, and then dismissed the servant.
“I think it’s going to be tonight,” Diana said as she placed the countess’s jewelry in an ornate chest. “Remember, don’t kill the undead. They have to escape so I can track them to where they’ve been hiding out during the day. It could also be where they’re holding the other hostages.” She glanced at him. “Stop looking at me like that. It’s the plan. I’ll be fine.”
“And what if you’re no’?” he demanded. “What am I to do if you’re hurt, or taken, or bitten by those bastarts?”
“Hey,” she said and hurried over to him. “I’ve got you with me. You’re my bodyguard. You make me safer than anyone in Scotland.”
Raen drew her into his arms. “You’d be safer back at Dun Aran.” He covered her mouth with his, kissing her until they both trembled, and then tucked his short dagger in her hand. “Go to bed, then, Wife.”
With a grumpy sound Diana stomped over to the bed. “I should strip and touch myself in front of you.” She perked up. “You know, we could both do that until the undead show up.”
Raen pointed to the bed.
“Spoilsport,” she said but flopped down and heaved a sigh.
Raen spent the rest of the night standing opposite the laird’s bed while watching Diana pretend to sleep. An hour before dawn she finally dozed off, but he didn’t try to wake her. The undead would have to be mad to strike so close to sunrise. Once the sky outside the windows brightened with sunlight he gave into his own weariness, and tucked his hammer beside the bed before he joined her.
Diana murmured something as she turned and snuggled against him, and he closed his eyes.
He liked sharing a bed with his cop. When he had been married, he and Bradana had only had the meadow or the orchards. They had never once shared a bed or a home, but he had promised her that they would someday. After her death the guilt he’d felt had made him avoid women altogether for years, until Neac had talked him into paying a visit to a brothel on the mainland he favored.
Raen hadn’t liked bedding the young mortal wench Neac had chosen for him, but she looked nothing like Bradana. Feeling no desire for her, he had been unable to finish for a long time, which had pleased her a great deal. As soon as she fell asleep he had dressed and left the brothel, hurrying out to the trees to empty his belly on the ground.
Most of the clan paid for their pleasures. The women always welcomed them for their prowess and their generous purses, and it prevented attachments from forming. Raen continued going to the brothel occasionally to relieve his needs, but he always returned to Dun Aran feeling empty and even more alone. Then Diana had come, with her easy grin, and her sharp mind, and her endless courage. He no longer wondered why his spirit had chosen to mark her as his. She had made him and his battered heart hers.
Raen felt himself streaming through currents, and opened his eyes to see shafts of sunlight illuminating the dark water. Water lily vines cascaded around him as he swam for shore. Then he saw a flutter of pale lavender fabric, and looked down to see Bradana’s swollen, lifeless face staring up at him from a tangle at the bottom of the pond. Even as he swam down to her he knew it couldn’t be his sweet wife. He’d buried her in their meadow fifty years back.
Her eyes lightened to match her dress, and suddenly she was Diana, fighting off the undead who came from all directions, tearing at her dress and dragging her down to drown her.
“No,” he muttered.
Raen opened his eyes to darkness and reached for his hammer. He looked over at Diana who lay struggling under Gordon’s steward. The man had black eyes now, and fangs sprouting from his mouth. Without hesitation Raen swung his hammer at the steward’s head, splitting it in two. The undead shrieked as his face changed. For a brief moment, he shifted back into his own form and then disintegrated all over Diana.
She rolled off the bed and headed to the closed drapes, but was struck by a cudgel-wielding maid and fell to the floor. One of the laird’s guards grabbed her and dragged her to her feet, bearing his fangs as he wrenched back her head.
Raen hurled himself at the undead, knocking him away from Diana and into a cabinet. Wood splintered around them as they grappled, and the maid screamed as she tried to get between them. He shoved the wench away and moved back, raising his hammer as the guard shifted form. Two more guards rushed at them, and Raen dimly heard Diana shout his name, but he could not stop himself.
A moment later ash filled the air and the maid fell to her knees and began to weep.
Raen turned to see Diana staggering to her feet, and dropped his hammer as he went to seize her by the arms.
“Were you bitten? Did they touch you?”
“No, and they didn’t brainwash me, either.” She tugged herself out of his grasp and opened the curtains, and then looked at the maid, who was sobbing into her hands. “At least she’s still human. Why didn’t you let them go?”
He peered at her. “What?”
“We were going to let them escape, remember? So I could track them?” When he didn’t reply Diana dragged her hand through her hair and looked around at the dust-covered floor. “Well, at least we know how they’re getting inside. They’re killing the guards and taking on their shape.” She gave him a wan smile. “Thanks for the save.”
“Dinnae thank me.” The words left his mouth with harsh coldness to them, but it couldn’t be helped. “You were not safe with me next to you. If I hadnae woken they would have taken you from the bed. You would be enthralled by now.”
“We didn’t know they would attack during the day,” she countered. “They must be getting in the houses at night and waiting until daylight when everyone’s guard is down. We can use that information for the next time.”
She was already thinking about risking her life again. She would keep putting herself in danger, and no matter how careful he was, he couldn’t protect her. She would end up dead.
“There will no’ be a next time,” he grated. “You are a mortal, Diana, and you are no’ safe here. I cannae keep you safe.”
“Look, you’re just shaken up. It’s okay, and so am I.” She held out her hand. “Come here.”
“No, Lieutenant.” Raen stepped back out of her reach. “Bhaltair is right. You dinnae belong here. You have to go back to your time.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“WELL, TREUN, WE’VE got a little problem,” Diana said as she reined in the gelding and scanned the horizon, which at the far north showed a glimmer of ocean. “I don’t know where the hell we are, but it looks like we’re running out of Scotland.”
Now that she had ridden for most of the day her temper had simmered down, which made it easier to think straight. She probably shouldn’t have told Raen to drop dead, especially since that was basically impossible. Nor should she have borrowed the laird’s clothes, walked out of the stronghold and taken off on her horse without saying good-bye to anyone. Raen had left her to stew, while he went to send a message to Lachlan about the failed abduction, and his recommendation that they boot her back to the twenty-first century.
Diana didn’t need Raen to hold her hand, or protect her, or give her permission to do her job. She sure as hell wasn’t waiting around for Bhaltair to show up and shove her back to the future through a sacred oak grove.
She’d originally planned to go to Lamont’s stronghold, where she’d check on the earl and his daughter, and maybe stay long enough to cool off and figure out what to do next. Then she’d picked up a mortal trail with an odd reddish tinge to it, which merged with another, and another, until she was following hundreds of converged trails. They wound around towns and villages, through pastures and hills, and even pooled around an abandoned ruin before following a very old road to the north. And while the road appeared neglected and nearly overgrown by weeds, Diana saw several new sets of wheel ruts following the undead trails.
Narrow ruts, which were the exact type left by the carriages used by nobles.
Now that she was about to run into the ocean Diana suspected the odd trails would diverge in a hundred different directions, but found instead that they took an abrupt turn and crossed the expansive fields surrounding a huge, ancient stronghold, where they ended.
Diana rode on to a nearby village, where she dismounted and led Treun to water him at a public trough. The locals eyed her with visible unease, but no one spoke to her or challenged her presence. Considering she was a woman dressed as a man and wearing a Gordon tartan, she thought that more than a little strange.
Working off a hunch, she walked over to a boy who was waving a twig around while pretending to ride a larger stick like a horse.
“Fair day to you, Master. Might a lad like you help a fellow warrior?”
The boy screwed up his face as he inspected her. “I’m no’ a warrior, and you’re a wench.”
Just her luck, she’d picked the brightest kid in the village. “True enough. Can you tell me who owns that big castle with the stone wall around it?”
“Ermindale belongs to the laird,” he said as he bounced around her on his stick. “Everything here does.”
“Has the laird had a lot of new visitors lately?” When the boy nodded, she smiled. “Did they come here in carriages?”
“I didnae see them, but I heard them. They come at night.” The boy poked her arm with his twig. “Do you think they killed the magic folk?”
Diana kept her expression bland and shrugged. “Do you think they did?”
“I dinnae ken. My da says they did. He’s afeared of them.” The boy gave her a solemn look. “They took m
y mam to the castle to work one night. ’Tis been a moon and she’s no’ come back.”
“Rabbie, there ye are,” an old woman said as she came up and herded the boy away, keeping her eyes averted from Diana. “Come inside now, lad. I’ve made your supper.”
As Diana walked back to Treun she noticed that all of the villagers who had been working outside were now retreating into their cottages and barns. She heard bars dropping into place as they barricaded their doors, as if they thought she might try to come after them.
A good cop didn’t jump to conclusions, but this one was practically jumping up and down on her head.
She rode around Ermindale to look for a vantage point close to the stronghold, and found one on a hill above the castle’s sadly neglected gardens. She hobbled Treun in a pasture of thick, lush grass by a stream, and then climbed the hill and found a niche where she could watch the house without being observed. Nothing she saw at first seemed out of the ordinary. Servants came and went as they worked, guards patrolled, and sentries kept to their posts. To alleviate her boredom she counted the number of patrols, and noted how often the sentries were relieved. Things got even busier as the sun set. All around the outer walls torches were lit by the sentries before they retreated into the castle.
Diana watched an elderly man wearing all black stride out into the gardens, and held her breath when she saw he was accompanied by a tall, gray-haired man wearing a red tartan. They were followed by a group of well-dressed men and women who seemed to hang on their every word, which she was too far away to hear.
