Taran: A Time Travel Romance (Dunskey Castle Book 8)

by Jane Stain

  Doubt crept into her mind. How would she know when Donald was asleep? She didn't know whether the man snored or not. She would just have to take a chance and assume he slept. She'd better wait a little longer.

  It wouldn't be a bad idea to put her feet up for a while and rest. Briefly, she considered undoing the knots that tied the covers together so she could make the bed. Nah. She would just lie down on the bare feather mattress and relax for a bit.

  Finally, she saw no reason to put it off any longer and resolved to get up and go in the next room, find the secret door going to the tunnels, and see if Taran was waiting for her at the nursery door.

  She crept over to her door, listened at it, heard nothing, and carefully cracked it open. Peeking out into the hallway, she saw that Donald had indeed left men at the other end, near the rest of the castle. Accustomed to modern movies, she expected to see them smoking, but of course they were only standing around, three of them, talking in low tones. They had torches burning down there, but the area in front of her door was mercifully dark. And one advantage of cold stone floors was they didn't creak.

  But Donald's chamber door was another story. It creaked when she pushed it open, sending her heart racing.

  She ducked back out into the hallway, looking for a shadow she could hide in. All she could do was flatten her back against the wall behind the door and hope Donald’s guards didn't come down the hall to investigate. Her breathing came shallow and fast as she waited to hear the footsteps running down the hall — or worse yet, to hear Donald getting up from his bed to come greet her. She waited what seemed like an eternity, but gradually, she relaxed. No one was coming.

  Wiping the sweat from her brow with one of her billowing leine sleeves, she went down into a crouch so that anyone looking for her head wouldn't see anything, and she crept into Donald’s chamber. And despaired.

  Someone had re-arranged the room. The bed was now in the alcove, which made sense. It looked better there. But that meant the heavy wardrobe chest now blocked the door to the secret passageway.

  She kept looking at the door, thinking perhaps there was a way she could move the wardrobe.

  Donald snorted and rolled over.

  Her panicked mind screamed at her, ‘Get out of his room, Lauren!’

  Anguished, she made herself retrace her steps.

  Chapter Twelve

  Taran ran the whole way out the tunnel. By the time he was under the stars, he was furiously using the backs of his hands to wipe tears from his eyes for the first time since he'd been considered old enough to wield weapons. His parents had been devoted to each other until the very end, when they had succumbed to the fever which took their lives. They had looked at each other in love every day and done each other small favors: rubbing a shoulder, keeping a seat warm.

  Taran wanted more than anything to share that same sort of life with Lauren, in his gammer’s cottage. Lauren’s thoughts had told him she was anticipating that sort of future together as well, not half a day ago. That vision of their future life together had been so beautiful, and so real.

  And then he was there in that future, holding her in the soft bed. Feeling her caress him. Knowing she loved him every bit as much as he loved her. It felt every bit as real in his memory is it had when they thought it all up together. Her kisses felt real and her caresses. Here in his memory, their love was real. He didn’t doubt it for a moment.

  He hadn’t realized until now that he’d been thinking of their marriage as already accomplished. As a future they had together for certain, not just something they imagined together in those few moments when her hands had held his face.

  And why had all that gone out the window? Because the enemy had taken Laird Ualraig’s castle. It wasn't even Donald’s castle! The cursed man had just taken it.

  Taran was now running back to the militia’s camp, but he slowed down, because there were tears streaming down his face and sobs wracking his chest.

  The fires of Hell would turn to ice before he let anyone see him thus, so he headed down the ravine instead of back to camp. He didn't have time for this senseless mourning over a woman who didn't deserve it. He needed to get her out of his mind and his heart and get back to his duty. The town needed every warrior out there on the field, defending it. His brother needed his help getting the men ready for battle, especially since Luag had disappeared.

  Lauren had wasted his entire evening, an evening he should have been with the militia, doing his duty. For that, she deserved his anger, not his mourning. That's right, he was angry. Good. Anger was familiar. Much safer than tears. Anger, he could deal with.

  Jared was the guard on duty where Taran entered camp, and when he saw Taran's face he fell in step beside him, putting an arm over his shoulders. "Has the fighting started already? Who died?"

  Taran shrugged it off. "Nay, ‘tis only me being weak, and now I put an end tae that. Take me tae my brother. Let us get ourselves ready for battle."

  From the look on his face, Jared knew he wasn’t getting the whole story, but he was a good man. He didn’t pry, and soon they reached the rest of the militia.

  Jessica was indeed there with Leif. The two of them stood arm-in-arm addressing the men together, enjoying the sort of love that he and Lauren… No.

  False memories kept coming to his mind unbidden. The feel of Lauren’s sweet kiss on his lips, his cheek, his shoulder, his neck. The euphoric feeling of having her in his arms and his bed. Her eyes gazing at him in love and respect and admiration.

  Taran Had to fight each memory tooth and nail to get it to leave his mind. He would no longer allow himself to think about the lass who had foolishly scorned him. It was her loss, not his.

  But he did need to tell his brother Lauren had taken up residence with the enemy. He rushed over, meeting Leif’s eyes when he was halfway there.

  His brother’s face fell when he looked around Taran and didn’t find what he was looking for — Lauren. He started to say something with that fallen face.

  But Taran gave his brother a hard look.

  Leif stopped, composed himself, and said something else. "We will get her tomorrow, just as I promised."

  But Jessica was new to ladyhood. She didn’t have the self-control Leif had, not yet. Perhaps not ever. She was the type of lass who felt things deeply, who had a big heart. When Jessica saw Taran returning without her longtime friend, she sank down to the ground on her knees and wailed as if her friend had died.

  Taran’s heart went out to Jessica, but she was in good hands.

  Leif signaled for the men to disperse to their campsites. Once he was sure they were no longer watching the spectacle, he crouched down and held his wife close, then raised her up to stand with him again, patting her back and stroking her hair, soothing her just as Father would have soothed Mother.

  Taran couldn't watch. He turned his head away. "’Tis even worse than me failing tae get her. She has decided tae stay with the Laird o’ the Isles. She's helping them, thinking even now o’ improvements Donald can make tae Ualraig’s castle."

  Just as he had on the way here, Taran was making himself feel anger instead of sadness. It made him feel far more manly. Clenching his fists, he reveled in the sound of anger in his voice, how strong it was.

  But when Jessica heard the anger in his voice, she broke away from Leif and put on her own sort of anger, storming at Taran with her teeth bared and her hands clawed at her sides. "My friend Lauren would never go over tae the enemy! Never, dae ye hear me? Ye hae failed her! She was counting on ye tae rescue her, and ye hae failed her! How could ye give up sae easily, let alone accuse her o’ some aught she would never dae!"

  Leif ran in front of his wife and grabbed her, holding her back to keep her from advancing on Taran. He sided with his wife in this, and Taran wasn't surprised. But Leif spoke in sadness rather than anger. "Taran, she has the right o’ it." He hugged Jessica close to him, and she broke down into sobs again. He turned and called out to the men in their campsites, "Negoti
ation is na working. We battle tomorrow. All that remains tae do now is get what sleep ye can. Awake at first light, take up weapons, and be ready. After we trounce the invaders, then we take back Ualraig’s castle!"

  The men cheered at this, and everyone but Taran went to bed in high spirits.

  Taran hardly slept a wink that night. He tossed and he turned, telling himself he was angry at Lauren but knowing deep down that she had broken his heart. He had to think of defending Amena before he found the strength inside to go on with the battle.

  "What dae ye mean we go up the hill?" Taran asked Leif the next morning as they walked in the direction of the hill between the battlefield and Inverurie. "The earl telt us tae take the field back here."

  The rest of the militia was with them, along with Ualraig’s few surviving men, who had joined their camp in the middle of the night. Leif looked at the men behind them and smiled conspiratorially, first at them and then at Taran. "Nay, the earl did say tae fortify this area for the retreat back tae Inverurie, and that is what we are doing."

  It was true. They were fortifying the area. "Then why am I almost certain he telt us tae stand in this area o’ the field?" Taran asked Leif, but the conspiratorial smile was beginning to spread on his own face as well, and he welcomed the feeling of outsmarting their orders. Anything pleasant to think about was a good distraction from… Never mind what from.

  "It may be ye hae the right o’ it," Leif acknowledged with a slight bow of the head while his conspiratorial smile grew. "Alasdair may hae telt us tae stand here in the field. But the spirit o' what he telt us, I hae na changed. And ye ken as wull as I that we can guard the retreat better on the hill. Why we fight in the field is beyond me."

  Taran Looked appreciatively up the steep hill. It had plenty of rocks to hide behind, enough for all the men to be well hidden. He shared a smile with the militiamen before turning back to his brother with a wry grin. "I always thought we fought on fields so that the lairds could show off their knights. Why train such bonnie knights if ye canna use them, aye?"

  Leif laughed, as did the rest of the men. "Aye, ye make a verra good point."

  But that was the end of fun and games. They took up defensive positions on the mountain, the battle started, and they used up most of their arrows taking out who of the Isles forces they could before the Viking Gaels and the Picts Gaels started slaughtering each other on that field.

  It was a gruesome battle with more casualties than Taran had ever heard of in any other. Alasdair had fifteen hundred knights in chainmail, but Donald had thousands and thousands of men. They kept coming, wave after wave, seeming endless.

  "Looks like ‘tis time for the knights tae go doon and slaughter them on their side o’ the field," Taran told Leif with a disgusted shake of his head.

  "Aye, Leif agreed. "And the sooner they dae, the sooner everyone can save the wounded. This is a disgusting battle, and I feel nay honor at having been involved in it."

  "The honor is all ours,” Jared piped up from behind them. "We but defend our own lands."

  Leif nodded to Jared with a sad shake of his head. "Aye. Aye, ‘tis true."

  The knights went down, but wave upon wave of fresh pikers drove them back and back and back again, until at sundown the militia retreated to their edge of the battlefield and lay down to an uneasy sleep in shifts, certain the fighting would resume at first light.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lauren knew she was dreaming something completely fabricated from her wishful mind, compiled from bits and pieces of this past year’s memories, but she enjoyed the time with Taran nonetheless. In her dream, she and Taran were in their cottage, and they were married. They sat arm-in-arm by the fire in the evening, smiling up into each other's eyes as they shared kisses and caresses. It was perfect, like she'd always wanted without even realizing.

  “Sae Senga has been here ever syne ye can remember?”

  “Aye, as if she were my second mother.”

  “I wager she could tell some funny stories if I asked her.”

  He laughed. “O’ that I hae nay doubt. But ye could save her the time and ask me instead. She is fearsome busy cooking for nine people now instead o’ only four, ye ken.”

  Lauren chuckled. “That frightened ye are, o’ what she might say, eh?”

  He put a guilty look on his face. “Ye hae nay idea.”

  They shared a laugh.

  “Verra wull then. What is the funniest story ye can think o’ tae tell me, about when ye and Leif were children?”

  He caressed her shoulder while he leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling of the tiny cottage which, now that she looked at it, was interesting, with the shadows from the fireplace dancing on it.

  “Aye, well that would hae tae be the time we decided the great room o’ the manor house was the best place tae play at war. With mud balls.”

  She grabbed onto his shoulders and leaned forward, she was laughing so hard. “With mud balls?”

  At first his voice sounded wistful behind her, so that for a moment she was sorry she had brought up a memory that made him think of his dearly departed mother. But the more he spoke of this memory, the more amused he sounded, until by the end he was laughing right along with her.

  “It wasna only me and Leif. All o’ the children from toon were up here with us. Mother had gone doon tae fighter practice with Father that day, and as usual we all ran aroond loose. Ye hae seen how ‘tis.”

  “Aye, and more than one time I hae feared the children would get intae mischief.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Well after the mud fight incident in mother’s house, we were all chastened pretty well. But you have the right of it. It’s been long enough now that we really should have a word with the children. Or at least watch them better.”

  She gave him a playful shove. “No changing the subject! Tell me about this mud fight in the great hall of Cresh Manor. How old were you?”

  Taran shook his head and rolled his eyes at himself, still wearing that sheepish grin. “We were plenty old enough to know better. Leif was ten and I was eight.” He snickered. “Jared was fourteen! But it wasn’t his mother’s house.” He hung his head dramatically, tipping his head up sideways to make sure she was appreciating the show he was putting on.

  She held her hands up and shook her head at him with a big smile on her face, then rolled one of her hands with palm up to tell him “Get on with it!”

  It was getting fun though, because when he continued, the look on his face was amused instead of chagrined. “'Twas a roaring good time. Oor side turned the supper table and hid behind it. Their side built a wall o’ the large chairs near the fire and hid behind that. We launched the mud balls at each other. They went out the back door tae get more mud, and we went out the front. 'Twas raining, sae there was plenty o’ mud about, and can ye blame us for na wanting tae be outside in the rain?”

  Lauren hugged Taran and laughed so hard her nose ran. Wiping it with the back of her hand, she kept laughing, as did he. It felt so good to hold each other and laugh together. They kept at this for several minutes, gradually relaxing back into their chairs to gaze at the fire, every once in a while bursting into giggles anew.

  “Sae I’m guessing Senga found ye there with yer mess, and na yer mother.”

  Taran put his hand on his forehead and leaned down to show embarrassment, but he was still grinning. “Aye, that she did. And ‘tis the reason ye still see me before ye, a living soul and na a dead one. Senga put us all tae work cleaning up, and by the time Father and Mother came back from toon, the room was presentable, if na back tae the way it had been. Father left Mother and Senga there tae supervise us while he went doon and got the rest o’ the parents, and we all got a talking tae—”

  Lauren slapped his upper arm with the back of her hand. “Ye got more than a talking tae. Come now. If my bairns wrecked my living room, I would tan their hides.”

  Taran pulled his chin in abruptly, showing that he was taken aback. “Would ye no
w?”

  Laughing, she looked him in the eye teasingly. “Nay, I would get ye tae do it!”

  He nodded once solemnly, but the very corners of his mouth were turned up around his pursed lips. “Aye, and that is just what Mother did. Neither Leif nor I could sit down for days. What were ye like as a child?” He asked her as they both watched the flames climb over the logs. “Did ye use yer engineering talent tae build fortifications out in the field tae defend yerself from the other children ye played war with?”

  She squeezed his hand as a laugh escaped her nose, making her wince with embarrassment even as he squeezed her hand back, laughing with her. “Hardly!” she said as if it were preposterous. But it made her think, and when next she spoke her words were considered. “Though now ye say it, I realize even though men and lasses hae equal opportunities in my time, lasses and boys play separately more, compared tae how they play today. Neither I nor any o’ my female contemporaries played war with the boys. We lasses played tamer games together, running games and hiding games and ball games. But if the boys did play war, the lasses would all sit and talk and watch them, mayhap, or mayhap we would play hopscotch or jump rope.”

  He squeezed all of her with all of him, making pleasure shoot through her whole body. “Well then, when did ye ken ye wanted tae study the way aught works?”

  She relaxed in his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder as his strength supported her easily, naturally accommodating her. “Oh, I always knew that. But I hae never been aggressive, not even in play. Studying the way things work is more female than male, in my way o’ thinking.”

  He chuckled. “Och lass, how dae ye reckon that?”

  “Creating new things is like childbearing. Destroying things is like battle,” she said playfully, knowing she was egging him on.