Awaken the Highland Warrior

by Anita Clenney

  Sean stopped, bushy eyebrows lifted. “Blessed be. Now that we have you and your talisman, we’ll send him to hell.”

  “Are there many warriors now?” Faelan asked the old man.

  “Aye, as many as you need. There’s Duncan here, Tomas, Brodie, and a whole parcel of others. Some are here, some out hunting, and others are on the way. We weren’t sure… well, about the lass’s reason for coming. Wait until you see how things have changed, lad. Tomas, Brodie,” Sean said to the two tall, lean warriors lurking in the background, “one of you find Coira for me. Hurry now, you can talk to him after we let everyone know.” Sean rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got celebrating to do.” He scuttled forward, and Faelan followed his great-great-nephew into the home where Faelan had been born and played as a child.

  The portrait on the wall stopped him as if his boots were mired in stable muck. He reached out and touched the painting, afraid it would disintegrate. His mother and father, Tavis, Ian, Alana, all staring back at him from a lifetime ago. Two years, in his time.

  The day was still etched in his memory, his mother nearly in tears because his father complained his shirt was choking him, and Faelan and his brothers wouldn’t stop squirming. They were already late for the games. Ian was sweet on a lass there, and Tavis was nursing a grudge against the warrior he’d let beat him in the caber toss the year before. The warriors were too strong to truly compete with local clans, but if they hadn’t participated, it would have drawn too much attention, so they tempered their strength. Although, Tavis had to be reminded from time to time.

  Bree touched Faelan’s hand. “He looks like you,” she said, pointing at Tavis. “And that must be Alana. She does resemble the painting we saw. Is that you?” She pointed at a small laddie with mussed dark hair and an inquisitive face.

  Faelan’s jaw tightened. “No, Liam.”

  “Liam? He’s adorable—oh, look at this one. It has the four-leaf clover,” Bree said, distracted by another of Alana’s paintings, and Faelan was relieved he didn’t have to explain.

  There were several paintings of his brothers, his parents, Nandor, many of them done by Alana.

  “Why did she use a four-leaf clover?”

  “One leaf for each of us. She said, as far as brothers went, she could’ve done worse.”

  “You had a beautiful family.”

  Had.

  “You’re welcome to anything you see,” Sean said. He and Duncan had stopped as well. “The whole place is rightfully yours.”

  Faelan would take the portrait. It was all he had left of his family. He looked at the old man waiting anxiously, eyes shining, and Duncan still looking suspicious, exactly how Tavis would, if he were alive. No, it wasn’t all. The portrait was paper and paint. Sean and Duncan and the others he hadn’t met, they were what remained of his family. Spirit, flesh, and blood.

  Within the hour, there was a celebration fit for a king. Faelan met more relatives than he could remember names, and they were all talking at once, asking questions about how Bree found him and what would happen now. Children rushed to and fro, laughing, hiding under tables as young lassies giggled and the older ones sighed. Food appeared from nowhere, modern and traditional. He hoped the haggis and blood pudding hadn’t been prepared in his honor, since he’d never had a taste for either. He had gotten a good laugh when Brodie sneaked some onto Bree’s plate, and she’d turned white as sheep’s wool.

  “Well, now, it appears I’m too late,” a sultry voice drawled. “The legend has already arrived.”

  Faelan turned and saw a woman standing near the door. She was a bonny thing, if you liked redheads. Dressed all in black. Black shirt, black skirt—short skirt. Faelan could see the hilt of a sgian dubh at the top of a black boot that reached her knees. She stared at him until heat rose up his neck. Unable to help himself, and irritated because of it, he glanced at Bree to see if she’d noticed.

  She had.

  “Come in, lass. Don’t linger in the doorway.” Sean motioned for her to come forward. “Faelan, Bree, this is Sorcha, a cousin.” He leaned close to Faelan and whispered, “Gird your loins, lad.”

  Sorcha gave him a long, slow look from top to bottom, and Faelan felt like he was being fondled from afar. She slinked across the room and stood motionless, staring at him, one eyebrow arched. “The Mighty Faelan, so I didn’t have to come get you after all?” She turned her head and gave an assessing, then dismissive, glance at Bree, who took a long sip of wine before setting it aside. A hand appeared from behind a bookcase, refilling her glass.

  “What do you mean?” Faelan asked. When had women become so bold?

  “I was coming to wake you,” Sorcha replied.

  “You?” Duncan blurted out.

  Sean stroked his chin. “The Council decided Sorcha should join Angus.”

  “Why wasn’t I told?” Duncan asked, frowning.

  “You were busy with that demon in Belfast,” Sean said.

  “You would’ve gotten in the way, cousin.” Sorcha waved her hand as if Duncan was of no consequence.

  “Why her?” he demanded.

  “She’s dreamed of the key.”

  “We’ve all dreamed of the key.” Duncan gave Sorcha a black glare, but she turned her back on Duncan, focusing on Faelan, who wished she’d look elsewhere. She was making him jittery.

  “You should’ve told me it was her,” Duncan said, under his breath.

  “Who’s Angus?” Faelan asked.

  “The last one sent to look for the key.”

  “A Seeker?” Bree asked, her words friendlier than her expression.

  “No, a warrior,” Sean said.

  “How could you wake me without the key?” Faelan asked Sorcha.

  “I was going to find it, assuming Angus hadn’t already done so,” she said, a shadow crossing her face. “Like Sean said, I’ve dreamt of it.”

  Another woman coming to rescue him.

  “And I’ve dreamt of you.”

  Sorcha smiled, and again he felt like he should apologize to Bree. This wouldn’t do. He’d done nothing wrong. He had no ties on Bree and she had none on him, regardless what his body screamed. Just lust, he thought, then wondered why he didn’t feel the same pull for this attractive woman standing too close to him, looking like she wanted to make him her next meal.

  “What kind of dreams?” he asked, immediately regretting his question.

  Sorcha’s eyes flashed and her lips tilted.

  “Stop with your silly grins and tell him what he wants to know,” Duncan said.

  He was a good foot taller, but Sorcha managed to look down her nose at him. “I’ve had them for weeks now,” she told Faelan. “Dreams of destruction and mayhem. And a key. The key.” She frowned. “There’s danger in that key yet. Keep it safe.” She started to tremble, then gave him a coy smile, and he decided she must have been wiggling her body at him. “Then, there were the handsome men.”

  Duncan ground his teeth together.

  What kind of woman behaved so brazen in a crowd?

  “Russell is handsome,” Bree said, giving her wine glass a puzzled look before she took another sip.

  Faelan’s hands clenched. Russell was a demon, for God’s sake. She ought to stop talking about him like he was a man.

  “Good grief.” Bree giggled, looking from Faelan to Duncan, who stood next to him, still glowering at the audacious redhead. “Look at those frowns. You two could be brothers.” She set her glass down, and Faelan saw Brodie slip around and refill it, wearing a sly grin. Faelan would’ve been worried the warrior was trying to get her drunk and take advantage of her, but he’d seen Brodie doing it to several others as well, female and male. A prankster. Probably descended from Ian.

  “There, even the lass sees the resemblance,” Sean told his son.

  Like Isabel and Bree, Faelan thought, who looked the same but were a century apart.

  “Who’s Russell?” Sorcha asked.

  “That’s the human name we think Druan is using n
ow,” Faelan said. “We’re not sure if he knows I’ve been freed, so we might have the element of surprise. But there’s not much time. He’s trying to find the key. I don’t know why the disease hasn’t been released.”

  “I may know something about that,” Sean said, and the room fell quiet.

  Faelan looked around the room. “Is it safe to speak of such things?”

  “We’re all family. Bound by blood and oath, and Bree brought you to us, so I think that makes it acceptable for her to be here.”

  Family. Not Tavis, Ian, Alana, or his parents, but born of them, carrying their blood. He wasn’t completely lost.

  “We all knew the legend,” Sean said, “but most believed it a myth, like dragons and such, but I heard stories from my father and my grandfather when I was a wee lad, when they thought I was fast asleep. Your brothers, they went to help you.” He paused, and not a sound could be heard in the room. “And they found you.”

  Faelan’s breath felt like a gust of wind trying to squeeze through a hole too small. “My brothers found the time vault? They came?”

  “Aye. A storm had delayed them. The Seeker who traveled with them found the time vault, but it was buried in a field. They didn’t know if you were alive or dead. They had to hide you, but the time vault couldn’t be moved far. My grandfather spoke of a graveyard nearby and how Tavis secured an empty crypt from a man named Belville.”

  “Belville? That was my great-great-grandfather’s last name,” Bree said, her face flushed from her wine.

  “Frederick Belville?”

  “Yes.”

  “Blimey. Then you must be Emily’s granddaughter.”

  “You knew my grandmother?”

  “Met her once. Last year Coira and I went to look for the key. The time vault was ready to be opened, and the Council was anxious. We suspected Druan had something planned, but without the key there was no way to bring Faelan and his talisman back. Your grandmother invited us to stay, but Coira got ill, and we had to leave. To think we were so close to the key.” Earlier, Bree had told them about finding it on the mantel. “No use fretting about it now. Things usually work out as they’re meant to. How is your grandmother?”

  “She died a few months ago. Cancer.”

  “I’m sorry lass. I am. She was a kind soul.”

  “Did she know why you were there?” Bree asked.

  “No. We couldn’t share that.”

  “If my brothers put me in the crypt, then they didn’t battle Druan.”

  “No.” Sean paused. “They didn’t battle Druan. But they couldn’t find the key. Tavis captured one of the demon’s minions, and he told them who’d held the key that night. They found the halfling, but he said he lost it when he left the place. He was hoping Druan would forget about it over the years. He offered to show them the trail if they wouldn’t tell Druan he lost it. They agreed, but the key couldn’t be found. It had vanished. Even the Seeker couldn’t find it. Your brothers didn’t know about the virus—that’s what Druan had created—until they ran into one of the other warriors who’d gotten your message. Your brothers used their wits. They couldn’t destroy Druan or his virus, since your talisman was locked in the time vault, but they did the next best thing. They decided to kill the demon’s sorcerer, hoping the virus would be ruined. They claimed a stranger came forward and told them where to find the sorcerer. They killed him right under the demon’s nose.”

  “Brilliant,” Bree said, looking a bit glassy-eyed though her wine glass was still full. “Who was the stranger?”

  “They never knew. He disappeared. According to my grandfather, Tavis and Ian figured it’d take Druan another century or two to make another virus, and by then you’d be awake. Your brothers made a map of where you lay, so when the time came, you’d be found.” Sean walked to the cabinet where Faelan’s father had kept his important papers. He took out a key and opened a small drawer, pulled out a thin box, and set it on a table. Opening it, he lifted out a piece of paper and placed it in Faelan’s hand.

  Faelan could feel the heat of bodies crowding close. The paper was old, thick, with shapes like rectangles and squares. The graveyard. His brothers had come. They hadn’t faced the demons of old. They’d tried to save him. The brothers he’d always protected had taken care of him and made sure he wouldn’t be lost forever.

  His brothers had saved the world when he failed.

  “Your brothers made the map,” Bree said, her voice awed. “It’s like the one I found. Except it’s dated last year.”

  “The clan sent many warriors and Seekers over the decades, but this past year the search has been a fair frenzy.”

  “McGowan,” Bree blurted out. “Was he a Seeker?”

  “How do you know about McGowan?” Sorcha and Sean asked in unison, staring at Bree as if she’d shifted into a demon.

  “I found a journal.”

  “McGowan left a journal?” Sorcha asked, shocked, her seductress side nowhere in sight.

  “No, my great-great-grandmother’s journal. She said McGowan visited. She thought he was searching for treasure.”

  “Indeed,” Sean said. “McGowan and others were sent.”

  “All those lost campers,” Bree said.

  “McGowan and another man were murdered,” Faelan said. “Druan must’ve killed them.”

  “He did,” Sorcha said. “Druan will not only face you, he’ll answer to me.”

  A woman against a demon? Faelan wisely kept his mouth shut. “You were related to McGowan?”

  Sorcha gave him a peculiar look, but he paid no attention. She’d given him a lot of peculiar looks since she’d arrived. “No, but the man with him was my great-great-grandfather. Quinn Douglass.”

  “Why did they send the Keeper of the Book to look for a key?” Faelan asked, surprised.

  “He didn’t go for the key. He went for the Book of Battles, at least we think that’s why he was there,” Sean said. Another look passed between him and Sorcha.

  “I, for one,” Sorcha said, staring at Faelan, “would give my sword arm to know why you stole it.”

  Chapter 23

  “You think I stole the Book of Battles?” Faelan asked, appalled.

  “Now Sorcha, stole is a harsh word.” Sean’s blunted fingers knotted in his lap. “The stories say it disappeared around the time you went to America.”

  “Why would I take it? Warriors weren’t even allowed to see the book then, much less touch it.”

  “They still aren’t, but the clan figured you had a reason,” Sean said. “It’s caused a bit of worry over the decades, not knowing if it was locked inside the time vault with you or if a demon had stolen it. Since it never turned up, they assumed it was with you. The Seeker couldn’t tell if it was there.”

  “I’d never even seen the book until now.”

  “Until now? So you do have it?” Sorcha asked.

  “Bree found it in her attic. It’s safely hidden, but I didn’t steal it.” He would’ve brought it, but he hadn’t been certain of his welcome, and it was too valuable to be dragged across the sky in a metal bird that could crash and burn.

  “It’s safe. Thank God.” Sean’s shoulders slumped. “That’s one less thing to fret about.”

  “But if Faelan didn’t take it, who did?” Duncan asked. “And how did it end up halfway around the world?”

  “Would Quinn have taken the book?” Sean asked of no one in particular. “The clan always assumed he went to find it.”

  Sorcha looked affronted. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he was charged with keeping it safe,” Faelan told them. “Michael warned me the book was in danger before I left for America. I told Quinn, and he said he’d move the book.”

  “But why take it to America?” Sorcha asked.

  “Faelan’s brothers were going there anyway, to meet him. Perhaps Quinn thought it was best away from Scotland,” Sean said.

  “Wouldn’t he have informed the Council?” Duncan asked.

  “Not if he
didn’t know where the threat came from,” Faelan said.

  “You think the danger came from inside the clan?” Sorcha asked.

  “I don’t know, but some of the pages are missing.”

  Sean gripped the arms of his chair. “Which ones?”

  Faelan hated to tell them, because they would know he’d looked inside. “Near the end. I didn’t read the book, just checked to see that it wasn’t damaged.”

  “Ah, those. Don’t fret. They’ve been missing for centuries, according to the Keepers. No one even remembers what they were. It’s our clan mystery.”

  “A clan mystery,” Bree said in awe.

  “At least you have the book,” Sean said. “Most of the knowledge has been passed down orally, but there’s no measuring the damage exposing those names could do.”

  “You’re the Keeper of the Book,” Bree blurted.

  “I am,” Sean said. “Not that there’s a book to keep, since it disappeared. The Keepers have tried to put together as much information as they could from other documents.” Each clan had its own book. Every half a millennium, a new one was given.

  “Since Michael warned Faelan the book was in danger, it would make sense that Druan was involved,” Tomas said.

  “That was my thought,” Faelan said. “Druan could have stolen it.”

  “Quinn was probably tracking it,” Sorcha said.

  “Who’s Michael?” Bree asked.

  “He’s a warrior,” Faelan said.

  Sorcha toyed with the hilt of her sgian dubh, and Faelan wondered why she carried it. “Before you put Druan in the time vault,” she said to Faelan, “I want a piece of him. He’ll pay for my great-great-grandfather’s life.”

  “That’s suicide. You may be a warrior,” Duncan said, “but Faelan is the only one who can touch Druan.”

  Faelan had grown adept at hiding emotions, but his mouth dropped. “You’re a warrior?”

  “Times have changed while you slumbered,” Sorcha said. “We have many female warriors and Watchers.”

  Faelan closed his mouth. Had the world gone mad? What next? Would they send children into battle?

  “But some don’t know when to back off,” Duncan muttered.