Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance)

by Geralyn Beauchamp

  She gave him a pleading look and shook her head in desperation as she tried to struggle closer, not wanting to leave him. She knew he could not yet move, and if he couldn’t move and the monster charged…

  “Be still, lass!” He commanded, and she froze, unable to resist the natural instinct to obey him. He crouched slightly, preparing himself though still unable to move his feet.

  The metal monster charged.

  “Run!” Dallan commanded as he shoved the lass toward the nearest bit of safety, a ragged building across the street. She ran toward it, faster than he thought anyone could run.

  But it wasn’t fast enough.

  The monster—carriage?—let out a horrible screech as it turned suddenly, skidding across the black street, screaming after the lass like a banshee, bearing down for the kill.

  “NO!” Dallan screamed, his feet frozen in place, helpless to do anything but watch as the monster carriage reached the building’s entrance first, blocking her path. Unable to stop in time, she slammed into its side as it screeched to a stop, bounced off the metal frame and landed hard on her back. The breath knocked from her lungs, she lay there motionless.

  “Get up, lass!” Dallan shouted. “Get up!” Relief flooded him when he saw her head move slightly and one hand rise up confusedly in the air. But his face fell as her hand dropped back to the ground, her body still now.

  The monster-carriage remained motionless.

  “Get up, M’eudain…” Dallan heard the desperation in his voice before he noted another sound, an odd grating noise.

  A strangely dressed woman was getting out of the carriage! She was tall, blonde and beautiful, her clothes obviously well made, but leaving more skin bared than covered; her tight fitting red skirt barely reached her knees. Right now her dress mattered not; what did matter was that his lass lay helpless against this new arrival.

  The woman bent over the limp form, studied her, then stood and looked at Dallan, a triumphant grin on her face as two men, also strangely dressed, emerged from the… carriage. She motioned to the lass with one hand.

  Dallan’s muscles tensed as he realized what was about to happen. They were going to take her. She would once again be gone from him. The emptiness struck him like a huge fist, knocking him to the ground in pain. “No… ye canna take her! I wilna let you! Stay away from her!”

  The woman’s grin widened and she laughed at him, an evil laugh. Its echo ricocheted off the surrounding buildings with eerie precision, and sliced through him to chill him to the bone.

  “No… ye canna take her!” he croaked, the pain from the growing emptiness now too powerful for him to fight, his strength once again yanked from his body.

  One of the men bent to the lass, picked her up and turned to Dallan, displaying her helpless form and laughing the same sadistic laugh as the woman. The sound burned its way into Dallan’s mind, lodging itself in his memory as if to be able to torment him later. To remind him that he had failed again to protect one he loved. Just like Alasdair…

  The once powerful Weapons Master, now overwhelmed by despair, watched helplessly as the man holding his lass carried her to the carriage and put her inside. “No, dinna take her from me.”

  The strange woman held her chin up in triumph and let her ice-blue eyes bore into him a moment before she turned and got into the carriage. Dallan’s face fell in utter defeat. “No… no… ”

  He raised his head slightly as he heard footsteps approaching. One of the men was making his way toward him, a pleased look on his face. He stopped directly in front of Dallan, just out of arms reach.

  “Well, well, well,” the man spoke bemusedly. Dallan’s eyes narrowed to slits at the sound of the clipped English accent. “So this is the all-powerful Weapons Master of Muirara I’ve heard so much about? Not so powerful now, are you?” He circled Dallan laughing lightheartedly.

  Dallan stared coldly at the stranger, memorizing his face, marking it for death. His blonde hair was collar-length, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. His build was similar to Dallan’s, though easily several inches shorter. He dressed a bit finer than the other man placing him in a higher class. In short well-dressed, well-groomed, probably well-educated and seemingly well-informed. “Give the lass back to me,” Dallan demanded as threateningly as he could, his strength nearly gone.

  The man chuckled. “Sorry, old boy, but that just isn’t possible.”

  The stranger’s manner, Dallan noted, was that of nobility. His calm controlled stance meant he was extremely dangerous, unpredictable. “Who are you?”

  The man raised a brow in amusement. “Ah, you can speak properly. I guessed as much. Julia thought you’d be more a savage.” He looked to the carriage as the woman motioned him to join her and the other man inside.

  “Well, I must be going. I do look forward to our next meeting. Pity it will be the last. I rather enjoy seeing you like this, on your knees before me.” The man chuckled low in his throat, his brown eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Bringing the Maiden to her knees will be a much more pleasurable experience, I’m sure. So if you will excuse me?” He gave Dallan a formal bow.

  Dallan’s jaw tightened, his twitch danced. “Dinna touch her!”

  The man erupted into laughter. “My dear fellow, touching her is all I plan on doing. The more the better as far as I’m concerned.” He grinned sadistically. “And I’m positive the Maiden is going to taste as good as she’s going to feel. But then, you never got the chance to find out did you? Too bad.” He licked his lips. “Perhaps after I’ve thoroughly devoured her, I’ll let you know how she was.” The mocking in his voice ripped at Dallan’s nerves.

  He watched the man’s expression change suddenly. His handsome features displayed themselves to Dallan, letting him see the charm the man used like a weapon, baiting and trapping his hapless victims. “You can’t do this.” Dallan growled through clenched teeth, his Scot’s burr barely noticeable in the threat.

  “Oh, but I can. In fact, it seems I already have.” The man spun on his heel and began to stroll back to the carriage.

  “No!” Dallan screamed. But the man kept walking and ignored him. Dallan watched utterly helpless as his new-found enemy got into the metal carriage, turned and grinned back at him. He then offered a mock salute in farewell as the carriage roared to life again and bolted off with a screech of its strange wheels.

  Away from the building.

  Away from Dallan.

  Away, with his helpless lass inside.

  Dallan instinctively struggled to his feet, surprised he actually could. Undaunted he quickly turned to his left, the direction the carriage had taken his lass, and toppled over due to the unexpected lack of resistance.

  He scrambled back up and broke into a run as the carriage rounded the first side street to his right. He spotted a narrow alley that cut through the buildings to the next block and leapt into it and ran like the very devil was after him. In this case, however, it was he who chased the devil.

  He ran as fast as he could, pushed beyond what strength was left him, his chest burning with the effort. He ignored the physical pain as he emerged from the alley into the street. Thank the Saints he'd managed to cut them off.

  Seeing him, the carriage screamed and skidded in an attempt to slow down before it smashed into one of the many tall metal poles spaced along the street. Dallan cringed at the sound of impact and ran toward it. His only thought to get his lass out and as far away from the man threatening her as possible.

  A faint sound caught Dallan’s attention as he ran, but he ignored it as he reached the carriage, his anger rising as he spied his lass trussed up in the back, still unconscious. The man who’d carried her looked at Dallan with a face full of shock. Dallan headed straight for him, at once noticing the door that obviously led to the man and his helpless lass.

  A laugh from somewhere among the buildings penetrated Dallan’s thoughts as he reached for what must be the door handle.

  The leader of the trio, mo
uth agape, cursed Dallan and quickly reached to the floor of the carriage for something. Dallan’s fist exploded through the carriage’s open front door window to land squarely in the leader’s face, stopping the man and felling him into the lap of the woman next to him. He again reached for the door to the rear seat and pulled it open, the man guarding the lass too slow and in too close quarters to fend off Dallan’s first blow. The result a sickening crunch as his fist connected with the man’s nose. A second punch sent the man slumping to the floor, out cold or dead.

  Dallan didn’t care which; his M’eudain was all that mattered now.

  “Dinna move,” he threatened the woman in the front, who sat shocked and confused, her leader’s limp form still in her lap. Satisfied she would give him no trouble, he reached to retrieve his wee lass.

  Out of nowhere a cold, dark dread swept over Dallan. His body shook in reaction as if he’d just fallen into Loch Linnhe’s icy water. He shivered as he saw the lass begin to fade from his sight, her body turning to empty air. “No! Ye canna leave me! No, lass, God no!”

  “Ha! Ha! Ha! I knew dat would get you up!”

  No. It couldn’t be. Not when he was so close, not when he had her in his grasp, nearly complete with her rescue…

  “Boyeee, you sleep dru de day and into de night. Get up!”

  It was.

  Dallan sat bolt upright on his bed. Water dripped from his hair into his eyes and he had to blink a few times to clear his vision. Sure enough, an even worse nightmare than the one he was having loomed before him, staring at him with an all-too-familiar silly look plastered over his coal-black face.

  “Ahhh, you are awake! We go. Go see de Councilor now, yes?”

  Dallan’s face twisted into murderous rage, teeth clenched together, jaw tightened. “Get! Out!”

  Kwaku laughed.

  “Now!” added Dallan, as if the word was enough to get the Azurti moving.

  “Yes, yes, I get out. You are to come wid me. De Lord Councilor has been waiting, Boyeee.” Kwaku’s words were interspersed with a generous amount of chuckling. “You come now, yes?”

  Dallan knew Kwaku was trying to provoke him. He’d learned what to and what not to ignore about the heathen, and this was one of the things to ignore. Kwaku was just playing with him. John didn’t want him; in fact, John couldn’t have left more than a couple of hours ago. He looked to the window above his bed to confirm the time.

  “No … it couldn’t be.”

  “It could, and it is. Well past de time for you to be gone, Boyeee. De Lord Councilor, he is waiting.” Kwaku explained again in all seriousness.

  Dallan glanced at him, an incredulous look on his face.

  “Yes, Boyeee. It is late morning. De day wanes. We must leave. De o-dars are waiting with de Lord Councilor. You come with me now, yes?”

  Dallan looked up at the Time Master, his warrior’s expression restored. “Why was I left to sleep so long? You of all people should ha’ woke me hours ago. I’ve never been allowed to sleep through our mornings training before.”

  Kwaku raised an eyebrow at him, sighed and shrugged. “I was instructed to let you rest, as de shoulder you so unskillfully defended de o-dar day was injured and needed time to heal.” Kwaku paused knowingly, a grin forming on his face. “I dought you stronger dan dat, and told de Lord Councilor so. But he did not agree.”

  Dallan’s eyes narrowed in irritation as Kwaku’s brightened. “Ye dealt me a goodly blow, and ye well ken I defended myself as best I could.”

  “Ahhh…” Kwaku began, taking a step forward while wagging a finger at Dallan. “Der you are wrong! Der is a much better way!” His look suddenly changed to one of scolding as he placed one hand on his hip, his feet spread far apart. “Not de clumsy way you tried.”

  Dallan’s mouth flew open, a biting retort at the ready, just as John Eaton entered his once-safe haven.

  “Dallan, good. You’re up.” John looked at him more closely. “And washed too, I see.”

  Dallan hadn’t considered his appearance until now. His hair still dripped from the cold water Kwaku had obviously enjoyed dumping on his head. The heathen stood to one side now, the dreaded water pitcher still in hand, trying his best to look innocent in the presence of the Lord Councilor.

  Dallan’s eyes narrowed on him as he sucked air through his nose, his lips too tightly pressed together in pure aggravation to get anything past them.

  “Dallan, we haven’t much time. Talk with me, will you?” John’s voice broke the mounting tension.

  Dallan’s eyes slowly turned to the Lord Councilor, his words shoved through clenched teeth. “Aye, John, gladly.” He tried to get up but a sudden wave of dizziness pulled him back onto the bed. John raced to his side while Kwaku grinned, nodded to himself knowingly and turned to leave.

  An action not to go unnoticed.

  “What is it? Ye ken something and yer not going to tell me, are you?” Dallan pushed out, still unsettled at the unexpected dizziness.

  Kwaku shrugged innocently. “I know no-ding,” he began as he walked out the open door. “Except dat you saw her in your dreams last night, Boyeee.” He let out a horrific laugh as his long legs carried him quickly away from Dallan, knowing he would not be able to follow.

  The Call had come while Dallan slept, and he still suffered the side effects. Kwaku had used the Scot’s helplessness to get in a final jab and leave proud of himself. Kwaku sighed. He would really miss his ancient Highlander.

  He shook his head regretfully as he went to find his beloved Zara, knowing the news he brought would please his lovely wife to no end: that for the last eight hours, he’d been standing guard over the Weapons Master, ensuring he was undisturbed, paying witness to a very private and much prayed-for event. Dallan Keir MacDonald had finally answered the Maiden’s Call. Kwaku, with Zara and the two Councilors, would all be leaving soon to take the Highlander to meet his future bride.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe they would do this to me!” John paced the floor of the small cottage he and Lany used for their meetings, his face red from unaccustomed rage and helplessness.

  “Calm down, Eaton. I know you’re upset, but wearing out the floor isn’t going to get you home to your family. You know, this trip might actually do you some good.” Lany remained apathetic, which at the moment did nothing for his superior’s foul mood.

  “A few days! It could be weeks! I wasn’t planning on going! I don’t want to go!”

  “But you know you have no choice.” Lany finished for him.

  John’s face fell. “I know.”

  Lany stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder. “You know I can’t do this without you. I mean, not that I can’t handle Kwaku, Dallan, Zara, Angus MacNab, his mother, not to mention the Maiden. But you know how I hate being totally diplomatic to six people at once all by myself. It’s not as fun doing it alone.” He paused, smiling conspiratorially. “Besides, I have a little surprise for you.”

  “Huh?” John mumbled as Lany walked to the door of the cottage, opened it and stuck his head outside. John heard him say something but couldn’t make out the words. He then heard footsteps approach the door and pause at the entrance as if waiting for Lany to move out of the way.

  John unconsciously leaned forward as a familiar scent permeated the room. “Oh,” he began, craning his neck to see beyond Lany.

  “John?” A woman’s voice cried from outside, confirming John’s elation.

  “The Creator be praised!” John shoved past Lany, not bothering to apologize. “Anwen!” he stumbled to her and grabbed her petite form. “Anwen…” he said again as he ran a hand through her dark hair and drank in her blue eyes. He then kissed her, drinking in much more than her eyes.

  Lany smiled as he watched John and his wife embrace, then strolled across the cottage to an open window opposite the door.

  Lany’s wife Cari stood on the other side of the window, a satisfied look on her face. “That went well.”

  “Yes, very.�
�� Lany leaned down and kissed her over the sill.

  Cari reached up to brush a lock of hair off her husband’s forehead. “Who’s going to tell them we have to leave within the next twenty minutes?”

  “Not me. Let Kwaku do it.”

  Cari shook her head. “That would be cruel!”

  “Oh, all right, Zara then.”

  Cari nodded her agreement. “Why does John have to go with you?”

  “Because I don’t know beans about the Muiraran Sutyne and its formal ceremony. Eaton was the one briefed in Mishna on all of it. Not me.”

  “John will have to perform the ceremony?”

  “The current Time Master is to perform it. That’s the custom. Eaton has to be there in case anything happens to Kwaku, not to mention to help hold Dallan together.”

  “You don’t think anything will happen, do you?”

  “To Kwaku? Are you kidding? It’s the rest of the population I’m concerned about.” He kissed her hand again.

  She smiled at him. “How long will you be gone?”

  Lany shrugged. “Days, maybe a couple of weeks. Not long.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because the Maiden won’t last much longer. Don’t worry, Dallan can do it. Besides, he and the Maiden already had a preliminary bonding as children, and he’s answered the Call on his own. She’ll call a few more times before this is all over, but it’s the first and last time he answers that are the most important. All in all we’re pretty lucky. We can’t ask for much more.” He pondered his last remark. “Except maybe that Kwaku stay here, but I don’t think that’s likely.”

  Cari grinned and rolled her eyes at him. “No, I don’t think so.” She glanced around, searching. “Where’s Vyn?”

  “Probably with Dallan. Vyn’s spent most of the last week with him.”

  Cari’s eyes widened with concern. “Is he all right? Has he been able to hold up? He’s still in one piece isn’t he?”

  “Living stars, of course he’s all right. You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

  Cari’s looked changed to relief. “Thank the Creator. I was worried.”