“Bathroom! Hurry!” She screamed at him, her tears running again.
He sprang to his feet and ran to the bathroom where the water ran, the earlier sloshing sounds stilled. The sight that greeted him made him wail as he dove for the bathtub.
Evan had been tied in a similar fashion, only face down, his head beneath the tub’s faucet, hands tied above him, ankles lashed together and pulled in the direction of the faucet by another length of rope. His face was underwater.
Lany pulled out his communicator, severed the ropes with the laser and pulled Evan from the water, slipping as he did. Both he and Evan’s limp form went crashing to the floor.
“Oh no! Oh please, no!” Maggie screeched as she ran into the room and dropped to the floor. Her hands groped for Evan in an attempt to get him off of Lany.
Lany helped her get him onto his back. “How long has he been in here?”
Maggie checked his breathing then began positioning him for resuscitation. “Too long! Call an ambulance! Hurry!”
Lany ran from the room to find Angus with a knife in one hand, a phone already in his other, the address being confirmed.
The Assistant Councilor was turning back to the bathroom again when it hit. He fell to his knees, his blood on fire, his vision blurred. For a second he couldn’t think or speak, utterly paralyzed.
Councilor? Councilor, please.
Lany wondered for a moment where he was, still unable to see, before he recognized the voice which had melted into him, racing through his veins like lightening. “Zara?”
Councilor! The Maiden, Dallan. I cannot find them.
Lany fought to speak, his voice suddenly missing as he screamed in his mind. Zara!
Yes, do not be afraid. Dallan, the Maiden. Are they with you?
No.
Please, Councilor, where are they? Something has happened!
Yes.
She did not answer a moment and Lany discovered he could see the wall in front of him and that Angus now knelt at his side. Councilor, where are they?
Lany climbed to his feet and headed for the front door, Angus close behind.
“What’s wrong, Master Lany? What is it?” Angus had stopped at the bedroom door, torn between following him and helping Maggie.
Lany turned, caught the look on his face and motioned him back to the Whittard’s bedroom, then ran out the front door to Julia’s car parked in the driveway. It was empty.
Councilor? Please, answer me! Do you know where they are?
He reached into the back seat and picked up a single sheet of paper.
Please, Councilor! I must know!
Zara, he thought as he scanned the missive. Come to the Whittards’. Get here as soon as you can.
He heard nothing for a moment then it came again. There is despair in you, Councilor. I feel it. What is wrong?
Lany closed his eyes and swallowed back his rising anger. Just come. We need you and the others. Now!
We come, Councilor.
His pulse slowed and the odd sensation of fire coursing through him ceased. He again read the neatly penned message, his upper lip curled into a snarl, his heart heavy, thoughts already in prayer.
Kawahnee,
I win.
Brennan
For that is the mark of the Scot of all classes:
That he stands in attitude towards the past
Unthinkable to Englishmen, and remembers
And cherishes the memory of his forbears,
Good or bad; and there burns alive in him a
Sense of identity with the dead even to the
Twentieth generation.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Weir of Hermiston, 1894
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Dallan’s eyes finally opened, his only thought, Shona. Where was she? Had she escaped Julia? Or was she now locked away somewhere, wounded or worse? The thought made him groan. Saints, but he ached.
The pain bade him take closer notice of what might be wrong. What he found startled him.
His heart hurt. His new one. Perhaps when newly joined, even the briefest separation was painful. But what did he know? Neither the heathen nor the Lady had been able to tell him anything yet. He was totally ignorant as to the workings of his new physical state. Useless.
He struggled to a sitting position and immediately noticed his surroundings were vaguely familiar. The room bathed in semi-darkness, the floor smooth and hard, the smell… he shook himself. “How can this be?”
Dallan was in the fencing room at the shop.
He tried to rise to his feet, failed, and fell to the floor in a heap. Cursing in Gaelic, he tried again slowly, his mind racing back to Shona. M’eudain, where are ye? Answer me, lass!
Nothing. “Saints,” he whispered to himself as he scanned the room, the only light coming from several small, half-curtained windows high on one wall. The room looked the same as when he had searched for Shona earlier that morning. He wondered briefly how long he’d been unconscious as he haphazardly made his way to a sword display. He took one, checked it for balance and tightened his grasp on the hilt, ready to use it should the need arise. He made his way to the large metal door leading to the rest of the shop. Shona? Are ye hurt, lass? Where are you?
Dallan weakly tried the door. Locked. He went to the only other exit in the large room, a door Angus said led to the alley behind the building, but it too was locked. Still weary from the drug, his worry for Shona’s safety high, he leaned against the wall and let his head rest against its cool surface. Suddenly dizzy, he began to battle against renewed unconsciousness and realized how helpless he was to search for her. His new heart wrenched painfully with the thought.
Dallan raised his face to the windows above as an idea oddly struck him. He closed his eyes, bowed his head and began to silently pray.
* * *
“It was a mistake to bring them here.” Julia pushed out coldly.
Philip ignored her as he stared at Shona unconscious on a cot. “Look at her, Julia. In a matter of hours, she’ll be mine.”
Julia shook her head. “Philip, listen to me! We should never have come here. These people will destroy you. Let’s get out while we still can. Kill the Scot if you must, but do it now!”
At last, he graced her with his attention. “Worried, Julia? That’s so unlike you. Don’t you want to see my enemies humiliated? Don’t you want me to succeed?”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“No, but you were thinking it. Bringing the boy here to kill him is the ultimate victory for me. To kill my enemy’s most prized possession right underneath his very nose is positively delicious! Why wouldn’t you want a taste of it?”
“My only concern is for you, Philip.”
“I’m touched, my dear. But enough. I need to secure the Maiden. I don’t want her interrupting my playtime with her soon-to-be dead mate.”
Julia glanced at Shona. “How? I thought now she’s supposed to have some great strength. Why not keep her drugged?”
“I want her awake when I kill the Scot. I want her to feel the death of his heart. Then her immediate joining with me will be all the sweeter.”
“What makes you think this will work, Philip? She’s already joined with him.”
Philip smiled wickedly as he sat next to Shona on the cot. “The first seven days after joining are normally spent in private, allowing the male time to adjust to his new heart. Separate the couple and kill the male and the female also dies, her heart returned but too powerful for her to handle. If she joins immediately with another who is somewhat compatible, she lives.”
Julia’s brow furrowed. “She won’t do it, Philip.”
“Why not?”
“She loves him. I know Shona. She would rather die than willingly submit herself to you.”
“Ah, but I’ve thought of that too.”
Julia crossed her arms, her voice gone flat. “What are you going to do?”
“First, have some fun. Second, utilize your sweet
little sister to make the Maiden more agreeable to the idea. I will have Shona submit to me with the Scot watching—whatever is left of him, that is. Then, I will kill him.” He smiled again. “And while I’m in the delicate process of joining, you may kill your sister. When all is done, we leave.”
“Where?”
“Home. I want to return home for a time, Julia.” She uncrossed her arms and shot him a questioning look.
“London, England. Seventeen ninety-four. At least, that’s when I left.”
Julia backed up a step, her mouth half-open in disbelief, and then smiled, her voice a whisper. “Fantastic.”
Philip raised an eyebrow as he repositioned Shona onto her stomach. He reached into a bag he’d brought from the car, pulled out an odd looking pair of cuff s and placed them on her ankles.
“What are those?” Julia asked with mild curiosity.
“Manacles I took the liberty of removing from a Muiraran holding center many years ago.” He smiled at the audible click of the shackles. “They are made for Muirarans, the metal used unknown to me. As peaceful a race as they are, they still utilize some barbaric methods of control when it comes to the less savory.” He stood. “There are no keys. The only one able to remove them is the owner. I was the first person to touch them with my hands bared. The metal knows my hands, and will respond to the chemicals in my skin. In other words, completely escape-proof.”
“Let’s go to Muirara. You could be just as powerful there.”
Philip chuckled. “That’s like asking a thief to return to the scene of the crime.” He reached into the bag again. “Out of the question.”
“But England?”
“Home is where I shall go for now, Julia. Either come with me or stay.”
He pulled out a length of heavy cloth, its center thicker than the rest. Julia stared at it a moment, then re-crossed her arms. “A Muiraran gag?”
Philip grinned. “How astute.” He began to gag the Maiden. “Always remember, Julia. If she sings while still joined with the Scot, we’re dead. Silencing her is our most powerful ally right now. At least until I’ve made sure of the Scot’s ignorance as to the workings of his new state.”
“And after you join with her?”
He stood. “Everyone else is dead.”
Julia watched as he made his way to the door. “He’s probably awake by now, waiting for you.”
“I should hope so. Otherwise the game would hold no enjoyment for me.”
“Game? Is that what all this is to you? A mere game?”
“Really, Julia. Cease your fretting. I can beat him. After all, I taught Kawahnee much of what he knows, and no matter what he says, I know he’s taught the boy the same.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“I’m not.” He stood poised in the doorway. “Coming?”
Julia glanced to Shona. “What of the others? What if they show up?”
Philip closed his eyes a brief moment before answering. “No, they’re still preoccupied with other things, just as I planned. I’ve time enough to toy a while.”
“The Scot will try to kill you the first chance he gets.”
Philip laughed. “Why, Julia, I’m counting on it. That, after all, is what makes the game so thrilling!” He turned on his heel and left the room, a sadistic gleam in his eye.
Julia followed along behind him, her mind repeating a single thought over and over again.
Philip was a fool. And she still loved him. Why?
* * *
Dallan stood, forehead against the wall, sword held limply in his hand when the sound came. His head spun to the metal door on the other side of the room, a wave of dizziness soon following. He turned and made his way along the wall, using it for support as the door slowly opened.
Brennan entered and deftly flipped a light switch, immediately illuminating everything. Dallan’s eyes pained him as he quickly went into a slight crouch, sword raised.
“Really, calm yourself. Why, I’m not even armed.” Brennan’s voice drawled.
Dallan’s eyes adjusted as he watched Brennan make his way to the sword display, where he took his time choosing a weapon. The Weapons Master lowered himself, preparing for a charge. Best to get rid of this enemy now.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. The drug hasn’t worn off yet and your increased blood flow will only cause you to lose consciousness again.”
Dallan suddenly stopped at the words, his face calm. “What ha’ ye done wi’ Shona?”
Brennan slowly turned to face him. “She’s quite comfortable. Napping. No need to worry. You can’t feel her, can you?”
Dallan studied him a brief moment, refusing to reply.
“Ah, of course not. When sleep is induced by chemical means or force, she cannot hear your Call, just as you cannot hear hers.”
“What d’ye want?” Dallan ground out.
Brennan chuckled lightly. “I think it’s quite obvious at this point, don’t you? I want you dead.”
“Yer no verra good at getting the job done, are you?”
Brennan casually sliced at the air with his sword a few times. “I plan on being exceedingly thorough this time.” His body suddenly tensed and he positioned himself for readiness. “Please don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ll survive again.”
Dallan stood casually and watched him. “Then why did ye no kill me a moment ago instead of playing wi’ yer blade?”
Brennan tossed him a wicked grin. “Because you’re not ready. It would be too easy to kill you right now. I’d rather enjoy myself first.”
“Like a cat wi’ a wee mouse is it?”
“Precisely.”
Dallan still stood casually, face calm. “And what if yer wrong?”
“I’m not.”
“I believe that’s what ye said the last time.”
Brennan’s lips curled into a sadistic sneer as he approached. “I’m tired of waiting. We begin.”
Dallan’s body tensed slightly in preparation, but not enough for Brennan to see. “I thought I wasna ready.”
“You’re ready enough to at least present a small challenge,” Brennan answered as he slowly began to circle him.
Dallan didn’t move or change positions as he was circled. He didn’t have to. His new heart seemed to follow Brennan’s every move, like having eyes in the back of his head, the new sensation unnerving. His heart reached toward Brennan, staying with him, searching.
Brennan began to laugh. “My, you’re a curious one. But how instinctive, I wonder?”
Dallan suddenly spun, his sword blocking Brennan’s own deadly blade. Brennan jumped back a few steps. “Very instinctive, I see. Good.”
Dallan faced him now, his weapon ready, eyes narrowed to slits. “Where’s Shona?”
Brennan lunged, forcing him to fight, the movements spinning the remaining drug throughout his body all over again. He stumbled once and nearly gave Brennan an opening, deflecting a lethal thrust only at the last moment. “That’s it! Fight me, you Scottish dog. I’ll make sure you bleed.”
Dallan righted himself and took the offensive, driving Brennan back several yards before the drug left in his system challenged his sight and mind with a wave of dizziness.
Brennan’s blade was quick to slice into Dallan’s left arm. “A bit off -center, are we? I told you this would happen.”
Dallan ignored the pain and glared at Brennan. “Ye Sassenach devil! What ha’ ye done wi’ Shona?”
Brennan laughed heartily. “Why, she’s in the next room. But you’ll have to go through me to get to her. You want her badly, don’t you? Hungry?”
Dallan charged him, his blade eagerly seeking Brennan, the sudden wave of dizziness the worse enemy. The Englishman fought expertly, like none he had ever encountered before, his moves not unlike those of his own time. Didn’t the heathen say Brennan was an ex-Time Master? Could he be from somewhere near the seventeenth century? He’d chosen a basket-hilted broadsword, like Dallan’s, and he knew exactly how to use it.
<
br /> They broke off from each other, no openings to be found for either man as Julia cautiously entered the room. Brennan jumped back out of Dallan’s reach. “Is she waking?”
Julia looked from one man to the other, caution in her eyes. “Yes.”
Brennan grinned ear to ear with satisfaction. “Excellent.” He viciously attacked Dallan again, his thrusts quick and powerful, letting him know he’d been playing with him earlier. Now the fight was serious.
Dallan’s dizziness seemed to be fighting right along with Brennan, blurring his vision, his movements not fast enough for efficient defense. The result was more wounds to his body, but none lethal—all meant to humiliate, not kill. Their blades separated and they broke off again. “Why d’ye toy wi’ me like this? Ye ken ye can take me.”
“And deprive your bride of seeing you bested? I think not. I’ll fetch her to you just as soon as I’ve spilled enough of your blood. I know you’re hungry for her. Your shared heart has not fed in awhile.”
“To show her what a cur ye are. Canna fight me on even terms. Ye ha’ to keep me drugged. Yer no a warrior. Yer no even a man.”
Brennan’s only answer was to lunge at him again, the strength of his blows doubled. Dallan wondered just how much of the drug still lingered that Brennan was so much stronger sensing he had the greater strength now, was still the better of the two.
Brennan obviously knew it as well. The coward.
Dallan took another slicing wound, this one to his right leg. He stumbled with dizziness and Brennan ignored the opening. Dallan knew his enemy wanted him to die slowly and was afraid to rush the job. His breathing difficult, sight again blurred, he took the opportunity to rest for the brief moment offered. He noticed his wounds were carefully inflicted, placed in such a way that he would merely bleed to death. Brennan wouldn’t even have to finish him with a final thrust.
Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) Page 50
