by Sandy James
Helen might have given him some rudimentary ideas about this era, but she’d left out far too many details, leaving him feeling ignorant now that she no longer acted as his guide. He was a man adrift in time, afraid of looking the fool by saying or doing the wrong thing.
Sarita would think he was witless if he needed her help to make his way in her world.
The other two homes in Avalon were different. Identical, tall, two stories—nothing like this home. Both had windows jutting from the top floor and shutters that seemed more for decoration rather than protection from storms. Only the colors of the homes were different—one white with shutters of dark green and one gray with bright red accents.
None of the Amazons’ homes were as beautiful as Sarita’s new palace.
Ian stared at the door, his hand poised to knock.
“It’ll be okay, Ian,” Sarita said. She put her hand on his arm and forced it down. Then she pushed a small, round button.
The sound of chimes echoed through the home. His eyes widened.
“It’s a doorbell,” she explained. “Boy, we’ve got a lot of educating to do with you to bring you into the twenty-first century.”
The sweet understanding in her voice dulled the sting of the words. “Aye. I am a stranger in this world.”
“Don’t worry, jaanu. I’ll teach you.”
He wanted to ask her if she’d decided to accept his proposal, but since she’d fled the shower, they’d resorted to nothing but chitchat. While he had every intention of pushing her for an answer, now wasn’t the time. They’d have privacy later, and then he could tell her what he expected—that she would marry him.
He also wanted to know exactly what jaanu meant. She used it often, and he loved hearing the exotic word fall from her lips, especially when it always seemed to be heartfelt.
The door opened before he could ask.
“Welcome,” Zach said, opening the door wide. “Come on in.”
Sarita gave Ian a hesitant smile, took his hand and led him inside.
The interior of the house was as inviting as the exterior—full of color, polished metal and stained wood.
“You have a beautiful home,” Ian said to Zach. He’d never been one to enjoy conversations, especially with many people around. Talking to Zach felt...awkward. Knowing the others were probably waiting only made him want to head back to the peace and quiet of Sarita’s home.
“Thanks. We modeled it after a Bob Burnett design. The guy’s brilliant.”
Since Ian had never heard of that craftsman, he shrugged.
Zach led them to a large gathering room. The furniture was dark brown fabric and appeared comfortable. A long settee and four chairs of different shapes gathered around a large hearth of rough stone.
The people in the Amazon clan had already gathered. Had Helen not educated him about the Amazons, Ian still would have remembered their introductions. He had a knack for remembering names, something he’d needed as brother to the laird and then laird of Clan MacKay. It was important to show your clan members they were valued by using their names. Thinking about the past no longer made him remember the pain of his death. The memories were better, comforting.
Sarita dragged him to the large settee and sat, pulling him down next to him.
Artair crossed the room to stand closer. He hadn’t donned the MacKay plaid. Instead, he wore modern clothes like the ones Helen had given Ian—khakis and a polo shirt.
Artair stared down at him, uncertainty in his expression. “I need to know all, Darian.”
“I prefer Ian now.” There was a bite to his voice, but Ian tried to curb it. “If you wouldnae mind.”
“Of course,” his brother replied. “Ian. Might take a bit of time for that to stick in my mind.” Artair sat in the closest chair.
“How is it you remember Artair?” Rebecca asked as she came to sit on the arm of her husband’s chair.
“Should I not?” Ian asked. He was every bit as anxious as the others to figure this whole mess out.
“No,” Sarita replied. “You shouldn’t. When you died at Culloden Moor—”
“But I dinnae die at Culloden Moor.”
“Aye,” Artair said. “You did, at the hands of a Sassenach sword.”
“Nay. I was badly wounded, but I recovered to return to our clan. ’twas when all went sour.”
Rebecca knit her brows. “Ian, what do you know about Artair being a Sentinel?”
While some of the story would always be like a faded dream, there was one thing he understood, one thing Helen had affirmed. “Artair became the trainer of the Amazons in exchange for the gift of immortality. He abandoned our clan to serve Rhiannon so he would never die.”
“Nay! ’tis not true!” Artair tried to scramble to his feet, but Rebecca’s hand on his shoulder held him down.
Sarita nudged the edge of Ian’s plaid up and put her hand on his bare knee. “Artair didn’t become Sentinel to earn immortality. He called out to Rhiannon because you’d died and he wanted to save your life.”
“But...Helen said—”
“You shouldn’t believe a single word out of that bitch’s mouth.” For such a beautiful woman, Rebecca could make a frightening scowl. “Did you know she killed Artair?”
Ian rubbed his hand over his face, wondering if he’d ever understand everything that had happened. “How could she kill a man who is immortal?”
Johann jumped into the conversation. “A Sentinel has one weakness. He can be killed if a blade pierces his heart.”
Rebecca took up the story. “She stabbed him as a sacrifice to make me a goddess.”
“Yer a goddess?”
“Not anymore. I gave the powers back. Helen didn’t. She killed her Fire sister to become a goddess.”
“Rebecca surrendered her powers after she restored my life,” Artair added. “I only called out to Rhiannon because of you, Ian. At Culloden Moor, after I pledged to train her Amazons, she gave you back your life.”
Perhaps everything wasn’t as cut and dried as Ian had always assumed. “Let me start from the beginning... When I returned from the battle, I told the clan you’d left to become a servant of Rhiannon.”
“How did you know?” Artair asked. “Rhiannon should have removed me from your memory—from the clan’s memories as well.”
“Oh, she did pluck you from the clan’s minds. But she dinnae pull you from mine. I saw you pledge yourself to her service, and she touched my hand before the two of you disappeared. When I spoke to our people of my brother who was gone to be with a goddess and how I was now laird, they thought my mind had broken in battle. All they remembered was me as laird—they knew no Artair MacKay.”
Megan nodded. “That’s what we assumed. That they thought you were crazy because you remembered someone they’d never known existed.”
“Aye. Then there was my bloody hand. They remembered me being crippled. They dinnae believe my story that Rhiannon healed me. Seeing it useful raised whispers of witchcraft. Those whispers soon became shouts.”
Artair rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head to his hands. “Nay.”
“Och, aye. Then the English moved against us, destroying most of the cottages and killing all the livestock. Only dorcha àite’s keep was spared. The clan believed I’d made a pact with the devil to spare it and heal my hand. They thought I was a witch.” He choked on the last word as the memories of his execution flooded his thoughts.
Would he ever be able to push the pain away and assign the experience to being nothing but a faded memory of a horror long past?
Death by fire—a painful, torturous death. To be tied to that stake and set afire by people who’d worked at his side made it more horrendous. The final monstrosity was to be forced to watch the only two in the clan who supported him—Old Ewan and Sile�
��executed.
Would they be able to come to Avalon? Perhaps Sarita could find out. He hated the thought of them being trapped at dorcha àite, haunting a keep that would probably never be inhabited again.
Sarita leaned over and wrapped her arm around his shoulders. Mercifully, she finished the tale. “Like I told you all, they burned him at the stake.”
Silence descended on the room.
“How did you come to follow Helen?” Artair asked. “Didn’t you know she was evil?”
Ian gave it a great deal of thought before he spoke. “I didnae know right away. She promised me justice. ’twas all I cared about.”
“Justice?” Gina asked.
“To avenge my death. I wanted my brother to suffer the way I’d suffered.”
How cruel it all sounded now, and how naïve he’d been to think he’d could right the wrongs. Especially now that things weren’t as black and white as they’d seemed when he’d walked endlessly in limbo.
Megan’s stare showed no consolation, only suspicion. “How can we trust you after you worked for Helen?”
“You can trust him,” Sarita said, her voice hard.
Megan narrowed her eyes. “Of course you’d say that. You love the guy.”
His head whipped around to stare at Sarita. “You love me?”
He hadn’t dared to hope. Yes, her actions screamed she cared, but he’d never been sure whether she acted out of affection for him or the desire to destroy Helen.
Ice blue eyes stared back at him, and she pulled her arm back to drop her hands onto her lap. A high blush rose on her cheeks. “Can we talk about this later?”
“There are more important things to discuss,” Artair said.
“What’s more important than love?” Gina asked, sounding amused.
Dropping her gaze to her lap, Sarita shook her head. “Not now.”
Ian put his hand over hers. “Later, loving.”
“How about fixing this mess first?” Rebecca hopped to her feet, her hands clenched into fists. “Rhiannon! Enough hiding. We need to straighten this out. Now!”
A bright flash and a loud pop brought the goddess into the middle of the room. Dressed in a gown of silver trimmed with sable, she stood as tall as Gina. Smoothing her fingers over her elegant dress, she lifted her chin, setting her long, blond hair bouncing around her shoulders. She looked no different than she had so very long ago.
“Rebecca MacKay. You called?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sarita almost launched herself at the haughty Lady of the Lake so she could pummel some bruises on her pretty face. Instead, she held tight to Ian as Artair and Johann rose to their feet, fisted their right hands and thumped their chests over their hearts in salute. Zach also stood, but he inclined his head, a gesture that brought a smile to the goddess’s face.
“What do you wish of me?” Rhiannon asked as she nodded to acknowledge each of the men. Then her gaze settled on Ian. “There is a guest in Avalon? Why was I not informed? Better yet, why was my approval not sought?”
A growl rose from Sarita’s chest. This whole disaster was Rhiannon’s fault. If the goddess had only taken the time to wipe Ian’s memory of Artair—as she was supposed to—so much suffering could have been avoided.
If Sarita opened her mouth to speak, a string of profanities would spill out. She looked over to Rebecca, hoping her sister understood.
Rebecca gave her a curt nod before glancing back to Rhiannon. “Don’t you recognize him, m’lady?”
Ian stared at the goddess with such a ferocious frown on his face Rhiannon would probably feel the need to punish him.
“Nay,” Rhiannon replied. “An unhappy looking fellow, is he not? Should he be familiar to me?”
“Aye,” Ian said. “I should.”
She lifted her elegant nose in the air. “A gentleman should rise in the presence of a lady, especially when that lady is an Ancient of extreme power. Do you not realize I am the Lady of the Lake, the guardian of Excalibur, the Goddess of the Isle? I am the Divine Queen and the patroness of the great King Arthur. I am the—”
Ian heaved a weary sigh. “I know who you are.”
Rhiannon ignored him and kept right on in her litany of titles. “—protectorate of Avalon. Perhaps you did not realize my importance, so I will forgive your insolence.”
Sarita rolled her eyes and stood, pulling Ian up with her. “So you don’t remember his face?”
“Nay, I do not.”
“I am Darian MacKay.”
“Darian MacKay?” Rhiannon tilted her head, staring at him. Then her blue eyes widened. She gaped at Artair. “How has your brother come back from the other side?” She walked over and pinched Ian’s upper arm. “Why is he not a ghost?”
Ian shrugged away from her. “I am no ghost.”
“Then how do you come to be here? You should be naught but dust.”
Artair strode to stand in front of Rhiannon. “Had you answered my earlier calls—”
“I would not come to such rude requests.”
Artair’s glare could’ve scared the paint off the walls. “Helen brought him back.”
Rhiannon walked back to the middle of the room, as though she were holding court over all of them. “I tire of her interference. Why have you not killed her yet? I demand you kill her.”
“Oh, I will,” Rebecca said. “I promise.”
“You will not,” Sarita retorted. “That bitch is mine.”
“We all want a piece of her,” Megan added.
“Damn straight,” Gina chimed in. “Every one of us owes her some payback.”
“But we have another problem to deal with first,” Rebecca said.
Rhiannon huffed at her. “More important than bringing a rogue goddess to justice? That is your job, Rebecca MacKay. You are my Amazon.”
“I know my job. And I promise you, I’ll take out Helen. Soon. But please, can we solve Sarita’s problem first?”
“I suppose... What is it you wish to know?”
“Do you remember the day Artair became Sentinel?”
“Aye.” The goddess smiled. “Such a brave man and so willing to serve me.” A glance over to Ian. “As I recall, he came to my service to save your life.”
“He wanted to save me?”
“Aye, he did. He was so full of grief, so angry that I heard his cry and went to him. He gave up life as he knew it to save yours.”
“Why did you mend my hand?” Ian’s voice was raw.
“How wonderful of you to remember!” Her face glowed. “I was so pleased to have a man like the MacKay come to train my Amazons, I offered one more reward in addition to your resurrection.” She held out her hand, turning her palm up. “Since your hand was near to useless, I gave you a useful one.” With a flourish, she raised a small cloud of sparkles. “Yet you do not need to thank me for such a generous gift.”
Ah, but the goddess loved having all the attention focused on her.
“Gift?” Sarita growled again. “That’s not how his clan saw it.”
Rhiannon always reminded Sarita of a curious child, having little understanding of humans and appearing confused at most of the things they said.
“You do not see it as a gift?” Rhiannon asked. She cocked her head, drawing her brows together. “Did I not make him better than he was before?”
“You fixed his hand,” Artair said. “But you didnae fix his memory.”
“His memory?”
“You should have taken any remembrance of me away. Nae only from him, but from my entire clan,” Artair explained with far more patience than Sarita could muster.
Rhiannon blinked, her confusion plain. “But I did deal with your people. They lived their lives as though you had never known them.”
“Then why didn’t you do the same for my brother?” Artair asked.
Rhiannon thought it over for a moment. “Perhaps I forgot?”
“Forgot? You forgot?” Sarita threw her hands in the air. “You ruin his life and all you can say for yourself is you forgot? Damn you!”
“Insolent!” Rhiannon pointed an accusing finger. “I will not tolerate your impertinence!”
“She has good reason to be angry, m’lady,” Artair said. “She knows what Darian suffered. When my brother returned to our clan, he was cried a witch.”
“A witch? Why would your clan believe him to be a witch?”
The goddess was truly clueless. “Because,” Sarita drawled, “he remembered a person they’d never heard of. They thought he’d lost his mind and that the devil fixed his hand.”
Rhiannon dismissed them with a flippant wave of her hand, her usual way of letting everyone know their concerns were petty in her eyes. “Such superstition and nonsense. I will never understand the ignorance of humans.”
“’Twas not nonsense to them!” Ian clenched his hands into fists. “They burned me to death!”
She focused on Ian. “You should have explained your healing was a gift from the Lady of the Lake, the guardian of Excalibur, the—”
“I did,” he replied. “Just another reason they thought me possessed.”
“This is all your fault, Rhiannon.” Rebecca had put her hands on her hips, and Sarita wasn’t at all surprised when a small earthquake rocked the area. Since Rebecca was endowed with her powers by Rhiannon, she was the only Amazon who could get away with scolding her.
Rhiannon put her hand against her chest. “My fault? I but offered precious gifts to my new Sentinel. I meant no mischief. ’tis not my doing that the clan misinterpreted my goodwill offering because of their ignorance.” She tilted her head in thought. “How was he able to be in Avalon without my permission?”
“I brought him here,” Sarita replied.
“You? But you do not possess such a power.” She delicately sniffed the air before wagging a finger at her. “Seior! You have Seior! How is this possible?”
A loud pop brought Freyjr into the middle of the room. “You called, little one?”
