by Brenda Joyce
Sam whirled to face her sister.
Tabby looked exactly as she had the last time she’d seen her, a few months ago—in 1502. She wore a gorgeous long red velvet dress and many jewels. Her hair was pinned up beneath a medieval hairpiece. And she was radiant. Guy Macleod stood behind her, a huge, muscular and surprisingly dark man, one hand protectively on the hilt of his sword.
Her heart exploded with joy. “My lady.” Sam grinned. She was too thrilled to add to the joke by curtsying. Instead, she wrapped Tabby in the biggest hug she could possibly manage.
Tabby held her back, hard. “I have so missed you!” she whispered.
Sam held on for one more moment, then pushed back. “Yeah, because you’ve gone centuries without your Sam fix.”
Tabby flushed. “Sam, I was forbidden from going to you. Leaping is a power given to the Masters so they can protect Innocence, not so they can take their wives on jaunts through time to visit family relations!” But Tabby was smiling. “I begged MacNeil, the Abbot of Iona, to go to the Ancients and get a dispensation, but he said you were fine and that we’d be together soon. And I guess in his eyes, a few centuries isn’t all that long!”
“I thought you’d come for the Book,” Sam said. She couldn’t get over how radiant her sister was. “It would have been the perfect excuse, but some Highlander came instead.”
“I know. I tried that argument, too. MacNeil pointed out that my war with evil is here. And he’s right,” Tabby said happily. Then her smile faded. “Are you okay? What happened? I was in the kitchens at home helping Cook, when I heard you. I almost swooned!”
Now she swooned, not fainted? Sam laughed. “So the lady of the manor condescends to get flour under her nails with the help?”
She finally looked at Macleod. He was a big beast of a man, reeking of a warrior’s savagery and an abundance of testosterone, and she’d hated him at first sight. But Tabby loved him and he, apparently, loved her. Sam squinted at him. “Is he giving you a hard time? No pun intended, of course.”
Tabby took her hand. “His chauvinism doesn’t bother me, Sam. I love everything about my husband. He might be overly protective, but I can handle it.”
Sam scowled. “You’d better be faithful, buddy,” she warned. “If I ever find out you treat my sister like the brute you appear to be, you will be sorrier than any of your MacDougal enemies.”
Macleod seemed amused. “She still dislikes me,” he said to Tabby, shrugging. “Masters are here. They’re searchin’ fer ye—and so is evil.”
Sam went still. Ian wasn’t a Master. She shouldn’t be disappointed, but she was. For an instant, she strained to feel him—and she started, because she thought she did!
Tabby seized her hand. “Oh, no! I can tell this is going to be another five-minute reunion. That’s not fair! What’s going on?”
Sam felt exactly the same way. “No, I am not going back to New York so quickly! I’m in a bit of a jam, Tabby. The monk of Carlisle is after me, and so is someone from our, my, time, a really evil human, Rupert Hemmer. They were planning on torturing me when your spell showed up. By the way, thanks, sis,” she added, grinning.
Tabby touched her and spoke in Gaelic. “That’s an extra dose of protection,” she said, seeming worried. She turned to her husband. “We have to get out of here.”
Macleod’s handsome face tightened. A savage light flickered in his eyes. “We’ll help her escape Carlisle an’ I’ll make certain ye have some time with yer sister.”
Tabby sent him a soft smile.
Sam smiled to herself. Macleod might be as macho as a man could be, making him impossibly wrong for her sister, but it was clear that he was protective of her and madly in love, even after two centuries.
Sam? Where are ye?
Sam jerked. She’d heard Ian as clear as day, right down to the frustration and worry in his voice. “Ian,” she whispered. “I’m at Carlisle Cathedral, on the ground floor, on the north side of the building.”
Sam!
“Sam?” Tabby asked.
Sam held up her hand. The moment she strained for him, she felt his hot and male white power gathering, then approaching. She turned to face south. Someone was turning the corner of the hallway, but it was a well-dressed couple, followed by a secretary and a valet. Sam inhaled in disappointment. The three men all looked at Sam. Tabby smiled graciously at the couple as they passed. She nodded at the servants. The nobleman craned his head to stare at Sam’s legs, until he walked into the wall. The woman jabbed her elbow in his velvet-clothed abdomen.
“You should change clothes if you intend to stay around the sixteenth century for any length of time,” Tabby said, glancing at her miniskirt.
His power was growing, she thought, having heard her sister. It was hot, seething, and so familiar.
Maclean hurried around the corner.
Sam’s heart lurched wildly.
He rushed to her. “Are ye all right?”
Sam shrugged. “Like you care?” She was flippant, no easy task, when her heart was thundering madly. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” she asked. And then she saw Brie and Aidan, coming around the same hall corner.
“Did ye think I’d leave ye to my enemies?” He was incredulous.
She tore her gaze back to his regard. It was surprisingly searching. There was no mockery. It was as if he were really concerned. “I thought you might try to help out,” she said carefully. “And you did. Thanks for the assist with the shackles.”
He started. “I unlocked the manacles?”
“Yeah.” Then she said, very seriously, “Just so you know, I’m starting to worry about Hemmer.”
His gaze held hers.
Sam knew he understood. There was more to Hemmer than met the eye, a lot more.
“Can I interrupt?” Brie asked, but she was grinning.
“I barely recognize you without the geeky glasses—and in a dress!” Sam cried, laughing. Brie had turned from a chubby, frightened nerd into a beautiful, self-possessed woman. Sam wanted to hug her.
Brie hugged her, instead.
Sam looked at Aidan and her heart almost stopped. It was so strange. He and Ian could have been twins, except that Ian looked about twenty-five, and Aidan looked a couple of years older. But the real difference was their eyes. Aidan’s eyes were not filled with anger, frustration or despair; they mirrored a deep and fundamental peace that could only come from a man’s soul.
But it hadn’t always been that way.
Ian suddenly seized her arm. “We have to go,” he said harshly.
Sam was already chilled. She glanced behind her. Evil was close by.
Tabby seized Sam’s hand. “What is going on?”
“There’s no time to explain,” Sam said. “But it’s not a good idea for me or Ian to hang around here.”
Ian looked really unhappy.
Sam knew why. “Hey,” she said. “I’m too beat up to manage another leap. We’re going to hoof it out of here on foot.”
His gaze slammed to hers, filled with suspicion. What did they do to ye?
His mouth hadn’t moved, but she’d heard him as clearly as she had when he’d been using telepathy earlier. She turned, shaken. “Maybe one of you big guys can create a diversion so we can walk out the front door?”
“I will cause the diversion,” Macleod said sharply. “Aidan can cover yer flank.”
Aidan was staring at Ian, as if he knew his son’s painful secrets and as if those secrets pained him, too.
Macleod strode away from them, roaring.
Sam blinked, realizing he meant to confront the monk head-on. She looked at Tabby, who was pale and resigned. She gave Sam a shrug, and ran after him.
For one moment, Sam stared after her sister, who was pursuing her savagely determined husband now. Then Ian jerked her to his side.
She met his fierce gaze. As she nodded, she heard walls cracking. Macleod had engaged. She glanced at Brie, who was crying.
“Go!” Brie cried.
“Go with the gods…Ian, take care of her!”
Aidan’s saber rang as he drew it. Dozens of racing, booted steps sounded. “Go now,” he said, his mouth down-turned, nostrils flared. His eyes were suddenly red-rimmed, too.
Ian and Sam turned and ran for the front hall.
Behind them, swords rang and more stone fell.
SAM COULDN’T RECALL the last time she’d been so out of breath. Running hard, Maclean beside her, they half crawled and half scrambled over a stone wall. The fields were wet and slick from a recent rain. They ran and slid down another hill, scattering grazing sheep. Sam looked back. She could still see Carlisle Cathedral’s towers piercing the cloudy summer sky, perhaps a mile away now.
Suddenly the ground shook, vibrating beneath their feet.
An army. Sam halted, panting, looking at Ian. He jerked her arm, turning her toward the north, where she saw trees. A forest began. It looked endless.
They ran harder as the vibrations from the thundering horses increased and intensified. The damned trees were a half a football field away. Sam looked back over her shoulder.
Streaking toward them were a dozen knights in heavy armor, their visors down. Their war cries sounded. The bellows were incomprehensible, savage.
In that moment, she was positive that whatever was pursuing them wasn’t human, not even remotely.
The forest was a ballroom away now. Hand in hand, they dug into the ground harder.
A kitchen away…
And Sam felt the horse’s breath blowing down her nape. As if in one another’s mind, still holding hands, they dove into the shield of trees. As they did, Sam heard the whizzing of some kind of weapon just behind her neck.
She fell on her hands violently and her jaw made contact with the ground. She rolled over in time to catch the knight thundering by, a spiked ball swinging from his gauntleted hand. The knight was completely covered in armor from head to toe, she saw. Peepholes in his visor allowed him to see. He hauled his horse to a stop so hard that it reared up. It was armored, too. He whirled it back around and galloped toward the trees where they’d crash-landed.
She looked at Ian. “Time to go?” She was hopeful.
His eyes were ablaze. He stood and blasted horse and rider, incinerating both.
“Way to go,” she panted, doubling over. Breathing hurt like hell.
Hoofbeats sounded, approaching.
Sam straightened. “Shit.” The army was coming back. There were about a dozen knights. She knew Ian really didn’t want to leap. She got it, she did. It hurt. He’d leapt a whole bunch of times recently, mostly because of her. “Are you really…going to take them on…one by one?” she panted.
He took her hand and pulled her with him into the forest. The outskirts were sparsely populated with evergreen trees, tangled shrubs and brush. A horse and rider could navigate the outer edge, although not adeptly. About a hundred yards ahead, the forest was so dense that it seemed pitch-black. They ran for those impenetrable depths.
Hooves pounded behind them.
Sam glanced back and saw the knight riding like a madman, weaving through the trees, his horse zigzagging the way those western gals did on barrel racers. She didn’t know if she could run any harder or faster. Her lungs were about to explode.
His sword sliced the air, close to her head and shoulders. Maclean put his arm around her, wrestling her into sudden blackness.
They stumbled forward. Sam couldn’t see and she hoped he could. They crashed into a trunk, branches scraping their arms, their faces. Her eyes began to adjust to the darkness. They slowed abruptly to a walk. The only sound now that could be heard was their own harsh, labored breathing.
Sam slid her hand down his arm to his hand and sank to the ground, which felt soft, maybe mossy, beneath her bottom and bare thighs. She realized what she was doing, released him and threw back her head, breathing hard. He sank down beside her. For a long time they just sat there in the near darkness, gulping air.
The birds started to sing from the treetops around them.
Sam leaned back against the trunk, and realized it was his shoulder. She hesitated.
The past few minutes were a crazy blur. But they’d done it. They’d outrun those monster knights. And his body felt awfully warm and strong, frankly male, behind her shoulder. His body felt good. “What a rush,” she finally said.
He made a sound, like laughter.
Sam now saw that the forest wasn’t pitch-black. It was dark with shadow, but she could make out every tree trunk and branch that was close by. She could even see the chipmunk that had paused at the base of a tree, not far from where they sat. It blinked its beady eyes at them.
She smiled and breathed.
Ian didn’t move away from her.
He’d leapt through time to find her.
Her heart seemed to quiver oddly at the notion. She was almost elated. She dared to look up at his handsome profile. He glanced down at her. His gaze remained serious and searching.
“I’m all right.”
“They didn’t hurt ye?”
“They planned to. But those locks slipped off and then Tabby threw a really good protection spell at me. I took off.” She sobered. “If Tabby hadn’t heard my cry for help, I’d be dead right now.”
He stared into the forest grimly.
She looked at him. She wanted to touch him, his cheek, his jaw, and the rest of his amazing, hard body. She wanted really good, really hot sex. No, she wanted really hot sex together with friendship and caring. She sort of liked Maclean.
And she wanted to thank him for his help.
But that was insane. She got down to business. “Where is the damned page, Ian?”
He looked at her. “Loch Awe.”
It only took her an instant. He’d never leap back in time to hide it, not if he didn’t have to. “How did you get it there?”
He shrugged. “A charter jet, a pilot, a messenger.”
There was one problem, Sam thought. She was in 1527. She needed to tell Nick, who was in 2009.
Ian looked at her.
“Reading my mind?”
“Ye know by now that I can’t read minds. Not often, anyway.” He was sharp.
Sam wondered if she was really going to double-cross him. How could she not? They’d gone through hell because he’d stolen the page and was refusing to hand it over. She’d almost lost her short hair to a knight wielding a spiked ball because he had the page! Enough was enough.
She knew what she had to do, but it didn’t sit well with her. She stared at the little chipmunk, which had been gathering up seeds, grim and thoughtful. She just didn’t have a helluva lot of choices now.
“So how are we getting back to 2009?” she asked. But damn it, she wasn’t really ready to leave. She wanted time with Brie and her sister.
“So ye can run to Nick an’ betray me?”
“Yeah, Ian. So I can run to Nick and betray you.” She stared at him intensely and his regard was as unwavering. Then she reached up and cupped his cheek. “I don’t want to argue or fight. I don’t want to be on warring sides. I owe you. I want to say thanks. But it’s time to hand over the page before they do some terrible things to us. Before they wind up with its power. This is the real deal, Ian. We’re not fighting bit-part players here and you know it.”
He pulled his face away. Sam thought he was angry, but then she realized he was sitting up, listening. Alarm kicked in as she strained to hear, as well. She realized that the birds had stopped singing. The forest was so silent that she could hear their breathing again. It was unnatural.
And then she thought she heard something moving in the black depths in front of them.
Maclean took her hand and they glided backward, deeper into the forest. Sam heard heavy breathing now. It wasn’t human. And that was when she felt the draft slither through the trees, brushing her bare arms, her bare legs.
Their gazes met. Then they turned as one and from behind a tree saw the shadows of man and beast.
The demon was hulking. So was its dog. The height of a Shetland pony, it had to be two hundred and fifty pounds. It was sniffing the ground, its gray coat glowing.
The nonhuman being had to be seven or eight feet tall. He stopped and looked right at them. When he smiled, his teeth flashed in the darkness.
Sam looked at Ian and jerked hard on his hand.
He threw his arms around her.
The demon dog howled and the nonhuman released it. As it charged, Sam said, “No more time, Maclean.”
It galloped madly at them, eyes blazing, ready to tear them from limb to limb.
Ian cursed.
Had he lost the power? “Maclean!” Sam shouted.
He grunted and pulled her more tightly into his embrace. As the dog leapt at them, they spun wildly up through the trees, past thick branches and spikelike needles, the pines scratching and clawing their arms, their faces. Then they were being hurled through the bright blue sky, into clouds, past the bright, glowing sun.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FRANKIE THE DOORMAN seemed more afraid of Rupert Hemmer than he did Uncle Sam. Nick began to lose patience as the doorman stared at his phony FBI ID and warrant, clearly reluctant to let them in. Nick sighed. “Let’s go,” he told his team.
As Nick walked to the elevator with his team, Frankie ran to the phone. Nick sighed again. How dumb could a doorman be? “Hold the cage,” he said to Kit. He turned and strode back across the lobby in about one second flat. He smiled at Frankie, who held the lobby phone, before ripping the telephone and its cord from Frankie’s hands and the wall at the same time. “Now, that was downright oppositional,” he said. He started to frisk him.
The thirty-two-year-old Latino blanched. “Hey, what are you doing! For all I know, that warrant is a fake. For all I know, you’re a fake!”
Having found the jerk’s cell phone, Nick dropped it on the floor and stomped on it, making certain that the loyal doorman could not call his boss. “Frankie? I swear to reimburse you. Now you need to swear that you won’t run down the street to the closest phone. Otherwise I’m gagging you, tying you up and sticking you in the janitor’s closet.”
