by Olivia Norem
Simeon clapped Ian on the back, laughing. “’Tis a wee stronger than yer used tae, aye?”
Ian blinked his eyes rapidly and nodded. He already felt the slow warmth seeping through his limbs, melting away the ache of the brutal ride. He beckoned with his hand to the whiskey with a grin. “I’ll do my damnedest to get used to it.”
Simeon shook his head and tossed him the skin. He admired the man’s fortitude. They’d left before dawn’s light the morning after they’d come through the stones and ridden hard to Alastair Campbell’s keep. Simeon pushed the two-day ride into one, and not once had Ian asked to rest or uttered a complaint. However, knowing that Ian was unaccustomed to such long, rough journeys, they’d camped for a few hours rest before returning to Kilchurn.
After telling his uncle in private exactly why he needed the sword, Alastair presented it to him without question. His uncle then told him of a legend known only to a privileged few. A distant traveler would carry the sword, a protector’s champion. He’d embraced Simeon roughly with tears in his eyes, thinking he’d never see him again.
Before they departed Alastair’s company, he issued a last plea. “Destroy that evil, Simeon. Dinnae fail us, lad.”
“Tell me whot ye make of it.” Simeon picked up the weapon by the scabbard and reversing the hilt, handed it to Ian.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Ian smiled and took the sword reverently. He’d been bristling with excitement for a close inspection of the piece. In all his studies and despite familiarity with weapons of antiquity, he’d never seen anything close to the design of Simeon’s sword. As soon as his fingers gripped the hilt, a punch of electricity shot up his arm so strongly he almost dropped it.
“Did you feel that too?” Ian’s face was wide with curiosity. Simeon’s small nod of acquiescence was his only reply.
The sting of the current ebbed and now pulsed in time with his heartbeat. The hilt melded readily to his hand and the sword became weightless in his arm. Syncopated beats of raw energy thrummed from this head to his toes; Ian couldn’t mask his astonishment as faint blue light illuminated the scrolls and the markings on the blade began to glow and brighten.
This sword was power.
Unrefined, synergistic power, forged into his very human essence, harnessing the invisible energy of every molecule between man and blade, pulsing with a life force of such magnitude, they were no longer distinguishable. Twin souls joined in a turquoise light of love, power, and integrity so pure, Ian couldn’t help but be humbled at the knowledge suddenly placed in his hands. It was as if the secrets of the universe were his, and he only had to ask the questions.
This blade was ancient. Otherworldly. Divine and omnipotent. Ian reminded himself to breathe. His mind raced with questions as the sword suffused his consciousness; it became as familiar and natural as an arm or a hand. Every query was answered in a single lucid moment of understanding, and Ian realized that such magnificence was bestowed only upon those who were worthy.
Simeon regarded him with a smirking grin and crossed his arms on his chest as Ian took some practice moves with the weapon. He advanced, lunged, and swung the glinting blade over his head, turning and spinning in long, fluid movements.
“I’d hae ne’er ken a mon from yer time would hae such a talent,” Simeon complemented. He hadn’t known Ian was familiar with a sword, let alone had such masterful technique.
Ian answered with his signature flourishing salute, just as he would if he were facing an opponent in a tournament using foils.
“Yale Fencing Team Captain. I know this handles differently from a foil or a rapier… but this…” Ian’s voice trailed off. He couldn’t find words to express himself. He was transfixed by the way the sword emitted a cool, turquoise gleam.
“Aye. For certs, nae other blade e’en comes close. There is strong magic in it. Try this, Ian Goldman,” Simeon chuckled. He balanced a rock the size of a small melon on top of a boulder.
“Magic? You expect me to believe this is magic?” Ian frowned, “and what the hell do you expect me to do with that?” Ian nodded at the rock.
“Strike it as if it’s yer enemy mon,” Simeon said bluntly. He braced his legs and crossed his arms in wait.
“I’m not going to risk breaking this blade on a rock,” Ian protested.
Simeon pursed his lips into a frown and then chortled. “Ye tryin’ tae tell me, ye just came back in time and ye dinnae believe in a wee bit o’ magic?”
“I will not abuse a fine weapon like this,” Ian said shaking his head.
“Och, yer as stubborn as yer sister, and ye blather almost as loud. Now strike the rock.”
“Why?”
Simeon groaned. “Tae ken the power o’ the blade for yersel. Trust me, mon. Now strike the rock.”
Ian swirled the blade above his head in a full circle and struck the stone in a hard, downward thrust. Huge sparks and white-hot flames exploded as the blade sliced all the way through, cleaving both the rock and the boulder beneath.
“Jesus!” Ian cried out as he drew the sword easily through the boulder. The acrid smell of molten earth and dust pinched his nostrils. Small tufts of leaves and nearby twigs burned in the smoldering debris, yet his clothing and shoes remained unsullied. A black slash cleaved the boulder, the only evidence of what had just happened. The base stone was four feet high and just as wide, yet it had been no more difficult to slice through the boulder than to cut through a stick of butter at a summer picnic.
With his mouth agape, Ian stared at Simeon, whose face was wreathed in a smug expression. “What the hell is this?” Ian asked acerbically. He glanced repeatedly from the sword to Simeon and back again. The sword was completely unscathed.
“’Tis yer weapon, Ian Goldman,” Simeon said quietly.
“Mine? I don’t understand.”
“I recognized it in the ancient book. But ‘tis no’ for me.”
“Fill me in, then. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t remember reading that part,” Ian said skeptically. Simeon unfolded his arms and sat down by the fire. He ran a hand through his hair. Ever the observer, Ian had spent enough time with Simeon to recognize his tells. And the hand in the hair was either bad news or frustration. Since Simeon seemed oddly calm, this was bad news.
Ian sheathed the sword and took a place near the fire. He grabbed the whiskey and took a long swig, coughing only once afterward. Ian mused on how his hand already missed the hilt of the sword.
Simeon picked up a stick and poked it thoughtfully into the fire. He gazed deeply into the flames as he spoke. “’Tis time I tell ye the full story. Every thousand years, evil stirs across the land. It rests for a millennium until it grows, awakens, and walks upon the earth.
“Isobel?”
“Aye. And when she takes her mortal form, her power becomes exceedingly dangerous. She’s a threat no’ only to the clans and the rest o’ Scotia. She’s a threat tae all mankind.”
“Good. No pressure then.”
“’Tis nae joking matter, Ian.
“Hey, sarcasm is how I deal with stress. Probably why Elena left me. But continue.”
“Och, yer sister is much the same. Let me start at the beginning. The sword. The Cuimreach legends tell it was created among their ancient peoples, the Cymru. Cymru were said tae walk between worlds, o’ mon and fae. ‘Twas they who created objects of such wonder and power, ‘twas deemed necessary tae protect them from mon’s misuse. Caledfwlch, the sword ye hae there, is one of those relics.”
“According to the book, Isobel is not defeated easily. It isn’t enough to slay her. Her source of power must be destroyed as well. That’s where the diamond come in, correct?” Ian ventured.
“Aye. ‘Tis a mystical object, created at the same time as yer sword and the mirror in which I was trapped. ‘Twill be near her, but nae on her. I cannae destroy them both.”
“What about the box I saw in the drawing?”
“‘Tis no’ the box we need concern ourselves, but destroying the stone. T
his fae stone o’ such brilliance and power, like yer sword. But the Campbell’s are mere caretakers of the sword, Ian. It hae ne’er been ours tae use.” Simeon revealed.
“Yeah, but these tales and legends and that ancient book, were written well before my time. You overlooked one thing in this whole crazy scheme of yours, Simeon.”
“Aye?”
“I was under no delusions when I agreed to join you. I’m well aware this could be a one-way trip for both of us. But I brought along a few surprises of my own. I didn’t think your brawn and a few swords were going to be enough to take down a witch. No offense.”
“If I fall, Isobel will gae with me. If I happen tae survive, I fully intend tae return tae yer time. I will live my days with Katherine at me side. But ken this Ian Goldman, whether I succeed or fail, it will be ye tae carry on the Clan Campbell.”
Chapter 20
Kat palmed along the door, feeling for a weakness in the wood. Despite its age, the heavy door was simply too solid to breach. She’d have to escape this cell using its weakest points as well as logic. She inwardly laughed at the primitive confines, as if medieval construction would be able to imprison her for long. Questing fingertips memorized every nuance and crevice of the iron lock. The construction had to be a simple lever and pin mechanism. If she had her tools, even her pocket-knife, this would be a five-second escape, but limited as she was, Kat would have to improvise.
She wrenched a second leg from the bed and… hello… sweet protruding nail. Kat wiggled the thin metal free from the rotted wood. Inserting the nail into the keyhole, Kat held her breath hoping it was long enough to reach the pin. C’mon, c’mon — a few delicate jiggles and Kat coaxed the internal lever from the bar.
Yes!
Kat pulled the door open cautiously. There wasn’t a guard in sight. Only the assault of stale, dank air, so thick it coated her tongue with dusty moisture. She squinted down the darkened hallway and listened. The only sounds she could detect were the faint echoes of the revelry taking place floors above the dungeon. This place was deserted. Her eyes already accustomed to the dark, she closed the cell door behind her with a smirk. Let the wonder twins solve the mystery as to how she’d vanished.
Feeling her ascent along the narrow stone steps, Kat finally reached the ground level of the bailey. She darted into the nearest alcove and surveyed the scene. Crouching low to the wall, Kat remained hidden and caught enough snippets of slurred brogue to determine ‘the Laird’ was arriving soon.
All hell was breaking loose.
Every corner and crevice were flooded with a supercharge of activity. Women scurried past, their skirts flying wide in their wake. Plaids became a blur as men shouted in Gaelic and stomped frantically amid barking dogs.
Except for one.
Ostensibly forgotten behind a low curtain wall near the double-door entrance to the castle, a big, wiry-haired beast pulled against the chain around his neck. The dog heaved a doleful sigh before settling his head on a pair of massive paws. Forlorn yet hopeful brown eyes followed the ebb and flow of the crowd, who remained oblivious to the poor beast’s plight.
The dog’s head raised an inch with optimism when Kat locked eyes with him. Her heart stabbed with a sudden pang of pity.
What vile creature would chain such a dog? Probably the same bumbling idiots who had thrown her in the dungeon.
Glancing left and right, Kat darted covertly to the dog’s side, whose tail began to thump wildly. There was simply too much activity for anyone to notice the pair.
“Poor baby,” Kat crooned and smoothed the haphazard tangle of hairs away from his eyes. A big pink tongue licked her hand. “Lucky for you, I still have this.”
Kat slipped the nail into the lock and with a few well-timed jabs, the catch sprang open. Bounding upright, the dog knocked her back on her heels, licking her face in gratitude.
“Oh, c’mon,” Kat chuckled as she pushed the dog’s chest. Brushing off her backside, she peered sidelong at the dog, who brazenly stared right back, a low whine barely discernable above the shouts and scuttling surrounding them. The thing was gigantic, its head reaching to Kat’s waist. The dog gave a slow, opened-mouth yawn, followed by a sneeze. He then nudged his ear against Kat’s hand.
“Well, that’s the best greeting I’ve had yet in this miserable place.” Kat obliged by scratching his ear. “Why don’t you give me a tour?”
The beast, seeming to comprehend Kat’s need for stealth, led her quietly into the shadowed interior of the castle, slipping past the torrent of rushing people too busy with their own duties to notice the pair. The ‘miserable place’ turned out to be anything but. Kat caught herself consciously clamping her mouth shut and even stumbled once. Her mind’s eye pictured the worst, having been acquainted with the dungeon, but nothing prepared her for the sights that met her upon entering the hall.
At least fifty people darted about, but the space hardly felt their presence. The place was massive and completely overwhelming with its opulence. Intricately-carved stone columns flanked the long hall, leading off to rooms just begging to be discovered. Two levels of stone balustrades topped the columns, indicating more stories above, all contained beneath an arched, painted ceiling that looked like something straight out of a gothic fairy tale.
Elaborate tapestries in riots of color depicting battle and hunt scenes lined the walls, along with dozens upon dozens of gleaming swords, claymores, and shields. Kat tried hard not to gape as she swiped a pitcher from a nearby table. It was best to appear as a busy servant, clutching a vessel and busy on a task — even if she did have a dog the size of a pony leading her way.
Mimicking her covert movements hugging the wall, the dog paused, turned back to look at her with a seeming ‘all clear,’ and then bounded up the wide staircase. Kat was passed by several boys hauling wooden buckets of steaming water up the stairs, steadily urged on by a portly woman who shouted orders from the center of the hall like a miniature general commanding her troops. The keen eyes narrowed at Katherine for a moment, and Kat shrank further into the shadows.
“You there!” The woman pointed. Just then, a loud crash of clanging metal and china sounded behind her. A servant tripped in the ensuing melee, sending a full service of tea and cups banging and rolling across the stone floor.
“Och, ye fool!” The woman spun sharply; Kat took her reprieve and rushed up the stairs. Saved by a kettle, her lips twisted in a wry smile. She only hoped it was black.
As she rounded the landing on the second story, a melodious, yet impatient voice drew near. “If ye ken, I’ll wait ‘til the Laird summons me, ye daft woman. I’ll give him a welcomin’ home the likes he’ll ne’r for—oh!”
Kat nearly collided with the young woman hell-bent on her descent. She was vibrant and beautiful, with a flawless complexion and sparkling green eyes that tilted up at the corners. Dressed in a gown of shimmering burgundy, with the too familiar Campbell plaid hastily wrapped around her shoulders, she was a shocking contrast to Kat’s stained clothing. And she smelled good too. Another barb to Kat’s pride. The clean scents of rose spiked with lavender wafted toward her in an invisible trail. Shiny, thick hair tumbled down her back and the maid behind her, intent on finishing a braid, bumped into her back as the woman halted abruptly.
“Och, Brenda, cease. Sim’s come home!” She shoved the girl loose behind her and barely murmured a ‘pardon’ to Kat as she continued her hurried flight in a wide twirl of skirts and a wake of perfume.
Sim?
Who was that girl and why had she called him Sim? And just what did she mean a ‘welcome home he’d never forget?’ In her entire share of shitty days, this one had to top them all. First, she was abandoned and drugged in a cave by the man who professed to love her, mistaken for a spy and thrown into a dungeon, and now discovered Simeon has some woman—a breathtakingly, beautiful, who-even-smelled-pretty woman — waiting for him back in time?
Yeah. This day was getting better and better.
Each upward
step became heavier as Kat’s mind raced. Was that girl the reason Simeon had abandoned her? And ‘Sim’ was an intimate moniker…
The dog glanced back with a nonplussed whine and shattered her thoughts.
The dog nudged her into an embrasure on the third story. The wind blowing through the vertical opening ruffled her hair. She was blockaded against the stone by the dog’s giant body and was looking through an honest-to-goodness arrow slit. A shiver coursed through her, reminding her of the contrasts of her location; she must remain wary. This was a violent time. Twenty-first century homes didn’t include defensive incisions in their exterior walls.
As the steady stream of young boys milled past them, swinging their empty buckets, the dog’s intentions became clear. He was hiding her from discovery.
“You’re like a little guardian angel,” Kat whispered, running her fingertips along the wiry coat. “Well, maybe you’re not so little, but I’m going to call you Angel.”
The dog glanced back, raised a tentative, bushy brow and panted wide. He seemed pleased with the name.
Kat peered through the opening in response to the creak of the portcullis being raised. A throng of people rushed forward to greet Simeon. To her chagrin, Ian was by his side. Both men cut through the crowd, tall and proud on horseback. Kat’s excitement swelled as she spied their smiling faces. To think she might have never seen either of them again… She released a heavy breath of relief. But it wasn’t the fact that Simeon was draped in his Campbell plaid astride a black warhorse, looking every inch the Highland Laird he was, that made her smile. It was the fact he still wore those blazing-white Nike shoes.
She wanted to call out to him, but the distance was too great. Simeon would never hear her from this height. Kat burst into laughter as a red-haired boy ran to the pair. Simeon lifted him in the saddle and took a turn with him around the bailey. Kat’s pleasure was hastily cut short. Gliding through the throng of people was the stunning woman she’d bumped into on the stairs, running toward Simeon in a billowing wake of ruby silk. He leapt from the horse in a practiced arc and dashed to meet her. As the woman jumped into his arms, Simeon’s head bent to hers and he spun her wildly in a show of pure delight.
