Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

  The oars hit the eerily calm water in unison.

  A high-pitched whine droned around the birlinn. Specs of magic floated around the hull.

  “They’re cloaking the boat,” Caitlin yelled.

  Gray blue tentacles rose from the sea and slammed against the starboard. The birlinn shook under the assault.

  Ian lost his footing and fell against the mast. “Jesus Christ. Those fecking things have tentacles on their backs now?”

  “Keep rowing.” Ewen’s voice boomed over the freaky noise. “Doona stop.” To Ian, he pointed to a merman raising a tentacle over the side of the bow. “Don’t let it get onboard,” he shouted.

  Ian withdrew his sword.

  Ewen let fly another arrow the loch decided to swallow.

  The warriors and Brother Rupert continued to row, but the boat wasn’t moving. It was like they were pitched in tar. Yet the water continued to spill over the sides of the hull, spreading along the floor like an intruder.

  “It’s some kind of magic,” Caitlin yelled. What else could it be?

  Deidre made the sign of the cross. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the lord is with thee. Blessed art thou...”

  Blue hands clamped the hull near the stern. Ewen thrust his sword into the merman’s torso and kicked him in the chest, shoving the creature back into the loch.

  Caitlin reached beneath her skirt for Faolan’s dagger, but her gaze snagged on an axe handle buried beneath a bench a foot away. She’d have more momentum with the axe than she would the dagger.

  Deidre grabbed her arm. “Where are you going.”

  “There’s too many of them.” When one blue head disappeared, another bobbed in its place. Ewen was running out of arrows, and who knew how many of those things hid below the surface waiting to attack. “Ewen needs help.”

  The healer let go of Caitlin’s hand. “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know.” Caitlin stepped over the next bench. At ten feet wide, there wasn’t much either of them could do before they got in someone’s way. But she had to try.

  Wood splintered from another crash to the hull, this one closer to the rudder. Caitlin lost her balance and fell, landing on her knees in the gap between benches and struck the guard’s elbow with her forehead when he pulled back on the oar.

  Wincing, she stretched her arm beneath the bench, shouts and grunts ringing around her, inching her fingers toward her target. Cold water rushed down her sleeve, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her flesh. Several inches had already flooded the hull. They needed a plan. Someone needed to plug up the holes—and soon—before everyone onboard became merman food.

  Finally, with the axe handle in her grip, she eased back onto the bench. Deidre had joined the monk at the oars. Ian waged war against several tentacles. And Ewen—

  A head popped over the edge of the hull to her right.

  Caitlin jumped and swung the axe, aiming for the sucker’s hand gripped on the rail. She missed. The blade lodged into the oak with a crack. She wrestled to pull the blade free thinking maybe the axe thing hadn’t been such a great idea after all.

  “Duck!” Ewen said.

  Dropping to her knees, she bent her head, tucking her chin to her neck. Air whirred over her hair followed by a telltale splash. She popped open an eye.

  The merman was gone.

  Ewen freed the axe from the birlinn. “Swing for their eyes.”

  He was covered in black blood and gore.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Their hands touched when she reached for the handle.

  “’Tis safer away from the edge, lass.” He winked and dashed off to help Ian to fend off the last of the two blue men. Three of Donald’s guard’s peered over the hull portside, chests heaving, swords held in iron grips. The fourth stood on a bench starboard, loosing arrows into the loch.

  “Halt.” Ewen fisted a hand in the air.

  Caitlin treaded to Ewen through water that passed her ankles, rising fast. The loch had miraculously calmed, but the birlinn listed to the side. At this rate, the creatures wouldn’t need to climb aboard. They could just swim in. “Are they gone?”

  She tightened her grip on the axe. They were about fifty yards from Lismore. Maybe two or three miles from Glensanda on the opposite shore. With no visual of any man-hating mythical creatures in the water.

  Creatures who’d cloaked the birlinn with magic, making them invisible to anyone watching on land. And worse, the boat wasn’t going to make it to Lismore, never mind Mull.

  Shit.

  “We’ll have to swim to shore,” Brother Rupert said quietly.

  “Aye.” Ewen’s gaze landed on Caitlin. “Can you swim, lass?”

  She nodded. She wasn’t a half-bad swimmer. After her first 5k, she set her mind to trying a triathlon. She’d never accomplished that goal, but the laps at the Y had improved both her strokes and her breathing.

  But this was open water. No lifeguard. No vest. No rope dividers to hang onto if she got tired.

  Ewen sheathed his sword and retrieved the jeweled dagger. He crouched in front of her and grabbed the hem of her gown. “It will weigh you down.”

  He cut a good four inches of fabric.

  Smart thinking.

  She plucked the dagger from his hand and cut off another foot, the skirt falling several inches above her knees. “I know this is inappropriate in your time, but it’ll make swimming easier, and we’ll have less of a chance of me getting caught on anything in the loch.”

  His eyes lingered on her bare legs a little longer than they should have.

  Her pulse tripped.

  Ewen cleared his throat and looked away. He jerked his head to Ian who blushed when he looked at Deirdre’s skirt.

  “Oh, for crying out loud. I’ll do it myself.” Deidre snapped her hand out to Ian. “Give me the bluidy dagger before we all drown waiting.”

  Yeah, there was definitely something going on between those two.

  Ian bent over and made quick work of Deidre’s skirt.

  “We’ll set off in pairs,” Ewen said. “Set your course for the beach and stay focused. Find a marker. Doona let yourselves get distracted. Understood?”

  The men grunted in agreement.

  He left the “beware of what you cannot see” unsaid. No one was fool enough to think they could outswim those things. That knowledge was evident on the expressions of every single person standing in this sinking birlinn.

  Brother Rupert threw off his robe and dived into the water, followed by one of the guards. Ian and Deidre followed suit.

  Caitlin swallowed. The tide was low. There was no sign of the blue mermen and the loch had resumed her gentle current.

  Ewen held out his hand. “Are you ready, lass?”

  Caitlin blew out a breath and lowered her hand into his. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  And before she could dive into the unknown, a wave of magic hit the boat and knocked her into the hull.

  SIXTEEN

  CAITLIN FELL in between the benches.

  “Jesus,” she groaned. “What the heck was that?”

  “Are you hurt?” Ewen extended his hand, quickly scanning her body for injuries, then shot his gaze back over the loch. There was no sign of the mermen in the water, but that didn’t stop his pulse from surging and skipping and splintering in his veins.

  “Everything feels kind of numb.” Grimacing, she grabbed hold of his hand and used the leverage to lift herself up. “I’m okay. At least, I think so. Just wet.” She rubbed her back, the water rippling around her feet. “What kind a magic sends a pulse hundreds of feet across the lake?”

  Ewen ground his teeth. The kind he was determined to find and annihilate.

  Nearing the shore, Rupert swam with quick and steady strokes toward the beach, unaffected by the cold. His body was well accustomed to the cool temperatures due to the many swims the monks made to the underwater caves near the abbey. Ian and the others were a short distance behind Rupert.

  Ewen searched the castle perched
on the promontory to the left of the monastery, paying close attention to the towers and doors, but saw no activity in or around the castle. Or its grounds.

  Where were the spotters?

  These were former MacDougall holdings, passed on to the Stewarts by Bruce after the war. But the MacDougalls hadn’t given up their quest to reclaim what was theirs. Nay, Ewen had heard the grumblings. It seemed John Stewart, second of Lorn, had fathered a bastard son, and word was old John was considering marriage to his leman. Which meant the Campbells, whose sons had married John’s daughters, would lose Lorn, and if the rumors held true, they were now in league with the MacDougalls to stop Old John from uttering the vows that would bind him and his territory to his lovely young mistress.

  Guardsmen should have been crawling about like ants. Yet not a soul stirred.

  Rupert emerged from the water first and walked onto the beach.

  Ewen scrubbed his mouth. The tingling at his nape spread across his shoulders. “Come, lass. We mustn’t tarry any longer.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head and bit the inside of his mouth. “I should have ordered them to Kingairloch instead.”

  Caitlin cast a doubtful look across the loch. “I don’t know, Ewen. I’d say it’s three miles to the other side. I can swim, but I’m not a channel swimmer, you know. As it is, I’ll be lucky if I make the fifty or so yards to Lismore. And with these water temps... I mean, I don’t know exactly when hypothermia sets in, but in fifty or fifty-five degree water, I’m guessing I’d have hour, or less, before the shock drowns me. Look—” She angled her chin in the direction of the beach.

  Ian had his arm clasped around Deidre’s upper chest, towing her to shore.

  “You made the right call, Ewen.”

  Aye, she had a point, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Ewen rescanned the area between the monastery and the shore before his gaze landed briefly on Rupert, who paced along the water line, waiting for the others to reach the beach.

  “It’s too quiet.” He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. But no truer words had he spoken. There was nary a breeze to stir his hair. No bird’s screeching above. And his nape itched like crazy.

  The water level inside the birlinn had risen, now midway to Caitlin’s shins. She shivered, then hugged her arms around her body.

  Bluidy hell. He’d didn’t have time to waste lollygagging aboard a sinking boat.

  “The water will take away your breath, lass. I’ll hold ye until you’ve regained control of your limbs.”

  She chewed her lip, her green eyes glazing. “This is going to be the longest swim of my life.”

  He smiled. “You have it in you. You’re a braw lass.”

  She laughed. “Yep. Seems I’m prone to jumping off things when you’re around.” Her smile faded. She sucked in a breath and fixed her eyes to the water. “I can do this. I’m already freezing. All I have to do is jump. Easy peasy.”

  The last two words made no sense to him. “Aye. I’ll hold ye up until you adjust to the water temperature. It’ll keep you from going under when the shock of the cold causes your lungs to spasm.”

  “Okie dokie.” She took a breath. “Okay.” And then another. “Okay.”

  “Caitlin, if you overthink it, your fear will control you. Look at me.” He pointed two fingers to his face. Their eyes met, and she locked onto his gaze. “Trust me. I won’t let you drown.”

  “I do.” She said the words without hesitation. “I trust you with my life, Ewen.”

  Something tripped in his heart. He gave her a clipped nod, and before he succumbed to the urge to press his body against hers, he dove headfirst into the loch. When he surfaced, he found her staring into the water.

  “Okay. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” She raised a leg over the hull, then hesitated, forcing a loud breath through her puckered lips. “It’s now or never, right?” She looked into his eyes. “Okay, I’m ready. I’m going to jump.”

  “I’m here, lass.”

  She sucked in a breath, pinched her nose, and without delay, climbed the hull and jumped. When she rose to the surface, gasps tore through her body. Having swum behind her, Ewen was ready. He held her back against his chest. Panting, her body jerked violently against his, shudders wracking her limbs, lungs seizing, breaths forcefully expelled, one after the other.

  “S-s-s-sooo fr-fr-freaking c-coldd-dd,” she said between shakes. Her hands gripped his arms.

  “Easy, now”

  “H-h-how-w are you not c-c-c-cold?”

  He chuckled. “I’m a Highlander.”

  “J-j-j-es-sus. I sh-sh-should of known y-y-you’d say some-something like th-th-that.

  He smiled. “I’ve spent a good part of my life aboard a galley. Swam these waters as a boy. Sailed to Ireland.” That last part slipped out before he could stop himself.

  “Y-y-you did? I d-d-didn’t know t-t-that.”

  “I did.” He’d spent years shedding blood on foreign soil to forget his pain. Losing himself in one war after another, enticing Death with each blow of his sword. He hoped death would find him so he could look her in the eye. And now, bobbing in frigid waters in the middle of the loch with a green-eyed lass caught in his arms, he wanted to live.

  The tremors in Caitlin’s body eased. She wove her arms through the water, her feet kicking below the surface.

  “Are you ready, lass?”

  She nodded her head. “I think so.”

  Ewen was reluctant to let her go. He loosened his hold.

  “Stay close to me.” Please, her eyes begged.

  “I’m here,” was all he said. The gratitude in those gorgeous eyes stirred an uncomfortable warmth in his gut, and he realized, even if she hadn’t asked for his assistance, he wouldn’t have been able to stay away from her. Sometime between that first moment in the field and now, this woman from the future had wiggled her way into his every waking thought.

  And his heart wasn’t too far behind.

  SEVENTEEN

  EWEN HELPED CAITLIN out of the water. Her hands were too cold to work, and her sluggish muscles refused to follow orders, her brain running two gears slower than slow. He kept one big hand gripped around her waist as she trudged to the shore. It was probably the only thing holding her up at the moment.

  Two of Donald’s guards, Eiric and...Abern? Or was it Albright? Acerd? Gah, whatever their names, the two men patrolled the small stretch of beach, swords brandished and eyes set on the loch, ready to tackle whatever creature dared to emerge from the loch’s blue waters. The behemoth of the two guards, the frizzy-haired guy with the “A” name she couldn’t remember, made his way over to Ewen.

  “Report?” Ewen asked.

  Frizzy-dude scowled. “Empty as old Alastair’s ale barrels, or so we are led to believe,” he said of the castle and buildings behind them. Squinting, he glanced up to the skyline then back down to Ewen. “You won’t see a hare scampering from its burrow nor wings in the sky.” His deep, guttural voice chafed the golf-ball-sized goosebumps on Caitlin’s arms. “It’s bluidy unnatural if you be asking me. But I’ll tell you, I’m feeling eyes upon my back from every angle of this godforsaken isle.”

  Ewen grunted in agreement. “Stay vigilant.”

  “Sim and Darach are out for wood.” He paused and then inclined his head at Deidre.

  Cloak-less, the healer gripped her arms, hopping from foot to foot while peering into a small pile of smoking tinder. Ian added kindling and nursed the baby flame. Rubbing her hands, Deidre fanned them out before the negligible flame, uncontrollable shudders working through her limbs.

  The thought of standing over the fire, any fire, to feel that radiant heat slide over her skin, sparked a violent spasm in Caitlin. Her chattering teeth lured Alioto’s...no Ahlborn’s—sheesh, why couldn’t she remember his name?—attention from the makeshift campfire.

  His greenish eyes settled briefly on her face before he re-addressed his captain. “The lassies are in need of dry cloth
ing.”

  No shit, Sherlock.

  It didn’t take a boy scout to make that assessment. “Remove wet clothing” was first on their survival bucket list, followed by “put on dry clothes” and “huddle beneath warm blankets,” neither of which they had.

  But no way was she was stripping out of her mangled gown. Hanes underwear hadn’t found its way into a medieval woman’s repertoire yet, and she’d already flashed her God-given nuggets to Ewen and his men once.

  She wasn’t about to do it again.

  God, why was she so crabby?

  Oh, shit. Was agitation a sign of hypothermia? They’d only been in the water for five minutes, maybe less, but...

  “I’m no’ liking the situation either, Ailbeart, but we’ll do the best we can for our women.”

  Ailbeart. She sighed and repeated the guard’s name over and over in her head. Why? She had no clue. Perhaps to thwart mental confusion or the other symptoms of hypothermia she’d never bothered to look up.

  “Come, lass. Let’s get you before the fire.” Ewen guided her across the beach to the edge of a field. The land beyond the sandy beach was a vibrant fairy green. Off to the right, the terrain shifted up then down in a rolling slope. And beyond, Caitlin could see a smattering of trees, but from her vantage point, she couldn’t tell how thick the woods ran. The two missing guards emerged from the tree line carrying branches and kindling.

  Brother Rupert rushed over to lend assistance, his linen trouser sticking to his long legs in wet clumps as they made their way over to Deidre and Ian. “There should be woolens, robes, and blankets at the monastery. Highland custom dictates they should aid us.” A worried frown tugged at the space between his gold eyes.

  “Are ye armed, Rupert?” Ewen asked.

  The monk shook his head. “Left my herb pouch in my robes along with my dagger. A spell or two to dry our clothes would have been a useful tool to have in these circumstances.”

  There were spells to dry clothes?

  When they reached the campsite, Ewen removed Bres’s jeweled dagger from the sheath around his right thigh. “I trust you remember how to use this?”