Dark Truth (The Time Bound Series Book 3)

by Lora Andrews

  Brother Rupert laughed, the first heartfelt sound Caitlin had heard since this whole disaster began. “Aye, I think I can find it in my old brain to remember, lad.”

  Oh, no... Her sword was aboard the sinking birlinn.

  Caitlin’s hand shot to the outside of her right leg. The knobby end of the hilt pressed against her fingertip. Thank god. Faolan’s dagger was still hidden beneath what remained of her sopping wet wool skirts and not somewhere on the bottom of the loch with the sword. The thigh sheath was secured to straps rigged to a belt she wore around her waist.

  Brother Rupert rolled his lips in a conspiratorial smile. He’d already met her dagger. He winked and slid his own weapon into the back waistband of his soaked pants.

  Ewen, on the other hand, angled his head, a curious expression in his sapphire eyes until his gaze slid from her hand lower, lower, lower still, heating the skin above her knee, setting off a small landslide in the pit of her stomach.

  Their eyes met.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. It got hot real fast.

  Feeling dizzy, she stretched her hands out over the small flame. The pins and needles throbbing in her fingers failed to distract her from the massive presence of the Highlander who was sparking small volcanic reactions in her major organs.

  From across the fire, Deidre gave her a worried smile. “You’re shivering. That’s a good sign. It’s when the spasms stop that you need to worry.”

  “Then we’re in g-g-good shape,” she said, rocked by a shiver that probably had nothing to do with the cold.

  “Stay here,” Ewen told Brother Rupert and Ian. “I’ll take Darach with me to the monastery. Ailbeart, Eiric, and Sim will man the perimeter. Watch the castle grounds. Any sign of movement, move the women into the woods. Trust your gut. Both of you. Their safety comes first.” Ewen punctuated his instructions with a stern look leveled at each man.

  Caitlin half-expected Ian to crack a joke, but when he simply nodded, her anxiety ramped up a notch. It made the eerie silence surrounding them all the more ominous.

  Dammit. She did not travel back in time to watch Ewen die.

  She grabbed his hand when he turned to leave. “Maybe you should let Ian go instead.”

  A lopsided grin stole the corner of his mouth and made her heart flip. “Are you worried for me, lass?”

  “Do you really have to ask?” There was no sense hiding her feelings when her face gave it all away. “Yes, you big oaf. I am.”

  He squeezed her hand, then kissed the top of her head. “Warm yourself. I won’t be long.”

  “Be careful. Please.”

  Without another word, he took off for the monastery. A confident swagger carried him over the field that would have made her mouth water if she wasn’t so damned worried about him.

  “Freaking Highlander thinks he’s invincible,” she muttered to herself.

  “Now, I’m truly offended.” Ian pressed a hand to the center of his chest in mock pain. “Is my life no’ worthy? Does my blood no’ bleed red? Do ye no’ worry for my safety, lass?” The grin crept up his cheek.

  “Oh, for the love of god, shut yer trap.” Deidre said. “Caitlin, throw a log at the eejit, will you? You’d be doing the world a favor.”

  “My heart breaks, love.” Ian gave Caitlin a playful wink. “Truly. How can she speak such vile words to me after I’ve risked my neck for her? Inconsiderate wench.” His hands never stopped warming the sides of Deidre’s arms.

  “Had I a pence for every injury I’ve mended on your broken body, I’d be a wealthy woman,” the healer retorted with an unlady-like snort.

  “Och, lass, you wound me deep. You wound me, dee— Oof!” he said when she elbowed his side. A rich, rumbling laugh rolled from his mouth. He caught Deidre’s arm before she could land another strike.

  Deidre bit her lip to hold back her laughter.

  Oh yeah…there was definitely something going on between these two.

  Caitlin smiled and turned her attention back to her Highlander. Yes, her Highlander, although she wasn’t ready to admit it out loud, nor did she know what she was going to do about her feelings. Everything was too up in the air. Too volatile. Too complicated, especially now with a betrothal.

  God. Her Ewen was going to get married.

  Could she live with that?

  Did she have a choice?

  Halfway to the monastery, Ewen stopped. Darach was to his right. Both men pivoted their heads to the left, then Ewen slowly angled his chin to the other side.

  Had he heard something?

  Caitlin tensed.

  Ewen’s left arm lowered, his hand hovering over the scabbard at his hip. Then, slowly, he unsheathed his sword. He resumed walking, each step measured, his bearing that of a soldier on high alert.

  Her palms heated. Caitlin frowned, flipped her hands over, and stared at the grooves etched into her skin now buzzing with a weird sensation. She’d say it was magic, but she no longer wore her pendant, so the ability was absent. No green light would shine from her wrinkled skin. But she felt like it could.

  Strange. If ever there was a time she wished she possessed magic, it was now. Even her defensive magic, although weak, would come in handy in the event of an attack from whatever had caused that pulse earlier.

  From the castle on the left, four warriors emerged through the double doors.

  Ewen held his fist in the air. A silent command. The guard at his shoulder halted. The other three along the perimeter drew their weapons but waited for orders.

  The newcomers sauntered—okay, walked stiffly was more of an apt description—along the worn path leading from the castle to the beach area. The odd gait became more pronounced the closer they got. Dressed similar to Ewen and his men, they wore trews, tunics, and what looked like quilted vests—gambesons. Some carried swords, others axes. They walked in a straight line, eyes focused ahead, seemingly oblivious to the group of wary observers watching with volatile restraint. Feet from Ewen, the strange troop took a sharp left turn, merging onto the trail leading up to the monastery as if on autopilot.

  Caitlin glanced at Ian with a what-was-that? frown.

  He raised a finger to his mouth, his eyes locked on Ewen and the zombie-like men, his weapon at the ready. When the troop reached the monastery, two men entered the building and two remained outside stationed by the door.

  Ewen held his position. He scratched the back of his neck.

  He feels it, too.

  Something about this situation curdled the loch water in her stomach. It was still way too quiet. Outside of the echoing of her own breathing, the gentle splash of water from behind was all she heard.

  Get back here, she wanted to yell.

  From the corner of her left eye, she caught Ailbeart drawing his sword, pivoting his large body shockingly fast at something behind her.

  She spun around.

  Swimming to the shore, the head of a merman bobbed above the surface, flanked by…

  She blinked.

  Mermaids? Two mermaids?

  “Am I hallucinating?”

  Smaller than their male counterpart, the females’ skin was more of a vibrant blue, their facial features softer, the amount of hair on their heads the only similarity to the mermen. Zero to be exact.

  Deidre’s hand clasped around Caitlin’s arm and squeezed. “They’ve come back to kill us.”

  “I…I don’t think so. They feel different than the group that attacked us.” Caitlin didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain. Something about this group felt different.

  The male used his webbed hands and powerful arms to pull himself onto the shore much like an elephant seal. Once out of the water, his skin paled, changing from a sky blue to a paltry gray. Ripples ran along his flesh. Tails and tentacles morphed to limbs and legs right before her eyes.

  Oh, my freaking god.

  There was a blur of movement around her, but she couldn’t pull her eyes from the transformation occurring to the females on the beach. Two human-lookin
g, very naked women stood on either side of the male.

  Before she could let out another shocked gasp, Ewen placed himself between the creatures and Caitlin, Ian and Brother Rupert on either side of her. Ailbeart and the other three guards fanned out in an arc, two facing the monastery and two facing the merpeople.

  The merman opened his mouth. A cross between the squeak of an otter and the groan of a sea lion emitted from his throat. Caitlin winced, as did the rest of Ewen’s crew. Appearing confused by their reactions, the merman exchanged a look with each of the females. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, the sound more of a soft, high pitched whine with garbled words intermixed.

  “It’s tryin’ to communicate?” Ian whispered to Ewen.

  “’Twould appear so.”

  “Damn silver eyes make a man cringe,” Ailbeart said.

  Ewen didn’t respond. He spotted two more guards leaving the castle, heading for the monastery. “Our blue friends may be attempting to distract us from the gathering mounting at the rear.”

  “Aye. I wondered.” Ian rolled a shoulder and cracked his neck. “Quite the pickle you’ve lead us into, War Master.” He flashed Ewen his signature grin.

  “I shoulda fed you to the fishes when I had my chance,” Ewen replied dryly.

  “Too late now,” Ian chuckled.

  The merman averted his eyes and took a tentative step forward, then halted.

  “It’s identified Ewen as our leader,” Brother Rupert told Caitlin. “See how it’s avoiding direct eye contact with him? That’s a submissive gesture. It’s waiting to learn his reaction.”

  “I think you’re right. I wonder why.” And god help her, was that concern she saw in its freakish silver eyes when it chanced a look to the monastery?

  “Heddwch. Tha againn har ei cythraul com do math.” This time, when the creature spoke, the words resembled the ancient language the Fomorians spoke in the woods.

  Caitlin jolted. “Oh, shit. I know what he said.”

  Ewen shot her an unreadable look over his shoulder.

  “Don’t go making us beg, lass.” Ian said. “Now wouldna be the time.”

  Wise ass. “Sorry. He said they have no quarrel with us.”

  Ewen snorted. “Aye, is that so? Then someone should advise our friend that attacking one’s birlinn is the wrong way to go about a peace treaty.”

  Ian’s shoulders tensed. “I doona recall fighting females.”

  “Aye,” Ewen said. “Neither do I.”

  Deidre released Caitlin’s arm and squeezed in between her and Brother Rupert. “The jagged wounds on their limbs look more like bites than wounds inflicted by our weapons.”

  She was right. Ugly bites that appeared red and inflamed. Had they been attacked by the other group of merpeople?

  “Rupert,” Ewen said. “Take the women and seek shelter in the woods.”

  Caitlin pulled her dagger from the sheath. “I’m not running.”

  “It’s not open for discussion,” Ewen said.

  The merman followed the track of their voices, his head jerking unnaturally when it moved from sound to sound. Then all at once, the females spoke to the male, their alien voices rising in a soft but frantic crescendo that made the goosebumps on Caitlin’s skin feel raw.

  “What are they saying?”

  “I don’t know.” Despite the chill, Caitlin’s palms started to sweat. She couldn’t tell if it was from fear or the magic leaking into the air from the merpeople. “They’re talking too fast.” But words like “dark ones” and “fallen” pinged in her ears.

  “Perygl. Måste täcka. Måste täcka,” the merman said. The women nodded vigorously.

  Caitlin translated the words in her head. Danger. Must cover. Must cover. “I think he’s telling us to hide. He said ‘must cover’ twice.”

  “Hide?” Brother Rupert repeated.

  “Ask him why,” Ewen said.

  “What?”

  “Can you not speak his tongue? Ask him about the danger.”

  She’d never tried speaking Neridian before. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”

  Stepping forward so she stood in between Ewen and Ian, she faced the creature and made eye contact, trying not to stare at the pointy fangs visible at the corners of his thick lips. She sucked in a breath. “Tha thu”—she pointed to the gray man—“attackerar ar gwch?”

  The merman looked to the loch. He shook his head and pointed to the main building. The monastery.

  “Tha sinn justera inte com sin pod. Tha sinn vill ha rhyddid.”

  “We do not align with that pod. We want freedom.” Caitlin frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Tha sinn har varit carcharorion por monia cyfnod.”

  “This isn’t making any sense.” Maybe Valoria’s bond was weakening. “I think he just told us they’ve been prisoners for many epochs.”

  Caitlin pointed to the monastery. “Carchar?”

  The creature nodded.

  She turned to Ewen. “I might be wrong, but he says that building is a jail. A prison they escaped.”

  When she looked passed her fear, she saw the malnourishment in their bodies, the fading bruises on their skin, the desperation in their eyes. “Who did this to them?”

  She glanced at Brother Rupert. Were the monks responsible?

  “Dölj. Kommer iad,” the creature said, his voice anguished. “E har befriat el brenin.”

  Hide. They come. He has freed the king.

  Panic shot through her. “Wait. Who comes? What king? Um… Cò kommer?”

  The merman’s head snapped to the monastery.

  Shit. Answer me. “Cò kommer?” she said louder.

  In the next breath, the females bolted for the loch, the male behind them, but Caitlin swore she heard him say, “It’s too late.”

  The air changed, growing dense and pressurized, almost as if thousands of tiny molecules got drunk, hit a carnival parade, and bumped and ground against her skin. She’d never lived in Tornado Alley, but she’d watched a documentary once where a survivor described the air as thick and soupy and full of menace before touchdown.

  That was exactly what she felt. Menace.

  “Oh, god, Ewen. Something’s not right.”

  The ground convulsed in agreement.

  EIGHTEEN

  A DARK CLOUD appeared out the monastery window, plummeting to the ground in a frightening free fall. The incorporeal mass took form and swelled, whirling around itself like a giant funnel.

  No…

  Not a cloud.

  A flock of purple birds. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny birds with blood-red beaks.

  Caitlin jumped back, bumping into Ewen’s chest. “What is that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The bird-funnel spun, zigzagging across the field in a corkscrew pattern.

  Ewen shoved her behind him and wrapped one hand protectively around her back.

  Every instinct screamed for her to run. She gripped her dagger, a flimsy weapon against a twenty-foot tall swarming bird thing for sure, but it was all she had and, dammit, she wasn’t running.

  She was fighting.

  Caitlin eyed the funnel looking for a weakness, but how did one attack a thing comprised of hundreds of other little things? The birds compressed, growing smaller until three distinct forms were visible. Three women dressed in hooded cloaks. One held a pewter bowl.

  Caitlin dug her fingers into Ewen’s left biceps. “They’ve got the cauldron.”

  Ewen searched the field. “Who? I see no one.”

  You see no one? “What do you mean you see no one?” She pointed. “Over there on the left. Three women. I think they’re witches. Can you see them?”

  “Nay.”

  “You saw the birds, though?”

  “Aye, until they disappeared.”

  Oh, no. This is bad. Really bad. “Three women are standing off to the side of the building.”

  “Their magic must be very powerful if I canna see them.”

  He
didn’t know the half of it.

  “There’s a cauldron on the ground near their feet. It will amplify whatever magic their working. It’s what we, and by we, I mean you, me, Fionn, and Valoria, used to perform the linking spell in my time. How the heck did that cauldron get here?”

  Ewen’s eyes narrowed, and the reason became apparent. Two soldiers headed their way. Ewen flicked two fingers over his head. Ailbeart and Eiric made quick work of defeating the first two guards.

  The witches began chanting.

  Another set of zombie-guards approached.

  “Is it the same as before?” Ian asked.

  Ewen nodded. “’Twould appear so. They fight as if ensorcelled.”

  Like the guys who attacked him.

  Crap.

  Caitlin rubbed the center of her forehead. “I’ll bet they’re being controlled by the witches. So now we know who enchanted them. We just need to figure out why.”

  Ewen tapped the side of her leg. “Be our eyes and ears, lass. Tell us what you see.”

  “I see the first two women clearly, but the third’s face is hidden, as if cloaked in shadow. Lips are moving. One of them is casting something into the cauldron. A small stone or a piece of wood. It’s gotta be some kind of spell.”

  “How far from us?”

  Too close. “Maybe fifteen feet, give or take.”

  Before she finished her account, the monastery’s side door splintered open. A blond-haired man, large and Viking-looking and definitely not a monk by the bright coloring of his clothes, sauntered over the broken chunks of wood like it was sand on the floor. He stepped aside, leaving room for the surge of supernatural creatures that followed. Fomorians. More merpeople. Human-looking creatures in mid-transformation. Some ran across the field, escaping into the loch. Others wandered off to the periphery of the property, milling about, ignoring their group and the others, acting as if they didn’t know where to go.

  Or maybe they did and were just waiting around for something. A signal.

  He has freed the king.

  Oh, crud. “They’re waiting for someone.”

  Above, a shrill sound pierced the air. A large-winged creature soared over the building. The front doors barged open. Men clad in yellow robes ran out with swords in their hands. The supernaturals milling around the beach suddenly came to attention. Bodies transformed. Two-legged beings became creatures with wings and claws. Some of the robed men changed forms too, becoming half-dragon or half-sphinx looking creatures. Claws clanged steel. Fomorian versus dragon. Zombie-guard versus the robed men.