Anything to put distance between her and Eoghan.
“I dinnae like this, lass,” he murmured into her mind. “Keep talking to me so that I know you’re well.”
“I will...when I can.”
“When you can?” He scowled. “We just lay together.” Darach shook his head. “You know how I feel. Being ripped from what we just shared is hard.”
“Or meant to be,” she whispered.
“Och, lass,” he started but was soon intercepted by another warrior.
When the man made a curt motion with his hand, the lasses on Devlin’s arms sighed and sauntered off.
“The men are ready at the castle, Sir. A bath awaits your pleasure,” he said, his eyes locked with Darach’s. Devlin clearly garnered enough respect that the bits of grass stuck to his armor would not be mentioned nor even glanced at with disapproval. The other possibility? Maybe Devlin made a habit of napping in the grass. Perhaps he was lazy. But no. That was obviously not the case based on the endless nods of respect not only from the villagers but fellow warriors as he passed by them.
Darach nodded his thanks when the man led him to a cottage then left. A round, wooden tub full of steaming water waited as well as a change of clothes. It appeared he wouldn’t be wearing armor tonight.
“Thank the bloody hell,” he muttered as he started to remove the uncomfortable stuff.
He narrowed his eyes when someone said, “Sir, allow me to help ye.”
A teenage boy melted out of the shadows and started pulling at the strappings on his armor. He had a squire? Interesting.
“Thank ye...” When he perked a brow at the lad, hoping he would provide his name, the boy shook his head in confusion.
There was only one way to handle this. Play dumb.
“It seems I took a bump to the head earlier,” Darach explained. “Might ye remind me of your name?”
“Of course, sir.” The lad lowered his head. “I am Úistean.”
“And how long have ye seen after me, Úistean?”
“Several turns of the moon now, sir.” He kept his head lowered but peeked at Darach. “Going on twenty-four fortnights now.”
“That long.” Darach perked his brows. “Are we friends yet then?”
“Ye are kind to us all, sir.” Úistean tilted his head and spoke over his shoulder. “Taggart, go fetch more water for our good sir.”
“Aye,” came a soft voice and yet another lad he didn’t realize stood there exited.
As soon as he left, Úistean transformed. While still respectable, he seemed far more relaxed as he pulled off Darach’s chest plate. “Ye were gone longer than usual with her this time, sir. If ye are not careful, people will wonder more than they already do.”
“Her?”
Úistean gave him a knowing look as he continued to help Darach. “Were ye not yet again with Druidess Gwendolyn?” Before he could respond, the lad sighed and shook his head. “I have done as ye’ve asked and spread rumors to the contrary but the way ye two look at each other in passing does no’ help your case.”
“I cannae imagine it does,” Darach murmured. “Have ye been protecting us for long then?”
Úistean’s brows furrowed and he inhaled deeply as he eyed Darach. “’Twas a good bump to the head, aye?”
“Aye.” Darach rubbed his head. “’Twas bad.”
“As far as I know ye’ve been sneaking off with Druidess Gwendolyn for many fortnights now. At least twelve.” He shook his head. “But it could have been far longer for all I truly know.”
At least half a year? Darach well understood that. Had he actually been in Devlin’s shoes, he would have done the same.
“So what can I expect this eve?” He breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the armor was removed. He could only imagine why he would have been wearing it out on a secret rendezvous with Jackie...or Gwendolyn.
“Nothing ye will like, sir.”
When the lad tried to help him unclothe, Darach shook his head.
“So Eoghan is to marry Gwendolyn?”
Úistean nodded. “And I have not heard good things about him.” His voice lowered to a whisper. “’Tis said he practices the dark arts.”
If Úistean only knew.
Though he dismissed Úistean, the lad paused at the door. “Might I say one more thing, sir?”
“Aye.”
Úistean’s eyes met his. “Everyone cares a great deal about ye. Do not challenge this Eoghan over a lassie that can never be yours.”
Darach nodded, and the lad left. He was about to undress when he spied something in his pocket. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a handkerchief with the letter G sewn into the corner. Fleeting images flashed in his mind of a warm summer day. Green leaves flipped in the wind overhead as he kissed Gwendolyn. Then she pressed this into his hand. A token of her love for him.
He told Jackie about it and heard the warmth in her response. “That feels familiar somehow. I sense that it was a wonderful day but can’t really grasp onto anything solid about it.”
“Aye,” he agreed.
By the time he sank into the water, he was more troubled than ever. Why were they here? What was the purpose of this? He didn’t need to experience another life with Jackie to confirm his feelings for her.
“But it wouldn’t hurt to see what happened, eh?”
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply at the feel of her in his mind. Now that he was alone, all he could focus on were those moments stolen from them. How she had felt in his arms. The look on her face as he pleasured her. The sweet, eager taste of her lips. The way she spread her legs wider when he...
“I don’t know what changed between us since leaving Scotland,” she murmured, “but I assume you meant to think about all that sex stuff, not say it into my mind.”
“Och,” he muttered but couldn’t help grinning “It seems you might be in my head a wee bit more than before.”
“So it seems.”
He smiled wider when flashes of her thoughts flickered through his mind. How aroused she still was. How eager and unfulfilled she still felt because they didn’t get a chance to finish what they started. Regrettably, her next words quickly diminished his growing erection.
“So I was thinking,” she said. “If I’m Chiomara’s sister in this life, and she mothered Adlin, and he’s your great-great however many times removed grandfather, wouldn’t I technically be your great-aunt several, several times removed?”
Hell, he was starting to hate time travel. In more ways than one.
“I think mayhap the bloodline would be thinned enough,” he began.
“Just kidding.” He heard the smile in her voice. “It turns out we’re foster sisters so not blood-related at all.”
Darach eyed his withered cock with renewed hope and a matched grin in his voice. “I dinnae think joking is your strong point, lass.”
In truth, he was somewhat amazed either of them could find humor considering the circumstances. But he was glad they could. And he was grateful to learn more about her regardless of where they were. Because she was right about one thing. He didn’t know her as well as he would like to. Yes, he knew he loved her. It was almost ingrained. But what if she were right? What if it was only because of their previous lives? He understood how that might seem less substantial. It wasn’t built on moments they had lived together in this one.
Naturally, she sensed his thoughts.
“You understand where I’m coming from now,” she said.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured. “Mayhap I do.”
“Good.” Her voice grew curious. “So where are you?”
“Bathing. Where are you?”
“Bathing.”
His brows perked. “Aye?”
“Yup.”
“Are you alone?”
“I am. Hmm.” A grin warmed her voice. “Though tempted to pick up where we left off earlier, that probably wouldn’t be the best use of our time.”
“I disagree.” He smiled. “I
think whatever you have in mind is likely the best use of the time we have left.”
He cringed as he said it because it occurred to him it would revert her back. Not so much to her eventual death but his if he loved her.
“But seriously,” she said, going where he knew she would. Away from intimacy or the risk that came with love. “What’s been happening with you since we went in separate directions?”
Though he’d much rather return to the kind of talk that would appease his renewed erection, he filled her in and kept the conversation light.
“So we’ve...I mean Gwendolyn and Devlin have been sneaking around for some time?” she said.
“Aye,” he said. “And I get the feeling that they...we, havenae been all that discreet.”
“Yeah, I’m getting the same sense from what Chiomara has said.” She paused for several moments. “But I also get the feeling that she supports me. That she likes you...I mean Devlin.”
“’Tis good I suppose,” he murmured, not entirely sure any of this was good in the least. “Did she talk more of Eoghan? Of your relationship?”
“A little.” He sensed the tension in her voice. “Enough.”
“What is it?” he said.
“Just...” Jackie again hesitated. “It sounds like Eoghan has been ‘courting’ me for at least four months.”
“That long then,” he murmured.
“Why, how long have Gwendolyn and Devlin had a thing going?”
He frowned. “Longer.”
“Well, not anymore if what Chiomara says is correct,” Jackie said. “Because Eoghan doesn’t sound like a real nice guy.”
“Then why are you...I mean why is Gwendolyn marrying him?”
It was odd talking about another woman who had apparently looked identical to Jackie.
“Sounds like it’s pre-arranged,” Jackie said. “Gwendolyn marries a druid from the south and Chiomara will eventually marry a druid from the north. That’s how their father wants it to be. To seal in the power around his land.”
“Interesting,” Darach said.
“But it gets even more interesting,” Jackie said. “It seems Chiomara has had her eye on another for a long time. Someone she can’t have.”
“Who?”
“Erc Breac, King of Dalriada,” she said. “The guy who rules over all these lands.”
“King Erc. He who fathered Adlin.”
“Exactly.”
Darach narrowed his eyes. “’Tis perplexing, all of this. Aye, lass?”
“Better than any novel I’ve ever read, romance or otherwise.”
“I dinnae like it much.” He wished she was here, that he could see her. “Please stay safe. Dinnae do or say anything that might...”
When he trailed off, she continued. “Shift the air against my favor?” He was never more grateful to still hear a smile in her voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything that’ll lead to a mug of ale upturned on anyone’s head...figuratively speaking.”
“Aye, lass.” While tempted to tell her he loved her because it felt right, he refrained and nodded thanks to Taggart when he returned and poured more warm water into his bath. “Listen to everything Chiomara tells you. Every detail matters.”
“I know,” she said. “If it makes you feel any better, what you’re asking of me isn’t all that different than what I’ve been doing my whole life.”
He rubbed a bar of soap between his hands. “No?”
“No.” There was an octave of resolution in her voice. “Heidrek knows. And I started talking to you a little bit about it. I dealt with this sort of thing a lot. Listening to my elders. Watching the power games they played. I’m better than most at paying attention to my surroundings and the way people manipulate each other.”
Power games? Manipulation?
And Heidrek understood.
Darach scowled, fighting back jealousy when he recalled that she’d kissed the Viking. He shouldn’t be dwelling on such trivial things but focusing on protecting her from Eoghan. Irritated with himself, he set aside emotion and focused. On her. On what mattered most.
Before he could respond, she said, “Chiomara’s back. I need to go.”
“Aye,” he whispered. “I will see you soon enough.”
And he better. Frowning, he finished bathing and dried off. When young Taggart stepped forward to assist him, he shook his head. “Thank ye, lad. I can manage. Please leave me.”
Within minutes, he was dressed in wool trousers, a finely spun deep blue tunic and boots. Darach was no fool. The clothing meant Devlin was not only first-in-command but considered family. Blue dye cost money. Only those in high favor would be afforded clothing with such color. Even his boots were a rich, supple leather.
Once fully dressed, he tucked Gwendolyn’s handkerchief in his pocket, wrapped a leather belt for weapons, pleased with what had been shined and provided. Only then did he realize the blade meant to kill Eoghan was long gone into the future. A life separate from this.
But Darach—like his kin—was nothing if not a survivor. And a ruthless killer if given half a chance. A chance he could only pray he got with Eoghan.
Even if it meant it could change their entire future.
Despite his dark thoughts, he truly appreciated the weaponry. Four daggers. All of which he strapped to his body. A double-edged axe. He managed a smile as he imagined what he could do with that. His smile broadened as he strapped it to his back alongside a gleaming broadsword that someone not only polished but sharpened to perfection.
That only left one thing. The dark brown cloak. Clearly Devlin’s signature piece of clothing. That which proclaimed him first-in-command. Darach swung it over his shoulders and left the cottage.
“This way, sir,” Úistean said, coming to rapt attention before he led Darach forward.
“Ye dinnae go far, aye lad?”
“I never have,” Úistean informed.
The closer they got to the castle the scarcer people became. While some might speculate they were respecting the man marrying one of their grand mistresses, he knew better.
This village was frightened.
Though a fraction of the size of Hamilton Castle, it was by no means small with a single moat and drawbridge. The only difference was wear. It was in need of repair. Finances. That became clear as he took in the run down stables and cookery. The horses wandering about were ill-shod and the people’s clothing while not threadbare was barely thick enough considering the cool, moist climate.
Darach worked to keep a frown off his face as he eyed the castle’s stonework while climbing the stairs. Like his, this castle was close to the sea. That meant never-ending vigilance when it came to updating the masonry. Stone wore more so beneath the wind and sea. It was man’s job to see to its survival.
Thoughts of castles and their upkeep faded when he walked into the great hall and laid eyes on Jackie. Perched on a dais beside a dour-faced man and Chiomara, she had never looked more beautiful. Her hair was braided with ribbons and tiny beads. Her dress was long, flowing, satiny white, and tied at the waist with a silver rope.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, astounded.
When their eyes met, his pure awe seemed to magnify. Her gaze filled him with a mixture of emotions. Immense love. Great misery. Untouchable longing.
Change.
So much change his throat closed and it was hard to keep walking.
Then he knew...somehow knew. They were living out a moment Gwendolyn and Devlin had lived. A moment that would change their lives forever.
No sooner did he think it than someone came in behind him.
Walking with a swift, crisp gait, a reed-thin man stopped in front of the dais. With a quick flourish of his hand and worship in his eyes, he announced the arrival of the man who had just entered. “I present my Lord, Eoghan Dubhdiadh, Druid of the South.”
Chapter Eleven
JACKIE FROZE THE SECOND she saw him. The man from the Celtic Otherworld just walked into the hall. Living. Breathing.
Alive.
Eoghan Dubhdiadh.
She had never felt such terror. Such absolute fear.
“Jackie, ‘tis all right,” Darach said into her mind. “He cannae hurt you as long as I’m here.”
She tried to respond, say something, but it was impossible.
Eoghan was real.
And clearly arrogant as he approached the dais and looked down his nose at the man who was her father. “Lord Sithchean of Ulster,” he declared. “Will ye give your daughter, Gwendolyn of Ulster, to me so that ye might have the power of the South behind ye?”
Though shivers raked her at the dead look in his eyes, she didn’t go numb with anxiety. No, she felt the bite of her nails as she dug them into her palms. In fact, she felt everything here regardless how off the charts her emotions were.
Eventually, she managed a whispered response to Darach. Short and to the point. How she felt about him going anywhere near Eoghan. “Please don’t. Stay away.”
And she meant it. This guy was pure evil. The idea of him going after Darach made her throat clench and mouth go dry.
“I gave ye my word, Eoghan Dubhdiadh,” the man by her side said. “And so it will be.”
Not only Chiomara but many others lowered their heads and murmured, “So it will be.”
Eoghan eyed her ‘father’ for a long moment before his gaze settled on her. It felt like every bad thing she had ever experienced dwindled down to this single moment.
One that was going to change everything.
“Please.” Lord Sithchean gestured at the tables laid with food. “Might we feast first?”
Eoghan eyed her and her father for several long moments before he offered a brief nod and headed their way.
“Ye will be fine,” Chiomara whispered with reassurance.
If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that her ‘sister’ was in her corner. It was clear based on their time alone that they loved each other a great deal.
The MacLomain Series: Later Years - a Scottish Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 96