Once seated inside, Colin looked back toward the dwelling to see Abigail standing in the open door, her fingers pressed to her lips.
He resisted the urge to lift his hand in farewell or to call out to her. It was not his right to do so. It was clear from the golden color he’d seen in her aura that she’d already met her Soulmate. Met, though they’d not yet joined. The ragged edges of her aura confirmed that.
And yet, in spite of this knowledge, he felt inexplicably drawn to her. Perhaps it was because whatever reason the Fae had for ripping him from his own time had something to do with her. At this moment, he simply had no clue as to what that reason might be.
One thing he was sure of, though. He knew in his bones that he would see her again. He would learn the reason for his being here and he would see Abigail Porter again.
Selfishly, foolishly, he hoped her aura’s edges would still be ragged when next he laid eyes on her.
Four
The past fortnight had been the longest of his life.
Colin stared out the window of the speeding automobile, watching the unfamiliar scenery whip by.
“If there’s any who can figure out a way for us to get you home, Pol is definitely the one.” Mairi reached back from her spot in the front passenger seat to pat his knee. “Try no to worry yerself so, Cousin.”
All that was important to him hung in the balance and his only hope was Pol? How could he not worry? Considering his inability to return to his own time, worry was all that was left to him. This Faerie ancestor they were to meet at the home of Mairi’s brother today was his last chance; this same Faerie ancestor who’d ignored him each and every time he’d gone to the Glen to plead for the ancient Prince’s assistance.
The lives of Alasdair Maxwell and Simeon MacDowell, the two men who had grown to be as much brothers as friends to him, would forever be on his head were he unable to return. Their lives and the lives of the four thousand men he’d left behind in that field at Methven.
Dead. So many of them would be dead.
Only days before as he’d tried to distract himself from his worries, he’d discovered the room his cousin called her research library, filled floor to ceiling with wondrous shelves of books, finer than any he’d seen in all his life. One tome in particular had caught his eye, a history of Scotland’s Wars of Independence. Scanning the index, one name in particular had stood out: Methven. He’d hurriedly flipped the pages to read about the Battle of Methven, named for the place where he’d last seen his friends and fellow warriors. What he’d found there in those pages had shaken him to the depths of his soul, haunting his dreams.
“Without my return, they’ll likely die. Sim and Dair both. I have to go back. I must warn them and alert the Bruce to move his men before they’re slaughtered as they sleep.”
“That’s something you canna do, Colin.” Mairi’s eyes brimmed with pity. “Even if Pol is able to send you back, you must not go to yer king with what you’ve learned. Believe me, I, of all people, understand how you feel. But you canna change what’s to happen. Yer no to ever tamper with the flow of what’s been. It’s Faerie law.”
So she’d explained when she’d found him reading through that history book of hers.
“To hell with yer Faerie laws, Cousin. I’ve no a care for the Fae. They’ve done naught but make life difficult for all our kin. They’ve brought naught but misery as far as I can see, so I’ve no care for their foolish laws.”
“It’s not just about a Faerie law,” Ramos interrupted, his eyes fixed forward as he slowed the vehicle to a stop in front of a large house. “It’s about the reason for that law. You’ve no idea what adversity could result from your actions. Even the most well-intentioned change could have disastrous consequences down through the generations.”
Mairi nodded her agreement. “An all too real concern. But even more important, Cousin, you’ve no the right to tinker with what has already happened. It’s no yer history to be changing. History belongs to the world of Man.”
It would do no good to argue with his stubborn cousin. They’d been through this before when she’d slipped that amazing book from his hands and tucked it back into its place on the shelf.
Instead, he unfolded himself from the backseat of their car and straightened. Ahead of him, standing in the doorway, his cousin Connor waved. Though he’d heard stories of Connor from his mother for as long as he could remember, he’d first met the man only last week when Connor’s wife and daughter had attempted to assist Mairi in sending him home.
Attempted being the key word.
“He’s waiting.” Connor spoke over his shoulder as he led them down the hall and through an archway.
The pain hit before Colin had both feet in the room. An all-encompassing, punch-to-the-gut, take-your-breath-away pain that doubled him over.
“Colin?”
Mairi rushed to his side but he waved her away, stumbling blindly to take a seat.
“I’m fine.”
He’d be fine in a few moments, anyway. It was his own fault. He’d been so wrapped up in his own selfish troubles, had grown so comfortable in the presence of his cousin and her Soulmate, he’d completely forgotten his need to erect the barriers he normally used to shield himself from the world.
It was the intense pain of a broken Soul Pairing that assaulted him now. Someone in this room had known life with their true Soulmate. Had bonded with that person and then had them torn away before their allotted time.
Even as Colin hastily erected the internal barriers he’d developed against such feelings, he raised his eyes to scan the room for the source of such pain.
The hunt was short. Even though only one person in the room was unknown to Colin, it would have been no challenge to find the person he sought.
The man sat in a large chair, his back straight, his expression shielded. But Colin’s second vision saw more than what was on display. Pain emanated from the man in shards of blazing red light, the shredded edges of his soul raw and pulsing.
Pol, High Prince of the Fae and Colin’s own ancestor.
Colin shuddered as he met Pol’s piercing emerald gaze, his mind scrambling to shut out the vision as well as the pain surrounding his Faerie ancestor.
He knew the legend, the story of Pol’s having been forced to leave his one true love. He’d heard how Pol had watched helplessly from his side of the curtain separating the World of Man from the Fae as his love had been rejected by her family and had slowly withered away.
But knowing the legend and seeing the man were two completely different things. What he’d just seen, what he’d felt, explained so much. He understood now why Pol hadn’t bothered to respond to his blustering demands for answers when he’d visited the glen.
Considering how Pol suffered, it was a wonder the prince could function at all.
“It has lessened over time.”
Colin had no doubt Pol spoke directly to him.
“It’s quite disconcerting, you know,” the prince continued. “I’ve rarely encountered any with the gift of Soul Vision.”
“Gift?” Colin shook his head. “Curse is more like it. Courtesy of the Faerie Queen herself. Her own particular way of teaching me to respect my elders.”
A bitter lesson forced on a headstrong, impetuous youth. A lesson, in truth, he might never have learned any other way.
Pol tipped his head and, for a moment, his eyes glazed over as if he were lost in some ancient memory. Then he blinked rapidly, turning his clear gaze to Mairi, picking up the thread of an earlier conversation as if no interruption had occurred.
“Cate tells me the Magic refused to heed your call no matter what you tried.”
Mairi nodded. “Exactly as I described when I called you, Grandfather. Cate and I tried everything we could think of, even including Rosie’s help, all to absolutely no avail.”
“How did he come to be here?” Pol continued the annoying course of speaking to others about Colin as if he weren’t sitting there within reaching
distance.
“We don’t have an answer to that,” Ramos responded, taking a seat next to his wife on the sofa. “Though it’s quite a coincidence he ended up with someone who actually knew Mairi, a former student of hers.”
Colin sat back in his chair, folding his arms. Fae. He might as well have stayed in Mairi’s library for all the good he was doing here. It certainly didn’t feel as if they needed him at all for this conversation.
“When it comes to the Magic, there is no such thing as coincidence.” Pol shook his head. “You’ve investigated the woman? The one who found him?”
The woman? Colin looked up, scanning the faces around him. They were speaking of Abby.
“Aye.” Connor nodded from his spot by the doorway. “There’s no much to tell. Seems a decent enough lass. Working and going to school. Coryell assigned surveillance to her right away.”
Surveillance? Someone spied on his Abby? He struggled to tamp down the anger this knowledge spurred. It wasn’t as if she was actually his Abby. He knew that. Still, she was more than just some random stranger into whose home he had fallen. Of that he had no doubt.
If not, why had she haunted his dreams from the day he’d first encountered her? Even after learning about the Battle of Methven, in his nightmares filled with screams of the dying men he’d left behind, always she was there, a presence at his side, her hand reaching for his. One sweet, gentle touch to his fevered skin and no matter how hideous the scene before him, he found the strength to move beyond it all.
In spite of dreams, he understood that she didn’t belong to him and that he likely had no right to the anger he felt welling in his chest on her behalf, but if not him, who?
“Who is this Coryell?” Colin demanded, unable to leash his tongue any longer. “And by what right does he act as watchman over Abby?”
“No a who,” Connor explained. “Coryell Enterprises. It’s the company we work with, owned by Cate’s family. We’ve called on their services to help us determine how Miss Porter fits into all of this.”
Regardless of their intent, the idea of strangers watching Abby’s every move didn’t set well at all with Colin. “Leave her be. She’s nothing to do with any of this.”
“She’s everything to do with this,” Pol corrected, turning his attention back to Colin at last. “We simply don’t know how or why. At least not yet.”
“Ridiculous,” Colin grumbled, leaning forward in his seat. “Yer saying she’s the key to my returning to my own time? What? You think her a witch? You believe she magicked me here with her evil powers? No. It was Faerie Magic what brought me here. I ken enough about the way it feels to say that much for a fact.”
Abby was naught but an innocent victim who had nothing to do with this. She’d been more confused than he had by his appearance in her life that morning. Her reaction had been too honest to be an act. There was no way she was responsible for his being ripped from his own time and deposited into this one. He simply couldn’t accept that. Wouldn’t accept it.
“Of course it was Faerie Magic,” Pol agreed. “But the Magic does nothing without purpose. Granted, it is the Magic’s own purpose, but never doubt for a moment, purpose it is. It brought you to this time for a reason and it dropped you into that woman’s home for a reason. Until we can determine what that reason is, you’ll remain here. Until you fulfill the Magic’s purpose for you, you’ll not be allowed to return to your own time. The Porter woman is the key to what’s happened to you.”
For the second time today, Colin felt as if the breath had been knocked from his lungs.
“You speak of the Magic as if it’s a living, thinking creature.”
Pol steepled his fingers in front of him, obviously taking his time to carefully consider his words. “In a way, my son, that’s exactly what it is. Not a creature perhaps, not a thing, but a living entity nonetheless. Magic is the life force of Wyddecol, flowing from the Earth Mother herself.”
“And from personal experience, Colin, I can assure you the Magic does not bend to our will.” Ramos clasped his wife’s hand between his own two. “We bend to the will of the Magic. No matter how well we might think we understand a thing, no matter how we might struggle to reach our own goals, once invoked, the Magic will have its way.”
As if he, of all people, needed to be told that little fact. He’d experienced firsthand the will of Faerie Magic for ten long years, ever since that day when as a brash youth he’d offended the Faerie Queen.
But this? This was a thousand times worse.
“Then what shall I do? You say I canna force the Magic to my own will, but how am I to stay here? I dinna belong in this place. I ken nothing of the ways of this time. I’m but a simple warrior.” A warrior with no hope. A warrior whose comrades had been left behind to fight and die without him.
Silence greeted his question, until at last Pol spoke up. “Come home with me, my son. Home to Wyddecol. Our generals always have use for a good warrior. We’ll teach you the ways and the dangers of this time even as we train you to combat them.”
“And while yer learning those things, we’ll search for the reason yer here and how Abigail is connected to it.” Mairi reached across the empty space between them, placing her hand over his. “We won’t give up until we find out something for you, Colin. You have my word on it.”
What choice did he have?
“So be it.”
Colin agreed to their proposal, leaving those around him to work out the details. He’d go to the Faerie homeworld. He’d learn whatever they asked of him, do whatever was necessary to make it possible for him to return to his own time.
Most especially, he’d learn if it was at all possible that Abby could be connected with his being here. And if it turned out these people were all correct in their accusation of Abby’s involvement? Then he’d find Abigail Porter and demand to go home.
For now, though, he simply needed to see her again.
Five
Just you dinna forget that all this is yer idea.”
As if his harpy cousin would let him forget. Colin unfolded himself from the passenger seat of Mairi’s automobile, quietly making his way around to her side of the vehicle.
“Dinna fash yer bonny head, Cousin. Yer husband will never have cause to ken what we’ve done this night. And if he does, I’d no allow you to take the blame for it. Just you sit tight until I return.”
“Yeah, well, just you remember to own up to it if he does find out,” she grumbled behind him. “And hurry up. It’s cold out here.”
He didn’t bother to respond now any more than he had the other twenty times she’d muttered the same on their late-night journey to this quiet location. A neighborhood, Mairi had called it.
Abby’s neighborhood.
Keeping to the shadows was no problem on a moonless night such as this. Nor was the light snow that had started to fall a short time ago. Distinguishing between the seemingly endless number of buildings was another matter. It was all so very different from what he was used to, the homes of the masses so very much larger. So very much nicer than those of his time.
Life had certainly changed in the past seven hundred years.
Rounding the corner, he spotted Abby’s home immediately, the tidy house framed by two large trees in the front, light streaming from the large windows.
Though he’d debated what he’d do when he reached this spot, he had no better idea now than when he’d first approached Mairi with his request to come here. He knew now only what he’d known then, that he felt compelled to see Abby one last time before he traveled to Wyddecol.
He hesitated there in the shadows, reluctant, now that he’d arrived, to make his way up to her door. He might not know what he wanted from this visit, but he did know that whatever it was, it concerned only him and Abigail.
Somewhere out here in the dark at least one other lurked: the spy sent by Coryell to observe Abby’s every move. And though the man might well be a craftsman at his work, Colin had no intention of allo
wing his visit to be observed and reported back to his cousin’s employer.
That alone ruled out simply walking up to the front door and knocking.
Decision made, he backtracked past several houses before crossing the street to locate the entrance to the alleyway behind. From here it would be easy enough to slip over the low fence surrounding her property and make his way to the door he’d seen leading out of her kitchen.
Approaching the back of her home, he quickly realized he’d need to shift his plans yet again. The door opened and he dropped to his knees, hugging close behind the bramble of leafless bushes that lined her yard.
Abby herself stepped out into the night, her figure in sharp relief against the light shining through the opening. She hovered around a massive wooden box that sat just outside her door, moving quickly from one corner to the next, leaving little flickering lights wavering in her wake.
Candles? It made no sense to him why she’d be needing the poor illumination of the wax pillars when she had access to that fine, bright light shining through her door.
All thoughts of candles fled a moment later, replaced with visions of witchery when she lifted the lid on the great box and clouds of smoke billowed out into the night. Short-lived visions, since her next move robbed him of his ability to think at all, leaving him grateful he was already on his knees.
The fluffy robe she wore opened and fell back, pooling at her feet as if in worship, just as he might have if he were at her side. Under the robe she wore nothing. Or, more accurately, next to nothing. Two brightly colored strips of cloth, hardly enough to cover her most intimate parts.
She paused, looking out over the yard before tilting her head to the side as if she listened for something. Apparently satisfied, she reached inside the door and, with the flip of a switch, the lights went out, leaving her barely visible as she climbed up what looked to be a small ladder before descending into the candle-ringed box.
Highlander’s Curse Page 4