Forged in Dreams and Magick hl-1

by Kat Bastion

  “Lass, I’m afraid I’m about to bear bad news,” he said, his voice soft.

  My delusional man was going to tell me I’d died, wasn’t he? Well, damn, I’d died a virgin. How mortifying. Although, if my reality had been lost to some other realm, what was the harm in fooling around in my current one? I shook my head at my lustful thoughts. You are one step away from insanity, Isobel.

  “I’ve died, haven’t I?” I asked.

  Iain’s uninhibited laughter rang out, echoing off the stone walls. “Nay, Isa, you haven’t died. My kiss isn’t that powerful or, in any way, deadly.” His mirth subsided. He furrowed his brow as if discovering a problem. “But give me a few minutes, and you may wish you had.”

  My struggle to understand his heavier brogue grated on every raw nerve I’d rapidly developed. I sighed. “Fine. Tell me this wondrous news, Iain.”

  “Weel, I doona know really how to explain it, for I doona fully understand it myself, but you’ve . . . that is, I mean to say . . . we’ve . . . traveled back in time—back to my time.”

  I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it, really. “So, if we’ve been magically transported to the past, why am I still wearing my clothes and boots”—I ran my hands down my body like Vanna White, finishing with a hand flourish at my pointed toe as I posed—“while you are straight off the pages of Medieval Highland GQ complete with kilt, brogue, and realistic scars? Where’s your crisp, white shirt and jeans?”

  “Weel, see, I recognized the box the moment you showed it to me.” He inched closer, but I stepped back as a rising fear took hold. “I’d touched it during a matin’ ceremony long before ’twas my time, not knowin’ the power it held. It threw me forward in time. I dinna know it then, but I know it now.”

  Something in me started believing the tale he told, and I began to shake. Maybe it was the sincerity in his voice, his body language, or the honesty in his eyes. Even more than that, what he said made sense in another way, connecting to a feeling I’d been having since the first moment I’d been exposed to the box: it seemed to have a mysterious, otherworldly quality.

  My voice croaked as I stuttered, “How . . . how do you know it now?”

  He shook his head, stepping closer until I felt trapped both by him and the unknown picture he painted for me. “All of me dinna travel to your world; a piece of me did, like I’d split in two. I’ve remained here in the Highlands with no awareness of the Iain you know. The Iain of your time, also me, had early childhood memories of this life, but lived as you lived. I doona know if ’twas our kiss and the box, or simply touchin’ the box that brought us back, but here we are.”

  “Here we are? Here we are?” I began to shout as fear turned to panicked rage. “When are we Iain? What’s the date?”

  “We’re in the thirteenth century, lass.”

  Hearing him say it aloud made my breaths come in quick, shallow bursts as I began to hyperventilate. Too many thoughts ran through a mind thoroughly unprepared to adapt to such a shock. The room whirled around, and I grabbed onto his forearms, his solid body grounding me.

  Clarity somehow came in the midst of my insanity. My voice fell to a whisper as I said slowly, “Kiss me again and touch the box.” The command sounded simple enough. I fought with myself, wanting desperately to go straight to Denial Land, but assuming what I’d heard held any thread of truth, I wanted to go back. Now.

  He sighed and raised a hand, touching my fingers that gripped his arm like a vice. The gesture soothed me even though I didn’t want to be calmed. “I’ll do as you ask, but I doona think your plan will work.” He rendered his opinion without emotion.

  He pulled me closer, and I breathed in the scent of him. If I thought modern-day Iain overpowered my senses, it only served as an appetizer to the main course. His pheromones spoke the same language as mine. Touches of pine and earth that had always been familiar to me were stronger now, including the base note of strong male essence that was pure Iain. In the small room, we stood within reach of the magical, time-warping box. Before either of us reached out to touch its surface, he grasped both my hands tightly.

  “Promise me, Isobel. Promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll stay with me.” He raised his eyebrows slightly, searching my eyes with hope.

  I, on the other hand, approached mind-numbing hysteria. I tried to hide in my deep breaths. Not sure where my voice had gone, I simply nodded, uncertain if I could promise anything at that point, frantically needing to regain a firm hold of reality—my modern-day reality.

  He gave me a single nod, pulling my body tighter against him. I almost laughed—the guy sure knew how to milk the situation—but my inner scientist warred with the part of me that believed his explanation, dousing my sense of humor. I needed to believe his truth to get back, though, didn’t I?

  Feeling a bit like Dorothy in her ruby slippers, her words and wishes played through my mind as Iain’s lips descended on mine. There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home. The cadence continued in my head as he kissed me sweetly at first, then more fervently as we both gave in to the passion of the moment. His hand, still holding mine, pulled away from our bodies and slowly lowered to the top of the box.

  Upon initial contact, I expected a jolt. Still enjoying the erotic contact, I waited for something to happen. When no falling feeling occurred, I deepened the kiss, thinking my mantra had thrown things off. I tried to duplicate the intensity of our first world-tilting kiss, and he pressed his body further into mine in response to my increased passion. As seconds turned to minutes, I realized all we’d accomplished was accelerating toward a heightened state of arousal in his world instead of sending me home to mine. I broke the kiss to catch my breath, staring at our entwined fingers atop the cool metal of a box that seemed to grow colder.

  “It didn’t work,” I said after slowing my breathing for a full minute and a half—I’d counted.

  “Sorry, lass. I dinna think it would.” Resignation flattened his tone.

  “Why didn’t you think it would work?” My voice escalated in pitch.

  “Weel, this box holds certain properties and is used by my clan for its singular purpose.” His voice softened as he gently rubbed his hands up and down my arms. I remained in his embrace, because the whole situation frightened me and comfort from him felt damn good.

  I looked up into his reassuring eyes, even though the height difference caused my neck to ache in protest. When he didn’t offer further explanation, I prodded, “What purpose exactly?”

  “Every laird in my clan, as far back as the first and the Picts before us, used it durin’ our ceremony when their chosen time came to take a mate.”

  I got stuck on the historical references. Lairds going back in time until the generations reached the Picts? Logic flared anew, rejection of my situation having me cling to the notion that the mind held vast mysteries we had yet to unravel; mine had spun a masterful tale, giving a mystical explanation to the origins of my artifact. He’d said something about a mate.

  “How does the box help them find a mate?” I felt ridiculous for a moment, as if the entire episode created of my imagination had me now talking to myself represented in the form of Iain.

  “We doona know, lass. All we know is when the rulin’ laird lays his hand on the top durin’ our matin’ festival, the one meant for him is brought to him.”

  “Brought to him,” I repeated, as if the echo would make it go down any easier. “One meant for him. Like a soul mate?”

  “Aye. We’ve always been a strong and fearsome clan. Our strength comes from the bondin’ of the two in this world right for one another. The union makes an invincible pair to lead our people in times of both joy and hardship.”

  The entire time he spoke, I analyzed his words and expressions. Everything he uttered he believed to be true. He waited for me to reply while I pondered my bizarre and rapidly disconcerting situation. Deeper meaning dawned on me slowly, breaking through the barrier of denial, reaching out with the clarity of the pro
per lens bringing a blurry world into crisp focus.

  “I’m your soul mate?” The shouted realization scorched my ears.

  Iain struggled to reply, his mouth slowly opening. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, but no words came out. He exhaled, dropping his shoulders, and the firm nod that followed told me he truly believed I’d been destined for him, regardless of his inability to soften the blow.

  A claustrophobic noose tightened around my awareness. I pushed the hulking brute away from me, and he gave no resistance, stepping back. I paced the length of the small room, troubled by the possibilities, or rather, the impossibilities. If the power of my mind had created this entire larger-than-life charade, with every ounce of mental effort, I would banish the fantasy. My feet stopped, and I pushed all my focus inward, hoping my sheer will would make all this nonsense go away, but the ghastly smell from those tallow candles kept interfering with my concentration.

  “Isa.” He breathed my name from behind my ear, tempting me like a lover’s caress, resting his warm hands on my shoulders. “Accept this. Nothin’ you do will change what’s meant to be for us.”

  I whirled around in his loose hold. His eyes widened, probably due to the wild panic I’m sure came across on my face. “And if I don’t accept this . . . this crazy idea that I’ve been snatched out of my time to be in yours . . . to be with you . . . ?”

  “Weel, the festival is in three days’ time. I’m not the only man takin’ a mate. Every available man wantin’ a woman will take the woman they claim—whether or not the woman agrees.”

  My mouth dropped open. Although I’d read about it being true—their barbaric ways and the lack of say women had—it didn’t prepare me for the outrage I felt when I’d become one of the said women with no control. I shook my head.

  “You either accept my claim and protection, or you will be forced to submit to another.”

  I couldn’t breathe. The small space, the stench of burning animal fat, and his alarming words choked all of the air out of my lungs. I found myself gasping for the smallest amount of oxygen as I turned and fled the room, yanking the heavy door open with strength born from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

  Fresh air and warm sunshine invaded my senses. I stumbled out onto a feathery dusting of snow covering a patch of young grass breaking free from the ground. A single golden buttercup at my feet angled toward the sky. My vision followed the ground down to a field enclosed by a high stone wall. Soldiers dressed in kilts—and nothing else—sparred with swords, the clash of metal ringing through the courtyard. Women carried baskets between small thatched cottages on the periphery of the compound. In a field beyond, children ran back and forth, carrying sticks with colorful ribbons flying from the ends. I turned around and looked up the side of an enormous stone tower connected to the small room I’d emerged from only seconds ago.

  My gaze fell back onto Iain, who stood outside the doorway, leaning against the gray stone. My only guide in this foreign place was an ancient warrior–laird whom otherworldly forces had decided would be my mate in life. And in spite of knowing my state of shock, he had the nerve to stand there with a hard expression on his face.

  To hell with it. I turned and marched down the hill toward the women and children. My pace rapidly picked up speed until I found myself running down the incline, its steepness aiding my acceleration. The wind battered my face, fanning the tears streaming across my cheeks.

  All I wanted was to gain freedom from the prison in my mind. I wanted to go home. My journey began with a box Iain thought had found me. I wished I’d never seen the cursed thing.

  Never in all my life had I been out of control of my fate. Every step of the way, every decision I’d ever made, happened because I chose to go left or right when the winding road forked. I wiped away the tears clouding my eyes as I reached the end of the cottages. The bluff I now stood on overlooked the curtain wall that protectively surrounded the clan within, and I stared into the vastness of the Highlands. As far as the eye could see stretched meadow bordered by forest. The entire scene was framed by rugged gray mountains capped in snow that touched the heavens above in a cotton-clouded blue sky. The enormous panorama made me feel small and powerless.

  Something held me rooted to the ground. I’d never shrunk in fear, always relishing a challenge to overcome, so my intrinsic nature won out over spontaneous instinctual flight. I spun around and viewed the entire clan from atop the knoll. The castle, on the rise of a great hill, marked itself as protector over her family. Iain stood proudly in a wide stance, arms crossed over his chest, a few steps away from where he’d last been, staring straight at me.

  I took a deep breath, recognizing what I’d known all along in my life. The truth had been hiding under the surface of every turn I’d made, but I’d never been forced to examine the mechanics of why things happened the way they did—until now. No matter how much control I’d ever thought I’d had, it had only ever been a multiple-choice question.

  The Universe had a plan for me, and at the moment, Iain served as its mouthpiece. I could accept my fate the easy way or the hard way. It appeared to me, denial of my present circumstances or not, I had a decision to make.

  Control had always been a matter of perception. Accepting those things I had no power over was a first step toward feeling like I at least had my hands on the steering wheel, even if I had to stay on the paved road. Dorothy had to follow her yellow-bricked path, and in a way, I had my destiny laid out before me, even if nothing appeared golden about it. She had to skirt dangers, villains, and fantasy beyond her belief system to find her way home, and if that teenaged braided girl could do it in her land of OZ, so could I.

  I glared at the arrogant man who’d had a hand in delivering me the message by bringing me here, but don’t kill the messenger rang out in my head, and I smiled.

  “Oh, Iain. You think you know me, but you know nothing at all.” My voice purred from my throat. I placed my hands on my hips, making a decision. “I’ve never chosen the easy way. You are going to learn that the hard way.”

  CHAPTER Four

  Highlands of Scotland—Thirteenth Century

  When one runs away in denial from something feared to be true, the journey back to reality—no matter how unbelievable—becomes a slow and painful passage.

  I sighed, reconciled to my course, absorbing every detail with wary eyes. Landscape obscured by tears when I’d run from my fate revealed itself. Midday’s sun cast a melting glow on a rogue sprinkling of snow while signs of spring bloomed everywhere: from early wildflowers defying the late powdery topping, to people exploiting the brilliant day with focused determination.

  Women wore frocks to their toes in brighter colors than I’d imagined. I looked down at my straight, ankle-length flannel skirt. Damn. Good thing I’d passed on the leather mini my fingers had lovingly stroked in the closet that morning. I snorted at the irony of wearing plaid. Even my wardrobe seemed to have known where I’d be today. A chilling breeze coaxed me to stretch the cuffs of my sweater protectively over my fingers as I trekked with leaden feet back toward Iain.

  Laughter tinkled out from little ones running between their mothers’ skirts. Curious eyes, big as silver dollars, peeked at me from beyond the folds. The women gave me only a cursory glance, likely because no threat would be allowed within the protection of their stone curtain wall.

  A sizable garden area opened to my left where young women sowed seeds in neat rows, tilling unusual dark soil. Beyond their farming activity, carved into the wide part of a stream, stretched a mill pond stocked full of fish. I passed animal pens that housed cattle and sheep. Further into the heart of the compound, a gangly teenage boy with a shock of red hair sprouting atop his head led two majestic, well-lathered horses—one gray, the other black—into the stables. A furious plume of smoke spiraled up from the rooftop stack of a stone smithy. The building’s two wooden doors were thrown wide open, and I spied on the blacksmith as he repeatedly dropped a metal hammer on
to fiery-red steel. The piercing strikes rang in my ears, and my vivid imagination envisioned a claymore being formed.

  As I advanced, an occasional nonchalant glance toward the castle confirmed Iain still stood his ground, watching me intently. His wide, confident posture expressed the absolute certainty he’d had in his earlier prediction. My struggle with the implausible scenario aside, I’d returned enough from the land of denial to admit the remote possibility. I traveled an uncharted path not knowing my destination in this paradigm shift. How could I know for certain that he didn’t have a better clue about my upsetting situation than I did?

  Iain’s foretelling accuracy made no difference to my stubborn, independent Scottish roots, however. I intended to give the man a worthy hunt. Besides, I reasoned as I gave a wide berth around the training soldiers in the field, my romantic heart needed irrefutable evidence Iain was indeed the one man on Earth meant for me. If the rules in my delusion-turned-reality dictated I had three days to find said man in this world, I planned to make the most of my allotment, deciding for myself who would bed me—not the other way around.

  Caught up in the moment, I shook my head, chastising myself for allowing crazy thoughts to muddle my priorities. If a passageway had opened, snatching me from my world and depositing me here, I had to believe a return flight existed. No matter how tangible everything seemed, my way back home had to be hidden behind a locked door yet to be found. I needed to learn the rules of the game, discover its secrets, and ferret out the key.

  I stepped within a few feet of Iain, and a cocky grin stretched across his handsome face. Sunlight glinted off his hair, highlighting copper strands woven through dark brown locks. His hazel eyes sparkled with pleasure.

  I tamped down my irritation at his pride. Big deal. I returned. Where the hell else am I supposed to go?

  My stomach growled, mirroring my mood and reminding me that I’d not eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Okay, hotshot. For the moment, I’m a prisoner of circumstance. But I’m assuming you do feed your captives?”