by Kat Bastion
The sounds of horses nickering and snorting increased as his tribesmen came forward, leading our animals. I moved toward Malibu. Velloc pulled me back and lifted me up onto his horse instead. Through distant eyes, I looked down as someone handed him my cleaned weapon. He sheathed it in my scabbard before mounting his horse behind me. Exhausted and thankful for the reprieve, I closed my eyes and leaned back into his solid, warm chest.
Rapid movement jerked me awake. Velloc’s arms tensed around me, easing when I settled back into his hold. I absently watched the shadowed scenery blur by. We galloped the same way Talorcan and I had traveled. Velloc worked his horse forward through the group.
When we reached the front position, Velloc leaned away, speaking in low tones to Sennian, his second in command. Sennian nodded, and the commander changed our course to the left, separating the Caereni from the dozen or so other tribes.
Several hundred strong, we picked our way through densely woven forest, galloped across shallow streams, and traversed rocky terrain. The pace slowed as we climbed up a steep, rocky slope in a northerly direction.
Sennian halted, letting out a low whistle. Two scouts appeared on either side of us. They rode forward, one at a time, through the mouth of a narrow chasm, its sheer gray walls stretching up to the night sky. One of them returned.
“The passage is clear,” he said.
Our scout led the way. Velloc held his stallion back until dozens had funneled into the narrow opening. My breaths shortened as we entered. Walls ascended on either side until they vanished into darkness. The channel we squeezed through stretched eight feet across at its most-tapered point. Dead-calm air and the echoing hoofbeats added to the claustrophobic nightmare. Even the horses showed their anxiety, heads pulling back, tails swishing, muscles tensing. They hated the confinement as much as we did.
After what seemed like an hour, but likely only a tense fifteen minutes, we emerged from the natural bottleneck. The line of animals ahead of us wove through boulders half-buried in the grass-covered earth. I looked around at the moonlit scenery as we followed their lead.
The group meandered along the perimeter slope of the mountain until a small stream cut across our path. We changed direction to follow the flow, the snowmelt leading us down from the mountain to where it fed into a long, narrow loch. Sennian led us around the shoreline until an area opened up between the forest and the water large enough to accommodate our party.
Velloc dismounted and pulled me down into his arms. Numbness occupied the space between my ears as I let my man take charge.
Four men stayed mounted. They rode off in opposite directions, two to the west and two to the east, skirting the water’s edge. Safety remained a top priority, and the mood remained tense and alert.
While we waited for the patrols to return, others collected firewood, dropping gathered branches into a pile next to a sizable fire already taking shape. Minutes later, our security system returned, giving us a measure of peace for the moment. Then all four men took off again, presumably to stand guard at our flanks.
I stared out over the loch. The glassy surface appeared inky black, the setting moon behind us casting a shimmer over its peaceful surface. Churning happened beneath the calm, though. Outside tributaries secretly flowed beneath the vast watershed we’d traveled through. A shiver raced down my spine in response to a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold night temperature. Attentive to my needs, Velloc added his fur to the one already wrapped around my shoulders.
Rabbit, pheasant, and legs from what looked like several deer were brought out by the fire, skewered, and rotated on spits made from nearby branches. My mouth watered. Apples, pears, quinces, dates, and other exotic fruits were brought out and passed around; the raid had yielded more than stealing horses and winning a small battle against a large, advancing enemy.
I wriggled my hips between Velloc’s bent legs, nestling further back into his embrace. We sat on a gently sloping flat boulder as the men regaled each other with tales of the success they’d achieved only hours before. A sense of home and family surrounded me. Velloc tightened his hold, crossing his hands over my knees. I rested my cheek on his forearm, watching the orange tips of the flames snap into the air.
“Velloc, what brought you down to the Roman army?”
He nuzzled his lips against my ear, kissing it lightly. “A scout from a southern Pict tribe came to us, warning of the invaders coming north. We went down there to assess the situation, bringing most of our men. Larger tribes sent only part of their forces. Our combined group was only one of several raiding parties all across the enemy line. We attacked to ascertain their weaknesses before we regroup and return again. You call them . . . Roman?”
I nodded. “Yes. The Roman army comes from a land far away . . . over the ocean. They attempt to conquer the world.”
“Do they?” He asked the question harmlessly enough, but it reminded me of the secrets he knew about me . . . and how much more I knew about the world.
“No. But not for lack of trying, unfortunately.” I sighed at the great and destructive ego of man.
I reflected on the Battle of Mons Graupius and the questionable victory the Romans had claimed. History depended on who wrote the book. Tacitus had documented the event as a Roman victory with minimal losses on their side, yet they never occupied the Scottish Highlands. They erected a wall decades later, followed by a second wall. The barriers had separated the Highlands from what they did occupy—England and the Scottish lowlands.
“They bring as many as thirty thousand men.” I wanted him prepared. He needed to know the size of the force they faced.
Velloc’s muscles tensed at my news, and I turned in his arms. Dark, penetrating eyes questioned mine before he nodded. His gaze traveled to the ground in thought.
“All our tribes combined have more than that many men,” he commented.
“Would they unite like tonight?” I asked, even though I knew they had.
“Yes, to defend the land and protect our people, we would combine for a common cause.”
He stared at me, searching my eyes, hesitating. The wisdom he held in his expressions—in careful questions and the way he directed, led, and protected his people—explained a great deal about why his people followed him without question. I would follow Velloc across oceans upon command.
His voice fell to a whisper. “Did we win?”
I smiled. He’d weighed the consequences of knowing the course of events before they played out. His knowledge about whether they won or lost could impact the way they fought now. The information would either change the course of history, or resign him to their destiny.
How would I ever know the extent of my impact along the preordained timeline?
I grasped his hands in mine, squeezing them. “Velloc, no one knows. The arrogant Romans were the only ones who told the story. They claimed victory, but no evidence suggests they actually won. They never stayed.”
Velloc nodded. His seriousness bore the gravity of the situation, penetrating every crease on his furrowed face.
I kissed him, drawn to the quiet power of his discernment, palpable in the air around us—between us. Long, lazy nips of his lips, his tongue caressing alongside mine, and his arms traveling up my back, pulled me closer, combining us . . . defining us as one.
His gentle hands on my shoulders separated us, and he closed his eyes, touching his forehead to mine. “Isobel, why are you back? He let you go?”
The conversation had to happen. I’d been avoiding the difficulty I knew he’d have with the reality of the situation. So many qualities that Velloc possessed, Iain shared. Two men identical in core values and personalities existed over the span of twelve hundred years. It made me wonder at the oddity of being soul mate to them both. No wonder the box had paired me twice.
In silent prayer, I begged for it to end there. My sanity couldn’t deal with another surprise mate. Twice in a lifetime was more than most ever hoped to have. Some never found love. Two
perfect matches—at the same time—filled my glass completely.
“I insisted I had to come back, Velloc. I love you. My heart belongs to you.”
He sighed loudly, but I kept talking, needing to get it all out in the open.
“It also belongs to him. He is my husband—the first man who has ever known my body; the only man before you to ever hold my heart. I love you both.” I pulled back enough to catch his gaze.
He listened, his solemn face . . . unreadable.
“He’s a man very much like you—a leader, strong, kind, fierce. He didn’t ask for this. We’d just been married and my heart was wrapped completely in him.
“When I met you, I thought I’d been trapped here. Your ferocity and protectiveness captured my love in a heartbeat’s time. I’d been imprisoned by your love long before I’d understood what had happened.” I paused, taking a breath, waiting for his reaction.
“You love us both.” He spoke slowly, digesting all he’d heard.
“I do. Iain had a hard time accepting that I love another man. I imagine you will too. None of us deserved to have this happen, and yet, what each of us share together is so rare, so precious.” I expressed every ounce of compassion that I felt in the gentle tone of my voice.
“How did you come back?” he asked.
“The box had been passed down through time. You have it now. I imagine your people continued handing it down through the generations until Iain’s people gained possession of it. His tribe is a clan called Brodie. Your people, the Picts, are his clan’s ancestors. I don’t really know if he descends from your tribe specifically.” I thought about the chain of events. “You said you obtained the box from another tribe?”
“Yes.” He arched a brow. “I stole it.” He smirked.
I laughed. Pirating between tribes had been suspected, but firsthand knowledge confirmed it. Historians had correctly theorized some of the mysteries of the early Picts.
The reminder surfaced a new idea. I settled back into his arms, watching muted watercolors paint the world of the loch, the short midsummer night bringing forth morning’s gloaming.
“If the box has already traveled between tribes, it’s possible that it might still change hands. His clan might not have even descended from yours.”
The realization swirled up unasked questions like a dust devil lifting grains of sand left undisturbed until the right conditions for liftoff. I snatched one from the whirlwind of my mind.
“How did you become leader of your people?”
“My brother was chieftain before me. I supported and advised him. Our people respected him. During a hunting party, a bear killed him. I had to put my shock and grief aside; it had been a hard winter and our people needed to be fed. We wrapped his body in skins and continued the hunt. Anger at his loss cleared my head, fueling my actions like nothing ever had. We brought more food back on that hunt than we’d killed in months. The men never wavered. They followed me when our brother died and officially made me their leader upon our return.”
I knew it. History had been wrong.
Bede, “The Father of English History,” far-reached his limited knowledge of the Picts all the way from England, using hand-me-down information and experiences more than six hundred years forward from where I stood. With inadequate information, he’d concluded a matriarchal society existed among Picts solely because the Irish claimed to have supplied the Picts their only women on the sole condition that Pict kings were to be chosen from the female royal line.
Velloc, however, made crystal clear the reasoning behind his rule. The decision had been made for experience and obvious leadership skills. They pledged allegiance to the one who immediately protected and guided them, giving their people the best chance to flourish.
Pride in the knowledge that I’d gained—and in the man that had provided it—filled me with renewed hope. My sense of purpose grew with even that small historical revelation.
I leaned back into the warmth of his chest, lacing my fingers into his and wrapping our arms around us. “I have to go back.”
“When?” he asked, pressing his lips to my temple.
“In a few days. Iain agreed to have part of my time with all my heart, rather than all of me with a piece missing.”
Velloc nodded but said nothing.
The air hung heavy with our love and his desperation about the situation. As alike as my two warriors were, it surprised me how differently they dealt with the same issue. I wondered if a storm simmered below Velloc’s calm surface. I turned in his arms, burying my face into his neck, holding him tighter.
Velloc lifted me up, untangling our arms. He led us to a secluded, elevated cave protected by surrounding boulders. The vista afforded us a breathtaking view just as a blinding sun broke the horizon. He pulled me to the ground, holding me in his arms as we witnessed dawn’s arrival.
Dark storm clouds edged into view from the north. The snow-capped mountains above us commanded their own weather, funneling a cold wind down through the valley. My focus, however, remained steadfast over the peaceful water as shimmering sunlight stole the show.
CHAPTER Twenty-five
Highlands of Scotland—First Century AD, Five Days after My Return
Warriors, hundreds strong, moved across the field like a single large predator hunting its prey—all sleek muscle, stalking gait, and focused eyes—as their leader and his mate rode proudly at the front of the pack, guiding them to their common goal: the solace of home.
A sleepy village snapped to life before my eyes. Women who were hanging fish and meat, carrying baskets, and preparing fire pits dropped everything midtask, rushing to greet us. Not a single man in our pack broke rank, but I could feel their pent-up energy building behind us. A massive spiritual and physical collision happened when bodies connected with bodies, shouts ringing out in joy.
I dismounted Malibu and stood among them. I’d become one of them in every way, and yet, a chilling detachment seeped numbness into my heart.
Homecoming fell bittersweet onto my shoulders, my arrival counting down the coming of my departure . . . back to another time. The melancholy of a great vacation ending too soon doused my mood, and I plunged into an empty abyss, circling aimlessly, needing to find my North Star.
All the travel had made me weary. I’d become a wandering vagabond without a home, searching for my place in the vastness of my new reality. However, my despondency lightened somewhat as I thought about another man . . . a thousand years forward and a day and a half away . . . who held my heart.
A dog nearly knocked me over as a child chased after the reckless beast. I wandered from the frenzy of activity toward the nearly completed broch. The circular stone structure had a large square entrance. Rough-cut rocks had been dry stacked, but the roof still opened toward the sky. Stepping inside gave me no more indication of its use than the ruins left to taunt us in the twenty-first century. My fingers skimmed the jagged surface, a heavy sigh escaping my lips.
My purpose had clouded. Uncovering truths lying hidden in time had been my singular goal for so long. But well along that path, I’d begun to struggle for a reason to reveal history’s secrets. To what end would it serve?
Velloc’s scent hit me seconds before disturbed air changed the echoing sounds of the ocean. His warm arms wrapped around me.
Emblazoned brightly, my path lit up like a spotlight-lined landing strip in the darkest night. The lost traveler’s way stood behind her.
I’d gone from an historical interpreter to a vibrant thread woven into the tapestry of time. I had two guides who held integral pieces of the puzzle as to how and why I’d been chosen. Velloc didn’t hold all the answers, but since I knew he’d stolen the box from another tribe, I had an idea of where I could find them. And Iain knew a hell of a lot more than he’d been willing to share.
One question remained: would both men cooperate in my task? I had to find out. I had to know one thing more than anything. Why me?
“How do you feel about my
having to go back?” I asked.
He bent down and touched his lips to my ear, murmuring, “I don’t like it at all. What if I don’t let you go?”
I laughed. “You act as if that’s an option. None of us have total control of what we want in life, but when I travel in time—and where I’m destined to go—is governed by that box.”
“Without the box, you’d have no way back.” The edge in his tone loaded his threat.
“You would do that? Take away the box?” I asked.
His pause dragged heavy between us. “Yes. You’re everything, Isobel. It doesn’t matter that someone else waits for you. What matters is that you seek to be with him rather than stay with me. You are mine. I won’t let you go.”
“Velloc, please. This is bigger than my wants or yours. I know what happens in history. Maybe my travel through time has already happened and charted the historical record that I’ve read. I don’t know. What I do know, to my very core, is that my next step is to learn about the box: from where it derives its power, who controls it, and why I was chosen. You’ve no right to deny me, just as I have no right to deny my fate.”
The sudden release of his hold knocked me off-balance. I spun around, but he’d disappeared. I darted out of the broch just as he entered our home. I marched after him.
My eyes adjusted as I searched the darkness of the room, and I spotted his bent form kneeling at the head of our pallet before the box.
He spoke softly. “This box brought me you.” He stared down at the artifact.
“Yes. Without it, I wouldn’t be here,” I replied.
“The thing that brought peace and joy back into my life will take it away . . . take you away . . .” His quiet voice drifted.
I went to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I will be back, Velloc. Often. Iain’s agreed to a certain amount of time spent with him. Can’t you do the same? I will give you all of my heart when I’m here. Know and trust in that.”