Forged in Dreams and Magick hl-1

by Kat Bastion

  An observant eye up in the watchtower caught our fast approach and lowered the drawbridge just in time for us to gallop over the wooden beams without breaking stride. In seconds, we devoured the distance between the curtain wall and the forest’s edge.

  Under the cover of the forest, I opened my senses, amplifying every sound that wasn’t generated by the horse as she unleashed her pent-up energy. The sun’s bright beams pierced ample light through the sparse canopy, giving us plenty of visual warning of any danger ahead. I felt Sunshine’s power traveling with me in some manner. Together, our energy resonated outward.

  I had no idea where we needed to go, but some inexplicable sense told me it didn’t matter. My internal compass had pointed us in the direction we headed, and I felt we were expected.

  I smiled broadly. Fine. Go ahead. Think you know what to expect. Underestimate me. Please.

  The usual forest chatter quieted, an eerie absence of sound filling the space thicker than the surrounding dense brush.

  We’d arrived.

  Without any indication of whether those that surrounded us were friend or foe, I proceeded forward. Cockiness born of rage made me believe no enemy of Iain’s would harm a woman, even a well-armed woman. In fact, shock at my unusual appearance might give them pause—hesitation would become opportunity in disguise.

  Through the broadcasted silent treatment, I sensed an approach long before I saw or heard the rustle of leaves. With a firm squeeze of my thighs, the well-trained Solus came to a stop, her ears switching back and forth at the sounds closing in on us.

  Robert appeared from the brush, flanked by Duncan and Calum. I exhaled a held breath and dismounted, jumping down to the ground. I stood before the threesome who stood as an imposing wall of broad chests and massive legs spread in wide stance.

  “M’Lady, why are you here?” Robert’s gaze traveled from the Pict paint on my face, across to the sword on my hip, and down to the ax strapped above my right foot. He folded his large arms over his chest, nodding understanding, if not agreement.

  “Robert, who the fuck has him? Tell me where to go.” I kept my voice low and steady in an attempt not to belie my thundering heart.

  Robert’s jaw dropped. “Nay.” He shook his head. “You’re not goin’ in there.”

  “I am. Where are they? Camped somewhere?” My gaze flicked behind them, but all I saw was the green of the forest.

  “Aye. They’ve dozens of tents lining the inlet below. We’ve sent emissaries to negotiate, and they’ve seen Iain. He’s alive”—his voice dropped—“barely. We’ve tried everythin’. They only want one thing: the one thing Iain cannot relinquish and swore his life to protect.”

  His meaning dawned on me. “The box.”

  “Aye,” Robert grumbled. “Not that we’d give them a single stalk of wheat.”

  “Well, they’ll be given something more valuable than the box. In exchange for Iain, I’m offering myself.”

  “Och, Isobel. I’ll never agree to that. Iain would rather die than allow such a thing to pass.”

  I smiled, arching a brow. “Robert, trust me. They have no idea who I am. Not one of those poor souls has any clue what I’m capable of. By the time I’m through with them, my name will be whispered in their legends.”

  He glared at me. “Nay.”

  I walked up to Robert and patted his forearm in reassurance that I knew wouldn’t be received. With arched brows and a pointed look toward his two men, I dismissed them. At Robert’s imperceptible nod, they disappeared back into the brush.

  With a voice as smooth as spun silk, I said, “Robert. You either point the way, or I will wander about in the open. Don’t see my defiance as insubordination; I’m not one of your soldiers. It is my responsibility—as much as it is yours—to keep the clan safe.”

  Robert growled in frustration. He lowered his head and shook it slowly as if he thought he’d gone mad for even listening to me.

  I whispered the clincher. “Besides, you do know where I go when I disappear, right?”

  Robert sighed. “Aye.”

  He didn’t clarify. I didn’t ask.

  “Then you also have no idea what I’m capable of, do you?”

  Robert looked down at me, straight in the eye. “Nay, M’Lady. I do not. I’ll tell you all you need to know and protect you as best I can.”

  He turned around and parted the bushes, waiting for me to pass through.

  A message boomed into my head, and I jumped.

  “Impressive, Ms. MacInnes.”

  I laughed at Sunshine’s rare compliment as I followed Robert through the woods to strategize—first for a rescue . . . then for an annihilation.

  CHAPTER Thirty-four

  Beyond the Forests of Clan Brodie—Thirteenth Century

  Dozens of white tents stretched across an open field beyond the protection of the forest. Men ambled about carrying out tasks as if today were any other day. Smaller copses of oak and pine dotted a trail to the enemy camp.

  Enemy camp.

  What a joke compared to what I’d witnessed. After provoking an entire legion of Roman soldiers, the handful before me? Child’s play.

  “Stay to the shadows.” Sunshine’s reminder filtered into my mind.

  Not one stubborn cell in my body questioned the commanded suggestion of my backup that would be instrumental in my risky endeavor. The eyes of hundreds of my restless Highlanders watched through the trees as I embarked on a mission that I’d insisted upon and that they’d vehemently balked at. “Suicide,” Robert had whispered with such anger he’d nearly shouted.

  I crept beneath tree-provided shade with the agility of a cat on the hunt, easing ever closer to my prey. Slow is smooth. Smooth is . . . deadly.

  Behind the last gnarled trunk, I stopped. Bound energy hammered through my veins. Fueled muscles yearned to unleash the power of their adrenaline-sparked charge. Raw anger burned a fire so hot at my core, each swallow scorched my throat and every breath singed my nostrils.

  Fearless, I strode toward the main tent, stepping from the shadows into the light. No audible alarm sounded. Two larger men dressed in their red-and-black plaid, one red haired and one flaxen, angled toward me. Our paths collided a few yards before my destination.

  Red moved into every inch of my personal space, blocking me. “You are verra lost, wee lass.”

  I glared up into cold, blue eyes, stepping between him and his friend. “Do I look lost to you?”

  Not awaiting a response, I shouldered past them, walking straight up to their leader’s tent. Growls grumbling behind me told me I’d acquired two escorts.

  I scoffed at the closed entrance flap, shot an arm up, and barged into the lion’s den. My narrowed eyes scanned the room. Colorful cushions lined the ground. A wooden table and three chairs stood in a corner. A narrow table along the back wall held a line of dripping rushlights. I ignored the stench . . . from more than the candles.

  Directly to my right, I felt a presence.

  No fear. Stupid man.

  I tilted my head, tracking him peripherally. “Stewart. The man I wanted to see.”

  A gruff laugh followed. “Aye, lass. Aren’t you a sight, with your painted face and wild hair.”

  I slid an irritated glance toward him. He stood weaponless. At a good six-ten or so, with shoulders carved from mountains and hands the size of treetops, the man needed no additional aid in the weaponry department.

  His predatory gaze traveled along my body. “Och, you are a brave one. I’m shocked you made it all the way into my tent without being disarmed.”

  I turned fully toward him. “Your men must have thought you needed to see me as I stand. Wise men.”

  “Aye, they are. What business do you have with me?” he asked.

  “Iain.”

  Instant understanding showed on his face as the uttered name conveyed volumes.

  “Ahhh, you are Iain’s. Only a woman who loves a man would dare such a thing. Come to rescue him, did you?”

 
I laughed. “Do you really think little ol’ me could snatch anything from you?”

  He snorted, his shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. “Nay. ’Tis impossible. Tell me, what do you want, if not a rescue?”

  “I understand you want the box.”

  Stewart smiled. “You’ve been well informed.”

  I leveled a hard stare at my adversary. “You have not.”

  Stewart’s jaw popped. His massive chest inflated with a deep inhalation. “Enlighten me.”

  “You first,” I countered. “What do you know of the box?”

  Stewart folded his arms, eyes narrowing. With slow steps he circled me, gaze traveling up and down my body, assessing deeper than what his eyes could see. I held my ground, relaxed and unmoving.

  He stopped, and I turned, facing him again.

  His tongue slid along the upper row of his teeth before he spoke. “I know all I need to. The box holds magick. It makes the castle disappear.”

  I laughed. “You are truly misinformed. It is not the box that makes the castle disappear.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  A deadly confident smile spread across my face. “I do.”

  Stewart’s eyes widened. “Och, woman, you’ve gone mad. I’d never believe such folly.”

  With deliberate care, I reached toward my left hip. I flicked a glance toward the hilt and back up at Stewart, conveying my intent. “May I?”

  He dipped his head, his watchful gaze never leaving my eyes.

  Using an index finger and thumb, I pinched the end of the sword, freeing it from its leather scabbard. I rested the blade on the palm of my other hand, offering up the weapon to my enemy for his inspection.

  Stewart made no move to look down. I waited. After a good minute or more, he broke the staring match, dropping his gaze to see what I held. The intricate metal designs in the cross of the hilt would tell a man of war—bred from a culture with oral traditions steeped in lore—what he needed to know.

  He gasped. His brows furrowed deeply as his gaze flew back up to my eyes and scanned my blue-painted face anew. “Pict,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Impossible.”

  I smiled, sheathing the weapon without permission. “And yet, here I stand.”

  “That tells me naught,” he gruffed.

  “Well, allow me to show you everything.”

  Sunshine?

  One minute, I stood in Stewart’s shadow. The next, a cocoon of gloss-black wings blocked my vision. With a slight adjustment, the feathers canted, enabling a view of my surroundings. The spicy-sweet scent of cinnamon wafted into my nostrils . . . from Sunshine?

  Stewart roared, spinning around. He swiped at the air where I’d stood, but his arms sifted right through me—us.

  “Had enough yet?” My bored tone masked the vibrating urgency I had to get to Iain. Patience. Patience, then reward.

  “Aye, woman. Aye.” Resignation stained Stewart’s tone.

  Sunshine’s wings vanished. Stewart growled, glaring at me as I stood before him once again. “Tell me what you want, woman.”

  “Hand over Iain.”

  Stewart chuckled. “I’ll do no such thing.”

  Anger erupted uncontrolled from the depths of my soul. My arm shot out. Stuttered, shadowy images followed in the wake of my punch. A hard fist connected to sternum, and the impact of a speeding car slamming against a brick wall threw the behemoth Highlander ten feet backward, crashing loudly into the far table.

  Niiice.

  “Thank you,” Sunshine silently replied.

  Toppled candles ignited the backside of the tent in hungry flames. My escort posse barged in. I spun around in time to see Sunshine materialize, knock both arms back, and plant iron fists into each man’s face. Before they dropped to the ground, Sunshine vanished.

  Stewart moaned, dragging himself up. I walked over to him, and he stared at me in wide-eyed bewilderment.

  “Iain. Now.”

  Smoke rapidly filled the space. Stewart coughed as he glared and stepped beyond me. I followed him out of the tent.

  An entire clan of enemy warriors faced me when I stepped into daylight. Tension crackled into the air, but not one man flinched. They obeyed Stewart. And at the moment, Stewart obeyed me.

  Two rows inside the outer perimeter of tents stood a tent with a man posted on every corner. Stewart went to the entrance and pulled the flap open, turning toward me. He leveled a hard stare at me, chest heaving, his irritation no secret.

  Robert had prepared me as best he could. The knowledge of what to expect helped to a degree. I steeled myself, focusing on the mission: save him.

  I stepped inside.

  The tent was barren. It smelled horrific; blood, urine, and feces created such a stench, I had to breathe through my mouth instead of my nose, unable to do so any other way. Trampled patches of grass were dark with stains.

  In the center of the makeshift prison, a wooden post had been sunk into the ground. Manacles bolted into the top of the square pillar held the wrists of a crumpled, naked form.

  My breath caught. Iain lay mercifully unconscious face down in the dirt. Blood matted his hair onto his shoulders. Multicolored, dark bruises covered nearly every inch of visible skin. The backs of his thighs had been flayed. The bottoms of his feet . . . burned.

  I swallowed hard, slowly walking over to him, unable to process the methods of torture those heathens inflicted on my poor, broken man. With gentleness born of fear, not wanting to inflict any further pain, I knelt beside him, resting trembling fingers over his back. I sighed in relief. The skin was warm. His chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths, but it rose. Robert had been right. Alive . . . barely.

  A growl ripped from my chest as I spun around. Stewart had disappeared, likely planning our demise. I didn’t give a fuck.

  “Skorpius. Show yourself.”

  The angel appeared, and he looked more pissed than I, if that were even possible.

  “Free him. Get him home.”

  Sunshine flashed to Iain. The manacles holding his wrists popped open. The angel caught Iain’s arms before they fell, and he scooped up the injured body with care.

  We walked out of the tent facing Stewart and his men. Every mouth fell open.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Yeah, they didn’t see Iain floating in the air. They saw a dark, menacing creature with black wings opened to their full span and eyes that swirled iridescently.

  The sea of men parted, uncertain of what to make of me or Sunshine. Quietly, he said, “Isobel. I can only take one of you back at a time.”

  I turned toward them, kissing the tips of my fingers, placing them on Iain’s cracked lips . . . his warm lips.

  I inhaled a deep breath. “Take him, Skorpius. Only him. Make him safe. Keep him alive.”

  “But—” he started to protest.

  I cut him off. “Take him. Stewart won’t harm me. He needs me. By the time I leave, he’ll be too busy dying to care.”

  Sunshine nodded, and they vanished.

  I only made it a few steps beyond Stewart’s crowd of angel-shocked men, before Robert and our clan charged down from the forest.

  Robert approached with a pained expression on his face. “Iain . . . ?”

  “Is alive. Our friend took him back to the castle.”

  The Brodie clan descended with shouts of fury against those that dared challenge us . . . on an enemy that had committed crimes of war against a defenseless man.

  Robert growled low. “M’Lady, doona worry. I will exact revenge.”

  I glanced back as swords clashed. The glorious sight of an enemy falling at the hands of an outraged victim-turned-vengeance-dealer made me smile as flames devoured their encampment.

  “Aye, Robert. Make them suffer. Kill them slowly. Destroy them all.”

  CHAPTER Thirty-five

  I rode Solus hard. The decision to send Iain to safety was never second-guessed, but the long minutes it took to reach the castle felt like unmoving hands on a stalled clock. We thund
ered over the drawbridge just as it settled into place. We charged up the rise, straight to the keep. Before she fully stopped, I slid off and ran into an already-open front door.

  It seemed the entire clan milled about in the great hall. All their attention turned to me. Without a word, the sea of people parted, and I ran across the room and down the corridor. The strong power signature radiating from Sunshine told me exactly where they were.

  The door to the study remained closed. I pressed down on the iron latch, carefully pushing the door into the room.

  The place was a mess. Iain’s map desk had been shoved against the bookcases. Rolled parchments had fallen from their categorized homes, littering the ground like tan tubes of pick-up sticks.

  Iain’s battered body stretched across the stone floor while Sunshine’s arm supported his head and shoulders. Those tremendous black wings were opened and curved protectively over Iain’s form.

  Sunshine glanced up with a grave expression. “He’s badly injured. Every breath he takes is a struggle for life.”

  “What can I do?”

  He shook his head. “My expertise falls outside the realm of easing suffering.”

  I growled, angry I’d been put in these circumstances over and over again, unable to be in control of anything, incapable to help those around me—the ones that needed me the most.

  Energy still hummed hot and furious through my veins. I stared at the wall. Laser lights that had been beaming statically began pulsing rapidly. It powered up at my presence, responding to me like an excited dog wagging its tail.

  The wall.

  “Skorpius, move to the other side.”

  The angel eyed me in surprise but followed my command.

  I stepped between the two men and the wall. The surface pulsed as shimmering waves appeared, and the lights stopped beaming, incredible energy building beneath its sparkling exterior.

  I glanced down at Iain. He’d gone so far under—away from the cruelty of the world—that his expression was relaxed . . . peaceful. Short, broken breaths were the only movements he made.

  Shadows filled the room. A dark angel surrounded him. His body had been grimly painted by every shattered vessel, bruised muscle, and broken bone.