by Hazel Hunter
On some level he understood that this lovely creature was not the Rowan that he held in the stables. Yet to his heart she was. Her body, her coloring, even the language she spoke had changed, but the woman inside the form remained the same.
“Aye.” Taran pushed away the troubling thoughts to admire the way her thin kirtle clung to the delicate lines of her slender body. “When we return your sire shall have my head.”
“And my dama mine for my boldness with ye.” She turned and came to him, her little face serene. “I dinnae care. Can they deny us?”
He knew what she asked. He had memories of her parents, their eyes filled with suspicion, watching him by an evening bonfire. Yet in this place he was above them, above all her people. Despite what he’d told her, whatever he wished he would be given, even if it was a daughter of the tribe.
“If you name me yours, none may deny it,” he said. He pulled his tunic over his head, and spread it over a rock to dry. When he regarded her Rowan grinned and spun around, presenting him with the long lace that held her shift together. He put his hands on her arms. “Ye’re certain? Done, ’tis no’ unsaid.”
“’Twas decided the moment ye came to us.” She took hold of his wrists, and drew his hands down to her small breasts. “As ’twas for ye.” She let her head fall back against his bare shoulder, thrusting her puckered nipples against his fingers. “Ah, Gods, I’ve longed for ye, burned for ye. Too long now.”
His hands shook as he drew them back to deal with her lace, and then eased the wet linen down over her breasts and waist. The garment drooped as she turned to press her mounds against him, her green eyes filled with joy.
“Rowena,” he murmured, whispering it across her cheek. “Say my name.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Aran. Kiss me now, Aran.”
Their names wound around in his head in a rush, blurring together and shifting.
AranRowenaAranRowenTaranRowanTaranTaran–
“Taran.”
He jerked his head back, staring into Rowan’s wide eyes. This close he could count every onyx fleck in her golden irises, and taste the heat of her on his mouth. He’d snarled his fingers in her dark brown hair, and pressed her between his hard, aching body and the tall bales stacks at the back of the loft. That their garments felt dry, and their flesh hot where it touched, confused him even more.
“Who’s Rowena?” she demanded.
“The lass in the orchard. You.” He stared at her striking face, and saw a ghost mask of the red-haired, green-eyed girl appear over it. When he blinked it vanished. “’Twas a vision.”
“Yeah, I know. I was right there, getting naked with you,” she said, her voice tight. “But we weren’t us. You had black curly hair and a tattoo on your face. I was speaking in some weird language, and so were you, but I could understand everything we said.” She touched his cheek bone. “Did your ink do this? It lit up like a laser show just before we did the rain dance.”
“’Twas no’ the centaur.” He didn’t know what to call the waking dream, but it hadn’t come from his battle spirit. Carefully he took his hands from her. “I’ll leave you now.”
“You’re not going anywhere, pal.” She watched his face as he went still. “Well, that’s a nice change.”
Taran tried to step away, but now his body refused to obey him. “You’ve bespelled me.”
“Sorry, I don’t know any spells.” She traced the shape of a half-spiral on his cheek. “The ink was right here. Why would you put that on your face? What did it mean?”
“Traveler.” How he knew that, he couldn’t have told her. “It kept me safe as I wandered Caledonia.”
“So, we became two completely different people, but inside we were the same.” She frowned. “How is that even possible?”
Taran couldn’t help rubbing his face against her fingertips. “I dinnae ken.”
“It felt and looked like summer in the highlands somewhere. I didn’t recognize where we were, did you?” When he shook his head, she looked into his eyes. “Why do you want me to leave you and go back to my time?”
He fought the compulsion to answer her, but it overwhelmed him again. “I cannae follow, and I willnae take you as mate. ’Tis the only place you’ll be safe from me.”
Rowan stepped back from him, and let her hands fall to her sides. Taran went to climb down the ladder, and then felt her hand on his shoulder.
“Stop right there.” Once he did she added, “Turn around and face me.”
His muscles coiled as he spun slowly to look at her.
“I get it now.” Her voice went soft. “When I touch you, you’re mine. The same way how when you speak to me, I’m yours. That’s the way this thing between us works.”
“Aye.” The word came out strangled as he tried to swallow it.
Rowan looked all over his face. “That’s why you barely say a word to me. Why you don’t want anyone in the clan to know about us. Why I’m not getting your ring.” Her jaw tightened. “And why I always do whatever you want.”
Before Taran was compelled to answer she took her hand away. Quickly he moved out of her reach.
“I’m a Skaraven clanmaster. I answer only to the chieftain. Yet with but a touch you enslave me.”
Rowan flinched. “Hold up, pal. I didn’t even know I was doing that to you. But you did. God.” All the emotion left her face. “You knew about this all along, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didnae ken what ’twas,” he admitted. “I still dinnae. ’Tis why you must leave.”
She uttered a short, bitter laugh and picked up the satchel. “You don’t have to send me to the future to keep your secret, Taran. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve been doing to me, or what I can do to you. I’ll go live and work in the stronghold. After we’ve shut down the crazy druids and their monsters, that’s when I’ll go back to my time. Then you’ll be safe from me.”
Taran watched her climb down from the loft and stride out of the stables, his head filling with the sound of every horse whinnying for her to come back.
Getting torn up inside made moving back in with the rest of the clan remarkably simple for Rowan. Once she entered the great hall she took a deep breath and walked up to Brennus and asked for a private word. He led her into the shaman’s chamber, where she forced calmness into her voice and informed him that she had eavesdropped on his meeting.
“Everything you guys said about me is true,” Rowan said before he could react. “I’ve behaved badly, disrespected you, and pushed away the other women. I’m not a likable person, either. Now that she has Ka, Perrin doesn’t need me to look out for her anymore. The Skaraven don’t owe me anything. I just want you to know that I’m sorry I’ve caused so much grief.”
Brennus’s cold expression thawed a few degrees. “’Twas yet unkind to speak of you thus, Rowan. Only ken our true wish ’twas to spare you more suffering.”
“You can’t afford to do that, Chief.” She leaned on the edge of Ruadri’s stone treatment table to lend her some support . “It’s not just that I’m the last future druidess you can dangle in front of Hendry and Murdina. I can also give you a tactical advantage over the famhairean that no one else can.”
His dark brows arched. “Indeed. How so?”
Rowan had debated over whether to tell him now about Ochd, or wait until the giant brought back more facts about the totems Hendry was building. If she could give Brennus a complete report on the mad druids’ plans, it might keep him from blowing his top over her keeping it secret. At least that’s what she hoped.
“Wood,” she said finally, and glanced around before picking up the staff Emeline had used as a cane when they’d first arrived. “Power over all forms of it is my druid gift, and I’ve been practicing a lot.” Using a little flick of her power, Rowan reshaped the staff into a sharp-pointed spear, and twirled it through her fingers. “Bridei is a fast wood carver, but it takes me only about five seconds to make one of these.”
“We’ve spears a plenty
,” Brennus pointed out.
Rowan did her best not to talk too fast. “I can make wood into whatever you need.” She divided the spear into a handful of arrows. “With all due respect to your brother, he can’t do anything to the famhairean’s bodies but set them on fire.” She crumpled the arrows into a ball, and fashioned a model giant out of it. She shattered the figure and let the debris fall to the floor between her and the chieftain. “I’m faster with the damage.”
Brennus rubbed his jaw as he stared down at the heap of wood shavings.
“I do have some limits,” she continued, trying to keep her momentum. “For example, I can’t generate enough power to do that to the giant-size version, but I bet I can take out their legs and arms.” She paused and watched his face. “What do you think?”
“Althea has told me of your power and what you may do with it,” Brennus said. “I ken that you must touch the wood first to use it. ’Twould be too dangerous to put you into battle.”
She had known this objection was coming. But she also knew that meeting it with honesty would be her best shot. She didn’t have to fake the strain in her voice.
“You know why I ride Ceann every day? To exercise him, because Ailpin didn’t come back from the McAra’s.” She spread her hands. “I get that I’m mortal, and no one wants me to die. But being immortal doesn’t make you guys indestructible. It’s dangerous for everyone, Bren. You’ve all chosen to face that. I’m asking you to let me do the same.”
The chieftain looked thoughtful now, and Rowan knew if she said anything more she might push it too hard. Though her palms had become sweaty, she kept her breathing even.
Just as Brennus opened his mouth to speak, Cadeyrn stepped into the chamber.
“Your pardon, Rowan. Chieftain, the last scouting party has returned from the midlands. They found no sign of the famhairean.”
“A moment, and I shall meet with them,” Brennus replied and waited until his second left before he regarded Rowan. “I must speak bluntly. If you’re killed in this time, lass, ’twill be no awakening to immortality for you. ’Tis been made plain to me that no clansman shall offer you his ring or his heart. Nor could I force any of the Skaraven to take you as mate.”
That was what you got from the chieftain: blunt instrument honesty.
“It’s fine. Back home no one asked me to go to the Prom, either.” She felt proud of how indifferent she sounded, especially when it was gutting her. The only Skaraven she wanted would rather see her dead than give her immortality. “I’ve got druid blood. According to the old guy, that means someday I get another chance at life. I am kind of immortal already.”
“Truth,” he said but hesitated for another moment before he nodded. “Very well, lass. You’re welcome to stay and fight with the clan. I’ll have Cadeyrn speak with you about how you may aid us.”
Everything Taran had ripped apart inside her settled down to a low, dull ache.
“Thank you, Chieftain.”
Without ceremony Rowan moved back into the chamber she had occupied with Perrin when they’d first arrived at Dun Mor. It looked the same as when she’d left it: a big box of stone with a handmade rope bed, a couple of chairs, a hearth and some wooden trunks. It was ancient and gloomy, but so was everything else in the hidden castle. None of her sister’s things remained in the biggest storage trunk, so she assumed Perrin had taken her stuff with her to move in with Kanyth.
“More space for me,” she muttered as a small wave of nausea rose and fell in the pit of her stomach.
Ignoring it, she unpacked the satchel, trunking her few clothes and setting her hand tools out on the sturdiest table.
Starting a blaze in the hearth meant using the primitive fire steel left on the mantle, or one of the torches from the outer hall. She stepped out to get the easier option, and spotted one of Brennus’s sentries posted at the other end of the passage. When she nodded to him he stared past her as if she didn’t exist.
“Guess I’m not winning Miss Congeniality this year,” Rowan said as she brought the torch inside and lit the firewood stacked in the hearth.
Most of the clan had been pretty obvious about avoiding her whenever possible, for which she could only blame herself. She’d gotten in their chieftain’s face more than once, which should have earned her a beating or whatever they did to uppity women in this time. When she returned the torch she didn’t bother with the pleasantries. Nice wasn’t her thing anyway.
But as she pulled off her jacket, she knew something had to change. Maybe she could try to be civil. Polite, even. Maybe then everyone wouldn’t wish Brennus had kicked her ass back to the twenty-first century.
A low knock sounded, and Althea stepped inside with an armful of linens and a heavy wool blanket. “Hey. I thought you might want some fresh bedding.”
“Thanks,” Rowan said and took the stack from her. “Your husband mention that I’m sticking around for the duration?”
“He told me everything.” The botanist came to help her strip the bed. “I’m sorry you had to listen to all that grousing.”
Rowan eyed her. “You didn’t bitch. You kind of stuck up for me.”
Not really, but she was being civil now.
“We’re not so different, you know. We’re both used to taking charge. I think that’s why we’ve always clashed.” Althea shook out the blanket before flipping one end toward her. “You haven’t talked to Perrin since she came back.”
Tucking in the other side, Rowan shook her head. “She’s been a little busy having her honeymoon with Hammer Time.”
“Yeah, there is that.” The botanist fluffed her pillow before tilting her head. “Hey, I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”
“I don’t do much sunbathing here,” Rowan said and wished she’d kept her jacket on now. “Just something to regret when I’m fifty and knitting cardigans and hoarding cats.”
“I always planned to be a cougar, go night-clubbing, and horde boy-toys myself.” Althea squinted at it. “Time is a… I can’t see the rest.”
Her ink had never embarrassed her, so she stretched out her right arm to show her the copperplate lettering. “It says ‘Time is a tree, this life one leaf.’”
“Whoa,” Althea said and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Did you know you were druid kind before we got here?”
Rowan shook her head. “It’s from a poem I read in high school. I’ve always loved trees, at least until the famhairean snatched us.” She saw the way the other woman was frowning. “What?”
“You’re not snarling at me. Who are you?” Without waiting for an answer, Althea tossed the pillow at her. “I’ll have Manath bring you some more firewood for the hearth tonight. Lily’s making venison stew for the evening meal. She’s got some top-secret ingredient she says will make it fabulous.”
The doc was trying her hardest to be friendly, Rowan decided, which was about as surreal as it got.
“I’ll grab a bowl later,” she lied. That queasy feeling had returned and made the thought of food a non-starter.
“Okay. See you around the great hall.” Althea left.
The first thing Rowan did was use the subterranean thermal spring to have a long, hot soak. Being able to wash her hair properly after basin-dunking it in the stables for weeks felt glorious.
No one else came to look in on her, which didn’t surprise Rowan. Not only had she left the rag tied to the handle outside, as was protocol, but Althea would have spread the word among the other women that Rowan had listened to their bitch session. Emeline’s gentle, loving nature meant she would feel ashamed, while Lily would be aggravated that she’d eavesdropped on her hatchet job. Perrin, she guessed, wouldn’t care all that much. She had immortality and Kanyth now. In a lot of ways Marion had raised her sister to believe she was entitled to the best, and Rowan was anything but that.
She couldn’t be happy for her, but she’d accept it. Perrin got the guy, the ring and eternal life. Her life was running just as smoothly as ever.
Being aw
ay from Taran proved to be the hardest thing to deal with. As Rowan dried herself and got dressed, she felt shaky and almost sick, like an addict heading into serious withdrawal.
Once back in her room, she took a moment to appreciate having her own hearth fire to sit by and comb out her long mane, which otherwise took forever to dry. Even so, she almost wished she hadn’t packed up everything in the hayloft so she’d have an excuse to go back and get something. But if she saw him again she was pretty sure she’d lose it entirely. Then they’d end up kissing again, and body-jumping to Rowena and Aran, whoever they were.
“Not even going to say Hi?” a soft voice said.
Rowan looked up to see Perrin standing just inside the chamber. Her sister wore a gorgeous cream-colored knitted tunic and a floor-length skirt in dark green silk. Her hair, which going immortal had lengthened to her waist, hung like a curtain of rose-gold satin over her shoulders and arms. She glowed in the same awesome, goddess-like way she had when she had been ripping Rowan to pieces at the what-to-do meeting.
Hi wasn’t what she wanted to say, but bellowing get out get out get out would just bring the guards running. She got up from the floor by the hearth and put away her comb.
“What do you need?”
“I haven’t talked to you since a killer zombie stabbed me to death through my husband,” Perrin said and took a step toward her. “But I’m back now, and I thought we could catch up.”
Rowan said the only kind thing she could think of. “Congratulations on getting hitched. You make a beautiful couple.”
“Yeah, it’s been pretty wild.” Her sister touched the clan ring she wore, caressing it like some talisman. “Want to hear all about our adventures at Maddock’s place?”
“I’m a little tired.” Drawing back the wool blanket on the bed gave her something to do besides belting Perrin. “Maybe another time.”
“Oh, okay.” Her broad smile slipped before she forced it back in place. “We could hang out tomorrow. And about those things I said at the meeting, it was because–”