Brennus (Immortal Highlander, Clan Skaraven Book 1): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  Too many times had Brennus seen the same among those killed by the famhairean.

  He eyed the forest. In the past the giants had always encamped in huge, remote woods where their druid conspirators could use their forest magic. They would kill any mortal who crossed their path. Doubtless the dead shepherd had done so. Brennus knew at this hour the giants had the power of the sun to aid them, and to brace them alone would be foolhardy. He’d find a spot to conceal himself and wait for nightfall, and then enter the forest and begin his search.

  As he walked toward a cluster of large boulders by the water he spotted something bright in the grass. He scooped up the broken silver chain, and held it up to inspect the glittering crystal heart hanging from it. In his memory its twin sparkled around the neck of the flame-haired lass a moment before she had been taken. Now a dark smear marred the cracked gem, which split in two on his palm.

  I shall avenge you, my lady. Tightly he clenched his fist over the shards.

  He felt the tiny thrum against his palm, and opened his fingers to stare at the intact crystal, from which the dried blood had disappeared. He had no magic, so whatever enchanted it had to be hers. Feeling the delicate beat on his skin filled him with inexplicable, savage joy.

  They’d brought her here and she was still alive.

  Chapter Six

  ALTHEA WAITED UNTIL Perrin had gotten up before she retrieved her jacket and shrugged into it. Her share of the evening food went into her zippered pockets, and she braided her dirty hair back from her face, tying it with a loose string from her torn shirt. Checking the stall where she’d used a piece of old hemp sacking to cover a mound of hay she’d shaped to look like a body, she looped the braided cord through her jeans, tying it in a knot. She thrust her arms through the carryall’s handles so she could wear it like a backpack, and then looked over at Emeline, who was watching her from the front of the barn.

  Okay, Rowan, she thought as she retreated to the back stall. Now you just have to be the obnoxious bitch we’ve all come to know and avoid.

  “Hey, Rowan,” the nurse said, “can you draw some water for me? These pears need a wash, and my shoulder is still giving me grief.”

  Lily had been the one to suggest sabotaging the frame supporting the well pole as a distraction. The sous-chef pointed out that they could make it fall over by discreetly removing some of the stones piled around the base. Emeline had agreed, arguing that if the fall broke the frame apart, they could easily build another one using some of the wood from the stalls.

  “When she finds out we deliberately did this, Rowan will be pissed,” Althea told the other woman once they’d quietly discussed the plan.

  Emeline looked worried. “We should tell her what we’re doing. She’ll help. I know she will.”

  “It works better if she doesn’t know,” Lily said. “And what will she do? Never speak to us again? That would be ruddy brilliant.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Just be ready.”

  The one thing the three of them agreed on was that Perrin wouldn’t survive an escape attempt. Emeline wasn’t convinced she’d survive at all and felt compelled to stay and help care for her. Lily had never said she’d stay in so many words, but Althea had sensed it. After what the woman had been through with Coig, she could hardly be blamed.

  Althea waited until the sound of the frame crashing and Rowan erupting angrily filled the air, and then pushed out two of the stall’s rotted planks. As she watched through the hole she’d created, the guard posted at the back of the barn trudged around to the front. She had to wriggle to get through the narrow gap, but as soon as she emerged outside she ran.

  Go, go, and don’t look back.

  Withered shrubs and frosty tree branches clawed at Althea as she hurried into the dark forest. She deliberately avoided the sheep trails leading away from the homestead and ran in the opposite direction. She didn’t dare slow down or look back over her shoulder until she emerged from the trees and saw the moonlight gleaming on a small lake surrounded by boulders. Althea saw her breath puffing out in white clouds in front of her, but no sign of other people, houses, roads or any form of civilization. The moonlight silvered a lovely but empty vista of hills and woods and tinier lakes as far as she could see.

  This couldn’t be. The rock mounds by the lake blocked her view of part of the land beyond. She wove her way through the trees as she tried to find a better vantage spot.

  Brush rustled as two of the guards came out of the woods on her left. She held her breath and pressed against a broad trunk as she watched them walk down to the lake. They stopped a few yards away from the water and glanced back directly at her.

  A deep shout shattered the air, and a huge dark shape, like some enormous black bird, soared out of the boulders.

  One of the guards jumped up, colliding with what Althea could now see was a man with black hair as long as a cape, which had made him looked winged. They both fell to the ground, and the second guard jumped on top of the pair. Both guards began pounding the pinned man with their fists.

  Save the raven, or we all die.

  Perrin’s eerie demand roared in Althea’s head, and then she couldn’t think anymore. She shoved herself away from the trunk and ran to them. She knew she was running to her death, but if it gave the dark man time to escape, then it might save the lives of the other women.

  He had to live too.

  As soon as Althea reached the men she flung her hands out to shove the bigger guard away. The moment she touched him something flashed through her, as cutting and cold as a blade made of ice. All the warmth in her body suddenly dissipated as the air grew thick, and a sound like distant, shattering glass crackled in her ears.

  She felt as if she were freezing, but why? Who was doing this to her? The dark man?

  The guard’s face turned white and stiff. A wave of thick frost crept up and formed a flat mask over his face. Then it raced down his bull neck and over his shoulders. As it covered him he fell off the dark man, his limbs still frozen in place as he landed on his back. One of his arms broke off and fell beside him.

  “Druid whore,” the other guard muttered as he grabbed Althea by the throat and jerked her off her feet.

  Althea hung dangling from his stranglehold, and darkness filled her eyes. The freezing cold intensified around them and when the guard’s fist turned white with ice, he dropped her. She fell shivering and coughing to the ground as the frozen guard toppled over onto his comrade.

  The dark man appeared over them with a huge rock in his hands. With giant, pummeling blows, he smashed it down on the pair. Ice flew, pelting Althea, as he crushed the guards into a pile of splintered wood and slush. Though she tried to crawl away, the dark man seized her and lifted her onto her feet. He looked all over her as if he couldn’t believe she was there.

  God, he was real. “Who are you?” she whispered.

  Before he could answer two blindingly-bright lights rose from the remains of the guards. Althea squinted to watch them fly over her head and smash into two pines at the edge of the woods.

  She couldn’t stop shaking even as the dark man pressed something into her numb fingers. When she staggered away, he didn’t try to grab her. Althea glanced down to see her necklace in her hand, and then stared at him.

  Was he part of this? Would he turn her to ice and smash her to bits?

  She turned and stumbled toward the woods, but fell over something erupting from the soil. She screamed as two huge, slithering roots enveloped her boots and legs and dragged her toward the pine trees that now glowed. The roots grew tighter and, as they did, they ripped through her jeans and bit into her flesh.

  The dark man put himself between her and the woods. His massive hands gripped the roots and tore them apart before he hoisted her into his arms and ran toward the lake. Althea’s vision darkened as she felt blood welling from her legs and the coldness solidifying in her torso. Desperately she focused on the dark man, who had stopped at the edge of the water and was pulling her closer.
r />   “The others,” she managed to get out through her chattering teeth. “Save them, please.”

  His black eyes narrowed, and then he bent his head and covered her mouth with his. As more roots slithered toward them he dove into the lake.

  Bubbling light surrounded Althea, who couldn’t breathe anymore. All she felt was the dark man’s hard, hungry mouth on hers, and then nothing as she lost consciousness.

  Chapter Seven

  IN THE SUBTERRANEAN level of Dun Mor, Brennus stood at the back of Ruadri’s healing chamber and watched as the shaman used a new blade to cut away the lass’s shredded trews. He’d already applied woundwort and yarrow to the wounds he had exposed. Brennus’s gut knotted as he took in all of the ugly gashes slashing across her delicate skin. To see her like this made him want to return to the mountain with the clan and kill everything that moved.

  “’Tis no’ so bad,” Ruadri said, his voice low and soft. “She’s chilled, but that slowed the bleeding. She’ll be hobbled for a time, but I reckon ’twill all mend.”

  Brennus pushed some of the damp hair away from the swelling gash on the side of her head. “And the blow she took here?”

  “I’ll ken more of that when she wakes. Better there than the back of her neck. That ’twould have ended her.” The shaman regarded him. “When you carried her in, Bren, you said she saved you. How did you mean, saved?”

  “Just so. I crossed the path of two famhairean, and they attacked me.” Brennus let the delicate strands of her hair sift through his fingers before he stepped back. “Both had me pinned when she came from the forest and turned them to ice. Froze them to their cores with but a touch of her hands.”

  “Did she utter a spell before she touched them?” When Brennus shook his head Ruadri rubbed the back of his broad neck. “’Tis no’ a tree-knower’s gift. Did you see the black-haired healer?”

  “Only this lass, and I’ve never seen the like of what she did. Once the giants fell from me I broke them apart like riddled kindling. They discarded their remains and used two more trees to attack her.” He nodded at her legs. “Their roots did that when they seized her.”

  “So the giants still can use other trees, but cannae die. Our luck remains dismal.” The shaman covered her with a fleece before he went over to toss more wood on the chamber’s hearth. “I gave her a potion for the pain. ’Twill keep her asleep for the night. Now you should go and attend to the clan.”

  Brennus frowned. “What of the men?”

  “They ken that you’ve brought a young, beautiful woman to Dun Mor. Some saw her and her strange garments. She’s no’ from our land. I cannae open that satchel she had strapped to her back.” Ruadri glanced at the unconscious female. “To have her here among us, even for me to treat her wounds, ’twould never have been permitted.”

  “Before we rose, no,” Brennus told him. “We shall live as all men do now.”

  The shaman’s expression grew thoughtful. “But after so long, can we?”

  “If I’ve to beat the freedom into your heads, aye, we will.” He strode out of the chamber and mounted the stairs up to the keepe level, where most of the clan had gathered around the hearth. They collectively turned to look at him, their expressions guarded but their eyes filled with strong emotions.

  “War, Weapons, Horse, counsel in my chambers. Bring the lass’s satchel.” Brennus deliberately let his gaze sweep around the room. “The rest of you, find a bed and sleep. We shall speak of this and other matters on the morrow.”

  The men reluctantly scattered while Brennus led his advisors below ground. While he had been at the mountain the clan had repaired his door and done much to make his chamber more habitable. The old decayed furnishings had been removed, and in their place stood a new bed draped with blue silk over a generous pile of snowy fleece. Fine curtains and tapestries covered the stained walls, and a thick rug stretched out under a big, grand-looking hide chair by the hearth.

  “We couldnae buy much made garb, but we found a tailor willing to send for more. He’ll clothe the clan within sevenday. An obliging herd of sheep in the next valley provided bedding,” Cadeyrn said as he watched the chieftain inspect the room. “Kanyth fashioned shears from what iron could be salvaged.”

  “I’ve a mountain of rust in the forge’s upper stores,” the weapons master admitted. “But the ore in the undercroft remains intact and dry. ’Tis enough to fashion ten thousand blades.”

  “We want but a hundred,” Brennus said. He knew the pain his half-brother would suffer while making weapons for the men, for his power over iron came with a price. “Dinnae burn yourself to the bone in the making, Ka.”

  His men listened without comment as Brennus related what had happened when he’d been attacked at the lochan. Once he finished, Cadeyrn began to scowl and pace. Kanyth grinned and Taran looked alarmed.

  “I cannae think of what to do with the lady,” Brennus said, prompting his second to stop and give him an incredulous look. “Dinnae be crass, Cade. She’s no’ a pleasure lass. Nor shall I permit her to be treated as one.”

  “’Tis the only manner of wench we’ve ever ken,” Cadeyrn reminded him as he picked up the satchel and studied the long, odd-looking seam at the top. He pulled a tiny metal tab, and the seam parted with a slithering sound. He tugged it in the opposite direction, and the seam closed again. “What do you make of that? ’Tis unnatural.”

  “’Tis a fastener,” Brennus said, keeping a straight face. “Mayhap she’ll teach you to make such.”

  “So comes true my dream to be apprenticed to a satchel-maker.” Cadeyrn sighed. “She’s a tree-knower, Bren. I say we hand her back to her people. She’s their burden, no’ ours.”

  “I say no’,” Kanyth put in. “She did save you, Chieftain, and ’tis no’ a debt to be repaid with words.”

  Brennus regarded his half-brother. “What do you reckon as fitting?”

  “To abide here in safety with the Skaraven.” He folded his big hands behind his back. “This ice magic she possesses to vanquish the famhairean, ’twould be useful to us. As mine has been, and mayhap more so. She could teach Ruadri the magic she wields. He’s clever and strong enough to resist her beauty. She mentioned others. We may go take them from the giants and learn if they have similar gifts.”

  “You dinnae ken what she is,” Taran said suddenly. “Flen said the giants came back from the future. Mayhap they stole her from that time. If ’tis so, we should strive to return her.”

  Brennus thought all their advice had some weight to it, but he could not see himself handing the lass over to the druids. Nor could he use her for her magic. Even if it could somehow be managed, the prospect of returning her to a distant future made him feel as if he contemplated cutting off an arm or leg.

  Why she seemed so important to him remained a mystery. Nor could he fathom how he would ever repay her for the life-debt. Until he understood the first and resolved the second, he’d keep the lady safe.

  “She’s too hurt to travel,” he finally told his men. “She’ll stay below for now. I’ll watch over her while I think on it.”

  His second nodded and left, and after a long, troubled look Taran did the same. That left him alone with his half-brother, who waited with his arms folded, and one brow raised.

  “Dinnae prod me, Ka,” Brennus told him. “Else you want your face less comely.”

  Kanyth’s roofbeam shoulders rolled. “Use it if you wish. I’ll heal by morn.” He winked. “And I’ll always be prettier than you.”

  “Before Flen’s awakening, I had a vision of the lady,” he found himself admitting. “She knelt in the forest, gathering ferns.”

  “A pretty fancy, but that isnae what troubles you.” His brother eyed the satchel. “What of her, then?”

  “I saw her face again tonight, when she ran to save me,” Brennus admitted. “’Twas plain, the fear she felt. She ken that she would likely die in the effort, and yet she ran to me still. What manner of lass does such?”

  “One who’
d rather fight than cower, which doesnae to me seem like mortal or druid kind.” Kanyth spread his newly-scarred hands. “Mayhap she’s a goddess.”

  Chapter Eight

  IN A GOLDEN darkness, Althea held onto the dark man kissing her. Pushing him away seemed unlikely, and for some reason she couldn’t breathe through her nose. Then he breathed for her through their mouths, filling her lungs. He kept doing that instead of kissing her, and she felt his body move against her. His chest felt like a wave did at the edge of the ocean, when it surged around someone standing in the sand.

  She liked breathing this way. He could breathe for her forever.

  As the sky turned from gilded onyx to emerald, Althea felt long, silky feathers tickling her cold fingers. She opened her eyes and saw them, strewn through the blue glass curtain of his hair. The hair and feathers slowly turned black, which puzzled her. How could he change his coloring so fast? Why did the feathers look completely natural, as if they were growing out of his scalp?

  No wonder they were flying. The man really was part raven.

  She marveled at her own calm, but then her fears had dissolved completely. Had she ever felt this safe? Probably not since her uncle had passed away. They broke through something, and she became aware of the rain pouring over them. He lifted his mouth from hers, and water beaded the thick lashes around his black eyes. She’d seen those eyes before this moment, even before the fight with the guards.

  He’d tried to save her in the forest.

  Althea recalled the moment before she’d been taken, when she’d looked up to see a shadow of a man reaching for her. At first all she’d seen of his face were his beautiful dark eyes filled with some inexplicable rage. Then the rest of his features appeared, savagely handsome and not angry at all, but as baffled as she’d felt. Then his gaze had shifted, and he’d shouted something soundlessly.