by Hazel Hunter
“Losh,” Jema said and took a sip. She let the fiery burn of the liquor blaze its way to her belly. “No wonder you kept quiet. I’m nothing but a great fankle.” She met his gaze. “What about the other things Diana said? Was she joking?”
“Do you wish me to lie to you?” When she shook her head he took the bottle from her. “Then I cannae tell you.”
She watched him drink. “So how do we unravel me?”
He moved his shoulders. “If you fell wounded into the portal in your time, it would have sensed your druid blood and brought you here. Or mayhap you were pushed. Rachel’s husband sent her here by stabbing her in the back and burying her alive in a grove.”
“That poor woman,” Jema whispered and shuddered. “But I was still wounded when I arrived.”
“Aye.” His gaze shifted to the scar on her head as he turned the map disc in his fingers. “’Tis another shard of you I cannae make fit.” Then he lifted the disc. “And this too, the one thing that came with you.”
Jema focused inward, trying desperately to remember anything from the black void of time before she landed in her Viking’s arms. All that did was make her head start to pound.
“Tormod, somehow the pieces have to fit. But how do we figure it out?”
He shook his head. “’Tis only one way I can think of.” He paused and took a swallow of whiskey from the bottle. “’Twill be others in the future who know you. Your family. Those who love you.” He paused at those last words before plunging on. “We’ll ride back to the forest tomorrow night. You can use the portal to return to your time.”
“You want to send me back?” She stood so quickly she knocked over the chair. “I can’t remember the future. I won’t know anyone.”
Tormod looked away from her. “’Tis your place in the world, Jema. Your home.”
“No. This is home. The only home I know.” She moved so that he had to look at her. “To send me back without my memories is the same as shoving me into a bottomless abyss. How could you do that to me? You saved me.”
“I cannae keep you safe here at Dun Aran,” he told her as he stood to loom over her. “Even with your power, in time you’ll be found. I dinnae ken what the laird would do with you. I ken what he will do to me for harboring an outsider.”
“Then take me to a place where I can live, Viking. Because I’m not leaving.”
Chapter Eight
AS THE BRILLIANT orb of the sun dipped below the horizon, Gavin set the last of his snares near a patch of wild berries, and then shouldered his pack. Being restored to the big, brawny body he’d had during his service days would never pall. With every day that passed it was becoming harder to remember how weak he’d been. Back then even the simplest physical task had been almost impossible for him.
“A gastronomy tube will help you with the malnutrition and weight loss,” his doctor had told him at his check-up last month. “You’ll have to have one when you go on the vent, so to manage it now would be best.”
The thought of tubes feeding him and machines breathing for him while he lay helpless in a hospital bed had sickened Gavin. After that appointment he’d begun making plans, plans he no longer had to think about.
In this place, all that mattered was survival.
Since he had only himself to rely on he’d quickly taken stock of his situation. He had shelter, water and fire, but the provisions he’d found in the lodge wouldn’t last forever.
The survival training he’d been given in the military served him well. To augment his food supplies he’d turned to trapping. Rather than waste his resources trying to take down big game like the local ghost-faced red deer, he tracked smaller ground dwellers. Once he had identified the tracks of rabbit, quail and grouse, and sorted out their runs and movement patterns, he went to work.
The simple snares he set had been used by hunters for millennia, and consisted of a small loop of baited, slip-knotted cord tied to a bent sapling. The other end of the loop he slipped over two twigs precariously hooked together, with the lower twig serving as a holding stake. When the animals went for the bait, they knocked apart the twigs, which released the tension on the loop. The energy provided by the sapling righting itself and the weight of the animal’s body finished the work.
Successful trapping depended on numbers. He knew the more snares he set, the better his chances were at catching something. But game had proven so plentiful that he would soon have to think about curing the excess. That gave him a little reassurance as well. If he couldn’t go back to his world, at least he wouldn’t starve to death in this one.
Although he spent a good portion of every day looking after himself, Gavin hadn’t given up his search for his sister. For his first days in this strange version of Scotland he’d used the river as his guide through the forest as he looked for Jema. Now he had marked or memorized enough landmarks and trails to navigate his way for miles in any direction. Yet no matter how many hours he spent sweeping the territory, he still hadn’t found a single trace of his sister.
“She’s here,” he muttered to himself as he picked up his pace. “Even if I can’t feel her, I’d know if she was dead.”
Gavin had always shared a strong bond with his twin. From childhood they had shared some eerie connections to each other. He’d always been affected by her emotions. Even at a distance, whenever she’d hurt herself he would feel sick to his stomach. When she wept his own heart would throb with pain. Jema in turn had been tuned into his thoughts rather than his emotions. She always seemed to know what he was thinking or intending to say. She finished his sentences for him.
It infuriated him that they would both land in this place only to be immediately separated. Jema lived in her own world so much that she barely paid attention to her surroundings, but she would never have willingly left him to fend for himself. Could she have been arrested or abducted? Was that why she hadn’t found her way back to him? And why couldn’t he feel what she was feeling anymore?
Not knowing, and yet sensing she was alive, was slowly driving him mad.
Once he cleared the trees Gavin broke into a run. He’d never been fast but in his prime he’d been able to cover fifteen miles without stopping. Now he felt even stronger, as if he could manage twenty or thirty. That also made no sense to him. Why weren’t his muscles still atrophied from the ALS? It felt as if he’d never been ill a day in his life. He sometimes still wondered if he’d died at the dig. It would explain why his connection to Jema felt so distant. Maybe she had survived.
Gavin ran alongside the river bank, knowing he was wasting time and energy but not caring in the slightest. Pitting himself against the uneven ground kept him from dwelling on all the unanswerable questions. It took another mile before he worked out enough of his anger to stop for a drink.
At the edge of the river he knelt down to scoop up a handful of the icy water. He’d never get tired of the crisp taste of it. Everything here was so pure and unadulterated it felt almost too good to be true—like his physical condition and his new life. Maybe he really was dead.
“No, leave me be,” a woman’s voice cried out in terror, making Gavin stiffen.
He took the dirk from his belt and moved silently toward the sobbing sounds she was making now. He crouched down enough for the brush to provide him cover, then parted a couple branches and peered through.
Gavin counted five men surrounding her. All dressed in Roman soldier costumes but with very lethal-looking swords in their hands. The young victim wore a shabby gown that had been slashed open in the front, exposing the full curves of her white breasts. From the soaked condition of her dress and the dripping tangle of her hair she must have been bathing, or had fallen in the river. The men were grinning, showing canines filed to look like fangs, and jabbed their blades at her each time she tried to slip out of the circle or tried to cover herself with her hands.
“Please, spare me,” the woman begged. “My da has been sickly, and I’m all he has. If I dinnae return home tonight he’ll starve.
”
“We shall leave your corpse at his door for him to cook,” one of the men jeered. “After we take your blood and your cunt.”
Gavin’s rage swelled—and his body soaked up the colors and textures around him. His mind flashed back to that moment in the forest when he’d backed against the oak in fury. He looked at his hands now, barely able to see them against the brush.
“No!” the woman cried out cowering away as one of the soldiers raised his sword high in the air.
Though Gavin didn’t know what had happened to his body, it had provided him with the perfect camouflage. He saw his opportunity and sprinted from the brush.
The Romans didn’t react as he ran toward the woman. He seized her in his arms and held her against his chest as he jumped from boulder to boulder over the river. He darted through the trees, not stopping until he was well out of sight.
The woman clung to him tightly, hanging on even when he set her on her feet. “Please, marster, dinnae kill me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
But when she stared up at him he realized he was still in camouflage. Again Gavin thought of that first time. His fear of seeing his hands turned to bark had cut through his rage and ended the spell. He pushed back his anger, now that the woman was safe, and was rewarded with the return of his own body.
“My name is Gavin McShane. You’re safe with me.”
“I but needed white willow bark,” she said and tried to pull together the edges of her bodice, though her hands shook badly. “I lied to them. My da died last winter of plague. I’m the sickly one now. I’m so cold…” Her eyelids fluttered as she swayed and then collapsed.
Gavin caught her before she hit the ground, and the feel of her chilled flesh made him head directly for the lodge. Once inside he put her on the bed and heaped blankets over her before he built up the fire he’d left banked in the hearth. He filled a cup from the jug he used for drinking water and brought it over to the woman, who was watching him. Her pupils had dilated so much that her eyes appeared to be solid black.
He sat down beside her, helping her to sit up before he offered her the cup. “Drink a little. It will help you feel better. What’s your name?”
“Fenella Ivar,” she said and sounded calmer, though she looked at him with visible curiosity. “You are no’ a highlander.”
“Only in my dreams,” he said and tried to dry her hair with the end of a blanket. “Were you trying to cool down your fever? Is that why you went for a bathe?”
“The undead pushed me in,” she said idly as she walked her white fingers up his chest. “You’re no’ afraid of the blood-drinkers, Gavin?”
“Do you mean the men who attacked you?” When she nodded, Gavin felt even more confused. “They actually meant to drink your blood?”
“No’ mine, lad,” she chided as she knocked the cup from his hand, and dragged him down on top of her. “I promised them yours.”
Gavin couldn’t believe how strong she was, and how quickly she put him on his back and straddled him. Then she struck his neck like a snake, biting into his flesh deep enough to draw blood, which she then began to suck. He shoved at her with all his new strength and sent her over the side of the bed.
Fenella was on her feet a moment later. “You’re a brave one, lad. Your blood runs as hot and strong as your temper, I reckon.” She laughed, flashing her bloody fangs.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.
“A well-laid trap. We’ve been watching you for nights and nights.” She brought her thumb up to her blood-stained lips, and bit into her own flesh before she jumped on top of him again. “And now you’ll be mine forever.”
“Get off,” he yelled.
He struggled to hold her at arm’s length, but she didn’t try to bite him again. Instead she pressed her bleeding thumb against his neck. Freezing pain jabbed into the twin wounds she’d left, and began shooting through him as if he were being riddled with bullets made of ice.
“What…did you…why?” he grated through clenched teeth as he convulsed.
“’Tis a kindness. The men cannae use you now. You belong to me.” She caressed his cheek as gently as a lover, and crooned, “Dinnae fight. Aye, that’s a good lad. Let it have you. You’ll make a fine thrall.”
The lodge went blurry around them, and Gavin felt as if his blood had turned to snow in his veins. As the shakes eased away, a new heat flooded through him. The heat of wanting. He looked at Fenella, beautiful Fenella who smiled back at him so tenderly he groaned.
“My god, did I hurt you?” he gasped.
He looked all over her, but he couldn’t see any wounds. Even the gash in her thumb where she had bitten herself had vanished. He brought her hand to his lips to kiss the spot, and felt pleasure sweep away the last of the agonizing frost in his veins.
Everything in his life had been preparing him for this, for becoming hers. She made the world around them gray and cloudy until the only color he could see was the gold of her corn silk hair, the snowy perfection of her flawless skin, and the midnight sky of her black eyes.
Fenella Ivar was a goddess.
“You serve the glorious Ninth Legion now, Gavin,” she said, sitting back on his thighs. “They are immortal Romans, and very powerful creatures. If you obey me in all things, I will give you the gift of eternal life.”
“I want only you,” he breathed.
Unable to contain his passion another moment, Gavin rolled with her, pinning her under the bulk of his big body as he covered her mouth with his. He didn’t care that she tasted of his blood. Kissing her was everything, the only thing. But her stillness made him lift his head to gaze into her shocked eyes.
“You have no fear of me,” she murmured, and slid her hand between them to palm the thick ridge of his erection.
“Why should I be afraid?” Gavin said and shuddered at her touch. He fought to keep from ejaculating in his pants like some keelie tosser. “I adore you, Fenella.”
“Aye, for you are my slave now.” She moved her fingers to squeeze his balls. “You shall call me ‘Mistress’.”
“Keep playing with me and I’ll be useless to you.” He could hear the growl of impatience in his voice, but from the way she smiled she liked that. “Don’t make me spend yet. I want to slide inside you, and pump you slowly until you come a dozen times. Let me have you, Mistress. You can’t imagine how good I can make you feel.”
The door to the lodge opened, and Gavin rose on his knees to see the five Romans from the river barging in. Yet when he reached for his dirk, Fenella touched his wrist.
“These Romans serve me,” she told him before she wriggled out from under him and climbed off the bed. “Put down your weapons. I have enthralled him.”
It took Gavin only two heartbeats to put himself between Fenella and the men. “Get the fuck out.”
“He does not seem to be completely under your control, Prefect.” That came from the Roman who had jeered at Fenella at the river. “Perhaps you gave him too much of your blood, or you are too weak to compel such an ox.”
The insult to his lady sent cold, killing rage pouring through Gavin, and for a second he thought he might literally explode. Then he was on top of the Roman, punching him over and over until the four other men dragged him off. He flung them away and went to finish killing the insolent bastard, when Fenella blocked his path.
She looked up at him, her lovely face stern now. “Gavin, give me your blade.”
He drew the dirk from his belt, gripping the horn hilt tightly. “You said I belong to you now. I have to protect you, Mistress.”
“Aye, you do, when I command it. But I am no’ defenseless, my lad.”
Fenella extended her hand, and when he reluctantly placed the knife in her palm she disappeared in a flurry of movement. She reappeared behind the Roman who had jeered at her, and drove Gavin’s dirk into his neck. With one jerk of her hand she cut his throat.
The man’s eyes widened as he uttered a choked cr
y. His faced turned gray and began to dissolve as if it were made of soft dirt.
Gavin felt only satisfaction as he watched the Roman collapse into a heap of ash, and the other men back away from Fenella. He came to stand beside her and studied the faces of the remaining Romans.
“They envy you for the way you move,” Gavin said. “You’re like the moonlight.”
“They fear me for it,” she corrected him. To the men she said, “Assemble outside and wait.”
Once they were alone, Gavin tried to take her into his arms. Fenella placed her hand on his chest, and gently pushed him back.
“Pleasure later, my lad.” She slid her hand up to his face. “We’ve work now.”
He covered her fingers with his, reveling in the cool touch of her hand on his heated face. He frowned as she withdrew it. “What could be more important than pleasuring you, Mistress?”
“For this night, digging for treasure in a dead Viking’s grave.” She nodded toward the long-handled spade propped by the hearth. “You’ll want that.”
Chapter Nine
TORMOD GAVE JEMA a scarf and long cloak to wear over the maid’s kirtle he’d filched for her, and placed a basket on her arm. “You’ll need to cloak yourself until we’ve reached the glen,” he told her as he shouldered his own satchel. “None must see you leaving the stronghold.”
“Then no one will.” She closed her eyes and vanished.
He took down a torch to light the way as he guided her from his chamber and through the hidden passage outside. When he saw that the first pale streaks of dawn had already appeared on the horizon he extinguished the torch in an open water barrel, and took her to the post where earlier he’d tethered his mount, a large black mare sturdy enough to carry them both.
“I don’t cast a shadow when I’m invisible,” Jema’s voice said right next to his shoulder. “How interesting.”
“Or you do, and ’tis invisible as well.” He inspected the stretch of ground they would have to cross before they reached the trail through the ridge. He mounted the horse, glanced about and held out his hands. “Take hold.”