Ciaran: A Time Travel Romance (Dunskey Castle Book 11)

by Jane Stain

  Ciaran

  Dunskey Castle 11

  Jane Stain

  janestain.com

  Also by Jane Stain

  Druid Magic (Tavish, Seumas, and Tomas)

  Celtic Druids (Time of the Celts-Picts-Druids)

  Druid Dagger (Leif, Taran, Luag)

  Meehall

  Baltair

  As Cherise Kelley:

  Dog Aliens (a cuddly dog story with a happy ending)

  High School Substitute Teacher’s Guide

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Copyright held by Cherise Kelley writing as Jane Stain.

  All rights reserved.

  Foreword

  Here are the answers to some questions you may have while reading Ciaran:

  ***

  A halberd is a war axe. The handle is the height of a man, and the blade the size of his head.

  ***

  Regarding the Cameron fortress in this story:

  Ewen "Eoghainn MacAilein" Cameron, XIII Chief of Clan Cameron, built the highly disputed Tor Castle (said to have been on Clan Mackintosh lands) in the early 16th century. Tor Castle would remain the seat of the Camerons of Lochiel until demolished by his great-great-great grandson, Sir Ewen Cameron.

  Sir Ewen Cameron wanted a "more convenient" house, further removed from Clan Mackintosh. He built Achnacarry Castle (Scottish Gaelic: Achadh na Cairidh) around 1655 in a strategic position on the isthmus between Loch Lochy and Loch Arkaig.

  One of the few remaining descriptions relate that Lochiel's seat was "a large house, all built of fir-planks, the handsomest of that kind in Britain."

  Others portrayed old Achnacarry as “a man's home, with the feel and look of a grand hunting lodge amidst the West Highlands.”

  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achnacarry

  ***

  Re Branding:

  “In earlier centuries, much of the livestock trade had been in the hands of monks, but once cattle became symbols of wealth among warring clans, there was constant threat of pillage, often leading to skirmishes in which men were killed.

  “In 1603, eighty men died in Glenfruin when the MacGregors were attacked while trying to lead away a large herd [which had been stolen from the MacGregors, who were reclaiming it].

  “To end this, authorities brought in a range of strict controls and branding methods, and strictures on markets and butchering. These measures helped stave off a minor civil war based around livestock.”

  The Doric Columns, “The Drovers”

  http://www.mcjazz.f2s.com/Drovers.htm

  1

  Ciaran winced as his distant MacGregor cousin from the future haggled with the breech-wearing farmer for an apple wagon and two horses. Eoin had riches nary a highlander dared dream about, so why was he being so stingy? Ciaran had seen him spend more on a night’s food and drink, albeit for the lot of them.

  As the deal was clinched and Eoin’s kilt swayed on his climb up onto the driver's seat, Ciaran met eyes with his contemporary MacGregor cousin Baltair. “Obviously,” they said to each other with their faces, “if Eoin goes intae the future, then we’re gang along.”

  But Eoin spoke up, loud enough for the farmer to hear as well. "One o’ ye wull need tae bide and work off the rest o’ the cost."

  Baltair’s jaw dropped.

  Eoin rolled his eyes. "Nay forevermore, ainly for a day."

  Ciaran opened his mouth to protest.

  But Eoin made as if to whip the horses into action and leave without the both of them.

  Ciaran instantly shut his mouth.

  But Baltair gave Ciaran a look that said the two of them were solid against Eoin, no matter what else happened.

  And Ciaran acknowledged it with a firm but tiny nod.

  "'Tis settled," said Eoin imperiously from the seat of the wagon. "I wull ainly be taking one o’ ye, sae draw straws." He picked some straw cushioning out of one of the apple crates, put two ends even, then covered the rest of the two pieces of straw with his fist, holding it out. As they came close enough to choose, he softly whispered, “The true task o’ whosoe’er remains behind is tae make certain nay one goes intae the woods tae see why the wagon hasna come oot, ye ken?"

  Ciaran focused on choosing his straw, then compared it to Baltair’s.

  Instead of pleasure at winning the draw, the implications of what his cousin had just said rolled through Ciaran’s mind. He and Eoin were taking the wagon and leaving Baltair behind for a day. Eoin didn't want anyone going into the woods to investigate why the wagon hadn't come out.

  There was only one explanation: Ciaran and Eoin were going to time travel.

  Pleasure at last dawned in his mind. Aware he was failing to hide it, Ciaran climbed up into the wagon next to Eoin, lowering his head a wee bit to mumble to Baltair, "'Tis ainly a day. Ye wull gae the next time."

  Eoin lashed the horses into action, driving the wagon forward until they had passed through the apple orchard and gone up the mountain a bit.

  Now that Ciaran got a good look at it, he thought this small Rowan woods was a likely place for them to time travel. There was no road into it, and the wood was dark and chilly, making him snug his jerkin more tightly around his chest and his kilt more tightly around his knees.

  So this was it. Ciaran was going to be a time traveler like Eoin, Meehall, and Sarah, the woman Meehall would marry. Like Nadia and Ellie, Sarah's two friends who Ciaran and Baltair had helped rescue a few days past.

  Ciaran had known about time travel a few years now. He hadn't believed at first, but Eoin and Meehall had been able to predict too many things which came to pass. Ciaran had no doubt he would find himself in the future any moment now.

  What was the future like? He had never asked Meehall or Eoin. Truth to tell, he had never dared to hope he would venture there.

  Eoin stopped the wagon and closed his eyes, frowning in deep concentration while he clenched something inside his jerkin.

  Nothing happened.

  "Is it broken? Is it tae much that I ride along? Should we na hae tried tae bring the whole wagon?"

  "Quiet,” Eoin growled without opening his eyes or ceasing to frown. “Working, it is, but be quiet, or mayhap ye wull find yerself inside a wall in the future."

  Chastised, Ciaran closed his mouth, fighting the doubt that crept into his mind. Was it a grand hoax?

  No. The world started spinning around him, trees turning into a blur past his face. It was like the grandest dirt devil in all creation, and it made him thirst for whiskey. But it stopped just as suddenly as it had started.

  It was nighttime here in the future, a strangely misty night with no clouds, yet hardly any stars. Ciaran wheeled about, making his kilt fly up as he peered at the sky. Where had all the stars gone? He couldn’t dwell on that long, though, because the wagon had brought him into a castle compound larger than any he had ever imagined. A full dozen castles loomed around him, greystone edifices amid greystone streets, making him fall into battle stance and squint into the darkness, looking for threats.

  Eoin jumped out of the wagon and beckoned for Ciaran to follow
him through the huge door of one of these castles. It led into darkness.

  Gulping down his fear, Ciaran did follow.

  Now that he could see better in the dark, Ciaran doubted this was a castle. There was no finery on display in the hall. A monastery, perhaps?

  They went down the greystone hallway, farther and farther into the darkness.

  Wait. A light burned up ahead. An eerily steady light that didn’t flicker. It was coming out of that doorway. Was someone awake?

  The kilted highlander Ciaran was all Nadia had been thinking about these past few days. How his mischievous green eyes sparkled under his long black hair. How his sword had rescued her from druid sacrifice. How impossible it was for her to be interested in him because he lived in 1706 and she lived in the 21st century.

  With the idea of forgetting all about Ciaran, she had thrown herself into writing this historical article. Well, and for a chance at being accepted by the druids who ran Celtic University's historical society. And now, when she was in the midst of giving them her all, who should show up in the middle of the night when she was all alone in their office?

  It would have been fine if it was just Ciaran. Him, she wanted very much to handle.

  But Sarah’s former friend John was with Ciaran, and she had told Nadia horrible tales about the man. He had deceived the Picts of old and almost caused the Gaels to wipe them out completely. Now, to be fair, John was one of the MacGregors who’d been cursed by the druids generations ago. He couldn't help but serve the druids.

  Unlike Nadia, who was trying to please the druids for career advancement. Financial gain. Greed.

  A twinge of guilt made her shiver as she stared at Ciaran and John. They had time traveled. The druids could do other things, but time travel was how they got all the cool or magical historical artifacts they wanted. And rather than spend time in another century aging and then return here to raise suspicion around what was supposed to be a respectable university, the druids had other people do their time traveling for them.

  John was one of their lifelong servants, but she found it impossible to feel sorry for him.

  Even as Ciaran spotted Nadia and smiled at her in joy at their reunion, John was nagging, "Come along now, Ciaran. We have a job to do, and while I know Baltair is as good as his word, I dinna ken how long he'll be able to keep the farmer and his family from investigating the woods. If they go and find the apple wagon has disappeared, they’re likely to go get others to investigate. I ken I told Baltair he would be working for them a day, but I tell ye true: we have two hours at most before Baltair loses control of the situation…”

  But Ciaran hadn't heard a word. His mischievous smile now covered half his face, and his green eyes sparkled at Nadia with all the trouble he thought they might get into. His long black hair was slicked back against his face. He was the most devilishly handsome man she had ever met and nigh the most handsome man she'd ever seen, in person or otherwise.

  And she had his full attention.

  He sidled up next to her, almost touching, but not quite. "What are you doing up so late?" He asked this as if he really wanted to know, as if he was curious about her life and genuinely interested in what she was up to. There wasn't a trace of suspicion nor anger nor annoyance. Not on Ciaran's part.

  But John? That was another story. His nagging turned stern. "We dinna need to ken what she's doing here. We need to be on our way.”

  Flattered by Ciaran's attention, Nadia smiled back at him with her own mischievous smile. She wasn’t quite promising to get in trouble with him, but she was suggesting she wasn't opposed to the idea. "I'm doing the same thing John —Eoin— is doing, trying to please the druids. Only I'm doing it on this computer."

  Ciaran's gaze dropped from her eyes for what he plainly thought would be just a moment.

  But Nadia saw the exact instant when he realized what an alien object sat there in front of her. She felt insulted for a moment. She was fully into the gaze they had been sharing. But then she imagined the computer as he saw it, glowing with light and seemingly reaching at her with its alien appendages. No wonder it distracted him. And he had been nothing but gallant with her misunderstandings of his time in history. Finding some patience, she again looked into his face.

  Horror and wonder battled there comically. "Com pu ter?" he said the way a toddler would.

  "Aye," she told him, unable to resist mimicking his accent. "I would tell you everything this computer can do, but it would take our whole lives and not finish the telling. Suffice it to say this is how I please the druids. While Eoin fetches things for them, I write stories for them. Stories that make this institution seem like all the others of higher learning in the modern world. I assume he’s told you all about what they really do here, and that you appreciate what an important task I have." She sat up straight, pushed her chest out, and raised her chin up in the best imitation of someone proud.

  It backfired a bit.

  Ciaran’s eyes went directly to her chest and lingered there longer than they needed to. He checked himself, however, and then a bit of fear took over his face. "Nadia, you shouldn't be alone where anyone can get to you. Have you a room where you can bar the door?"

  This was an odd turn of topic, but she liked Ciaran, and so she answered him directly. "Aye, I have a lock on my door." She waited patiently for him to get to the point as she scanned her screen, reading the druids’ request for an article one more time so she knew the details of what they wanted.

  But Ciaran took her by the upper arm and tried to get her to stand. "That druid child Tahra and the Cameron clan could be anywhere, you ken. She didn't know the secrets of time travel a few days ago, but any moment now she might discover it and come after you. Allow me to escort you to your room and see you safely inside with the door locked. I ken you canna stay there always, but in the middle of the night like this when no one else is about, you should."

  But she put a hand on his and gently resisted. "I will na. Much as I wish to go with you, I must do this assignment. ’Twould be different if you were going to stay a while. Perhaps you can help me with my assignment?"

  Ciaran’s smile broke out big again. "Aye. Aye, that I will. And should the need arise, I will do my best to protect you from the Camerons. Or Tahra."

  She smiled at Ciaran.

  He smiled back.

  A deeper camaraderie bloomed between them, and she liked it very much.

  Then Eoin had to go and ruin it. "Nay," growled the larger Highlander as he grabbed his distant cousin by the other arm and pulled him to the door. "I telt ye already, we need to get moving and return to 1706 before the farmer discovers we are gone. Are you daft, man?"

  Ciaran struggled, but Eoin was far stronger, the type of man who is always lifting weights, even while sitting at table for dinner. Ciaran didn't even get a chance to say goodbye before the two of them were out the door and around the corner.

  2

  Taking casual notice of the thick leather gloves he wore, Ciaran struggled to get out of Eoin’s grasp as his cousin dragged him down the cold greystone corridor of the druids’ stronghold. The vastness of it made him fear for Nadia. Such power and wealth seldom treated its servants well.

  “You didna have to do that,” he told his cousin. “You could have given me a few moments with the lass. Certies even you could see she was pining after me the way I pine for her.” English sounded so odd coming out of his mouth. To him, he was speaking Gaelic. The same magic that had brought him to the future was translating his speech.

  The larger man held Ciaran fast. “I didna have to bring ye along, and I have half a mind to return you straight away to our time and let you help Baltair keep the farmer and his family away from the wood. Ainly I ken your hearts wouldna be in it. Nay like the way Baltair’s is while he is protecting ye.”

  Ciaran quit struggling. “What if I just shout out now, eh? Wake up the druids and bring them doon upon us?”

  Eoin laughed. “I am their servant. Usually, that�
�s a burden, but in this case? ‘Tis you they would find fault with, especially and I dinna vouch for you. Nay, you will help me do what I came to do, and then we will leave this time.”

  Ciaran let those words reverberate through his mind while he slowly quit resisting and allowed Eoin to lead him through the greystone hallways lined with dark arrow-slit windows. As his resistance lessened, his wonder increased. “There are na flames inside the lamps.”

  Eoin answered with arrogant stoicism, not even turning to face Ciaran as he entered a corner tower and turned to go up three flights of greystone stairs. “Lamps here burn with electricity, the same force as lightning, ainly harvested and mostly harmless.”

  Ciaran wanted more details but could tell they would not be forthcoming, so he contented himself with gawking at the elaborate large lamp on the ceiling of the stairway tower.

  When Eoin spoke again, his tone was hushed. "We’re close to what I’m after. It would be better if you were quiet from now on."

  They had reached the top of the tower, and Ciaran put his hand on the doorknob, only to find it locked. "How—"

  Grinning like a seven-year-old, Eoin produced a key out of his sporran and fitted it into the lock, opening it with a click. Putting his gloved finger over his lips and signaling Ciaran to stand back in the shadows, he opened the door slowly, peering out into the dark room beyond.

  When it was Ciaran's turn to go through the small door at the top of the tower, he gasped. It was dark, but there was a free flow to the air that let him know the room was vast. And it was full of shelves. On the shelves were all manner of things, but he couldn't quite make them out. His eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness.