“Give us the Asarian. You and your kinsman can go free.” A dozen voices cried in unison.
“What the...” Connal began. He bit back his cry as minds washed over him in silent, intimate probings. Then he was discarded, considered of no worth. But they sent him pain just for the pleasure of inflicting it. He shuddered, sickened to the depths of his soul by their touch, by their cruelty.
Liandra stared into the void. The green-black cloud swirled through the dreamscape. Voices whispered, just on the periphery of her hearing. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Again, the hatred lanced, like burning needles, into her nerves. It drank her essence, all that she was, her every thought. But in that attack the enemy's defenses were down. She now knew what she faced.
“They're aliens, Connal!” A twisting pain sliced through her. She staggered against him. His arms around her supported and steadied.
“Coimheach?” His eyes, as dark as midnight, pierced the sickly green mist.
Liandra drew in a gasping breath. “Yes. Aliens. Coimheach."
The alien consciousness retreated from her, to hover just on the edge of her thoughts. They hadn't given up the fight, merely withdrawn to taunt her, that much she could understand.
“Now I know why I couldn't touch them, they're so different from any other life I've ever encountered."
“Is it they who hold us prisoner?” Connal asked.
“Yes. But why?” Liandra focused every ounce of energy on her probing. She sensed them; saw them for what they truly were. Their surprise at her intrusive inspection battered against her, then without apparent effort, she was flung aside.
Garris’ image wavered before them. “My Lord, ’tis the woman they want. Give her to them and you and I can go free."
“I will not bandy words with you. You be not Garris, for he is no coward to buy his life with that of another. Did you hear that, demons? I will not be buying my life, or Garris’ with the life of another."
“Fool!’ the alien minds grated.
“Aye, ’tis glad I am to be called that! Better a fool than a mind-touching coward."
Hideous laughter echoed in his mind.
“You should have given them what they wanted,” Liandra whispered.
“Do you value your life so little, witch?"
“No. Two lives for mine, it seems a fair exchange."
“Not to me."
“Listen to the Asarian!"
“Aliens! Arran damn you!” Connal's anger flamed outwards, igniting the dreamscape for a moment, so that it burned scarlet and orange.
Caught up in that all-consuming rage, Liandra shielded herself as hurtful blows were exchanged, parried backwards and forwards between Connal and the minds of their captors. She was lifted and then dragged back and forth as they battled over possession of her. Pain seared her body like fire. Something grasped her arm, nails raking her skin.
“Give us the woman. Give us the woman!” alien voices chanted.
Connal placed Liandra behind him, his body shielding hers, while his sword swept before him in a powerful arc that scattered the darkening mist. “Get you gone, demons!"
The enemy screamed. Liandra felt their hold on the dream diminish. Just a fraction. They drew back in a silent measuring of their new opponent. Then the attack began in earnest.
Bolts of blazing green light flew towards Connal. As he twisted away Liandra imaged a laser-shield around his body. The beams bounced off the barrier and fell to the ground, dissipating in a sickly green-black fire.
For a moment his figure fluctuated between dream-state reality and nothingness. Liandra cried out, thinking that the aliens had somehow managed to abduct him. Then he returned, solid. Real. A new Connal. Liandra stared up at him. Towering over her, dressed in his battle-armor, he made a formidable opponent for any creature.
He smiled “Does this meet with my lady's approval?"
“You look like a robot."
They both smiled at the shared memory.
“Why the armor? You told me once that no Caledonian would wear such a cowardly thing."
“Desperate times, Liandra, require desperate measures. Besides, I had the feeling this was the right thing to do."
As she probed outwards, she sensed the darkness retreating. Colors swirled around her. Cyclonic winds buffeted them. The green-black alien taint streaked away.
“Give me your hand, Liandra.” Connal cried.
Just as her fingers grasped his, she was yanked away.
Abandoning his suit of armor, Connal pursued her. He caught up to her, dragging her back into his arms.
Their auras flamed red. Pain ripped through them both. They were falling—falling into a dark chasm where no light or sound existed and she screamed over and over ... She clung to Connal for sanity.
For life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hurt—hurt so much. Hurt to breathe. To think.
She rested on something warm. A heavy weight across her back held her so tight she couldn't move. She struggled to consciousness to find herself clinging to a body ... Such strength, this aura, it swirled around her. So unique—so welcome.
“Connal?” Her throat felt raw. She looked down at his pale face. Slowly he opened his eyes.
He smiled gently. “You are all right, my lady?"
“I've been better."
“'Tis proud I am of you, Liandra. You fought like a Caledonian wild-cat."
She smiled. “I assume that's a compliment?"
His lips sought hers, and she leaned into his kiss. His hands feathered inquisitively over her body. When the tip of his tongue touched hers, she gasped, allowing him deeper access. She drew strength from him, from his kiss. It warmed her starving senses.
“My Lord?"
Connal snapped his head sideways, his mouth instantly leaving hers. His momentary tenderness was now replaced with tension. Liandra felt him draw away from her, mentally and physically.
“Y—you are here? Truly?” Fianna asked. Her face was gaunt, ashen.
Connal glanced at Liandra. “Is this another accursed dream?”
“No."
Connal gently lifted her away and swung himself over the bed. He rested at the side, head in his hands. It was only then he noticed the blood staining his shirt. He was not wounded—then who?
He turned to see Liandra lying limply on her bed. Where moments ago she had been clinging to him, returning his kiss with passion, now she looked unto death. Leaning over, he drew her into his arms. She came unresisting.
Her gown hung in tatters. One sleeve had been totally shredded. Her arm bled profusely from seven furrows, as if some beast had used its talons against her.
“Liandra, you be hurt. Why did you not say? Fianna, have Dougall fetch Katrine. Quickly! Counselor, take from me what you need. I am not afraid of your sharing."
Liandra closed her eyes and accepted his gift, drinking in his strength and warmth. A little renewed, she glanced down, just becoming aware of the stinging pain in her arm. “Not right,” she whispered. “Injuries sustained in the dream-state don't carry through into the real-world—unless..."
Connal smiled grimly. “'Tis a lot of incredible things have become reality of late! What were you to add? Unless—what?"
“Unless, somehow, the creatures have managed to penetrate the real-world. It's possible. There was some force tearing at the dimension."
“What you speak is gibberish to me."
“There's a belief that the fabric of space and time is multi-layered and that it's possible to journey from one dimension to the other. League science has been trying to achieve it for years."
“And you are saying these creatures have done so? That the dream-state we entered was more than just imagination? I cannot believe it."
“A mere dream could not do this to me. I think that where we were was a place between dream and reality."
“Arran's Mercy! Garris is there. How can I reach him?"
Connal pushed himself up from the bed, his
muscles angrily protesting. He felt so weak, like a newborn babe. Yet tinged with the weakness was anger, revulsion, and a myriad of other emotions swirling around to leave him unsteady on his feet.
Returning from her errand, Fianna handed Connal a goblet of wine. He drained its contents in one gulp.
“You were gone so long,” Fianna said.
“How long?” Liandra asked as she struggled to sit upright.
“Two days."
Connal swore beneath his breath.
“I thought I had lost you—both of you,” Fianna choked out. “After Garris’ sword disappeared, I thought you would be taken from me at any moment. I could not wake you."
“And ever you remained at our side, beloved?” Connal gently touched her cheek. “I chose you well for the task. It must have been very frightening. ’Tis proud I am of you."
He brought a goblet of wine to Liandra and forced it between her chattering teeth.
“You asked for me, My Lord?”
Liandra turned at the sound of the new voice. A middle-aged woman stood by the doorway.
Connal beckoned her forward. “Quickly, Mistress, see to my guest."
“Who are you?” Liandra asked, pulling away, as the elderly woman bent over her. She had more than enough of strangers touching her.
“'Tis all right, Liandra. Katrine is my most trusted healer. She will see to your injuries."
Liandra reached for one of the crystals on her bed. “My bed can heal..."
“No! You shall not use this infairrnal contraption again. No telling what might happen if you do. No! If you continue to argue, I will confiscate the bed. Now, lie still and let my healer aid you."
Once Katrine had soothed her flesh with an ointment that smelt of herbs, she bound Liandra's arm in linen.
“Whatever you put on my arm, it's stopped the pain, Mistress Katrine. I'm doubly in your debt. Fianna told me you saved my life, before..."
“'Twas my duty.” Katrine smiled, and turned her attention on Connal. “You must rest, My Lord."
“I am well."
“You look unto death to me! Stubborn! You have always been so."
Connal managed to smile. “I will rest in awhile. Have someone send food and drink for Liandra and me."
“Aye.” Katrine collected her healer's paraphernalia and hurried from the room.
Liandra forced herself upright in the bed. She still felt weak, and the room pitched and spun before her eyes. That was hardly surprising after what she had encountered.
Fianna stepped closer, and touched Connal's arm. “Were you able to find my Garris?"
“Aye,” Connal said. “He be a prisoner."
“Oh, no!"
“As to where, I know not. Say by what, not whom. The creatures..."
“I do not understand."
“Neither do we. Not fully."
Connal explained what had occurred in the dream-state. Fianna's face remained impassive, though the more he spoke, the paler it became.
“Then there is no hope...” Fianna bent her head and Connal drew her gently against him, letting her sob into his shirt.
The pitiful sound tore at Liandra's senses, activating her counselor's empathy.
Yet, something held her back. They might resent her alien interference in what was a private matter between Connal and his kinswoman. Liandra chewed her lower lip, torn between conflicting loyalties.
Connal held Fianna at arm's length. “I shall find him, that I promise you. I will follow..."
“No! You shall not place yourself in peril for Garris. He would not want it of you. Promise me your foolishness is at an end!"
Connal smiled, gently wiping the tears from Fianna's cheeks. “I must do what I can."
“You have already done more than enough.” Fianna cast a meaningful glance towards Liandra. “My Lord..."
“Fianna, I know what I am about. Trust me."
“That is what Garris said, and look what happened to him!” Fianna shrugged herself free and turned away.
“Although I don't understand the circumstances which led Garris to the dream-dimension,” Liandra said. “I do know that the aliens have used him as a lure to bring other Dream-weavers, besides myself, into their trap."
Connal stared at her. “You be certain?"
“As much as I can. I caught some of their thoughts before..."
“Then Garris and I, we are to blame for all this mess?"
“It's just fate which brought you to me. They would have trapped me at another time.” Liandra paused as the Caledonians exchanged glances. “What is it you're not telling me?” she demanded.
Connal ran a hand through his hair, and refused to meet her eyes
A light knock sounded on the door, and it opened slowly. With eyes averted, serving girls left trays of food and drink on the side table. Though they dared to look questioningly at Connal, his scowl sent them scurrying away.
Connal placed a tray on Liandra's knees.
“I'm not hungry,” she said, trying to push it away.
“Just a little, Liandra. For once, humor me. Please."
He held out a spoon and she took it reluctantly. Swallowing the broth, its warmth hit the icy hollow in her stomach. Quickly, she dipped the spoon again, eating heartily, her appetite almost matching that of a Caledonian.
“I gather it meets with your approval?” he asked.
“Mmm,” Liandra replied.
For a moment Connal watched her in amusement before he turned and attacked the steaming meal on his tray. Later, Fianna served them tea. After the second cup, Liandra felt her strength returning.
Connal eyed her shrewdly. “We have plans to make, Liandra. When you are well."
“I'm fine. Truly."
He raised a disbelieving brow. “I know you better than you think. Our sharing was most enlightening. Stubborn you be when it comes to your duty. I can respect that, except yours borders on folly."
Liandra smiled. The dream-search had been a surprise for her, too; moments of intimacy and pleasantness, all overshadowed by the horror they had encountered. Curiously, at such a perilous time, Connal had been a fierce, yet tender protector. She looked at him as if through new eyes. It had been his indomitable barbarian strength that had kept the aliens at bay—something that with all her experience, she had been unable to accomplish.
“The aliens are powerful, Connal. They took Garris's sword from me in reality, as well as in the dream. Should they find a way to infiltrate our space, they intend to invade. That much I learned from my sharing with them. But they're not strong enough. Not yet.” Liandra chewed her lower lip. “I must warn my father."
“He was in the dream, so surely he must know as much as we."
“I don't know that. For the moment, the aliens are trapped in the dream-dimension. They must be contacted and helped."
“Helped? I would be sending them to oblivion..."
“No! They are entities, and mustn't be hurt. My father will know how to help them."
“And how do you propose to reach him?"
“You'll have to help me, Connal. You must return me home..."
He sighed deeply, tiredly, dragging fingers through his disheveled hair. “I cannot allow that."
“What?"
“'Tis my fault you be involved in this whole business. And now you have been hurt defending MacArran. ’Tis my duty to protect you. My honor..."
Liandra smiled. “That's very sweet of you, Connal, but I can look after myself. Truly! My father is the administrator of Asarian Weavers. He's much stronger than I. Together we can reach these beings and return them home."
“In explaining everything to your father, you will mention Caledonia."
“Yes. Already he's aware of you. He saw your dream-image."
Connal sucked in his breath. “He does not know my origins?"
“No."
“That is how it will remain."
“I don't understand."
Connal paused, visibly steeling himself. “I cannot
allow you to return to the League, Liandra."
She stared up at him. The only sound in that suddenly still, cold room was the beating of her heart. “Don't joke with me, Connal."
“'Tis no joke, Mistress! For centuries Caledonia has remained isolated. Our world is shielded from discovery by outsiders. It galls me to realize that it was me, Garris and me, who have betrayed our people. But only to you, and to keep our whereabouts a secret, you must remain here."
“I will not.” Liandra bit down her hysteria. Calm—calm—deal rationally with him. “More than this world is at stake, Connal. Already the aliens have imprisoned several Asarians. They'll die of their captivity. Even if you don't care about them, what about Garris?"
“Believe me, Liandra, I want none of your colleagues dead. Your father has been in the dream-state, so he knows of the menace. He can deal with it, effect a rescue. And I shall attend to the problem of Garris."
“I can't just do nothing, when my friends are fighting for their lives. I have to help."
“There be nothing you can do."
“I don't know Caledonia's location. If you return me, I swear I won't reveal anything about you."
“Circumstances have altered, Liandra. Before, I fully intended to release you once you found Garris, now I cannot. The risk—the consequences. I am sorry."
"Sorry? You conniving, lying barbarian! I've done everything you've asked and more—endured your insults and savagery because you promised that if I helped you find your kinsman you'd return me to my world. Well I have found your Garris. And now you refuse to keep your word. Liar! I won't stay! I won't.” Liandra stood up shakily from the bed.
“She has the right of it, Connal,” Fianna said gently. “You cannot keep her a prisoner forever. Besides the Council—"
“The Council will agree with what I do. Are you taking her side over mine? Your chieftain?"
Fianna's pallor took on a yellow hue. “Do not ask me to choose Connal."
“I think you have already made the choice, Mistress MacLeod."
Connal's kinswoman burst into tears.
“Leave her alone, Connal!” Liandra shouted.
He ran a hand across his eyes, exhaustion etched into his action. “See you the danger, Liandra? You have been but a few days on Caledonia, and already your influence has robbed me of someone who has been loyal to me all my life. If you were to leave, my world would be open to invasion by more insidious forces than the aliens we have battled. Loyalty would be divided and traded for the baubles of League science. I am responsible for you, Liandra. Your residence here will no longer be that of a prisoner. I can grant you much as my guest."
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