Tormod

by Hazel Hunter

  “I killed him,” Jema finally managed to get out. She stepped back, frantically shaking her head. “Gavin’s dead, and it’s all my fault.”

  “I don’t think so,” Rachel said and touched her shoulder. “You both came back to this time through a sacred oak grove that has the power to heal.”

  The other woman’s silvered blue eyes widened for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I wasn’t healed. I came out of the pit hurt and bleeding.”

  “Maybe Gavin was the one to be healed,” Rachel told her. “You remember him crossing over with you, but you never found his body.”

  “I didn’t look for him,” Jema said, sounding ashamed now. “I didn’t remember him at all.”

  “Your head injury, combined with seeing Gavin fall, is likely what blocked off your memories. You couldn’t remember him because you thought he was dead. It would have broken your heart.” Rachel wished she knew more about the function of the sacred groves. “I need to talk to the druids about what happened to you. I’d also like to introduce you to the other women from our time. We can help you find your brother, I promise.”

  Jema gave her a stricken look. “Do you really think it’s possible that Gavin’s still alive? That he’s been healed?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rachel said, and smiled. “I know it’s possible because I was.”

  While Rachel went to fetch Kinley and Diana, Jema cloaked herself and sat staring at the map wall. Having her memories restored felt almost as wonderful as the prospect that Gavin might still be alive. It also made her feel sick to imagine him wandering the forest lost and alone, unaware that they’d time-traveled to the fourteenth century.

  And then there was Tormod, who knew none of this, or her.

  She didn’t regret a moment she’d spent with her Viking, but what would he think of her exposing herself to Rachel and the other women?

  A wave of panic made her hurry to the door, only to stumble backward as Diana Aber strode in, followed by a slender blonde in an emerald silk gown. As Rachel came in Jema hurried to press herself against the nearest wall and listen.

  “If you and Kinley plan to give me more grief about Tormod,” the redhead said to Rachel, “I’m out of here.”

  “This is something else.” Rachel closed the door and looked around the room before she gestured for the other women to sit. When neither one did, she said, “There’s another woman who has crossed over from the future. She’s here, now, at Dun Aran.”

  “What?” Kinley said immediately. “Who is she? When did she arrive?”

  “And where have you been hiding her?” Diana drawled. “Because a cricket can’t get inside this place since your husband beefed up the patrols and guards.”

  Rachel glanced around the room. “Jema, maybe you should answer that.”

  She walked over to stand between the women before she uncloaked. “She didn’t have to hide me. I’m very hard to find.”

  Kinley blinked, and Diana uttered a sharp sound. Both women stared at Rachel in disbelief.

  “Allow me to introduce Dr. Jema McShane, an archaeologist with the National Trust in our time,” Rachel said, and smiled at her. “Jema, this is Lady Kinley McDonnel, the laird’s wife, and formerly an Air Force Captain who worked search and rescue in combat zones. Diana Aber, our clan tracker, was a detective with the San Diego police department, assigned to missing persons.”

  Jema nodded. “Pleasure.”

  Kinley offered her hand, and when she clasped it said, “I crossed over while on a therapeutic outing with my shrink from a VA hospital. Diana fell through while she was trying to track me down, and poor Rachel was buried alive. How did you end up here?”

  “A trench at the dig in the highlands I was working collapsed.” She grimaced. “I hit my head and lost my memory. Tormod found me when I came through, and brought me here to look after me.”

  “We think Jema’s brother Gavin also crossed over,” Rachel put in, and explained what she’d seen in Jema’s memories. “Diana, do you think you might be able to track him down?”

  “How long has it been since you got here?” the redhead asked, and when Jema gave her an estimate she sighed. “Yeah, I should be able to pick up his trail.” She nodded at Jema’s feet. “Just FYI: don’t get lost, Scotty, because you don’t leave a trail at all.”

  Jema’s lips twitched at the new nickname. “I’ll try to remember that, Red.”

  “So this is what that sun-bleached bastard has been hiding for the last two weeks,” Diana said and regarded Kinley. “You need to speak to Lachlan about finding the brother.”

  “Wait, I only just met you three,” Jema protested. “I need to talk to Tormod about this, too.”

  “So do I, sweetheart,” the redhead said as she headed for the door. “I’ll see you ladies after I beat the snot out of a Viking.”

  “Let her go,” Kinley told Rachel when she made as if to go after her. To Jema she said, “She needs to yell at Tormod. It’ll be good for both of them. As for you, we have to go see my husband now.” She held up her hand when Jema started to protest. “I know you’re scared. When I first got here I was, too. Diana shot a druid her first night at Dun Aran.”

  “Which was an accident,” Rachel said quickly.

  “The point is, if we’re going to find your brother, we need the clan.” The laird’s wife met Jema’s gaze. “And the clan belongs to Lachlan.”

  Jema nodded, and reluctantly accompanied the two women to the laird’s tower. With every step she took she wanted to cloak herself, and run to tell Tormod everything she remembered. She also worried what Diana might do to her Viking. If she hurt Tormod then she’d have to square off with the cop, and Jema had no doubt that Diana would be the winner.

  Rachel burst into a laugh, and then gave her an apologetic look. “Diana isn’t violent at all. She’ll scold Tormod until his ears burn, but he really is her best friend.”

  “I know what you mean. Gavin is mine.” Jema felt her stomach knot as two clansmen passed them and stared at her. “Am I in trouble for staying at the castle without permission?”

  “Not at all,” Kinley said as she climbed the last flight of stairs and stopped in front of a huge chamber. “You didn’t choose to come here. The Viking brought you. We don’t punish druid kind for being injured or having amnesia, either.”

  Inside the chamber was a big room with rounded walls that contained an enormous bed and a number of primitive but well-made furnishings. Behind a table covered with scrolls stood two of the biggest men Jema had ever seen.

  “Gentlemen,” Rachel said, smiling as if everything were completely normal. “Allow me to introduce Jema McShane, from twenty-first century Scotland. Jema, meet Lachlan McDonnel, laird of the clan, and Tharaen Aber, Dun Aran’s seneschal.”

  “My lords.” Jema bobbed in what she hoped was a respectful curtsey.

  Raen came around the table to loom over her. “Are you armed?”

  “No, sir.” Jema felt bewildered.

  He smiled a little. “Since my wife came with weapons I must ask.” He regarded her t-shirt. “What do you dig?”

  “Ditches,” Kinley answered for her. To her husband she said, “Lachlan, Jema came through a forest portal in the highlands. Her brother came with her, and may still be there looking for her.”

  “We’ll send a warband tomorrow to search for him.” The laird turned to Jema. “Did you journey here by yourself, my lady?”

  “No, my lord.” She cleared her throat. “Tormod Liefson found me after I crossed over. He brought me here.”

  “Did he.” Lachlan’s dark eyes narrowed, and he exchanged a flinty look with Raen before he asked, “When was this, my lady?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said and smiled. “You’re obviously busy, so I’ll go. I appreciate anything you can do to help locate my–”

  “She’s been here two weeks, maybe longer,” Kinley told her husband. “Tormod had her hidden somewhere. Probably in his chambers.”

  “I’m sure he only wanted
to protect Jema,” Rachel said quickly. “She was injured, and lost her memory.”

  “Find the Viking,” the laird told Raen, in the same tone he might have said Kill him. To Jema he said, “Come downstairs, my lady, and we shall discuss with my chieftains how best to find your brother.”

  Jema felt only too aware of the guards that followed them from the laird’s tower chamber. She also sensed Raen watching her, and glanced to see the suspicion in his eyes, as if he expected her to jump Lachlan any moment. While Kinley spoke in low tones with her husband, Rachel stayed by Jema’s side and talked about Dun Aran as if they were on a tour of the place.

  “The great hall is where the clan has their meals and socializes.” She gestured toward some tables with checkerboard tops. “The men like to play a form of checkers called quoits, but I’m teaching a few of them chess.”

  “What happens to me and Gavin, once we find him?” she couldn’t help asking Rachel.

  “We’ll help you get back to your time, or find a place for you here.” Rachel’s expression turned shrewd. “Were you and Tormod planning to go off together?”

  “You know we were,” Jema replied. There didn’t seem much point in lying to a mind-reader.

  They reached the center of the great hall, where Lachlan called to the clansmen who were present to gather around them.

  “Can we send for Tormod?” Jema asked Rachel. “He knows the place where Gavin and I crossed over in the forest.”

  “You mean, you want to warn him to go before he has to face the consequences,” Rachel said as she looked past her and lit up with glowing happiness. “Here’s Evander. I’d like to introduce you, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Of course,” Jema said.

  But when she turned to look at Rachel’s tall, copper-haired husband she shriveled a bit inside. The Captain of the Guard looked every bit as big and fierce as the other McDonnels, but possessed an air of focused intensity that made her take a step back.

  “Our intruder from the future,” Evander said once his wife had performed the introductions. “Have you been ill-used while you’ve been at Dun Aran, my lady?”

  “No, Captain.” Belatedly she realized he must smell Tormod’s herbal salt soap on her hair and skin. “I’ve been very well looked after since I came here.”

  He didn’t say anything as he watched her face. At last he nodded, kissed his wife, and made his way through the gathered men to talk to the laird.

  “Evander can be a little intimidating,” Rachel said. “But under all that dark, lethal warrior persona he’s a good and kind soul.”

  Jema was pretty sure he was the most dangerous man she’d ever met. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  Rachel introduced her to other members of the clan, many of whom shared the last name Uthar. She and Rachel talked with several warband leaders about the highland forest, and how the ancient Vikings had protected their warrior’s burial site. The voices around them went still as the laird called out, “Bring him to me.”

  Jema forgot to breathe as she saw Raen and one of the Uthars march Tormod up to Lachlan. She gripped Rachel’s arm. “What are they doing?”

  “Tormod must answer for concealing you from the clan,” the other woman said.

  “I’m told you left the island without permission to go seeking a grave,” the laird said, his tone harsh. “There you found this woman, and brought her back to Dun Aran, also without leave. You told no one of her, but hid her from us. ’Tis true?”

  “Aye, my lord.” The Viking’s expression remained impassive. “As I told your seneschal, I plan to return to Norrvegr. When I do, I’ll take the wench with me.”

  “You took an oath of loyalty to the laird,” Raen said, growling the words. “You swore to protect the clan above all, or have you forgotten?”

  Tormod shrugged.

  Evander leaned close to him, looking all over his face. “The wench is a lady, and she smells of you. Did you force yourself on her? Is that why you’ve kept her locked away in your chamber?”

  “I dinnae hurt females, Talorc,” Tormod said, sounding just as threatening. “A pity you couldnae say the same before you took Rachel from a portal, and hid her away in the highlands.”

  Neither man backed off, and for a moment Jema thought they might come to blows. Then the captain looked at his wife, and stepped to one side.

  “We have to stop this, now,” Jema told Rachel.

  The other woman shook her head. “This is clan business. We can’t interfere.” In a lower voice she said, “But later I might beat the snot out of your Viking.”

  “Wait. Wait just a damn minute.” Diana appeared, and waded her way through the men to reach Lachlan. “Tormod found an injured woman, my lord, and brought her here to nurse her back to health. She’s druid kind, or she wouldn’t have come through the portal.” She looked at the grim faces around her. “I know he’s a pain in the ass, but that has to count for something.”

  “No’ when he betrayed his oath to do it,” the laird finally said. “Evander, take him to the dungeon.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  CAILEAN LUSK ENTERED the McDonnel’s stronghold with his master, Bhaltair Flen, to find dozens of clansmen assembled in the great hall. Nearly all of them were trying to talk at the same time, their voices edged with anger and indignation. In the center of the uproar stood Lachlan McDonnel, his most trusted men, and their wives, all of whom were trying to calm the uproar. Around the edges the McDonnel’s chatelaine and her maids hovered, all snarling their aprons with their hands.

  “I see the cause of this.” Bhaltair pointed at a fourth, unfamiliar female dressed in garments from a future era. “Our watchers on the island should have reported her crossing to us.”

  “I had word from them yesterday, Master,” Cailean said, frowning at the strange female. “No one has come through the portal on Skye since Lady Kinley brought back Lady Diana.”

  “Dinnae remind me of what a fool I have been, I beg you.” The older druid peered again. “This one has the look of a Norsewoman. Do you see the quality of the eyes?”

  Cailean winced. Druids did not breed with the Viking peoples for many reasons, the primary being that their magics had proven highly incompatible. “She could be Francian. They are known to be quite fair in the northern lands.”

  His master grunted. “The gods bedevil us once more. Come, lad.”

  Agitated as they were, the clan still made way for them, and fell silent in their wake. Cailean kept his expression impassive as his master greeted the laird, but he could not stop watching the fair woman. She possessed the gentle green aura of druid kind, but something else flickered through it. He saw it as flame one moment, and a golden arrow the next.

  “We regret our intrusion,” Bhaltair was saying to the laird, “but reports of a troubling nature have come to us. The conclave bid us come to advise you.”

  Lachlan held up his hand, and glanced around at his men. “All that has been said for and against Tormod Liefson will be considered. In the morning I shall advise your chieftains on what is to be done. Return to your duties now, and speak no more of this.”

  The McDonnels collectively grumbled, but no one spoke against the laird. Slowly the men trudged out of the hall.

  Kinley summoned Meg Talley, the castle’s chatelaine, and asked her to bring hot brews for the druids. To Cailean she said, “Should we talk here, or in the tower?”

  Although she should have asked his master for his preference, Cailean knew the bloodline they shared made her inclined to defer to him. “’Tis a matter we may discuss here, I think.” He glanced at Bhaltair, who nodded his approval. “May we greet your guest?”

  “Sure,” Kinley said and turned to the fair woman. “Jema, these are our druid friends, Ovate Cailean Lusk and Master Bhaltair Flen. Gentlemen, this is Jema McShane, who oddly enough is not American or from San Diego.”

  The fair woman eyed him with a healthy amount of wariness. “You’re an actual druid?”

  Her Scot
tish accent gave him pause, but only for a moment. “Aye, Mistress. Please know that you are very welcome among us.”

  Diana folded her arms. “Oh, now you’re a welcoming committee. How come I didn’t get one when I fell through the looking glass?”

  “You shot me with your gun,” Bhaltair said, smiling fondly at the redhead. “I was too occupied with bleeding.”

  Once Meg brought hot mugs of herb brew for the druids, the McDonnels gathered around the largest table to listen to the druids’ latest reports of undead activity.

  “Quintus Seneca’s female guard, known to us as Fenella Ivar, has been seen traveling in the highlands,” Bhaltair told the laird. “She is accompanied by an enslaved male who has the ability to vanish from sight by blending in with his surroundings. The male is Scottish, but speaks strangely. He also wears clothing that from the descriptions clearly comes from the future.”

  Jema went rigid. “Gavin is a slave?”

  “The man may be Gavin McShane, Jema’s twin brother,” Rachel explained to the old man. “She believes they crossed over together through a highland forest portal, and then were separated.”

  “However he came here, the man is quite powerful, and very protective of his mistress.” Bhaltair related some of the pair’s attacks on different villages as they travelled through the highlands. “At present they are moving north. Last night they stole a pair of horses from an estate not twenty miles from the coast. Fenella is also actively enthralling more mortals and sending them west. For what purpose, we cannae tell you, but we have a list of where they have been seen.”

  The laird suggested they adjourn to the map room, but as the others followed Lachlan and Bhaltair, Cailean lagged behind to accompany Jema.

  “You must have many questions about our people,” he said to her. “I am happy to explain what I may.”

  “I don’t care about being a druid,” she snapped, but then she stopped and took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, that was rude. It would be better if you can tell me how and why my brother was enslaved by an undead Roman woman.”