Like being tossed into a deep loch, it was sink or swim. He didn’t fully recall or embrace the old Niall, only in part. Without Fergus’s assistance, he’d have fallen at the onset under Calum’s punishing blows. But now, surrounded by the walls he’d dwelt in, breathing the same air that once expanded his lungs, seeing his dear mother again, spurred on by his passion for Mora…all worked together to summon those long buried skills from his primal past and lend strength to his flagging arms. His hand remembered the feel of the sword hilt. But was it enough to counter such an able adversary as Calum?
Neil’s memory surge was new, while Calum wielded the claymore with a deftness borne of familiarity, his stout legs uninjured, and his muscular arms tireless. Here was a Highland warrior in all his glory. The old Niall had bettered him, but only just.
Maybe if their little brother had lived, and their mother hadn’t succumbed to the raging fever that left her infertile and there’d been more siblings, he and Calum would’ve been closer. With only the two of them, Calum seemed to resent Niall receiving more of the praise and everything else.
A fierce thrust drove Neil back. Pain shot through his knee. He staggered. Another blow sent him reeling into the tapestry on the wall. The hanging did little to cushion the stone. Crimson and blue colors in the weave swam before him. Shaking off that hard knock, Neil turned unsteadily to face his brother.
Like a locomotive pistoning toward him, Calum closed in, sword swinging.
“Calum, enough!” their mother cried.
He ignored her plea. Neil winced as he went down on his afflicted limb. Calum’s back was to Fergus now. His friend couldn’t help him from his position against the table. Brandishing his sword overhead, Neil detected the figure that was Fergus step around to sidle along the wall.
With a grunt at the accompanying stab, Neil clamored to his feet. It was only a matter of time until he went down again. For good.
If he were Neo, he’d run up the walls and defy the sharp reality of steel. But he wasn’t. This battle for his life did not bode well. Then he caught the flicker of blue cross his brother’s reddened face and shine in his glaring eyes. Fergus must’ve finagled a spot with better access at his target.
Calum squinted. “What the divil?”
Apparently, he’d had enough of this nonsense. Rearing his head around, Calum swept his furious stare over the room.
Fergus feigned nonchalance. But Calum was no fool. He’d ferret out the culprit if Fergus risked further interference and accuse him of sorcery—the penalty, a fiery death at the stake. A horrific fate Neil might not be able to prevent, particularly if he fell first. God forbid. But without Fergus’s aid, Neil couldn’t prevail in this duel. Not yet. It was too soon.
Mora broke from Anna and sprang forward, shouting, “Calum! For God’s sake! Would ye maim yer ain brother?”
“Has Niall not proven himself?” their mother pleaded.
Calum swiveled his slitty-eyed stare at the two women. “Nae. The rightful Niall would niver lose to me.”
“He’s wounded,” Mora argued, “and not fully himself.”
Calum snorted. “Sae I see. He’s another.”
Red hair flying, she shook her head. “’Tisn’t what I said!”
“Makes no difference what ye speak. That man is no Niall MacKenzie.”
With an incoherent cry, Mora rushed at Calum. Her head reached only mid chest on this big Scotsman, but she lifted her chin and locked eyes with him.
“Put away that blade this instant, Calum MacKenzie, or gie me one for I swear I’ll fight ye me self!”
He gaped at her. “Have ye lost yer senses, or has a demon entered into ye?”
“Nae. He’s found a home in you!”
Lord help them all. Neil tensed at Mora’s outrageous tongue lashing and exchanged glances with Fergus.
His brow thunderous, color heightened to a purplish red, Calum sputtered, “How dare ye?”
Clearly, she was on the verge of daring considerably more. Time for that pepper spray. He gave Fergus a slight nod.
Returning, the faint gesture, he reached for the fiery miasma that would temporarily stun Calum.
Neil wondered how fast they could beat a retreat past him to the stables. Also critical, how many men were currently at Donhowel and would they automatically side with Calum, or render their loyalty to Neil? Calum would be after them like an enraged grizzly the moment he recovered enough to give chase.
Though momentarily taken aback by Mora, Calum held his sword at the ready, narrow gaze fixed on her. “I’ll not stand aboot and listen to all this haver. Git away wie ye.”
“So ye can battle Neil into his grave? Ye want to fight? Ye can battle me!” She whirled around and laid her hands on the sword hilt in Neil’s grasp. “M’ brothers taught me a bit about the claymore. Let me have at him, Niall.”
“Not on your life!” Astounded by her gumption, he held onto his weapon.
Calum regarded her as he would an escapee from an insane asylum, but lowered his arm. “I’ll not battle a woman.”
“No need.” Neil struggled to free the blade from Mora without cutting her. Eyes flashing, she literally wrestled him for the sword.
“Mora, git back,” Calum chided.
“Nae!”
Neil was hard-pressed to put her off. “You should have been a warrior.”
“I may yet be if Calum will not yield!”
“The claymore is too heavy for you,” Neil argued, though impressed by her strength.
An image returned to him of Mora as a fiery little girl. Being older, he hadn’t played with her when the Campbells visited Donhowel, but Calum had. Neil remembered looking on in amusement when she’d knocked Calum to the floor and flailed him with her fists after he’d teased her. Neil hadn’t suppressed a chuckle then and one escaped him now. She wouldn’t relent until she held the sword.
“Here. Take it, then.” He carefully shifted the weapon into her eager grasp.
She gripped the hilt in both hands to raise it. Chin arched, a tremor in her arms, she waved it determinedly at Calum.
He stepped aside. “Mora, lay the blade down. I’ll not fight ye.”
Neil smiled. “Better make a run for it while you have the chance. She pummeled you when you were a lad. Heaven preserve you if she wields the claymore.”
Calum inhaled sharply and stood like a suddenly reined in horse. “What did ye speak?”
“She lit into you. Blackened your eye.”
“Aye,” Anna said. “In a fit of temper.”
Mora seemed to sense the change in Calum and lowered her arms, but warned, “He’s about to git another taste of ’m poor humor.”
Calum let this pass and eyed Neil. Wonder mixed with the mistrust lingering in his scrutiny. “How do ye know this? Did she tell ye?”
“No. I remember.”
Calum stared at him. “What name did she gie me when we were bairns?”
“Calum Balum.”
He searched Neil’s eyes. “What did she call ye?”
“Niall Gial. She was but five years old and loved to rhyme.”
Shaking his head in disbelief or dawning recognition, Calum asked, “Niall? Are ye truly he?”
“Aye.”
Their mother heaved a shaky breath. “Did I not say?”
Calum wiped the back of his hand across his glistening brow. “What became of ye? Were ye knocked o’er the head?”
Actually Neil had cracked the back of his head after coming through the portal and it still ached, but he doubted this reply would suit Calum. He simply nodded.
It appeared they’d reached a sort of truce. Calum sheathed his blade over his shoulder in the back scabbard. “Were ye carried off by Englishers?”
Sort of. If his life in America counted, but Neil reckoned the blame lay with another. “First by the Mac—”
Before he finished his reply, Calum surged forward and caught him in an embrace. An earthy maleness mingled with heath and turf smoke surrounded him.
The scent of his brother.
In a hoarse whisper, he said, “Forgive me, Niall, I swear I did not know ye.”
“I am changed,” Neil grunted, in Calum’s fierce hold.
Calum relented and held him at arm’s length. “Yet, ’tis yer ain eyes a watching me.”
Without demanding further explanation, Calum did something even more unexpected. Loosening his grip, he dropped to one knee on the floor before Neil. He bowed his head. “I pledge my loyalty and sword to yer service, Niall MacKenzie, our rightful laird.”
Neil didn’t know whether to clap Calum on the back, extend his hand in a solemn shake, or offer him a knighthood. Words failed him. Mora looked as stupefied as he felt.
Aunt Margaret spoke for the first time since their duel. “Niall accepts your tribute, Calum. Come to the table, all of ye,” she beckoned. “There’s food and drink aplenty. I’ll send for some spiced ale. We’ve a battle to plan.”
Calum rose to his feet. “With who?”
“The MacDonalds. If ye’ve done with fighting among yerselves.”
Whether they had or hadn’t, Neil had one vital task to complete before any clan battle, or he’d not be here to wage it. Likely the astute woman also knew.
“Calum, there’s something I must do.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wind howled. The loch must be whipped to a foaming frenzy outside the walls of Donhowel. It would be a poor night indeed for venturing beyond the castle and Mora prayed the weather calmed by the morrow for their journey. A tremor traveled through her middle at that intimidating thought.
Despite the fierce draft, she did not remain in her chamber. Hoping no one noted her silent presence any more than they might a spirit’s, she stole along the darkened passageway in the second story of the keep. The floorboards chilled her stocking feet in the thin slippers.
So cold. Her teeth chattered.
Smoke from the many castle hearths tinged the frosty air in the corridor. Here and there flickering torches lent some light to her stealthy progression past closed doors, but much was hid in shadows. Mora trusted she was as well.
Shivering, she buried icy fingers beneath her plaid. The wool wrap helped shield her as she crept through the breezy passage, but the frigid current blew across her legs and found its way up under her shift. She should’ve worn the faux fur, such warm pelts that mysterious creature possessed, but she hadn’t really intended to come at all, and then didn’t want to appear as if she were journeying out of doors. It was just…she had to be with Neil.
Her bedfellow, Margaret MacKenzie, hadn’t moved or made a sound when Mora slipped from beneath the covers and tiptoed across the chamber they shared. Nor would Margaret likely protest the impropriety of Mora stealing to Neil’s bedchamber given the extraordinary circumstances. He might, though, being mindful of her honor, and doubtless slumbering in exhaustion. No matter, just as long as she could curl at his side.
Calum would most certainly object. That he’d accepted Niall as his brother and rightful laird was a staggering revelation. Still, he was reluctant to surrender his intended bride. Even after Mora’s outrageous behavior, Calum adamantly professed to love her. Mora didn’t wish to further wound him and hoped he wasn’t roaming the castle tonight.
God let Calum slumber. Let them all. Dear Lord, allow her a few precious moments with Neil. His hours on this earth were drawing to a close unless they prevailed and found a way to preserve him. Everything depended on what transpired at the MacDonald’s chapel. Absolutely everything.
Dark thoughts of the crypt beneath the chapel sent a wave of revulsion rolling through her. ’Twas blacker than the blackest night in that vile chamber. Not a ray of sunlight shone, no breath of Hielan air ever refreshed its musty age. Not that she’d seen this crypt, but she’d heard of such holy places from her tutor, redolent of death and old men’s bones, sacred relics, but to whom?
All that mattered to her was Neil. Both of them. She grieved for the old Niall and his suffering in that dreadful cell while making her way toward this new one she’d fallen so deeply in love with.
What would tomorrow bring? If they were too late to save Niall, did that mean this Neil’s life was also forfeit? The fate of both men seemed entwined with her life, also.
If they did not succeed, she might never leave the crypt alive. There in that moldering blackness beside what remained of Niall, she would take her final rest.
****
The fire in Neil’s chamber burned low. He’d raked the coals and added more kindling, but was too weary to have another go. Nor could he rouse himself enough to summon a servant. The orange glow remaining in the hearth faintly illuminated the room where he lay in the great canopied bed with its immense carved headboard. The sheets and coverlets were scented with lavender water, a sweet contrast to his grim mood. His mother had graciously surrendered this, her and his late father’s room, to take a smaller chamber with her maid.
Rather than remaining with Neil, Fergus had insisted on bunking fully dressed and in his coat on a pile of furs and blankets before the massive hearth in the Great Hall. Servants kept that fire burning religiously, and Fergus declared it the only tolerable spot in this ice castle as he referred to Donhowel. Besides, Fergus was blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere.
Not so, Neil. The cold didn’t bother him so much. He wore only his boxers beneath the covers and was comfortable, as much as was possible given the aches of his mind and body. But despite heavy fatigue and the generous bed large enough to accommodate three, thoughts of tomorrow pulled him back to ominous wakefulness.
Resolve he had in abundance and the fighting spirit of an army of Highland warriors. However, the immense challenge that lay before him and the narrow window of opportunity to carry out his quest troubled him. Finding the Holy Grail might be easier than the undertaking that awaited them.
If Neil didn’t survive, he prayed Mora and Fergus made it out alive. Dear God. What would become of her without him? Fergus could travel back to the future, but what of Mora?
Neil could not leave her to Calum. Although, if the worst came, at least Calum loved Mora. He wouldn’t mistreat her and she’d be safe in his keeping. Maybe the two would settle into a tolerable marriage eventually. They must have done so once. But Neil couldn’t bear to envision them together.
Troubled thoughts make a poor bedfellow, and he tossed from side to side. Oh, for a sleeping potion.
Shouldn’t he have wished for a sleeping pill, he wondered, his mind slipping back and forth between the past and present, between the Neil he was and the man he’d been before. The old adage about pinching himself to be certain he was awake did no good. All seemed a dream.
Once he dozed, for how long he had no idea, but awoke at a creaking sound, the door to his room opening. It closed and he sensed, rather than saw, Mora slip inside.
His heart surged. She’d come to him. She shouldn’t have. He might not even be here by this time tomorrow. But he was unspeakably glad.
“Mora.” Whispering her name, he rose to greet her. His knee caught slightly as he got to his feet.
Before he took a step, she darted across the room and flung herself at him. The scent of Moss rose emanated from her like the fairest June day in the midst of bleakest winter.
Her arms encircled his neck. “I could no stay from ye.”
“I know.” He pulled her close and held her to his chest. “You’re like ice, sweetheart.”
“Yer as warm as a summer night. Niall, my love, my own.”
Pushing her hair aside, he pressed his lips to her cold neck. More goosebumps spread across her smooth skin, and she sighed. She lifted her face, dimly seen in the firelight. “Promise ye’ll niver leave me again.”
He cupped his hand at her cheek. “If there is any way on earth to remain with you, I swear I shall.”
Tears filled her eyes and slid over her face and wet his fingers. “And if there is not? I swear, I will not leave ye ever.”
“Then I must onl
y go where you can follow.” He pulled her back into his chest and stroked her long hair, glinting in the fire’s glow.
She clung to him. “There can be no heaven without ye. What if ye cannot find the way?”
“Heaven is simply another portal. All I need is Fergus’s energy field detector to find it, or one of his many colored lights to guide me.”
She gave a tearful sniff with the barest hint of laughter muffled against him. “Even now, ye have yer good humor.”
“Would you rather laugh or weep?”
She blotted her cheeks with her sleeve. Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands and looked long into his eyes, transfixing him. Such eyes as hers had never been seen since the dawn of time. Even in the pale light, they were luminous, and gave him the most exquisite pain, of wanting with his entire being while fearing to lose all.
Arching on her toes, she pressed her lips to his in a soft slow kiss. Infinitely sublime. If they could remain in this moment…
She whispered against his mouth, “Niall I will no let ye go from me again.”
“I’m in no hurry to escape you.”
Again, a soft laugh from Mora, a delightful sound and one he’d heard little of since their initial meeting at his home in Staunton. “Come under the covers and warm your toes,” he invited, and drew her down onto his bed.
“Only my toes?” Leaving her plaid wrap behind, she slid with him beneath the scented blankets.
“Ah, Mora.” He gathered her against him in her shift, so wonderfully rounded beneath the cloth. Bending his head, he covered her mouth and kissed her with tender urgency then slowly, reluctantly, released her lips.
“You are utterly desirable, the essence of womanhood. And I would pour myself into you, my dearest darling. But it’s too strange a time. Niall suffers. As I remember more and more, I feel his anguish deep within me. Until he and I are free from this peculiar fate, we must be one or none.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “Then I will keep vigil with ye this night.” Her cheek nuzzled his neck, her breath a silken whisper on his skin. “But if ye feel his pain, might not he also feel yer solace and take comfort?”
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 47