Celtic Peril (Celtic Storm Book 6)

by Ria Cantrell

  Tommy was actually looking forward to some down time, though and so the guys were all taking a small break to return to their respective homes or to do some sightseeing so they could all gear up for the next leg of the tour. It was looking like it was going to be filled with lots of shows. The money was pretty good, too. Tom took what he needed for expenses and entertainment. The rest he stacked away for that proverbial “rainy day”. He had actually named his mom and dad proxy on his account and told them to get that old roof fixed on the house. While his dad did quite well for himself, being a doctor and all, it was costly to live in California. Tom wanted it to be his gift to them to say thank you for all they had given him over the years. Life was good, he thought, as he watched the lush scenery passing outside of the tour bus window.

  He was looking forward to spending time in Scotland and he already cleared it with his cousin Kiera to visit her in her new digs. She was some kind of a titled Lady now that she had married a local “Scotsman”. He had heard she lived in the equivalent of a castle. Imagine that! Little Kiera Callum; a Highland castle dweller.

  Tom pushed the comfortable bus seat back and he settled in to relax with a book for a while. He buried his nose in his favorite thing to read. He supposed that most people would find his choice of books dry and dull, but not Tom. He loved reading about history. His particular period of time was Medieval history of the British Isles. This specific book was about the 14th century and the skirmishes between England and Scotland at that time. It was also a tempestuous time between warring clans. Tom figured, since he was heading to a castle believed to be built prior to that time, he should learn about the history of the place. It was actually quite fascinating. Thomas lost himself in the pages of the book and when one of his band mates plopped himself in the next seat and ribbed him about it, Tom good naturedly brushed it off.

  “How can you read that stuff, Tommy boy? I’d be snoozin’ before I finished a paragraph.” It was Kevin McGrath, an Irish tenor with a shock of dirty blond hair which he wore rakishly over one eye. The girls went nuts for the guy and he worked his Irish charm to the max. Tom liked him. Even when Kevin teased him. Kevin said, “Yer’ turnin’ into a regular nerd.”

  Tommy shrugged. That label never bothered him. He had always been a little different and he had embraced his “weirdness” long ago rather than try to change who he was. As a result, he made friends with other weirdos and he found he was in good company. They all had to be a little weird anyway, to traipse around the world singing Celtic ballads, while wearing kilts to audiences who clamored for more. Besides, the weird ones seemed to always be more interesting. Why, look at his own life, really. He went to Gaelic school and took singing lessons as a kid. He read stuff like medieval history and never regretted any of it. Yeah, he got teased, but the Fates had dealt him a trump card. He was weird, yes, but he was also deemed as one of the “cute boys” from early on and he worked it to his advantage.

  He had never been plagued with bad skin or frizzy hair. He didn’t have to wear glasses or braces as a teenager. Instead, he sort of grew into a big handsome dude who didn’t play sports. He wasn’t a jock, but he looked like he should have been. Now, in his twenties, he was built and buff. He didn’t even have to work out to get ripped. He could afford to be a “nerd”. He was never lacking female companionship, although he hadn’t ever really fallen in love. He was still hopeful about that. Hell, he was hopeful about everything. With a wink to Kevin McGrath, he said, “Kev, this stuff is fascinating. Did you know that there was an assassination attempt on one of the English kings right near here some 700 years ago and that they were trying to pin the blame on the Scots? It was really by the hand of one of the king’s trusted council and…”

  Kevin yawned dramatically, “B-o-r-i-n-g! Who cares? They were all tryin’ to kill each other back then. Especially the bloody Scottish.”

  “Seriously, Kev, those were nasty and trying times. I wonder if I could have survived had I been born back then. I find it action-packed with adventure and heroism…intrigue…you name it. You should give it a try. I’ve got an extra book in my back pack if you want it.”

  That did the trick. Kevin pulled himself up and he said, “No thanks, man. When we get off this bus, I’m gonna’ hit one of the local pubs and drown my sorrows in some good Scottish whiskey. Maybe I’ll even be able to persuade a pretty colleen or two back to me hotel room for a party. Are ye’ sure you don’t wanna’ come?”

  “Sounds tempting, but yeah. I’m sure. I’m going to visit a cousin of mine. She supposedly lives in the old Campbell castle.”

  “Yer’ shytin’ me? How’d she land such a crib?”

  “She worked there and then she married some guy who is actually the lord of the manor or something like that. He was descended from the original clan and he took rightful ownership of the castle after they got married. I can’t wait to explore the place.”

  “Nerd,” Kevin hissed jokingly.

  “Yeah, I know. It doesn’t seem to bother the lassies though,” he answered with a wink.

  “Holy Mother of God, ain’t that the truth. Do ye’ know how ye’ look? If ye’ weren’t such a geek, none of us would ever have a chance of getting laid.”

  Tom laughed. It was sort of true. He certainly never had bad luck when it came to girls. He gave Kevin a mock salute and stretched his long legs out as he slumped down in the seat. Grabbing his book again, Tom lost himself in the Middle Ages until the bus driver called his stop near Colgin in the Scottish Highlands.

  ~

  Chapter Twelve – 1387- Scotland ~

  “You do what,” Drew asked incredulously. Both his wife and her mentor gave him the fish eye at his outburst, but what the Old One had just claimed was preposterous!

  Gently interjecting, Bronwyn asked, “Ye’ mean ye’ see into the future, don’t ye’ love? With the Sight.”

  “Nay. T’is nay from the Sight. I have been there…more times than I wish to recall. Less times than ye’ would think, I suppose, but more times than I dared to remember.”

  Feeling frustrated and about at the end of his tether, Drew demanded, “And just how does one do what you say, Morag?”

  “Drew, lower yer’ voice. There is no need to shout at her.”

  “I apologize, t’is just that this is not the most believable tale, you would have to agree.”

  Morag pinned the man with another sharp look and she said, “Boy, there was a time ye’ did nay even believe in things like the Sight, yet ye’ have had it all yer’ life. Ye’ doubted yer’ own gifts and I dare say, ye’ have all but forsaken them these days, else ye’ would have known your lass was off to the MacDougals if ye’ had only reached out for her.”

  Drew was aptly chastised by Morag’s bitter accusations. She was right, damn her. He had let the calling of the Sight slide.

  “Now then,” Morag continued. “Shall I tell my tale or do ye’ wish no help from me?”

  “Go on, dear. Drew, let her speak. She has never lied to me before. Why should she start now?”

  “She is…older now and….”

  “My age means nothing. What I speak is not the addled conjurings of my aged mind.”

  “Alright. Go on, then, Morag. I shall say nothing more until your tale is told. Speak.”

  With a labored sigh, Morag prepared to face the demons of her past. She folded her trembling hands in her lap and she said, “When I was young…younger even than our Jenna, I was wed to Ian MacCollum. We had nay spent a year as husband and wife when I was cruelly widowed. That is a tale, I can nay tell for to this day, the bitterness of it sets my heart to crumbling. A woman carries terrible truths within her breast and some can ne’er be told. But crueler still was that the child I carried would never see his father.”

  “Oh, Morag, I had no idea. I mean I knew ye’ were widowed a long time past. I named my Ian to honor your departed husband.”

  “I know that, my Rose. And I thank ye’ for honoring him and me, but aye, I had a son. Tavish was hi
s name. He was a beautiful child but I ne’er saw him grow to manhood. Nay, for he was sickly and I knew if I did naught to help him, my wee laddie would be doomed.”

  “He died, then, love?”

  “I know not.”

  “What do you mean, Morag? How do you not know?”

  “That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell ye’, lad, if ye’ give me a chance.”

  Drew tried not to roll his eyes, but he was growing impatient. He was tired and more than a little hungry. He had, after all, spent the night chasing after his daughter. Besides, there was much to do. In less than a fortnight, the king and his entourage would be arriving. Bronwyn took Drew’s hand and he quieted to hear the rest of Morag’s story unfold.

  “I dunna’ know if my wee bairn lived because…I…I…left him…in a time very different from this one. I knew I could nay cure him, even with all the knowledge of herbs that I had, but the time ahead would have more means to tend him. I knew t’was wrong and against my vow to nay use my gifts for personal gain, but I did nay know what else to do. I left him in a strange looking place that was the starkest white I had ever seen. I could barely stand the smell of the place for it gagged me and filled my nostrils with the unholy scent of it…like a bitter medicine had washed the very walls and floors and it invaded my every pore of skin. How I loathed leaving him in that place…,” Morag’s voice faltered. She put her hands up to her ears as if she was trying to block out the sounds of that day so long ago that clearly haunted her still. She murmured the strange words that had been burned into her memory, “Doctor, hurry, we have a very sick baby here. Code Blue…Stat…he is having trouble breathing.”

  A lone tear crept down Morag’s papery cheek and she hiccupped back a sob but she continued, “They took my wee Tavish and I never saw him again. As soon as he was gone from my sight, I was pulled back. I had left him in a time far ahead and no matter how I tried to go back to that place, I never found him. All that remained were those strange words and the sound of my blessed boy crying for his mama who had left him to God knows what…may mercy be upon me for such a deed.”

  Bronwyn stood up and put her arm around the thin shoulders of the distraught old woman.

  “He may as well have died in my arms, only I held onto the hope that he was saved and cared for. I have dreamed of him my entire life even more so than of my beloved Ian. I imagined him running and playing like the hale babes do. Maybe he even fell in love with a lass. Mayhap he has children of his own. I canna’ think that he perished after all for my sacrifice would have then been in vain. I have suffered the banishment from my son because of my selfish attempt to save him. T’was against the unspoken rules of the Ancients. I knew it then as I know it now.”

  Another errant sob escaped her throat and this time, she wept openly with her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook under Bronwyn’s comforting arm in the sadness that Morag had kept locked for more years than anybody should be asked to. Bronwyn knew by the sheer depth of emotional release that Morag could not just be telling a fantastical tale.

  Drew waited for the old one to compose herself and when her sobs slowly began to ebb, he said, “I am so sorry for your loss. I truly am. But how will this help us with the situation of Jenna’s absence?”

  Morag raised tearful eyes to him and she said, “I can go forward to a time far from this one. There is a woman I met and helped, to find her truest love. She will help me if I but ask her. She looks just like our Jenna. She will come back with me to meet yer’ king. It will give us the time we need till Jenna returns from the MacDougal Fete.”

  “I mean no disrespect, Morag. You know I do not, but if you can walk through time as you say, why not just go to the MacDougal and bring our own girl home?”

  Bronwyn’s eyes suddenly took on an unearthly glimmer as understanding wormed its way into her mind. She whispered, “She canna’ walk through space in the present. She can only pass into other times…past or present…eras to come or ones that have gone away.”

  Morag’s head whipped around to look at the woman who had long been her protégé. She knew that Bronwyn had received some sort of vision to validate her own unbelievable claim just by the look that had come into her eyes. She understands. Och, Bronwyn’s gifts were always so strong; stronger than Morag could have ever hoped.

  “Aye, my lass, Aye. That is the way of it. T’is so.”

  Bronwyn’s gaze returned to normal and she asked, “None other knows of this gift? Not even my father?”

  “Caleb has nay admitted such even if he does ken it. Sometimes a Laird must turn a blind eye for the greater good of his clan. I know not if he knows…but his father knew of it and another knows, too. Yer’ brother Jamie knows because I had to tell him.”

  Now anger flashed in Bronwyn’s eyes at this confession. “Jamie? Ye’ jest! Jamie is the least of all my brothers to be called upon by the Ancients.”

  “He knows because I had to tell him. I had no choice.”

  “Ye’ told him and ye’ never explained this to me? Why?”

  Bronwyn was starting to lose control of her emotions at the news of Morag’s unnatural gift and her recent vision of the future with Morag in a strange and frightening world. Add the hurt she felt for being left out of this knowledge and it was becoming more than she could process.

  “Do ye’ not know, daughter of my heart? Can ye’ nay see it and understand the reason why I would share this knowledge with yer’ brother? Think back to the gifts Sinead put in yer’ wedding chest.”

  Bronwyn felt her face flush at the memory of the silken underpinnings her sister through marriage, Sinead, had given her and their effect on her husband. They were unlike garments she had ever seen. They were barely scraps of fabric that were made to cover her intimate places. Sinead had said at the time they would bring a man to his knees and Drew had certainly reacted to them. While the blush deepened on her face, she murmured, “The underpinnings…”

  She glanced at Drew and knew that the word had conjured up the memory as well. He winked at her. Still confusion and hurt marred her face, despite the memory of those treasured gifts.

  Seeing Bronwyn’s confusion, Morag explained, “Sinead, lass. Do ye’ nay see? I am nay the only one to walk through the eras. Sinead MacDougal was from Stephen’s lineage, aye, as she claimed, but ye’ see ye’ were still quite a young lassie when she found Jamie and saved his life. She comes from another time. One nay of ours. She came to change the course of events that almost took Jamie from us all and in doing so, she fell in love with yer’ dear brother.”

  Bronwyn once again thought back to that time. She cast Drew a sidelong glance and saw that he was actually grinning broadly, despite the bizarre story Morag had just revealed and their dire circumstances at the moment.

  Morag drew in a heavy breath. Sometimes it was an effort just to do the simplest things these days. She said, “Never mind that! Now ye’ know and understand why I had to tell Jamie. Sinead walks the path, but she chooses to remain here in a time far from her own because of your brother. Ye’ know what I had done, now to save my son, but there is something else ye’ must know before I ask the lass to come here to aid us.”

  Bronwyn didn’t know what else Morag could possibly say to make things more outlandish, but she was certain she didn’t like the tone of Morag’s voice. Whatever now? The air had turned heavy with warning and Bronwyn could feel it pressing tightly inside the walls of the chambers.

  “Go on, then, Morag,” Bronwyn urged. “We might as well know all of it now, dear.”

  “Well, do ye’ remember when the bairns were still toddlin’ after ye’? When ye’ were restoring Campbell Keep to its glory from the moldering decay the brothers had forced upon her ancient walls?”

  “Aye, of course. Campbell has since become our home and has been ever since.”

  “Do ye’ remember when Ruiri’s Brielle was granted the place upon her brother’s demise?”

  “Aye, Roderick had been killed by Stephen MacDougal and Derek C
ampbell had disappeared, but then that day…I found ye’ with blood on yer’ hands. T’was the blood of Derek and ye’ said he had an accident and that the Guardians had seen fit to take him.”

  “Aye, that was all true, but what I never told anyone save the Guardians that took the lad was that I pled for the life of Brielle’s brother. I begged for him to have a chance at redemption. Kiera Campbell, the one I wish to bring back to aid us is married to Derek Campbell. He lives, but nay in this time. His soul is locked in a prison he is yet to be freed from in this time, but he lives. Kiera is his wife now many, many years from this day. She is the one…the one who looks so much like our Jenna.”

  “Hold!” Drew spoke up finally, unable to let this charade go any further. He tried to tamp down the roiling emotions that were surfacing as Morag’s tale unfolded, but he could keep silent no longer.

  “Derek is an enemy to our Clan. His brother nearly killed Brielle and he was responsible for the attack of Ruiri’s first intended. That alone nearly did the Wolf in. It took years for him to cease blaming himself for that terrible event. He has become my brother-in-arms and now you wish to bring this demon’s wife to our home?”

  “T’was Derek’s arrow which killed Caitlyn McLeod, aye, t’is true. I know that even Ruiri thought t’was the barb from Roderick Campbell’s weapon that pinned the poor lass to that tree. But….”

  “I’ll not have the wife of MacCollum’s enemy harbored here. I do not care what the cost upon us for Jenna’s absence. This entire idea is utter madness.”