Celtic Peril (Celtic Storm Book 6)

by Ria Cantrell

  “Quiet, girl. I will deal with ye’ later. Yer’ father would have my hide if he knew I left ye’ to be dishonored by this lecher.”

  Tom thought he probably was going to die because despite his own size, there would be no way to best this muscle-bound lunatic whose strength bordered on the supernatural. In fact, he could feel the air being cut from his lungs as his own shirt was becoming a noose of sorts in the clasp of the hand of the man.~

  ~

  Chapter Eighteen ~

  Tom felt the hand tugging at his collar and he struggled to free himself. His attacker seemed to be shaking the life out of him and through the fog in his brain he heard a loud voice saying, “Come on, lad. Come out of it. Laddie…wake up.”

  Opening his eyes to see his foe, Tom became aware that Derek was trying to rouse him. Complete confusion was his current state of mind as he looked around. Derek was kneeling beside him, trying to shake him awake. He had been lying on the cold stone floor in the great hall of the keep. That was not where a person normally would wake from a nap; at least Tom was coherent enough to know that.

  Concern and curiosity was present in Derek’s visage as Tom slowly came to, shaking off the past that had lived in his dream.

  “What the hell happened,” he asked; still groggy from the bout of oblivion he had quite recently experienced. Only, it hadn’t all been a vacuum. He remembered all of it…the girl, the kiss…the dangerous man trying to choke the living shit out of him…all of it!

  “Ye’ passed, out, Lad. What were ye’ doin’ down here at this time of night anyway?”

  “I…think I came to get a cup of tea or coffee or something and then I found myself wandering through the hall. It was all so weird. I was looking at that painting and the next thing I remembered was that I was blotto.”

  “Blotto?” Derek didn’t know the word, but he could gather it meant knocked senseless. What had caused this seemingly stalwart man to be blotto, as he had said?

  “And ye’ remember nothing else? No one hit ye’ or anything like that? Ye’ didna’ fall and bash yer’ skull?”

  “No. I read her name and wham…Blotto.”

  “Aye, blotto.”

  “But it wasn’t like I was out for the count. I…oh forget it. You’ll think I have lost my mind.”

  “Oh, lad, ye’ have no idea what I would believe.”

  “Ok. Well I had this dream…while I was out, you know? Only it wasn’t really a dream. It felt super real. I met that girl…That one in the painting, in a castle like this one. I kissed her…and this big tough asshole named Rory tried to wring my neck. I thought you were him when you were trying to wake me up.”

  Derek set his jaw. “Did ye’ say Rory?”

  “Yeah, only she said it like Ru-errie…She called him Uncle Ruiri…”

  “The Wolf…,” Derek mumbled. “I’ll be fecked; the bloody feckin’ Wolf….”

  “What are you talking about? You’re starting to sound as insane as my dream.”

  “Ruiri MacCollum was my most hated enemy.” Derek stated it plainly as a fact, as if it was the most normal response in the world.

  Tom pushed off Derek’s hand. Now, he really thought his cousin’s husband had lost his mind. “Okay, man…I got ya’…I’m going back to bed. I think you have had more than I have had to drink and you are hallucinating.”

  Derek took a deep breath and he said, “We need to talk, lad. I didna’ know what to do before, but now I know ye’ will be the one to help me. Come on. I’ll make us some of that coffee you Sassenachs seem to like so much.”

  Tom wasn’t certain he wanted to go anywhere with Derek Campbell at the moment, let alone allow him to give him something else to drink. Seeing his wariness, Derek sighed again and said, “I will try to explain all of it if I can. Ye’ll just have to trust me.”

  Trust was the last thing on Tom’s mind. In fact, he was thinking he’d just as soon rather collect his stuff and get on the next train out of the place so he could meet up with his band mates and get the hell out of there.

  As if reading his thoughts, Derek said, “Ye’ are nay losing yer’ mind, lad nor have I gone mad. Come now. Let’s get some coffee and I will try my best to explain so that ye’ will believe me.”

  Derek gave Tom a hand and helped him to his feet. He was awkwardly silent as Tom followed him into the commercial kitchen that was used to cater events at Castle Campbell. Tom had a terribly queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that had not come from too much alcohol. Something wasn’t right and Tom didn’t like it one bit. The ominous feeling was so strong, he almost preferred being choked to death by that Rory guy than to hear what Derek was about to say.

  When Derek heard Ruiri’s name mentioned, it all seemed to fall into place. He had left his wife up in their apartments with the hag and he was madder than a wasp disturbed from his nest. The Old One had needed Kiera for some crazy scheme to go back to his past to right some sort of danger. Derek could not allow something like that because it was too perilous for his precious woman to do. There were too many things that could go wrong. She would be in harm’s way in a savage time that she had only read about in books. It was one thing to dress in the attire of that day, but to go back to it; well no. Derek would not let her do it. Then there was the chance that she would be stuck back there. He knew he could never live without her now and he would die should he be separated from her. He wasn’t afraid of Death, having cheated her twice so far. Losing Kiera was far more frightening than Death’s call, Derek was certain. And he could not go with her. Nay! The hag said that since he had not been released from his prison of torment, going back to that time could possibly lock him there for all eternity; which would keep him from Kiera, as well. A terrifying chill coursed over him when Morag had explained it.

  The thing was that Kiera, when she put something in her mind, could not and would not be swayed. He was not the sort of man to prohibit her from thinking and deciding things for herself. He valued her tenacity and her spirit. It was that Spirit that had saved his life. So, he would have to let her go, else he would lose her anyway with the holding her apart from her own free will. He could not bear to do that to her, but he had to protect her, too. The dilemma had sent him to the kitchens to ponder things and to cool his heated temper. He had still been in the throes of his anger when he heard a loud moaning coming from the great hall. He had not expected to find Tom there, on the floor, obviously experiencing a very nasty dream. But now Tom had said he had met Ruiri. Asshole, he had called him. That sure sounded like the Ruiri MacCollum Derek had grown to hate; the very one that had married his sister.

  A man could not just dream about that; nay t’was not possible. Jenna had only been a little girl when Derek had met his untimely near-death demise. He had been plotting a way to take back Campbell Keep from her mother and father when a tree branch had given away and sent him hurtling to the ground in a broken twisted mess. It was by the crone’s hand that he was spared, but not without a long road to redemption. Somehow, through the magic of time and the Call of the Ancients, Derek was granted his chance at salvation…some seven hundred years later. It had been a hard punishment to be certain and thinking about it still caused dread to pool in his belly, even after all this time and even after being married to his beloved Kiera. He was still a man, as it were, and that meant that old hatreds died hard, despite his repentance and deliverance. Nay, he did not wish to fight Ruiri any longer, but that did not mean he liked the man. He probably never would.

  One thing that tugged at Derek’s resolve when Kiera argued her point to go with Morag to the untold past; Kiera had said she would seek out Brielle…his sister. He had never gotten to make amends to her for his bad choices in his life before he had been moved to the place where he lived now, with Kiera and his growing family. He was pretty certain that Kiera would be with child very soon again, if she wasn’t already and Derek had enjoyed settling into being a family man. No longer was he the ancient warrior he had been in those long lost days. It
had been one of his greatest regrets that he never set things right with Gabrielle before he was given this second chance at life. That bothered him still and when he thought about her and how now, in this place, she would have been long gone, a stab of guilt and remorse filled his heart. Kiera said she would find Brielle. Kiera said she would bring a message of apologies to his sister and that alone seemed to turn his mind to let her go; if only he could go with her to keep her safe.

  So, now her cousin had some sort of inexplicable experience where he had walked in the past, even though it seemed it had been a dream. There was no way to know that Ruiri MacCollum was Jenna Brandham’s uncle from that painting. Something strange had occurred and Derek knew not what, but he also knew that he now had someone who could go with Kiera to the past in his stead and Tom would be able to protect her, where he could not. That was it! He should have trusted that the Guardians would show him a sign that Kiera would be protected.

  Tom wondered at the silent thoughts that were obviously warring with his cousin’s husband. He perched himself on a stool while Derek clattered around and fixed them some coffee. When Derek finally handed him a steaming mug full of the strong brew, he said, “We really need to have that talk, Lad.”

  Thomas took a sip and said, “I have a feeling that I need something a good deal stronger than coffee.”

  “Aye, lad, that ye’ do…but this will have to suffice for now. I need yer’ wits to be clear as I tell ye’ my tale else ye’ will blame the drink for it. T’is a most unbelievable tale…but truth will be told. I need ye’ to believe what I will tell ye’ now.”

  ~

  Chapter Nineteen ~

  Jenna still felt the kiss of the mysterious man upon her lips. What on earth had just happened? One moment she was kissing a handsome, but infuriating stranger and the next she was standing before her very angry uncle having to explain herself. It all had seemed so strange. The man was no one she had ever seen before, yet he said his name was Tavish MacCollum. Brigid was so good at flirting with men but Jenna never seemed comfortable with that sort of behavior. She almost thought something was quite off about her because she did not find the allure of playing the cat and mouse games with the young men who vied for her attention.

  That is until this night. She had nay really played a game. If she was going to be truthful to herself, she had kissed him fully of her own accord and by all things holy, she liked it. She believed the man had to be lying to her because she knew every man that was part of her mother’s clan. There was no one she had not met at one time or another, yet this man claimed to be kin. A strange prickling edged at her flesh. Despite the bizarre meeting, Jenna had an unearthly feeling that she knew him. Where had she met him before? The veil was thin. She could hear the words of her mother and of Nan Morag as well. Could this time of year have had something to do with the appearance of the man? Only two more nights were left before the end of Samhain when the spirit realm mixed plainly with the mortal. Jenna was not one to believe in all those old superstitions, either. Much to her mother Bronwyn’s disappointment, Jenna never seemed to aspire to those ways of Old. She rather thought it was merely a time when the harvest had concluded and those who worked the land needed a reason to celebrate.

  Jenna was up for a celebration as much as the next person, but she did not put too much stock in all that nonsense of faery folk and spirit hosts. Still, the man seemed to evaporate with the mist. If she had not kissed him, she would have had to acknowledge the possibility of a magical presence. But, the truth of the matter was that she had kissed him. She could still feel the gentle pressure of his lips upon her own. The sensation of his hand tangled into her hair as he pulled her closer for the kiss was not some sort of trick of the fae. That was not some specter brought between the Veil. He had felt solid and whole. His arms held strength in them as she had clung against him. He was no spirit conjured on the mists of the Ancients.

  She had kissed some other young men before and it had been unremarkable to say the least. She could not say the same for Tavish MacCollum. Even when he had grasped her fingers, she felt an undeniable charge of something not of her world race into the pulse which thrummed in her wrist.

  Ruiri looked down upon his niece and said in a tone that sounded like a rumble of thunder, “I will ask ye’ again. Where did he go?” Ruiri had turned his back briefly and the rogue had slipped from him. He was about ready to thrash him within an inch of his life, but he was strangely distracted and when he turned back, the man had gone.

  “Uncle I do nay know where he went. I had never seen him before.”

  “And do ye’ think it wise to kiss a man ye do nay know?”

  Jenna almost wanted to laugh. She had seen Ruiri’s daughter slinking off into a darkened corner with Devon MacDougal and was probably flirting with danger of being compromised at this very moment. Still, she would never betray her cousin and best friend, so Jenna said nothing to give up Brigid’s exploits this night.

  “Nay, t’was not wise. I probably should nay have done it.” But strangely I am glad that I did. Where did that thought come from? Surely, that was not normal for Jenna.

  “T’is bad enough that ye’ have disobeyed yer’ parents and left their supervision during this difficult time for them, but ye’ have also disobeyed me and my warnings. Ye’ are my ward while ye’ are here and it is my duty to see to yer’ protection.”

  “Uncle, what ye’ and my parents fail to see is that I am nay longer a child.”

  Rory raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Nay. Ye’ are no longer a child. All the more reason fer ye’ to be mated and wed. I have stood up to yer’ da and reminded him that he had wed for love…I have been a champion fer’ yer’ cause because I am loathe to force my Briggie’s hand in marriage as well, but ye’ canna’ make these rash choices without consequences.”

  Jenna was starting to get very angry. She was so tired of people telling her who she should and should not wed. Saints be damned, it was one little kiss. She would probably never see the man again because clearly he was no MacCollum. Even if he was from one of the clans that were aligned with MacCollum, chances were that she would never cross paths with him again. She loved her uncle Rory, but she was sure he should mind his own business, especially with Brigid’s flirtatious games on the rise.

  Jenna looked passed Ruiri’s shoulder and tried to get a glimpse of Brigid in the shadows. She would never tell on her cousin, but if she happened to glance over and her Uncle Ruiri’s eyes would follow, mayhap he would cease scolding her and worry about his own child’s rash behavior.

  “Who are ye’ lookin’ for? Are ye’ seekin’ him out in the shadows?”

  Jenna raised her chin in defiance. While she did wish she could find the mysterious stranger, it was not because she wanted to fall into his arms again. It was to give him a piece of her mind for daring to steal a kiss with her and for embarrassing her in front of her furious uncle. She raised smoldering eyes to her uncle, who’s gaze was not so unlike her own. She said, “I am nay lookin’ for him. I care not where and whence he came, nor do I care if I ever see him again. Ye’ may think I am yer’ ward, Uncle Rory, but I am not.”

  “Are ye’ nay? I say ye’ are. Yer’ mother would skin me alive if she knew I let ye’ compromise yer’ station this night. Ye’ would be wise to nay take that tone with me, girl. As much as I have loved and indulged ye’, ye’ are nay beyond a thrashing for yer’ impudence.”

  Feeling heat flood her face, Jenna was not going to be threatened with a spanking. She would die if her uncle metered out such a punishment. It was too horrible to think about. She was nearly twenty-three years old and he had no right to threaten her with such a thing. She grabbed her skirts in her fists and she said, “My father will cut the hand off of anyone who would dare strike me. Even you, Uncle.”

  And with that, she turned from him and ran toward their tent to find her auntie Brielle. She needed to talk to someone who was more objective about things and preferably i
t would be someone who could understand with a woman’s heart. With her face flaming still from the argument with Ruiri and the kiss still burning on her lips, Jenna sought the solace of her beloved Auntie. She hoped she would be able to find her before her uncle returned to their pavilion for the night. Jenna would never admit it but she also hoped she would run into that mysterious stranger who had wrought havoc on all her ideals and principles with the magic of his kiss.

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  Chapter Twenty ~

  Michael de la Pole sat astride his warhorse smugly as the young king struggled to keep up with the line of riders heading into the Highlands of Scotland. It would take another day or so to reach their first stop on the gyration and de la Pole silently ticked off the minutes until he could begin to finalize the plot he had already worked to put in place. He looked over at Richard and tried to hide his disgust at the weakness of the boy who should have never been crowned king of England. It was becoming more difficult with every passing moment to mask his true feelings about the king. He pasted an emotionless smile on his lips that almost resembled a sneer just to appear that he was the least bit interested in the endless prattle from the excitable youth.

  Why Richard wished to ride was beyond de la Pole’s grasp. He could barely keep in his saddle on the rock-strewn carriageway. De la Pole had hoped that Richard would retire to the litter eventually if only to give him some peace. The very inane nasal voice grated on his frayed nerves. He consoled himself with thoughts of the king’s demise and it nearly filled him with a sexual charge. He had imagined putting his dagger in the slack belly of the youth so many times, and the fantasy of it nearly made his cock hard with the thrill of it. He could not remember a time when a wench got such a rise out of him.