Chapter Three
Mrs. Dawson hunched over several books in her library, carefully searching for something that would help Amber with her plight. “Oh, Frank,” she said to her long-dead husband in a whisper. “We should have made some order of these old books while you were alive.”
She could practically hear her late husband’s gruff voice saying they had plenty of time for such menial tasks. He’d been a collector, not a reader. Oh, he’d enjoyed many of the books in the room, but there was no possible way he could have read them all even if he had lived four hundred years. As it turned out, he lived a lively seventy-six years before leaving her alone in the big house filled with books.
After pushing the fourth book away, and reaching for the fifth, Mrs. Dawson decided warm tea might aide in her search. Ever since Helen, Simon, and Amber came to be a part of her family…her home, she limited the time her hired help stayed in the house. The result was moving her old bones more than she’d have liked.
She was walking back into the library with her tea, trying her best to keep the contents in her cup from spilling when Helen intercepted in the hall. “Let me take that for you.”
“Thanks, dear. I’m not as steady as I used to be I’m afraid.”
Helen was the closest thing to a daughter she’d ever had. They’d met years before when she stumbled upon the auction house where Helen worked. Helen, having no family of her own, developed a kinship to Mrs. Dawson and from there the two of them became fast friends.
“Where are we headed?” Helen asked as she moved aside to let Mrs. Dawson lead the way.
“The library.”
Helen placed the tea on the table where a stack of books took up most of the room.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
Mrs. Dawson settled into her chair with a heavy sigh. “I was hoping to find something to ease Amber’s suffering.”
Helen eyes drifted toward the ceiling. “She really is hurting, isn’t she?”
“Yes. And it’s getting worse.”
Helen sat in an opposite chair. “She hasn’t left her room since she told us about the baby.” That had been days ago.
Mrs. Dawson reached over and patted Helen’s hand. “Don’t blame yourself. We have to believe she’ll find something to ease her pain. Her mother was adamant she stay in this time to find a cure.” Lora MacCoinnich’s gift of premonition spoke of Amber’s demise if she stayed in the sixteenth century, which was why Lora and Ian had entrusted their daughter to Simon’s care in the twenty-first century.
“How can a Druid gift have a cure? And why would any of our gifts cripple us like hers is doing?”
“I wish I knew. All the years I’ve sat among these books and never really understood the messages within the pages. Mr. Dawson and I collected them, but didn’t read nearly enough of them.”
Helen glanced up at the bookshelves and stood. “Maybe I can find the answer…if it’s here.” The greatest Druid gift Helen possessed was her ability to find missing objects and even people.
“I should have thought about that before searching myself,” Mrs. Dawson said as she sat back and sipped her tea.
Helen stood before one of the shelves, closed her eyes, and lifted her hands. Mrs. Dawson had witnessed her searching for answers with her Druid gift before. Helen moved slowly about the room in complete silence for several minutes. She paused in front of the wall of windows and lifted both of her hands before clutching both hands into fists. “This is the only space I feel any energy.”
In front of the window were two high back chairs and a single lamp.
Helen lifted the cushion of the chair as if perhaps there were a hidden book under the fabric. “Nothing,” she whispered.
“You felt something.”
“Yes, but obviously not the right thing. Unless you have a hidden floor vault.”
Mrs. Dawson smiled. “Not in this room.” There was one in the room Helen now shared with Simon, and another in the basement safe room.
Helen twisted back to the window, opened the pane, and reached beyond the opening. She moved her hands back inside and shook her head. “No. It’s inside.”
Mrs. Dawson pushed from her chair and made her way to Helen’s side. “Shall we try and ask for help. Like Simon taught us?”
Actively using their Druid gifts was new for both of them. Simon had shown them how to work together and ask the Ancients for help with life’s more difficult problems.
“Do you think we can do that without Simon? He’ll be home in a couple of hours.”
“I don’t see why we should wait. If it doesn’t work, we can try again when he’s here.” According to Simon, the more Druid power used the better chances of achieving success.
Helen shrugged and moved about the room to arrange several candles in a circle surrounding the reading chairs by the window. After closing the blinds, Helen placed a finger to each of the candles and sparked the wicks to life.
“You’ve gotten better at that,” Mrs. Dawson said.
“Simon is a good teacher. I still can’t do it from across the room like he does.”
“Give it time.”
With the candles lit, Helen clasped hands with Mrs. Dawson and shrugged. “Here goes nothing.”
Mrs. Dawson closed her eyes and thought of Amber while Helen chose her words carefully.
“In this day and in this hour, we ask the Ancients for their power. Bring to me what I can’t see, to help ease Amber’s misery.”
A familiar breeze lifted the hair on Mrs. Dawson’s neck and the hair on her arms stood on end. She opened her eyes to find Helen looking around the room. Energy bounced around the space, shifting the curtains and the flames from the candles. Yet nothing else happened.
“Please.”
“Are you sure we’re in the right spot?” Mrs. Dawson asked.
“Yes.”
The room kept up a constant buzz, not letting go of their power. It was as if the Ancients were waiting for the right request to give them what they needed.
Mrs. Dawson tried her own appeal. “In this day and in this hour, we beg the Ancients for their power. Whether from the future, present, or past, bring us the knowledge that this spot possesses.”
A blinding light filled the room with a crack of lightning.
Mrs. Dawson’s heart leapt and Helen let go of her hands to circle protective arms around her.
As quickly as the room exploded with noise, it stopped and silence filled every corner.
Mrs. Dawson hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she opened them. Her gaze fell on a lone man calmly sitting in one of the reading chairs with glasses perched on his nose and a large book tipping from his fingertips.
“Well, that was a whole lot of noise for nothing,” Helen said.
“Um, dear?” Mrs. Dawson nodded behind Helen toward the man. When Helen turned around, she gasped.
****
Kincaid found Giles where he’d left him. He sat with a book in his lap, his head buried in the pages.
“Find anything?” Kincaid asked as he walked in the room and closed the door behind him. The others had gone to bed and only a small watch kept their eyes on the compound.
“Nothing about a painting of a single woman as you described. I’ve dug further back to see if there is any reference to it.”
Disappointment filled Kincaid’s heart. If anyone could find out who the woman was, it would be Giles.
Giles turned the pages in his book and delivered a brief history lesson. “You see, back in the times you just visited, tapestries were often used to record the people, the history. Only the very rich and nobility could afford portraits. And we know our ancestors were private people.”
“Because they risked persecution.”
“Some things don’t change. The difference between then and now is that back when Druids were accused of witchcraft, they faced being murdered, burned, or beheaded. The last few hundred years we’ve been used as lab rats, held hostage and studi
ed.” Giles didn’t need to remind him of these facts. Kincaid understood why they lived outside the normal population.
“Are you suggesting the portrait I saw was of a non-Druid woman?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but I doubt it.”
Kincaid leaned against the center table, crossed his arms over his chest. “There are very few unwed descendants of the MacCoinnich’s through the generations leading up to the seventeen hundreds. Maybe the woman died before she could marry?”
“I thought of that.” Giles turned another page, barely glancing over the book to capture Kincaid’s gaze. “Which is why I’m searching for the life spans of the family. The problem is, we can’t be sure the family members died young, or if they traveled to a different time. We know the first time travelers were direct descendants of Ian and Lora. It’s said that all their children traveled in time at one point. Duncan and Finlay were the oldest, the first to move forward in time and back again.”
Kincaid knew the story well. Duncan and Finlay MacCoinnich had been instructed by the Ancient Ones to protect their world by finding Grainna, the most powerful, greedy, evil Druid ever known and stopping her from destroying every Druid and thousands of innocent lives. Most of the missions Kincaid and his men undertook also protected the lineage of this family. But none of them took them back to the time of Grainna, ever. It was hypothesized their interference might change the outcome of that final battle. They couldn’t risk that Grainna would become the victor, and not the MacCoinnich’s. Travel to the late fifteen hundreds was off limits. Always.
“I remember the stories, Giles. If I’m not mistaken, the middle sister married a knight.”
“Right. And there is some speculation the youngest sister died in the final battle, though some reports state she survived the battle, only to die later after a long illness.” Giles lifted the book in his lap. “This book has references from the first families’ grandchildren. I’m searching to see if they document anything about their direct aunts and uncles.”
“What happened to the youngest brother?”
“It’s vague. But it could be because the family clouded themselves in secrecy, or perhaps it could be he traveled beyond their time. I’m hoping to find the answer here. If not, I’ll call the Keep in the morning and request a link into their database.”
Kincaid ran a hand over his face, smoothed down the hair on his chin. “I can’t shake the feeling I saw that painting for a reason.” And he couldn’t. During their dinner, he kept picturing the woman, her eyes.
The hair on his arms stood on end.
“I’ll find out who she is, Kincaid.”
He turned to leave Giles to his work. “Oh, Giles…what were the names of the MacCoinnich daughters again?”
“Myra was the oldest.” Kincaid glanced over his shoulder to find Giles turning pages of the book. “Amber was the youngest. The one we think died young.”
Amber?
The air in the room changed with the mention of Amber’s name. Kincaid’s palms started to itch.
He looked over at Giles whose attention shifted from the book to the fireplace as it burst into white-hot flames. Before Kincaid could ask if Giles summoned the fire, the room rumbled and Giles—along with his book—disappeared.
Chapter Four
Amber shot up from her bed when the house shook. Very few things caused the world to upend as they just had. She paused, briefly, felt the presence of someone unfamiliar, and forced herself from her seclusion.
The pain in her head peaked as she descended the stairs. Anxiety, hers and several others in the house, assaulted her system and made her shake.
Helen and Mrs. Dawson stood in silence when Amber rushed into the library. Their eyes locked with a stranger sitting in one of Mrs. Dawson’s reading chairs.
All eyes swung to her.
The man surged to his feet, the book in his lap dropped to the floor. Amber clutched the edges of her cloak and stepped back. Though she didn’t think the man meant her any harm, her instinct kicked in. Every candle in the room lit, and the fireplace roared to life.
He didn’t stop staring at her.
Helen pulled Mrs. Dawson beside her until the three of them stood in unity. “Who are you?” Helen asked.
The man switched his attention to Helen then back to Amber. “I-I’m Giles.” He blinked a few times and reached down to pick up the book that had fallen to the floor. He waved a hand in the air, and the candles sitting on the floor blew out. He stepped over them, placed the book on a table, and proceeded to study the walls in the room. “I’m still in the fortress?”
Confusion rolled off the stranger in strong waves.
“Excuse me?” Helen asked.
“The fortress. Formerly known as Dawson’s Manor. This is the library is it not?”
“Formerly known as?” Mrs. Dawson asked.
“It’s been years, of course.” The man moved to a bookcase, removed one of the titles, and dusted the edges of the old book. He clicked his tongue as if disappointed in the dirt. “Dust and light are a book’s worst enemy,” he informed them.
“Excuse me? But who the hell are you and how did you get here?” Helen stepped forward and her voice rose.
He sat the book down and removed the glasses from his nose. “I told you. I’m Giles, the keeper of the books. As for how I got here…well, you hold the answers to that. I was calmly studying, talking with a friend, and then suddenly I appeared here. I assume one of you shifted time on my behalf.”
Amber’s hand reached for the pendant on the chain around her neck and looked at Helen. Helen’s necklace was hidden under her shirt, but she too held one of the time traveling stones.
“Did you summon him?” Amber asked Helen.
With Amber’s words, Giles leveled his gaze once again to her.
Helen exchanged a look with Mrs. Dawson. “We must have.”
“But you don’t know who he is?”
“We were looking for a cure for you, Amber. I thought one of the books was going to fly off the shelf, not pop a man out of nowhere,” Helen told her.
“Amber?” Giles asked.
“Aye.”
The way the man watched her now softened. Some of the anxiety in the room eased.
He stepped in her direction and peered closer.
Amber hid under the hood of her cloak and stepped out of the man’s reach. He stopped his advance as if sensing her distress.
Helen moved between the two of them. “Don’t touch her.”
Giles looked over Helen’s shoulder. “I won’t.”
“Do you know who I am?” Amber asked.
“I’m almost afraid to ask. Can I see your face?”
Amber reached to her head and slowly removed her hood.
“You must be her.”
“Must be who?”
“The woman Kincaid is searching for. Tell me, Amber…what is your surname?”
Amber searched out this man’s thoughts, his feelings and didn’t sense any harm could possibly come from his gentle soul. “MacCoinnich. Daughter of—”
“Lord Ian and Lady Lora,” Giles said before he dropped to his knee and bowed his head. “My Lady.”
Amber sighed. “That is not necessary in this century. Please rise.”
He didn’t rise right away and Helen shuffled her feet. “Don’t see that every day.”
It had been some time, but Amber was used to the gesture. “Please, Giles. ’Tis not necessary.”
He stood and stepped closer. Once again, Helen intercepted. “Dude, I mean it. Don’t touch her.”
He lowered his eyes. “Forgive me. I never thought I’d meet any of the original family. I’m humbled…honored.”
Amber pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to mute out the noise inside her head.
“You have us at a disadvantage, Mr. Giles. It appears you’re comfortable in my library and have knowledge of Amber…but we know nothing of you.” Mrs. Dawson indicated the sofa. “Perhaps we can get comfortable
and you can tell us who you are. Where you’re from.”
“It’s just Giles.”
Amber settled into a chair to avoid sitting close to anyone in the room.
Giles sized up Mrs. Dawson. “Did you say this is your library?”
“You did say Dawson’s Manor, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“I can’t take credit for the naming of my home, but I am Mrs. Dawson. The library was the pride of my late husband, but it was created by the both of us.”
Where Giles held himself back in reserve from Amber, he burst with enthusiasm at Mrs. Dawson’s confession. “The Mrs. Dawson? Really?”
Mrs. Dawson caught the back of the sofa as she made her way to a chair. Giles was at her side in an instant, ready to assist her. Unlike Amber, Mrs. Dawson happily allowed him to help her. “I’m sure there are other Mrs. Dawson’s out there, but I’m the only one here.”
“How rich is this? Mrs. Dawson and Amber MacCoinnich both under one roof. How did I miss this in the books?” Giles shifted his gaze to Helen. “And who might you be?”
“No one, I assure you.”
“Clearly you’re someone. I didn’t come here under my own power. I assure you, mine isn’t that active.”
Amber sensed Helen’s worry about revealing information to the stranger and decided to lead the conversation instead of chase it.
“Giles?” Amber gained his attention. “Might we offer you refreshment while we sort out what transpired to bring you to us?”
“I’m good.”
She turned her attention to Helen. “Can I trouble you for tea? And perhaps you can inform your husband of our guest?”
Helen’s brow lifted. “Good idea. I’ll be right back.”
Amber calmly laced her fingers together and placed her hands in her lap.
“What year is it, exactly?” Giles asked as calmly as if he were discussing the weather.
“Two thousand and twelve,” Mrs. Dawson informed him. “What year did you arrive from?”
“Twenty-two thirty-one.”
“How is it possible that a man so far in the future has any knowledge of me?” Amber asked.
When Giles smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners like a lad half his age. “You’re a legend, m’lady. If not for you and your family, none of us would exist. You’re Druid royalty.”
Highland Protector (MacCoinnich Time Travels Book Five) Page 3