The MacLomain Series: A New Beginning Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Purington, Sky

  Then he was somewhere else.

  He stood beside Milly in a dark forest.

  Something was off about her. She seemed frozen in place.

  Adlin and his cousins were nearby, and Graham was slumped against a tree wounded.

  At first, it seemed nobody could see him, so his eyes wandered. Had he somehow followed Milly’s astral projection?

  Then his eyes locked on Lindsay.

  She was drifting through the enemy encampment, her eyes shimmering, her expression daring. He knew that look. She was enchanting a man. Soon after, he saw someone trailing after her. Or something. Tall, sheathed in black from head to toe in a hooded cloak, a man followed her.

  A warlock.

  Conall shook his head as he realized what she was doing. Using her allure to distract pure evil. Using herself as bait. His eyes were drawn to her ring. How it shined the color of Graham’s eyes then suddenly, turned inky black, no doubt reflecting the warlock’s eyes.

  That’s when she stopped, looked directly at Conall, and whispered, “geamhradh,” again before she gazed up at the sky and it began snowing. Seconds later, the warlock’s eyes whipped in Milly’s direction, and he hissed.

  Adlin’s eyes blazed blue through the darkness at Conall as he roared, “Get Milly out of there!”

  A heartbeat later, Conall’s eyes snapped open.

  “What is it, Cousin?” Rona said, alarmed. It was clear only a moment had passed for her.

  “We must go quickly,” he said. “Guard me.”

  Rona nodded and said nothing. He didn’t bother with the tent’s flaps but ripped the whole thing down. Adlin might have said to get Milly out of here but there was no way he was leaving without Lindsay and Rona wasn’t strong enough to carry her.

  So Conall intended to carry them both.

  Rona’s eyes widened as he handed her all of his weapons, except the dagger sheathed in his boot. Anything that could inadvertently hurt the lasses. Then he relied solely on adrenaline as he slumped Lindsay over his right shoulder and Milly over his left. He barely felt the pressure on his knees as he stood, and moved swiftly.

  Though tempted, he knew better than to go deeper into the caves. He didn’t know them well enough and could very well end up trapped in a corner. And if warlocks were good at nothing else, it was navigating dark, musty corners of the world.

  So he headed outside.

  While running was impossible between the weight on his shoulders and the slick ground, he kept up a brisk walk with Rona at his side. He headed toward the windy shores of the river. A place he could, if necessary, manipulate his element of air easier. Right now, that was the best possible weapon against the sort of evil he had just witnessed.

  Not surprisingly, Wallace joined him within moments. Rona never said a word but got her point across somehow, because William released a soft whistle. He was calling his men to arms.

  The battling would begin.

  Conall didn’t make it that much further before Adlin, and his cousins appeared. Based on the roars in the distance, they had lost the element of surprise.

  “What’s going on?” Milly mumbled as Lindsay murmured, “Dear Lord, where am I?”

  “Set them down,” Adlin ordered. “They’re safest here surrounded by us.”

  Conall crouched and did his best to set them down gently but both sort of thumped back on their arses against a tree trunk.

  “My apologies lasses,” he muttered as he stood and caught his blades when Rona tossed them his way. He tucked several daggers here and there then handed one to each of the women. Disoriented, both glanced around, frowning when Bryce sat Graham on the ground beside them.

  Bryce crouched in front of him and wrapped Graham's hand around the hilt of a dagger. “Do what ye can with this, Cousin. Ye’ll not be wielding more until Aðísla sees to ye, aye?”

  Clearly in pain, Graham grunted his response and nodded.

  Next, Rona crouched in front of him, concerned. They had spent very little time together since Fraser's death. Rona was always at Hamilton Castle and Graham, despite being first in command, was often off doing one thing or another. Yet as she pressed her forehead against his and murmured a prayer to give him strength it was clear they were once close. That they could be close again.

  Wind gusted harder, and snow fell steadily as Conall and his cousins awaited the onslaught. They were about halfway between the river and caves, and the Sassenach were coming...as was their warlock.

  William and Adlin never exchanged a word, but he could tell by Wallace’s face that he knew this might happen. As it turned out, those tents at the river were being put to actual use. Where it looked to the Sassenach that the Scots were resting and vulnerable, many were already braced to attack.

  What they did not foresee—even their God forsaken warlock—was Grant Hamilton appearing there.

  So multiple fronts came together in the midst of a pre-winter storm.

  One battle next to the river and one right here in the forest.

  Conall braced his legs, held a sword and a small mace at the ready, then took up position in front of Lindsay and Milly. When he met his cousin’s eyes, Graham nodded, determined. The two of them had always worked well alongside each other in battle, using their elements of air and water to manipulate what they could. A storm such as this would assist them greatly if Graham were strong enough. Which it seemed he was by the look in his eyes. The sheer will as he held the dagger and turned his gaze to the forest.

  Conall never said a word just watched and waited.

  “Whatever happens, Grandson, keep our Brouns safe,” Grant whispered into his mind. “They are everything.”

  He didn’t bother responding because he had every intention of doing just that. He knew Adlin and Grant would be battling the warlock so it was up to him and his cousins to take care of the lasses.

  Bryce, Rona, and Aðísla became his front line as the forest filled with a wall of roaring Sassenach. Conall waited calmly and focused on every little thing about the men coming at them from their sizes to their potential threat. He weighed the air, how it shifted and moved around each warrior. In doing so, he was able to gauge their strengths and weaknesses.

  Though plenty of Scots fought alongside, he knew better than to depend on them. Their battle had been long and hard over the past seven winters, and many were losing heart despite their love for Wallace and Scotland. Though they fought, it was not with the same passion he saw in their eyes before the Battle of Stirling Bridge.

  So he was prepared to take on every last Sassenach if need be.

  Seconds later, it seemed, by all accounts, he would have to do exactly that.

  Especially when Bryce, Rona, and Aðísla evidently became victims of the warlock’s magic and slumped to the ground.

  All three were passed out cold.

  Chapter Seven

  “OH, SHIT,” LINDSAY whispered, her eyes wide as Conall’s cousins fell moments before a line of English warriors reached them. “That can’t be good.”

  Milly started to respond, but the words died on her lips as Conall unleashed pure hell. Or so it seemed. He remained eerily silent but deathly effective as he began fighting. Despite the horror unfolding, there was a certain beauty in the methodical way he battled. It was calculated and mesmerizing as he fought with everything available to him.

  At first, he used his sword in combination with his mace. He thrashed, slashed, and cut men down while simultaneously swirling the mace in an arc. Mostly, he just used it to nick and drive warriors back. Sometimes he would sink it into a neck or thigh, then yank it free.

  War surrounded them. Men cried out. Swords crashed together. Yet all she could see was Conall. It was almost as if she felt him. His inner calm mixed with the rush of battle. His expression never changed, he never uttered a word, yet he raged on the inside.

  “Damn,” Milly whispered, her eyes wide as more men than they could count fell. “Go, Laird Hamilton.”

  Graham, meanwhile, was cl
early in pain but trying not to show it as he shifted closer to them and gripped the hilt of his dagger. From what she remembered, he had taken a wound to the mid-section. One inflicted on him by the warlock.

  Lindsay clenched her teeth against the memory and focused on Conall and how she might help. While she found his battle skills beyond impressive, there was another part of her on edge. Worried. Frightened that he might fall prey to one of the many blades coming his way.

  More and more men came at him as he ducked and swirled and thrust. One warrior swiped, and Conall ducked beneath his sword. Another came in low, and he jumped over the blade. All the while he swung that mace in all sorts of directions and kept warriors away from the three of them.

  Yet she saw the distance between Conall and the tree growing smaller as bit by bit they drove him back. More came until he was so close she could reach out and touch him. But he never stopped, and she knew he never would.

  “We’re out of bloody time,” Conall muttered as he kept slicing and dicing before he shook his head and roared, “Now, Graham.”

  Then they began chanting.

  Moments later, the weather changed. At least over them. They were using their magic to manipulate the elements. Snow turned to ice seconds after Graham muttered a chant, and they were covered with a thick rawhide type of blanket. One, they soon discovered, built purely for protection.

  “Oh, dear God,” Lindsay murmured as she and Milly braced the blanket up against an onslaught of what felt like golf ball sized hail. When men began crying out in pain yet everything stilled above them, Lindsay peeked out.

  “Oh, no,” she cried, her voice hoarse as she realized what Conall was doing.

  He had his hands braced against the trunk over their heads and was protecting them from large hail stones and razor sharp sleet. Though it was obvious he used magic to protect them, he was clearly running into trouble. If she were to guess based on Graham who had his head braced back against the tree and his eyes closed, Conall used the majority of magic to protect his cousin. That meant he was using his body to protect the women.

  Men continued to fall victim to the harsh weather as Conall bore the brunt of his own storm to keep them safe. While she understood why he was doing it, she never felt such rage. At him for taking on so much pain. At all of this.

  Though his knees buckled slightly and pain flashed in his otherwise emotion-free eyes, Conall held his ground. His legs and arms shook slightly but he never budged, and he never called off the inclement weather.

  Not until a hand eventually landed on his shoulder.

  “It is over, Grandson,” came Grant’s soft voice. He had already turned ice back to snow. “The Sassenach have been defeated.”

  “What of the warlock?” Conall ground out.

  “Gone for now.”

  Bruised and bloodied, Conall nodded, staggered sideways and plunked down in the snow. Half a breath later, Adlin pulled Milly into his arms, his relief palpable as he embraced her. When Lindsay tried to go to Conall, he put up a weak hand and shook his head without looking at her. Even now, he meant to keep her away.

  Soon enough, having awoken alongside the others, Rona was there for Conall, so Lindsay redirected her attention to Graham who had passed out. She felt for a pulse. It was still there. But of course it was otherwise his family would be responding much differently right now. More than that, she suspected if Graham were in real trouble and facing imminent death, Rona would know it and be at his side.

  “Let’s get them back to the caves and out of this weather,” Grant said to Adlin, his voice pained as he eyed Conall. “Aðísla needs to tend to them both.”

  “We should go to the tents on the river’s edge,” Aðísla said. “I can help Graham best closest to his element.”

  Adlin nodded as he helped Conall up and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. In the meantime, Bryce carefully lifted Graham, and they headed that way. It was obvious one hell of a battle had taken place based on the sheer number of fallen on both sides. Wallace joined them, his expression grim but triumphant. He had lost many, but another battle had been won.

  Aðísla saw to Graham first, who would make a speedy recovery if he rested for a day or so then she saw to Conall. Rona stayed outside both tents the entire time, unconvinced based on her dubious expression, that the Viking would tend to them properly.

  Though the winds had died down some, snow still fell steadily as they converged in William’s larger tent. Everyone seemed well enough but very tired as she sat next to Grant. He offered her a warm smile as he squeezed her hand.

  “Good to see you well, lass.” He sighed. “’Twas not an easy battle.”

  “Easy enough for me,” she said softly. “But then we both know you’re talking about Conall and Graham.”

  “Aye.” Grant nodded. “I am verra proud of both, most especially my grandson.”

  “As am I,” Adlin added, pride in his eyes. “I will forever be indebted to Conall for so valiantly protecting my lass.” His grateful eyes went to Milly before his genuine gaze returned to Lindsay. “And of course you as well, lass.”

  “Thank you,” she replied. “You have an amazing family, Adlin.” Her eyes went to Grant then back to him remembering how they had saved her before. “All of you are pretty wonderful.”

  “Aye,” William murmured, his tired eyes on the fire. “If ye werenae here I dinnae know what might have happened.” He looked at Adlin. “Why, after all the skirmishes I’ve fought since Stirling, was a warlock present now? ‘Twas not an important battle by any means.” He frowned, considering Adlin. “Or was it, my friend?”

  “’Twas a battle that needed to happen,” Adlin allowed. “But like the one my kin and I fought south of Stirling Bridge, I dinnae think history will much remember.” He shook his head. “Many of the Sassenach were cast beneath a spell so ‘tis likely they never reported coming here.” A heavy frown settled on his face. “What happened this eve was more a means for evil to weigh us out.” His eyes went to Lindsay. “To see what it might be up against this time.”

  She frowned but was catching on. “Though six months in the past, the next battle we go to is more important, isn’t it?”

  “Aye.” Grant nodded. “William and Robert the Bruce will both be there. ‘Tis a prime opportunity to truly alter Scotland’s history.”

  “But it doesn’t, right?” She narrowed her eyes. “Because if it had, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  “You would like to think,” he conceded. “’Twould be logical.” He shook his head. “But time travel and dark magic are anything but logical. We were sent to this battle first, and the warlock followed. That means he is traveling on our time line, not that which happens naturally.”

  When she frowned, confused, he continued.

  “Because we came here first instead of the Skirmish at Happrew, this is our timeline,” he explained. “This happened first then that, and the same goes for the warlock. So he has the experience of this battle, a far lesser threat to history, to learn about your powers and Conall’s.” His expression grew grim. “Expect him to be far more clever next time around.” He sighed. “And if he succeeds, ‘tis verra doubtful this battle will ever take place. Everything will change altogether.”

  She stared at him, a little baffled. “If that’s the case, and we’re assuming good not evil is directing us, it doesn’t make much sense to have come here first...does it?”

  “Nay,” Grant agreed solemnly. “It doesnae.” His eyes skirted over everyone. “I can only hope there was a method to the madness. That whoever sent us here knows something we dinnae.”

  “Right, because neither you nor Adlin transported us,” she murmured as her eyes went to William. “And nobody knows why you have no recollection of us being at the next battle...the one that technically took place in your past.”

  “That is correct,” Adlin said softly. “But I’m sure we will find out soon enough.”

  Her guess? Adlin or Grant saw to it that William didn’t rem
ember.

  “What happened, Lindsay?” Grant’s voice was soothing as his eyes met hers and he changed the subject. “What happened when you were in that tent with Milly and Conall?” He handed her a skin of whisky. “How did you end up in the enemy camp in much the same way as Milly?”

  She was about to respond but stopped when Conall entered. She wasn’t all that surprised to see him despite his injuries. Adlin and William started to stand, but he shook his head and plunked down in one of the chairs around the fire. He might look pretty beat up, but his chin was still stubbornly notched and his brow furrowed, so he wasn’t all that far off from his usual self.

  Lindsay did her best to even her breathing and ignore her thundering heart. Until that moment, she had not been entirely convinced he would survive his own storm. It was brutal and had killed many. And until that moment she had no idea she cared so much. She frowned and took a swig of whisky as she eyed him. The last thing she wanted to do was feel anything for a man.

  Especially Conall.

  “Well, lass?” Grant asked.

  Startled, she glanced at him. He had asked her a question, hadn’t he?

  “What happened tonight, Linds?” Milly prompted. “How did you end up...wooing the damn warlock?”

  Right. That.

  She debated how much to share but realized as Adlin and Grant watched her intently that lying would be pointless. They would see right through it. So she explained things the best way she knew how after telling them about her ability to enchant.

  “Sometimes, on rare occasions, I see things through the eyes of the victims,” she said softly, uncomfortable sharing so much. “I nearly did with the little girl in Hamilton Castle's great hall, and I believe I did when I first traveled here...something Rona was shooting an arrow at. An animal I believe.” Her eyes drifted to the fire. “Then when the warlock went after Graham, I briefly saw through Graham's eyes.”

  “Yet you were there,” Grant said. “Like Milly, you were there as an astral projection and distracted the warlock. You drew its attention away from Graham on purpose, aye?”