by E. B. Brown
“Pleasure to meet ye, Dagr. My name is Skye. I’m afraid I am on my way home, so if ye please, I wish to continue alone,” she replied. Trying to contain the last shreds of her dignity, she brushed the leaves from her dress, clutched her slippers to her chest, and walked away.
Her departure lasted about three paces before he grabbed her arm. Twisting around with a screech, the plaid hood fell back off her head as she confronted him.
“Unhand me,” she demanded. Her eyes widened when he did not budge.
“Tell me where we are. What place is this?” he replied, ignoring her request.
“I need not tell you anything!” she snapped, giving her arm a firm yank. His eyes drifted downward, and before she could berate him for staring down her bodice, she realized what he was so fixated on. Her Bloodstone pendant.
“Stop it!” he said as he grasped her other shoulder and held tight. He avoided the kicks she aimed at his ankles but her knee to his groin found the mark. When he buckled over and released her, she took off in a sprint, which in consideration of her wounded feet, was not very fast.
The plaid around her shoulders bunched into a dangerous mess around her hips as she struggled to keep it away from her legs, but the long piece of fabric was not intended for a small woman to wear. She was trying to unclasp her silver brooch to release it when he tackled her, taking them both to the ground in a heap of tangled cloaks and flailing limbs.
“Stop yer fighting, I willna harm you!” he ground out between clenched teeth. If the wind had not been knocked from her lungs, she would have argued with him. Instead, she stared defiantly back into his raging blue eyes, his face entirely too close to hers as her arms were pinned to his chest.
“Get off me, you lout,” she squeaked, the loudest sound she could make with his body pressing her into the ground.
“You have a Bloodstone. Who are you? Do you know how to use it?” he demanded. When she squirmed and released one hand to claw at his face, he snatched her wrist and held it above her head. “I doona wish to harm ye – I swear it. I need your help. I’m a Blooded One, same as ye.”
“You lie,” she insisted. She knew all five of the Blooded Families, and she was certain there was no man that looked like him among them. Why would he make such a claim?
“I will release you – if ye promise not to run again. Here. See?” he said, pulling back his vest and cloak to show her the Bloodstone pendant around his neck. Although he had loosened his grip, when he parted his garment it placed his bare chest against her hands, sending a flush over her cheeks. Despite the brisk night, his skin was warm, his body radiating heat where it joined hers. She swallowed hard and pushed at him, relieved when he finally let her go and she could sit up. They sat beside each other in silence, the rhythm of their jagged breaths the only sound between them.
“Who are you?” she whispered after she regained her composure. She had never been in such close proximity to a man in such a manner before. Her uncle kept her closely guarded throughout her childhood, ensuring that she would always remain in his control until she was old enough to be of use to him. Once she reached the marriageable age, she grew up exceedingly fast, however, and with a brisk story from her nursemaid about what it meant to be a man’s wife she was inducted into the adult world. She could only imagine what her uncle would do if he found her on the ground beneath a man.
“I told you my name. ‘Tis Dagr. It seems I followed my kinsman to this time and I must find him.”
“But what family do ye hail from? I know the Five Blooded Families, and I know ye are not one of them,” she replied. He sighed, running his hands through his dark hair as he bowed his head.
“My head is still spinning from the travel, and yer hitting me dinna help any,” he said. She bit back her harsh retort when she saw his lips curl into a wry grin.
“Well, I’ll hit ye harder if ye keep pestering me,” she replied.
He smiled. “I willna pester you again. You have my word.”
She wanted to believe him, yet she suspected he was avoiding her questions. “Who is your kin?” she asked.
“I left my family behind in sixteen forty-eight. We live in the Virginia Colony in a place called Basse’s Choice.”
“Ye traveled back two hundred years? I knew you dinna come from Scotland! Is it England then ye hail from?”
“No,” he said quietly. “If you say we’re in Scotland, that means I live across the Great Sea. In my time, Englishmen made colonies there and live beside the First People.”
“The First People?” she asked, captivated by his story.
He had an easy manner of speaking once she grew accustomed to his accent, and the tale of where Dagr came from was fascinating. With a tense reply he told her the Powhatan were the First People, and that the English were only the Tassantassas strangers that said they owned the land. He explained that his father was born a Paspahegh of the Powhatan tribe, and how his uncles were full-blooded Paspahegh warriors. She noticed Dagr straightened his back proudly as he spoke of them, adding that he resembled his Powhatan kin so much that the English often assumed he was a warrior.
Growing up sheltered by her uncle, she had been well schooled in the history of the Five Bloodlines, but she was taught that all of the families were of Scottish descent. The power of time travel ran through the bloodlines, passed on by the women to their children in varying degrees of potency. Newborn blood was so powerful it could heal the dead, and as such, both childbearing women and infants were a coveted asset within the clans.
Dagr, however, came from a place more than two hundred years in the future, in a land yet to exist in her time. As he spoke of growing up in a village mixed with people from multiple tribes, he leaned his elbow on his bent knee and drew pictures in the sand with his finger. The outline of a small town soon formed, with a huge gathering place in the middle he called the Noroanveror Skali.
“The Northern Hall,” she noted. It was a Norse word she knew well. He nodded, seeming pleased with her reply.
“My father is half Norse, half Paspahegh,” he said. “His Norse grandfather sent a longboat through time and brought his people to Virginia many years ago. I was born in the Norse Village, but now my family joined with the English and we live in a place called Basse’s Choice.”
“In your time…is it common for men to be Blooded Ones? ‘Tis common for women here, but rare for a man in this time,” she said. Her head was spinning with trying to make connections. Surely, he was linked to one of the Five Blooded Families somehow. The records were carefully kept by the families, noting every generation and what strength of power each line possessed.
“I do not know of any others, beyond my kin,” he replied. He pulled his hand away from the sand, his eyes meeting hers. “I came here to find my brother. He’s a fool who should not have tampered with his Bloodstone, and it’s my fault he ended up here.”
“Oh, I see,” she said quietly. When he smiled she could not help but smile back, especially with the way the wide grin made his solemn face seem suddenly boyish for a moment.
“So tell me who you’re running away from, and what you mean to do with your Bloodstone.”
Skye lowered her gaze away from his and wrapped her arms around her bent knees with a sigh. What danger could there be in telling him? There had been no one to talk to immediately prior to her betrothal ceremony when she found her mother’s letter, and in the span of a few moments she made the decision to flee the only family she had ever known. The consequence of her actions meant she was utterly alone in the world for the first time in her life.
“Today I found a letter my mother left me. She died when I was only a child, and my memories of her are few,” she replied. She knew there was a tremor in her voice, but she felt stronger as she told the story aloud. “I will spare ye the details, but suffice to say her words caused me to reconsider my impending betrothal. When I saw ye, I feared ye might be one of my uncle’s men sent to fetch me.”
“Oh, aye?” he said w
ith a gutteral snort. “For all the good I might do lying flat on my arse!”
She joined him in laughter, agreeing with his observation.
“I imagine your future husband is none too pleased with your decision?” he asked. Her giggles faded quickly to a nervous hiccup and she leaned her forehead down upon her bent knees.
“Nay. He will not accept it. There is no breaking this contract, and I will never take an easy breath until I am far away. My mother told me where to find a Key, so I shall retrieve it and do what I must.”
She assumed he knew what a Key was, so she was surprised when he raised a questioning brow.
“A Key?”
“A rune mark, one that will let me travel to wherever I wish. I know where the Seventh Key is hidden. I care not where it takes me, only that I leave this time,” she said. Her plan was admittedly risky, but she had no other option. After reading the rest of her mother’s words and knowing what her fate would be if she married, there was little else left for Skye to do.
“I see,” he replied. He stood up and stepped away from her, his gaze scanning the forest. Glimmering fingers of moonlight reached through the limbs above them, casting a glow upon the profile of his face. She saw his throat contract and he dipped his head as he ran his fingers through his dark hair. It was the gesture of a worried man, one that she had often witnessed on the faces of others.
“So you see, I must be on my way,” she said.
He turned his head her way and held out one hand, which she gladly took. As she put her weight on her feet and tried to stand she let out a frustrated groan. Pain shot through her lower limbs, sending a rush of tears to her eyes which she hurriedly brushed away.
“Of course,” he murmured as he swept her into his arms. Cradling her as easily as he might hold a child, he walked over to the shelter of the Rowan trees where he lowered her gently to the ground. “Seems we have need of each other,” he said softly, kneeling beside her. He took her wounded foot carefully in his hand, peering at the cut in her sole.
“I can manage,” she said quickly.
“You canna walk, yer feet are a bloody mess. My feet, ye see, are quite reliable,” he smirked. She scowled. She knew perfectly well she might not get far, but that was not going to stop her from getting away. She would make her way to The Seventh Key if she had to crawl.
“Must ye make light of my situation?” she shot back.
“Oh, for shame, no! I only propose to help ye.”
“Do ye?” she asked, suspicious.
He took the heavy cloak he wore and placed it over her, tucking it gingerly around her feet.
“I shall take ye to the key, if you will show me which rune will send me back to my own time. I will need it once I find my brother.”
Skye made her impulsive decision on the tail of a moment’s thought, as she did most decisions in her life. Nodding her acknowledgment, she was happy to let him pick her up again.
As long as they continued forward, she would play along. By the time they recovered the Seventh Key her feet would feel better, and she would thank him for his troubles before she used it to leave. She bit back the scream of her conscience as he carried her, filling the night with a flood of incessant chatter.
She had to protect herself. There was no need to inform him that the Seventh Key could be used only one time – or that she intended to be the one who would use it.
Chapter 3
Lochaber
1435.
SHE WAS NOT HEAVY in his arms. Only a sprite of a girl, her stature was slight for one so willful. Dagr enjoyed the stories she shared from her childhood, especially since it seemed to comfort her to speak of her mother. When she spoke her face glowed, her mane of golden tresses bouncing around her pink cheeks as she prattled. Despite her endless chatter and the way she clutched his neck when he stumbled, her cheek resting on his shoulder felt somewhat pleasant. Although he was no stranger to the pull of attraction, feeling her body pressed against his chest made him quite warm and soon he decided it was best to stop.
“’Tis a good a spot as any,” he announced as they approached a riverbank. He placed her down on a patch of soft moss.
“We must be near the Loch,” she said. He kneeled in the dirt and splashed the cool water on his face, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes. Time travel was no easy task. He could see why his sister wanted no part of it, and why his parents wished to hide the secret of their power. Going through time felt akin to being torn apart, and although he knew he needed to find Malcolm and return, Dagr was not happy about the means of transport.
“Loch?” he asked. He wanted to ask her to speak slower, but he was reluctant to appear dim-witted. Most of what she said was decipherable, but she uttered numerous phrases that he could not guess upon. She made an apologetic wave with one hand and looked toward the river.
“Oh, the loch. The water. This river must feed into it. Loch Arkaig, I mean.”
Dagr let the water pool into his cupped hands and gave it a sniff. It did not smell rancid, and when he took a gulp and it ran down his throat, it chilled him deep in his belly. Once he quenched his thirst, he filled the small drinking bladder from his belt and offered it to Skye. He watched with some amusement as she gulped it greedily, dripping a fair amount of it down her pale throat.
“Did ye not think to pack a few supplies when ye ran away?” he asked with a grin. Holding the bladder with two hands, she paused to shoot him a quick glare.
“I dinna plan to run away, if that’s what yer asking,” she shot back. She brushed the back of her hand over her wet lips. “I’ll get by just fine, thank you.”
He nodded in agreement, keeping the hint of a smile on his face. She was a stubborn one. For all her protestations, she was clearly grateful for the water and a bit of bread he shared with her from his satchel. One might think her spoiled at first notice, but as the hours wore on, he realized she simply knew little of the world beyond the confines of her home. Although she was a marriageable woman, she still had an aura about her that made her seem more innocent than her years.
Dagr waved her off when she offered him the last bit of bread. He spread her wool plaid on the ground since it seemed the largest of the garments between them, giving them a barrier between the grass and their skin. He felt no shame in admitting he needed a few hours of rest; his body ached with the strain of traveling through time and he would be no good to either of them if he did not recover.
“The way ye ran from – is that the closest village?” he asked. So entranced with the tenuous game between them, he had failed to consider how he might find Malcolm. Skye called the land the Highlands, and for all he knew Malcolm might be lying in a loch somewhere, injured or dead. Yet Dagr refused to allow those fears to surface. It was a foreign land and a different time than they were accustomed to, but Malcolm was just as stubborn as the young woman lying next to Dagr. If he knew anything about his brother, he was sure Malcolm would find the closest hint of civilization and make his plan from there.
“Yes,” she said softly. She rolled onto her side and he could see her face in the glow of the moonlight. Dawn would come soon, but for now the last tendrils of night’s mask reached out to shelter them. “If you follow this river north, you will soon find Glen Burnie. ‘Tis the town near Dunloch Castle.”
“Thank ye. I imagine I will look there for my brother. Once I help you find the key, of course.”
She nodded. Her brown eyes softened with the edge of exhaustion, her tiredness apparent as she yawned.
“Of course,” she agreed. “But Dagr?”
“Hmm?”
“When we wake, I will walk. Ye canna carry me forever.”
He rolled over onto his back. “If you say so,” he replied.
The echo of a splash roused him some time later from his sleep. It took him a few moments to gather his senses as the glen came into focus. Although his homeland was beautiful in its own right, the Highland hills around them offered a stunning view. Never had he seen suc
h green fields or rolling hills where one might lose a dozen men for no way to see through the mist. It gave them protection, but he was aware it also sheltered any of Skye’s kin who might be looking for her. Once he cleared his head from the remnants of sleep, he realized they must move on. They had lingered too long.
Sky was not beside him. Sitting at the edge of the riverbank on a flat rock, he could see she was busy examining her feet. Her hair was pulled back in a knot at her nape, but a few tendrils drifted against her cheek in the gentle breeze. By the Gods, she was a vision, he thought. He would not be surprised to see an army sent to recover her for the foolish man who let her go.
“Better?” he asked as he kneeled down next to her. She shrugged in a non-committal manner, but he could see her mouth set in a grimace. When he took her foot in his hand she made a muffled cry and straightened her back. “Easy,” he murmured. Taking his drinking bladder from his belt, he poured the cool water over her wound until it was clean. He rested her ankle on his bent knee and took a corner of his cloak to dry her skin, but she placed her hand over his to stop him.
“No, it’s too beautiful. You canna use it that way,” she said. He looked down at where she held his wrist, then back up to her soft brown eyes.
“’Tis only a cloak. Let me use it for some good purpose, at least,” he replied. His cloak was no finer than the plum velvet gown she wore, and if he had known her intention when she reached for the edge of her shift he would have stopped her. She ripped a piece of white fabric from her cotton slip and handed it to him.
“Mine was torn already. No need to ruin your garment as well.”
He nodded, feeling as if his heart was stuck in his throat as he held her now exposed ankle. Wrapping the fabric around her foot, he tucked it gently in place to secure the end. Although he grew up in a culture that felt no shame over the human body, he also knew enough of English customs to feel a stirring in his blood. Beneath his hand her pale skin was smooth, curving delicately to her calf where his fingers briefly paused. Did she consider him a lout for touching her in such an intimate manner? By the way she swallowed and bit down on her lower lip he imagined not, but he quickly removed his hand anyway.