by E. B. Brown
“Oh, yes, I’ve heard tales of the Neilsson Vikings. Drustan Neilsson was once allied to Malcolm McMillan, eldest brother to our Laird Duncan McMillan. When Drustan Neilsson and Malcolm McMillan left, Laird Duncan took control of these lands here in Lochaber. Drustan Neilsson was one of the Five, and I think he was the leader of them all. No other North Man challenged him, and even the Highland Lairds bended to his wishes. There’s been no other so powerful since he left.”
Was it the same Drustan Neilsson he knew to be his Great-Grandfather – the same man who protected the last of the Blooded McMillans and brought them to the beaches of Tsenacommacah in 1594?
“The North Men each hold a Key, but I canna understand what the rest of this says – it looks like their Norse tongue,” Skye said, her tone edged in frustration. Dagr leaned over to look at the page and was struck by the image scrawled onto the parchment.
“This is the rune that sent me here,” he said quietly, catching her hand to stop her when she reached to turn the page. The symbol was unmistakable once he saw it, and memories of that day came rushing back. Malcolm said it would take him where he was meant to be; was it the place they were both meant to be, or only Malcolm?
“I think it says it is the First Key, but I am not certain,” Skye replied. Dagr nodded. The words resembled some facets of ancient Latin, enough to glean a general meaning. It made sense, being that the page was toward the front of the book where the parchment was brittle and the ink was faded.
He tensed as she leaned over the book and pulled her hand away. His eyes locked on a particular phrase, doubting for a moment the meaning.
“Quo dignus es, et consummabitur,” he said. “You will end where you belong.”
“And now you are here,” she replied. Her gaze shifted to meet his.
“So I am,” he said softly.
Her lips parted, her lower lip quivering as a flush rose to her cheeks.
“I – I canna read most of it. It will take time to find a rune that works,” she said. She flipped through the pages, past the First Key, breaking the connection between them. He noticed the way she bit into her lip and the way her fingers shook as she filed through the book. Did she have regrets over her plan to leave? He wondered. Or did she truly wish to erase the moment in time they shared?
“This one says ‘The Fifth Key,'” she said, focusing on a new page. He did not recognize the rune, nor the language. “I think it says it will return you to the place you left from.”
He felt his pulse quicken. Yes, it was what he wanted, what Malcolm had selfishly kept from him – a way back to his time. Yet looking down at the book, all Dagr could think of was that it no longer mattered.
She appeared uncomfortable as well, her voice a soft tremble as she continued to read. “This rune can send ye home. But I – I’m not sure how to use it.”
“It is not so complicated, where I come from,” he said, taking her hands gently away from the book. “My mother had a trinket in her pocket when she traveled through time to my father. It was only a raven, just a tiny thing, yet it placed her where she was meant to be. It was carved with a rune mark on it, made by my kinsmen,” He held her freshly scarred hand between his, tracing the pink line beneath his thumb. The day she cut her palm and clasped their hands, they made a bond, and he recalled it well. His breathing stilled as she reached for him in return, turning his palm over so that she could see his mark.
“From your Bloodstone?” she asked.
He nodded, watching as she ran her fingertips over the Bloodstone scar. Her touch sent heat through his veins, simmering in his chest with each brush of her hand.
“So when you came here, the image of the First Key was enough?”
“It seems that way. My hand fell on the rune mark in the book and it brought me here, but my brother's hand was joined with mine. Yet when my mother traveled, she did not hold the raven. It was in her pocket, from what I recall.”
“Do you think I can travel with only my Bloodstone? Must I have a Key as well? You saw what happened when our blood was joined,” she asked.
He did not want to answer her, for he did not want to give her the tools to leave him. Yet there were already too many untruths between them, too many things he could not reveal to her.
“From what I know, all Blooded Ones can use the Bloodstone to travel. The runes simply help point the way,” he admitted. “It’s too dangerous to travel without a Key. You canna return to a time once lived, I know that as true.”
“I heard tales of meeting oneself in the past,” she agreed.
“Do not consider it,” he warned. He knew how tempting it might be to try to live life again, to return to the past and start anew. It was something he had been forced to consider numerous times since his arrival in Skye’s time. Although he would do everything he could to prevent Skye from doing it, Dagr doubted he would be so strong if he were presented with the chance. After all, if he could prevent Malcolm from coming to her time, she would not be betrothed to his brother – and there would be no conflict. Yet the very idea of manipulating time in such a purposeful manner was one of the very sins his father warned him of. Time travel was not meant to be used for the selfish needs of men, and it was for that reason the Blooded Ones needed the Chief Protectors.
“Do you think our joined blood would make a difference? Could I travel to your time?” she asked, sitting upright.
“I – I don’t know,” he replied. Her face fell, a frown puckering her lips. She rose up on her knees to stand, a frustrated sigh issuing from her lips. He watched her angrily push her skirts out of the way and stumble to her feet, the rank frustration evident.
“But you would not go with me, would ye?” she asked. She grabbed the poker from the hearthside and thrust it into the embers of the dying fire, sending up a burst of black smoke and soot into the air.
The question forced a bitter smile to his lips. He wished for nothing more than to return to his time, with Skye at his side. Yet even if he could convince his wayward brother to return home, how could he claim Skye as his own? Betrothal meant the same thing, no matter what time they lived in.
Dagr followed her to the fireside. He took the iron poker from her hands, reaching carefully around her as she stared into the flames.
“Skye,” he said.
“I’m only an amusement to you, aren’t I?” she asked suddenly, twisting around to face him. He sighed, shaking his head, but she was on a tear and would not be swayed. “Did you leave a woman behind? A wife? Is that why you want me to marry Malcolm, because you have no care for me?”
He placed the poker beside the hearth, acutely aware she looked upset enough to strike him with it.
“There was no woman,” he insisted. When her brows raised and her lips pursed, he wanted to kiss her senseless from the sheer irony of it all. How could she ever think he wanted another woman, when all his waking thoughts belonged to her? Even his dreams were riddled with her image, taunting him every night with the daydream he could not possess.
“Never? You’ve never bedded a woman?” she persisted.
“I canna say that.”
“Then you had a lover. I knew it – I knew there was some reason!” she cried, her eyes glistening. He caught her closed fists as she moved to strike him, his mind spinning with the irony of the situation.
“By the Gods, you are impossible!” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He did not wish to spike her fury any further, but when she tried to twist away he did not let her go. His skin felt suddenly hot beside the flame of the fire, igniting as he held her close against his chest. “Yes!” he said. “Is that what you must hear? That I’ve bedded other women, or that I’ll never want another unless it is you?”
He kissed her hard, raking his mouth over hers. He needed to silence her demons and stifle his own, somehow dampen the fire that possessed him when she was near. It was utter torture to hear her innocent admission of jealousy, her stab at asking him if there was any other woman in his life. How could he explain to her that ye
s, there had been others, yet in his heart he knew she was the last? That before her, he never knew what it meant to love, to want to protect another from harm with his last breath?
“I – I’ve never done that,” she replied, tilting her head to the side when his lips traveled down her pale throat. He grinned, his lips pressed against her skin.
“I know,” he whispered. He laughed out loud when she pulled back, her eyes wide.
“You don’t know anything!” she hissed.
He could not help himself. He threaded his hands through her golden hair, his eyes meeting hers.
“I know your heart,” he said quietly. “As much as I know my own.”
“But what if we never leave this place?” she whispered as she held his gaze. “Will you still know my heart then?”
His thumb brushed over her jaw, his lips tightening in a sad smile.
“Always,” he whispered. “I will always know it.”
They broke away from each other at the rattle of the door latch and the laughter of Skye’s chambermaids in the hallway. Although he wished nothing more than to stay there with Skye in his arms, he let her go. They could not afford to be caught alone together, nor could they risk losing the Leabhar Sinnsreadh. As Skye shoved the book back under her bed, Dagr left through solar.
At least for now, he knew Skye would not try to flee. She would be occupied with deciphering the book until she found a rune she could use, and until then, Dagr needed time to think.
He would not abandon his duty to see his wayward brother safely home. Nor could he stand by and watch Malcolm marry Skye. Unless there was a rune that could make a betrothal disappear, Dagr knew he had only one choice. Despite the threat Malcolm held over his head, Dagr would no longer be held in check.
Malcolm would have to accept the truth.
Chapter 4
Skye
SKYE TUCKED A STRAY strand of her long hair back behind her ear. It was an uncharacteristically warm day for a hunt, but the young Laird demanded it and she had no choice but to follow the next morning. She rode dutifully behind the men, keeping company with the old Laird’s cousin, Mina, who prattled on with incessant chatter despite the fact that Skye made little attempt to acknowledge the conversation. Although she had to admit Kanor was a handsome devil, Skye was not interested in hearing Mina’s daydreams about him.
There was only one thing Skye needed from Kanor Bystrom. Patting the tiny vial inside her pocket, she smiled. As soon as the Norseman drank her linitrop tincture, Skye would steal his knife – and she would find out where the rune on the hilt would take her.
She grinned like a child when they took off in pursuit of game. It was not often that she was permitted to ride freely across the hills, in fact, her uncle rarely allowed her to stray far from the keep. She imagined if she had more opportunity to explore the land, she would become more adept at taking care of herself. By the Gods, she was bone tired of men dictating her every move. It seemed there was always someone watching her, be it her uncle, her cousin, or her betrothed.
She was unaccustomed to riding all day with a hunting party, a pursuit she left behind in adolescence, but she was eager to ride away from Castle Dunloch. Her horse was fit with a muscular neck, which made for a bouncy ride, but she settled quickly into the motion of riding astride as they left the castle.
They passed by stone enclave and entered the woods, keeping to a narrow dirt trail winding through the trees. There was a brisk breeze in the forest, and as it lifted her hair from the nape of her neck, she felt a string of goose bumps run over her flesh. Although her healing feet ached when she pressed them into her stirrups, it still felt pleasant to be outside the keep, and as she took a deep breath, the heady scent of the glen filled her lungs. With her face turned towards the breeze, she let out a long sigh.
Up ahead the riders slowed into a tight pack of stomping horses and irritated bellows, and she heard shouts that the game was lost. Malcolm glanced at her and smiled as she turned her mount around, and she noticed Dagr watching her from afar. When the men slapped their reins and urged their mounts ahead in pursuit, she squeezed her knees to press her horse into a gallop so she might keep up. They stopped abruptly as she caught up to the middle of the pack and Dagr and Malcolm rode up beside her.
“What game do they have?” she asked.
“They tracked a boar,” Dagr replied.
“Stay here, Lady Skye. ‘Tis no place for a woman,” Malcolm suggested.
Skye scowled. “Of course, my lord,” she muttered. “May I return to the castle?”
“If you insist. Dagr will accompany ye. I canna let you go alone.”
“Thank ye,” she replied with a smug smile.
Dagr let out a chuckle as Malcolm rode off with the others. Circling her horse with his own charger, a crooked grin graced his handsome face.
“I suppose they do not let women hunt in this time?” he commented.
“You would be correct,” she sniped.
“Such a waste. I’d say your aim is as good as any man,” Dagr said as his horse continued to corral hers. Finally, his skittish mount allowed hers to pass, and the horses slowed to a brisk walk along the edge of the wood line. It was easy to see he had plenty of experience with horses, skilled enough to command the attention of even a flighty animal. With his steady hand and gentle voice, Skye had no doubt he could control any situation.
“I’d say it is. And I can ride as well as they can, too.”
She tipped her head to the side, shooting him a smile. She could not help but soften at his good humor. There had been so much strife since her return to Dunloch Castle, she longed for a moment of peace. By the way he smiled at her and seemed content to ride beside her, it seemed he felt the same way. Even without speaking much, she enjoyed just being in the same space as him. Was that what it was like, she wondered, to be in love?
Her horse navigated a wide stretch of grass that opened up along the wood line, stretching as far as she could see in both directions into a series of gentle glens that littered the countryside. When Dagr suddenly took off in a gallop, she let a surge of girlish excitement take hold. As he galloped away, she slapped her heels against her willing mount and took off after him. She twisted her hands in her horse’s mane and ducked her head low against his neck, feeling the wind whip through her hair like tiny fingers as the sound of pounding hooves muffled her laughter. Her horse was just as fast as Dagr’s, and it was not long before she caught him and their peals of laughter echoed through the glen.
His horse slid to a stop, and hers responded the same, circling a few times before she was ready to end their fun.
“So they let women hunt, where you are from?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“What else do they let women do?” she asked. “If I lived in your time, could I choose my own husband?”
His brows furrowed and his jaw tightened as he nodded his head, giving his horse a loose rein.
“Most times. My father tried to arrange a marriage for my sister, but she had other ideas.”
“So she chose her husband.”
“In a way. She gave my father no choice.”
He made one of those half-laugh, half-grunt sounds she had heard him utter a few times before when he was amused. Dismounting, he held his horse by one rein and lifted his hand to help her down. She took his offer with a smile, twisting her own reins in her hands as they walked and let the horses rest.
“Did your father arrange your marriage?” she asked.
“I think not,” Dagr grinned. She smiled back, despite the uneasy burn of jealousy in her belly. Did that mean he chose his own partner, or that he was betrothed? By the grin on his face, she wondered if he was not just teasing her.
“Oh,” she mumbled. She would not take his bait. She had already thrown herself at him too many times, and he continued to stay loyal to Malcolm.
“I meant what I said to you,” he said quietly, his voice controlled and even. His blue eyes seemed
cautious, betraying a glimpse of uncertainty, or perhaps bashfulness, both of which confused her considering everything they had been through together.
He pulled their horses to a stop and took her hand. Turning her to face him, he gently ran his fingers down the side of her jaw and neck, stopping only to cup her face.
“I believe you,” she said softly.
“Good,” he replied.
Her throat tightened as he drew her close, his hands twining in her long hair. She dipped her head to his shoulder and rested her head against him, the steady thud of his heart audible to her ear as he rested his lips in her hair. It was enough just to be near him, to be held secure by him, when everything in her world seemed so muddy and confused.
“Tell me about your time. How is it so different?” she said.
“Very well,” he agreed. He loosened his grip and she stepped regretfully back from him. She could hear the cries of the hunters from the woods and the distant squeal of a boar so she knew they were still far enough away that they would avoid being observed. They let the horses trail behind as they walked, occasionally tugging when the hungry animals dipped their heads to snatch a mouthful of grass. Although Dagr walked straight ahead, he gave her all his attention. His head tilted toward her a bit as his dark braid fell over his arm, his words steady but soft and meant only for her ears.
“I think you would like my time,” he said. His blue eyes met hers and held, and she could feel a stirring in her belly as he kept her gaze. He turned away abruptly and looked down at his hands for a moment before he adjusted his reins in his palm, then turned his head forward. “My mother and sister can fight like any man. You remind me of them at times.”
She considered the comment for a moment before she responded. It sounded as if their worlds were alike in many ways, but how could she make him see the fundamental difference? Where he came from, there was no danger to Blooded Ones. No one hunted them, no one forced them to marry men they did not love – and no one slaughtered them when they could no longer bear children. It was a truth she lived with, one that haunted her every thought.