Highland Wolf Shifters of Dundaire 4

by Angelique Armae

  “Why would my brother object? Jarle is a powerful witch with good connections. If there was a problem, Mortimer would not have agreed to let the man camp on land belonging to Castle Dundaire for a whole season. Even you so reason in my brother’s decision on that.”

  “At the time, I thought it best. This is Dundaire, and I am alpha to the entire clan, not just the wolves, but the vampires and witches and others as well. I thought it good diplomacy to make friends with these particular Vikings who showed up. It was better than allowing them to act as marauders and raid our lands. My feelings have since changed.”

  “I do not think Jarle would do Dundaire any harm.” Just as she remembered it would, a queasy sensation now plagued her stomach. “What are your misgivings about him?”

  Bane rolled his head against the wall and looked her way. “I simply dinna trust the man.” He fisted his right hand and raised it to his middle. “It grips me right here. A feeling I canna explain.”

  She knew all too well what Bane meant. If only she could tell him he was right, but her words had to be chosen carefully when speaking to the Medieval man, or she’d alter the future. And maybe even the present. “You thinketh too much.” She hadn’t known just yet about the pack Jarle made with the gods. That disaster wasn’t revealed until tomorrow.

  She gathered the lavender and stood. “Mortimer should be up soon. It’s nearly dusk.”

  “Aye. And I am to join him. He’s promised a good feast for the pack before we return to Wolfsden.” A hint of mischief glimmered in his green eyes. Bane reached for her hand and pulled her back onto the bench. He lifted her fingers to his lips.

  She froze. That kiss was what made her realize Jarle was not the man she wanted to end up with.

  A chill swept through the hall.

  Bane gasped, lifted his lips from her hand. “You know.”

  He hadn’t said that to her in the past.

  Fear punched her soul. “Know what?”

  Her hand shook. She pulled it free from Bane’s grasp.

  “The damn cuff,” he said. “You’re wearing it and I hadn’t given it to you yet. Hell, I hadn’t even made it yet.”

  The lavender slipped off her lap and scattered about the floor at her feet. Bane was not the Medieval man she believed him to be, but rather the current him, which was at this point, the future Bane. This was so not good. “Why are you here?”

  “I think I should ask the same of you.”

  A soft laugh fell from her mouth. She lowered her voice. “I returned to save you from Jarle.”

  “I dinna need saving.”

  “And yet you’ve travelled through time.”

  Bane let out a deep breath, raked his hand through his thick, black hair. The scent of sandalwood permeated the area around their shared bench. “I’m here to do the same for you.”

  “This is unbelievable,” she said. Her man had always been a stubborn creature, but leaving their sons, leaving behind the world he’d created with them, was plain asinine. “You do know you’re risking your life coming back here.”

  “The deed is done. Callen will make a fine alpha.”

  “What do you mean done?” Bane was not dying on this side. Not if she could help it.

  “I cudna physically raise Dundaire. So I came through the portal the only way I knew possible, through imagining it being in its original state. I also gave up my life so the balance of souls would not be disturbed. I canna go back. But I also canna stay here, which means I have no choice but to die during this time period.”

  She jumped up from the bench. “You should have called for me.”

  “And tell you what? That I made a huge mistake that canna be mended? That I bought you with borrowed gold? That me not having the right to marry you in the past, can cause our sons their lives in the present? Na. The only way to fix what I messed up, is to change that damn pack Jarle made with the gods. I had to come back.”

  Her mother’s people were not going to talk to him. They never did accept her marrying a wolf. Bane may be immortal, but he was still part human. Her own mother couldn’t even remain with her father because he too, was part human. That stain on her soul had affected her own life. The gods were harsher with her, limited her powers. “You do remember my mother has never spoken to you. What makes you think her people will listen now?”

  “For the sake of our sons.”

  “For our part human sons? They are not even listed on the roster of family members in the Otherworld.”

  “Your mother must care something for them.”

  She didn’t comment. In all her years in the Otherworld, never once had her mother asked about the boys. Bane was too much of the earthly plane to understand. He was also too goodhearted. He cared about their sons. And her. “We can count the gods out, so if you plan on still helping the boys, then we need to come up with a better option.”

  “But I don’t have one.”

  She paced. Cold from the stone floor crept up into her silk slippers and froze her feet. A deep breath escaped her.

  “I’ll kill Jarle,” Bane said.

  Aine froze. “Now I know you’re insane.”

  He shook his head. “’Tis no joke, wumman. If Jarle dies before Rorik even thinks of sacking Dundaire, then you will not have to break your engagement to him and he will never have hexed Callen’s leg.”

  To save her son all those years of pain, she’d do anything. But killing Jarle, since the Jarle who was here now was already dead, was too huge of an action to take. The future would be altered. “We don’t know what that would cost Callen.”

  “He would have lived a life free of agony if I had killed Jarle when I should have.”

  A beep emanated from his sporran.

  “What is that noise?”

  “The alarm on my bloody phone. But I left it behind at the dig site.” Bane reached into his sporran. “It’s still here.” He pulled out the phone and tapped the screen, then turned it in her direction.

  An image of Callen sitting next to their son Ulrich, filled the phone’s surface. She loved seeing her boys.

  The image moved. It was a video, not a plain photo. Little Fiona entered the picture. “That’s Ulrich’s daughter.”

  “Aye,” Bane said. “She may be our only granddaughter, but she keeps the pups on their toes and they deserve it.”

  Her gaze remained on the screen.

  “Wave hello, Fiona,” Callen said.

  Aine gasped and covered her mouth. Tears clouded her eyes.

  “What?”

  The confused look on Bane’s face told her he’d never known she couldn’t hear the boys in the Otherworld.

  She looked away. “Please, put the phone back.”

  “What did I do, wumman?”

  She pivoted back. “I’ve never heard Callen, nor our other sons, speak before.”

  “But I know ye have watched us. You said you would always be able to see us.”

  “Seeing is not the same as hearing.”

  Bane was on his feet in seconds. “Aw Christ, Aine. You should have told me this years ago, found a way to let me know. Maybe I could have done something.”

  “It is what the gods required of me when we made our deal with them.”

  “And you never thought to tell me this, back then?”

  There was nothing he could have done to change it. “I know you, Bane MacHendrie. You would have insisted I remain on this plane and we take our chances against Jarle. I couldn’t let you risk your life or that of our sons. What I agreed to give up was necessary.”

  Bane rubbed his temple. “You do realize by me having shown you that video, we’ve changed things.”

  “You shouldn’t have brought the phone to the dig site. Maybe if you’d have left it at Wolfsden Keep, it wouldn’t have somehow followed you.”

  He swung around and punched his fist into the wall. The sound of cracking bone echoed.

  Bane turned back to glare at her. His nostrils flared.

  She’d never seen h
im this angry. “Okay, I admit that was a bit harsh on my part, especially considering I’m just as guilty considering the bracelet. And I’m sorry about that, but I honestly didn’t give the cuff a thought.” Her heart pounded.

  Bane took a step closer to her.

  She inched back.

  “I am not mad about the bracelet. I am angered because at the moment not only do I want to kill Jarle, but I want to make him pay for all that ye have lost. And mark my words, wumman, I will.”

  “But he’s already dead.”

  Bane fisted his hands even tighter. He punched the air. “Then I will at least torment him until he bends my way. I can be verra good at that.”

  Bane stormed passed her and exited the hall.

  The sound of a fist hitting rock, several times, reverberated through the corridor.

  She was going to have to bandage up her hulking, six-foot-four wolf before the night ended.

  Coming back to Castle Dundaire was not going well at all.

  Chapter Five

  Bane paced the bedchamber. At least he’d come back to familiar settings, which was a bit comforting, though it would have been better if his reason for returning was one other than this damn fiasco with Jarle.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  The scent of lavender lingered on his shirt sleeve. Seeing Aine was thrilling, but his phone traveling with him made this whole mess a degree worse.

  What the heck type of time travelling did he do that his phone followed him? The stupid thing should have remained at the dig site back in Dundaire. But it hadn’t and now he might have altered things beyond repair.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Come.”

  Aine entered the room, a wash bowl carried in her arms. Vapors of steam rose from the water as a sloshing noise accompanied her every step across the chamber. Drips of water splashed to the floor.

  “What are you doing here, wumman? If Jarle finds you in my private rooms, he’ll go on the warpath.”

  “Who is going to tell him? Certainly not me.”

  He sighed. “A servant might have seen you in the corridor and if memory serves me right, Mortimer had a problem with a few spies.”

  “If memory serves me right, no one ever tried anything with you, my big, strapping wolf.”

  She still had a thing for him, even after all these years. “It’s good to see you still fancy me. It’s been a long time since we’ve been together.”

  A blush tinted her cheeks. A nice rosy color, just as he’d remembered.

  Aine sat on the bed, her plain brown skirt looking quite simple against the blue and green embroidered blanket. She placed the bowl on the nightstand and then patted the mattress. “Sit.”

  “You do realize you’re being verra forward for a proper wumman of the time.”

  “I’m only here to wash your knuckles.”

  He glanced at his hand, his flesh cut open and bruised. “They’ll heal in a few hours. Trust me on that, they go through more when I shift.”

  “Still, we cannot take the chance of something happening to you. Preternatural diseases were rampant in the past and you hadn’t punched the walls back then. Besides, until they do heal, you’ll have to explain yourself and who knows what else that will change. Your wounds need to be mended by the time you join Mortimer. Now get your butt on the bed and let me see what I can do to quicken the healing process.”

  That was an order not even the gods could ignore. He sat on the mattress and scooted closer to Aine, her feisty spirit a verra pleasant thing.

  She pulled her hair to one side.

  The scent of lavender teased his senses. God, but he loved the way his wife smelled. Always did.

  “Let me have your hand.”

  Stretching out his arm, he placed it in her lap. The soft wool of her skirts caressed his palm, sent a tingle up his limb.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Aine said.

  They were in enough trouble as it was. “Do I want to hear this?”

  She frowned. The mocking gesture forced him to concentrate on her lush lips and think back to all the times he’d cornered her in the castle’s dark niches and had stolen kisses from her. What he’d give to kiss her again now.

  “If taking the gold from my father is an issue, what if you can get Jarle to agree to some other form of settlement?” Aine wiped a wet cloth over his knuckles, her movement slow and teasing.

  He could lose his mind to her touch.

  She cupped a handful of water and drizzled it over his open flesh. A stinging sensation spread through his veins. “Shite, wumman, what the hell do you have in there?”

  “A blend of herbs that will disinfect the wounds.” She ran the cloth over his cuts a second time.

  He jerked his hand.

  She held him steady. “What do you think about my plan?”

  As if he could concentrate with that burning sensation gnawing at his knuckles. He focused his thoughts elsewhere. “It’s dangerous. Jarle is a greedy bastard and gold and silver is all he knows.”

  “But it can work.”

  “Aye. It can work if the bastard will agree to it.” He’d have to figure a good settlement in place of the gold he was short. “I can always challenge the man.”

  Aine pressed the cloth close against his knuckles.

  “Ow.” He tugged his hand away. “What was that for?”

  “If you think I will sit by and let you take up arms against that Viking, you are sorely mistaken.” She stood and threw the cloth into the bowl.

  “But it is what the man knows. He likes a good fight.”

  “And he likes to win.”

  His heart sank. There was nothing worse than hearing your wumman think you weak. “Are ye saying I canna win against Jarle?”

  “I’m saying you are daft. Dueling will not help the situation if you get yourself killed before we can even spend a night together. You’re not dead like Jarle is.” She smoothed her skirts, ran her wet hands over the fabric. “I’ll talk to my mother and see if she can get the Viking to accept a lower price.”

  “No.” He rose. “I will not have you cheapen yourself. I will find a way to pay the price for your hand in marriage.”

  Aine grabbed the wash bowl. “Just remember our goal is to insure our sons are born. Jarle coming back here jeopardized that. Don’t you go do something to risk them, too.” She turned and headed for the door.

  Bane didn’t comment. A duel was the best option as it was what Jarle understood. He was a dangerous, vile beast and there was no way he was going to agree to a lesser price when he already wasn’t getting the wife he wanted.

  Time to brush up on his sword skills.

  Aine can be mad all she wanted, but in the end, she will come to see his way was the best way.

  ~~o0o~~

  Bane entered the great hall and went straight for the empty spot on the wood bench to the right of where Mortimer sat at the head of the main table.

  Laughter and hearty chatter filled the hall, as the vampire’s men strolled in, each finding his place either at one of the two long wood tables that lined the room, or grabbing a tankard of mead and gathering around the large hearth.

  The crackle of a fire added to the room’s noise.

  He lowered himself onto the bench.

  “About time you showed your ugly face, wolf.” Mortimer slapped him on the shoulder and then pushed a silver tankard in his direction. The scent of blood wine filled his space.

  It was good being home, being back in a time where his pack and that of Mortimer’s vampiric coven mingled as one happy group. Modern times scattered the clans. Now he only saw the whole of them on holidays.

  He lowered his voice and leaned in. “You aren’t really going to let your sister marry that Viking, are you?” He lifted the cup Mortimer had sent his way and downed a good gulp of the beverage. The taste of grape coupled with a tinny, metallic essence coated his tongue.

  He lifted his gaze above the tankard’s rim.

  Mortimer’s blue
eyes went cold. “Why are you concerned with what Aine does?”

  Lowering the drinking vessel, he silently counted to three. “Because the bastard does not deserve your sister.”

  “And you do?”

  He hadn’t even asked for her hand in marriage yet, but quite frankly, yes, he was better than the wicked Jarle. And he was a Scot. That alone should make him more acceptable in Mortimer’s view. But the steely glare the vampire was giving him said otherwise. “I would treat Aine right. She’d have a proper castle all her own, giving her a good home base, unlike what that bloody nomad is offering. He’s even blatantly admitted to not having been to his native land in several years. Is that the type of life you want for your sister? Constantly traveling with a bunch of rough no-gooders? And let’s not forget about the pillaging and all that comes with that fiasco. Those damn Vikings are bad news. Don’t bring one of them into the family.”

  Mortimer leaned back in his chair. He folded his hands and kept silent.

  The boisterous men who had gathered around the tables also went suddenly quiet.

  “Leave us,” Mortimer ordered. His firm look forced the men to scatter. Several tankards fell to the floor, clanking against the stone.

  Once the chamber emptied, Mortimer sat forward. “You need to guard your tongue, wolf. Castle Dundaire has been infiltrated by at least three spies, but I don’t know which of my men have been turned.”

  “And me inquiring about Aine affects this how?”

  “Jarle is after something. I believe he that earl of his, Rorik the Rotten, are planning an attack on Dundaire. And with my father ill from that damn preternatural blood poisoning, I don’t know how long the man will live. Maybe he has a year or two, at most.”

  “Surely the Vikings will not attack while the MacDougal still lives, will they? Is he not on amicable terms with the Norse gods?”

  “Aye, he is. But if he takes a turn for the worst, will his allies rally behind me when I bring them war on the eve of my ascension as head of this coven? I think not. At least not all of them will welcome me. We’ve only just made one year from that last horrendous supernatural war. Starting another one would divide my coven, which will also divide your pack as the coven is part of it.”