Cerise turned in her chair “Yes, most of it anyway.”
“He said, and I remember this clearly, that I was from aristocracy but it was so many generations back that our family had forgotten.”
“I seem to recall you telling me that. Go on. Did you find something?”
“Yes. It says in here,” he tapped the book with a long finger, “that the MacKinnon’s claim descendants from the royal family of Kenneth MacAlpine, or Cinaed mac Ailpin, son of Alpin. He was the thirty-fourth King of Dalriada. He professed himself as the fist King of the Picts and Scots. That was in 843 AD.”
“Oh my,” Cerise exclaimed. “We are royalty of sorts.”
Drace read on, “A long line of rulers can claim descent from him. If there is dispute over him being the first king of Scotland, he does have claim to founding the dynasty that ruled for much of the medieval period.
Drace rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking. Finally he looked at Cerise, “When I was in Kismera, I always had in the back of my mind that I wasn’t the match for Ki her father would have selected. Does that make sense?”
“Not of high enough rank or quality for the family?” Cerise suggested. “You know that’s not true, even if you had descended from a MacAlpin’s stable boy.”
“I know. It’s hard to explain the feeling. Guess you’d have to be in that situation.” He returned his attention to the book and she went back to her email.
“You still want to go to Culloden tomorrow?” Drace asked a while later.
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Some men from Clan MacKinnon were with the Clan Chattan Regiment during that battle. They were in the centerline. Later, after the defeat, the seventy-year-old chief of the MacKinnon’s hid the prince and helped him escape. The chief spent four years on a prison ship for his aid.”
“Interesting,” Cerise said and then yawned. “Sorry.”
Drace rolled off her bed. He took his book and kissed her on the top of her head. “Good night, C,” he said and went to his room.
It was a gray morning when Drace and Cerise arrived at Culloden Battlefield, both dressed in jeans, boots, and warm sweaters.
Cerise noticed that Drace had been fidgety and distracted all morning. He changed the subject every time she asked him what was wrong.
They went to the Visitor Center first and spent a good part of the morning there, exploring all the exhibits, going to the gift shop, and then a meal at the restaurant.
Once outside, the pair walked the park and viewed the different points of interest and history. They stopped for sometime in front of the Memorial Cairn, which stood twenty feet high. From there, Drace walked with Cerise down the road where the graves of the clans were located, looking for the MacKinnon’s stone marker.
Drace looked up from one stone and saw that Cerise had tears in her eyes.
“This is so sad. I can’t help but think of those poor men, starving, outnumbered. They were so brave,” she commented.
Then they walked to the battleground and Drace stopped so suddenly Cerise bumped into him. “Sorry,” he murmured, his eyes riveted to the moor.
Cerise stood in the bleak place and observed Drace. His left hand move at his side and he repeated the motion unconsciously several times before Cerise realized what he was doing. His hand would be resting on the hilt of his sword if he were wearing one. She looked up at his face and saw he was pale and had a haunted look. She placed her hand on his arm and felt him trembling so hard he was practically vibrating.
“Please don’t touch me right now, Cerise,” he whispered, his voice low and thick.
She realized that he shook with suppressed violence and quickly let go of him. “Drace, you’re scaring me,” she said, looking to see if anyone was near them. Luckily, they stood off to themselves for the time being.
“I can hear them screaming,” he said softly as the voices of the Highlanders continued roaring in his head.
He was unable to look away. He saw them as clearly as if he had been there. He made an involuntary noise and one of the Highlanders turned to look at him, sword raised, kilt swirling around his knees, before an English soldier stuck a bayonet in his stomach. The Scot screamed and then went down as the English soldier jerked free his bayonet and ran on. Drace knew he had just seen the death of his MacKinnon ancestor.
He looked down at the man on the ground and the blood that soaked into the moor. He heard his name being called and his head jerked back up. Cearan was running toward him, sword ready as he went after the English soldier who had killed the Scot. He never made it to his target as several warriors from the Southern forces took him down.
Drace shook his head as the two battles merged in his mind, Highlanders and Werre. “Brother,” he heard Cearan calling to him. “Come back to us.”
Cearan raised a hand in a pleading gesture from where he lay on the ground and then let it fall. His hand fell over the body of the MacKinnon man.
“Drace!” came a sharp voice beside him and his hands clenched into fists, ready to attack this new threat.
Cerise saw this and knew better than to touch him. Drace’s face was paper white under his tan, his expression tortured. She took an involuntary step back.
Slowly, the visions and the screams left him, but the iron smell of blood still filled his nostrils. Drace blinked and then he was seeing the damp barren moor of Culloden. His knees threatened to buckle and he reached for Cerise.
“Drace?” she questioned as she took his arm. “What happened?”
His eyes still haunted, he looked straight at her. “I’m going home,” he stated.
Cerise got a better grip on his arm. “We’ll go back to the hotel right now.”
“No, home. I need to go home.” He was pale but more composed.
Cerise knew from his determined expression not to contradict him. “We will go home, Drace. I promise. But we have to go to the hotel first so I can book a flight, okay?”
Drace came to total awareness and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
Cerise moved her hand from his arm and took his hand. “ Are you alright now?”
Drace took one last look at the battlefield and another tremor ran through him. “I doubt I’ll ever be alright again,” he said. He put his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker, pulled it closer around him, and walked away.
Chapter Forty-Three
IT WAS A WARM DAY in early October. Warm enough that Drace, working alone in the stable that housed the new horses, had stripped down to a short sleeve t-shirt and worn Levis. He cleaned and rebedded the stalls while the horses were turned out in their pastures.
Cerise strolled in wearing a bright floral print dress and crimson high heel shoes. She stopped in front of the stall where Drace was spreading fresh shavings.
Drace looked up and then leaned on his pitchfork. “A bit overdressed for barn duty,” he observed dryly.
She shook her head. “Ha, ha!” she said sarcastically. “Just came back from town and thought you might like your mail.”
Cerise watched as he flipped through the small stack, then stopped and turned a postcard over to read it.
He had lost some weight since they’d returned from Europe and had become quiet and withdrawn. Stress showed on his face. Cerise knew he wasn’t eating or sleeping well, and judging from the odd times of night she woke and saw his light on, he was having nightmares often. She was worried about him but didn’t have a clue how to help.
Drace had finished the postcard and raised a brow at one envelope in particular then took the stack and tucked them in the back pocket of his jeans.
“I need to finish this so I can bring the horses in,” he said bluntly and went back to spreading.
“Sure. I’ll see you later,” she replied and walked back down the center aisle.
“Cerise!” Drace called after her, making her pause. “Thanks for getting my mail.”
“No problem,” she said as she continued out of the barn.
When he finished
with the horses for the day, he walked to his house and made a sandwich, which he ate but didn’t taste. Then he showered, combed out his wet hair, and stood looking at his reflection for a moment. His hair had grown out and he considered cutting it short again, become a more civilized looking man.
A vision of the MacKinnon he had seen at Culloden flashed through his mind, hair so like Drace’s. No, a voice said in his head, you are as you should be.
He sat on the edge of his bed in his underwear and flipped through the mail again, wondering whether he would sleep that night. There were two bills in the pack, a couple of pieces of junk mail, and the postcard. It was from Joe in Las Vegas, letting him know he and Candy had finally tied the knot.
He gave a little laugh at that. Joe had been a bit of a player when it came to women. But when it came to Candy, she had led him by his balls. Drace guessed Joe’s heart had finally followed. He made a note to send them a wedding gift and a note of congratulations.
The last envelope he paused over, mixed with anticipation and dread. It was from Maggie Shaffer, the archeologist he had emailed from Paris. He had forgotten he had given her his home address.
He checked the postmark and saw the letter had been mailed from Egypt. She had been on site as Cerise had suggested. He took a deep breath, swung his legs onto the bed, leaned against the headboard, and opened the envelope. It was a short note in small flowing script. A few grains of sand fell from the folds and there was a partial ring on it as if she put a coffee mug on the corner to hold the paper down.
Drace brushed at his chest and read. Maggie stated she would be back in Washington D.C. in two weeks from that date and invited him to call to discuss his interest in her book. There was a phone number followed by her signature and that was it. Drace looked at a calendar and saw she should be in D.C. now.
Drace checked his alarm clock: nine-thirty. He wondered if it was too late to call. Deciding to risk it, he reached for his cell phone and, checking the note for the number, dialed. It rang three times and then a woman with a voice like whiskey, hot and smooth, answered. “Hello?”
“Is this Maggie Shaffer?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“This is Drace MacKinnon. I just received your note today. I hope I’m not disturbing you this late.”
“Oh no, I was just going over some notes from our last dig. I’m glad to hear from you.”
Drace heard papers shuffling in the background.
“You said you wanted to discuss my interest in your findings,” he said.
“Yes. Honestly, I find it odd that someone like you would be interested at all.”
Her comment miffed him. “Someone like me? What do you mean by that?”
“Actually, I’ve met you before although it was a brief encounter,” she said. “A girlfriend took me to Vegas for a vacation on my birthday a couple of years ago. I have a silver bell that the Black Knight gave me.”
“I see,” Drace said, amused. “And the Black Knight would have no interest in Egyptian mythology?”
“Something like that,” she answered playfully.
“Well, now I’m a horse breeder in Charlottesville who happens to have a reason to be interested. I’ve studied a bit.”
“Oh? And you majored in what?”
“I have a Bachelor of Science in Agricultural and Applied Economics with a minor in Animal Science.”
“So the Black Knight is a smart guy,” Maggie stated, a little more impressed.
“No, but Drace MacKinnon is,” he said. He got out of bed and wandered to the kitchen,
“So, what’s the interest in Arahtok? He’s an obscure deity no one has really ever heard of. How did you hear of him?”
“It’s actually kinda personal,” Drace replied, pulling a beer from his fridge and opening it. He pondered a second on how much information to divulge. “What would you say if I knew someone who worshipped him?”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “Some one as in one person or as in a group?” she asked.
Drace definitely had her attention now. He leaned a hip against the counter. “As in a whole race of people,” he gave her then took a pull from the beer bottle.
“There is a function at the Smithsonian in two days. I don’t have an escort for the event. Would you be willing to volunteer and we can discuss this over dinner and some boring speeches? I’m with the department of Egyptian studies so I have to attend. I’ve already got the tickets and it would be a shame to waste one.”
“What’s the dress code?”
“Dressy, but not a tuxedo event. I assume that you have a suit?”
“No, but I can borrow one from the Black Knight,” Drace joked. “I have a suit so relax. Let me get a pen and you can give me the time and your address. That is if you don’t mind riding in a truck. The limo is in the shop.”
She laughed, a low husky sound. “The truck is fine. Have you found your pen?”
Having retrieved a pad and pencil from the counter, he tore off a grocery list. “Yeah,” he said, and took down her information and then they ended the call.
Hands roamed over his chest and he reached for her, pulling her down against him. “God, I missed you,” he whispered into her hair as he rolled her over.
“As I have missed you. Love me, Drace.”
His answer was to trail kisses down her throat, making her moan. “Baby, I want you,” he murmured against her breast. He sheathed himself fully into her. “Jesus, Ki,” he breathed, his hips moving, desperate for her.
She arched under him, calling his name. He couldn’t wait, but she was already clenching around his length. “Ki,” he groaned, his breath sobbing in his chest, and then he followed her over the edge.
“Don’t leave me, Drace. I need you. Your child needs you,” she cried out, reaching for him.
Drace came awake, the aftershocks following him into awareness. He lay trembling and covered in sweat. “Shit,” he cursed, realizing he was alone in his big bed, covers kicked around his ankles. That hadn’t happened to him in years. He felt like a teenage boy and was faintly embarrassed. He lifted his head to look at his clock: 4:55a.m. He dropped his head back down. “Shit, shit, shit.” He got up and headed for the shower. Afterwards he changed the sheets and then dressed.
He was pouring a second cup of coffee when he realized something his dream Ki had said. Coffee sloshed over his hand, causing him to drop the mug into the sink where it shattered. Drace swore violently. For a moment rage bubbled black behind his eyes, making him light headed. He made it to a seat at the table and put his head between his knees.
Ki was pregnant. He knew that with a certainty, although he wasn’t sure how, and he was almost as certain that she had known it before she had gone back.
Drace sat up and pushed his hair off his face with one hand. He took deep breaths and let his temper cool. In its place came hurt and confusion. Why didn’t she tell me?
Drace put his elbows on his knees, bowed his head, and felt the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. His throat clogged. I’ve fathered a child I’ll most likely never see.
Anger came back hot in him and the pain threatened to consume him. Drace got up and went to his bedroom. He opened his closet door and took his sword and belt from the hanger on the back. Carrying it in a clenched fist, he went out to the stables.
The horses all stuck their heads over their stall doors and whickered greetings, hopeful for an early breakfast. The only one who didn’t call out was Pride, who stood quietly, ears and eyes focused on his master. It was as if he could feel Drace’s emotions.
Drace entered the stall with Pride’s halter and lead. He slipped it on the stallion’s head and led him out into the barn aisle. With a twist, he swung up from the ground and rode out of the barn bareback, walking the horse outside into the darkness.
There was a hint of sun as dawn approached and Drace kept Pride to a walk until it became lighter. Once he could see clearer, Drace asked Pride for a rocking canter.
They went down the lane between pastures and into the hay meadows. Drace entered the woods on the other side and brought Pride down to a walk since it was still too dark under the trees for speed.
They moved deeper into the woods and came out into a natural clearing. Drace had set up some targets there for practicing the joust, to keep his aim true. There was also a dead tree he had been hacking on with his sword and a punching bag to hit or practice dagger attacks. It was exercise if nothing else.
Pride stopped at the edge of the clearing, knowing this place. Drace normally rode him when he came to train and he truly enjoyed carrying his master in the joust.
Drace slid off Pride’s back and unsnapped the horse’s lead, letting him loose to graze. He knew Pride would not leave him.
On the way Drace had tried to keep his mind clear by concentrating on the sound of Pride’s hooves and nothing else. But now, he let the thoughts come in as he drew his sword, hanging the scabbard in a tree. Drace stripped off his sweatshirt to the tee he wore underneath, tossing it to the side.
He swung his sword in arcs to loosen his muscles and then went to the dead tree and began to attack it. At first he slashed at it with practiced strokes but as his emotions took over there was no finesse. Wood chips flew as he hacked at the tree. One piece flew back and caught him under the eye along his cheekbone. Blood streamed down his face.
Drace went at it until he ran out of air and energy. He sank to one knee, sword point in the ground as he leaned on it, thinking about the dream. Had it just been an erotic dream or was there some sort of message? Was there trouble? Why Ki didn’t have magic to reach out to him?
Drace tilted his head up and looked skyward. Was the message from someone higher than both of us? He closed his eyes in prayer and prayed to his God and then to Ki’s. He begged them both to help him find a way to her and their baby.
That was how Cerise found him a short while later. Pride had moved close to Drace and stood beside him ready to defend. The horse recognized Cerise and relaxed and moved off to graze.
Dark Lord of Kismera: Knights of Kismera Page 37