Tharaen (Immortal Highlander Book 2): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  “I know,” she said and heard the rasp of tiredness in his voice. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  His mouth twisted. “Never die.”

  “Right. Anything else?”

  The despairing look he gave her made Diana rush to him. He caught her and held her close. The weight of his sadness seemed to bear down on him as though it were crushing him into the floor.

  “Come to bed,” she murmured.

  Raen lifted her off her feet and carried her into their bed, where he lay with her at his side. For a long time he just stared up at the canopy, and she held onto him.

  “The Talorc’s tribe and mine were enemies for a long time. ’Twas why Evander and I disliked each other, I think. We couldnae let go of the old grudges, but Seoc did. He never said an unkind word to me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should have guessed he would do this. I nearly did the same myself. Many times.”

  “What?” Diana said. She pushed away from him and rolled out of bed. “You wanted to kill yourself? Why?”

  “After Bradana, I thought…no matter.” He sat up and held out his hand. “Come here.”

  “No,” she said and turned her back on him as she tried to get control of her temper. “Look, I’m sorry about your murdered wife, but you can’t think like that. Ever.”

  “Diana,” he said gently. He came up behind her, and tried to put his arms around her. “’Twas not Bradana. You cannae understand–”

  “And you think you do?” She spun around and gave him a hard shove. “My God, wasn’t dying once enough for you? How dare you even think about it? You have forever to live.”

  “Aye,” he said quietly. “But I didnae have her to be with me, and I willnae have you.”

  For Diana, that was the last straw. “You know, you’re right. I don’t get it. I may not be older than dirt like you, but hell if I’d ever let a guy shove a sword through my neck just because I’m lonely and scared and don’t have anybody to take care of me. I’ve always been that, and I take care of myself, just fine.”

  Raen held up his hands as if she were pointing her Glock at him. “I dinnae mean to fight with you.”

  Diana backed away before she slapped him. “Life is a gift. Right this minute there are people dying all over the world. Men, women, children, little babies. People who I’m fairly sure would give anything for more time to live. Meanwhile, your not-so-great pal Seoc throws away an immortal life tonight because, what, his jerk of a cousin embarrassed him? Please. That’s not only tragic, it’s disgusting. It spits in the face of every person on this planet who died and didn’t want to.”

  He studied her face. “I heard you when you told Cailean that your mother killed herself. That her death put you in the care of others who hurt and starved you. ’Tis natural for you to abhor what Seoc did.”

  Diana stared at him, as all the fight went out of her.

  “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Again.” She dragged her hand over her hair. “I’ll go sleep in the tower tonight.”

  Raen held out his hand. “The bed there isnae big enough for both of us. I will sleep on the floor beside it if you wish, but ’tis cold tonight, and I may catch a fever.”

  “You don’t get sick,” she muttered but took his hand and let him guide her back to their bed. “I can make you hot, if you want, but I think we’re both too miserable.”

  “I have another idea, lass.” Once he pulled the covers over them he tugged her close. “I will hold you, and rub your back the way you like. In the morning I will kiss you awake, and then, if you willnae hate me for it, we can make each other hot.”

  “I can’t hate you,” Diana said and looked into his eyes. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

  “I’ll catch you with my heart when you do,” he said and kissed her brow. Then smiled as he stroked his hand over her belly. “Close your eyes, and let me make you feel good.”

  Diana reluctantly obeyed, but instead of turning her over to get at her back he slipped his hand into her trousers. With his other hand he eased her leg up, draping it over his as he glided his fingers between her thighs.

  “Touching you makes me feel better,” he murmured. “You are not a soft wench, but you are here, and so pretty.”

  When he began circling her clit with his thumb while he pressed two fingers into her pussy, Diana lost herself in the sweet heat of the sensations.

  “Raen,” she whispered.

  “Shhh,” he said as he came around her, pushing her onto her back and stripping off her trousers. “Let me have you.”

  “I want you, too,” she assured him. Slowly she shifted her legs apart. “Nothing hurts when I’m with you. But I wish I could make you feel the same way.”

  “Be with me, and you will,” he said and settled between her thighs and spread her folds.

  Watching him put his mouth on her was almost as heavenly as feeling his tongue sliding against her. He didn’t attack her sex or try to make her come quickly, but took his time as he kissed and licked and touched every delicate inch of her. She soon started squirming under his lips, her hips lifting and jerking as he made her want more. When he penetrated her with his tongue she fisted the bed linens, and when he sucked her clit she came with whimpering, shaking helplessness.

  Diana opened her eyes to see him moving up over her, and wrapped her arms around him. “You make me forget that I was ever alone.”

  “Never remember it,” he said and moved onto his side, holding her against him as he stroked his hand over her hair in a soothing caress. “You are with me now, my lady.”

  Watching his eyes, she reached for his trousers and released his engorged shaft. “You don’t have to do anything, just feel this.” She began stroking him gently, and sighed when he covered her breast with his hand. “Your hands feel so good on me. Let me give you some of that.”

  Raen’s eyes darkened as he tenderly caressed her. “Always I want your touch.”

  It took only a few more strokes before his head fell back and he uttered a deep groan. Diana tightened her grip and increased the speed of her strokes until he began to ejaculate. Then they lay there, gazes locked, hearts pounding, and for all the sadness of the day there was a quiet joy now that made her want to weep.

  “He wouldn’t be mad at us for this,” she said.

  Raen tucked her against him. “Seoc wouldnae have minded at all. He loved bedding women, and they him.” He shut his eyes. “Damn him.”

  “I know,” she said and kissed his chin. “Let’s sleep.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE MCDONNELS GAVE Seoc a clan burial, which Diana thought simple but rather beautiful. After Meg Talley and her maids washed the stable master’s body and wrapped it in a tartan, Raen, Neac and several of the Uthars carried him out of the castle on a narrow wooden platform. They stopped at the edge of the loch, where the rest of the clan had gathered, and listened as man after man stepped forward to touch the tartan and spoke of Seoc’s gallant nature, love of women, and fierce loyalty.

  “Seoc was always kind to me,” Kinley said as she stepped up. She looked splendid in a gown made in the Lachlan’s tartan pattern. “He chose a mare for me to ride who has bravely ignored my clumsiness and tolerated my lack of riding skills. Before that, during my first days with the clan, I remember how Seoc smiled whenever he saw me. Not even the laird did that.” As the men quietly chuckled she pressed her slim hand to the dead man’s cheek. “Good-bye, my friend.”

  Lachlan waited until last, and praised Seoc for the centuries he had spent breeding strong, reliable mounts for the clan, and how much of his time he had devoted to caring for them. He spoke of his mortal tribe, known to be the finest warriors among the Pritani, and how they had been among the first to join with the McDonnels to fight the Romans and protect the druids.

  “Seoc Talorc died by the sword, which we must honor,” the laird said, his expression growing harsh. “But he didnae have to. We might have prevented this. We all saw
that he was suffering, and we did naught about it.” He scanned the somber faces of the men. “We have lost too many brothers who have bowed before the sword. Let Seoc be the last.”

  Heads began to nod, and muttered “ayes” swept through the clan.

  The castle piper began to play a mournful tune, and the McDonnels parted to make way for the laird. He went to the body, lifting it into his arms. As he walked into the loch, every McDonnel went down on one knee, and bowed their heads as Lachlan disappeared under the water.

  Kinley came to stand beside Diana. “He’ll take him from here out to the sea, and let him go into the northern currents. It’s the Pritani custom.”

  “’Twould be better to do with Seoc as my people would,” Tormod grumbled as he joined them.

  Diana saw Raen speaking with Cailean, and neither of them looked happy. “How is putting a body in a longboat and setting it on fire before you shove it into the water better?”

  The Norseman looked horrified. “Burn a boat? Are you mad? We buried our dead with weapons, and food, and slaves to serve them in the afterlife.”

  “Yeah, that’s not better,” Kinley told him. To Diana she said, “We just got word from the mainland that the Stewart laird’s brother and his guards went missing overnight while out hunting. Are you and Raen still mapping the disappearances?”

  She nodded. “We’re starting to see a pattern. Come up to the map room, and I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

  “About that manner of mapping, my lady,” Tormod said to Kinley as he followed them up the stairs. “You should ken ’twas no’ my doing. Red imagines herself a map maker, but she’s squeamish.”

  “What he means is, I don’t like drawing on dead animal skins,” Diana corrected. “They smell and curl and they’re creepy.” She gestured around them as they entered. “So I’m using the room.”

  Kinley went to inspect the largest map Diana had drawn with one of her charcoal-sliver pencils on the white-painted stone wall.

  “This is great,” Kinley said. “You can just wipe off the charcoal with a rag when you need to change something.” She touched the surface. “How did you bleach the rock like this?”

  “It’s lime, water, chalk, salt and a little flour,” Diana said and grinned. “A variation on Tom Sawyer’s favorite fence paint. Tormod loves it.”

  The Norseman snorted. “I dinnae love how it ruined my boots and trews.”

  “White wash, of course,” Kinley said. “That’s brilliant.” She stepped back to take in the whole map, and her smile vanished. “These numbers by the stronghold locations, are they the people reported missing?”

  “To date, yes,” Diana said and came up beside her. “The pattern we found involves the circled numbers, which are nobility who have disappeared. Most of them are directly related to a laird or chieftain, usually sons or daughters, but sometimes wives or parents. All of them have gone missing over the last two weeks, and so far none of them have been recovered.”

  The laird’s wife frowned as she started adding the numbers out loud and then turned to Diana. “We’ve lost fifty nobles in fourteen days? How is that even possible?”

  “All the victims disappear after they leave their strongholds,” Diana said. “Anyone guarding or escorting them vanishes with them, so we don’t have any witnesses.”

  Raen came into the room carrying a pouch stuffed with tiny scrolls, which he handed to Kinley. “My lady.”

  He didn’t have to tell her what they were, as message birds had been arriving daily from their mortal allies. The rift between the McDonnels and the druids had gone public, and while no one outside the clan and the conclave knew the actual reason for it, people were already taking sides. Raen had told Diana not to worry about it, but she suspected Bhaltair was behind it, and would keep putting pressure on the laird to surrender her to the conclave.

  “That stubborn old man,” Kinley muttered as she read one of the scrolls, and then tucked the pouch in her belt. “All right, back to work. What do these arrows represent, Diana?”

  “The pattern that Raen and I picked up on,” Diana said and went to the wall and began pointing out the disappearances in chronological order. “The nobles began vanishing here, at Clan MacLean’s stronghold in the southwest. Campbell was next, then MacGregor, Menzies and now Stewart. See how they’re going northeast?”

  “Nobles from these clans are vanishing every two or three days, my lady,” Raen said.

  “Yeah, that’s about right,” Kinley said, her voice tight. “Lachlan and I have been working with travel times while tracking the undead. It takes two or three days to ride at night from one of these strongholds to the next. The undead are behind this. Son of a bitch.”

  Tormod produced a bottle of whiskey, and offered it around before he took a long drink. “We can track them from Stewart’s territory.”

  “If the pattern holds, my lady,” Raen told her. He moved his hand along the next arrow, which pointed to a stronghold with no numbers written by it. “We believe Clan Gordon will be targeted next.”

  “I met Gordon and his wife when they got married in the spring,” Kinley said as she turned away from the map and walked around the room. “The plague wiped out their families, so the earl and his wife live alone at the stronghold—for now. The countess sent me a message last month. She just got pregnant.”

  “We can protect them,” Tormod said. “Send our lads to guard their stronghold and watch for the undead. They’ll no’ let the earl or his lady be taken.”

  “If these people are being abducted,” Diana countered. She recalled the young mortal girl who had thrown herself on a sword to protect her undead master. “What if the undead are getting into the strongholds to brain-wash them instead of abducting them? Once the nobles are under their control, they can order them to leave their castles, and go to wherever the legion is keeping their human livestock.”

  “If all they want is more thralls, why target the nobles? They’re much harder to get at than the average farmer,” Kinley said. “It would make more sense to go after the castle guards, or servants. They wouldn’t even be missed right away.”

  Diana had no answer for that. “We could speak with the lairds who have family missing. They may know something we don’t.”

  “We need to talk to my husband first,” Kinley said. “We should bring Neac and Cailean in on this, too.” She touched the message pouch. “And maybe this will finally convince the old man to give us a break.”

  Later that night they met with the laird, the chieftain and the druid in the map room, where Raen and Diana related their pattern theory.

  “I know it seems like a stretch,” Diana told him. “But in my time we look for similarities or connections between victims. It helps us learn more about the offender, establish their motives and methods of operation, and sometimes allows us to even anticipate what they’ll do next. We may not know why these people are being taken, but if we can stop the next incident, we may find out.”

  “I can tell you,” the laird said. “MacLean is the king’s mormaer in the western territories. He has authority over all the lesser clans. Campbell’s son wed the king’s daughter, and sired five of his grandchildren, so he ’tis regarded as a member of the royal family. McGregor has the largest armory in the country, and supplies the royal guard and garrison with all their weapons. Menzies manages trade with towns in Britannia, and Stewart is one of the most valuable battle generals in Scotland. All of these lairds are men important to the king.”

  “But the undead didn’t take any of the lairds,” Tormod said. “Why leave them behind?”

  “All the lairds are too well-guarded,” Cailean told him. “Taking their kin hostage is easier, and still forces the lairds to do their bidding.”

  “Gordon’s lady is who I’d take,” Tormod said. When everyone glared at him he shrugged. “A pregnant wife is ever dearly loved, and two hostages in one.”

  “The countess is with child?” Cailean asked abruptly.

  If Kinley h
adn’t known better, the druid might have passed for one of the undead himself. His face had gone pale.

  “Aye,” Neac told him. “So she has messaged to Kinley.”

  As Cailean took some moments to absorb the information, Kinley took hold of her husband’s hand.

  “We can’t let them grab the countess,” she said. When she saw Diana’s expression, she said, “She’s a beautiful woman, so the undead won’t use her just for blood. They’ll rape her until she miscarries. If she survives that, she’ll never recover.”

  Without thinking Diana reached out to Raen, who put an arm around her shoulders. “We’ve got two days to get in front of this. We should move the Gordons out of their stronghold, and stash them somewhere safe. Then dress me up like the countess, and use me as bait again.”

  “Aye,” Lachlan said as his expression turned thoughtful and his gaze shifted to Raen. “But you’ll need a husband.”

  Chapter Twenty

  A DAY LATER the laird left Clan Gordon’s stronghold with the earl and his countess, leaving behind a hundred McDonnels to guard Raen and Diana while they posed as the nobles.

  “Keep your hammer and the lieutenant close to you,” Lachlan said as he walked out of the castle with Raen to the waiting carriage. “The undead cannae enthrall her if they must first go through you.” He glanced at the Gordon’s laird, who held his lovely wife in his arms as if he never intended to release her. “Neac and Kinley have gone to the druid settlement. She hopes to persuade Bhaltair to end this quarrel between us by telling him of the work you and Diana have done to safeguard our mortal allies.”

  “As your wife would say, dinnae hold your breath.” Raen almost bowed before he caught himself. “I forget we pretend to be equals.”

  “’Tis good to see you as a laird. You have the head and the heart for it, Brother.” The laird clasped his forearm before he climbed into the carriage with the nobles.

  Raen checked the number of exterior guards and their stations, and inspected once more the castle’s fortifications for flaws. Gordon’s father had begun work on his stronghold during a time of constant conflict, placing it atop a high outcropping of rock, and clearing the land around to remove anything that might provide cover to advancing troops. Instead of a moat the old laird had lined the sloped approaches on all sides with pit and snare traps, and acres of sharpened stakes projecting up from the ground. Every battlement and gate passage was pocked with murder holes, through which fire, arrows and even spears could be dropped on the heads of invaders. With fifty men guarding the exterior, and twice as many McDonnels occupying the interior, it seemed impossible for any undead to infiltrate the place.