Dark Gathering

by Karlene Cameron

  She sighed, stretching languidly, her body reminding her of muscles she hadn’t used in a while. She placed her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat that was fast by most standards, even when he was resting. It was an ever-present reminder that he was genetically engineered, not conceived.

  “I’m sorry I betrayed you,” she said, knowing they needed to discuss the elephant in the room.

  “Ye dinna need tae do this, Leannan. Not now,” he replied.

  “I do. There can’t be any more secrets between us,” she confessed. She could feel him nod against her. “I didn’t tell you about Hawkins and what I was planning because I was afraid,” she said.

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Afraid you’d try and stop me…and that you would die trying.”

  “Go on,” he encouraged her.

  “I was afraid of my feelings for you; that if I stay, I will lose myself in you…and that I won’t be enough for you and will lose you,” she replied, the words coming in a rush.

  “Caitriona, ye are everything I’ve ever wanted. Ye will never lose me,” Duncan whispered in her ear. “What do I have tae do tae convince ye of that?”

  “But Hawkins…” she paused, unable to speak the words she hadn’t said since she escaped from Hawkins’ men.

  “Shh,” he placed his finger over her lips. “He will die for what he did tae ye, my love. And he will suffer first. But dinna let what he did destroy ye, destroy us.”

  “I can’t imagine a world without you in it, Duncan. But I also can’t continue to put your life in danger. That’s why I left. We can’t fight this battle here. Hawkins is too powerful, too connected. And despite all your efforts, and Nicolas’, I still haven’t figured out how to harness my visions.” She sighed, her fingers tracing the outline of his hard, sinewy pecks.

  “Caitriona, we canna ken the truth or the full power of yer visions, lass.”

  “What if we’re never able to?” she asked, her voice a small tremor beside him.

  “I dinna believe that,” he told her, his fingers playing with her hair.

  “You always have such faith in me and the visions you need to turn this war.”

  “Aye,” he told her. “An’ I dinna understand why ye don’t.”

  They were silent for several minutes. Caitriona stifled a yawn, a reminder that it was before dawn and she should try to get some rest. She closed her eyes and saw Hawkins’ scarred face flash across her memories. She flinched, reaching for Duncan. He threaded his fingers with hers and kissed the back of her knuckles softly.

  “I’m here, lass.” She nodded against his shoulder, feeling him stiffen next to her. “I will kill the bastard; I swear it, Caitriona. Fer what he did to ye, lass, he will pay with his life.” His arm pulled her tighter against him and she snuggled deeper in his arms, feeling safer than she had in a long time. She hated that Hawkins made her feel afraid, dirty, and used. She shivered despite the warmth from the fire that lit the room.

  She kissed Duncan on his arm, enjoying the smell of smoke and spice that settled on his skin. She knew he would make good on his threat. Duncan had just better get to Hawkins before she did.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Caitriona pushed herself back from the breakfast table and excused herself. She wasn’t hungry and the talk of war and Hawkins was making her nauseous. She just wanted some time to herself. Exiting the hacienda, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure her sister or Nicolas hadn’t followed her. She knew Duncan wouldn’t come after her. He had a war to win and when it came to his war—and finding Hawkins—his priorities were abundantly clear.

  She picked up her pace, trying to put as much distance between her and the hacienda. She needed time to think, time to figure out her next step. It had been several weeks since she had escaped from Hawkins. During that time, she had tried to recall the parts of her memory that were still blocked. She was frustrated that she didn’t have all the details of the night Hawkins raped her. The timing of events was jumbled, as if she was trying to solve a large jigsaw puzzle where too many pieces were missing.

  Once she was certain she had ditched her guards and no one had followed her, she turned her face to the warm morning sun. She was glad to be back in Naica, Mexico, where the warm sand and friendly people were a reminder that not all things in this century were foul. She could see why her sister loved it here.

  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The desert looked the way it always did: dry, the red-brown landscape interrupted only by the occasional Joshua tree or cactus. She longed for the Highland hills and crags of Scotland, but truthfully, didn’t miss the cloud cover that was nearly always present there.

  She smoothed the folds of her bright yellow and green skirt, the colors belying her current mood. The skirt had been hand-sewn with tiny birds and butterflies by several of the hacienda’s residents, and she knew they had labored for weeks to create the delicate skirt. She loved it—and she appreciated their gesture, but she still felt uncomfortable with the level of awe and adoration she experienced wherever she went.

  She pressed her hand against her stomach and mentally berated her lapse of judgement. She should have eaten something. It had been at least a day since she’d had a real meal, but with the stress of the past several weeks, food was the last thing on her mind.

  She puffed her cheeks up with air and exhaled loudly, stopping to sit on a boulder that was used as natural landscaping in the hacienda’s gardens. She stared at the clouds, watching as they rolled across the sky. A smile crossed her face as she imagined the largest as a fierce dragon that had come to breathe fire on them all. The sun felt good on her face, but she still found it strange that it was mid-December and it felt more like a Washington summer.

  She felt a melancholy wave pass over her as she thought of the Christmas season, which had always been her favorite time of year. She had been raised with a solid sense of selfless giving and no time of the year was this better reflected than during the Christmas season. It was hard to believe that two hundred years later, the season was no longer celebrated. Instead, the inhabitants of this world celebrated Yule, the long day of winter. She still had no idea what that really entailed, but her sister was busy preparing food and ensuring the halls were well lit with candles and that there would be music and dancing until wee hours of the morning. The whole thing made Caitriona tired just thinking about it.

  Lost in thought, she closed her eyes and laid back against the rock, allowing the sun to warm her face. When a shadow blocked out the sun, she opened her eyes to find Nicolas standing over her. She shielded her eyes and squinted up at him, disappointed that she couldn’t escape her handler—or her guards—for longer than a few minutes.

  “I suppose you’ve come to escort me back,” she acknowledged.

  He gave her a half grin and pointed to the hacienda, indicating she should lead the way.

  She sat up and gave her handler a wry smile. He was dashing in an orderly sort of way. His black pants were neatly pressed, his white collared shirt tucked neatly into his pants. His shoes were polished to a shine. Not a hair out of place, she noted. But it was his predictability and his order that she admired. Everything I’m not, she thought, extending her hand.

  He took her hand and pulled her gently to her feet. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and they walked in silence back toward the hacienda, Caitriona’s guards several feet behind.

  “Are you feeling well, Katerine?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence that surrounded them.

  “Just a little tired,” she said, not wanting to worry him further.

  “You haven’t eaten in almost a day.”

  “Now you’re keeping track of my daily diet?” she snapped, irritation lacing her voice.

  He ignored her outburst. “Duncan will want to talk with you about the council meeting he’s scheduled for the first part of the year.”

  “What?” she asked incredulously, irritated they were only now telling her this. She ha
d avoided the council up until now because of the earlier bombings in the cave. Why hadn’t she realized they would still want to meet with her and test her abilities? “What if I don’t want to meet with them?”

  “It’s not open for debate, Katerine.”

  “Why not?” she asked, stopping so that he was forced to look at her. She swayed on her feet, a wave of dizziness causing her to nearly stumble. Strong arms enveloped her.

  “Katerine, what is it?”

  “I…” she clawed at her dress. “I just need some air.” As her legs buckled beneath her, she had time only to see the concern in Nicolas’ eyes as darkness claimed her.

  “Lo siento, Señor.” The doctor looked at him and his patient, clearly unsure of who he should address. Nicolas had brought Caitriona back to the hacienda and called for the doctor. Nicolas had tried to read Caitriona’s emotions, but they were jumbled. He was uncertain what to make of this latest development.

  “Vaya, dime,” Nicolas said impatiently, not liking the direction this was taking.

  “La Mujer que ve el futuro…está embarazada,” he said, nervously.

  Nicolas looked from the doctor to Caitriona, who was still asleep in the large bed, her pale face even paler against the brown skin of the native people. The doctor seemed confused, at odds with his news and what he knew about his patient. He was clearly waiting for Nicolas to either deny his prognosis or confirm.

  Nicolas’ mouth parted as he quickly assessed this new information. His sweet Katerine was pregnant. The likely father was Hawkins. He ran his hand through his hair as he imagined how Katerine would react to the news—and how Duncan would react.

  He thought back to a vision she’d had shortly before they came to Mexico. In that vision, Caitriona said the people were protecting her from someone who was the leader they were seeking, the one who could end this war. Was this child the leader Caitriona saw in her vision? Did the child need protecting from her? But why? Why would a child of Hawkins be their world’s savior?

  Any child of Caitriona’s would, of course, have a genetic tie to magic, but with Hawkins as the father, the genetic pass along would be weak at best—far weaker than even Caitriona’s small, but powerful, connection to magic. Still, the child would need protection from Hawkins. But Caitriona? In her vision, she had said, “They don’t want me here; they are trying to protect him. I can’t get close to him.” Her words were an eerie harbinger of this moment. He shivered.

  The doctor cleared his throat, effectively bringing Nicolas out of his trance.

  “Gracias, doctor,” Nicolas said, walking him to the door. “Voy a hablar con ella cuando ella despierta.”

  The doctor nodded and extended his hand. “Felicidades,” he said and left.

  Of course, the doctor would think he’s the father. That could play in their favor. No one outside of their close circle of friends could know Hawkins was the father of the child. He needed to get Caitriona back to Castle Dunrobin. There, Dr. MacKinnon could run tests to determine the strength of the child’s tie to magic.

  He glanced at Caitriona when she murmured and rolled over in her sleep. Her pale face looked sunken and dark shadows lined her eyes. He sat down next to her on the bed and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. So smooth, he thought.

  He pulled the covers over her shoulders and got up to close the window. It was getting late and the temperatures in Naica dipped low in the evening. He latched the window and pulled the window shade down, the weight of the doctor’s news settling on him like a shroud.

  “Nicolas?” Her soft whisper broke through his thoughts like a cacophony of noise.

  He smiled and sat next to her on the bed.

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted, ma chérie.” He smiled and rubbed her arm.

  “I was talking with you one moment and then I remember feeling quite sick to my stomach. You don’t think this has anything to do with my memory loss or earlier injuries, do you?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.

  “No, chérie.” He squeezed her hand wondering how to tell her.

  “What is it, Nicolas?” she asked. “You’re not telling me something.”

  “Chérie, there is something I need to tell you that will be difficult for you to hear.”

  “What is it, Nicolas?”

  “We will get through this, together.”

  “Tell me, Nicolas. You’re frightening me.”

  He hesitated only a second. “You’re pregnant.”

  Her eyes began to fill with tears. Nicolas squeezed her hand. She shook her head. No, she mouthed. No.

  He pulled her to him as the tears came fast and hard. The sobs tore from her as the tears coursed down her cheeks. He continued to hold her, allowing her the time she needed to assimilate this new information. He wanted to talk to her about the prophecy, but knew he would have to tread softly with her emotions.

  When she was spent and the sobs no longer shook her body, he handed her his handkerchief and watched as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Her hair fell in cascades of autumn. She looked different. He should have known.

  “It’s Hawkins’?” she asked, the question hanging in the air.

  “Could it be Duncan’s?” Nicolas asked, processing this new information. He had been so wrapped up with Danika that it was highly possible he missed her emotions when she had been with Duncan.

  “Didn’t you test me? Don’t you have some instrument, some high tech 23rd century gadget that can tell me who the father is?” she shrieked, her voice giving rise to her growing hysterics.

  “Katerine, have you been with Duncan?”

  She nodded. “Before my abduction…and after.”

  He stared at her. How did he miss this? He was failing as her handler. He had to get his priorities in order. If he hadn’t been so distracted, maybe he would have felt her emotions and known how desperate she had become.

  “Call the doctor here. I want him to test me, now.”

  “Katerine, the technology you seek is only available through the New World Order. It is possible that Dr. MacKinnon—or another faction—may have something, but it is not as simple as it sounds.”

  “How long do I have?”

  “I didn’t think to ask the doctor when your due date is. I can call him back,” he said, getting up from the bed.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Her voice was dark, low.

  He arched one eyebrow, realization settling like a heavy weight. “No, Katerine. That’s not…”

  “If this child is Hawkins’ I want it out.”

  He looked at her as if he was truly seeing her for the first time. “Katerine, this child is our century’s first genetic pass through of your tie to magic. We must protect this child.”

  “You can’t mean that. This child is a monster. Born of hate. If you can’t test to see that it is Duncan’s, then I want to abort the pregnancy. Either you figure out how to make that happen, or I will find a way. Your choice.”

  “Katerine, you’re upset and rightfully so. But what if the child is Duncan’s? This could be the most powerful person our century has ever known. I can’t let you do this.”

  “You’re starting to sound like Duncan,” she hissed. “You both only think about this damn war. I’m a person,” she screamed. “A living, breathing person who doesn’t want this.” She choked on her sobs, collapsing back against the pillows.

  He had handled this poorly and he knew it. The next few hours were critical. He opened his mind and pushed, nudging as gently as he could. He wanted to experience her feelings; he wanted to share her pain. Her eyes flew wide at the intrusion.

  “Get out of my head,” she yelled, picking up a glass of water that was on the nightstand and hurtling it at his head. He ducked and the glass hit the wall behind him, shattering.

  “Katerine, I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I want to help you.”

  “Get out, or I swear I will cut this fetus from my own belly.” She jumped out of the bed and lunged
toward him, trying for the dagger he kept tucked at his side.

  He grabbed her wrist, and spun her so that her back was to his front. He applied just enough pressure to her wrist so that she became immobile. “Stop this, Katerine,” he spoke calmly into her ear.

  She yelled again, a blood-curdling scream that he knew would bring her guards. As if on cue, two armed guards burst through the door, followed by Duncan and the Grand Maester.

  The guards looked confused, but drew their weapons, unsure where to point their guns. Caitriona kicked at him, but he held her tight so the most she could do was bruise his shins. He could end this by applying a small amount of pressure to her arm, but he didn’t want to go there. Not yet.

  “Is leor din!” Duncan shouted into the fray.

  Caitriona ignored his words, trying to find any purchase she could with Nicolas.

  “Do it,” she yelled to the guards. “Kill me.” She stopped trying to fight Nicolas and instead focused on enlisting the help of the guards. They looked at her as if she had gone mad, unsure what, or who, they should follow.

  “Get the doctor,” Nicolas shouted to Duncan. “Have him bring a sedative.”

  Duncan looked from Caitriona to Nicolas and sprinted for the door. Within minutes the doctor had returned with a syringe.

  “No,” Caitriona hissed. “You don’t get to do this, Nicolas. You don’t get to make this decision.”

  She began kicking in earnest, trying to twist out of Nicolas’ grip. Getting nowhere, she found the meaty flesh of his palm and bit hard. He cursed, relaxing his hold for a moment. It was the opening Caitriona needed. Twisting free from his grasp, she sprinted for the door, only to be stopped by Duncan.

  “Caitriona, lorg!” He grabbed her by the waist, stopping her departure. She struck at him with her arm, clawing at him when he refused to let her go. A low growl tore from his throat as he pinned her small frame against his. Nodding at the doctor, who was watching from the sidelines, he scurried over and administered the sedative. Caitriona’s body relaxed and slumped in Duncan’s arms. Her hair was tangled and fell in wild abandonment across her shoulders. In the skirmish, she had torn the neckline of her gown. She looked like a feral animal who was about to be caged.