by Hazel Hunter
She’d read the words on his lips: Behind you.
The dark man had tried to warn her, had tried to save her, but when he touched her his hands had passed through her like a ghost’s. None of it had happened. Afterward, sitting in the barn with the other women, Althea decided the whole thing had been a fear-induced hallucination. He hadn’t been real. In a moment of extreme terror she’d imagined him.
Only her imaginary man now waded out of the water, carrying her past huge piles of stone and up a steep slope. The night crowded in on her cold, shivering body, and Althea felt so tired she gratefully sank into a blissfully empty void.
Waking a second time came with the sensation of cool, dry air on her throbbing legs, and the feeling of motion. Althea became aware of the big, hard arms cradling her battered body from beneath as she was carried. She could feel the slow, heavy thud of a heartbeat under her cheek. From the feel of the material on her skin she guessed someone had wrapped her legs with soft, damp bandages before dressing her in a long top. Her back hurt, and a bittersweet taste lingered in her mouth.
She shifted her head down before she opened her eyes to mere slits.
A very large, well-built man was carrying her through a passage with rough stone walls. From the wild mane of black hair hanging over his shoulders he had to be the dark man from her dream, minus the feathers.
Where was he taking her, and why? This couldn’t be a hospital or police station.
As the dark man stopped to open a door Althea forced herself to remain limp and unresisting. As long as he thought she was still unconscious she had the upper hand. She couldn’t see much as he carried her into the room and over to a bed or table covered with sheep’s wool. There he lowered her onto her side and draped her with a cloud of something clinging and soft, like fine silk.
She nearly flinched when she heard the sound of metal clanking, and dared to take another peek. Cloaked by the fall of his hair, the dark man snapped two crude-looking shackles around her ankles before he straightened and looked down at her.
Althea closed her eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen her watching. The restraints scared her almost as much as he did. Why was he shackling her to the bed? Had she gone through hell just to trade one prison for another? The pain in her back and the bandages winding around her legs reminded her of those last moments, when he’d torn apart the roots dragging her into the woods.
No, he wouldn’t hurt me. He saved my life.
She felt the warmth of his hand a moment before he touched her cheek. He didn’t stroke her or do anything but let his fingertips rest against her skin. The touch sent heat spreading over her face, as if he’d set fire to her nerves. She swallowed a gasp and kept concentrating on taking deep, slow breaths.
His scent washed over her, warm and male and intensely alluring. Comforting, too, in a way she’d never before felt. For a moment Althea thought she might fling herself into his arms.
He withdrew his hand, and his heavy footsteps moved away from her. She waited until she heard the door creak shut before she peeked again. When she felt sure he’d left her alone, she opened her eyes.
She propped herself up on her elbow to get a better look at the room. Carved out of solid rock, it seemed more like a giant cave. The bed, which from the fractures in the wood appeared to have been recently repaired, would have been more at home in a museum. Several intricately hand-made tapestries hung from spikes hammered into the stone walls, each depicting nature scenes with simple yet artful stitching. So either he liked medieval reproductions or she really was in fourteenth-century Scotland.
“Or under it,” Althea muttered, wincing as she sat up.
Pulling the blue silk coverlet away, she glanced down and bit her lower lip. The long top she wore looked like a crudely-made wool tunic. Under it she was naked, but that didn’t worry her as much as the wounds.
The bizarre root attack had really done a number on her legs. Loosely-woven linen strips wound around each from ankle to upper thigh. She couldn’t see her back, but the throbbing told her she had some significant wounds back there. Easing away the edges of her leg bandages, she found multiple gashes of various depths and lengths laddering each limb.
“Trees did this,” she murmured, appalled.
She knew lateral root systems often proved to be stronger than those closest to the tree. They acted as its anchor to prevent it from toppling over in a strong wind. But these roots had behaved as if they were sapient. She knew certain types of bamboo could grow up to thirty-five inches in a day, but these roots had elongated fifty yards in seconds. If the dark man hadn’t torn them apart, they might have done the same to her. Althea had no clue as to how they had grown so fast or behaved like tentacles, but if it was the last thing she ever did, she’d find out.
The dark man or whoever had treated her injuries had also applied an herbal poultice that had dried over the wounds, sealing them like a natural bandage. When she pinched a fragment of the concoction and held it to her nose, she smelled the chrysanthemum-like scent of yarrow. Closer inspection helped her identify the spiky remains of self-heal flowers. She knew both to be excellent herbal treatments for staunching bleeding.
The dark man or his doctor knew their plants. Maybe they’d done this to continue the ruse to convince her she had landed in the fourteenth century. Maybe this was all part of the lunatics’ scheme.
The door opened, making Althea flinch, but she had no time to play possum again. The dark man came in carrying a tray with a silver goblet and a steaming bowl. He stopped in his tracks as he saw her sitting up, and then slowly approached.
Seeing him clearly for the first time made her feel dizzy. Almost seven feet tall, the dark man had a heavily-muscled frame and long, strong-looking limbs. He wore a shabby tunic over new trousers, both made of dark, dense wool, and boots made of hide-side-out fur. On his right hand he wore a black ring carved to resemble a bird looking over its shoulder. His thick black hair hung down around his hips, where it caught the light from the fireplace and gleamed sapphire and violet.
He kept his gaze locked with hers but didn’t say a word.
As he came closer Althea gave into a surge of panic and painfully pushed herself back to put as much space between them as she could. She only relaxed a little when she saw that his face didn’t have the weird crackling like the things that had taken her. She watched as he placed the tray on the side of the bed, and then retreated to the big chair on the other side of the room. There he sat by the hearth and watched her in return.
She’d saved his life, and he’d saved hers. So why was he keeping her prisoner?
Althea glanced away long enough to see what he’d brought. The goblet appeared to be filled with water, while the bowl held a mound of steaming oatmeal topped with dark purple berries. Her empty stomach rumbled miserably, but she didn’t go near the tray. If he meant to drug her, he’d have to shove the pills down her throat.
No, this isn’t about hurting me. He could have done that while I was unconscious. He could be doing that right now.
She felt overwhelmed by the confusion of images from what she last remembered of this man. The memory of him soaring through the air in the shape of an enormous raven should have terrified her, not filled her with wonder. The guards coming out of the woods had seen her, but went first to attack him. Was that why he’d jumped into the air like that? As a diversion?
Did he save my life first?
The rest became muddled with the cold, the terror, and her pain. But the one thing she remembered was the first guard freezing. The moment she’d touched him something cold had flashed through her, and all the warmth had left her body.
Had she made those men shatter like glass?
She shuddered a little. Greg hadn’t just been right about her. He’d been psychic.
The staring contest lasted another five minutes before the dark man got up and came to stand by the tray. He picked up the bowl, dipped two fingers into it and stretched his arm out.
Althea di
dn’t understand that he was trying to feed her until his fingers nearly touched her lips. She turned her head away and tried to retreat, grimacing as the chains of her shackles jerked on her sore legs.
He frowned and tried to feed her again.
“No,” she said and glared up at him. “I don’t want it. You eat it.”
The dark man went completely still, peering at her as if she’d told him to snort the oatmeal.
Maybe he didn’t understand English. That seemed unlikely, although she’d heard of a couple of places where the locals spoke only in Scots Gaelic. But if she wanted to get out of here and find a police station, she had to get some kind of dialogue going.
“Maybe we should introduce ourselves. I’m Dr. Althea Jarden. Althea.”
As she repeated her first name, she touched the base of her neck in emphasis. Gesturing at him, she gave him a quizzical look.
The dark man crouched down beside the bed. His expression seemed utterly absorbed, as if she were his favorite television show.
“Althea. My name is Althea. What’s your name?” When he didn’t respond she rubbed a hand over her brow. “Look, I’m a botanist, not a linguist. I have no idea how to say ‘unchain me and let me go’ in Gaelic. We have to find a way to talk.” She studied him. “Are you deaf? Is that it?” She pointed to one of her ears and shook her head. “Can’t hear me?”
He tilted his head to look at her ear before he went back to scrutinizing her face.
“Can you speak?”
She touched the front of her throat as she said that, and then scooted closer to reach out and press her fingertips to the same spot on his neck. The contact sent a rush of heat into her palm that raced over her wrist and up her arm.
His eyes narrowed, and he caught her hand as she drew it away. He held her gaze as he brought her fingers up to his mouth and held them against his lips.
Althea should have yanked her arm away, screamed, slapped him—something—but he wasn’t acting like he wanted to violate her. She had the sense it was the exact opposite. Somehow he wanted to reassure her, maybe through the gentleness of his touch. Like saying, “Look, I don’t bite.”
“You’re not a bad guy. I understand,” she said in a low, soothing tone. “Just say something. Anything.”
He frowned.
Althea let the silence stretch for a few minutes before deciding that talking was not up for discussion—literally. “If you’re on my side, if you’re a good guy, then why chain me to the bed?” With her free hand she tugged on one shackle. “I’m not going to run away. I don’t even know where we are. You can let me go.”
The dark man’s jaw tightened, and his brows drew together.
“Or I could stay.” She shifted her fingertips from his mouth to his cheek. It felt a bit like petting an enormous wild animal, but maybe he needed some reassurance too. “You don’t need the chains. I owe you my life. Did they take you too?”
He covered her hand with his and closed his eyes, his expression that of a man experiencing the best thing he’d ever felt.
Althea understood that. Touching his face made all her senses become suddenly acute. She could feel her heart capering like a skipping kid, and the rush in her blood bringing all her nerves to life. It felt scary, and sexy, a combination she’d never before felt. She couldn’t resist shifting a little closer to him. Wherever she was, whatever he was doing, this man still attracted her like a fully-powered electromagnet.
From the way he was looking at her mouth, he felt the same pull.
“Hey,” she said. “I know you saved me.” On impulse she hugged him. “Thank you.”
That turned him to stone, at least for three heartbeats. Then he drew back enough to slide his cheek against hers, and their mouths touched. Althea heard herself making a low, husky sound, and felt her hands tangling in his hair. Then they were kissing.
He didn’t touch her, but his mouth went to town on hers. Heat suffused the air between them, and bursts of sensation rocked her body. She’d never been kissed with such hunger, or tasted such hot desire. He went at her like he’d been waiting his whole life for her, and had spent years dreaming of just this kiss. She felt herself go wet and pressed against him, unable to rationalize her reckless actions, but needing his touch on her swelling, aching breasts.
The dark man ended the kiss by standing and backing away from her toward the door. Now he looked ashamed, which made no sense at all.
“No, wait,” Althea said, panting the words. “Don’t go. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have– I don’t know why I did that.”
His mouth tightened, as if he felt the same way.
He understood what she was saying, Althea thought, but he couldn’t or wouldn’t respond. Maybe if she explained more of what had happened, he’d help her.
“I wasn’t the only one out there. The people who took me still have four other women locked in a barn. One of them might be really sick.” She didn’t see a flicker of reaction on his face, so she gestured at him and then herself. “You and I, we have to save them.”
Now he looked almost angry.
“We don’t have to go back there,” she said quickly. “Just let me call the police. I can tell them what happened, and you can draw a map to where we were.”
The dark man shook his head and turned away.
“Wait.” Althea tried to climb off the bed after him, only to fall on her face. “Please,” she said pushing herself up from the floor, “if we don’t do something, they’re going to die out there. Please.”
Chapter Nine
INSIDE THE FARMHOUSE in the woods the scents of apple and chamomile filled the kitchen as Hendry finished preparing a brew. After his long imprisonment in the Storr, he found performing the most ordinary tasks a pleasure. Waking in the farmer’s bed beside his beloved allowed him to believe for a few moments that they had journeyed back another thousand years. They’d lived a beautiful, simple life among the Wood Dream tribe.
He would have that again with his lover, just as soon as they took their vengeance, and began their new tribe.
Murdina shared his vision, but she was easily distracted from it. The noises coming from the front room told him that his lover still paced about, kicking everything in her path. She’d been doing so ever since learning that one of the druidesses had escaped.
“How could this have happened? We put six on the barn to watch them, six. I ken that they’re slower at night, but do they become totems again? If that little cloy-faced wench could slip away from so many, what hope have we?” Murdina stopped shouting for a moment, and the sound of pottery smashing combined with a wail of despair. “This shall ruin us, I ken it.”
Hendry filled two cups, added a dollop of herbs and honey to one before he carried them out of the kitchen. “Here, firebrand mine. Your favorite blend. ’Twill ease your mood.”
“Naught ever more, Hendry. That treacherous cow shall bring the Pritani to burn us out,” Murdina raged. “Or the druids to bespell us again.” She stopped and glared at the cup he held out to her, and then snatched it to take a deep swallow. “Do you wish to be trapped in stone for eternity? For ’tis what they’ll do when they come. You and I and the caraidean, and they’ll see to it that we cannae escape this time. They’ll hurl us into the sun.”
“You forget that they’re helpless against us now, sweeting mine,” he chided gently, and led her over to the fireplace, where he sat down with her huddled against his side. “We’re made immortal, so their spells willnae work against us. They cannae enter this wood without our kenning it. As for the Pritani, aye, she may be clever enough to guide them to us. Let them come. We’ve an army of giants they cannae slay.”
“But they shall ken we’re returned and plot against us. They shall find another means to end us. Are you so great a fool that you cannae see it?” She drained her cup and got to her feet, swaying a little before she collapsed again and hunched her shoulders. “Oh, my love, I didnae mean to speak so harshly. ’Tis only that I cannae endure it agai
n, even with you at my side.” Turning to bury her face in his shoulder, she whimpered, “Dinnae let them take me. This time you must kill me.”
“We didnae come back to die.” Hendry stroked her silver-streaked curls. “The Gods freed us to continue our work, to make new the world. Our enemies shall have no place in it.”
He held Murdina until she fell asleep, and then covered her with a woolen and watched her for a time. The herbs he’d added to her brew had calmed her, but soon they wouldn’t be enough to stave off the madness. It was yet another horror for which Bhaltair Flen and his tribe would pay.
Outside the farm house Hendry found Aon standing in wait, his crackled face turned to the rising sun. “Forgive me for the delay. My lady has been most distressed.”
Aon glanced through the window at the sleeping Murdina. “Part of her yet remains trapped in the Storr.”
He hated himself for silently agreeing. “Did you find them?”
“The two the female destroyed, aye,” the giant said as he gestured for the druid to accompany him. “They await new forms to be carved for them, and told the events of the night to me.” As they walked through the trees Aon related what had happened, and then asked, “Why did she conceal her power?”
“Likely she wasnae aware of it,” Hendry said. “In her time she possessed none. We ken that the groves change the druids they send through time. They acquire new talents and abilities. ’Twas why the conclave made it forbidden.”
“There came another, the fallen told me,” the giant said. “He moved like a bird, and wore the same on his flesh. The ink glowed blue.”
Hendry suppressed a sour chuckle. “We saw the Skaraven die in your last battle, my friend, and watched them buried by Flen’s lot. The warrior who aided the female couldnae be one of them. After so many ages, they’re dust.”
“The warrior took her with him into the lochan. He became as the water before he submerged.” Aon halted in a patch of bright sunlight. “From it they vanished. Explain how they could.”