by Editor
The one called Gerard grabbed Serena’s bare hand and slid his clammy lips across her knuckles. His tongue snaked out and licked a trail of spittle across her hand.
She gasped. Waves of darkness rolled over her; lust, fear, pain, death. The ground wobbled as her vision blurred and she fell toward the void, somehow knowing, without knowing, that the void would catch her.
The giant caught her against him. “Bloody hell, Gerard, let her go,” he said and clasped the man’s arm.
“Listen, lovey, I have more money than this Scottish boor could even dream of having. And I know you Rom ladies like a little coin,” he insinuated.
The giant finally pulled the lecherous hand from hers. Serena felt strangely numb, and pinpricks of light sparkled against the darkness. Just as her knees began to buckle, one strong arm went under them, and she was pulled up against a solid chest. Serena rested her cheek against the warmth and closed her eyes, relaxing in the strange silence that radiated from him. His warm, masculine smell enveloped her. Even without knowing him, Serena felt safe. Foolish, she thought, but kept her head against him and listened to the strong heart beat.
“Bloody damn Scot!” Gerard cursed after them as the mysterious man walked with her away from the fire toward the dark wagons.
“Put her down, now, English,” Serena heard William say, and she lifted her head against the man’s shoulder.
“I’m na English, lad.” The arms holding her tensed.
“Whatever the hell you are, put my sister down,” William demanded. Serena could feel the angry thoughts of her brother. As William brushed against her, she shivered. A slick inkiness surrounded him in her mind. Serena lifted her head and looked back at Gerard as he drank from a tankard. It had something to do with that man.
“William, this man helped me.” She wiggled slightly to let him know that she wanted down, but he remained wrapped around her. She looked up into his face. His clear eyes studied her. “I’m fine now. Please let me down.”
Slowly the giant let her slide down the length of his hard body. The friction against her torso and thighs let loose a slow flow of heat down into her stomach. She forgot to breathe as the tingle spread. “And what are you called?” she asked a bit breathlessly.
He stared a moment before speaking, as if weighing whether or not he should reveal his name.
“Keenan Maclean.” Her stomach flipped. “Keenan Maclean,” Serena repeated, slowly tasting it and trying to draw any information her senses could from his name. Pain in her chest, she must breathe. “Do you know my thoughts?” she asked softly. “What I’m thinking?”
His eyes narrowed slightly, his forehead furrowed. This was a look of confusion, wasn’t it? He shook his head slightly. “Nay. Do ye ken my thoughts?” he asked and raised an eyebrow. Was that surprise? Maybe jesting?
“No,” she said and frowned. Was he telling the truth?
“And this is troubling?” he asked. His hard eyes searched her face, but a faint grin played on his lips.
William stepped up beside her, his chest puffed outward. “Thank you, Maclean, for helping my sister. I will take care of her from here.”
The Scot ran his eyes over William. “She is yer sister?” he asked and looked pointedly between their obvious physical differences.
“Not by blood.” Serena felt the defensiveness in William. “But by every other way a man could be my brother.”
Mari walked around the edge of the wagon. She stopped in front of the Scot and threaded her hand through the crook of her daughter’s arm. To an onlooker it may have looked as if Serena held Mari up, but Serena felt the strength radiating alongside her, allowing her to lean gently into the warmth of her mother.
Mari scrutinized the man silhouetted by the campfire. She smiled pleasantly, but Serena felt her senses try to tune in to him.
The Maclean stood with his legs braced apart, his arms crossed. His eyes moved from Mari back to Serena, studying them. He wore English garb. An outer jacket of deep blue came down to his knees. His deeply muscled calves bulged sleekly in the fashionable court hose. The hilt of a short sword flashed inside his jacket against his ribs. He dressed the part of an English courtier, but his hair was his own, natural and dark, not powdered. Although handsome in the courtly attire, he looked too rugged for such finery. His physique and the scar marked him as a warrior.
“Thank you, for helping my daughter,” Mari said and paused. “Sir?” She reached out to touch his arm, waiting for him to fill in his name.
“No ‘sir,’ just Keenan Maclean.” The warrior tipped his head in response but did not smile. The firelight flickered shadows across his features. He looked fierce, dangerous, and incredibly powerful. Serena shivered.
Mari drew her hand back to her skirts. “You dress like the English, but you are not,” she said in broken Gaelic.
“Aye.”
He answered Mari, but his eyes remained on Serena. Had he lied before? Could he read her thoughts? By the Earth Mother, she hoped not. Serena rubbed her hands down her thighs through her skirts. Her skin still felt hot as if branded by his hard body during her slide to the ground.
“Perhaps from the mountains of the west,” Mari said again in Gaelic.
“Woman, it is dangerous to speak the ancient tongue here,” he said in English. “Ye best be careful.”
Mari nodded and switched to English. “We traveled there several years ago, near the ocean.”
“My home is Kylkern, near the sea,” the man said.
Mari nodded. “Yes, yes, Kylkern Castle. I remember your laird well, the proud Angus Maclean. He was quite generous to us and allowed us to entertain. I would have you send him the kind wishes of King Will and the Faw tribe.”
“He is dead,” the man said swiftly, his eyes taking in all three of them.
“I am sorry for the loss of such a great man,” Mari said, bowing her head slightly. “Then I send along the kind wishes to the new chief of the Macleans, who is...?”
“You,” Serena said in a near whisper. Mari looked up.
The Maclean turned toward the fire and scanned the small crowd. His face caught the glow of orange light on half of his strong features. The shadows turned his features sharp, predatory, battle hungry. Serena tucked her other hand under Mari’s arm.
He half spoke to her and half to the fire. “Nay, Lachlan Maclean is laird.” Mari’s grip on her arm tightened. Surprise and concern radiated from Mari. Serena never guessed wrong.
The warrior continued to scan the area around the fire. Boisterous laughter came from one of the tables set up on the other side. He reached into his pocket and produced a small bag of coins which he tossed to William.
“For yer trouble,” he said and then looked at Serena, “and for yer performance.” His eyes searched hers one last time and then turned to Mari. “Yer pardon,” he said quickly and bowed. “But I must find my companion.”
Mari nodded her thanks.
“Yes,” Serena said before she thought better of it. “Find him, he will be in need of you,” she said. “I felt death when he touched me.”
Keenan Maclean’s eyes pivoted towards her. Sharp angles of firelight and moonlight cut across his face. Without a word he turned and jogged toward the laughter on the other edge of the fire.
“William,” Ephram, one of the tribe’s young men, called near the fire where he waved him over.
“I have work to do.” William raised his hand to his friend. “Go inside, Àngelas,” he said in his best imitation of King Will. Then he turned to leave them.
“William.” Serena stopped him by resting her bare hand on his arm. Her stomach clenched.
“Àngelas?”
She shook her head. “Something feels terribly wrong, dark. I’m afraid for you,” she said.
He would take her warning seriously. He knew her powers. Unfortunately he also knew how she often caused more problems by trying to stop fate.
William frowned but then smiled softly at her. “I will be extra careful tonig
ht.”
With his promise, Serena hoped the sickening in her belly would mellow, but it didn’t. She watched him saunter off toward his friends.
Mari waited until they ducked through the door into the tented room of their covered wagon before the questions began to pop quickly into Serena’s head. Mari sat down across from Serena and gave her daughter a tin cup of watered-down wine.
“Keenan Maclean, from Kylkern,” Mari said.
Serena nodded, “I know, but only because it came from his lips.” She took two gulps of the sweet drink and tried to force the thought of his sensual lips away. She ran her fingers over her forehead, rubbing at the ache she felt coming, and pulled the strand of painted glass jewels off. She looked up into the wise eyes that searched her. “I could not read his thoughts at all.”
“How unusual.” Mari sipped some of the wine.
“But you could?” Serena asked and Mari nodded slightly.
“Just some. My gift is not like yours, Àngelas.”
“Hmmph, my gift abandoned me.”
“Only with him?”
Serena nodded in response and took a drink. She turned to look closely at her mother. “Is he dark? Some sort of wizard or demon able to block his thoughts from me?” The thought sent prickles of fear up her neck to her scalp. Could a demon have found her?
Mari considered it but then shook her head. “Perhaps some darkness, but not a demon. He…seemed…” She hesitated and tilted her head to the side. “Sad, I think. I heard the sad skirl of their ancient pipes when I touched him.”
Serena took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing away from panic. “Why couldn’t I hear them?”
Serena felt Mari’s concern, but the woman kept her voice light. “I don’t know. I will meditate on it.”
Serena sat back against the bedroll. An itch in her mind tickled at the base of her ears. She rubbed at them and pulled the earrings from her lobes. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms, and she ran her hands down them.
Mari’s worry came through her mind, and she leaned forward to rub Serena’s arms briskly.
“Pain comes,” Serena said. “Betrayal, fear.”
“So you feel this darkness too?”
Serena nodded. “But I think it involves the Highlander’s companion. The one named Gerard.”
Mari laid her weathered hand on Serena’s knee. “Reach out to it, child. Gently so as not to open the gates you hold back. A crack to see the darkness.”
“You want me to look?” Serena asked. How many times had her duy told her to shut her mind or ignore the warnings, to allow fate’s song to play out? And now she asked her to seek out the darkness.
Mari’s brow furrowed deeply, and she clenched her calloused hands. “The stars speak to me of treachery.” She paused and looked deeply into Serena’s eyes. “This darkness stalks us, our family.”
“William,” Serena said and stood. She grabbed her wool cloak and wrapped it around herself. She ducked out the small door and stood at the top of the steps. The rhythm of the faire was familiar, normal, as were the muted sounds of the forest around their caravan. She didn’t see Keenan Maclean or Gerard. Her eyes moved around the fire. No William.
Serena washed a cleansing breath through her chest and closed her eyes. The walls she held around herself were hardly a burden to her now after years of training to control what she allowed herself to see. Mari had guided her, with common sense, a duy’s love, and the ancient knowledge passed down through her maternal line.
Serena envisioned a stone wall that reached up to the tallest trees and encircled. The stone was rough granite with stars sprinkled within it. The stars had been in her first wall when she had created it as a young girl, and she had kept it. Using her internal compass, Serena felt for the direction of the darkness. Through the wall she felt its slick presence. She focused on the rocks on the outside of the wall.
A small fissure glowed along a jagged path between the granite stones. Serena narrowed her thoughts into a thread and squeezed through the tiny crack. Out through the cooling night her thread darted into shadows, between trees, past the crackling fires of the tribe, past the merriment in the faire’s center. Her mind flew, a single thread intent on only one destination, the darkness that itched.
Through zigs and zags, she came upon the bridge that crossed the creek not far from the faire. “Where are you?” Her mind searched for the cause of her worry, it searched for William. The woods stood silent in the moon-washed darkness, watching, smelling the predator lurking. Serena saw Gerard stumbling, catching himself on the wooden rail. Would he fall in? Was that the darkness? No, it was human darkness, swollen with deceit, full of purpose and perfidy.
Serena’s thread hovered over Gerard as the man gurgled and wretched over the side of the brook. Wiping his frothy mouth, he turned to see another man lunge from the shadows. Serena tried to yell a warning, but Gerard’s mind was too befuddled to be receptive. Few could hear her thoughts, and only when they were open to her voice.
The man was larger than Gerard, poorly dressed, a local brute. In one quick movement, he stabbed Gerard through the abdomen. Serena breathed hard, her silent scream useless. She must concentrate to keep her thread. She pulsed against the sight of such blood spreading like dark wine through white linen between his splayed fingers. Gerard sank to his knees. The rough man looked back over his shoulder and nodded. Serena sent her quivering thread to the other end of the bridge.
A man and woman stood in the shadows, their clothes well cut, costly. “Run! Go back!” she mentally yelled to them. Should she break the thread and run for help? The images were so clear that Serena knew that what she observed was happening now. There was no time to run to them.
Serena watched as the couple came forward. Instead of recoiling, the man handed the killer a bag of coins and motioned for him to drop the knife near the body. The thug dropped the knife, grabbed the bag and hurried off into the woods.
Serena watched as the gentleman pulled a rolled paper from Gerard’s inner jacket. The petite blond woman tucked it into a small satchel and turned to leave.
Serena breathed, focusing again so as not to scatter her energy. If the thread collapsed, she would plunge back behind her granite wall.
What was happening? Who were they? Serena reached out with her sharpest powers. Anxiety clung to the woman, but purpose held her resolve. The man felt relief.
William burst from the trees, startling the two. The man pulled out a gun.
“No,” Serena screamed at William. “No!”
The shot tore through William and shattered Serena’s concentration. The scene dissolved and she fell backwards into the arms of Mari. Chiriklò chirped wildly and fluttered around her as she regained her bearings.
“Duy, they’ve shot Shoshòy,” Serena cried and wiped at her tears. “Find King Will, I’m going to help him, he’s on the bridge.” She jumped down out of the wagon, nearly twisting her foot in the slippery mud.
“Chiriklò, fly to William.” The bird shot through the darkness, and Serena ran after him.
Chapter 2
Keenan Maclean knelt over Gerard, loosened the man’s cravat and pressed against his neck.
“Bloody hell.” He checked Gerard’s pockets. Empty. “Bloody, blathering hell,” he cursed and stood up. He’d failed to keep the bastard alive, the only Jacobite supporter that had King George’s ear. And the damn letter was missing. How could he have failed so terribly? He had allowed the gypsy woman to distract him from his duty.
A bird screeched near the fallen Rom at the other end of the bridge. In the moonlight, Keenan watched the tiny bird hop from one end of the man to the other, tilting its head in the disjointed manner birds do.
Keenan looked up as padded feet slapped across the boards of the bridge. “Now what?” he grumbled. And there she was, the woman from the faire. She ran across the bridge and threw herself on the Rom man. She draped across him, her long hair flowing along his length like a plaid.
Keenan’s
frown deepened. Was the man her lover? As she turned the man’s face upward, Keenan saw that it was the Rom who had called her his sister. What did he have to do with Gerard’s death?
Keenan walked over and knelt down next to her. “Serena?”
She looked up at him and wiped her nose against the back of her glove. Tears stained her cheeks. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to.
They worked together to open her brother’s jacket. Blood seeped from a hole in his shoulder.
“He’s been shot, please help me,” she whispered.
The jolt that shot through Keenan was nearly a physical pain, her anguish so raw, her helplessness so devastatingly sincere. All the sorrow in the wretched world seemed reflected in her breathless words. He had felt sorrow before, seen the anguish in the world. But her simple plea tore like sharp teeth into him.
His eyes stared back into hers, promising more than words could pronounce. “I will help ye.”
She nodded and looked back down where blood continued to seep from the Rom boy’s shoulder.
Several Rom men ran up behind them, speaking low in the Romany language. Keenan finished pulling William’s jacket carefully from his shoulders. Serena ripped the scarf that was tied to her waist, balled it up and pushed it gently against the hole. From the small amount of blood, Keenan knew that the shot was lodged in the muscle and dammed much of the bleeding. It must be removed eventually, but right now loss of blood was the first concern.
Serena tied the sash tightly around the wound. She seemed to know what to do. Had she saved many from pistol shots? Her gloved hands shook and slipped as she tied the knots. A dark slickness covered them, and she tried to wipe them on the boards near her.
She swayed slightly on her heels, and Keenan nudged her hands aside. “Let me,” he said.
She sat back and pulled off her blood soaked gloves and tucked them in her waistband. When Keenan finished, he grasped her elbow beneath her cloak to help her stand. She flinched at his touch but didn’t pull away.
One of the men from her tribe stepped forward. Keenan held her hand out to the man, but he avoided it. Instead, he stiffly pulled her against his side.