The pull on Toren’s chest continued. Kat needed him, now! He spurred the war horse into a gallop, hoping they wouldn’t hit a sink pot of mud on the uneven, spongy moor. The horse’s hooves flew, barely touching ground. Rain began, mist at first, then small pelting drops. “I’m coming!” Toren breathed as they raced onward. He was certain Maxwell had Kat, and probably Brianag and now Margaret. They’d be at the Campbell holding. Toren cursed again and pushed his mount harder. Maxwell’s hatred and perfidy and Fergus’s lust and brutal nature could surely destroy three helpless women. Kat couldn’t even use magic.
He shouldn’t have let Kat hide away. He could have gone to her rooms, kissed her again, told her that if she left, there would be a hole in him. He could have made her understand, somehow, she had to understand. He couldn’t let her go.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and a glow formed into the ghostly figure of the witch, Drakkina. Horses screeched as their riders pulled up hard. Grunts and gasps surrounded Toren. “Bloody olc witch,” he swore, and Drakkina’s form morphed into the figure of the Holy Mother Mary. What was she up to? She spoke, though her lips only smiled. Her words were in Toren’s mind.
“I know where she is,” Drakkina said, her tense words at odds with the serene appearance of an angelic Madonna.
“I ken that too,” Toren said out loud and added “olc witch” in his head. The Madonna’s image frowned slightly at him. “Why do ye appear like this?”
The transformed Drakkina smiled at him and answered silently. “I’ve learned that if other people in a certain century are to see me as blessing those I help and not marking them as evil, I should look to them like the god, goddess, or saint they worship.”
“You need to go to her,” Mary’s image said.
Where do ye think I was headed? He yelled in his head and turned to his men. “The Holy Mother guides us.” He kicked his horse. Try to keep up, witch. He rode past her misty image. His men, regaining their wits, followed.
“Toren,” the witch said in his mind as she flew along as a little glow up ahead. “I know exactly where she is.” She paused. “Because she’s using her magic.”
Thunder rumbled again, this time a bit closer. “Kat must not have a choice,” Toren yelled back and leaned across his horse’s neck. “Go to her, help her.” Drakkina’s light faded out of sight. If he couldn’t make it to Kat in time, at least Drakkina could defend her against the demons. Couldn’t she?
Toren pushed his war horse to its limit. Rain drops pelted his face like stones. A sideways glance told him that Eadan charged ahead, their horses neck and neck. The torches from the Campbell fortress spit to life in the darkness, growing brighter as they hurtled forward. As they neared, Toren saw horses coming out of the gates, not out straight as if to venture far, but in circles, searching.
There was no mistaking Maxwell, sitting on his white horse nor Fergus Campbell, pointing and yelling orders to his men. They were undoubtedly hunting. Either way, they would feel his revenge. Revenge against the history Toren hoped would not repeat itself. Revenge for taking his sister twice and for stealing Kat. His chest clenched at the thought of her lovely form and kind heart in their hands. Images of rape and brutality fueled Toren’s bloodlust. As they neared he raised his sword in the air and yelled the MacCallum war cry. Next to him Eadan also yelled out, his arm raised. Toren looked to his brother as they flew toward the chaotic scene. Eadan’s face was stone, his lips peeled back in fury. His eyes narrowed as he spied Maxwell.
“Maxwell is mine!” Eadan ground out. With those words Toren saw his little brother as if for the first time. Before Toren’s eyes his brother grew into a leader of men.
“She is here,” a familiar voice whispered in his head. Off to the left, Drakkina’s ethereal Holy Mother Mary image hovered near a large boulder.
Toren nodded to Eadan and broke away. His labored horse covered the distance in less than three heartbeats. Toren pulled back on the reins and threw his leg over the horse, jumping off before the beast could stop. “Kat!” he called and dashed around the boulder.
There was movement under a cloak. “Kat,” he called again and the cloak pushed back as two drenched women stood holding each other.
“Toren,” Kat called and threw herself into his arms. Relief, like a tidal wave, crashed over Toren’s head. He cupped the sides of Kat’s face, wiping back the wet hair from frigid cheeks.
“Are ye hurt?” He ran his hands down her hair to her shoulders, gaze dipping to take in her clothes. He rubbed at a smear of mud across her right cheek, his fingers along the scars. She didn’t pull away. In fact she leaned into his hand.
“No, not hurt,” she replied.
Kat trembled, from cold or fright, he didn’t know. Toren pulled her into his chest, enveloping her in warmth.
“What took you so long?” she asked against the beat of his heart.
Toren heard the battle behind him, heard his brother’s war cry, and his commands to their men. Eadan had things well under control.
Toren’s eyes moved to the other figure. It wasn’t Brianag. Margaret stood alone, drenched, shivering.
“Where is Brianag?” he asked, and pulled back from Kat. Toren picked up the cloak. Its underside was still dry. He draped it over Margaret’s shoulders. Toren looked at the castle. “Is she still—”
“No,” Kat said. “She’s riding home on Margaret’s horse, with Henry the little stable boy and a mistreated woman who helped us escape.” Kat pointed. “That way.”
Toren’s whistle pierced the noise and two of the closest MacCallums raced towards them. “Brianag and two others are riding through the night that way. Find them,” he said. The two trusted men nodded and tore off into the darkness. They would get his sister home.
“This storm is not natural,” Drakkina said, appearing suddenly as the Holy Mother Mary once again. Margaret gasped and dropped to her knees, head bowed. Apparently they hadn’t seen her hovering before.
“Drakkina?” Kat asked.
“It’s easier to look this way in this century,” Drakkina answered. Hard eyes in the angelic face stared into Kat’s. “You used magic.”
“I had to.”
“You need to get out of here,” Drakkina urged.
“I will take her with me to get the necklace,” Toren ground out through his teeth as he pulled Kat against him again. There was no way he’d let the crone just snatch Kat away, hurling her through time to some other place. Thunder rumbled on the horizon. Drakkina looked to the veined splits of lightning along the mountains.
“The necklace is too far, even with my temporal bridges,” Drakkina said. A wind picked up, tugging Kat’s hair.
“The meadow,” Kat said. “I warded it with the magic that was already there, tied into the earth by the trees and rocks around it. It’s closer.”
Drakkina nodded. “I’ll build a temporal bridge that should get you there in time to hide. If I couldn’t see it, then they won’t sense you there.”
Toren lifted Kat onto his horse. He turned and reached for Margaret. He’d take her to Eadan. As he turned, the look on her face made him stop. Horror mixed with relief mixed with sadness and pain. Eadan’s war cry bolted out behind him. He turned in time to see Eadan’s sword slide out of Maxwell’s neck and shoulder. Toren reached for Margaret’s hand. She pulled it away and looked down.
“Margaret,” he said, his tone low but strong, without pity. Her gaze flicked up. “I am the one who is shamed, not ye.” He shook his head. “I should have seen what was happening under that roof.”
Margaret shook her head. “You were just a boy when it started.”
“And ye were just a lass,” Toren answered. “Ye and Sara are now under the protection of the MacCallums.”
Grateful eyes looked up at him and welled with tears. “Toren, I’m sorry I lied…about you.”
Toren nodded, accepting her apology, and lifted her behind Kat, who took her hand and squeezed it.
“I need to get you two away from he
re,” Drakkina reminded them as she moved away. “The bridge I’m weaving will be done in less than a minute.”
“Ye do yer part, witch,” Toren said, jogging the horse toward Eadan. “I will do mine.”
With the death of Maxwell, Fergus had signaled his men to retreat into the bailey. Eadan sat upon his horse. He saw Toren leading the women over.
“Is Brianag still in there?” Eadan asked.
“No,” Toren answered. “Kieven and Connor are riding after her. She’s on Margaret’s horse headed home.”
Toren signaled the MacCallums not to follow the Campbells into the bailey. The toothed gate crunched closed. Toren didn’t doubt that Brianag’s treatment would be revenged upon Fergus Campbell one day soon, but not tonight, not with two drenched women in the mix.
Eadan maneuvered his horse up to Margaret and held out a hand. “Let me take ye home, Margaret, to Craignish.” Tears flowed down Margaret’s face. She accepted Eadan’s hand, and he pulled her to sit on his horse. Toren knew there would need to be many more words between them, but it was a good start.
“Eadan,” Toren said, as he mounted the war horse behind Kat. Drakkina waved with a flutter of her hand and a frown near the boulder. Since no one looked at her, she was probably only visible to Kat and him. “I have to take Kat to her home, now.”
“Leave on the morrow,” Eadan said, and turned his horse. “She looks like she could use some of Winifred’s bread and some sleep.”
Kat did look bedraggled as she slumped into him. Toren’s arms moved around her, pulling her up close to his warmth. Her trust in him coursed through his muscles, making them like steel.
“Eadan,” Toren said, catching his brother’s attention. “We have to leave, now.” Toren reached out and grasped Eadan’s forearm. “While I am away, ye are The MacCallum, the chief.”
Eadan frowned and his eyes narrowed as if he had questions. Instead of asking he nodded and clasped Toren’s forearm in return. “I will take care of everyone until ye return, brother.”
Toren nodded, their eyes locked. They unclasped arms and Toren kicked his mount toward Drakkina. Little dragonflies zipped around her as if they felt her agitated energy.
“Go!” she hissed. “Before they find her here.” Drakkina indicated a spot in the darkness that wavered like a waterfall.
Kat sat upright to see. “What is that?” She asked, bumping Toren’s chin.
“A temporal bridge. Ride along it.” Drakkina waved her hands as if that would make them move faster. The dragonflies zipped around in a frenzy.
“Where will it let us off?” Toren asked. From the looks of the warped hole, it would be a bumpy ride.
Drakkina made wide sweeping movements with her arms. Toren wasn’t about to ride into something she’d made in total ignorance. “Witch, I will sit here until the world comes to an end if ye do not tell me where we’re going to end up.”
Lightning splintered across the sky, illuminating the moor. Toren saw Eadan with Margaret before him and the rest of the MacCallums riding toward Craignish. His brother’s hand was raised in farewell. Toren raised his arm in return just before darkness claimed the air.
“The moment Kat used her magic in that clearing to save your sister, I knew where she was. That’s where this bridge will let out!”
“And in what century will we be?” Toren continued.
Drakkina’s form stamped in the mist. “I’ll but throw you forward a few months, so the demons will lose your trail! Now go!” Drakkina yelled.
Toren’s mouth opened to argue, but the lightning zapped the rolling landscape less than a mile away. A few months? He didn’t trust the witch, but he had little choice if he wanted to keep Kat alive. His horse hesitated at the edge of the blurry hole. Toren circled the animal around far enough out to tap him into a run.
“I will find you when they’ve gone,” Drakkina yelled behind them. “And Kat, don’t use any more magic, not while you’re in the same temporal frame as my dragonfly.” She warned.
Toren pushed the horse into a charge. “Now!” Toren yelled as his horse hurtled into the blur. The ground below thumped beneath the hooves. It sounded different, dulled, as if the noise lay flat in the swirl instead of rising into the air as sounds normally do. Darkness enshrouded as they rode, punctured with sparks of lightning. Toren could hardly see. Could one ride off the side of the bridge? Tension drew across his back and shoulders.
“Too tight,” Kat said and Toren realized he was squeezing her, trying to protect her if they suddenly fell off whatever it was they were riding on, into whatever lay around them.
He forced his arms to relax. “I do not like this,” he breathed against her ear. His horse continued to run wildly. As the lightning flashed, Toren caught glimpses of hills and lochs, farms and manor houses rushing by on either side. Did they run over or through objects? His horse continued to ride forward, straight with no turns, no inclines, no hills. Another horse wouldn’t have charged blind, but Toren’s war horse, Dubh, named for his black coat, trusted him completely. Toren just hoped he didn’t guide them off the edge and into a mountain.
“Very odd,” Kat called. Even her words didn’t sound normal. It felt like they rode in a tunnel. He glanced up at a dark swirling ceiling. Maybe they did.
They rode for an hour when Dubh’s ears flicked and he snorted. Toren allowed him to slow into a brisk trot.
“What is it?” Kat asked.
“He senses something.” Toren patted Dubh’s neck.
“Maybe he’s just tired.”
Toren shook his head. “It would take more than an hour run for this war horse to tire. He trusts me to lead him. I need to trust him to tell me when to slow down.”
As if a giant hand pushed them from the back they were thrown forward over Dubh’s neck. The stallion’s back legs flew out behind them, but found ground immediately. It was like going from sixty to zero miles per hour in one of those cars in Kat’s century.
Kat gasped as Dubh’s hooves hit the ground. “Whoa!” she yelled and grabbed hard onto Toren’s arm. The dull thuds of Dubh’s hooves hitting the temporal bridge changed to the natural sound of horse hooves against thick meadow grass. A gentle rain sprinkled over them as warm night air breezed by.
“Where are we?” Kat asked.
Toren smelled cook fires on the breeze. “The village is to the west.” He pointed. Toren recognized the meadow and bushes in full bloom. “That’s where we found Brianag.” He nudged his horse toward the road that lay just beyond the oaks. “Yer warded clearing is this way.” He tapped Dubh into a run. “And I’d guess that we’ve landed in summer.”
“Drakkina drew them away?” Kat asked, her words carried on the firefly-speckled air that raced past as they flew into the natural night.
Toren let up on Dubh’s reins. This terrain he knew and so did his horse.
“They could follow the witch’s magic probably the same way they could follow yers.” Toren looked up at the clouds racing across the moonlit sky. “A wonder it didn’t lead them here,” he breathed, listening, feeling the air around them. Would the demons sense Kat now that they’d moved through time?
Thunder rumbled in the distance and Kat shuddered. Find the clearing.
Dubh leapt over fallen storm debris and branches toward the warded ground. How long had the demons raged after they disappeared on Drakkina’s bridge? Large trees lay toppled as if a mighty hand had pushed through the forest searching. A mighty hand or an unnatural cyclone.
Kat’s body felt heavy.
In a swift turn to the left, Toren broke off the road and into the forest. He slowed Dubh and glanced around.
Toren’s voice cracked through the soft summer night.
Kat’s hand brushed his and then pointed. “There. I feel it through the brambles.”
“No magic,” Toren warned.
“I feel its hum,” she answered. She glanced up. “Don’t you?”
Toren breathed in the damp summer air and stilled. Aye, a faint vibrat
ion, like the thunder of horses in the distance. The hairs on his arm stood up as the sensation tickled along his skin.
“Aye, I feel it too.” He guided Dubh to the invisible path in the darkness. They pushed through the sweet smelling brambles. Toren plucked off a ripe blackberry and passed it to Kat. “Seems summer is in its fullness.”
Kat ate the berry and picked more as they stepped along. Toren glanced behind and in the light of the fleeting moon he watched as the path disappeared, leaving only a thorny hedge. He shook his head. Magic.
The breeze sent leaves and flower petals whirling. His eyes scanned the sky. Could the demons sense Kat again now that she’d returned to the same temporal plane as the necklace?
Toren rubbed Dubh’s sweat-slicked neck. The horse shook its mane and trembled. Kat trembled with him. The lightning blinked far off.
“Could that be…?” Kat’s wide eyes searched the night sky.
“Not sure,” Toren said and dismounted, pulling Kat down after. “Do ye feel the warding? Is it still set?” he asked, pushing hair back from her face.
Kat breathed deep, careful not to open even a crack around her magic. The natural energy of the place resonated against her body, seeking the core of her own power. She felt the tethered wards she had left intertwined with the ancient magic of the place. Pray God the demons don’t feel that. She looked around at the giant oaks and boulders that stood sentry around them. This was either the safest place on earth or she’d just walked into the ring of a bull’s eye.
“Yes, it’s still warded.”
“So they can’t sense ye here? Even if they find this time period?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Kat said glancing at the distant flashes.
“Just in case—”
“No magic,” Kat finished for him.
Toren threw the blanket over Kat’s shoulders.
She was grateful. Even though it was a summer night, the wet dress and frantic ride coupled with sheer physical exhaustion sent chills inside and out. She glanced around warily and tried to pick out the night sounds. The rain increased. Large drops pelted down and Kat held the blanket over her head. Demons, or natural summer rainstorm?
Masquerade (The Dragonfly Chronicles Book 3) Page 22