Time of the Druids: A Time Travel Romance (Hadrian's Wall Book 3)

by Jane Stain

  "Are you sure you can't get us home?" She asked Galdus in her mind for the thousandth time. And then she decided to butter him up a little, appeal to his pride. "The druids of this time are impressed with you, so your powers must be vast."

  Also for the thousandth time, Galdus denied her request. She was starting to notice, however, that he didn't deny being able to time travel.

  "Alasdair will take us home when he's ready to, lass. My feeling is that we are expected to stay here and help these people he calls Picts — my people if you must know, only from a few hundred years in my past — to help them raid the Romans."

  "Why? We have already staged the artifacts so anyone with a ring can move them before the Gaels discover them. That’s what we were sent to do, and there's no way we can change history, we already know that."

  Galdus chuckled a bit at this.

  "I’d say Alasdair wishes for you to gain some power over this young laird’s brother Talorac. The considerable hold you had on him at first blush came as quite a surprise, and perhaps Alasdair feels this can be useful to us in the future."

  "But I don't want power over him."

  As soon as she thought this, she knew it was a mistake, so she reigned in her emotions and tried to use logic on Galdus. This had never worked in persuading him before, but she was an adult now, so perhaps he would start treating her as more of an equal. Perhaps. One could hope.

  "Why would we need power over these primitive people? Anything they create, we can find in the future."

  "Oh my dear Deirdre," Galdus thought at her with that infuriating note of superiority in his tone, "with you and me powering Talorac? Think of the things will be able to forge and then find in the future."

  Chapter 21

  Tal wished he could think of an excuse to stay with Deirdre and the other druids in the sacred grove, but after a week he couldn't. So, as was his right, he slept on his pallet in the chieftains’ dining room inside the broch, one floor below Breth and Jaelle’s private room at the top.

  This was embarrassing in the mornings. Jaelle arose early, uncomfortable with her child nearly to term and needing first the piss pot and then food, great quantities of food. He wasn't sure if he would rather have had Boann up here fixing the food, as was Jaelle’s right… But no.

  Even though it was a bit embarrassing for Jaelle to walk in on Tal in the mornings doing what all young men do in the mornings, they quickly devised a system where she would simply not look at him until he spoke to her. This was better than Boann coming in even earlier.

  Ia had offered herself to Tal. It was her duty as the clan's youngest female druid, but she had done so only halfheartedly, her eyes telling him she knew she wasn't the one he wanted.

  "She really should offer herself to you as I have," Ia had said that first evening after they returned home more than a week ago now. "I’ll have a word with her—"

  But Tal had stayed Ia, urgently grabbing her hand to hold her back.

  “No."

  "You don’t have to do this yourself, Tal. We’ll help you."

  "I don't want her, not like this—"

  Ia had laughed.

  "Don't tell me stupid lies. You do so want her."

  "No — I mean yes, I do want her — but I want her to want me, too."

  Ia had shown him a new respect then, and had counseled more than a bit of caution.

  "Aw, that's lovely of you, but you must know she’s not meant to stay here long. I fear it will only lead you to sorrow, this desire of yours."

  He accepted her hug, and it did console him a bit.

  "I know, and that's another part of ‘not like this’.”

  Starting on the eighth day, the earliest day the Gaels could arrive, extra watches were set by day and bonfires by night. Many extra animals were slaughtered and cooked for a feast in the Gaels’ honor, and when they didn't arrive, this meat was smoked so it could be eaten later. Yet more was prepared the next day. And the next. And the next. There was dancing and revelry and stories at all these feasts.

  Even though Deirdre showed up each day and evening to dance with him, Talorac felt she was doing so dutifully, and not with any real joy in his company. So he kept their interactions polite and reserved. And oh so frustrating.

  Her beautiful face captivated him in the evenings with the firelight dancing off of it and her cheeks flushed from the dancing. In the same way that Jaelle knew many sword fighting moves and taught them to the people, Deirdre knew many dance moves and taught those, with all of the people eagerly lining up for each new dance she called.

  Deirdre looked genuinely happy when she was calling a dance, clapping her hands to the music and turning this way and that, smiling over her shoulder and gesturing people on. In those moments, Tal exerted more reserve than he ever had in his life, not wishing to interrupt her and break the spell. But ironically, those were the only moments in which he knew absolutely she was not exerting a spell over him.

  And so he knew his feelings were genuine. That he was falling in love with a woman he could never have. He knew he should withdraw. Let some other man accompany her at these feasts.

  But the very thought of that made his blood boil, and so day after day, evening after evening, Talorac suffered from unrequited love.

  Chapter 22

  On the fourteenth day, the Gaels came. Deirdre was in the sacred grove talking to some of the druids from the other clans. All of them were fascinating, but in particular a young woman her age, Nyla, had befriended her. The two of them were comparing ways they knew to stop wounds from bleeding. Nyla was fascinated with the idea of tying a rope around the top of an arm or leg, something Sasha had proudly shown Deirdre.

  "But isn't that bad for the rest of the arm?" Nyla asked with rumpled brow, squinting at the tourniquet Deirdre had tied around their practice strawman.

  Deirdre shrugged.

  "Aye, but surely damage to the rest of the limb is preferable to bleeding out and dying, no?"

  Nyla was moving in to look closer when the shouts came from the broch valley.

  "They're here!"

  "The Gaels have finally arrived!"

  "The alliance is real!"

  "Everyone to the feast, druids as well"

  Nyla and Deirdre smiled at each other and ran over to the bonfire together, for now it burned without ceasing, the idea being that the Gaels might need an indicator of where to go, they were so late in coming. Some had objected that the Romans might follow the bonfire and come here, but it had been pointed out that they already knew right where the broch was. It never moved, so what was the harm?

  Deirdre froze when she got to the edge of the broch valley and could see the Gaels coming over the rim of the valley.

  Nyla stopped with her and gave her a curious look.

  "What is it?"

  Deirdre swallowed and turned her head this way and that.

  "I don't know if you saw me when I first got here or not."

  "Aye, I did."

  "Then you may have noticed I was wearing a leine, a shirt much like theirs." Deirdre nodded her head toward the thousand Gaels descending into the broch valley with drums beating and the younger ones chanting.

  Nyla grabbed her arm, making Deirdre jump.

  "Are you afraid they mean us harm? That chant isn't their war cry, is it?"

  "No," said Deirdre quickly, putting a comforting hand on Nyla’s back. "No, it's just that…"

  Nyla patted Deirdre's back in return.

  "Aw, I know. It's just that from a distance, they look like your people."

  Deirdre nodded and wiped her tears away with the back of her arm, trying her hardest not to sob against the lump that was forming in her throat, making it difficult to breathe.

  "Why doesn't Alasdair just come for me? I've done as he said. I've gotten as close to Talorac as possible without…"

  Nyla sighed deeply and took the crying Deirdre in her arms.

  "It's not everyone, so try not to be even more upset, but you need to k
now there are many among the druids who think it's your duty."

  Now Deirdre was sobbing, no longer able to fight the choking feeling. Her sobs were deep and desperate, and her tears flowed freely. She hated feeling helpless. She hated not knowing what the plan was. She hated Alasdair for making her feel this way. And Galdus was no help whatsoever. All he did was laugh. No wonder his last wielder had left him in that tomb.

  Showing herself to be a true friend, Nyla pulled her into the bushes where she wouldn't be seen. There was no chance she’d be heard over all the shouts of exaltation in the valley.

  "At last they’re here!"

  "Finally, we found them!"

  There were even a few old Picts who spoke Gaelic, and they were ribbing the Gaels.

  “What, those of you who were here before didn't show you the way?"

  Deirdre was proud of her ancestors for quipping right back at the Picts.

  "Those rascals? They aren’t part of our civilized society. No, they’re a gaggle of misfits and outcasts, much like we hear you've taken in from your numbers."

  "Better to let in the misfits than serve as slaves to the Romans."

  "I'll drink to that. Show me to the ale wagons!"

  It took a while, but Deirdre got ahold of herself, and then she and Nyla walked arm-in-arm to the bonfire. Deirdre danced when Tal asked her, and she enjoyed these dances immensely, but for the most part she spent the evening with Nyla, who understood her. Tal cast her frequent yearning glances, but she ducked from them. Having power over him was one thing, but she didn’t want to break his heart. Or hers. Alasdair would come for her any day now.

  At long last, it was time to prepare for the Gaels’ and Picts’ first joint raid against the Romans. Tal jogged all the way down to the sacred grove, telling himself he was excited about the battle to come. But deep down he knew he was mostly excited about seeing Deirdre. Oh well. He was going, wasn’t he? He was doing his duty. Never mind why.

  When he arrived a few moments after the crack of dawn, a hundred warriors were already in the grove. He got in line, looking around for Deirdre's face — and freezing in place when he found her. He was in her line. She would be the one to woad him.

  Chapter 23

  Deirdre shared a grin with Nyla as Galdus used her hands to paint the magical woad armor on her tenth warrior. Most of them were being directed toward Deirdre's line. The other druids knew the older Galdus could handle far more than the younger Nyla. All Deirdre had to do was go through the motions. Galdus did all the work, laughing and joking.

  "Who needs human hands? Ye are sae slow! Come on now, lass, move those fingers more quickly. Feathers sway faster than that in the wind, make them look like it on his back."

  Deirdre hadn’t ever quite understood Galdus’s humor, but he was always laughing at it.

  Sweat broke out on her brow, so hard was she trying not to think about Tal being the next one in her line. And she had an idea and looked over at Nyla I until she caught her eye, looked significantly at Tal, and then back with a question in her eyes, gesturing with her chin toward Nyla’s pot of woad.

  Nyla looked at her line and then at Deirdre's and paused for an agonizing moment.

  Please, Deirdre pleaded with her eyes. Please. Relieve me of the embarrassment of everyone staring while we have at the same time all and nothing we desire. Please.

  Nyla gave her a pained look and nodded yes.

  Deirdre’s relief was immediate. All the tension sloughed off her shoulders and neck like snow on the rim of a hot spring. It was a joy now to paint with woad on the warrior in front of her, a woman of about 30 with stretch marks on her belly from bearing children. Deidre took pleasure in turning those stretch marks into the hands of a whirling storm and portraying them heaving enemies great distances to their doom. Mother nature could be cruel if you defied her, or she could be kind if you minded her, giving you the joy of children.

  The woman smiled at Deirdre in thanks and gifted her with a small kiss on the nose, something Nyla had explained was the gift of goodwill — which Galdus had confirmed.

  Her constant companion had been uncharacteristically quiet since that moment when she had threatened to drive the dagger into a tree and abandon him there. Of course, she hadn't shared everything with him either. She had tried as hard as she could to not think about Talorac and the life they might've had together had things been different.

  Nyla finished woading the young male warrior who was preparing for his first fight and looked over at Tal. Once he noticed her, she gestured him with her head to come on over, making it look like she was deferring to Breth's next of kin by not making him wait any longer than necessary, land bless her.

  It all looked like it would go smoothly.

  All the tension dropped out of Tal’s neck and shoulders as well, and he smiled his biggest smile at Nyla as he sauntered over in front of her with a sigh of relief.

  But Nyla hadn't even dipped her fingers into the woad yet when the head druid dropped his hands from the woman he was woading, wiped them on his own thighs, and rushed over with storm clouds in his eyes.

  "Deirdre, you were to take the lion’s share of the work, and you will do as you're told. Never mind the amount of power you have… at your fingertips, the rest of us together are stronger. And all of us together will enforce order. You will not show favorites — whether to accept them or to deny them. The line is the line. Each warrior gets who they get. That is the way, and you are not to meddle with it."

  What could she say to that? All anew, her shoulders seized up with tension again. And the tears sprang to her eyes. She was so choked up she couldn't even answer the man, could only lower her head in acquiescence and look up at the next person in her line with an apology, afraid to meet their eyes lest the tears fall freely.

  But Tal didn't budge.

  Tal didn't come and stand in front of her so that she could put her hands on him in places that she would rather — well, she would rather be doing so under different circumstances altogether.

  Clearly, so would Tal.

  He squared off on the head druid, lifting his chin in defiance and clutching his fists in threat.

  "Your counsel is noted, druid. Howsoever, this time I will not be taking your counsel. Move along."

  The warrior who would have been Nyla’s next spoke up.

  "Wait your turn, Tal. You're not taking mine."

  There was a general tittering of laughter from all the other warriors around, most of it good-natured.

  But Tal just stood there smiling expectantly at Nyla. And that took away any of the impatient warrior’s good nature.

  "Do not ignore me, young Talorac."

  "Watch it, Cyrus. Remember who you're speaking to."

  "Aye, Cyrus. Remember Tal is Breth’s next of kin."

  "I care for none of that," Cyrus grunted out as he flexed his muscles to look as imposing as possible.

  The next thing Deirdre knew, Tal and Cyrus were rolling around together on the ground, headbutting and kneeing, grunting and cursing.

  “Good thing they both removed their weapons for the woading,” said a woman nearby.

  Even as she was glad of that, Deirdre winced, mindful of how cut and bruised Tal’s naked body was getting without the woad to protect it.

  As quickly as the fight had started, it was over, and she breathed a bit easier to see that Tal had come out on top, with his hands around the other man’s throat and a strong grimace on his face.

  "You're next, your next," Cyrus choked out between Tal’s fingers.

  Tal’s face held a hard look Deirdre had never dreamed of the cheerful young smith having. Determined. Unyielding.

  But rather than put her off, the genuine warrior spirit in Tal made her feel weak in the knees, it was so attractive. No one had ever stood up for her like this, not even Seumas. No, her foster father had been more the ‘calmly talk them out of it’ type.

  Tal wasn't finished. No, he was still holding the man's throat, staring at him st
ernly. "What's that you said?" Tal looked around at all who had gathered in close to watch them wrestle. "Say that a bit louder so that everyone can hear you. And embellish a bit, now that all ears are listening."

  Tal loosened his grip on the man's throat just enough to let him speak.

  "It will be as Talorac says. I will follow his orders from now on." Cyrus looked Tal in the eye again and made an impatient face that was so comical everyone around tittered a bit with laughter, holding it back lest Tal take offense. "Is that enough embellishment for you?"

  "Aye,” said Tal forcefully, giving the man one last push in the chest as he stood up. "Don't you forget this promise you have made." Tal looked around at everyone present, flexing his shoulders a bit. "Don’t any of you forget, and hear you all: Deirdre is under my protection. What you do to her, you do to me."

  “Aye,” or “Just so,” everyone said as they all shuffled back to their places in line.

  Tal went in front of Anaya, who painted him with exquisite woad and goose grease designs that would protect him during the raid on the Romans.

  Satisfied that he was in good hands that didn't want him and that she didn't need to worry about it, Deirdre turned to Cyrus.

  "Come on over, Cyrus. I agree it isn't fair that you were next.”

  Chapter 24

  Talorac watched Breth’s farewells with Jaelle in far less amusement than he had in the past. How would he feel if he had to part with Deirdre because she was big with child and couldn't come along on the raid? He glanced over where she sat with Nyla and the other druids who were coming along.

  Things were different between him and Deirdre now. That hadn't been his intention when he stood up for her. No, he had acted on instinct before having any thoughts at all. But he was glad of it.

  Deirdre met his eyes now whenever he looked toward her. She even smiled a bit. It wasn't a smile of gratitude. No, it was the type of smile he'd been longing for from her, an appreciative smile. A smile of desire. It was faint, and he had no doubt she suppressed it when she remembered to, but it was there all the same.