Ruadri (Immortal Highlander, Clan Skaraven Book 3): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  “Stop trifling with mine.” Brennus wrapped his arms around her before he touched his boot heels to the stallion’s sides. As soon as the clansman rode ahead out of earshot he said in a lower voice, “During this, Flen shall vie for control of the clan. ’Tis the tree-knowers’ way, but I’m determined that he’ll have naught of that. Any agreement made comes from my lips alone.”

  “So, you brought me along just to keep you warm?” Althea asked in her sweetest voice.

  “He didnae bring me for that,” Kanyth said, and stroked his chin. “Mayhap the laird needs new swords forged. Or if I’m no’ needed at the anvil, I might flirt with some of his wenches.”

  “Aye, and the McAra shall have your baws skewered by his blade before you can steal a kiss,” Brennus warned him. “Dinnae be fooled by the man’s size. When it comes to his kin, he’s as protective as a marten over new kits—with twice the teeth.”

  The analogy made the weapons master visibly shudder. “As you say, Brother.”

  The ride to the McAra stronghold thankfully took only a short time. When they came in sight of the outer walls Althea imagined the steaming hot bath the laird’s wife would have ready in the guest chamber. Lady McAra always provided a tub large enough for them both to share as well, which made her the perfect hostess.

  “Bren.” Kanyth nodded toward a group of riders approaching the front of the stronghold. “There ’tis Flen on that pony.”

  A rumbling sound drew Althea’s gaze in the opposite direction, and she saw a famhair and a strange man with a mud-covered woman. All three were running away from the stronghold through the trees.

  “Brennus, over there,” Althea said. As the trio passed through a patch of light, she saw the woman’s features. “My God, I think that’s Murdina with them.”

  The ground began to shake, and the stallion reacted by skittering into Kanyth’s mount. Brennus pushed the horses apart, jerked her out of the saddle and planted her back on her mare.

  “Ride to the castle,” he told her, and shouted for the McAra as he drew his sword. Mounted clansmen rode after the chieftain and his brother as they streaked toward the trees.

  Althea could obey her husband, or she could help take down the evil bitch who had tortured her and her friends. Without hesitation she wheeled the mare around to follow the men. By the time she caught up with Brennus the mad druidess and her cohorts had vanished.

  “Will you never listen to me?” the chieftain demanded, seizing the reins from her.

  “Think of it as me challenging you, without the beating part.” She used his arm for leverage as she dismounted and strode over to the holes in the ground. All they’d left behind was a deep furrow in the earth that narrowed and dwindled before it disappeared altogether. The famhairean could move through the earth so fast by now they were probably halfway across Scotland. “How could they have known we’d come here?”

  “They didnae.” Brennus looked back at the stronghold. “I’ll wager they came for Flen.”

  A bigger group of McAra clansmen on horseback, led by their diminutive laird, converged on them. Resplendent in dark sapphire silk and white lace, Maddock McAra’s crystal blue eyes glittered with malice as he dismounted. Although Althea stood a head taller than the laird, he had the presence of a much larger man, particularly when he was angry.

  “Laird McAra.” Brennus offered his arm.

  The laird clasped it briefly. “No’ the fair morning I’d hoped, Chieftain.” He sketched a perfect bow toward Althea. “But you dim the sun itself, my lady.” His jaw tightened as he eyed the furrow. “I see overlarge badgers have been digging their setts on my land. Shall I send patrols, Brennus, or summon my best trackers?”

  “’Twould do naught to pursue them, Maddock. They’ve gone deep and left no trace beyond what we see.” Her husband gestured to his half-brother. “My weapons master and half-brother, Kanyth. Permit him to speak with your patrols before they ride out, so he might tell them of the water weakness.”

  “Aye, for if they’ve encamped on my lands, they’ll be driven into the bottom of the facking loch,” the laird said, putting a razor edge on every word.

  “By both our clans, my lord,” Kanyth said and gave Brennus a sharp look before he rode over to join the clansmen.

  Althea suddenly worked out why Kanyth had come to their meeting with Bhaltair Flen. Brennus had a short, volcanic temper, and he’d always despised the old druid for trying to manipulate the Skaraven. When stirred up, Maddock McAra could be just as hot-headed. Her husband had been relying on his half-brother, who had a gift for dispelling tensions, to keep everyone in check.

  So that’s my job until Ka returns, Althea thought, and smiled at Maddock. “I’ve been looking forward to this visit. Your wife promised to show me the new addition you were building for her in the solar.”

  “Aye, and after you put that notion in her head she wouldnae leave me in peace until I did,” Maddock said, sniffing and plucking at his cuff. “She’s now all manner of potted weeds growing in that ‘green house.’ Come and see the harm you’ve done to my poor castle.”

  “You’ll appreciate it more when your cook has fresh herbs in mid-winter,” Althea told him as Brennus helped her back up onto her mare. “I brought some rosemary and thyme that I sprouted in ours.”

  A tight group of clansmen accompanied them to the stronghold, where they were ushered in under guard. More men stood in defensive positions around the great hall, their swords drawn and their expressions lethal. Of course, Maddock knew exactly how dangerous the famhairean were, and would do whatever was necessary to protect his family and kin, but these men hadn’t just shown up in the last five minutes.

  Brennus tensed beside her, and Althea saw why as Bhaltair Flen slowly approached them.

  “’Tis good to see you again, my lady.” With a small lurch the old druid turned to her husband and bowed. “My thanks for this invitation, Chieftain.”

  Brennus’s nostrils flared, but all he said was, “We’ve much to discuss, but I must first see to my wife’s comfort.”

  “Before you retire to your chambers, I wished to ask how fares the McAra healer,” Bhaltair said quickly. “From the affliction Ruadri described to me, she should be kept isolated from the other ladies at Dun Mor until–”

  “You’ve a McAra at Dun Mor, Chieftain?” a deceptively soft voice asked.

  Althea swallowed a groan as the laird appeared beside the old druid. She couldn’t believe that the one thing they’d wanted to keep secret from the McAra was exactly what Bhaltair had blurted out in Maddock’s earshot.

  “No one who belongs to your clan is at our stronghold, my lord,” Althea replied smoothly. “Master Flen is mistaken.”

  The old druid must have realized his blunder, for he said, “Aye, Laird, at my age I become easily muddled.” He turned to her, putting on a comical expression of confusion. “Forgive me, but the lady’s name, ’twas McEvoy, mayhap?”

  “I’ve new blades no’ as sharp as you, Druid.” Maddock looked directly at the chieftain. “I shall have the truth of it.”

  “One of the females stolen with Althea from her time bears the name Emeline McAra,” Brennus admitted. “From the look of her she’s likely of your bloodline. Since kinship isnae the same in the future, and the lady has been afflicted, I thought it best to keep her at Dun Mor.”

  “You thought it best for a McAra. Yet I’m her laird.” His dark brows arched. “I pledged to be your ally, Skaraven. I didnae give you leave to take charge of my blood-kin.”

  “At best Emeline is only a very distant descendent of yours, my lord,” Althea said before her husband could reply. “In our time ladies don’t belong to a clan except by name. Most of us leave our families when we become adults and work and live independently, even when we’re unmarried.”

  “I can attest to the truth of that, Laird,” Bhaltair put in. “’Tis been my experience.”

  “You’ve said enough, Master Flen,” Maddock interrupted. “As for your claims, my lady, I
’ve no quarrel with them. But we arenae in your future. You’re in my time.” Maddock regarded Brennus. “If McAra blood runs in her veins, then this Lady Emeline belongs to my clan. Did she bring with her a husband, Chieftain?”

  Brennus’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  The laird nodded. “’Tis then my duty to take charge of an unmarried female of my bloodline. You’ll send word to have the lady brought here to me at once.”

  “I’m no’ yours to command, Maddock,” he said, sounding almost gentle now. “Ken that I value you and your clan as my closest allies. The Skaraven shall ever be yours. But I cannae give Emeline to you.”

  Maddock’s expression emptied of all emotion. “By keeping my kin from her clan you’ve released me and mine from our pledge, Chieftain. You’re no longer welcome here.”

  Althea saw Kanyth enter the great hall, followed by several guards, and then jumped as the laird called out to his men to seize the weapons master. Brennus made a subtle gesture, and Kanyth looked perplexed but didn’t resist. She knew how easy it would be for her Skaraven men to prevail over the McAra clansmen, and felt a surge of gratitude for her husband’s restraint.

  “Take him to the dungeons,” Maddock ordered. To the druid he said, “Go back to the settlement, Master Flen. We’ve naught to discuss now.”

  The old druid glanced at Brennus before he held up his hands in a calming gesture. “This muddle, ’twas my doing. Take me as your hostage, Laird.”

  “This is really unnecessary,” Althea blurted out. “Can’t we just sit down and talk about this? There has to be some peaceful compromise we can work out between us.”

  The laird uttered a sour chuckle. “Small wonder the clans in your time have but shared names.” He eyed the old druid. “You’ve no value here. Get out.”

  “Do as he says, Bhaltair,” Brennus ordered, and watched him trudge out of the stronghold. “Ken that when I leave, Laird, my lady goes with me.”

  “I dinnae use females as you would,” Maddock said, openly sneering now. “Only ken that whatever your purpose in keeping my kin at Dun Mor, it shallnae come without cost.”

  “I’ve no purpose but kindness, man.” Brennus made a frustrated sound. “She’s too ill to make such a journey. Come, I shall take you to Dun Mor, so you may see for yourself.”

  “Or take me as another hostage?” The laird watched him for a moment. “I’m many things, Chieftain, but no’ a fool. ’Tis but two endings to this dispute. You bring my kin to me within threeday, and I shall release yours from my dungeons.”

  When Althea would have protested her husband simply nodded. “And the other?”

  “You prepare for a clan war,” Maddock said blandly. “The McAra shall do the same, and we shall enlist other clans we name true allies. This while I find a way to kill your immortal brother.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  IN HER SLEEP Emeline barely moved, which allowed Ruadri to silently savor her beauty. The silken mass of her dark hair had spilled over his chest and neck, and her delicate skin seemed even paler and softer pressed against his flesh. Everything she’d said to him echoed in his thoughts, over and over, like a mind spell he would never break.

  You’re part of me.

  I want to be brave and beautiful for you.

  Make me your woman.

  Nothing in his training had prepared him for this. He thought he would adore her from afar, in silence, until she returned to her future and the life she’d been born to. Now she lay in his arms, marked by the moon, and made his woman. He had wanted her too much to resist her passionate generosity, but now he realized the enormity of what he had done to her. She had not trifled with any man. She’d saved her maiden night to offer it to him, and he had taken it.

  But Emeline was mortal and her life too brief. He had forgotten that but wouldn’t again.

  Before dawn Ruadri lifted her from his chest, and gently shifted her to his side. She grumbled something and tried to snuggle closer, but he tucked the furs around her before rising and reaching for his trews and tunic. Leaving her in the broch was like taking a dagger in his gut, but it could not be helped. She would be safe here among her kin. He would go to warn the Wood Dream alone.

  Outside it was as he’d suspected. Ara had posted sentries on the south side of the village to watch for Romans, so he went north before he turned toward the stream. Yet the moment he stepped from the bank into the currents he knew something was wrong.

  His body would no longer bond with the water. Trying again and again to transform only resulted in his garments becoming completely soaked. Taking his dagger out, he cut his palm, and immersed it in the stream. When he lifted his hand out of the current, the small wound remained open and bleeding. Seeing the proof that his immortality had been taken from him made Ruadri stagger out of the water.

  He had never asked to live forever. Now it seemed he wouldn’t, just like Emeline.

  Walking until he found a tree-shrouded meadow, Ruadri gathered his thoughts, and then knelt in the center. The cool air still held a trace of the summer wildflowers and lush grasses that carpeted the ground beneath him, reminding him of his lady draped over him. He had never challenged his battle spirit. If he misspoke, the moon might take offense. Now that he had become mortal again, the goddess might also leave him as a dark, wet smear on the pretty spot.

  Ruadri found that he didn’t care that he had lost eternal life and all its gifts. As for the moon and her fickle nature, for Emeline he would risk anything.

  Extending his arms out so that his skinwork caught the moon’s soft rays, Ruadri dropped his shadow ward. His body soaked in the thin, silvery light as he offered himself to his battle spirit, and slowly brought together his forearms to complete her symbol.

  He looked up at the star-strewn sky. “I beseech you, hear and guide me.”

  Every sound in the meadow dwindled away as the moon swelled and descended over him, an immense, perfect sphere of pewter-dappled pearl. Although the goddess could take many forms, she always came to him as the shining jewel of the night. This time she blocked out the sky itself with her scope and radiance. When she spoke, he heard her in his heart and his head like the cacophony of thousands of crystal bells ringing.

  Do you come to make new demands of me, my warrior, or to beg my forgiveness?

  Ruadri started to bow his head as Galan had taught him, but he no longer felt the yoke of servitude that his sire had thrust upon him. Tonight he would find the courage to speak as he would be, as a freed mortal instead of an immortal slave.

  “As a lad I offered myself to you, and yours I remain,” he said, looking directly at the sphere. “’Twas no’ my choice. He who sired me wished to see me suffer.”

  Three truths.

  “I’ve another.” He extended his cut palm. “I’m made mortal again. I would ask why.”

  You are mortal in this time.

  The portal had given Emeline the ability to understand Ara’s language, so the loss of his immortality must have happened for the same reason. He knew the moon to be indifferent to the machinations of druids and their sacred groves. But as much as Ruadri was druid, he was also Pritani. His mother’s people had their own magic.

  “You marked Emeline McAra. This night again you claimed her, and rode her to speak.” He rose to his feet, unwilling to prostrate himself any longer. “She doesnae understand what ’tis meant by your favor. She doesnae belong in this world or mine. I cannae take her as mate.”

  The moon grew intensely bright, until Ruadri had to shield his eyes with his hand.

  You’ve blinded yourself, son of Fiana. For you chose the soul-sharer. You claimed her innocence and rode her body for your pleasure. You bonded and mated with her. I but gave my consent, and now you both serve me.

  “I didnae…”

  He stopped as he thought better of it. By Pritani and druid customs he had made Emeline his mate by thought, word and deed. All that remained to do, the ritual blessing, the moon had done herself.

  “If she s
hall be yours as I have been, what would you have of her?”

  See to the task before you, Warrior, and all shall be made as will be.

  “Ruadri?”

  He thought he’d only imagined Emeline’s voice, until he turned and saw her standing just at the edge of the moon’s nimbus. She had wrapped herself in his tartan, but her bare arms and legs gleamed like new-fallen snow, and her hair hung like a shining blue-black cloak over her shoulders.

  Only just remembering to show the proper gratitude, Ruadri knelt and bowed his head. “As you say, so shall be done.”

  Serve me well, Ruadri Skaraven. That shall be the saving of your lady.

  The moon turned into a shower of light that flew up into the sky and ribboned in every direction. Quickly he rose and went to Emeline, who had tipped back her head to watch his battle spirit fade from sight.

  “That was the moon,” she murmured, her tone filled with awe. “It was hovering over your head.” She regarded him with a solemn gaze. “Am I going crazy again?”

  “No, lass. ’Twas my battle spirit manifesting for me.” He reached for her, and then dropped his hands, unsure if he should touch her just yet. “I summoned her to ask for guidance.”

  “I heard everything you said, and all of what she told you, in my mind. She sounded like windchimes…or bells.” She took a step closer and glanced down at his arms. “We’re both glowing.”

  His skinwork had absorbed the moonlight, as had the scarred crescent on her ankle. Ruadri felt a rush of power and reached for her, only to be hurled backward until he slammed into the ground. He shoved himself upright in time to see a thin silvery spear flying toward him. He jerked up his arms without thinking, and his ink formed the blinding moon.

  “Close your eyes,” he shouted to Emeline, although he knew it was already too late.