by Hazel Hunter
Lucanus backed away several steps. “Do not speak of them, Rachel Ingram.”
“Why not? They were your family. That’s why you sent home most of your pay, and all of the spoils you shared in. Petronia was saving it for when you returned. You had a wonderful dream once, Optio.” Rachel moved toward him. “But you’ve forgotten what it is to be human, and to have hope.” She nodded at the women being stripped naked now. “They all belong to someone. Like Darius and Petronia were yours. Would you want that done to your wife? To your son?”
He looked as if he wanted to tear her face off with his teeth, and then his eyes lost their lethal glitter.
“I was a good man, a very long time ago.”
He stared off toward the east, and then turned and strode over to where his men were preparing to rape the young sisters.
“Hold,” Lucanus shouted. All the undead froze. “You have fed. That is enough. Take them below.”
Chapter Twenty
DIANA WENT TO check on Kinley, who was visiting with Lady Gordon and her son, and then came downstairs to join Lachlan, Raen, and the McDonnel guards, who were meeting with Laird Gordon in his great hall. She still chafed over the fact that she had been unable to get a straight answer out of Eamus, or her husband, but the cop in her wouldn’t stop until she had some answers.
In the hall Gordon’s guards flanked two scruffy-looking men in chains, who smelled like old seaweed and stood with their shoulders hunched before Lachlan and Gordon. As she went to her husband, she caught their scandalized stares at the trews and tunic she wore, and smiled a little. She never tired of rattling the ever-chauvinistic mortal Scots.
“These two were just brought in,” Raen murmured to her. “They’ve told a tale that no’ even I can make out.”
“Let me fathom this proper,” the laird was saying to Gordon while eyeing the men. “You free traders claim that you saw a slaver ship attacking a merchant boat, boarding it, and then sailing off with nothing taken and no throats cut. Yet the merchant captain didnae report such an attack. No slaver has been seen on the north coast. We’ve only the word of you honest, trustworthy lads that it ever happened.”
Raen cleared his throat. “Sampling that Flanders wine a bit too freely before bringing the bottles ashore to hide, mayhap?”
“Maybe,” Diana said as she studied the smugglers’ sweaty, fearful faces, and felt a tingle from her sixth serious trouble sense. “They look more like whiskey drinkers to me. Probably brought their own hooch along for the trip, my lord.” She grinned at them. “Wonder why they’re hauling untaxed wine. Isn’t that illegal?”
“No’ terribly, Mistress,” Gordon said.
He glanced at the older smuggler, who was glaring at Diana.
“What is it, man?” Gordon said.
“The wench wears men’s clothes,” the smuggler muttered. “’Tisnae natural. Be she a witch?”
“Nope, sorry,” Diana said and loomed over him. “I be a cop. That means if you give the lairds a hard time, I beat the snot out of you.” She watched him cringe as she regarded his younger comrade, who looked more as if he wanted to share. She switched to good-cop mode. “All right. Tell us more about this slaver ship. What did it look like?”
“’Twas black as goose blood sausage, Mistress,” he said eagerly. “’Twere painted with pitch, and fit with woad-dyed sails. Like a demon’s boat was my notion, first time I spied her. No’ one lantern light on her, neither.”
Raen shook his shaggy dark head. “Raiders sail without lights, and pitching the lower hull avoids leaks.”
“’Twasnae just that, Master,” the younger smuggler said. “The slaver pitched her from stem to stern, and she had no portholes ’tall. Two day past she dropped anchor just outside our cove, barring our route, so we rowed out part way to have a better look at her. We couldnae see the cargo, for every inch of her were boarded over.”
Lachlan froze. “The fack you say. Wood nailed over the portholes?”
“Aye, milord, and every other opening we could spy. I told Brenan ’tweren’t right, keeping those wretched traills chained below decks with no light or fresh air.” The younger man gave Gordon a keen look. “’Twas why we came straightaway to you, milord, without notion of any reward ’tall.”
“This country has such upstanding criminals,” Diana drawled as she glanced at her husband. “Undead using ships would explain why we’ve been seeing only small patrols on land. The rest of them could be scooting around on these light-tight boats.”
“Do you mean they’re no’ slavers?” The younger man grew excited. “Are they the new raiders from the east, or the Sassenachs, bent on enslaving us?”
“We need to find this black ship,” Diana told him. “Which direction did they sail from your cove?”
“Naught,” the older smuggler said. “’Tis like I told ye, Mistress. They’ve been anchored there two day now.” He scanned their faces. “The facking boat’s still in our cove.”
“Undead crews cannae sail by day,” Raen murmured to Lachlan, who nodded. “But why would they wait?”
“They’re not dropping off,” Diana guessed. “They’re picking up.”
“That will be all, thank you,” Gordon said and gestured to his guards, who swiftly removed the two smugglers. To Lachlan he said, “Ermindale had most of the northern slave trade before the king declared it unlawful. He had a goodly fleet of slavers to boot. The boat could be one of his.”
Diana watched the laird walk over to a map on Gordon’s wall, which showed the ports and harbors of the northern coast.
“After the battle at the marquess’s estate,” she said to Raen, “the clan found the bodies of Ermindale’s entire family, murdered in the solar. But the laird wasn’t among them.”
“We assumed he was taken captive by the legion,” her husband reminded her, and then lost his smile. “What is it?”
Diana held up one finger. “An old man like Ermindale wouldn’t have lasted long as a two-legged blood bank.” She raised another. “The legion is infantry and cavalry, not navy.” She added a third finger. “The legion knew exactly which nobles to abduct in order to put pressure on the king’s men, and yet they never tried to abduct them before they took over the marquess’s estate.”
His brows drew together. “You believe a noble like Ermindale helped the legion?”
“I think he was a vengeful, slave-trading jackass, so hell yeah,” she admitted. “According to everyone he was pretty ancient, too. Just imagine if he offered Quintus Seneca a nice trade. Say, a whole bunch of slaves to turn into fresh troops, plus all those ships no one would suspect them of using, in exchange for immortality.”
Raen touched his brow to hers. “You are a truly canny wench.”
Diana went and repeated her theory to the lairds, and while at first Lachlan seemed skeptical, Gordon immediately seized on it.
“My wife and Ermindale’s youngest daughter attended the same convent school,” the young laird said. “Before she was killed she wrote to Lady Gordon and said that her father had fallen ill with gut rot. He wouldnae have lived out the month.”
Diana glanced at Gordon’s bodyguard, who stood behind his laird and was watching the room. He was smirking, as if he were proud of his master, and then she knew why Raen had wanted to swear her to secrecy. But she had to put that thought aside.
“If we stake out the black ship tonight, my lord,” Diana said. “I bet we’ll find out why they’ve been attacking the merchants. With a little luck, we might even learn if the legion has a new stronghold.”
“Somewhere only reachable by water, I’ll wager,” Gordon said. As they all looked at him he smiled thinly. “’Twould be what I’d do.”
“You’ve a menacing mind behind that handsome face, lad,” Lachlan said and stared at the map for a long moment. “Whatever comes of this, I’ll no’ let her sail again. Once we’ve learned why she’s anchored, we take the ship before she can sail. We’ll ferret out what we can from the crew, and then torch her.”
>
Though Kinley decided to stay with the Gordons, Lachlan accompanied Diana and Raen as they left the stronghold. The laird took the lead and rode a short distance ahead of them.
Diana tugged on her husband’s sleeve.
“Hey, we’re going to take off any mortals we find on the ship before we set fire to it, right?”
“Aye, if any survive,” Raen said. “They’ll be imprisoned below decks with the undead. Once the legion awakes, they’ll feed on them as fast as they can. Blood makes them stronger.”
“Oh, no.” Diana felt her stomach knot. “You mean–”
He nodded. “If we wake the legion before we can get below deck, they’ll drain them dry.”
Chapter Twenty-One
THE JUDGE WALKED the line of targets with great dignity before he tromped back to stand in front of Evander and the two other men remaining in the contest.
“Five points to Geordie Larson for a right eye,” he said and tied a yellow ribbon to the man’s sleeve. “One point to Macken Trilby for a hit to the gut, which is of no great surprise to those who drink with him.” He presented Macken with the red ribbon tied around a bottle of ale, which made the crowd laugh.
He then regarded Evander. “I’ve seen my share of spearmen, sir, when I served in the King’s infantry. I’ve no doubt you’re the finest ever to throw before these eyes.” He tied the contest-winning blue ribbon to his sleeve. “Ten points to Master Hunter for a third straight cock skewering.”
Evander had always been a proud warrior, aware of his finely-honed battle talents, but in this moment he felt more like the young mortal boy he had once been. In that distant time all he had ever cared for was practicing his throws out in the woods. He’d loved the simple beauty of the spear, and had kept at it until he could throw faster, longer and better than even the most experienced hunters of his tribe. That had been long before his Choosing Day, so only his youthful determination had driven him. The satisfaction of mastering the Pritani’s most ancient weapon had made him feel strong and skilled.
Rachel made him feel the same. He’d once hoped he could be just a man with Rachel. Now, thanks to her love, he had become more. He had found himself again.
Sending the message while she had been playing the stones game had been a risk, especially now that Evander knew his lover could read his mind, but he couldn’t take Rachel to the druids in the morning. He could never let her go now. Somehow he had to make peace with his clan, and find a way for the two of them to be together.
The crowd surged in around the three men, congratulating them with slaps to the back and shoulders, and squealing hugs from two proud wives. Evander looked over the heads of the villagers for Rachel, but saw no sign of her. His gaze shifted to the birches where he had left her, but only his jacket lay on the ground.
Mayhap she needed the privy, he thought, but remembered she had gone to the necessity just after they’d eaten.
Evander started wading out of the crowd, when the judge stepped into his path.
“Dinna go without your prize,” the burly man said, presenting him with a bundle of finely-made hunting spears, and then frowning. “What ails ye, lad?”
“My wife has vanished,” he said and quickly clasped the man’s forearm. “I thank you for the spears, but I must find her now.”
“Go with the gods,” the judge said, and stepped out of his way.
Evander added the prize spears to his back harness, and sprinted across to the birches, where he picked up his jacket and looked all around them. Behind the trees he found a patch of bruised grasses and churned earth, and from there boot tracks leading into the forest.
He stopped at the tree line, where he found strands of long, black hair caught in some oak twigs. Rachel knew better than to walk strange woods alone, and the tracks from the birches were much larger than hers. As the sunlight faded Evander wheeled around, running for the pen of horses, where he retrieved his roan and paid the lads to stable the dappled gray overnight.
“To light yer way, Master,” one of them said and held up a flaming torch for him. “Ye shouldnae ride out after dark. The blood-drinkers’ll snatch ye up.”
Mortals often gave such warnings, but Evander saw real fear in the lad’s eyes.
“Have they been seen near the village?”
“Aye,” the lad said and pointed toward the forest. “Last night, my sister saw one ride out from the trees to snatch a drover. He escaped later, but that doesnae mean ye will.”
Evander had heard talk of the drover who had been chasing one of the shepherdesses. She grazed her flock close to Evander and Rachel’s cottage. He tossed an extra coin to the boy.
“My thanks, lad.”
The roan flew across the green and into the forest, where Evander reined it in as he held out the torch and looked for signs of recent passage. The disturbances he spotted in the brush and over the moss-carpeted forest floor led him to a bare patch of ground bearing the prints of several men and their horses. He dismounted and crouched on the ground where it appeared a small body had lain. He bent to sniff the soil, and smelled Rachel. He sifted through the dead leaves until he found a torn bit of ribbon and a broken seashell.
“So my nose doesnae deceive me. Ah, Rachel, love, I’m coming.” He closed his hand over the bits and moved his torch to examine the boot prints, which showed a pattern of nail head marks he knew only too well. “Facking bastarts.”
The men who had Rachel had been wearing caligae, the hobnailed marching boots of the Ninth Legion.
Evander mounted the roan, and made a circuit of the ground until he found the trail left by the undead’s horses. That led him out of the forest and down to the shore, where the tracks disappeared into the rocks. If he went to the east he would only return to the village, and if that had been their intent the undead would never have taken Rachel away from it.
To the west he saw the shoreline curve away and disappear behind three columns of dark rock, shaped like giant spearheads thrust into the shore by the gods. Evander hissed in a breath as his ink burned across his chest. His war spirit came fully, flagrantly awake in him. But it didn’t flood him with endless rage or prod him to gallop directly into a battle with the undead. It seemed to be tugging him toward the ground, so he swung off the roan and tethered it to a tree before starting down toward the sea columns.
Keeping to what shadows there were, Evander drew two of the prize hunting spears from his back and held them ready as he approached the rock soaring over his head. Beyond them he glimpsed an isolated cove where a dozen horses had been left to graze, but no sign of the undead or Rachel. He stepped between the towering columns and stopped, using the rock as cover as he inspected the entire cove, and noted the marks left by dories that had been dragged down to the sea. Stepping out from the rock, he peered out at the water, and saw the faint outlines of a black ship with no lights.
“Using boats, now, are you?” he muttered, moving closer to the water’s edge.
It would take him only a moment to bond with the ocean and stream out to the ship, where he could board her with stealth and learn where they had imprisoned his lover. Then, once he got to her, he would—
“Well, now,” a familiar voice said. A thin, sharp blade appeared under his nose, and dropped to press in beneath his chin. “How long has it been, Evander?”
Blood trickled down his throat as he jerked, the voice stunning him so much he couldn’t speak until the blade dug deeper.
“But I killed you.”
“Very nearly,” Tharaen Aber said flatly. “Walk with me now, or you’ll be talking around my dagger.”
The laird’s bodyguard yanked him back behind the sea columns, and marched him into a tidal cave. Inside stood Lachlan McDonnel and a large warband watching the ship.
“More dories coming, my lord,” Fergus Uthar said, and pointed to a cluster approaching from the south. “Mayhap mortals.”
The laird barely spared Evander a glance as he handed a torch to Neacal Uthar.
; “I’ll send the scouts to turn them back,” Lachlan said. “Keep watch, and wait on Evander until I return.”
Evander stood silently as a very tall, beautiful woman dressed like a man walked up to him and took Aber’s blade to hold it while the bodyguard accepted some rope from a clansman.
“Hi there,” the woman said, her accent sounding eerily like Rachel’s. “I’m Diana Aber, Raen’s wife. You must be Evander Talorc, the guy everyone wants dead. Including me, just in case you’re thinking of making a move.”
He saw a jagged mark on her palm that matched Aber’s skinwork, confirming that she had been chosen as a mate by the bodyguard’s spirit.
“Much has happened since I left Dun Aran,” Evander said.
“Shut up,” she said pleasantly. “Move a muscle, make a sound, or breathe hard on me, and I’m going to make the entire clan very happy.” She tilted her head to one side to speak to Raen. “Really, I’m one of his tribe? I’m not seeing it. I mean, we’re both tall, but he’s got a jerk face. Wait. Do I look like that, and you’ve just never told me?”
“No, love,” her husband said, his tone a little softer now as he divested Evander of his weapons, and bound his wrists together tightly. “The hair.”
Diana tugged back Evander’s hood, peered at his head, and scowled. “All right, but mine’s way, way prettier.” She looked into his eyes, and tightened her grip on the dagger as she moved in another inch. “Oh, is that a move I see coming? Think I’m distracted, talking to my Big Man?”
He could see the Talorc in her eyes now. “No.”
“Good,” she said and bared her lovely white teeth. Then she leaned in, as if she meant to bite off his nose. “Because I’m not distracted. Not ever.”
The threat she presented faded as Evander considered what her presence meant. Three women had crossed over from the future, all from San Diego. It couldn’t be by chance.
“Where is Kinley Chandler?” he asked.
“That’s Kinley McDonnel, the laird’s wife to you,” Diana said. “And it’s no business of yours.”