by Annis Reid
“Do ye recall what I said last night? At the feast.”
Did she recall? Sure thing, and she had spent half the night trying to forget. His words. The way he’d touched her leg. “Yes. I do. I didn’t know how to take you, though, since you were… enjoying yourself with the rest of the men.”
He snorted. “Ye have a tactful way about ye, and I appreciate that in a woman. Witch or nae.”
She bit her tongue. This again. Well, that was her only value to him, so it made sense that he would keep bringing it up.
“You do remember your conversation with Kaden, right? He told me you spoke, and he told you he had to find another witch for me.” She folded her hands, clenching them tight. This wouldn’t be easy; especially since his skin started to flush, telling her he was either embarrassed at not remembering or getting angry.
Or angry because he was embarrassed. Either way, it wasn’t looking good for her.
When he spoke, he sounded calmer than she expected. “Aye. I recall speaking with him on the matter. Ye wish to leave us, then?”
Boy, this was uncomfortable. “I have to get home. My father is very ill and he needs me terribly. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You sheltered me, saw to it that I was fed. Now that the battle has been won, though, I really should get back to him.”
He looked unconvinced.
“Besides,” she added, “it’s dangerous for you to have a witch here. A capital crime, isn’t it? You could be put to death for it. I don’t want to place you in a dangerous situation. Or the clan.”
He stroked his chin again, looking her up and down. She felt strangely exposed under his gaze. Hadn’t he said something about it being a shame she was a witch? The memory of it, and of his touch, made her stomach sour.
Kaden needed to come back. Soon.
“I must say, ‘tis kind of ye to consider us that way,” he murmured, nodding slowly while one eyebrow arched. “I suspect ye have a difficult time of it, finding someplace to live where ye will not be troubled by others.”
She tightened her grip on herself. He was giving her a bad feeling, though she couldn’t put her finger on why she felt so creepy crawly. “I manage.”
“Ye might manage better here, ye ken.”
So that was it. He wanted to negotiate with her, bring her on as his—his what? Full-time witch? Was there a benefits plan? Health, vision, dental? A 401k, maybe?
How to let him down easy? Wow, some things really hadn’t changed in almost five hundred years. Women had to let men down easy in this time, too.
“That is very generous of you. I know what you would be sacrificing by allowing me to stay with the clan, but it would be wrong of me to accept. What if the king’s men come looking for me? You would all be held responsible for my being here.”
He shrugged.
The man actually shrugged.
That was when she knew she was in trouble. He didn’t give a damn. He had seen what he thought she could do and he wanted more.
Sure enough, he replied, “A man takes great risks in this life. Dinna ye ken? I might have lost men yesterday, but I did not. Ye saved the day, and I would have ye do that again. Many times, in fact.”
She gulped, then let out a nervous laugh. “You plan on picking fights now? Because you know I’m here? Is that it?”
“Picking fights,” he murmured, eyes narrowing.
She winced. That was it. He would lock her up again.
Instead, he laughed heartily, hands crossed over the front of his stained tunic. “Aye, I suppose that is the truth of it. I plan to pick fights. Many fights.”
He tapped one finger against the map still spread in front of him. “Fraser. Cameron. Stewart. All of them simply waiting for my men to tear through their armies and take their lands for the MacGregors.”
It wasn’t particularly cold in the room, especially by the fire, but that didn’t stop her from shivering. This was what he had in mind?
And he wanted her to be part of it?
He was staring down at the map, smiling. “They think little of us, ye ken. Fraser learned yesterday, but I am not willing to let it go at that. He might be back, ye ken, especially if he decides to bring Cameron or Stuart or any of the rest alongside him. It would be better to attack first. Strike a surprise blow. Catch them unaware and wipe them out.”
He looked at her then, and she knew he was crazy just from the way his eyes gleamed. They were a little too wide, staring a little too hard. Too intense.
“I have to be honest with you,” she whispered, “and I am so sorry to break it to you this way, but I wasn’t kidding when I first told you I’m not a witch.”
He blinked, but didn’t say anything. That was somehow more unnerving than it would’ve been if he’d screamed.
“I know it sounds wild, but I’m telling the truth,” she whispered, trying as hard as she could not to cry. Why couldn’t he have waited until Kaden got back to make this little announcement? She was alone with this greedy maniac. “I’m not a witch. Aonghas—I used plants I know ease swelling and create calm. The battle? Your men won. Kaden worked hard with them. I didn’t have anything to do with it. I just want to go home. Please, I don’t want to lead your men into something they might not be able to win.”
His smile faltered, but only a little. “Ye are lyin’ to me, witch. Ye canna tell me what ye did was not witchcraft!”
“It wasn’t!” she insisted, and now she was crying. To hell with dignity, she let the tears flow, ran her hand under her nose to wipe it when it ran. Let him see how scared she was. Maybe he would believe her then.
“Ye would do this if Kaden asked, I’d wager.” He swept the map and his bowl and cup off the table in a rage, his face beet red. “I am the MacGregor, and I tell ye, ye will do as I command!”
“But I can’t! I just can’t!” She backed up, hitting the wall, cowering as he stormed over to her. She lifted an arm, held it in front of her face, waiting for him to hit her.
But he didn’t. Instead, he held her arm in a steel grip and stood her up straight in front of him. She tried to squirm away, but it was no use. He would have what he wanted, one way or another.
“Ye canna refuse me, witch,” he warned, his breath hot and stinking and sour. Bile rose in her throat at the smell of it. “I will make certain ye canna refuse me. Ye are goin’ nowhere.”
He was going to keep her, whether or not she wanted to stay. “But Kaden—the witch—”
Until he laughed at this, she realized she had never known true fear. Knowing she was captive of a madman. “Ye believe I would allow a witch to help ye? Nay, lassie.”
“You let Kaden go!” she gasped. “Why?”
His eyes gleamed again as they bored into hers. “To bring me another witch, of course. If I can defeat Malcolm Fraser with one witch, imagine what I can do with two of ye.”
“I can’t do what you want,” she sobbed openly. “I’m serious. I just can’t!”
A wicked smile. “Aye, well, we shall see if I can find a way to convince ye otherwise.”
18
Kaden’s mother pressed a wooden cup into his hand. “Drink it. It will warm and nourish ye.”
He did not need to hold it near his nose to inhale the familiar aroma. Spicy, thanks to the many dried herbs she used while boiling the chicken to make the broth. As a lad he’d hated it, holding his nose that he might avoid tasting the pungent brew.
Now he drank it gratefully. There were times when even a grown warrior needed his mam’s cooking.
She sat on the floor before the hearth, stirring the embers to new life. “What brings ye to me, my son? After so long. I expect ye are in need of my assistance.”
“Perhaps I wished to make certain ye were still living.”
She chuckled—deep, throaty—bringing to mind the early years of his life. “Ye still believe ye can tell such tales and I will believe them. Ye would know if I had left this world.”
“Would I? How so?”
She looke
d at him over her shoulder. “Ye simply would, just as I would know the same if ye had left me. But we never truly leave, my son. Never forget that. I would remain near ye.”
Now she turned, looking straight at him in that way she had. Were all mothers this way? He’d often wondered. Did his see through him because she was a witch?
“I know ye must have come to me now because ye need me. And I told ye I would be waiting, which I have been. What is it ye need, my son?”
His mouth opened as he prepared himself to explain, then snapped shut when he found himself at a loss for just how to do it. “Ye may not believe it,” he warned.
She clicked her tongue. “It must be truly terrible, then, for I believe in a great many things.”
“What of traveling between times, then?” he asked, resting his elbows on his thighs when he leaned forward. “What of going back hundreds of years in a single moment? What do ye believe of that?”
“Ye believe ye have traveled through time?” she whispered, aghast.
“Nay. Not myself. A woman. One mistaken for a witch because she is of another time. She has markings all over her skin. Calls them tattoos. Says they are common in the time from which she hails.”
She pursed her lips, brows drawing together. “And which time is this? When does she tell ye she come from?”
He braced himself for what might be to come. “Two-thousand and nineteen.”
If this surprised her in the least, she did not show it. “Where did she come through? Where was she? What was she doing?”
He scratched his head. “I dinna ken everything she spoke of, mind ye, but she was just beyond the henge outside the woods. In fact, one of her markings is of Fehu.” He pointed to his own arm, to show where the rune had been painted onto Anna’s skin.
Recognition sparked in her eyes. “I see. Does she practice the craft in her own time?”
“Nay, she swears she does not.”
She made a thoughtful noise, staring out through the tiny hut’s single window. The mist had turned into full rain, and for a time only the sound of drops striking the ground and the sill, dripping from the roof, filled the air. Otherwise, they were silent. He knew better than to interrupt his mam while she was deep in thought.
Little wonder he preferred being alone, with nothing but quiet surrounding him. It was the way he’d been raised from a bairn. Staying away from people, wary of outsiders. Relying on oneself, as so many others could not be trusted.
Only when his uncle had come riding up one day, looking to train the son of his dead brother, now that he’d come of age to live as a man—as part of his clan—had he ever considered leaving this place. Even then, with the notion of learning about the father he’d never known setting his mind and heart ablaze with possibility, he’d regretted leaving his mam on her own.
She’d all but placed him in the saddle with her two hands, assuring him she trusted Clyde MacGregor. He’d never mistreated her and had always seen to it that they were cared for, though Kaden had been unaware of it.
“Where is she?”
The question startled him, as he’d nearly fallen into slumber with his eyes open. It had been a difficult few days, to be certain. “Living in Kirk MacGregor’s home. He wishes to keep her as his witch, his advisor. He believes she has power. I’ll grant ye, I helped her convince him she did.”
“And how did ye go about that?” she asked, a faint smile transforming her face into the one he remembered so well. One which looked a great deal younger. Time had passed, indeed. It was easy to forget that he was not the only one who’d aged.
He explained the situation with Aonghas, how she’d used her knowledge of plants to bring down the swelling. That Kirk believed it to be her power which had left the clan victorious rather than the training which Kaden had seen to over the years.
“I suppose it gave the men confidence, as well,” he mused. “Believing there to be a witch protecting them. They could fight more fiercely, with greater passion, for they believed themselves to be untouchable.”
“As ever, ye are wise beyond your years,” she smiled. “It disturbs me to think of her living there, with him. He shall want more from her, and she canna give it to him.”
He rubbed his hands together, his jaw clenching as his stomach did the same. “Aye. I know it. Far better, then, to return her to the time from which she came. Nothing but hardship can plague her while she is here.”
“Ye believe her, then?” his mother asked in a soft voice. “Ye believe what she has told ye?”
“Aye. I do. The things she’s spoken of…!” He leaned back in the small chair with a laugh. “Ye would not believe the half of it. Such wonders. ‘Tis as if magic is all around them, all the time, yet they simply see it as life. They take it for granted.”
“She has told ye many such tales, then.”
“As many as she could. Whenever I had the chance, I saw to it that she was fed and as comfortable as could be. We talked quite a bit.”
“And ye love her.”
He stared at her in shock, aghast at the easy way she said it. As if such tender, complicated emotions could so easily be broken down.
He scoffed lightly. “’Tis hardly the sort of thing I wish to speak of with my mother.”
“Which tells me ye do, or else ye would have said ye did not.” She shook her head, laughing softly. Gently. “I am your mam. Ye canna lie to me.”
“What of it, then?” And now he was angry, the worst bursting forth. “What does it matter? She doesna belong here, and she canna stay. She will die. I canna allow that.”
“What if ye could get away? Leave Scotland.”
“Leave Scotland?” The very notion took his breath away. “I could as easily leave my arm or my leg. It would mean breaking with the clan. Leaving ye. I could never do that.”
“Then ye dinna love her.”
“Of course, I do! So much I think it will kill me at times.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “When I imagine her suffering, I suffer. When I hear a tremor in her voice it hits me here. My chest tightens, I canna breathe.”
“And what happens when she smiles?” she whispered. “When she laughs, if she ever has reason to do so?”
He smiled, sighing. “’Tis the sun breaking through the clouds after a terrible storm.”
She smiled, satisfied. “Aye. Ye do, then.”
He nodded. Yes, he did. No sense lying, either to himself or to the woman who bore him. “She canna stay for other reasons. Her father is ill. He needs her. She worries herself half to death on his account. The guilt would strangle her over time. I could not ask her to do that simply because I canna be without her.”
“Ye would sacrifice being with her because ye know it would cause her pain.” Her eyes were bright, her smile soft and knowing and perhaps regretful. “Aye, ye love her deeply. I am glad for ye.”
“Glad?” he snorted. “Glad to watch me drive myself mad over it?”
“Glad to know that ye have known love, my son. Even if it is fleeting, it is all of life. Think, she came through time, knowing not how or why she did so. And ye found her. Ye found each other. How wonderful it is.”
He could not quite agree, though he understood her meaning. She might not find it all so wonderful if it was her love who might soon be killed. Her love who wept at the thought of her father forgetting her, never knowing what became of her.
She went to him then, taking his hands in hers. They were gnarled, he was surprised to find. Always had her hands been roughened by work, but never had they been so thin, so weathered, the knuckles protruding and bluish veins visible beneath the fair skin.
He could recall when they were so much larger than his, swallowing them up. The days they’d spent in this very hut, the scent of drying herbs hanging in the air, the sounds of her prayers offered to her gods and goddesses lulling him to sleep at night.
That was one thing none of them had ever gotten right, the fools who believed they knew all there was to know about witches. He�
��d never known his mother to have anything to do with evil, with the devil or demons from hell.
“I will go with ye,” she whispered, thin lines crinkling around her eyes when she smiled up at her only child. “We shall help the poor lass find her way home.”
“Ye believe it possible? Ye know how it is to be done?”
She nodded, though it was with a frown. “We shall start by taking her back to the henge, to the Fehu stone. Of all the places in the world, she was there when she came here to us. It stands to reason that the magic in those stones was what brought her. Only that magic can return her.”
“Ye know what is to be done, though?” he asked, searching her face. He hardly breathed, thrilled for Anna while utterly devastated at the thought of losing her.
“I believe I do. We can try, at the verra least. Dinna fear,” she chuckled, clutching his hands tightly in her own. “We shall have your lass safe in little time. I only regret the day is already so far past, or we might start out now.”
She was correct. Though he’d started so early, it was already well past midday when he’d arrived, and now the day was winding down to night. “We shall start first thing in the morning, then.”
19
“Wake up.”
Anna stirred at the voice. Taunting her. Commanding.
Hurting her aching head.
She raised that head on a stiff, sore neck. Spending the night with it hanging low, between her shoulders, tended to do that to a person.
Every part of her was sore. Her arms, outstretched, wrists locked tight in shackles attached to the wall behind her. There had been no sitting, no kneeling. Not unless she wanted to pop her shoulders out of their sockets.
She had spent the night standing. She’d been standing there since Kirk had ordered her taken to the jail at the other end of the village. Since he’d threatened to leave her there without food and drink until she agreed to do what he wanted.
It had been the longest twenty-four hours of her life. At least, she assumed it had been twenty-four. There was no way of knowing for sure. It looked like there was light coming through the windows in the walls outside the cell, so she assumed it was morning.