[Immortal Highlander, Clan Skaraven 01.0] Brennus

by Hazel Hunter

  Hendry glanced through the trees at the lochan. After their tribe had been murdered, he and Murdina had tried to convince the conclave to deliver justice for the Wood Dream. Too busy eluding the Romans and making bargains with the Pritani, they had refused.

  “Before the invaders came to slaughter our tribe, Bhaltair Flen wished to give his mortal allies an advantage over the enemy,” he told Aon. “Only a few druid like him could bestow such gifts. ’Tis likely this warrior’s powers came from him. Once you take the warrior and the female, I shall question him.”

  “We cannae track the warrior,” the giant said, his body ward shimmering with the sunlight he had absorbed. “No’ through the lochan.”

  Hendry felt shaken by the reminder. How could he have been so foolish as to forget the caraidean’s reaction to water? “Flen shall send more warriors soon. We must take Gwyn Embry and compel him to tells us where his old friend and the Dawn Fire now hide.”

  Aon shifted his gaze in the direction of the druid settlement on the other side of the mountain. “Good. Coig wants a new toy.”

  Chapter Ten

  THE DARK MAN didn’t return to the chamber, and after an hour Althea started to worry. Hunger made her sample a little of the meal he’d left, to see if it made her sick or drugged. When it didn’t she ate half the cold oatmeal and sipped a little of the water. If nothing else, being imprisoned had taught her to conserve food rations.

  Why hadn’t he come back yet?

  “According to popular opinion, I am made of ice,” Althea muttered under her breath as she tugged on the chains again. “Maybe kissing me made him so cold he needed a couple dozen hot toddies to warm up.”

  Her tingling lips throbbed a little, as if to disagree. The kiss, they assured her, had been the most heated, carnal experience of her short life. If it hadn’t been his, he was a glacier. Any wild theory sounded better than the one she feared most.

  What if he never comes back?

  Althea released the chains and sat back, furious with herself for everything. Sure, she’d screwed up with men before now, but they were nothing compared to her colossal mistake in saving the dark man, and then kissing him. What kind of prisoner did that, anyway? Was she insane? Had she lost her mind and just didn’t realize it?

  No, she’d been born to crazy parents. She wasn’t crazy. More likely she was hallucinating again.

  “Hey.” Grabbing one chain, Althea shook it so that it clanged against her shackles. If this was a hallucination, maybe she could freeze it like the guards. “Let me out of–” Her mouth snapped shut as the chain in her hand turned white and shattered. “Here.”

  She had enough sense not to touch the frost-covered metal, which a few moments later entirely crumbled. The ankle shackle that had been attached to it now had a jagged gap from top to bottom. Watching the door and listening intently for a moment, Althea reached for the other chain, and held it tightly.

  Nothing happened.

  “Sorry, Greg,” she muttered. “No career in the psychic trade for you.”

  She couldn’t control a shiver as she pried off the broken shackle. It felt as if the room temperature had dropped thirty degrees, although the fire in the hearth still blazed. Something had flash-frozen the chain, and since she was the only one in the room it couldn’t be her new captor. When she’d rapped the first chain against her shackles, she’d been thinking of the guards she’d frozen.

  Telepathic freezing power? She felt disgusted with herself for even going there. “Come on, Althea. Think. You’re a scientist, not a comic book fan. There has to be a rational explanation.”

  As rational as being dragged through the earth by a giant man made of wood, hurled into an abyss of spinning trees, and landing in a place that might just be fourteenth century Scotland? Rational explanations didn’t work here.

  Then try the irrational.

  Althea tightened her grip on the chain as she made the same wish she had the first time. Frost bloomed on the metal links, turning them white as they cracked. This time she held on, and the chain dissolved and fell like snow from her fist. A sharp crack made her flinch, as the second shackle broke in two places.

  Stunned now, she stared at the little pile of icy fragments. “I need to read more comic books.”

  After she removed the pieces of the shackle she rubbed her chilled fingers together. The back of her hand and her forearm also felt oddly cool. Every inch of her skin proved the same, as if she were suffering from a light case of exposure. Or maybe something had leeched the warmth from her flesh.

  At college she’d hated the inorganic chemistry, but now Althea thought back to what she’d learned during the metallurgy lab. If she had the power to alter the kinetic energy of the chains’ atoms, enough to embrittle and shatter the iron, then her own tissue might have reacted.

  “So, if I keep using it,” she muttered, the thought sobering her. “I’ll freeze too.”

  Althea climbed off the bed, gingerly walked around on the chamber’s cold stone floor, and searched the room. She found a bundle of shabby, hand-sewn wool and linen clothing, all too large for her, next to three pairs of huge boots. After pulling on the smallest pair of pants, she tugged on the laces until she could tie them snug around her waist. Easing her battered legs into the cleanest-looking boots hurt, but the extra length of the trousers worked like stuffing. Taking a few wobbly steps, she pulled the blue silk coverlet from the bed and folded it into a long, wide rectangle. It slithered off her shoulders until she knotted the top two corners together under her chin.

  Althea grimaced as she gazed down at the baggy outfit. She looked ridiculous, but hopefully it would keep her warm once she got outside.

  The chamber’s door had only a simple inside latch keeping it shut. When she released it the hinges groaned and the warped panel swung inward. Before she stepped through Althea looked out, checking both sides of the tunnel. Torches bracketed to the walls shed enough dim light to show her the emptiness of the passage.

  Remembering the dark man turning right as he had carried her in, Althea went left. The hide boots soon worked their way down to wad around her ankles. Then she nearly slipped on a puddle of half-frozen water. Dressed like this, she was never going to make it through the woods. She had to have help. Frigid air poured around her as she passed a half-dozen chambers with sagging doors. Glancing up, she saw the torn canopy of dusty spiderwebs lacing the tunnel’s rough-hewn ceiling. Everything she saw suggested the place to be ancient, huge, and deserted. An ideal location in which to hold someone prisoner, but it didn’t look like a prison.

  It felt mysterious, like some enormous secret.

  Althea stopped at the next door she encountered, which fell inward the moment she touched it. The tremendous crash preceded a cloud of dust that she back-stepped to avoid. Guessing the noise would bring the dark man if he heard it, she didn’t run. Instead she took down a torch and carried it inside.

  Pulling the silk up to cover her nose and mouth, Althea turned around to inspect the room. Piles of decayed wood that had served as a bed, a small table and a chair lay heaped where they had collapsed. A large trunk had done the same, spilling out blackened rags. A collection of long rusty bars hung vertically on stone hooks on either side of the bed. It took a closer look for her to realize what they’d once been.

  “Swords,” Althea whispered and reached out to touch the pitted, ruined metal, which flaked beneath her fingertips. “Who lives like this?”

  “The Skaraven, my lady,” a deep voice answered.

  He came up directly behind her, so close she could feel his body heat through her makeshift cloak. She turned to face him. This close the dark man towered over her, so big he blocked out the rest of the room. He’d changed into heavier clothing and boots, over which he wore a thick hooded cloak. Across his chest a thick leather strap ran from his shoulder to waist, and the unadorned hilt of a sword or knife glinted from behind his left shoulder. In his left hand he held her carryall.

  “So you can ta
lk.” She wanted to slap him now, but that wouldn’t help the situation. “Why did you pretend you couldn’t?”

  His dark brows drew together. “I wasnae pretending. I was…observing.”

  Lie, Althea thought. “Who are you? Why did you do this? You scared the wits out of me.”

  “I think no’.” He pointed down at the boots she’d stolen. “You shatter chains and shackles. ’Tis no’ the work of the witless.”

  His melodic Scottish accent sounded different from the mad druids’, but he spoke in the same vernacular. Was he working with the lunatics after all?

  “I want to call the police,” she told him flatly. “Now.”

  “Naught you call can be heard from here.” He plucked the torch from her hand before she could blink and sketched an odd sort of bow. “I’m Brennus, Chieftain of the Skaraven Clan.” He offered her the carryall. “Come now, my lady, and I shall return you to your tribe.”

  She thought quickly as she took her bag. She could tell him that she didn’t have a tribe, or she could get out of this place. “All right.”

  Brennus led her out of the room and down the passage to a newly-made wooden door, where he paused to remove his cloak. “You’ll want this. ’Twill soon snow.” He wrapped it around her and pulled the hood up over her hair.

  The heavy wool still retained his body heat, which felt heavenly against her chilled skin. “How will you keep warm?”

  One corner of his stern mouth curled. “Cold doesnae plague me, my lady.” He opened the door, which revealed a narrow set of snow-covered stone steps lit from above. As a swirl of icy wind blew around them, he swept Althea off her feet and carried her up the stairs.

  Cold certainly plagued her as Brennus emerged from the passage into a wintry forest of huge trees and rugged slopes. Althea spotted a river in the distance, but no lake or anything she recognized. She didn’t see roads, cars, or any form of transportation waiting for them. The only sign that anyone had moved through the area were a few rough trails winding through the woods.

  “Are we going on foot?” she asked as he set her down, and when he shook his head she sighed. “That’s a relief. How close are we to where they were holding us? Will we pass a town or village where I can report this to the police?”

  “I dinnae ken what ’tis police,” Brennus said and scanned the horizon. “The druidesses arenae my clan’s concern. You must speak to your tribe of it, my lady. Your elders may use their spells to free the others taken with you.”

  Althea felt an unnatural calm settle over her. What he said and the sincerity with which he said it finally convinced her. All the logic and science and rationality in the world would never explain Brennus, this place, or what had happened to her. “This is the fourteenth century.”

  “Aye.” He studied her face. “’Tis no’ your time.”

  “I won’t be born for another seven centuries,” she said and studied his calm face for a reaction. When none came the reserved tone of his voice finally sank in. “You’re never going to help me, are you?”

  “I cannae, my lady. My clan has suffered enough at the hands of the druids. I must protect my men.” He nodded toward the river. “We should go now.”

  He was going to hand her over to more druids, just like that. After what the lunatics had done to her and the other women, no way in hell was Althea going anywhere with him.

  “Right.” She managed a willing smile. “Lead the way.”

  It fooled Brennus. Once he got far enough ahead of her, she turned and fled down one of the winding trails. Pain streaked through both of her legs, but she ignored it as she zig-zagged through the trees. The damn boots kept tripping her, so she reached down to jerk them up and glanced over her shoulder at the empty trail.

  “I can do this,” she muttered as she ripped the bandages from her hands and tied them around the boot tops.

  Running in the heavy wool cloak made sweat streak down her back, stinging the wounds crisscrossing her spine. A few minutes later she felt a warmer dampness under the baggy trousers and guessed the running had reopened some of the gashes. She stopped to catch her breath and saw some small, dark patches soaking through the trousers. Brennus hadn’t followed her, so she could risk walking for a little while.

  The stabbing pain in her chest wasn’t just due to the air temperature. It hurt to run away from him, and for the life of her Althea couldn’t understand why.

  The terrain grew steep as snowflakes began drifting down. She kept an eye out for any signs of civilization, but the forest and mountains seemed to go on forever. The dropping temperature made the air turn icy in her lungs. She turned around to check the trail again and saw that at least the snow was starting to cover her tracks. Soon he wouldn’t be able to pick up her trail.

  She’d be all alone out here. Alone and hurt.

  “There’ll be a village,” she promised herself as she pushed on, and edged around a large leaf-filled depression in the ground. “A friendly farmer. Another clan that don’t have issues with dru–”

  Her feet stuttered to a stop as she saw Brennus waiting on the other side of the tree.

  He looked just as happy to see her. “The river is the other way, my lady.”

  “I’m not your lady,” she corrected. “I’m not your anything. Go back to your clan and do whatever is more important than the lives of four women. I’ll find a village of nice people who care.”

  “On foot, ’tis a three-day walk to the nearest croft.” He lifted his arm and pointed past her. “That way.”

  “Thanks for the directions.” Althea turned around and grimly started back the way she came.

  “You’ll no’ last another hour,” Brennus told her as he kept pace with her wobbly steps. “If the cold doesnae stop you, your bleeding shall.”

  She knew he was right. Her knees felt as unsteady as her head. She probably wouldn’t make it another hundred yards. Admitting that, however, wasn’t going to happen. “I don’t care. I have to try.”

  Brennus caught her arm as she stumbled. “I cannae permit this, my lady.”

  “Then it’s a good thing…you’re not in charge of me.”

  She leaned against him, pressing her brow to his shoulder. Why were the trees spinning around her? It made her feel sick, and she didn’t have time to throw up. She had to keep going. Yet when his arms enclosed her, her knees ignored her wishes and buckled.

  “No,” she breathed and pushed him away, staggering backward and shaking her head to clear it. “I’m not abandoning them to die. I’ll never… stop trying. Now…get away…from…”

  The world up-ended. Snow filled her eyes, mingling with the tears blinding her. Brennus held her against his chest as he carried her through the forest. By the time they arrived back at the entrance to the tunnels innumerable snowflakes whitened his black hair.

  Althea watched as they passed through a shaft of thin light, which made both of them glitter. For a moment the dark man looked so enchanting she wondered if it were all just a dream.

  I should try to wake up, she thought, feeling completely muddled. If I do, will I be back in the barn with the others?

  Only snatches of what happened next flashed through Althea’s muddled confusion. Darkness pressed in on her as Brennus walked down the stone steps, which now seemed to descend for miles. She saw the flare of a torch and felt soft fur press on her aching back. Another, larger man with silvered dark hair spoke to the chieftain in a voice so deep her bones felt it. She smelled herbs and tasted something bitter that knocked her out almost instantly.

  Waking up with a jerk, Althea rolled over onto her back. Someone had covered her with a blanket, but this time she wasn’t in the chieftain’s chamber. She lay at the bottom of a deep, wide earthen pit with a mound of fleeces between her and the dirt floor. The trousers she’d stolen were gone, but fresh poultices and bandages had been applied to her wounds. The worn linen shirt she had on was different, and so long that it fell to her knees, but under it she was naked.

  High abov
e her a lighted circle hovered, shedding scant light on the room she now occupied. Perfectly round and entirely empty, it made her think of the bottom of a dried-up well. A rope ladder hung halfway down from the upper opening, too high for her to reach.

  “Hello?” Her arms trembled as she pushed herself up. It took two tries to get on her feet. “Brennus?”

  Calling for help produced no results, and she gave up to hobble around the pit. Just beneath the dangling rope ladder lay the bottom half. From the look of the ends it had been deliberately cut. Two buckets stood by a bundle of rags: one empty and the other filled with water. She didn’t find any other way out, which made her peer up at the opening. On one side two hinges stuck out from the edge of a wooden trap door.

  She’d been stuck in an oubliette.

  Althea had once toured a chateau in France where one of the inescapable prison pits had been discovered. Death by confinement had been one of the worst medieval tortures. A prisoner dropped in an oubliette was “forgotten” by their captor and left to die of thirst and starvation.

  “No.” The word burst out of her, hard and absolute.

  If Brennus had wanted her dead, he wouldn’t have done this. He’d have bashed her head in, or just let her freeze to death outside. A killer wouldn’t carry her back, redress her legs, and then stick her in a place she couldn’t climb out. This was all way too much trouble.

  “Oh, I get it,” Althea muttered as she picked up the ladder’s bottom half. “He didn’t want me to escape again while he was off being chieftain and protecting his men. Jerk.” She threw the hacked-off rope away from her, and heard a splash as it landed in the filled bucket. “And now my only water supply’s polluted.”

  She plucked the rope out of the bucket, and then stared at the dripping hemp. Shaking it out straight, she saw that it was a good six feet long.

  “Stupid jerk.” She laughed. “You left me a get-out-of-jail-free card.”

  Althea couldn’t risk destroying her only out, so she picked up some fleece and thought of freezing it, just enough to make it stiff. The soft curls slowly frosted over, growing stiff, but when she touched them they didn’t break. A chill also raced over her flesh, but not as cold as when she had frozen the first chain.