Amethyst Destiny (4 page)

King James? Clearly they weren’t talking about the English monarchy. Had Scotland finally declared independence after all these centuries? Or was her head injury more serious than she thought?

The conversation ceased, replaced by a low murmur she thought was Talon’s. A murmur that reminded her of a minister’s mutterings. As if he were a chaplain for real.

Ha. No way. If that guy was a man of God, she was a sumo wrestler.

A few minutes later the other man thanked him. A woman did the same. Then the door opened and Talon slipped back into the room. He closed the door and stood there, watching her with a contemplative look she wasn’t sure she liked.

Fear had taken the place of the butterflies, but she glowered at him, refusing to be cowed.

“We need to talk, lass.” Talon crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes hard. “If you try to scream, I’ll knock you out again. Do you ken?”

If her hands were free, she’d have been tempted to flip him off. Instead, she gave him a single hard nod, then winced at the ache in her jaw, losing her glower.

As her vision cleared, Talon sat beside her and removed her gag.

She raked her tongue across the roof of her mouth, trying to get rid of the nasty taste of linen. “Why do they think you’re a chaplain?”

“Because that’s what I am.”

“Right. And I’m the King of Siam.”

His mouth quirked up on one side, a dimple flashing as a gleam of humor, and maybe respect, lit his eyes. “The King of Siam, eh? And why do ye not believe me?”

He turned her to face away from him, his hands surprisingly gentle, then began digging at the knots at her wrists.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He had to be kidding. “Do you want the entire list, or just the highlights ?”

That gleam in his eyes deepened, encouraging her.

“Try kidnapping and assault, not to mention the fact you’re skulking around, hiding me. Not very chaplain-like, in my experience.”

“And what do you think I am?”

She turned back, glancing at the intricately carved cross hanging on the wall. “If I had to guess, I’d say a con artist. But more than that. You’re into dangerous stuff. Maybe spying. Maybe drugs.” And she should probably shut up now before he decided she knew too much and needed to die.
Smooth move, Julia.

He was silent for more than a minute as he dug at the ropes. Finally, he sighed. “Ye ken the truth, Julia Brodie. I am not who I claim. There is something I seek and ye will be helping me find it.”

As the ropes went slack at her wrists and disappeared, Talon rose and returned to the chair. Julia turned to face him, rubbing her wrists where the ropes had chafed.

She hadn’t realized that she’d begun to calm while her back was to him. But the moment she faced him again, the moment she met that sharp, intense gaze, her pulse began to speed and her body began to flush.

The man disturbed her on a fundamental level. He scared her, and yet, her reaction to him wasn’t nearly that simple. She couldn’t breathe with him so close, with him watching her like a tiger getting ready to spring.

Without consciously deciding to move, she found herself scooting toward the end of the bed, away from him.

Talon rose, towering over her, crossing his arms over his chest like a Roman jailor. “Ye’ll not try to leave.”

She stared up at him, hating the physical inequality between them. “I wasn’t leaving. I just ... need a little breathing room. You have a bad habit of pushing me around and I’m getting tired of it, dude.”

Talon again watched her as if she’d started speaking Farsi, then shook his head and went to lean back against the door, blocking any chance of escape. “Stand where you wish.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. She scrambled off the bed and strode as far away from him as she could in the matchbox-sized room, straight into the shallow window alcove. Sunlight streamed in through the ancient window and she went toward it, drawn by the warmth as much as by curiosity. If she ever got the chance to escape, she needed to know if the window was an option.

But her hopes were dashed as she saw they were at least four stories up, high above the castle courtyard. With disbelief, she took in the scene below, a scene from another time. This was clearly no modern castle, but one designed to run like a fortress from centuries past. The busy, bustling courtyard was filled with people dressed in period costume, carrying baskets and tools as if they’d stepped out of some late-medieval play. Was this the Scottish version of an Amish village, then? Filled with people who shunned modern ways?

Or maybe she was being held in some kind of tourist trap, filled with reenactors. She scanned the crowd, searching for modern people with cameras or event brochures, and finding not a one.

A girl caught her eye, a young teen in a simple gown and bare feet who reminded her markedly of the way Catriona had looked the first time she’d seen her. Cat could have come from this place.

Julia blinked.

To her knowledge, no one had ever figured out where Cat
had
come from. What if she’d escaped this place and run, winding up at Loch Laggan?

Her thoughts began to spin, her mind leaping, making connections. It was Cat’s necklace that had started acting so strangely right before the car started spinning. Right before she’d landed on Talon’s stairs.

Which was interesting, certainly. But what could a piece of jewelry have to do with anything?

It was that same necklace that Cat had told her to take far, far from Scotland and not touch. Did it have some kind of locator in it?

For heaven’s sake, it was a gemstone. Not a teleporter.

There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for all of this. She’d been in an accident and probably suffered a head injury. She’d lost a chunk of time. As for Talon ... she clearly couldn’t believe a word he said.

As she watched out the window, a man stopped along a corner, whipped out his penis, and began to urinate.
You’ve got to be kidding.
No one seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t seem to care. Good grief. This place was way too real. If she didn’t know better, she might think she’d been plucked out of the twenty-first century and dropped into the past.

Which was utterly ridiculous.

Her scalp began to tingle.

Snatches of overheard phrases popped into her mind like comic book thought balloons....
babe due in June. Same as the queen’s. King James is naught but a pope lover.
Talon’s assurance she could ride to Glasgow in a week’s time.
On a horse.
Cat’s admission that she hadn’t known how to read or write when she’d first come to them. As if she’d grown up in a world of horses and bare feet. And King James.

Julia grabbed for the windowsill, her fingers clutching at the wood.

No. She was being ridiculous even
thinking
of such a thing. Magic wasn’t real. Time travel was not real.

Cat’s voice rang in her head.
Don’t touch it until you get home. Don’t ever bring it back here.

As if she’d known something would happen.

As if she’d known
this
would happen.

Cold sweat dampened her body. Talon claimed God had delivered her to him, like he knew she’d been plucked out of thin air and handed to him. For God’s sake, he’d asked if she was
human.

Her hand gripped the window frame so hard that the muscles in her arm began to quiver. There was a logical explanation. There had to be.

But the question that pressed at her mind wouldn’t be quieted. What if the stone did possess some kind of ... magic? What if it had somehow snatched Catriona from
here
all those years ago and delivered her to the Brodies?

And had now snatched Julia from there and dropped her here.

Where exactly was
here?

She stared out the window, her gaze riveted to the sight as her mind supplied the answer, then violently rebelled.

She was
not
in the past.

Swallowing hard, she turned around and met the gaze of the man watching her with a pair of intense blue eyes. She looked at him, really looked at him, searching for some telltale sign that her imagination was running wild. But his robe, his boots, all screamed
the past.

Her gaze scanned the room. No electrical outlets. No cables. No light switch on the wall.

It didn’t matter. Her imagination was running away with her, probably a result of a head injury.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What’s the date, Talon?” Her voice sounded calm and even, but the moment the words were out, her heart began to pound in her chest. Because she knew. Deep down,
she knew.
Everything fit. As insane and improbable as the answer was, it fit.

“Seventh of April.”

“The rest. The year.”

He looked at her quizzically. “The year of our lord 1688.”

She nodded. 1688.
Sixteen
...

Her stomach lurched. The air turned the consistency of molasses, refusing to enter her lungs.

Talon rose with a worried expression. “What is amiss, lass?”

The blood drained from her face. She was going down.

Talon grabbed the lass and sat her on the edge of the bed, shoving her head between her knees.

“Breathe, lassie. Easy, now.” His fingers slid into her soft hair as he gripped her small skull. “Breathe.”

Her hands came up, her fingers pressing against her temples. “I’m okay. I don’t faint.” But her voice sounded as pale as her skin looked.

“Aye. Ye fight it most thoroughly.”

Had he hit her too hard? Had the magic harmed her mind? He’d felt the blast of it. The whole castle had felt it.

Talon released his hold on her and squatted on the floor before her, his hands resting on her knees. “Tell me what ails ye.”

She looked up and met his gaze, her face as white as milk, shock in her eyes.

Shock. She’d asked the date and he’d told her. It was then she’d nearly swooned. Why?

A chill raced along his spine.

He’d asked her from where the magic had pulled her. Perhaps that had been the wrong question.

He studied her—her oddly short hair that appeared not hacked, but carefully shaped. Her clothing, like nothing he’d ever seen, the fabric and knit of remarkable fineness.

He thought of her speech—English, but accented as he’d never heard it. Her strange, strange words—and her disbelief that he hadn’t understood them.

“Julia?” he asked softly. “Ye’ll tell me, lass. Ye were not expecting the year I gave you, were you? Did the magic pull ye through time as well as space? When were ye in Glasgow, Julia? A different year, aye?”

Her gaze clung to his, a lost look in those intriguingly mismatched eyes that pulled at the strings of his heart.

“The future.” The words came out as little more than a whisper from between tense lips.

Gooseflesh raised on his arms.
The future.
A future when lasses dressed as lads and intentionally hacked off their own hair.

“How far into the future, Julia? From when have ye come?” He held her gaze as he gripped her knees, uncertain whether he supported her or held on for himself.

Her bonny mouth opened, then closed as she visibly swallowed, then opened again. “2010.”

Talon’s eyes widened, the hair rising at his nape as he rose and stepped back. He’d thought forty or fifty years, mayhap. Not ...
Jesu. “Three hundred twenty-two years.”

He glanced at his ring with new respect. The rock had power greater than even he had suspected. It was little wonder the blast of magic had been felt throughout the castle.

Excitement began to pulse beneath his ribs.

Mismatched eyes implored him. “Send me back.”

“I cannot.”

Twin fires ignited deep in those eyes, anger fanned by desperation. “You have to send me back.” Once more, her voice began to rise. “You said you were the one who brought me here!”

“Wheesht!”

She flinched, her face paling even more, a thing he’d have not thought possible, as she lifted her hands as if to ward off a blow.

Or him.

He glanced at the door, but made no move toward her. “Ye must settle, Julia, or you’ll bring the whole castle down upon us.” He fought to keep his voice low and calm, sensing she was near hysterics. “I’ll not hurt you again.”

She watched him with eyes too big for her face, breathing too fast. “You have to send me back.”

“You’ve a job to do, aye? And once you do it, you’ll return to your place and time.”

A flare of temper tightened her expression. “If you can send me home
then,
you can send me home
now.”

“Nay, I cannot. I did not bring you here apurpose. I canna control it.”

“Then how did I get here?” The color was slowly returning to her cheeks. “And don’t give me that crap about God’s will. God didn’t do this and we both know it.”

With a mix of admiration and frustration Talon accepted that this lass was too canny to believe anything less than the truth. But would she
believe
the truth? Even if he were willing to share it?

Nay, he’d not share his secrets. He’d never told anyone about his ring and was not about to do so now.

Claiming magic of any kind was a dangerous game. Though the witch hunts had died down, there were still those all too willing to believe. And to destroy those they feared.

But the lass deserved an explanation. Indeed, by the look on her face, she demanded one.

And what would he possibly tell her, if not the truth? A partial truth, perhaps.

“’Twas magic that brought you to me, lass. I asked for help in finding the item I seek, and you appeared. You must ken something from the future that will help me.”

She stared at him with a look of growing frustration. “I don’t know anything.” Her voice quavered.

He rose and poured a dram of whiskey from the carafe the ring had gifted him with late last night and handed it to her. “Drink it slow, aye?”

She took the glass, the liquid sloshing against the side, her hands visibly shaking. Slowly, she raised it to her mouth and took a sip, her tongue darting out to lick the moisture from a pair of lush, feminine lips.