Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (16 page)

Well, what the hell.
I decided it couldn’t hurt.

I stopped. Two footfalls later, he pivoted and stepped back to me. His eyes were dark, nearly black, and they searched mine under dropped brows. I smiled, the superficial action settling my nerves as I hoped to breach any negativity between us.

I pointed to my chest. “I’m Isobel.”

He gave no response whatsoever.

I tried again, poking my finger repeatedly into my sternum to a level of dull pain, as if driving the point home would achieve his comprehension any faster. “
EeeeSoooBellll.
”
I bit back a laugh.
If he didn’t understand it the first time . . .

His eyes widened. He lifted a lock of my hair, staring at it before smelling it, and mimicked my last incantation in a gravelly, low voice. “EeeeSoooBellll.”

I nodded, thrilled. Progress had been made. I waited for him to take his turn, but to my incredible dismay, he grunted, turned, and continued walking.

Imagine that. My naked, blue-tattooed ancient Pict friend has no concept of what twentieth-century cinema deems to be a proper introduction between a civilized and a native.

I dropped my distance to two paces behind him, deciding to have my conversation, even if he remained unable or unwilling to participate. In fact, it irked me that he chose not to reach out to me the way I clearly had to him. Annoyance at the man, and all men in general, fueled an ever-growing bad attitude.

“You know, I’ve had it with you superior
men
who decide us
women
have no need to understand the way things work. Like, say . . . oh, I don’t know . . .
interdimensional time travel
. You think you control me with the things you know but keep locked away. Well, fair warning: I intend to learn and master the powers of that damn box, with or without your help.”

My vent-fest received no response.
Big surprise.

We continued traveling through thick, unrecognizable forest, giving me no idea if he’d directed us back the same way we’d come. My answer came when we left the tree cover, entering a clearing filled with half a dozen men, all facing our direction as if they’d expected our arrival. I recognized the two that had been in the cave. Off to the far left, familiar boulders rose out of the ground, which meant one important thing: around the bend opened the mouth of the cave .
 . . holding the box.

My heart hurt. An enormous longing for home .
 . . for Iain . . . filled my chest until it burned. I blinked back tears and tore off running as a force stronger than any I’d ever known propelled me toward my only way back to the man I loved.

Without warning, a clamp around my upper arm yanked me to a jarring halt. I hadn’t even covered half the distance to the boulders. The magnetic pull from the cave continued. A vibrational recognition—exactly like the one that incited my last touch of the box—possessed me to such a degree, I ripped my arm from its vice and clutched my skirt, racing as fast as possible toward the cave.

Neither the shouts from men chasing after me, nor the screaming pain from my ankle, affected my breakneck speed as I rounded the corner in a controlled slide. The turn fractionally slowed my momentum, and a battering ram slammed into my side, spinning me around and pinning me against the rock wall outside the cave entrance. Piercing pain shot up my back from the abrasive impact. With clenched teeth, I pressed my lips into a firm line, refusing to cry out from the injustice of it all. My nostrils flared, pulling in the oxygen my outraged lungs demanded.

Strong defiance tilted my chin up on its own accord, and I looked directly into my captor’s eyes. His glare dared me.

His entire body pressed into me, in clear illustration of his dominance over me. The close contact also pressed a sizable erection into my hip.

Great.
Either the exhilaration of the chase had turned him on, or I had. I desperately prayed for the first option.

I set my jaw back and forth, taking a deep breath. My single nod gave him my wordless surrender. He eased away from me in slow movements—first his upper body that had been crushing my chest, then his arms, hips, and legs—until he remained certain he had me under control.

A last solemn look in the direction of my freedom served as my unwilling goodbye to the box; yet I refused to give up hope. I rejected the thought of saying goodbye to Iain. Like a Polaroid, I instantly captured everything about that cave: the cool air, the rock . . . even the very essence of the box itself imprinted into the depths of my being.

After my busted escape effort, my jailors led me back to their makeshift camp. With no clothing to hide the evidence, I sighed in relief when Chatterbox’s full-on erection tamed down to something less embarrassing, even if no less impressive.

A few men broke off at my captor’s command, collecting spears, shields, and various types of leather satchels. Fur pelts and leather skins were tossed from a pile to each man. I watched with mild interest as they covered themselves. It wasn’t evident if their gathering had been for war, hunting, or religious purposes, but their actions made one thing crystal clear: we were leaving.

With every step I took away from my only tie to my life with Iain, my feet got heavier until they’d become as leaden as the heart mechanically chugging in my chest.

CHAPTER
Fourteen

A frigid winter descended onto my mind, seeping into my heart. My senses sharpened to a claymore’s edge, reality settling like a hard-fallen snow snuffing out a vibrant newborn flower. My life had never been mine to control or enjoy. Powers beyond my feeble comprehension had locked onto me for an inexplicable reason. Tossed about at the whim of some bored, spectating gods, I’d become a cork bobbing on the surface of a dark, stormy ocean.

Who would rescue me? Would Iain even discover I’d gone adrift?

Despair at the notion that I’d split in two like Iain had done filled me with such sorrow, my breath caught on a choke. If a mirror image had remained—if Iain had no idea I’d been snatched away—no one would come for me. My only hope to return to my home, to the love of my life, rested solely on me.

My fur-wrapped escorts talked among themselves, loosely surrounding me as we walked. They weren’t overt about my prisoner status, but it didn’t take rocket science to be able to see them for what they were—a human jail cell. The inattention they gave me showed their confidence in my continued captivity. And hadn’t that become ridiculous? They thought they had me, but in actuality, nothing ever ended up being as it seemed.

Wrapped in my thoughts, I failed to notice my captor looking at me. He stopped. I hobbled along until everyone else stopped. As I lifted my gaze from the ground to see what had caused the holdup, he walked between his men, coming closer to me. Someone addressed him in the same manner as I’d heard earlier, and I realized his name was Velloc.

He got right up into my face. “
Keff
.”

I blinked.
Right.
This was the part where . . .
poof!
. . . I miraculously understood what he’d said?

“EeeeSoooBellll.
Keff
.” He said it again with force, like how people shout at the deaf. Yeah, it never made them understand any easier either. He gripped my shoulders in his hands, exerting pressure downward until my knees crumpled and my ass met the bark of a fallen tree.

“Ohhh, you wanted me to sit. Well, hell. Why didn’t you just say so?”

He nodded, pleased that I’d obeyed; I growled, irritated at his satisfaction over having coerced me.

Velloc barked some kind of order, and two men set off deeper into the forest. He turned and knelt in front of me as he lifted my skirt. I swiped a hand down to stop him, but his hand clamped my wrist before I registered the blur of movement. His fierce glare and low growl reiterated his role over me. I retracted my arm and clasped both hands in my lap. The rest of his group spread about—one took a seat on a rock, others disappeared into the scrub.

My attention shifted back to my captor. Long, dark hair fell across his face as he lifted my injured foot. He wrapped his hand around the heel of my boot and wriggled it off. Hot stabs of pain shot into my ankle, and I hissed, clenching my jaw as I squeezed my eyes shut. Deep breaths helped me work through the pain until he’d removed the binding leather. My first look at the bare foot showed no obvious bruising, but the outside sported an apple-sized knot. He manipulated the swelling, moving my ankle around in all directions, deftly administering his analysis with all the expertise of a doctor.

Velloc paused and glanced up, holding my gaze. Compassion and respect flashed from the depths of his dark irises.

The return of his two men shrouded his momentary expression while he gave them instructions. One took a handful of leaves he’d apparently collected and laid them on a nearby flat rock. With a smaller rock, he scraped the pile of greenery, grinding back and forth, twisting his fist. The other man left, returning with a knife and a thin scrap of leather. He sliced long, two-inch-wide strips from the leather. They coated the midsection of the pieces with the ground botanical paste and handed them to Velloc.

Velloc held my ankle in a tender but firm grasp. When they handed him the coated strips, he aligned the herb-covered sections on my swollen outer ankle, crossing them over one another, and pressed down. Agile fingers wound the dangling ends of the makeshift bandage repeatedly around my foot and tucked in the ends, creating a supportive compression brace.

When he motioned his fingers up and down the length of the log I sat upon, gesturing for me to lie down, I hesitated. He glared, leaning into my personal space, dictating my choices: I had the right to obey his clear instruction, or compliance of said command would be forced upon me.

I lowered my upper body down, and he backed off, attending to unknown matters with his men. The ankle pain diminished a few degrees, and I elevated the wrapped foot onto a raised knee.

Slow breaths and murmured deep voices lulled me. My eyelids grew heavy. Warm sunshine fell across most of my dress as I fell under the sticky spell of an exhaustion-induced nap.

* * *

I shot upright, yelping . . . and almost rolled off a log. Someone’s hold gripped my shoulders firmly from behind. I glanced back, looking up.
Velloc.

The Pict’s bent, muscular legs corralled my upper body, telling me he’d not only returned, but that he’d guarded me during my nap. I had no illusions as to the reason—I remained a flight risk. I yawned, fighting the need to sleep a while longer.

He examined my ankle again, rebound the poultice tighter, and worked my boot back on. The pain had diminished to a tolerable heat from its earlier wicked throb.

Hours blurred together as we continued to walk. Based on the sun’s movement, we’d been heading almost due north.
Are we there yet?
chanted louder and louder in my brain as I wondered when we’d arrive at our mystery destination.

Amber glowed in the sky, the tired sun casting its last hour of light from behind us. A faint, fresh smell tickled my nostrils. I struggled to define it as the familiar scent teased my mind, wafting by on occasional breezes.

After a few minutes, sounds followed. Loud. Roaring.

The ocean.

We broke through dense foliage, and a sizable flatland meadow stretched ahead carpeted with short, green grass. Rock structures and teepees stood at the edge of a precipice at the horizon. Waves crashed into an unseen shoreline.

All around me, the men sounded off with animal cries resembling wolves and birds. Muted matching calls replied from afar. Velloc remained silent, hovering closer into my side.

Out of the distance, dogs emerged, racing toward us. The hounds lapped our group in circles until they vibrated excitedly at the sides of their masters.

Velloc wrapped an arm around my waist, securing me from behind as two dogs assaulted our legs with the heavy beats of their tails. High-pitched whines quieted when he soothed them with slow strokes on their long, gray ears. He took my hand in his, offering it to each of their noses. Cool, wet snorts were followed with nudges from foreheads, the dogs accepting me as a friend.

When we crossed the field, approaching the outer edge of the village, everyone greeted us. Most of the tribe wore clothing similar to Velloc’s men: furs and leather of various animal hides. Some of the women even wore basic textile dresses.

My presence alarmed no one, as if strangers visiting had been a common occurrence. Curious faces cast intermittent glances my way, but all had wide smiles from our small group’s return.

I scanned the village’s landscape, unable to partake in their rejoicing. Small, round stone dwellings led up to a partially built
broch
. The birth of a ruin definitively answered the question of “
When am I?
” The dry-stacked structures had disputed purposes, but they’d all been carbon dated to within two hundred years of construction. Which meant I’d been thrown into either the first century BC or AD.

With the time-stamp discovery, the ordinary dirt beneath my feet held greater historical meaning. Somewhere else on the planet, Christ could be walking about. Subject to the whim of powerful outside forces, he’d been dropped into the world to save it. If only my role had such a magnanimous purpose.

Emotionally tapped, I flew on academic autopilot, filing away bits of information observed through a keen scientist’s eye. My foundation of historical knowledge, and an inherent desire to seek, obtain, and catalog every fact I could collect, were the only things keeping my heart beating and lungs breathing in my newfound survival mode.

Firm pressure on my back dragged me from my reverie. Velloc nudged me gently, walking ahead, and I followed the man in charge of my journey. By his very hand, I’d been summoned to his time. He seemed well aware of the fact, which explained his continued possessiveness and responsibility of me.

According to Iain, the box had been passed through generations of lairds before him, all the way back to the Picts. He’d also said it had been designed to match up soul mates. I’d come to believe Iain the moment I’d fallen hopelessly and irrevocably in love with him.
If Iain’s words bore absolute truth
. . .

I glanced up at Velloc who was a pace ahead of me.
Yeahhh
. . . My brain couldn’t wrap around it.

The other men and women had broken off, retreating into their respective homes, leaving us alone. A quiet hush had fallen upon the village. Family reunions happened privately as the sun set, fading the sky to slate gray through the sea mist.

Velloc stopped at a low rock structure, similar in size to the rest, and waved his hand, gesturing me inside. I sighed. There was no point in fighting a path I so obviously belonged on, no matter my desire to be elsewhere.

I stepped into Velloc’s structure, taking his suggestion as invitation before my knee-jerk stubbornness forced him to make it a command. The sparse furnishings were functional: a wooden table with two chairs, and a pallet on the ground with layers of plush furs upon it. The only illumination was the diminishing skylight that filtered through the doorway, casting the interior into a palette of shadows.

“Keff,” he said.
Sit.
He spoke the singular word I’d learned with a note of exhaustion in his tone. I related with every fiber of my being, mentally and physically, and I gladly collapsed on his bed. My entire body immediately sank in relief, threatening a total pass out.

Velloc laughed. It was the first time I’d heard the sound from the very serious man. I rolled over, regarding him. The smile transformed his rugged, bearded face into almost handsome. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a lean, muscular physique—features he shared with his people. They were a few inches shorter on average than their
Highland descendants, which lent credence to historical opinions about the Viking raids occurring later. Velloc stood a couple inches taller than me, placing him under six feet, but nothing about the man appeared small.

He grabbed food and a skin with liquid from the table, bringing them to my boneless body. In silence, he broke off pieces of cheese and salted meat, feeding me. Too tired to argue, I clamped my teeth onto the bite-sized portions he lifted to my mouth. Both the meat and the cheese were hard, giving my jaw a good workout. The deerskin pouch held amazingly pure water, which I gratefully swallowed, quenching my thirst and washing down the meal.

“Velloc?” I propped up on an elbow, addressing him for the first time since my initial failed attempt. Before sleep claimed me, I wanted some semblance of communication—partly because I was alone with him, and he’d assumed the role of my ally and protector, but mostly, because I was alone with him . . . in very tight quarters . . . with one bed.

A reaction registered across his face upon hearing his name in my low-spoken tone. His eyes widened in surprise, but the shift ran hotter, like a spark arced from a live-wire connection. He lifted his hand, the pads of his fingers caressing my cheek.

Overrun by the events of the past twenty-four hours, weariness dragged on my mind and body. Gravity pulled me into its undeniable hold, away from Velloc’s touch. My head drifted down onto cushioning furs, heavy eyelids falling closed as I felt the blankets being adjusted around me.

The darkness increased. Sounds of the ocean waves muted.

Velloc sidled his body up against mine, and it oddly calmed me. I shivered in response to his sudden warmth. Strong hands turned me, grabbing my hips and tucking my body close as his entire form wrapped around me from behind. With gentleness, he loosely clasped his hand around my forearm.