Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (23 page)

I swung the light through the room, surveying everything within arm’s length. The box sat at the head of our sleeping pallet. Its relocation made sense if Velloc wanted to make it work again without having to live at the cave. They must’ve left the box back in the cave the first time I’d arrived for a reason, though. I’d investigate that issue further later.

The beginnings of a plan developed as I chewed my lower lip. Iain’s rules helped guide my decisions as I worked through the sections aloud, soothed by the sound of my own voice.

“Rule number one: ensure my safety at all times.” We’d agreed I should remain in the cave a single day and night to await Velloc if he wasn’t in the cave when I arrived. If he didn’t show, I would travel along the same route, to the best of my recollection, back to the village. Not only had that been deemed unnecessary, I’d gained thirty-six hours in my quest by already being at the village. I only hoped the head start would help make up for time lost to actually find Velloc.

I poked around further in the small space, turning around. The table and chairs were empty. He’d taken his waterskin and personal weapons. And no yellow sticky note had been left saying, “Honey, I ran to the store. Back in a few.”

With no other clues visible, I returned the torch outside and scraped its glowing-orange tip out on the flat surface of a rock while I scanned the sleeping village. Finding my mate would have to wait until morning, since nothing short of an attack on our village would have me interrupt sleeping, or otherwise indisposed, couples.

Rule Number One
repeated through my mind:
ensure my safety at all times
. I laid my head on an improvised fur pillow I’d made, inhaling Velloc’s scent. I missed him.

Pining for Velloc reminded me of
Rule Number Two
, which had been scored into my memory when Iain said with absolute conviction, “
When you’re there, you belong to Velloc. When not . . . You. Are. Mine.
”
Iain stomached the gut punch of my returning by demanding I spend a lot more time in his world. My responsibility in the warped scenario had become a necessity for both our sanity and the relative happiness of the two men affected:
love the one you’re with.

I grumbled to the box. “Kinda hard to do, since I’m alone right now.”

My only audience replied with a snap of energy, traces of power still sizzling from its surface. The artifact’s remaining activity had powered down to a low hum. Our connectedness emanated a soothing warmth into my body that lulled me toward sleep.

Morning would arrive on the flip side. When it did, I planned to make maximum use of the restriction I had under
Rule Number Three
, which ensured my return without a supplemental power boost.

“I have
one
week.”

CHAPTER Twenty-three

Highlands of
Scotland—Ancient Reign of the Picts, One Day after My Return

I burst into abundant sunshine after realizing I’d overslept. I hoped I hadn’t lost too much time and had no idea why I’d slept so long—my body should’ve still been on thirteenth-century time.
Again with the time-travel jet lag.

The tangerine sun’s half-sky position, and the
Highland’s eighteen hours of midsummer daylight, hinted that hours of precious light had already burned off along with the morning haze. I searched for familiar faces as activity frenzied about like an ant farm, everyone capitalizing on the brilliant blue-sky day.

Suddenly, a raven-haired blur raced by. I shot my arm out, clotheslining her. Before I could blink, she flipped me flat onto my back, knocking the wind out of me. I coughed, trying to speak as she glared down at me, poised to attack.

Finally, I found enough oxygen to rasp out, “Dotán, it’s me.”

A smile brightened her face as she extended a hand. “Isobel!”

Her strong grip hoisted me up, and I dusted my ass off laughing. “Damn, girl. You’ve got one hell of a defensive reflex.” My spoken English wasn’t lost on her ears; she and I had spent time daily learning each other’s language, especially slang.

I switched to Pict, cutting to the chase. “Dotán, where have the men gone?” I grasped both her hands in mine, stealing her attention away from squealing kids that were teasing the puppies.

“On a hunt for horses,” she replied.

Raiding. Great.
Commonplace piracy threatened to derail my entire trip.

Velloc and I had done plenty of game hunting. I knew all of their favorite stomping grounds, searchable in the span of what remained of the day, but we’d never gone raiding.

“I need a waterskin. Were any men or young boys left behind?”

Dotán nodded. “Ungust is injured and resting. Talorcan stays at the pens tending two mares about to foal.” She disappeared into her dwelling and returned, handing me a filled deerskin pouch. I tucked my head under the long leather strap, securing it diagonally across my chest.

“I’m going to find Velloc. If he returns, tell him to wait here for me.”

Dotán’s shocked expression matched my screaming gut. I’d tipped from the edge of crazy toward insanity.

I patted her shoulder, laughing. “It’ll be okay, Dotán. I promise.” I jogged off, heading to the stables, not sure if I’d been trying to reassure her or me.

A pregnant bay mare, heavy with her distended belly, stood in the shade of a rowan tree laden with creamy-white flowers. She raised her head, interrupting her afternoon snack of tall blades of grass, her ears swiveling at my approach without much concern. My sprint-induced gasping breaths had likely alerted her of my presence long before my arrival.

I poked my head into the teepees and scanned the area, searching for Talorcan. With no sign of him anywhere, I went to the stream. The teenage boy, about fifteen years old, napped on a flat rock shaded by an overhanging ledge, his reddish-brown hair fanned around his head.

“Talorcan!”

The boy bolted straight up, scrambling to his feet as if he’d been caught sleeping on the job. I laughed. He had.

“I need you to take me to the raiding party.”

He squinted at me, the lunacy of my suggestion registering on his face. He shook his head. “I’m to birth the remaining foal.”

“Did you birth the first one?” I asked in a clipped tone.

He grinned proudly. The expression gave his face a ruggedly handsome quality over his boyish charm. “Yes.”

“And did you need to do anything? Did you touch the mare? Did you have to pull the foal out? Did you assist in any way?”

His face fell as his gears turned.

I continued, helping my cause. “Aren’t older men tending the sheep, cattle, and horse herds?” I remembered seeing two of them in the fields as I confidently spoke the words.

Without answering my redundant questions, Talorcan whirled around and charged toward the pasture behind the stables where a few horses remained, including Malibu. I smiled.

That’s the spirit.
If I’d had an opportunity to choose a guide, a determined one on a mission to prove his worth suited me perfectly.

While I waited, I unsheathed the knife strapped to my thigh, cutting a few inches off the end of the leather strap on my waterskin. With efficiency, I tied my unruly locks into a ponytail at the nape of my neck.

By the time I’d secured my hair, Talorcan had mounted, nearly tearing off without me. I jumped toward his horse, waving my arms, and yanked on a rein to ensure his compliance.

I glared up at the kid. “I’m going with you.”

He scowled in protest.

“Take me with you. Have you thought to bring weapons?”

He grunted. Hotheaded and young, two things had escaped his reasoning; I’d demonstrated my value by pointing them out to him.

“You will come with me,” he commanded.

How magnanimous of you to offer.
I watched as the cocky kid dismounted. He crossed the field to one of the teepees, emerging with weapons for himself.

I charged over to him, shaking my head. “Oh, like hell. I’m not your guide.
You
are mine. Bring whatever you want to protect yourself, but I’m arming up like no woman you’ve ever seen.” I pointed to across the field. “Harness the dappled gray for me.”

He grumbled behind me, but a glance over my shoulder confirmed he’d angled off to retrieve
Malibu.

I stepped into the round, sown-skin structure and found an assortment of weapons: swords, axes, knives, bows and arrows, shields, and arrowhead-tipped spears. I scanned the collection, spotting my training pieces that were separated from the rest on the end. Velloc had been the last to touch them. I imagined him laying them down with care—the ax on the ground, the short sword’s scabbard crossed over the ax’s wooden handle.

Even though Velloc had trained me with them, they were, in every way, deadly weapons with blades honed razor-sharp. I grasped the handles, feeling the perfect weight and balance in each hand. I fastened the scabbard to my hip and strapped the ax to an outer shin with scraps of leather.

On a just-in-case thought, I grabbed a bow and quiver and a couple of thick furs. I pushed the flap aside and stepped out, tossing one of two small shields to Talorcan. He snapped out his arm, catching the disk. I attached my shield to the bow and quiver strapped across my back.

My guide sparked my curiosity, and I cocked my head to the side, evaluating him. A lean, muscular build and quick reflexes indicated someone physically ready to fight, but the men had left him behind. His reasoning skills would sharpen with experience, but Talorcan’s eagerness to correct the situation of being overlooked suggested he didn’t fear any repercussions of charging off to join the raiding party by shirking an assigned duty. Brave, and perhaps stupid . . . but it worked to my advantage.

I approached
Malibu, grabbed a handful of her mane in one hand as I planted my other, and jumped up, swinging a leg around. I sat astride and bareback, ignoring my half-naked state around the recent postpubescent man. He seemed focused on joining the action, and I intended to fuel his attention toward that end.

With a nod from me, Talorcan took off toward the south. We raced along a well-traveled path through our favorite hunting grounds. After several hours, we passed the turnoff I’d taken with Velloc, which led to the cave that had held the box.

I kept my attention on the trail ahead, thoughts in the present moment. Talorcan showed impressive skill and care in how we rode the horses. He pushed them to a comfortable limit, but held them back for endurance.

By nightfall, we stopped at a fast-flowing stream and dismounted. The horses lowered their heads, taking long pulls of clear water, lifting up and snorting before dipping their muzzles again. I cupped my hand into the cold stream, raising a swallow at a time to my mouth, slurping up the mineral-rich, fresh liquid.

Talorcan helped me gather dried leaf-litter brush, creating our beds for the night. We slept without a fire under the canopy of surrounding trees. Babbling sounds of the stream and an occasional horse snort were my lullaby as I sank into a mindless, exhausted state.

Hard shaking startled me. A firm hand over my mouth prevented the scream I almost let loose. I looked up into Talorcan’s squinting eyes. He nodded, removing his hand. In silence and on foot, he led the horses a good distance back the way we’d come the night before. We circled around and stopped behind a large mass of scrub.

Within seconds, dozens of warriors armed to do battle raced by on horseback in the same direction we were headed. Our hidden location obscured my view of the men racing past us, but Talorcan’s behavior and their direction indicated we were safer being undetected. My first exposure to a neighboring Pict tribe had been a blurred ride-by-sighting.

I whispered, “Talorcan, are we friends with that tribe?”

He grunted. Either he didn’t know, had just shared a strong opinion, or didn’t want to talk about it. Talorcan’s closed demeanor confused me. Velloc had openly shared things. We were mated, however, and we also had an unusual understanding and respect born from circumstance.

“Have you been this way before? Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.

“Velloc went to raid the
Decantae
tribe. Velloc’s stories described the place well enough.” He shrugged.

Well, damn
. Thank God for nightly oral history. The men sharing adventures while the tribe hung on every detail—Talorcan in particular—served as the perfect mental map for our journey.

Talorcan’s keen awareness of potential dangers made him a natural guide. My budding appreciation of his instinctive abilities grew as I realized that his field skills vastly outweigh
ed any perceived immaturity.

We traveled in a southeasterly direction until he gradually slowed the pace of our horses. Our approach brought us alongside a steep cliff face on our left and a drop off on our right—with little room for error in between. Talorcan concentrated, and I joined him, my senses reaching out to the environment around us. Every sound filtered into my ears. Scents carried messages on the wind. I twisted around, sharp eyes scanning our exposed flank, searching for any movement that might indicate a threat.

We negotiated the harrowing stretch in about ten minutes and entered dense forest, no longer exposed. Talorcan stayed on high alert, however, causing me to do the same. Tension filled the silence, but I focused on my breaths and maintaining a connection with everything around us.

We emerged from the tree cover and veered left, keeping our horses a few feet below a rise. Talorcan stopped, dismounted, and climbed up a rocky outcropping. He dropped his body lower and lower as he neared the crest until he belly crawled along the ground.

I slid from my horse and followed him, mimicking every movement he’d made until we both hugged the ground together as if sprouted from the same root. We overlooked another tribe. Below, a village with teepee structures, horses, and people carried on various daily chores much like our own tribe. Uncertain what information we’d glean, but not seeing any men or horses I recognized, I remained quiet and observed, waiting for a sign from my guide.

Talorcan glanced over at me, the first acknowledgement of my presence beside him, and laughed quietly, slinking backward, tugging on my hand to do the same. His sudden sense of humor surprised me. The cultural wall of ice between us appeared to be melting, boding well for conversation. As we walked back to the horses grazing on soft grasses, I dipped a toe into the frigid, thawing water, testing the theory.

“Talorcan, why were we looking over the ridge? What did you see?”

He regarded me while pressing his hands on his horse, swinging his agile body onto its back. I mounted
Malibu, and we rode a good distance, carefully working our way across and around fast-flowing tributaries, distancing ourselves from the subjects of our spying. Finally, he replied.