Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (33 page)

Familiar faces emerged from the shadows, and I sighed in relief, the aggressive air turning friendly as we dismounted. Several
Caereni
clapped Velloc on the shoulder in hushed tones of greeting and news. I pushed my way through the throng of men that flowed in, seeking to get by Velloc’s side and overhear the shared information.

Sennian moved forward as the other men respectfully eased back, encircling their two leaders. The large gathering stood dozens deep around us; I remained, without remark or reaction, on the inside edge of the group as his commander reported. “We’re a day’s protected ride from the Roman front line. Their numbers are spread over open ground.”

“Have we preyed upon them?” Velloc asked.

“Yes. Our scouts delivered word that our night raids weaken them. They pull in tighter as we pick off their exposed men on the outer edges.”

Velloc nodded. “Good. Go and rest. Tomorrow we join our brothers.”

Velloc led our horses to a copse of pines and tied their reins to a gnarled pine branch. Across from them, he settled against the base of a wide oak, its enormous trunk deformed into a cradle. He opened his arms up in invitation, and I sank against his side under our impromptu shelter.

Excitement for the impending encounter kept me awake. Thoughts lit up my mind about what we’d find; how the enemy would handle our preemptive strike; and where, in all the action, I would be.
What role would I play?

I fidgeted against Velloc’s chest, nervous energy releasing from my body. I sighed, trying to sink into numb mindlessness. He lay there calmly, never flinching, his breaths steady and even. I draped an arm and leg over him, pulling myself further into his body heat. He wrapped an arm around me, beneath my fur, rubbing callused fingertips up and down my back. The gesture soothed me.

“Velloc?”

“Yes, Isobel.” His low, graveled voice uttered my name like a growled purr.

“Will I be in the fight?” I asked.

“No.” He stopped caressing, his hand gripping my back tight.

“What would you have me do? Where will I be?” I wondered.

“You want to see the battle, but I need to feel you’re safe for me to fight without distraction. You’ll watch from a high vantage point.”

“But you trained me to fight. I can help,” I countered. A sudden need to be involved erupted from somewhere deep within, the undeniable urge surprising me.

Velloc shook his head sharply. “Our numbers are great enough. One woman will make no difference to the outcome either way.”

His meaning hit me with the silencing force of a sucker punch to the stomach. He hadn’t meant the insult, but the gravity of my plight flowed heavy in my veins, weighing on my heart.

What if I didn’t matter? Could my presence be a giant fluke? Had I been nothing more than casual entertainment .
 . . a diversion to alleviate the boredom of those that created the game? Skopius and Orion had indicated that I played a vital role. They said my
very existence
mattered.

I pressed my lips on Velloc’s bare chest, breathing in his masculine scent as my thoughts coalesced. My journey had been more than a coincidental fall down time’s rabbit hole.

Nothing had been written in stone of
my
outcome. I still lived, affecting lives in two worlds. No way in hell would I simply lie down, letting the events unfolding around me dictate my fate.

Isobel MacInnes remained the same feisty woman who’d fought for her place in a man’s academic field in the twenty-first century. That fighter inside me would carve her place in every realm until my very last breath.

I spread an open palm across Velloc’s chest, feeling his heart beat strongly beneath my splayed fingers. Forces beyond my control may have landed me here, but I had a mission to accomplish.

The people closest to me had become my priority, but they’d also played a large part in shaping the woman I’d become. Iain, Velloc, Skorpius, and Orion—they’d all had a hand in changing me. Not only had I grown as a woman, I’d become a warrior.

Those yin–yang angels had said the role I played was as an observer.

Observer.

My.

Ass.

My lips, still pressed against his skin, spread into a confident smile. I inhaled the sweet scent of victory before it had been granted, knowing it would.

“Velloc, you couldn’t be more wrong.” The statement flowed out as a whispered conviction. “
One woman will make all the difference in the world.
”

CHAPTER Thirty-two

Extraordinary dreams—aspirations of a girl impacting historical record—dwarfed in the shadow of the giant reality that loomed ahead. Tens of thousands of Roman soldiers covered the land like ants spilling out in angry thunder over their disturbed hill.

I slid off Malibu’s back, my jaw falling open at an incredible sight that no camera had ever captured and no objective record had ever detailed. Emboldened by the sheer number of our allies, the protection of higher ground, and the cover of thick forest, I stepped to the edge of the tree cover, allowing the bright afternoon sun to bath my skin in her warmth.

That same light glinted off the metal backs of a sea of trespassers who foolishly staked their egotistical claim out in the open. In complete disregard, they stretched across the land like a napping sunbather on a deserted beach.

In spite of our nightly attacks, I suspected they had no idea of the magnitude of the force about to descend upon them. A patient and ready aggressor, Picts would lie in wait up to their nostrils in the middle of a marsh for days for the perfect time to strike. The naïve Romans had no concept of the sleeping bear they’d poked.

A gentle tug at my hand pulled my glance over my shoulder. Velloc led me over to where Sennian crouched below the ridge. We joined him as he spied on the Roman troops. Several stands of trees camouflaged us from the kind of detection that only high-powered binoculars would yield.

“How will we attack?” I whispered into Velloc’s ear, uncertain of how my bold inquisition would’ve been taken by his commander.

Velloc spoke to Sennian as if unprovoked by my question. “I’ll meet with the other chieftains. Tonight we change the way we attack.” He slid a glance my way. “A well-fought battle defeats your enemy in mind as well as in body.”

I nodded. Fear of Pict warriors had been documented long before any confrontations had taken place. They’d been viewed as crazed aboriginals with magick on their side, and the Roman’s uncertainty of the strange and menacing foe had settled into their minds long before a weapon had ever been drawn. Defeat began on the psychological battlefield.

Not privy to Velloc’s discussions with the heads of the other tribes, I waited with the rest of his men. Nervous fingers stroked the blade strapped my thigh. In my other hand I held a spear, gripping and releasing the smooth wooden handle to a rhythm I’d developed in my head.

The slow adrenaline drip that my body naturally fed into my veins magnified the few hours of hard sleep I’d claimed. With the enemy so close, and the charged energy in the air all around us, alert didn’t begin to describe the heightened state of awareness I felt.

* * *

Gloaming descended, then faded away, diminishing light to the point where shadows no longer existed, and yet, were everywhere. Velloc had used the time to spread bluish woad on his fingers, streaking them across my face and running his hands in patterns across my body. The temporary tattoos marked me as his and would provide the protection of their gods. The blood-clotting properties of the herb would aid in healing if any of us were unfortunate enough to meet the edge of a blade.

The men had shed their clothes. Many held spears in one hand and a small shield in the other. Some had no personal weapons at all, but worked in teams to ready the larger weapons integral to our strategic attack. Uncertain as to what I should be doing, I began unfastening my clothes.

Velloc’s hand stayed my action, and I glanced up at him. My dark warrior, wearing a gleaming gold torque around his neck, shook his head.

His lips crushed down onto mine, urgency and passion flowing between us. I melted into his body, returning my feelings in our hard kiss. He broke contact and gripped my shoulders, pulling back before we got carried away. A hard stare straight to my soul branded his love into my heart without him ever uttering a word. My eyes blurred from tears, my love for him burning through every pore in my body. He nodded, my unspoken reply having been received.

“Stay to the back.” He repeated things we’d discussed throughout the tense day: we wanted both of us to remain safe and alive; our focus had to be on the task at hand; my cooperation in following his orders eased his mind, ensuring our safety.

“Yes. I’ll shift to keep our men between us and the enemy. I’ll move with the speed and agility of a cat.” I spoke with the confidence of my training.

Velloc laughed. Pride settled onto his features, the smile lingering on his face and in his eyes. The backs of his fingers caressed my cheek, and I closed my eyes, relishing the gentle touch.

“You be the cat. Anyone comes too close, bare your claws and rip their throat out with your teeth.” He grinned, clearly pleased with the idea of my viciousness.

“I’ll deliver their heart to you, my love, for attempting to touch your woman.”

He snorted. “You should be at the front. The Romans won’t have any idea the most beautiful is the deadliest.”

Velloc clapped my shoulder harder than I’d expected. I stumbled forward and laughed, watching him walk away as he checked the readiness of his men. The rough gesture served as a sober reminder; I stood among strong men about to fight to the death for their home and freedom. Weakness had no place here. Only the strong would survive.

Every action on our field of battle reminded me of my place. Each Caledonian descending from the mountains today, versus any other day, had come because of me. Were it not for the information I’d provided—Roman propaganda of their supposed glorious battle and victory—the encounter unfolding before my eyes would not exist.

My inner scientist thrilled at the chance to participate in perhaps the greatest mysterious battle in Highland historical record. Morality about having influenced a defense-turned-offense scattered into the cold wind.

A hush fell across the masses gathered in the forest. Our men remained together—one tribe among dozens, hundreds of men among thousands—as we closed in on the enemy.

Guided by Roman campfires that blanketed the black canvas as beacons, we crept our way along the edge of the forest, across the open plain, and to the perimeter of their camp. No alarm sounded. No one stood guard, which surprised me given the many recent tribal attacks. Complacency bred folly. Their faith in the night being like any other was severely misguided.

Velloc remained glued to my side the entire advance. Sennian led the group. Upon some sign I hadn’t picked up on, Velloc squeezed my forearm and left me buried deep in their protection. He worked his way to the edge as everyone fanned around the encampment. We floated through the night under the camouflage of darkness while our enemy remained blinded by firelight.

The scent of smoke drifted into my nostrils, and I turned my head toward fresher air; not a twig had snapped, no rustle had been heard, no way in hell would I give us away with a cough.

A hawk’s cry sounded into the still night. Our sea of men flooded into the shallow tide pool. As agreed, I held a defensive position in the center of our assault team.

Through the wide angle of an observer’s lens, I watched as hundreds of our men worked in swift unison, dispatching their prey. Guerilla warfare at its finest played out before my eyes. The Picts attacked in a blur as Romans were stabbed faster than my eyes could follow. Our
Caereni
moved in unison, seemingly protecting me no matter where I advanced.

My gaze shifted, focusing on Velloc. He wiped his bloodied blade on the pants of one dead man, sliced the throat of another by the fire, and thrust a spear through a third man’s chest before I inhaled my next breath.

Nothing went exactly the way we planned, however, just like the way all events had unfolded in my recent life. With Roman numbers far greater than ours, alarm shouts rang out from the Roman mouths we couldn’t silence in time. The true fight began.

Like a wildfire spreading, mayhem erupted everywhere. Soldiers swarmed forward from the center of the Roman encampment. I whirled around to find more of them behind us. We were surrounded. Our surprise attack on the outskirts had done nothing to prevent an obviously prepared enemy from outmaneuvering us.

Velloc bolted to my side. He shoved me behind him, facing the closest enemy attacking. His tribesmen fanned out in a loose circle, protecting us in the center. I watched a shadowed kaleidoscope of movement as our warriors ebbed and flowed, attacking and retreating, picking off Roman soldiers as they advanced and tightening back to protect the tribe as a unit.

I clutched a shield, holding it to my forearm, protecting my chest. My other hand loosely gripped a spear, balancing the weight, ready to tighten and thrust in muscle memory of Velloc’s rigorous training.

I rotated with Velloc, scanning the deadly rapid-fire activity happening around us. Grunts of exertion and cries of pain tortured my ears. The putrid smell of death and kicked-up dust filled my nostrils. I quelled my innate gag reflex; the battlefield was no time to get sick. Velloc safeguarded me as his men fought in a defensive formation to protect their leader.

Without warning, half a dozen Romans burst through the protective line. Velloc turned, knocking one attacker hard with his shield. The man’s own velocity turned him abruptly. A flash of metal later, the soldier crumpled to the ground, his throat slit.

An influx of Picts from other tribes helped to a degree, but did nothing to balance the sliding odds as more and more Romans pressed into the fray. Velloc’s men, and every additional Pict, had their hands full defending against strikes and blows.

Three soldiers rushed Velloc, one from behind. A cry of warning stuck in my throat as two Romans stepped between us, stealing my attention. Their evil smiles told me my woad-painted face and tangled hair did nothing to hide the fact that a woman stood before them on a field of battle. Hungry eyes traveled down my body as they advanced in gradual steps, holding their shields, but not raising their weapons.

I gripped my spear and aimed it dead center at the one to the left. He paused. The other took a step forward, and I moved the razor-sharp iron tip, pointing it at the one advancing.

My heart raced. Adrenaline pumped. I stood amid chaos and carnage, facing men who obviously wanted to capture me if they could, but would kill me without thought if I forced their hand. No part of me allowed either scenario, but my training would take me only so far. The opponents I faced had lived and breathed a life of war.

Advantage always fell on the shoulders of the one underestimated, though. If they thought my hesitancy a weakness, their choice to capture a woman would be their last mistake.

One leapt at me. I thrust my spear, lunging into his center mass as I threw my shoulder and arm into the motion. The strike would’ve made solid contact had my target not turned and grabbed the spear, yanking me forward. I stumbled into him. In reflex, I whirled around as his arm snaked around me from behind. My hand shot to my thigh, unsheathing my sword. His friend came closer, an evil grin on his face.

I raised my hand and jabbed backward. The blade sank into my captor’s midsection, and his hold on me loosened. In fluid seconds, I twisted the hilt as I bent and grasped the ax at my ankle, arced it up, and buried it into the heart of his friend. Shocked eyes stared back at me as drops of blood trickled out of his gaping mouth. I yanked both weapons tightly into my chest, ready to defend myself, as my two victims fell to the ground.

More Romans poured in all around us. We were in over our head. The Picts needed to pull back; a continued presence would be mass suicide. Our warriors had no pride getting in the way of self-preservation, and neither did I.

I searched for Velloc. We locked gazes. He had blood spattered across his blue-tattooed face and chest, strands of his long, dark hair stuck to his neck, and I thought he’d never looked more beautiful—a brave warrior fighting to protect his homeland, his people . . . me.

He shoved through fighting men, making his way toward me. I took a path of least resistance, angling between pairs of combatants, running in Velloc’s direction.

Suddenly, terror spread across Velloc’s face. I followed his gaze, spinning around.

A Roman launched my own spear into the air. The weapon flew with straight precision, exactly as it had been designed. I froze as the spear sailed toward me, my brain failing to send messages fast enough to make my muscles move.