Sword of the Highlander (7 page)

“Might I take a look at that sword?” Mr. Sinclair asked.

Niall turned his head. “I dinna surrender my weapon to a mon I dinna know. Who are ye?”

“Finn Sinclair,” he said. “I own the shop.”

Narrowing his eyes, Niall looked at Mr. Sinclair thoughtfully as he offered the sword. “Do I know ye from somewhere else? Ye look a wee bit familiar.”

“It’s possible. I travel to Scotland on occasion.” Sinclair took the sword and hefted it, weighing its balance. “A very fine weapon.” He lowered it and sighted along the blade. “Old. I would say perhaps early eleventh century?” He handed it back to Niall. “It should be in a museum. How did you come to own it?”

“‘Twas made for me,” Niall said.

Mr. Sinclair lifted an eyebrow and Cassidy decided to intervene.

“We have an interesting story to tell you, sir. It’s going to sound crazy, but I hope you’ll listen with an open mind.”

Her boss took in Niall’s manner of dress again. “I’m sure it will be interesting. Shall we sit?”

They moved to the back room to a small seating area. Cassidy told Mr. Sinclair about the events of the past two weeks, with Niall occasionally adding a comment. Her boss didn’t say a word, just studied both of them. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair. Cassidy took a deep breath. She hoped Mr. Sinclair wasn’t going to think her a complete lunatic and fire her or, worse, call the police.

To her surprise, he began asking Niall questions, first about MacBeth and the rest of the people associated with the Scottish unrest. Next they discussed war strategies, with Niall warming to the subject like butter in a frying pan. What surprised Cassidy, though, was Mr. Sinclair’s knowledge of the matter. She had no idea he was so well-versed in medieval warfare.

Then the conversation turned to Niall’s lineage. Cassidy knew the true concept of ‘clans’ didn’t really materialize until sometime in the late eleventh century and early twelfth centuries, but the early Scots had been divided into three ‘Cenels:’ nOengus, nGabrian, and Loarn. Fergus Mor ruled the latter and, to Cassidy’s surprise once more, both Niall and her boss were descendents of him. Small world.

“Well,” Mr. Sinclair finally said, “I think it’s time that I see the sword I had sent.”

“Of course.” Cassidy went to unlock the cabinet, thankful again that she’d gotten there early enough to put the sword
in
the cabinet. As she removed it from its box, Niall assumed a poker-face, but she saw how intensely his hands gripped the edge of the chair. He really did feel
Mac an Luinne
belonged to him. Or, at least, to his ancestor, the Great Féinn.

“Here it is,” she started to say, but Mr. Sinclair wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was staring at the sword with the same rapt expression that Niall had used when he first saw it.

Her boss muttered something under his breath that sounded strangely foreign. She didn’t understand it, but Niall’s head snapped up like a wolf on the scent of prey and his amber gaze sharpened.

“I had thought never to hold this sword again,” Mr. Sinclair murmured as he lifted it reverently from the box.

“You’ve seen the sword before?” Cassidy asked. “I thought you told me—”

“I wasn’t sure it was the same one,” Sinclair answered. “I had hardly hoped it was still in this world.”

“What are you talking about?” Cassidy asked, thoroughly confused. “You’re always searching for ancient relics.”

“Aye, lass,” Niall said as he moved closer to Sinclair, not taking his eyes off him, “but I think this one be verra important to him.”

Mr. Sinclair looked at Niall, his blue eyes brightening brilliantly, like a sun-kissed sea. “Ye are right, lad. Ye recognized
Mac an Luinne
, dinna ye?”

Cassidy felt as though she stepped into a time-warp. “Why are you talking like that, Mr. Sinclair? Are you making fun of Niall?”

“Nae, lass, he isna.” Niall didn’t look away. “I think the sword has found her owner.”

Mr. Sinclair smiled. “Aye. And a welcome sight she is.”

Cassidy looked from one of them to the other. “Would someone please tell me what is going—” She stopped suddenly and turned to her boss. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me
you
time-traveled too?”

“Ye might say I have been searching through ‘Time’ to find
Mac an Luinne
again.” Mr. Sinclair caressed the pommel of the sword as gently as a lover would. “When that fool knight, Bedwyr, threw it back into the lake, I thought the lady would never let it surface again.”

Cassidy shook her head as though she were trying to dislodge water from her ears. Someone was getting history really confused here and she was afraid it might be herself. “Um… Bedwyr? Wasn’t he one of King Arthur’s knights of the Round Table?”

“Aye. The sword was lent to Arthur. I was supposed—”

“Wait.” Cassidy held up her hand. “You’re telling me
Mac an Luinne
is Excalibur?”

Mr. Sinclair shrugged. “It has gone by many names. As have I.”

Dear Lord. What was he going to say next? That he was Merlin? Cassidy didn’t even want to ask. Maybe there had been something in her morning coffee causing her to hallucinate.

“Dinna fash,” Niall said reassuringly. “Yer boss be the Great Féinn I told ye about. An immortal, ‘tis all.”

‘Tis all
? She was standing in the middle of a medieval-costume shop talking to an
immortal
? A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. “Oh, well. Sure. Why not? Niall popped in from MacBeth’s time.”

Mr. Sinclair, or whatever his
real
name was, frowned. “The MacBhetha. He be kindred through marriage to our cenel.”

Of course he would be.
First she had stashed Excalibur casually in her home and harbored a medieval warrior and now a human Scottish king was a descendent of an Irish god or something like that. Cassidy smiled brightly. She was probably going insane and just didn’t know it.

Niall was looking at her with a worried expression. “Lass? Be ye well? Ye look a little peculiar.”

The hysteria bubbled up again. She was looking
peculiar
? This whole situation was
peculiar
. “I’m just trying to let everything soak in,” she managed.

Niall’s brow furrowed. “Ye are nae wet.”

“Never mind.”

Mr. Sinclair smiled. “I ken ‘tis a bit much, but ‘tis all real. In spite of technology—or because of it—humans want to believe only in facts and what can be proven. Mayhap, if they still believed in the auld gods, society would be a better place.” He sighed and then turned back to Niall. “I had hoped to keep
Mac an Luinne
in my possession for a bit, but the MacBheatha will have need of her if he is to become king. Ye shall take the sword to him.”

“Aye.” Niall bowed his head.

Cassidy grabbed his hand. “You’re leaving me?”

Sorrow glazed his amber eyes. “I love ye, lass. I dinna want to leave, but I dinna have a choice. The MacBheatha must win this war with Duncan.”

“Then let me go with you,” Cassidy said.

He squeezed her hand. “Ye belong in this century, lass. We canna change history. Ye said so yerself.”

“But…you’re going to make sure MacBeth wins!”

“Because it is his destiny,” Mr. Sinclair interrupted and then focused on Niall. “However, dinna ye meet a lass from Pitgaveny in yer time?”

Niall’s eyes widened. “Not a sennight afore I arrived here. Cassandra was her name.”

Mr. Sinclair’s eyebrows lifted.

Cassidy felt hers doing the same. Was he implying… Could it be? “Am I Cassandra in 1040?”

Her boss smiled and for a moment the image of a man with flowing blue robes and a rowan staff superimposed itself on him and then vanished.

“Ye could be. If ye are, the sword will take ye back if ye want it to.”

Cassidy looked at Niall. “I want to be with you. I don’t care what century it is.”

“My time is nae an easy life for a woman.”

“I don’t care about conveniences. I have nothing here to hold me. But I have a chance to relive history and be with you. That’s what I want.”

“Ye are sure, lass?”

“I’m sure.”

Niall snugged her to him, putting his arm around her shoulders and held her tight. “Then we be ready, my lord.”

Mr. Sinclair caressed the sword once more and then handed it to Niall. He sketched a rune in the air and used the strange language that Cassidy had heard before. The sword began to glow and a golden aura enveloped them. Cassidy felt herself being lifted, becoming weightless, and with a sudden whoosh, she was hurdled through the air, swirling up, up, up into nothing but light.

Epilogue

Cassidy sat completely still and looked around. She was in a grassy meadow that smelled of heather. Overhead, the sky was an azure blue with tiny cotton balls of fluff floating on a zepher breeze. Birds sang in the nearby trees and beside her, Niall watched her quietly as she took it all in.

“We’re in 1040?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“It’s so peaceful. No noise. No pollution.” She looked around again. Craggy mountains surrounded the glen they were in and on a nearby ridge stood a massive structure of wood and stone. She frowned.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at war?”

“Aye,” he said again. “And it will come. ‘Tis the lull before the storm.” Niall stood and lifted her, pulling her close to him. He gave her a slow, thoroughly satisfying, deep kiss. “Welcome to my world, lass.”

Taking his hand, she smiled and, together, they turned and walked toward MacBeth’s castle on the ridge.

From the Highland Press Publishing Anthology

Lochs and Lasses

Praise for

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All I Want for Christmas Is You
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Anthology
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~ * ~

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