Warrior and the Wanderer (33 page)

“There is one way in,” she replied. “We’ll storm the gate and then spread out through the castle seizing everything in our path.”

“We’ll take them by surprise in the mist,” the king said. “They do not know we are coming, so of course we shall win this battle, aye?”

“With Your Majesty leading us, we cannae fail.” Bess lied. A boy king could not insure success. Neither could a bold Highland chief. But she would try. She would bloody well try no matter what the consequences.

“Ian should be here,” she whispered suddenly, her lips betraying her.

“M’Lady?” Alasdair asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. Duart Castle was no longer in her sight. The mist had grown far too thick. She would not stop. Forward, ever forward to victory. One of Ian’s strange songs caught in her mind. The one about missing and wanting someone, the song Ian called “God Only Knows.”

She could hear him singing it. The words were like a lament. There was something more than the words though; it was Ian’s delivery of the song. He sang as if each word brought strength to his heart, empowered him to endure the loss despite the yearning. Remembering his voice gave her strength. She tried to imagine Ian singing it to her, spurring her ever forward. Inspiring her.

“M’Lady!” Alasdair whispered urgently.

“Aye?” she stared straight ahead into the mist, saw nothing, and then looked at her champion.

He was looking forward into the mist.

“Ahead, a quarter-league at most. Something is there.” his voice was so low, she had to strain to hear him.

She strained even more to see forward.

“I see nothing,” she dared admit.

“’Tis no’ in the seeing,” Alasdair said. “’Tis in the hearing.”

She listened beyond the impatient shuffling of her army. Alasdair was right. Something was out there, not far away.

A light breeze tickled her hair, blew strands across her face. The mist, as if sensing her frustration, began to thin. She leaned forward, practically resting her body on her horse’s neck to see the source of the muffled sound.

Then she sat up and, in one smooth motion, unsheathed her claymore. Alasdair grabbed up his axe. He saw too.

“What is it?” James asked. “Wha—?”

He saw too, and fumbled for his sword.

“Yer Majesty,” Bess said. “Please retreat behind the soldiers. Scotland needs its monarch.”

“No, Lady Campbell,” he replied.

“Alasdair,” she said, “guard the King.”

“I can protect ye both,” he said.

She gritted her teeth. “Just protect the king.”

Bess rode forward, her heart began pounding as fast as some of Ian’s daft songs.

Lachlan was on the other side of the thinning mist. His army bested hers by more than twofold. From this distance, she could see the confident, arrogant smirk on his face. For that she should lop his head off on principle alone.

She raised her claymore.

Battle was now a forgone conclusion. Yet, after seeing Lachlan’s army victory was no longer so certain.

Alasdair raised his axe. King James raised his sword.

“Today we fight! Tonight we celebrate!” Bess declared.

The army behind her roared their approval.

Inspired. She had bloody well inspired them, a woman with strong words, and a promise on her lips. Her brother would be proud. She would avenge him.

“Forward!” she cried, aiming the heavy claymore toward their enemy.

The army roared again. And suddenly they quieted. There was another roar.

Bess followed the gaze of her men, to the north, in the direction of where she left Ian last night.

She glanced at Lachlan’s men stood silent as still as her army.

Then she looked north again, through the thinning mist.

The roar grew louder. Her horse whinnied and shied back a pace. A good warhorse would never do such in battle. But this roar was not battle. It was something else, something that sounded more frightening and sinister than the enemy she faced now.

She gripped the reins tight with one hand and kept her claymore raised with the other.

“What is it?” King James asked.

“Aye,” Alasdair said. “What the hell is it? A dragon?”

“Dinnae be daft. There arenae—” Bess started to say, then stopped.

Alasdair was right. It was a dragon. Silvery smooth and swifter than a falcon. Its eyes glowed with a strong light. Smoke plumed out from its rear.

It raced closer, on a path between the two armies.

Her heart continued to pound. This was no dragon. This was Ian’s carriage. He was inside. She could see him now.

“Sorcery,” Alasdair breathed.

Bess nodded. But she was the only one who knew they were witnessing magic from another time.

Chapter Nineteen: The Risk

I
an knew he was going to leave this place. He just didn’t know which way. He would either leave it as he came, in his speeding Corvette, or he could die. Either way he would never see Bess again. And he wished he wasn’t seeing her now.

He glanced in his rearview mirror at Bess riding fast on her mount behind him.

“Stay back, Blaze,” he whispered, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “Keep to your clan. They need you. You bloody well need them.”

The last statement was as bitter as a spoonful of acid.

Clean break. That was the only way to leave her. She knew it. That was why she had left him. He had been a fool to think he could stay. She was smarter than he would ever be, such a clever and lovely lass!

The speedometer showed no more than thirty-five miles per hour. On the rocky ground the Vette jingled and jangled like it was in a bloody blender. When it was time to leave it would take a bloody miracle to launch him back to his time. But that was the Dane’s problem. Let him solve it. All Ian had to do was drive.

He slammed his foot onto the brake, stopping the Corvette within one car-length of Lachlan and his warhorse. Sod and gravel flew into the air. Unlike the warriors that scattered and fled in a zillion different directions, neither Lachlan nor his mount twitched.

The bastard himself even dared to smile.

Ian wrenched the key out of the ignition. He took a quick glance in the rearview mirror. Bess was there, a hoof beat away from the chrome bumper of his car.

He threw open the door and climbed up out of the low-slung vehicle onto the hard ground, adjusting his kilt.

Bess dismounted.

Ian turned her way, away from Lachlan’s smile. He would deal with him soon enough.

She stared at him, eyes wide. “Ian, I—”

“Blaze, your clan needs you. Go to them.” He had a plan, and she was not part of it.

Ian regarded Lachlan who was no longer on his horse, but walking around the Corvette as if he were at a dealership. His nose was bruised reddish-purple, and swollen. It looked broken.

Ian asked Bess. “Did you do that?”

She smiled. “Aye.” She had her claymore firmly in one first, ready to do more damage to Lachlan. But he was not paying her any mind. He was far too interested in the Corvette. He stared at it lustily, coveting the car with his piggy stare.

* * * *

“Ian,” Bess said in a warning tone. “Lachlan….”

Ian looked as if he was pondering a great question. He clearly didn’t see what Bess saw. She knew that look in Lachlan’s eyes. Lachlan had the same look in his eyes the first day they met on the day of her wedding. The day Lachlan got what he wanted. And ’twas obvious he wanted Ian’s silvery carriage.

She held her sword firm and watched as Ian strolled over to Lachlan who had paused by one of the carriage’s doors. His two guards were moving in slowly, cautiously behind Ian. Lachlan’s army waited in the mist.

“Ian!” she shouted. “Watch your back!”

Lachlan raised his hand. His guards stepped back.

Ian folded his arms across his chest and looked down at Lachlan.

Bess held her breath, felt all of the eyes of her clan and the King’s army upon this odd scene. Lachlan, Ian, and a silver carriage in the middle of two armies stunned to silence.

“I see no horses, yet this carriage moves swifter than any I’ve ever seen,” Lachlan said.

Ian nodded. “Two hundred and seventy horses power this baby.” He wrapped his hand around the door handle. “Want to take a look inside?”

Lachlan stepped back, his expression dubious.

Bess stepped forward. Ian shook his head at her. She stopped in her tracks. He had a plan. She knew in her heart that part of it involved his leaving her. What was the other part?

“I’d like to make you a trade,” Ian said.

Lachlan paid him heed. “Aye?”

Ian rested one hand on the slick silver roof. “You may have this fine horseless carriage…”

Good name for it, Bess thought.

“…In trade. I’ll give it to you if you call off your army.”

“Ian, no!” Bess exclaimed, pushing her way around Lachlan’s guards and stopping beside Ian. She glared at Lachlan. “I cannae let ye trade with the Devil himself. This bastard didnae give my brother quarter. The only solution is war, no’ trade.”

Lachlan flinched a wee bit. “There isnae neutral ground. No’ in Edinburgh. No’ here or anywhere.”

“Quite right, all land is under royal control!” King James declared from on his mount.

“Blaze, King, everyone else. Wheesht!” Ian said. “This is my deal. Between me and Lachlan.”

“Oh, aye,” Bess said, the heat rising in her cheeks. “Your deal. Then to it.” And then leave me forever.

Ian turned to Lachlan, gesturing to the open door. “Get in and find out what power truly is. With a carriage like this you can have the power of Ceasar. You can have all of Scotland.”

“Ian, ye Bastard!” Bess cried.

“Get angry, Blaze,” Ian said. “It will make it easier for you when I’m gone.”

Then he bowed to Lachlan, sweeping an arm toward the open door. “If you please, Lord MacLean.”

Lachlan’s guards surged forward, but he waved them away. Then he bent down and slipped inside the carriage. Ian shut the door and walked to the other side of the carriage and opened the door. Bess stayed on his heels.

She looked at Ian, forcing away the gathering hot tears. Her fingers turned white as she held her claymore pointed at the man she thought she loved.

“Why are ye betraying me by giving yon carriage to Lachlan?”

“Chase that feeling,” Ian said. “For the both of us.”

She stumbled backward. The tip of her claymore dragged the ground. He reached out quickly with one arm and grabbed her, pulled her hard against his body.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“What did ye say?” she asked, blinking hard.

“You know bloody well what I said.” Ian then seared every part of her body with the kiss of a hundred lifetimes. No, he did not have to repeat himself. She had heard all too well.

He released her and turned to step into his carriage.

Bess forced her legs to step away, backing into Alasdair. He placed one hand on her shoulder. She stood, sword in hand, trying not to shake, trying to be the clan chief that she was.

* * * *

Ian slipped inside his Corvette and slammed the door closed.

He turned toward Lachlan, keys in hand.

But Lachlan did not sit beside him. The Dane had taken his place.

“Where is Lachlan?” he demanded.

“Is this what you want?” the Dane asked him. “To send this evil man to your time.”

“Aye,” Ian replied. He glanced out of his broken driver’s side window. Bess, Alasdair, and everyone around them were frozen. The Dane had made time stand still.

“I see that you are preparing to take him there. Only one of you may make the journey,” the Dane said. “’Tis a terrible risk you’re taking.”

“It’s one I have to take. Lachlan MacLean belongs in my time.”

“How do you know this?” the Dane asked.

Ian reached into the swag of plaid across the torn and bloody tunic across his chest. He produced the whisky bottle he had found in his car and gave it to the Dane. “Look at the label.”

After several second passed, the Dane spoke. “Bloody hell.”

“My thought exactly,” Ian said. “I’ve found my replacement.”

“This is highly irregular.” The Dane shook his head as he stared at the bottle. I don’t know—”

“You do know,” Ian said firmly. “I must do this. Bess and her clan don’t need to be threatened by Lachlan any more.”

“You may not be successful.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I’ll take the risk. Put Lachlan back in that seat and I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re doing this for that woman.”

“You brought me here to save her, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”

The Dane smiled. “
Farvel.
Good-bye and good luck.”

“Thanks,” Ian replied with a forced grin.