Chapter 3

3

“ F or a woman who claims to be of such an advanced age, you do get around.” Douglas approached the archway straight on. He’d been chasing her all day, from manor house to cottage to every sort of place the village had to offer. He thought he’d caught up with her at suppertime only to have her slip away.

“A lack of respect will get ye nowhere, lad. I had important things to accomplish today.”

She stood at the side of the stone structure and gazed skyward. He looked in the same direction and saw the full moon overhead, lighting the landscape to almost the brightness of day. Suddenly a shooting star blazed a path across the edge of the moon and exploded in the sky, showering splinters of light and color above them.

Douglas could not move—his lungs refused to take in air and his heart thundered in his chest. Suddenly the woman in his dreams came into his thoughts. Like the dream returning, the heat rose in him until sweat poured down his limbs. He finally managed to force out a word, a plea.

“Mairi?”

“’Tis a sign, lad, a powerful sign.” He watched, unable to move as she neared him. “Ye must not fear, lad. ’Tis as ’twas meant to be.”

She placed her hand on his arm and feeling began to return, painful prickles of sensation reminding him how complete and mystifying the numbness had been.

“What was meant to be?” Douglas was free of the paralysis but felt drained, exhausted by the brief experience. “ What do you mean?”

She took her time in answering him. She gathered her cloak tighter around her shoulders and then she finally gifted him with her reply.

“Ye were conceived in the past, Douglas, and born in the present. Ye are time’s child and are being called home.”

“Mairi, have you lost your mind?” He realized her age must be catching up to her. She’d always seemed so clear-minded but apparently even a physician could miss symptoms of loss of mental acuity.

“Nay, I am certain that what I say will surprise ye in some ways and yet, part of ye must ken how true my words are. Ye are not of this time. Ye were created from yer parents’ love on their own journey through the time. The dreams are the call. One awaits ye, needs ye to survive and ye will need her to survive as well. Ye have ignored the Fates for longer than I thought possible even by one with yer father’s stubbornness and yer mother’s spirit.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d swear her eyes glowed as she spoke. Must be the reflection of the moonlight. What was she talking about? Oh, sure, he’d heard his parents’ stories and he’d believed not one word of them. Traveling back to the past? Not possible, end of story. No matter what this dear old family soothsayer said.

“Mairi, let me get you to your cottage. This damp autumn air can’t be good for your arthritis.” He put his arm around her frail shoulders and began to guide her away from the site. A few steps were as far as he got before she stopped and became as immovable as stone.

“My basket, Douglas. I have left it on the rocks near the arch. Can ye get it for me?”

Pleased that she hadn’t started on him again, Douglas nodded. As he walked toward the basket, he heard her speak.

“Whether ye believe or no’ isna of importance, Douglas. ’Tis the past where ye belong and ‘tis the past that seeks ye now.”

Leaning over to pick up the basket, he sighed. There’d be no way to get her off this train of thought now. Once she focused on her stories of the past, she was locked onto them like the jaws of a hunter’s hound on his quarry. He straightened back up and turned, ready to put up with the nonsense about time travel and his family’s past. She was gone.

Gone? How could that be? A woman of her age and problems with arthritis did not rush anywhere. But she was gone. He looked around the open fields and toward the forest. She could not have taken more than a few steps in the time it took him to reach over to get the basket. And yet, the landscape was clear, only he and the archway stood in the moonlight.

That’s when he noticed it At first he couldn’t identify it because bees didn’t swarm at night. It was a buzzing sound, growing and waning, as if thousands of insects were coming and going around him. He cocked his head, trying to ascertain the sound’s direction. Near the arch—was it coming from near the arch?

He took a few steps and listened again. Definitely near the arch. Douglas could see nothing out of the ordinary in the night, but he began to feel heat emanating from the arch. The arch hot? Not very likely after so many cold and damp Highland nights. But it was the source of the heat. He lifted his hand and placed it on one of the boulders in the arch.

Ouch, damn it! His hand throbbed after its sudden exposure to such a powerful surge of heat and power. He was shaking off the stinging burn when the cry came through the darkness.

It was a young woman screaming in terror, begging for help. In Gaelic? Most of the inhabitants spoke English around here. He’d learned it during his childhood visits but only the Old Ones of the clan still clung to the Gaelic.

It came again, a piercing, shrill cry of fear and pain that gripped his heart and made his mouth and throat go dry.

Where was she? He scanned the area around him, the cry was so loud that she had to be close. But, nothing, no one was nearby. He trotted in the direction of the cry when it came a third time. A dreadful certainty told him it would not come again. He must find her—now.

Without realizing it, he picked up speed and headed toward the plea for help. It led him straight into the archway... and a black void.

Darkness enwrapped him—the completeness of it stole his breath and the ability to move or speak. He wanted to fight against the bonds it created, but his body refused his mind’s commands. Douglas tried to calm his thoughts—he handled emergencies every day of his life; this should not be new to him.

But it was. He tried to recall his last steps before the blackness overtook him. He’d heard that scream and then ran to find her. He was alone now... or maybe he wasn’t. No sounds or movements or perceptions invaded his cocoon of senselessness. Nothing....

As quickly as it had begun, the darkness was gone. Sharp points poked into his arms and legs, a freezing dampness spread through his clothes, forcing him to move. He scrambled to his feet and searched the area for anything, anyone. His fingers tightened around Mairi’s basket and he couldn’t believe that he still carried it.

He was in a forest—tall, thick vegetation blocked his path and his view. In the quiet of the night, the movement of water over rocks traveled to his ears. Where was he? There was no spring or river near the arch.

Then, it came once more to him through the darkness. A girl’s desperate scream followed by the husky laughter of men. He finally, finally, got a fix on where the sound came from and trotted in that direction. Douglas slowed to a walk as the sounds became louder. The flicker of flames in a clearing ahead brought him to a halt. Bile rose in his throat at the sight before him.

A girl no more than a teenager being pawed by three... actors? The men were wearing old-style hunting plaids and leather jackets. With filthy beards and hair matted to their heads, these men looked far more fierce and realistic than any of those he’d worked with in medieval reenactments.

And actors or not, they were bent on terrorizing this girl. Being held captive by two men and facing another with a drawn dagger probably would have been enough to scare her into submission, but one was tracing lines with the point of his knife down her throat and onto her chest. Even from his position, he could see thin rivulets of blood from the pricks of the blade, each one getting closer and closer to the edges of the girl’s open and dangling blouse. Her long, dark hair hung from partly loosened braids and covered most of her face. He could see her eyes and they were wild with fear. She let out another moan as the biggest of the three approached her again, his knife already stained with her blood and at the ready once more.

Distracting them was the only chance he had to save her.

Douglas drew back the basket and prepared to throw it as he ran toward them. The muffled clanging of metal drew his attention. Pulling back the cloth in the basket, he found his own two daggers. Why would Mairi be carrying his weapons? A thought of her true intent began to swirl in his mind but he stopped it instantly. Mairi could not have known he would need them. She could not have. Well, at least he would not jump into the fray unarmed.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped the basket and grasped the knives in his hands as he’d done many times before in practice and play, and cleared his mind. With a roar that came from the bottom of his being, he crashed through the trees and threw one of the daggers as he ran. The anguished cry told him his aim for the shorter of the men was true. Now if he could be lucky with the other two. He focused on the one with the dagger drawn and plowed into him, both falling to the ground. Taking advantage of the surprise of his attack, Douglas jumped to his feet and struck again.

With a swift kick aimed high in the chest, he pushed the man back to the ground. His opponent lost consciousness when his head hit a rock on the ground, freeing him to face the last one. He turned and repositioned his knife, angling the blade downward for more control and power.

“Lad, I dinna ken ye but ye could hae joined us in our fun wi’ the lass. She’s got enough for all of us to share.”

He’d said the words in Gaelic which threw Douglas for a moment. Gaelic in this day and age? He shook his head and translated the words to himself. Douglas took a step closer, distributing his weight evenly on the balls of both feet for better balance.

The man’s hands were blackened shadows against the girl’s pale skin and white blouse. He held her in place in front of him by her hair, grabbed and pulled back from her face now to expose the whiteness of her throat. His knife aimed directly at the major artery, he smiled showing a near-toothless grin. If he severed that vessel, the girl would have little or no chance at survival even with his own advanced skills. He stepped back.

“Who are you?” he demanded. At the questioning frown, Douglas repeated his words in Gaelic and added, “Let the girl go and I’ll let you leave.”

Laughing, the man shifted his captive, tightening his hold until she gasped. Douglas avoided looking directly at the girl. He knew her fear would distract him and give his opponent an advantage.

“Since I hae her, ye’ll be the one to leave. I amna giving her up now that ye’ve taken two men from me. She’s my payment for your actions.” He began to back up toward the trees, dragging his hostage with him. Twisting around, his actions placed the girl’s face directly in the moonlight and Douglas saw her for the first time.

“You?” he bellowed, shocked to his core with recognition. She was the woman in his dreams, now flesh and blood before him. “Who are you?” he screamed out again following the pair’s movements into the forest. He wasn’t sure who he was asking now, his mind reeling at the sight of his dream savior.

She must have recognized him, too, for her eyes widened and she slumped into a faint. Her weight, though slight, caused her captor to pause and turn, giving Douglas an opportunity for a clear throw.

The dagger left his hand, directed at the back of his adversary. At the moment of impact, Douglas savored a moment of satisfaction.

An excruciating blow on the back of his skull sent him to his knees, clutching at his head as he fell. A nauseating wave of pain pulsed through him and then the darkness pulled him down, again into nothing.