Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Marie jostled and woke. Stars danced behind her eyelids, and her head bobbed with heaviness. She opened her eyes to black fabric which moved as the man who carried her strode. She flopped upside down, carried over a man's shoulder.

She kicked and connected with something soft. The clergy's jolt and groan told Marie she landed a good kick. He dropped her to the ground, and she landed on her side with a grunt.

Marie glanced up and the priest kneeled, doubled over as he moaned in pain. This was it! Her chance to get away. She scanned the area. Marie caught the cleric off guard just outside of a small church. She quickly scrambled and rose, but the father tackled her before she got to her knees. He slapped her temple, and stars danced before her eyes as he tied a fabric strip around her wrists.

"Come on. We must get to my cottage. I have to hide you away before nightfall." His gaze traveled the yard. "No one can know you are here." He pulled her to stand and dragged her beside him.

She pulled back on the ties. "Wait, where are we going?"

Father Clarke stopped and spun her around. "My home, you Scottish trash." He sighed audibly. "If that is what you want to call it. I must plan how to go about this without alerting others. I'll need to hide away for the evening."

Marie pulled on his arm again, but he remained so much larger than her, her short height unable to gain any leverage.

He dragged her to a small house behind the old church and mumbled, "This is my church, the one I serve." He held her tied hands and shoved her through the door. "If that's what you want to call it. Slaving is what I am doing here."

He slammed the door and locked it as she turned to a modest, quaint cottage. Father Clarke pulled her toward a small room near the kitchen. When she passed the door, she glimpsed a sturdy padlock outside. Anyone on the other side of the door became a prisoner. He planned for her captivity and would lock her away. Her breath hitched. Alone. He would bolt her in and leave her alone.

He dragged her inside and dropped her on the bed. She sat there as she tried to stop the spinning of her head and the roll of her stomach. Once righted, she lay on a short bed, next to a wooden box for a nightstand, with a small lamp on top. He had painted the window black, and nails stuck out from where he hastily nailed it shut.

He cut her bindings, turned to leave, and spoke as he passed through the door. "I'll be back for you in the morning. We'll begin the search. The rock's here, and you will find it. You harnessed the power of the chapel flooring. You can harness the power of the Stones of Iona for the glory of God."

As he shut the door, Marie jumped up and grabbed at the edge. "Ye can't leave me here alone."

The priest pulled on the door.

Marie gripped the edge harder and pulled back. "Not alone all night. What is going to happen to me?"

He glanced at her fingers as they gripped the door, then at her through the tiny crack. His eyes shifted, and they reminded her of a wild animal caught in a trap. But she remained the one trapped.

Her stomach growled in a reminder; she hadn't eaten all day. "What about food, water?"

The cleric stopped. "I'll be back later with your daily meal."

He jerked the door, and her fingers slipped off before it slammed shut. The padlock clicked and her heart dropped to her stomach.

She turned and checked the walls for any doors or hidden windows. Nothing. She remained boxed in, four plain walls with a blackened window the priest nailed shut. She ran to the window and tried to pry the nails to open the window, but it wouldn't budge. He had replaced the glass with boards. She backed away and stood in the middle of the room.

The father unlocked the door and came in with a tray of bread, cheese, cold meat, and jug of water. He glared at her for a moment, his gaze hard, then disappeared behind the door. The lock clicked, and his footsteps retreated as he left her alone.

Alone. Marie's breath grew shorter. Her panic rose as her heart raced. The last of her oxygen squeezed out of her lungs. The walls closed in as her ears rang. Marie covered her head as she crouched to her knees. She curled into a ball on the floor, lay on her side, and squeezed her eyes shut as tight as possible. She willed the ringing to go away. Go away, go away, go away.

The ringing continued until it echoed in her head, bounced around in an endless circle. She curled farther into herself and drew her hands to her chest. Her fingers brushed against her stone necklace, the one her grandmother gave her, which held a magical crystal from the isle of Iona. Marie's fingers wrapped around the stone like an anchor in the vast whirlwind, and the spinning slowed.

She lay there for a moment. She remembered John, sweet, kind John. Her breathing slowed, and her body relaxed. She glimpsed his face as he smiled at her, his tender expression when he gazed at her and spoke words of love. She sensed his hands caress her face, felt his lips kiss hers. A tear slid down her cheek. Would she ever see him again?

Marie took a deep breath, then another, and opened her eyes. The area looked the same but less restricted than before. The chill she suffered left, and her stomach growled. She glanced around the room and spied the tray of food.

She dragged the tray toward her. Marie sipped the cool water, then chugged the whole glass. She set the cup down and nibbled some meat and cheese. At least the priest didn't throw her in some cold, dark crypt like Brielle when she searched for a Stone of Iona.

Once fed and her fear subsided, Marie ran the events back through her mind. Father Clarke arrived filled with compliments on her work to inspect the chapel flooring. She should have been leery of someone who showed up without an appointment. It didn't take her long to figure out what he wanted, even if she must suss it out from his ramblings about the cross over a stone. But she realized once he said the Stones of Iona, he hunted a magic Fae rock. Marie didn't let on that she understood about the mystic rocks, but she did.

What she believed helped became a trap. She felt like a fool. All she wanted was to return to Dunstaffnage, John, and home. This was the first time she considered the castle as home. Realization hit her; the castle wasn't home. Home was John. She rolled over, curled herself into a ball, and tried to sleep.

****

Father Clarke stood before St. Martin's Cross at Iona Abbey just after sunrise the following morning and yelled the phrase at the cross again.

And on all hills that shall be dug for the place of God.

No fear shall be cast upon anyone on his hallowed ground.

For there, you shall bury all fear, hiding it from the doom of man.

This is our cross to bear.

Marie sat on the grass next to the cross, her hands tied with fabric in front of her. She would recognize this landscape anywhere since she studied this location for college work. They were near Iona Abbey. Her history class spent an entire month reviewing the plot plan since the Historical Society recently retrofitted and modernized the main building with bedrooms and community areas. The project also boosted a completely renovated refectory, new kitchen, a scullery with a dumb waiter, comprehensive rewiring, insulation, and a new plumbing system. She glanced at the abbey in the morning light. The building looked as magnificent now as it remained in the past. This stayed her favorite part, the abbey's renovations—her dream to oversee renovating a historical religious building.

She gazed at the property as she took in the view, this being the first time she saw the abbey in person. The gray buildings stood amidst perfectly manicured grassland and gardens which stretched to the loch's coast. As the sun peeked over the horizon and cast the sky in crimson and marigold hues which shifted to bright lavender as the light reached the mountains, the scenery rivaled any photo she had seen. Her eyes turned toward Ben Chruachan mountain range in the distance and John at Dunstaffnage Castle.

Her stomach turned and reminded her this morning's meal was no quaint bed and breakfast greeting but a quick cup of tea and stale toast. Father Clarke refused her bathroom privileges until she threatened to pee on the kitchen floor. She smirked; she would've done it to anger the priest.

He seized her arm again and was beside her as he glared at her. His face held a forced look like he concentrated too hard. Bree mentioned what a human looked like when a Fae possessed them, extreme anger and a hard expression which seemed insane. Black eyes, she said, the eyes went totally black. Father Clarke's eyes looked normal, but if someone told her his behavior was what the spell seemed like when a Fae possessed a human, she believed them.

He opened his mouth to say something, then dropped her arm and bent to read an old book.

A plan. Marie needed a plan, a plan to outsmart him, but how? The abbey opened soon and people would arrive to view the gardens and graveyard. She realized he needed to leave quickly. If she kept him occupied, maybe she could alert someone or escape.

She glanced back, and he held the book away like he needed glasses. He yelled the quote again.

She leaned forward for a peek. As he flipped the pages, Marie recognized some illustrations which looked like the Book of Kells, but there was no way this was the actual religious tome. The real book sat in a museum at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland—she had visited it.

Father Clarke slammed the book closed and yelled at her again. "You, you need to call forth the stone. God has called and I fear his wrath."

She rose and stood before the cross again but did nothing. Father Clarke kicked her leg, and she yelped as she fell hard. Her knees hit the ground as her tied hands scraped on the rough surface.

Father Clarke yelled as spittle flew from his mouth. "Kneel. Now call forth the stone."

She glanced at him. "I don't know what ye are talking about."

He tapped the book against his hand and uttered a groan. As he stood next to her, he opened the pages again. He held the book away at just the right angle so Marie could read some of each page. If she were careful about how she studied them, maybe she would gain some insight into what he intended.

He examined an illustration page with various crosses drawn on it. She recognized St. Martin's Cross. There were biblical scenes on the shaft, and the cross's center represented the Virgin and Child. He mumbled, and she tried to read along with him.

She made out the MacDougall Cross and recognized the relic well since she and John visited Ardchattan Priory near Dunstaffnage, where the cross sat. She remembered the MacDougall cross was wider, and the drawing depicted both sides, a crucifixion scene on one side and an image of the Virgin and Child on the other.

Father Clarke flipped the page, and she spotted text. Latin, a language she became familiar with as a religious buildings expert. All the ancient text was in Latin or Hebrew. As she read parts, she realized this page spoke about the Fae portals between the world of Fae and man. He flipped a page and she swore she stared at a drawing of the door to the Chapel in the Woods at Dunstaffnage Castle. She recognized that door anywhere since she renovated the mosaic flooring over the last few months.

Father Clarke glanced sharply at Marie, then slammed the book closed. She didn't get to read it all, but enough to know. A chill spread up Marie's spine as she glanced away. Oh, please don't let him figure out the Fae's portals.

"That's it. We aren't at the wrong cross. We are at the wrong time."

Her heart sank—time travel. From what Bree told her, the portals opened and closed at the command of the Fae, not humans. He couldn't figure this out. She glanced at his face, but he squinted at the sunrise. Her heart dropped to her feet, and his expression shifted to a wide grin. Dear God, had he figured it out? How had he learned the chapel door was a portal between times? From what she read, the book didn't mention time travel. The book only said a portal between the realms existed. He viewed something in the book she hadn't.

Father Clarke grabbed her tied hands and marched back to his cottage. "That's it. We'll need supplies, and more money." He mumbled along the way, "The power of God resides within the Stone of Iona."

She wanted a better glimpse of the book, but he hid it in his bag.

He mumbled again as they marched to his church's small chapel on the hill. "God is the giver of power, and I shall have all the power willed to me in the power of the stone."

He stopped at the church door and slammed it open. "I'll need something to use in the past for money." He dragged her along and grabbed an ornate cross necklace from the pulpit. He stole a holy relic. One she understood the church kept for prayer and inspiration. Marie dedicated her life to the pursuit and preservation of history.

She yanked on her bindings. "Ye can't take that from the church. It's not yers to take. It belongs to the people of Iona."

Father Clarke grabbed her arm as he waved the cross in her face and shook her with each word. "Anything which can bring me the power of the stone will be for the glory of God."

As he waved the cross in her face, Marie got a good look at the cross. The relic was made of solid gold and likely from the thirteenth century. It was large and likely heavy; how could he wave it so easily? Each end held a round, bright ruby gem and the arms showed beautiful scroll carvings. In the center sat a large oval purple gem, so deep a color Marie had never seen.

A memory flashed in her mind fast with clarity. Brielle's voice described her entrapment in the crypt when she traveled to the eighteenth century, and Colin's cousin, possessed by an evil Fae, handed Brielle the Stone of Fear.

"Marie, it was an oval gem, a deep purple, almost black. When activated, it glowed dark and sinister. When I held the gem, my deepest fears rose without control, and the stone–froze in my hand. Pure evil flowed through me as I held it." Marie peered at the cross again and the deep purple gem set in the center. Could it be?

Father Clarke grabbed the ties on her hands. A large gold cross with a center gem and four stones on each arm reminded her of the picture of a crusader's cross she viewed in class once. In her mind, the cross belonged in a museum. In the priest's mind, the relic became his ticket to a Stone of Iona.

People spoke in the distance, and she glanced at the priest who stood over her with the cross in his hand. He swung the cross at her, and a burst of pain exploded in her head.

Marie woke to rocking and the sound of a boat motor. The salty scent of the ocean filled her nose. She shook her head and shifted a bit as she woke her blurred mind. Wake up! She needed to be conscious.

She peeked over the side as Father Clarke steered them out to the open ocean. He turned and headed to the mainland, which meant he departed for the chapel, the portal, and back toward Loch Etive, to Dunstaffnage Castle. Maybe if she got to someone and alerted John, but her head hurt too much to think.

As the boat rocked again, she almost heaved. She pulled at her bindings he had tied to one of the boat cleats the docking ropes tied around. She sat farther down in the seat as she tried to get out of the wind; her lightweight jacket did little to keep her warm. To ward off the cold, she closed her eyes and allowed the motor engine to drown out everything. It began to rain, and as she covered her head, the rain hit her jacket. The pings of the drops brought her back—rain, a storm, John.

****

Rain pelted the castle in a steady beat. Marie held her candle and tried not to burn down the place. The flame danced and her other hand covered the fire. Thunder boomed so loud it shook the castle and startled Marie. Her hand shifted too close to the fire and she burned her palm. She yelped, then waved her hand to ease the sting.

When the storm blew in, the electricity cut off. With the thunder so close to the castle, it became hard to fall asleep, so Marie figured a cup of tea might be nice. As Marie floundered down the hall, she recalled Bree stayed afraid of dark places and storms. She hoped she remained okay tonight.

Marie made her way down the stairs and through the great hall toward the kitchen. She stepped inside and set the candle on the counter. The first cabinet she opened found no cups. Marie shifted to the next cabinet. The cups must be here somewhere.

A creak sounded behind her, and Marie whipped around. No one was there. She stood still for a moment in the dimly lit room. She could've sworn she saw a movement in the shadows. She breathed in an uneven pattern as the light from her candle cast ominous shapes on the wall and doorway. She turned back to the cabinet and opened another, grabbed a cup, and her candle went out leaving her in pitch dark. She gasped and gripped the cup to her chest.

She turned around as she tried to detect the candle in the dark to light it. Lightning lit up the room, and she spied the candle for a moment. Marie placed her hand on the counter and patted down, only to find the sink. Thunder boomed again, and she yelped as she gripped the cup. She extended her hand out again, but this time encountered something warm.

Marie screamed as she held the cup for dear life. Large arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace. Her face rested against a man's naked chest which wiggled as he chuckled. She took a deep breath, smelled John's scent of light musk, and relaxed in his embrace.

"Sorry, a nighean," my girl. "I only meant to play with ye. I didn't think I'd scare ye."

Marie huffed and pushed against him. "Well, ye scared me all right. Thought I found the ghostie, the Green Lady of Dunstaffnage, in the flesh." She lifted her head, peeked at him, then rested her hand on his naked chest.

John stepped back as he took her cup. It clinked as he set it on the counter. She felt him move away as his form shifted toward the stove. The clank of the kettle told her he'd picked it up.

His body moved to her and he reached around her to turn on the water. The kettle filled with a gurgle. He amazed her at how he easily navigated the kitchen in the darkness.

In a flash of lightning, his white teeth glowed as his voice calmed her. "Didn't ye want some tea?"

Marie blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness and his face outlined in the dark, close to hers.

She took a deep breath. "Aye, tea would be nice."

John chuckled as he moved away. "This happens every storm." At the stove, with his eyes on hers, he opened the drawer, took out a long lighter, and held it up. He smiled, flicked it on, then lit the stove manually casting him in shadow. He stretched over her and lit the candle. A warm light illuminated the room and cast a golden glow around them.

As he pulled back, he stopped when their faces were a mere breath apart and stared into her eyes. He stepped closer and smiled as he reached to the cabinet behind Marie and retrieved another cup.

Marie shifted out of his way, but he placed the cup on the counter stopping her motion. He put the lighter on the other side. John leaned on the counter trapping her between his arms.

He gazed into her eyes as he opened the drawer next to her hip. His hand shifted around, then pulled out the tea and tea strainers and set them on the counter. His gaze held hers.

Marie raised an eyebrow. "I see ye've made tea in the dark before."

John smiled. "Aye."

Lightning lit up the room, and thunder reverberated off the walls. Marie jumped, and her hands gripped his shoulders. John took her hands into his, kissed one, then placed them around his neck as he wrapped her in his embrace. She rested her head on his chest, her ear aligned with his heart. Beneath his warm skin, its steady beat calmed her. Marie took a deep breath, and they stood there in the night as they held each other. The rain made shadows on the moonlit window and ran down the glass in wavy patterns. Thunder rumbled, but farther away now.

She wasn't sure who moved first, but she gazed into his eyes. He shifted closer, and his lips brushed hers lightly. She didn't stop to think, only feel.

Their lips twirled and his heart beat against hers, then her heartbeat rushed. His hand caressed her face while the other anchored her to his body. She relished the play of their mouths as warmth spread from her neck to her toes, making her knees weak. Her hands traveled over his chest as she ran her fingers through the soft hair.

He deepened the kiss, and she molded her palms over the muscles of his shoulders, then trailed them back to his chest again. John's kisses sent tingles from her fingertips to her toes. She tilted her head and moaned as John trailed kisses down her neck.

The tea kettle whistled loudly. Marie jerked away, but John held on to her.

He whispered, "Stay here. Don't move an inch." John crossed to the stove, shut off the gas, and shifted the kettle to another burner. He stopped and lowered his head as he rubbed his neck. They stood there momentarily. She glanced down, took a deep breath, and turned away.

Before she proceeded farther, he came beside her and took her into his arms, her face in his hand. "Where are ye going?"

Marie wouldn't look at him. "Back to bed."

John's thumb shifted under her chin as he tilted her head till their eyes met. He gazed at her a moment, glanced over her face, eyes, and mouth.

His hand caressed her hair. "Sit up with me, please?" His eyes shifted to her face again. "I can't sleep in storms. Spend the time with me over a cup of tea. We can sit by the fireplace in the hall."

Marie blushed. "Aye, I can't sleep either. I'll sit up with ye."

John kissed her nose, then stepped away. His easy manner soothed the storm jitters away. John moved close to her, handed her a cup, and placed his hand on her back as they made their way out of the kitchen.

Marie stopped. "John, the candle. Ye need to blow out the candle."

He leaned down and blew out the candle. "That's the second time I've blown that candle out tonight."

Marie gasped.

He laughed as they made their way out of the room.

The fireplace flickered low in the Great Hall which kept a warm shimmering circle around the sitting area. John set his cup down and gathered the plaid from the back of the sofa. He wrapped himself in it, sat on the couch, and held the plaid open in invitation.

She smiled, sat, and curled up in his embrace. He wrapped the plaid around them and his warmth enveloped Marie.

He grabbed his teacup, and they cuddled together as they watched the flames as they danced. Lightning lit the room, and a moment passed. Thunder echoed in the distance. In John's embrace, Marie became so warm and relaxed.

She jerked a bit, and John's arms squeezed her. She must have fallen asleep. John chuckled, set his cup on the table, and took her cup as well. He gathered her against him and kissed her lips lightly. He stopped and stared into her eyes as the shadows of the flames flickered on his face and reflected in his eyes. Such a handsome man who sent chills through her. She could sit like this all day and not have a care in the world.

He caressed her face and shifted her close to his heart. She nestled her cheek on his chest, took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. They lay for a while, and she drifted off to sleep to his steady heartbeat.

****

The bump of the boat rocked Marie and pulled her from her daydream. Cold and stiff from sitting in the same position, she sat up and glanced around. Now late afternoon, and this dock she didn't recognize. She believed they headed back to the pier at Dunstaffnage Castle, but she had never seen this one. She glanced around, and the castle wasn't near either. Her stomach dropped, and her heart skipped into her chest. She didn't know where they were.