Chapter 10

Lily tried not to stare as she walked by Oskar's side up the winding street.

This was Edinburgh, but nothing like the bustling city she knew. There was no evidence of the New Town but Old Town climbed up the crag towards the imposing castle perched on the top. The place was a jumble of mud and plank streets, with townhouses stuck cheek-by-jowl up against their neighbors. The houses were timber-framed and most had thatched roofs although some—probably those of the wealthier citizens—boasted tile instead. The streets were narrow and filled with more people than Lily had seen since she came to this time.

Oskar led the horse. He seemed tense and focused, his eyes roving the faces of the people in the streets, and a frown marring his forehead. The brief interlude of the easy-going Oskar he'd shown during their sledding with the children seemed to be over, and he was back to grim, taciturn Oskar. He looked like a wolf on the hunt.

As they climbed, the streets became narrower and steeper until finally, Oskar came to a halt. They were standing outside a black and white timbered townhouse. It stood out with its freshly painted exterior, glistening under the pale winter sunlight.

Oskar stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he walked up to the thick oak door. He tied the horse outside then pulled a key from a thong around his neck and unlocked the door before pushing it open and indicating for Lily to go inside.

She stepped over the threshold and found herself in a long hallway with white-plastered walls and black wooden beams. The air was still and cool, carrying a faint scent of aged wood. Sunlight streamed through narrow windows, casting delicate beams of pale light onto the wooden floorboards.

The first thing that struck her was how clean and well-maintained everything seemed, despite the obvious signs of little use. In a large room at the end of the hall she found sparse furniture, with a simple wooden table and a few mismatched chairs arranged in one corner. Dust particles danced in the sunlight coming in through the leaded windows.

"What is this place?" she asked Oskar as he followed her into the room.

He moved to the window and glanced out before turning back to her.

"It's mine," he said at last. "My house."

Lily tried to hide her surprise. This charming, immaculately clean townhouse was not what she'd expected Oskar's home to look like. It seemed a world away from the rough, nomadic life she'd seen him lead thus far.

She walked slowly around the room, tracing her fingers along the smooth surface of the table.

"It's lovely."

"Aye," he said with a shrug. "I dinna come here very often. I'm on the road most of the time." He cleared his throat and turned away. "It's bloody cold in here. I'll build a fire."

He put her bag down on the floor and crouched by the hearth, tossing logs from a basket into the fireplace and then lighting it with flint and tinder. In only moments a merry fire was crackling, chasing away the cold.

Lily dragged over one of the chairs and set it in front of the fire, sinking down into it gratefully and stretching out her feet towards the flames.

"Oh, wow," she breathed. "You have no idea how good that feels."

Oskar brought over the other chair and joined her. Lily stole glances at him, watching the dance of the firelight cast shadows upon his rugged features. She wondered what stories lay hidden behind those brooding eyes.

As if sensing her curiosity, Oskar glanced over and caught her gaze. Their eyes locked, and Lily saw a flicker of emotion in his eyes—guarded yet yearning.

"Ye are wondering about this place aren't ye?" he said softly, breaking the silence.

"Am I that obvious? I must admit, it doesn't quite fit my picture of you. This looks like the house of some wealthy merchant."

"Rather than the house of an uncouth rogue?"

"I didn't say that!"

"Nay, but ye were thinking it." He smiled to soften his words. "And ye would be right." He looked around at the sparse room. "I canna say this place has ever really felt like home. Dun Saith is more my home now than Edinburgh. Even camping on the road with my sword-brothers feels more like home than this house."

"So why have you got it?"

"I was given it," he replied, picking up a log and picking bits off its rough exterior and chucking them into the fire. "For my service to the Order of the Osprey."

"So you didn't grow up here then?"

His eyes flicked to hers and something flashed in them for an instant, like a memory of old pain.

"Nay. I grew up...somewhere else."

Lily didn't push it. She'd gotten to know him well enough to be able to sense that he wasn't ready to share that part of his past just yet. Instead, she shifted the conversation to something lighter.

"Well, regardless, it's a beautiful house," Lily said genuinely. "And it's nice to have a warm place to rest."

"Aye, ye'll get no argument from me there." His eyes fixed on her. "How are ye feeling now?"

"I'm fine," she said automatically, waving a hand. Then, seeing Oskar's eyes narrow, she added, "A bit achy still. Nothing that a long hot bath wouldn't cure."

"A hot bath, eh? Well, this place is good for some things. Follow me."

They went into the hall and along the corridor to another room at the back. This one had a tile floor, a huge fireplace with an iron rack set in it and a large copper bathtub sitting in the middle.

Lily's eyes widened. "Perfect!"

Oskar gave a lop-sided smile. "I thought ye might like it. I'll haul water if ye can get a fire going?"

"Um." She wasn't at all sure she could get a fire going but she'd give it a go if it meant getting a hot bath. "Sure."

Oskar grabbed a couple of buckets from the corner and disappeared out the back door. Lily crossed to the fireplace. It was already stacked with firewood and kindling and several large pans sat on top of the iron rack. In a pouch by the fireplace she found flint and tinder.

"All right," she breathed to herself. "You can do this. A hot bath awaits if you do." It was all the motivation she needed.

It took several attempts and a lot of swearing before she got a tiny flame to catch in the kindling. Just as she'd seen Oskar do, she breathed on it gently until the tiny flamed strengthened and began to lick through the logs.

The back door opened, letting in a cold breeze that made the flames flicker, and Oskar came in, carrying two large buckets of water. He kicked the door closed and turned to face her, his muscles flexing with the weight of his load.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Impressive, lass. I couldnae have done better myself.

Lily grinned, enormously pleased with herself. "Perhaps I'm not just a pampered twenty-first century woman after all!"

"Aye, perhaps not." His eyes fixed on her face and again Lily felt that little flutter deep in her belly.

Oskar turned away, pouring the water into several large pans that sat on the iron rack in the fire then went out again, making several trips until the pans were all full.

"I need to go make my report to my commanders and take the horse to a stable. Ye'll be safe here," he told her. "I willnae be long."

Lily nodded, although the thought of being left alone in this strange place made fear tighten her stomach. Oskar slipped out the back door, pulling it firmly closed behind him and Lily sighed, looking around the room.

"Well come on," she said to herself. "You wanted a bath, didn't you?"

She waited, checking the water until she judged the temperature to be about right, then emptied the pans into the tub. Finally, she rooted around in the little room until she found a clean cloth and a cake of something she took to be soap, then stripped off her clothes and stepped into the warm bath.

Sinking down into the water, she let out a long, heartfelt sigh. Lily felt her aching muscles begin to unknot and the tension to leave her body. Ah, heaven.

Maybe she could survive in this time after all.

AS HE STEPPED OUT INTOEdinburgh's streets, Oskar felt that familiar, creeping sense of dread. He didn't like being back here. There was a reason that his townhouse was rarely occupied. There was a reason he spent as much time as possible out in the wilds, at Dun Saith, on the coast, anywhere but here.

Too many bad memories.

He looked around, marking anyone that might be showing too much interest in him, and when he saw none, pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and set off uphill, leading the horse. In this weather he was just another indistinct bundle wrapped against the chill so nobody paid him any heed. Good. That was the way he liked it.

The snow was beginning to turn to slush, making the streets of the burgh slippery and treacherous. Oskar plowed on. His destination lay uphill, in the shadow of the castle itself. As he neared the top of the hill, the buildings grew grander. Here, two-story black and white timber-framed buildings with tile roofs, filled the streets. Their lead-paned windows and grand entrances were a stark contrast to the modest, thatched buildings further down the hill.

It was to one of these buildings that Oskar headed. He took the horse around the back to the stable yard, handed him over to a stable hand and strode to the main door of the building. There, he hesitated, checking all around for watching eyes, before knocking.

Embossed into the door was an emblem: a bird of prey with its wings and claws outstretched. Even now, after all these years, the sight of that emblem sent a shot of pride through him. Who would have thought someone like him would ever have cause to knock on this door?

The hatch in the door slid open and Oskar spoke the code word. The hatch closed, the door swung open, and he stepped into the Edinburgh headquarters of the Order of the Osprey. He found himself in a wide entrance vestibule with doors leading off on all sides. Wooden paneling covered the walls and freshly swept flagstones covered the floor.

"We heard ye'd arrived," rumbled a deep voice. A man was walking towards him down the hall, tall and nearly as broad as Magnus, but older. He had graying hair with eyes and beard to match and Oskar had always thought he had the look of a wolf about him.

"Torvik," Oskar said with a grin. "What are ye doing in these parts? I heard ye never leave yer island these days."

Torvik MacKinnon, once one of the most formidable warriors in the north, grinned through his beard. "What can I say? I'm getting old and Shetland in winter is for the young. Besides, I could hardly miss Brewer's trial could I? After all the trouble that bastard has caused us."

Oskar's gut twisted. "Aye. Well, ye might have to wait a little longer to see justice."

Torvik's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Come, let's go into my study and ye can give yer report."

Oskar followed Torvik through one of the doors into a comfortably appointed room. A fire was roaring in the hearth for which Oskar was extremely grateful, and a large desk took up most of the space, littered with papers and scrolls.

"Ye see?" Torvik said with a grimace, indicating the desk. "This is what I'm reduced to. Reading reports and sending missives. My fingers canna even remember the last time they held a sword. Take my advice, Oskar. Dinna get old. It isnae much fun."

"Oh, I dinna know about that," Oskar replied. "Looks like it has its up sides as well." He nodded to the half-finished platter of food on the desk and then to Torvik's growing paunch.

Torvik laughed and slapped his stomach. "Aye, well mayhap it does at that. Here, get yer gob around this."

He poured two drams of whisky and handed one to Oskar.

"To the Order of the Osprey and justice," Torvik said.

"The Order and justice," Oskar agreed then knocked his drink back in one shot.

"Ah, but that warms the bones doesnae it?" Torvik said, smacking his lips appreciatively. He settled his bulk in one of the chairs by the fire and indicated for Oskar to take the other. "Go ahead then," he said. "Give me yer report."

Oskar winced, not knowing where to begin. He wasn't Kai or Conall to be able to use fancy words or convoluted explanations. He was known for being blunt and to the point. "We've lost Alfred Brewer."

Torvik's shaggy brows drew down. "I'm getting on a bit so perhaps I'm going deaf but I swear ye just said ye've lost Alfred Brewer."

"It's true," Oskar said, gripping his empty cup so hard his knuckles went white. "Or rather, his wife and her associates took him from us."

He proceeded to report everything that had happened since they'd set out from Dun Saith for Edinburgh all that time ago. He told them of Alfred's accident, of taking shelter with Henry Eberwyn, of meeting Lily, of traveling towards Edinburgh, and then Alfred's subsequent rescue by Alice. The only thing he left out was Lily's time-traveling origins.

Torvik listened with an expression like a thundercloud. "That sniveling little arse!" he snarled when Oskar's tale had finished. "I would love to get my hands around his scrawny little neck!" He huffed in a breath and then shook his head. "This is dire news. The king will not be pleased. Brewer's trial is coming up and I know the king himself was to attend. I will go see the king's justiciars and explain what's happened. Laird Callum must be told as well. I'll send word and mobilize what forces we have here in Edinburgh to begin scouring the nearby countryside."

He leaned forward and clapped Oskar on the shoulder. "Dinna worry. We'll find Magnus and Emeric and bring the Brewers to justice."

Oskar nodded, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders just a little. The Order would take over now. It was no longer his responsibility.

"Aye, I know we will," he said, forcing a smile. He rose to his feet. "I'll be at my townhouse. Ye'll send word if ye hear aught?"

Torvik heaved his bulk up. "Of course, lad. If I hear anything ye'll be the first to know."

Oskar nodded his thanks, then took his leave of Torvik and left the guild house. Stepping out into the cold air again, he paused for only a moment, before setting off back down the hill. Where were Magnus and Emeric right now? Had they caught up with Alfred and Alice Brewer yet? A coil of unease unwound in his belly. He should be with them. His place was by his sword-brothers' sides, not sitting here doing nothing whilst they were in danger. If aught should happen to them...

They can take care of themselves,he told himself. They will be here soon, dragging Alice and Alfred with them no doubt. Then as soon as Kai and Conall arrive, we can get on with making sure they face justice.

He felt a sliver of satisfaction at that.

"So it's true then? The sewer-scum has returned!"

Startled out of his thoughts, Oskar looked up to see a burly man blocking the street ahead of him. Four others had filed in behind, cutting off retreat. Damn it. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed them creeping up on him. He was losing his touch.

The burly man stepped closer, tapping a thick cudgel against his leg. He had a shaved head, a bull-neck, and a scar through his lip. Oskar sighed.

"What do ye want, Bryn?"

The man, Bryn Fletcher, spread his arms wide. "Where have ye been, old friend? We've missed ye!"

"I doubt that. Kindly step aside and I'll be on my way."

"That's not very friendly, is it? Dinna ye wish to catch up with yer old friends? Ye've gone and hurt my feelings now."

Oskar felt his temper rise. He didn't have time for this. "We were never friends, Bryn. Now move, before this gets ugly."

Bryn grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth. Behind him, his men chuckled. "Ah, there it is! The true Oskar Galbraith! Once a villain, always a villain, eh? Ye might like to lord it over the rest of us now ye've got friends in high places, but ye are still the black-hearted bastard ye have always been."

Oskar clenched his fists, feeling the blood rushing to his face. He had worked hard to leave his past behind, to distance himself from the darkness he had once embraced. But standing here, confronted by Bryn and his gang, it was as if time had folded in on itself, reminding him of the man he used to be.

He couldn't afford to waste any more time on meaningless brawls. He had a responsibility—a duty to protect Lily. But the streets of Edinburgh were unforgiving, and he was outnumbered.

"Bryn," Oskar said, trying to keep his tone level. "I dinna want any trouble. Let me pass."

Bryn's laughter echoed through the narrow street. "What's the matter? Dinna like being reminded of what ye really are?"

Bryn was baiting him. He was trying to provoke him into anger, into striking first, to give these thugs the excuse to do what they'd come here to do. But Oskar wasn't that man anymore. He would not let them drag him back there.

"Good day to ye," he murmured. He shoved past Bryn and continued walking down the street.

"Eager to get back to yer lady, eh?" Bryn called.

Oskar stopped. He slewed around. "What did ye say?"

Bryn grinned. "A pretty thing, from what I hear. I wonder if she'd still look so pretty after a night with me and my lads." The other men laughed, their crude chuckles bouncing off the gritty walls around them.

Oskar's gut knotted with fury. His grip tightened on the hilt of his dagger hidden beneath his cloak. "Stay away from her. If I ever catch ye or yer crew near Lily, there willnae be enough left of ye to tell tales."

Bryn's laughter swelled. "Oh, Oskar, do ye think ye frighten us? Ye are but a shadow of the man ye used to be. I remember when ye were feared on these streets, when men trembled at the mention of yer name. Now look at ye, reduced to playing nursemaid to a fragile little flower. A flower that is ripe for plucking."

Oskar's vision clouded with rage. Unsheathing his dagger in one swift motion, he attacked like lightning, driving the blade into Bryn's shoulder. The man grunted in pain but Oskar didn't let up. He landed a punch to Bryn's jaw, sending him sprawling onto the cobblestones.

The other men hesitated, their eyes wide with shock at the sudden display of violence. But his actions had unleashed something primal within him—an urge to survive that had been born on these streets. These men thought he was weak? That he had lost his touch? He'd show them otherwise.

He yanked his dagger from Bryn's shoulder, straddled the man's chest, and pressed the knife to his throat. Bryn's gang watched on, all bravado gone at seeing their leader so easily incapacitated.

"Go near Lily and I will kill ye," Oskar hissed, pushing his face close to Bryn's and putting just enough pressure on the knife that it sent a line of blood running down Bryn's skin. "And it willnae be quick. I will carve ye into pieces and then toss them in the river for the fish. Do ye understand?"

"Aye, he understands!" one of Bryn's men cried. "Now let him up, will ye?"

Oskar held Bryn's gaze for a second longer, then removed his dagger and climbed to his feet. Bryn scrambled up. He glared at Oskar, his eyes burning with hatred. Oskar rocked onto the balls of his feet, ready for a fight.

Do it, he thought. Do it.

Bryn's men grabbed him and began pulling him away.

"Another time," Bryn snarled.

"I look forward to it," Oskar replied.

Bryn and his gang disappeared into the shadows, leaving Oskar standing alone in the middle of the street. With trembling hands, he wiped the blood off his dagger and sheathed it back at his waist. As the adrenaline slowly dissipated, he felt the familiar itch of shame creeping up on him. He had thought himself better than this, but the streets had a way of pulling him back in no matter how hard he tried to escape. It seemed that it didn't take much for the monster to resurface again, no matter how much he tried to bury it beneath the honor and ideals of the Order of the Osprey.

With a heavy sigh, he began to make his way back to his townhouse. It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping as he retraced his steps and his thoughts were elsewhere as he opened the door to the townhouse and stepped inside. A wall of heat hit him, a welcome respite to the chill outside. Pulling off his cloak, he hung it on a peg in the hall where it dripped water onto the flagstone floor, then pushed open the door to the main room—and froze.

Lily was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, brushing her shimmering dark hair. Her delicate features were flushed with warmth, the remnants of her recent bath still lingering on her skin. She wore a simple white dress that must have been in the bundle that Hamish had given them. It clung to her body in all the right places, emphasizing her curves—and sending a flush to Oskar's cheeks.

She turned as the door opened and rose to her feet. She smiled brightly at the sight of him, firelight dancing in her eyes, but her smile faltered as she caught sight of his expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Has something happened to Magnus and Emeric?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "There's no word of them."

"Then what is it?" she said, stepping closer. "Has something else happened?"

How had she learned to read him so easily? He thought he'd schooled his expression to blandness. Clearly, he had not.

Has something happened?he wanted to say. Aye, you could say that. I've had a rude reminder of who I really am, is what.

"Nothing ye need to worry about," he muttered, hoping she would drop it.

She didn't.

She squinted at him suspiciously, her hands on her hips. A lock of dark hair fell over her eyes and she flicked it away irritably.

"Oskar," she said. "I'm not an idiot. I can tell when something's bothering you."

"I ran into some...trouble," he admitted grudgingly, avoiding her gaze.

Lily's hand unconsciously clasped her chest. "Were you hurt?"

"No," he said quickly.

I was the one that did all the hurting.

Bryn's taunting words echoed in his head. Once a villain, always a villain. Ye are still the black-hearted bastard ye have always been.

He wanted to tell her everything—about Bryn and his thugs, about the threats and violence that seemed to shadow his life—but he couldn't. Not only because he did not want to scare her, but because he knew he couldn't bear the look of fear and disappointment that would surely cross her face.

"It's nothing for ye to worry yerself over," he repeated, forcing a smile onto his face. "I'm fine."

She didn't seem convinced. Her brows furrowed in concern and she stepped closer until they were just an arm's length apart. Warmth radiated from her, a warmth that made every inch of him ache to close the distance. He could smell the sweet, clean scent of her that even the wood smoke from the fire couldn't mask.

She reached out, her small hand hesitating before it finally landed on his arm—it was a simple touch, an innocent one, but to Oskar it felt like a spark running through his veins.

He stepped back as if he'd been stung. "I...um...I have to go fetch more firewood."

He pushed past her, more roughly than he intended, and as he did so, his shoulder caught hers. She stumbled, her hip hit the corner of the bench, and she fell backwards with a cry.

Oskar darted forward and caught her before she could hit the ground, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her back to her feet.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didnae mean to..."

He trailed off.

Her face was inches from his, her hands resting on his shoulders. She was so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.

All his thoughts seemed to stop and he moved without conscious thought, his hand lifting, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. The softness of her skin sent a jolt through him.

His hand fell from her cheek to rest on the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. His heart pounded in his chest so fiercely he was sure she could hear it.

What are you doing?A voice shouted in the back of his mind but he ignored it. He couldn't have stopped now if he wanted to.

He bent his head and kissed her.

Her lips were as soft as he had imagined, her taste sweet. A second later, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she kissed him back hungrily. Oskar felt himself falling into an abyss, lost in the feel of her body against his.

His hand slipped further down her waist, one hand pulling her into him as the other tangled itself in her silky hair, drawing a low moan from her. Desire roared through him, hot and searing, and his groin tightened painfully. He felt the chill of the stone wall against his back and realized that she had pushed him up against it.

He gasped into her mouth, reveling in her surprising strength. Her fingers traced a blazing path down his jawline, over his throat, igniting every nerve they touched.

But then, jarring him from the present, a vision of Bryn's sneering face flashed into his mind. The memory of their brawl, of hard fists and harsh words, the dark satisfaction in Bryn's eyes when Oskar had attacked. He saw again his own bloodied knuckles, felt the raw sting of scraped skin.

A pretty thing, from what I hear. I wonder if she'd still look so pretty after a night with me and my lads. What's the matter? Dinna like being reminded of what ye really are?

It was like a bucket of icy water thrown over him. Wrenching himself away from Lily, he stumbled aside, breaking their heated touch.

Lily looked shocked at his sudden retreat, her dark eyes wide and confused. Her lips were still slightly parted, flushed from their shared intimacy.

"Oskar?"

The word was soft, a query borne of surprise and confusion. The room was silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth and their own heavy breaths.

"I...I'm sorry, Lily." His voice was rough with emotion.

She took a step back, her expression falling. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't explain it to her. He couldn't explain that he couldn't let her get close. That if he did, and his enemies found out, they would use her against him. That they would hurt her to get to him.

Lily's confusion seemed to deepen. "Oskar...?"

"I'm sorry, Lily. I canna do this." His voice was a harsh bark as he moved away, the intensity of his refusal echoing in the quiet room. The look on Lily's face was a mix of confusion and hurt. He hated himself for being the reason behind it.

"There is a bedroom upstairs," he said. "Help yerself."

He all but fled through the door into the kitchen, leaving Lily alone in the room. Staggering over to a cupboard, he opened it and pulled out a flask of whisky.

He suddenly felt the need to get blind drunk.