Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (4 page)

“How does the box help them find a mate?” I felt ridiculous for a moment, as if the entire episode created of my imagination had me now talking to myself represented in the form of Iain.

“We doona know, lass. All we know is when the rulin’ laird lays his hand on the top durin’ our matin’ festival, the one meant for him is brought to him.”

“Brought to him,” I repeated, as if the echo would make it go down any easier. “One meant for him. Like a soul mate?”

“Aye. We’ve always been a strong and fearsome clan. Our strength comes from the bondin’ of the two in this world right for one another. The union makes an invincible pair to lead our people in times of both joy and hardship.”

The entire time he spoke, I analyzed his words and expressions. Everything he uttered he believed to be true. He waited for me to reply while I pondered my bizarre and rapidly disconcerting situation. Deeper meaning dawned on me slowly, breaking through the barrier of denial, reaching out with the clarity of the proper lens bringing a blurry world into crisp focus.

“
I’m
your soul mate?”
The shouted realization scorched my ears.

Iain struggled to reply, his mouth slowly opening. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, but no words came out. He exhaled, dropping his shoulders, and the firm nod that followed told me he truly believed I’d been destined for him, regardless of his inability to soften the blow.

A claustrophobic noose tightened around my awareness. I pushed the hulking brute away from me, and he gave no resistance, stepping back. I paced the length of the small room, troubled by the possibilities, or rather, the impossibilities. If the power of my mind had created this entire larger-than-life charade, with every ounce of mental effort, I would banish the fantasy. My feet stopped, and I pushed all my focus inward, hoping my sheer will would make all this nonsense go away, but the ghastly smell from those tallow candles kept interfering with my concentration.

“Isa.” He breathed my name from behind my ear, tempting me like a lover’s caress, resting his warm hands on my shoulders. “Accept this. Nothin’ you do will change what’s meant to be for us.”

I whirled around in his loose hold. His eyes widened, probably due to the wild panic I’m sure came across on my face. “And if I don’t accept this . . . this crazy idea that I’ve been snatched out of my time to be in yours . . . to be with you . . . ?”

“Weel, the festival is in three days’ time. I’m not the only man takin’ a mate. Every available man wantin’ a woman will take the woman they claim—whether or not the woman agrees.”

My mouth dropped open. Although I’d read about it being true—their barbaric ways and the lack of say women had—it didn’t prepare me for the outrage I felt when I’d become one of the said women with no control. I shook my head.

“You either accept my claim and protection, or you will be forced to submit to another.”

I couldn’t breathe. The small space, the stench of burning animal fat, and his alarming words choked all of the air out of my lungs. I found myself gasping for the smallest amount of oxygen as I turned and fled the room, yanking the heavy door open with strength born from the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Fresh air and warm sunshine invaded my senses. I stumbled out onto a feathery dusting of snow covering a patch of young grass breaking free from the ground. A single golden buttercup at my feet angled toward the sky. My vision followed the ground down to a field enclosed by a high stone wall. Soldiers dressed in kilts—and nothing else—sparred with swords, the clash of metal ringing through the courtyard. Women carried baskets between small thatched cottages on the periphery of the compound. In a field beyond, children ran back and forth, carrying sticks with colorful ribbons flying from the ends. I turned around and looked up the side of an enormous stone tower connected to the small room I’d emerged from only seconds ago.

My gaze fell back onto Iain, who stood outside the doorway, leaning against the gray stone. My only guide in this foreign place was an ancient warrior–laird whom otherworldly forces had decided would be my mate in life. And in spite of knowing my state of shock, he had the nerve to stand there with a hard expression on his face.

To hell with it.
I turned and marched down the hill toward the women and children. My pace rapidly picked up speed until I found myself running down the incline, its steepness aiding my acceleration. The wind battered my face, fanning the tears streaming across my cheeks.

All I wanted was to gain freedom from the prison in my mind. I wanted to go home. My journey began with a box Iain thought had found me. I wished I’d never seen the cursed thing.

Never in all my life had I been out of control of my fate. Every step of the way, every decision I’d ever made, happened because I chose to go left or right when the winding road forked. I wiped away the tears clouding my eyes as I reached the end of the cottages. The bluff I now stood on overlooked the curtain wall that protectively surrounded the clan within, and I stared into the vastness of the Highlands. As far as the eye could see stretched meadow bordered by forest. The entire scene was framed by rugged gray mountains capped in snow that touched the heavens above in a cotton-clouded blue sky. The enormous panorama made me feel small and powerless.

Something held me rooted to the ground. I’d never shrunk in fear, always relishing a challenge to overcome, so my intrinsic nature won out over spontaneous instinctual flight. I spun around and viewed the entire clan from atop the knoll. The castle, on the rise of a great hill, marked itself as protector over her family. Iain stood proudly in a wide stance, arms crossed over his chest, a few steps away from where he’d last been, staring straight at me.

I took a deep breath, recognizing what I’d known all along in my life. The truth had been hiding under the surface of every turn I’d made, but I’d never been forced to examine the mechanics of why things happened the way they did—until now. No matter how much control I’d ever thought I’d had, it had only ever been a multiple-choice question.

The Universe had a plan for me, and at the moment, Iain served as its mouthpiece. I could accept my fate the easy way or the hard way. It appeared to me, denial of my present circumstances or not, I had a decision to make.

Control had always been a matter of perception. Accepting those things I had no power over was a first step toward feeling like I at least had my hands on the steering wheel, even if I had to stay on the paved road. Dorothy had to follow her yellow-bricked path, and in a way, I had my destiny laid out before me, even if nothing appeared golden about it. She had to skirt dangers, villains, and fantasy beyond her belief system to find her way home, and if that teenaged braided girl could do it in her land of OZ, so could I.

I glared at the arrogant man who’d had a hand in delivering me the message by bringing me here, but
don’t kill the messenger
rang out in my head, and I smiled.

“Oh, Iain. You think you know me, but you know nothing at all.” My voice purred from my throat. I placed my hands on my hips, making a decision. “I’ve
never
chosen the easy way.
You
are going to learn that the hard way.”

CHAPTER Four

Highlands of
Scotland—Thirteenth Century

When one runs away in denial from something feared to be true, the journey back to reality—no matter how unbelievable—becomes a slow and painful passage.

I sighed, reconciled to my course, absorbing every detail with wary eyes. Landscape obscured by tears when I’d run from my fate revealed itself. Midday’s sun cast a melting glow on a rogue sprinkling of snow while signs of spring bloomed everywhere: from early wildflowers defying the late powdery topping, to people exploiting the brilliant day with focused determination.

Women wore frocks to their toes in brighter colors than I’d imagined. I looked down at my straight, ankle-length flannel skirt.
Damn
. Good thing I’d passed on the leather mini my fingers had lovingly stroked in the closet that morning. I snorted at the irony of wearing plaid. Even my wardrobe seemed to have known where I’d be today. A chilling breeze coaxed me to stretch the cuffs of my sweater protectively over my fingers as I trekked with leaden feet back toward Iain.

Laughter tinkled out from little ones running between their mothers’ skirts. Curious eyes, big as silver dollars, peeked at me from beyond the folds. The women gave me only a cursory glance, likely because no threat would be allowed within the protection of their stone curtain wall.

A sizable garden area opened to my left where young women sowed seeds in neat rows, tilling unusual dark soil. Beyond their farming activity, carved into the wide part of a stream, stretched a mill pond stocked full of fish. I passed animal pens that housed cattle and sheep. Further into the heart of the compound, a gangly teenage boy with a shock of red hair sprouting atop his head led two majestic, well-lathered horses—one gray, the other black—into the stables. A furious plume of smoke spiraled up from the rooftop stack of a stone smithy. The building’s two wooden doors were thrown wide open, and I spied on the blacksmith as he repeatedly dropped a metal hammer onto fiery-red steel. The piercing strikes rang in my ears, and my vivid imagination envisioned a claymore being formed.

As I advanced, an occasional nonchalant glance toward the castle confirmed Iain still stood his ground, watching me intently. His wide, confident posture expressed the absolute certainty he’d had in his earlier prediction. My struggle with the implausible scenario aside,
I’d returned enough from the land of denial to admit the remote possibility. I traveled an uncharted path not knowing my destination in this paradigm shift. How could I know for certain that he didn’t have a better clue about my upsetting situation than I did?

Iain’s foretelling accuracy made no difference to my stubborn, independent Scottish roots, however.
I intended to give the man a worthy hunt. Besides, I reasoned as I gave a wide berth around the training soldiers in the field, my romantic heart needed irrefutable evidence Iain was indeed the one man on Earth meant for me. If the rules in my delusion-turned-reality dictated I had three days to find said man in
this
world, I planned to make the most of my allotment, deciding for myself who would bed me—not the other way around.

Caught up in the moment, I shook my head, chastising myself for allowing crazy thoughts to muddle my priorities. If a passageway had opened, snatching me from my world and depositing me here, I had to believe a return flight existed. No matter how tangible everything seemed, my way back home had to be hidden behind a locked door yet to be found. I needed to learn the rules of the game, discover its secrets, and ferret out the key.

I stepped within a few feet of Iain, and a cocky grin stretched across his handsome face. Sunlight glinted off his hair, highlighting copper strands woven through dark brown locks. His hazel eyes sparkled with pleasure.

I tamped down my irritation at his pride.
Big deal. I returned. Where the hell else am I supposed to go?

My stomach growled, mirroring my mood and reminding me that I’d not eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. I narrowed my eyes at him. “Okay, hotshot. For the moment, I’m a prisoner of circumstance. But I’m assuming you do
feed
your captives?”

Iain
threw his head back, deep laughter booming from his lungs. The rich sound bounced off the stone wall behind him, threatening to overtake the clash of swordplay in the field below. I groaned at his uncontained amusement, glaring at him.

H
e powered down his annoying outburst to a twitching smirk and stepped closer, extending an arm toward the castle’s main entrance. “Aye, Isa. Rowena will make us some food.”

He pressed his other hand
into the small of my back. I brushed past him, but his longer strides closed the gap in seconds, and he silently appeared back at my side.

Iain’s inherent dominance had never failed to set me off-balance, even when I’d only been a casual spectator at the
Highland games. I cast a furtive glance at the man beside me—the only link to my world and my apparent guide in his. Although I’d only begun to know him back in the future-turned-chronological-past California—pieced together from superficial conversations at a few Highland events over the last two years—I already sensed the medieval version of Iain held differences that ran miles deeper than a rougher exterior.

The man was intensity personified
; deadly confidence radiated from him. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Iain had stared the Devil in the face and won the encounter without a single bead of sweat. His calm fearsomeness had likely given opponents at least a moment’s pause before they’d advanced to their certain defeat.

And yet, I found the protective blanket of his powerful presence soothing to my chaotic mind
. The silent balm washed over me, giving my frazzled nerves a much-needed break.

The fleeting peace ended as a large stone-arched entryway opened before us, encasing a massive oak door.
Iain gripped the iron handle. The hinges creaked as he pushed it open and led us into the great hall. One step into the enormous room further entrenched me into never-never land, the striking fantasy wrapping itself around me as it stole my breath away.

The rich scents of salt and fat from cooking meat flooded my senses, making my mouth water. Tri-pronged iron frames in each corner held amber bees
wax tapers, their flames dancing in the air current. The wooden floor, covered in fresh rushes and a purple haze of dried heather, echoed hollow tones beneath our boots. A fire glowed beneath logs in a stone hearth so large, even six-and-a-half-foot Iain could step inside without ducking.

Two stout women bustled about, removing the remains of the prior meal. They tossed bones speckled with sparse meat into the snapping jaws of three wolfhounds whose fierceness and size suggested they weren’t far removed from their namesake. The growling beasts each staked out separate territories between ornately carved armchairs in front of the hearth, settling down to gnaw on their afternoon snacks.

Iain continued into the room, dwarfing the women as he spoke to them in murmured tones. I roamed around feeling as if I’d walked into a museum brought to life, my eyes drinking in every detail, my mind drowning in everything I wanted to touch, feel . . . experience.

A giant tapestry depicting a battle scene drew me to the far wall. The quality of the piece was astonishing. I laughed softly. Of course it looked vibrant and new;
something recently woven would. Brilliant colors and intricate embroidery showed the experiences of Iain’s own clansmen. I feathered my fingertips across the plush surface, amazed at the workmanship.

Appraising an artistic rendition of an actual event made me worry about the time paradox. I stood in a space in time not meant for me. Every action I made undoubtedly caused an altered consequence. My mind swam with the possibilities of millions of tiny changes rippling forward, causing cataclysmic effects in years yet to unfold. The crisp colors slowly hazed into a jumbled mosaic as my strained mind hit overload.

I sank deeply into a suffocating quicksand, barely registering a hand grasping my elbow. Unable to respond, I remained frozen. Gossamer threads that had tethered me to reality snapped, casting me adrift.

Iain tugged me toward him, his strong arms enveloping me in an unexpected embrace. Spent from the overwhelming shock of the last hour’s events, my shoulders sagged. I broke down crying as his protective warmth melted the last of the tough outer shell I’d been clinging to.

I’d never let adversity reduce me to tears; showing weakness wasn’t an option for a woman battling for recognition in a male-dominated profession. The hair-trigger emotional mess I’d become here, however, had lost the capacity to care.

For what seemed like an eternity, he simply held me. Tightening his solid grip, he placed a kiss on the top of my head, leaving his lips there.

The intriguing paradoxes of the man—hard edged but tender, accepting but inflexible, twenty-first century past and medieval future—had me more than a little unsteady on my feet. Yet his two-hundred-fifty-pound, rock-solid frame had become the support holding me upright. My hands slid tentatively around his waist. During my weakest moment, I found solace in the embrace of a man I hardly knew, and yet, felt bound to by an inexplicable connection. Guess I’d become a paradox too.

The downpour across his chest eventually reduced to an occasional teardrop, my sobs turning to hiccups. Iain gently rubbed my back, pulling away without unlocking his powerful arms.

“Doona fret, Isa.”

He tucked a finger under my chin, tilting my face up
. I blinked away the last of my tears as reassuring eyes looked into mine. His dark brows raised slightly, compassion relaxing the features of his face. “I’ll send you home if I can, lass. If not, I’ll protect you. I’ll make you happy.” Every whisper left his lips as a potent promise, seeping into my heart.

Stripped bare and completely vulnerable, I was rendered speechless by his tender assurance. The entire world—
along with any worry or care I’d ever had—ceased to exist in the protection of his arms.

I nodded, raising my hands to the woolen fabric draped across his chest. I wiped my face dry as my hiccups subsided. Numbness settled into my mind, a reprieve from the daunting anxiety that had nearly overtaken me.

With an arm locked tight around me, Iain led us to the nearest of two long tables. His firm hands guided me down onto a bench, preventing my shaking knees from buckling. In the wake of my emotional outburst, I stared at the grain in the wood running lengthwise along the table like a zombie entranced.

Iain grip
ped the edge of a wooden stool with one hand and planted it beneath him, sitting near me at the corner. “I’ve told Mairi to fetch a proper gown for you to wear ’til others can be made.”

I glanced down
at my clothing. Although my appearance hadn’t appeared to attract notice, blending in seemed wise.

The two women rushed back into the room, carrying boards laden with cheese, meat, and two rounds of hollowed-out, crusty bread filled with an aromatic porridge. My stomach growled in response, my mouth watering at the rich fragrant stew wafting under my nose.

Without a word, I devoured my food. The thick, salty bites—full of meat and chunky root vegetables—fueled my body and mind, enabling my brain cells to fire again. Iain watched me as he picked at his food, furrowing his brows.

Unsolved puzzle pieces floated through my mind as I intermittently glanced his way. How much had I ever really known about modern-day Iain? We’d normally debated history facts, training techniques, or the likelihood of my accepting his dinner invitation, so I’d never really learned much about the man. Perhaps my unfamiliarity of him would be a blessing, since the Iain that sat beside me was clearly a different man or, at the very least, a more complex one.

As my thoughts turned more lucid, I discovered my voice again. “Iain, how did you know my name? How do you remember me from my time while still being laird in yours?” I stared at him as I tossed the most troublesome question out in the open.

“I’ve been thinkin’ on that verra thing myself. I doona know for certain.” He rubbed his bearded chin. “When you .
 . . we . . . came here, I fell to the floor. Pain exploded through my head. Memories from both times melded together, fightin’ for space in there.” He knocked his temple.