Highlander in Her Dreams (31 page)

Hoping that he was right, Kira fished the flashlight out of her backpack and let him pull her higher up the grassy slope. They found an entrance quickly, with surprising ease. The dark, low-linteled opening seemed to stare right at them, an impenetrable-looking black hole in the hillside, its contours softened by thick-growing underbrush.

It also looked painfully small.

A rabbit hole she doubted either one of them could squeeze into.

Her stomach tightening, she flicked on the flashlight and aimed it into the darkness. A few moss-covered stone steps gleamed weakly in the narrow band of light. Nothing else was discernible except the narrowness of the dank, low-ceilinged entry.

“I don't think anyone above four feet can get down those steps.” She turned to Aidan, sure he'd agree. “Especially not you.”

To her surprise, he simply shoved the Invincible back into its scabbard and stretched his arms, flexing his fingers. “Once we've mastered the steps and crept through the long passage, we'll come to the inner chamber, Kee-
rah
. We'll be able to stand upright then. You'll see. It willna be so bad.”

He pulled her close, tightening his arms around her before he released her and grabbed the flashlight. “Come now,” he said, ducking low and stepping into the darkness. “Follow close behind me and keep your head down. Dinna straighten until I tell you.”

And then he was gone, the blackness swallowing him as he descended deeper into the cairn.

“Oh, God.” Kira threw one last glance at the parked rental car, then dipped her head to hurry after him.

Cold, damp, and silence slammed into her, the smell of earth and old stone.

Grabbing the back of Aidan's plaid, she prayed her feet wouldn't slip on the mossy steps. Then, before she knew it, they'd reached the bottom and were crouching along a tight, cobbled passage, its walls seeming to grow more constricting the farther they went.

“We're almost there, Kee-
rah
.” Aidan's voice echoed in the darkness. “Dinna be afraid.”

Then he was straightening, pulling her up with him and wrapping a strong arm around her waist, holding her close. They were in a small, oval-shaped chamber with high, stone-slabbed walls and a corbeled ceiling. Kira thought she saw a few tipped-over urns and the remains of an ancient-looking fire, but before she could be certain, Aidan clicked off the flashlight.

“I dinna think it's wise to use your light now, sweetness.” He took her hand, easing her down onto the cold stone floor beside him. He gathered her against him, keeping their fingers tightly laced. “We'll just sit here and think of Wrath and hope the magic works.”

In the silence, she heard the soft
hiss
of the Invincible leaving its sheath, then the rustle of his plaid as he settled the great sword across his knees. Its pommel stone glowed a faint red in the darkness, but all else was black. A deep, cloying blackness that suddenly zoomed in on them, then snapped back, exploding into a wild, spinning vortex of bright, eye-piercing color.

Icy wind rushed past them and the ground shook, tilting crazily as the tornado-like wind swirled faster. Kira's skirts flew up into her face, covering her head until she yanked them down.

“Aidan—my clothes!” She grabbed his arm, digging her fingers into him. “My medieval clothes are back!” She twisted around, straining to see him, but where he should have been, was only a flash of black and wild glen, the kind that could have been inhabited by witches and demons. Lightning crackled and
zished
across the chamber's ceiling, booming thunder splitting her ears.

“Wha—” she cried out, but the image vanished instantly, replaced by a young girl in peasant's clothing, a willow-wand basket clutched to her hip.

The girl disappeared, too, swept away before Kira even really saw her. More images followed, each one whizzing past at light speed, whirling and whirling, the colors and roar of the wind making her dizzy.

“Kee-
rah
! Hold on, lass!” Aidan's voice rose above the chaos.

Kira felt his arm tighten around her, almost squeezing the breath from her as a yelling, helmeted Viking war band sped past them, followed immediately by a quick glimpse into the splendor of a Victorian great hall, complete with dark-paneled walls hung with stag heads, weaponry, and gilt-framed portraits. A swirl of cloud and mist came next, then a broad, open stretch of empty moorland, thick with heather and broom.

A field of daffodils, giving way to the sudden skirl of bagpipes as an army of Highlanders crested a hill, their swords glinting in brilliant sunshine, their banners streaming in the wind.

Then the cloud and mist returned, the loud wail of the pipes melting into the darkness, leaving only cold and silence, the soft red glow of the Invincible's pommel stone, and the distant howls of a dog.

“By the Rood! That's Ferlie.” Aidan shot to his feet, pulling her up beside him. “Kee-
rah
, sweet, it's over. We've made it. We're on the arch.”

Kira kept her death grip on his arm, her heart pounding. “Thank God!” She glanced at him. “But do you think it's real? Not like all those images that just whirled past?”

“Och, 'tis Wrath, aye.” Aidan laughed. “Sure as I'm standing here. I can even see my men patrolling the far side of the parapet walk. And the ladder—it's still here, propped against the gatehouse, just as we left it.”

Kira swallowed. Joy swept her when she saw the top of the ladder peeping up over the edge of the arch, the two burly guards on the opposite wall-walk. Ross and Geordie, if she wasn't mistaken. The Invincible rested on the smooth stone of the arch top, the red gleam of its pommel now matched by the flickering orange-red glow of the smokehouse fires down on the landing strand.

They were home.

“Come, lass, I've a score to settle.” Aidan snatched up his sword, sheathing it, before he turned toward the ladder. “Let's hope we're no' too late.”

Scrambling down, he held up his arms for her, helping her descend. He threw a quick glance through the swirling mist toward his keep, relieved to see torchlight glimmering at the window slits. With luck, the feasting would still be in full swing, his cousin yet locked in his dungeon cell.

They pounded across the cobbles and burst into the hall. Aidan skidded to a halt, disbelief stopping his heart. Instead of being full of stir and turmoil, shouts and laughter, the hall was empty. No one sat at the rows of long tables. On the dais, his overturned laird's chair and a toppled bench indicated a hasty departure. As did the many filled trenchers and ale cups, the still-burning candles in the silver candelabrums.

Aidan's blood ran cold.

Now he knew why the hall door had stood wide and poor Ferlie howled somewhere, deep in the bowels of the castle.

The other castle dogs were gone, though by straining his ears, he could hear them now. Barking in the distance, along with the muffled cries of men. A woman's sudden piercing wail, the sound making his gut clench.

“Guidsakes! It's happening!” He grabbed Kira's hand, pulling her with him from the hall, racing to the low arched door that led to the dungeon. “Tavish!” he roared, shouting as they ran. “Hold, man! We're coming!”

But when they rushed down the dark, narrow stair and reached Conan Dearg's cell, the heavy iron-bound door stood cracked, a fresh-looking pool of blood near the threshold leaving no doubt as to what had transpired.

“Dear God!” Beside him, Kira clapped a hand to her throat, her face paling as she stared at the blood. “We're too late.”

“Nay! Dinna say it.” Aidan whipped around, pressing his hand against her lips. “It could be my cousin's blood. It
must
be—I'll no' allow otherwise!”

Kira looked at him, her stomach clenching. “Then they'll be down at the boat strand—the drowning part.”

“That'll be the way of it,” he agreed, already sprinting down the fetid passage. “Pray God we get there in time.”

Streaking after him, Kira kept a hand pressed to her ribs, half afraid her heart would jump right through them if she didn't. Aidan almost scared her. Never had she seen him look so fierce.

So deadly.

He shot up the stairs and through the hall with explosive speed, gripping his sword hilt as he ran, not breaking stride until they'd crossed the bailey and neared the small postern door in the curtain walling. As at Conan Dearg's cell, they found the door ajar. Ferlie paced to and fro in front of the opening, howling and fretting, his lame back legs keeping him from bounding down the cliff steps to the landing strand below.

“He's no' dead, Ferlie,” Aidan tossed at him, pausing just long enough at the top of the steps to reach again for Kira's hand. “I can see him! Tavish. And my cousin.” He glanced at her, his eyes wild, blazing. “They're at the water's edge, fighting.”

And they were. Kira saw them now as well. Aidan's men and a pack of crazed, barking dogs crowded the little strand, Tavish and Conan Dearg going at each other in the middle of a small cleared circle. She saw, too, that the reddish-orange glow she'd noticed from the arch wasn't caused by the strand's smokehouses, but came from the torches that many of Aidan's men held above their heads. The flames gave the scene a hellish taint, the men's shouts and the clashing shriek of steel meeting steel filling her with terror.

In Wrath Bay, a lone galley sped seaward, its hoisted sail declaring the MacLeod colors, the widow's face as she stood clutching the rail bathed as red as the torch flames. Her raven hair streamed in the night wind and her galley was already beginning to founder, lurching heavily to one side as it raced toward the rocks of Wrath Isle.

“Oh, God,” Kira cried as they flew down the steep cliff-side steps. “It's just like you said it would be! That boat's going to hit those rocks any minute, and Tavish—”

“—is holding his own,” Aidan panted as they tore down the last few steps and leapt onto the pebbly strand, “and I'm about to relieve him!”

Aidan wrenched the Invincible from its scabbard. Men leapt back, freeing a path as he ran across the beach, sword raised, fury in his eye. Ahead, Tavish and Conan Dearg circled each other, blades feinting and slashing, both men bloodstained and sweating.

His own sword already lashing, Aidan hurled himself at his cousin, sweeping the Invincible in a great, eye-blinding figure-eight motion. “Conan Dearg!” he roared, “'tis time for a reckoning!”

“A mercy!” Tavish spun around, his eyes flying wide. “Aidan!” he cried, his relief evident. “A God's name! I dinna believe it!”

The distraction cost him. Quick as lightning, Conan Dearg dove, swinging his blade in an wide arc that would've lopped off Tavish's head if Aidan hadn't whirled round, kicking Tavish so hard he flew back against the wall of gathered men.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mundy catch him, seizing Tavish's sword and tossing it aside as he snaked a quick arm around Tavish's waist, holding him so he couldn't rush back into the circle.

“So it comes down to the two of us!” Conan Dearg taunted, Tavish forgotten. “I've waited long for the day!”

“'Tis the day you die, Cousin.” Aidan lunged, taking a first cut on Conan Dearg's arm. “Breathe your last while you can.”

Conan Dearg laughed and came at him, his sword glinting red in the torchlight as it crashed against Aidan's with a loud, arm-jarring
clank
. With a ferocious burst of strength, Aidan knocked him back, grunting with satisfaction when Conan Dearg lost his footing on the slick shingle, his blade nearly flying from his hand.

Aidan smiled, advancing before Conan Dearg could right himself. “You're tired…clumsy. Come, let me help you find rest!”

“A pox on you!” Conan Dearg yelled, swaying on his feet. “You will rue…”

“That I didn't do this years ago!” Aidan finished, ramming the Invincible deep into his cousin's chest. Hoisting him in the air, he spat on him. “May you find the devil good company.”

Conan Dearg stared at him, his eyes bulging, a trickle of blood bubbling from his lips. Glaring at him, Aidan withdrew his blade and resheathed it, grabbing his cousin before he could topple to the ground.

With a great heave, he pushed him into the surf, dusting his hands as Conan Dearg landed with a splash, a flicker of life still gleaming in his eyes as he stared up at Aidan.

“So you die by drowning,” Aidan informed him, stepping closer to the water's edge. “As the history books decried.”

“The
history books
?” Tavish spoke at his shoulder, looking on as Conan Dearg went limp, his eyes glazing as the tide claimed him.

Aidan drew a deep breath, then slung an arm around his friend, pulling him close. “I'll explain later,” he panted, releasing Tavish to drag his sleeve over his forehead. “After I've seen to whoe'er poisoned Kee-
rah
.” He glanced round at his men, raising his voice when they pressed closer, their cheers and shouts loud in his ears. “Or do you think it was Conan Dearg? Fenella?”