Awaken the Highland Warrior (20 page)

Bree turned off the engine. Faelan opened the car door and stepped out. A gust swirled at his knees, lifting the edge of his kilt. He pulled in the crisp highland air, filling his lungs with memories. The trees were thicker, taller, but the lay of the land was the same. The stable was larger, and he could see horses in the back fields. There’d always been horses. They hadn’t had Mustangs with powerful engines back then. There was a large building close to the castle, with several trucks parked outside and other buildings beyond it. He went around to open Bree’s door, but as usual, she’d already jumped out.

“It’s beautiful,” Bree said, her head turning in all directions.

“My great-great-great-grandfather built it to house all the warriors who came through.” In Faelan’s day, the grounds had been astir with young boys training. From the time a lad could walk, he was groomed to be a warrior. From birth until death, the warrior blood flowed, but the responsibilities changed to make room for families, for a new generation to be bred. The retired warriors handled most of the training, some specializing in weapons, others fighting, and some instructing in spiritual matters, so a lad understood the importance of his mission, why he was required to make such a sacrifice. All areas had to be mastered before warriors could do battle.

The active warriors, when time allowed, took pride in demonstrating special skills, how to fight, using their weapons and minds. Faelan remembered the first time he’d seen Kieran, how big and powerful he seemed to a lad of fourteen years. Kieran had done more than teach Faelan what it meant to be a warrior. The mentor had become a trusted friend, fighting by Faelan’s side, and in the end, Kieran had given his life so Faelan could live. A debt Faelan could never repay.

“Do you think Druan saw this place before he built his?”

“I think if Druan had seen this place he would’ve tried to destroy it.” Maybe his clan would know how such a thing could be. Faelan’s stomach knotted like twine. How would his family take meeting an ancestor who should be rotting in a grave? He glanced at Bree for reassurance, thinking how strange to be in his own land, standing in front of his home, finding comfort and familiarity in the face of someone he’d met only days before.

What would she do if his family didn’t believe him? Would she abandon him? Eventually, she would. She’d fall in love, maybe with the archeologist, marry, and have bairns. Jealousy took the edge off his nerves.

“Is it always this windy?” she asked, eyeing his flapping kilt.

“Aye. Much of the time.” He’d warned her to pack warmer clothes, and they purchased thick shirts and a coat for him when they went to get his identification.

“You realize we’ve just set foot in Scotland and you already sound more like a Scot?”

“That’s the way of it. Always has been.” When he became a warrior, he went wherever his assigned demon went, which was often and far. He’d mingled and hidden, whichever was necessary, picking up customs and languages from many lands. But this was home.

She smiled and reached for his hand. “Let’s go meet your descendents.”

Faelan nodded. “We can fetch our things if they invite us to stay.”

“They will.” Bree squeezed his fingers, and they started for the entrance. The door opened, and his brother Tavis stepped out.

Or his brother’s spitting image. Dark hair hung to his shoulders. He wore a white shirt and a kilt, the same tartan as Faelan’s, and a leather strap around his neck. Faelan struggled to control the rush of emotion. It wouldn’t be good to disgrace himself before he was introduced.

“I’m Bree Kirkland.” Bree stepped forward and put out her hand. Faelan could see two shadows lurking inside the open door. They were being watched, of course. No warrior would trust her story without proof.

“Duncan Connor,” Tavis’s image said, shaking Bree’s hand, but watching Faelan. “You said you had news of an ancestor. I thought you’d be alone.” He looked at Faelan’s kilt and frowned, his face so like Tavis, he could have been his ghost.

“I have more than news. I’ve brought him. This is… this is Faelan Connor,” Bree said motioning to him. They’d decided it best to spill it all up front and see where it landed.

“Faelan Connor?” Duncan’s baffled gaze searched Faelan’s face. Faelan’s dread deepened with each added line in Duncan’s forehead. “We don’t have any Faelans in the family, except The Mighty—”

“I’m Faelan Connor,” he said, holding out his talisman. “Your ancestor.”

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Is this a joke?”

“Out of my way,” a crusty voice said, and Duncan was pushed aside. An old man stepped out, followed by two younger men—one reddish-haired, one blond—clad in kilts, hands hanging deceptively loose over their dirks. The old man ran his hands through his hair, eyes lit with wonder. “I was starting to think I wouldn’t live to see it.” He studied Faelan’s talisman, then his face. He ran his hands over Faelan’s forehead and cheeks like a blind man would. The old man turned to Duncan, his eyes glistening. “You’re looking at the Mighty Faelan, put in the vault by the demon Druan a century and a half ago.”

Duncan stared at the old man as if he suffered from madness. “There are legends, but…”

“I’m Sean Connor.” The man patted Faelan on the arm. “By my recollections, I’d be your great-great-nephew, and Duncan here would be your great-great-great-nephew. Welcome home, lad. Welcome home. You can’t know how glad we are that you’re here.” A crooked smile split his face, and Faelan’s burden slipped away.

He cleared his throat. “Dust,” he mumbled, blinking.

“Aye, it’s getting to me, too. Coira, come quick,” the old man yelled, his movements so agitated Faelan thought the man might break out in dance.

“It could be a trick,” Duncan said.

“Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

“It might be a shell.”

“No, that talisman belongs to none other than Faelan Connor. It’s in one of the portraits inside. Besides, he looks just like you, any fool can see that.” To Faelan, Sean said, “We’ve been expecting you, but not like this. Come on inside, and we’ll get it all sorted out, right enough. Coira! Blimey, where’s that woman when you need her?”

Home. He was home. Faelan glanced at Bree’s damp eyes and fought the swell of emotions. There were times it wasn’t good to be a man.

“It’s really him?” Duncan stared as the other two warriors moved closer, eyes wide, jaws slack.

“It’s the Mighty Faelan,” the red-haired one whispered in awe.

“You must be my brother Tavis’s great-grandson,” Faelan said to Duncan.

“No. Tavis was my great-great-great-uncle. I’m a descendent of… of your brother, Ian,” Duncan said, looking dazed. “I’ve heard the legend since I was a lad. We all have, but most believed you’d died.”

“I have to say I was starting to have a wee doubt myself. We’ve had a swarm of warriors and Seekers looking for that key this past year. We were getting a bit desperate, what with the Watchers being so troubled these last few weeks, and knowing it was long past time for you to awake.” He moved deeper into the foyer.

“What are Watchers?” Bree asked.

“They have dreams, warn us of trouble,” Sean said. “Like guards. They’ve been worried about Druan. We’ve searched for him for decades, but he was spotted only once or twice in all the years since I was born.”

“We found him,” Faelan said. “In New York. We found his lair.”

Sean stopped, bushy eyebrows lifted. “Blessed be. Now that we have you and your talisman, we’ll send him to hell.”

“Are there many warriors now?” Faelan asked the old man.

“Aye, as many as you need. There’s Duncan here, Tomas, Brodie, and a whole parcel of others. Some are here, some out hunting, and others are on the way. We weren’t sure… well, about the lass’s reason for coming. Wait until you see how things have changed, lad. Tomas, Brodie,” Sean said to the two tall, lean warriors lurking in the background, “one of you find Coira for me. Hurry now, you can talk to him after we let everyone know.” Sean rubbed his hands together. “We’ve got celebrating to do.” He scuttled forward, and Faelan followed his great-great-nephew into the home where Faelan had been born and played as a child.

The portrait on the wall stopped him as if his boots were mired in stable muck. He reached out and touched the painting, afraid it would disintegrate. His mother and father, Tavis, Ian, Alana, all staring back at him from a lifetime ago. Two years, in his time.

The day was still etched in his memory, his mother nearly in tears because his father complained his shirt was choking him, and Faelan and his brothers wouldn’t stop squirming. They were already late for the games. Ian was sweet on a lass there, and Tavis was nursing a grudge against the warrior he’d let beat him in the caber toss the year before. The warriors were too strong to truly compete with local clans, but if they hadn’t participated, it would have drawn too much attention, so they tempered their strength. Although, Tavis had to be reminded from time to time.

Bree touched Faelan’s hand. “He looks like you,” she said, pointing at Tavis. “And that must be Alana. She does resemble the painting we saw. Is that you?” She pointed at a small laddie with mussed dark hair and an inquisitive face.

Faelan’s jaw tightened. “No, Liam.”

“Liam? He’s adorable—oh, look at this one. It has the four-leaf clover,” Bree said, distracted by another of Alana’s paintings, and Faelan was relieved he didn’t have to explain.

There were several paintings of his brothers, his parents, Nandor, many of them done by Alana.

“Why did she use a four-leaf clover?”

“One leaf for each of us. She said, as far as brothers went, she could’ve done worse.”

“You had a beautiful family.”

Had.

“You’re welcome to anything you see,” Sean said. He and Duncan had stopped as well. “The whole place is rightfully yours.”

Faelan would take the portrait. It was all he had left of his family. He looked at the old man waiting anxiously, eyes shining, and Duncan still looking suspicious, exactly how Tavis would, if he were alive. No, it wasn’t all. The portrait was paper and paint. Sean and Duncan and the others he hadn’t met, they were what remained of his family. Spirit, flesh, and blood.

Within the hour, there was a celebration fit for a king. Faelan met more relatives than he could remember names, and they were all talking at once, asking questions about how Bree found him and what would happen now. Children rushed to and fro, laughing, hiding under tables as young lassies giggled and the older ones sighed. Food appeared from nowhere, modern and traditional. He hoped the haggis and blood pudding hadn’t been prepared in his honor, since he’d never had a taste for either. He had gotten a good laugh when Brodie sneaked some onto Bree’s plate, and she’d turned white as sheep’s wool.

“Well, now, it appears I’m too late,” a sultry voice drawled. “The legend has already arrived.”

Faelan turned and saw a woman standing near the door. She was a bonny thing, if you liked redheads. Dressed all in black. Black shirt, black skirt—short skirt. Faelan could see the hilt of a
sgian dubh
at the top of a black boot that reached her knees. She stared at him until heat rose up his neck. Unable to help himself, and irritated because of it, he glanced at Bree to see if she’d noticed.

She had.

“Come in, lass. Don’t linger in the doorway.” Sean motioned for her to come forward. “Faelan, Bree, this is Sorcha, a cousin.” He leaned close to Faelan and whispered, “Gird your loins, lad.”

Sorcha gave him a long, slow look from top to bottom, and Faelan felt like he was being fondled from afar. She slinked across the room and stood motionless, staring at him, one eyebrow arched. “The Mighty Faelan, so I didn’t have to come get you after all?” She turned her head and gave an assessing, then dismissive, glance at Bree, who took a long sip of wine before setting it aside. A hand appeared from behind a bookcase, refilling her glass.

“What do you mean?” Faelan asked. When had women become so bold?

“I was coming to wake you,” Sorcha replied.

“You?” Duncan blurted out.

Sean stroked his chin. “The Council decided Sorcha should join Angus.”

“Why wasn’t I told?” Duncan asked, frowning.

“You were busy with that demon in Belfast,” Sean said.

“You would’ve gotten in the way, cousin.” Sorcha waved her hand as if Duncan was of no consequence.

“Why her?” he demanded.

“She’s dreamed of the key.”

“We’ve all dreamed of the key.” Duncan gave Sorcha a black glare, but she turned her back on Duncan, focusing on Faelan, who wished she’d look elsewhere. She was making him jittery.

“You should’ve told me it was her,” Duncan said, under his breath.

“Who’s Angus?” Faelan asked.

“The last one sent to look for the key.”

“A Seeker?” Bree asked, her words friendlier than her expression.

“No, a warrior,” Sean said.

“How could you wake me without the key?” Faelan asked Sorcha.

“I was going to find it, assuming Angus hadn’t already done so,” she said, a shadow crossing her face. “Like Sean said, I’ve dreamt of it.”

Another
woman coming to rescue him.

“And I’ve dreamt of
you
.”

Sorcha smiled, and again he felt like he should apologize to Bree. This wouldn’t do. He’d done nothing wrong. He had no ties on Bree and she had none on him, regardless what his body screamed. Just lust, he thought, then wondered why he didn’t feel the same pull for this attractive woman standing too close to him, looking like she wanted to make him her next meal.

“What kind of dreams?” he asked, immediately regretting his question.

Sorcha’s eyes flashed and her lips tilted.

“Stop with your silly grins and tell him what he wants to know,” Duncan said.

He was a good foot taller, but Sorcha managed to look down her nose at him. “I’ve had them for weeks now,” she told Faelan. “Dreams of destruction and mayhem. And a key.
The
key.” She frowned. “There’s danger in that key yet. Keep it safe.” She started to tremble, then gave him a coy smile, and he decided she must have been wiggling her body at him. “Then, there were the handsome men.”

Duncan ground his teeth together.

What kind of woman behaved so brazen in a crowd?

“Russell is handsome,” Bree said, giving her wine glass a puzzled look before she took another sip.

Faelan’s hands clenched. Russell was a demon, for God’s sake. She ought to stop talking about him like he was a man.

“Good grief.” Bree giggled, looking from Faelan to Duncan, who stood next to him, still glowering at the audacious redhead. “Look at those frowns. You two could be brothers.” She set her glass down, and Faelan saw Brodie slip around and refill it, wearing a sly grin. Faelan would’ve been worried the warrior was trying to get her drunk and take advantage of her, but he’d seen Brodie doing it to several others as well, female and male. A prankster. Probably descended from Ian.

“There, even the lass sees the resemblance,” Sean told his son.

Like Isabel and Bree, Faelan thought, who looked the same but were a century apart.

“Who’s Russell?” Sorcha asked.

“That’s the human name we think Druan is using now,” Faelan said. “We’re not sure if he knows I’ve been freed, so we might have the element of surprise. But there’s not much time. He’s trying to find the key. I don’t know why the disease hasn’t been released.”

“I may know something about that,” Sean said, and the room fell quiet.

Faelan looked around the room. “Is it safe to speak of such things?”

“We’re all family. Bound by blood and oath, and Bree brought you to us, so I think that makes it acceptable for her to be here.”

Family. Not Tavis, Ian, Alana, or his parents, but born of them, carrying their blood. He wasn’t completely lost.

“We all knew the legend,” Sean said, “but most believed it a myth, like dragons and such, but I heard stories from my father and my grandfather when I was a wee lad, when they thought I was fast asleep. Your brothers, they went to help you.” He paused, and not a sound could be heard in the room. “And they found you.”

Faelan’s breath felt like a gust of wind trying to squeeze through a hole too small. “My brothers found the time vault? They came?”

“Aye. A storm had delayed them. The Seeker who traveled with them found the time vault, but it was buried in a field. They didn’t know if you were alive or dead. They had to hide you, but the time vault couldn’t be moved far. My grandfather spoke of a graveyard nearby and how Tavis secured an empty crypt from a man named Belville.”

“Belville? That was my great-great-grandfather’s last name,” Bree said, her face flushed from her wine.

“Frederick Belville?”

“Yes.”

“Blimey. Then you must be Emily’s granddaughter.”

“You knew my grandmother?”

“Met her once. Last year Coira and I went to look for the key. The time vault was ready to be opened, and the Council was anxious. We suspected Druan had something planned, but without the key there was no way to bring Faelan and his talisman back. Your grandmother invited us to stay, but Coira got ill, and we had to leave. To think we were so close to the key.” Earlier, Bree had told them about finding it on the mantel. “No use fretting about it now. Things usually work out as they’re meant to. How is your grandmother?”

“She died a few months ago. Cancer.”

“I’m sorry lass. I am. She was a kind soul.”