Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (9 page)

Unfortunately, that wasn’t about to happen.

“Lany and I have a slight emergency to take care of. You don’t mind keeping an eye on Vyn a while longer, do you?”

“Can ye no take him with you?’ Dallan asked, trying to keep the pleading sound in his voice to a minimum.

“Oh, I’m afraid not,” John beg
an in time to catch Dallan’s fi
erce look. “Kwaku is involved and…”

Dallan’s look suddenly turned mu
rderous. “Say no more, John.”  He sighed in resignation. “Th
e lad
can stay here. How long will ye be away?”

“About twenty minutes, maybe thirty.”

 
“Best be off
then,” Dallan grumbled.
The Scot didn’t really want the boy there, but knew as well as John that Vyn would be safer if he stayed. After what the bloody heathen did to Padric, he would take no chance
s
with any of the younger lads. Dallan began to seethe just thinking about it.

Vyn gazed at him curiously. “Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” Dallan asked as John stepped into the cottage. He took an odd w
riting instrument out of his fl
owing robes and carefully placed it on the small table against the wall.

“Like you’re going to be sick,” Vyn exclaimed with unrestrained glee. “My dad looks like that sometimes, right before he throws up!”

John abruptly turned and shot the boy a father’s warning glare.

Vyn defi
antly glared right back. “Well, he does!”

John ignored him and looked to
Dallan. “I’ll be back.” He
looked at Vyn. “And
you
behave yourself.” He
then
left the cottag
e to allow young Master Mosgofi
an the opportunity t
o dissect the Scot as he saw fi
t.

Vyn didn’t waste any time. “Do you miss Scotland?” he blurted out suddenly.

A painful gasp
sounded from outside the cottage door, distracting Dallan long enough to sigh. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the interview was still underway, only the interviewer had changed; it now obvious that Vyn had been left on purpose. Dallan gritted his teeth knowing he was in for it. He always avoided the younger lads as much as possible, for obvious reasons, and one in particular. Perhaps it had become obvious to others now.

The big Scot stared Vyn right in the eye, the boy returning the look boldly. “Well?” Vyn began, his tone demanding. “Do you miss Scotland?”

Dallan’s look softened as he remembe
red having Alasdair in his lap.
Was it so long ago? Had so many years passed already? Saints but he was tired—tired of being trapped in Genis Lee, tired of having his life dictated by Kwaku, directed, overseen, dispatched day in and day out. Tired of being lonely.

He let himself give in to the boy’s demands and answered with a softened voice,
  
“Aye, laddie. That I do.”

“Will you tell me about it?” Vyn asked innocently.

Dallan chuckl
ed lightly. John Eaton was definitely diff
erent from the Councilors sent before him, and the opposite of Kwaku Awahnee. What could it hurt; he thought. He so liked to talk of home, a luxury he’d been denied by the heathen for far too long.

Dallan smiled slightly. “Aye, laddie, I will.”

* * *

 
John and Lany listened to the Scot tell young Vyn of his belov
ed Scotland in a cottage not twenty
yards away. The
simple
communications device John had left on the table in the smaller cottage picked up even the tiniest of sounds emitted by Dallan and the boy.

At last there was hope as Dallan’s voice began to take on a tender yet teasing tone with Vyn, telling him of Glencoe, of France, and of the Faerie Folk, a very encouraging sign. Yet, not once did Dallan mention Alasdair.

No matter, thought John.
He knew it would take time.

All night long on my bed

I looked for the one my heart loves;

I looked for him but did not fi
nd him.

I will get up now and go about the city,

Th
rough its streets and squares;

I will search for the one my heart loves.

So I
looked for him, but did not fi
nd him.

Song of Songs 3:1-2

CHAPTER FOUR

Shona crossed the soft grass, her mind oblivious to everything but what lay ahead, her heart all but screaming with every step. She had no way to describe the emotions which welled up from inside her whenever he was near, nor could she think of any logical explanation why she needed him so much. But she knew that without him, she would surely die.

The little boy jumped and chased several hounds in the grass behind a two-story stone house, just where she knew he would be. His black hair g
listened in the sunshine and fl
ew about as he played, his bright green eyes shining with mischief and laughter. Thankfully no one would come out of the house to d
isturb him. No one ever did. Th
ey would be alone.

Shona was perfectly content to
stand and watch him, not allowing
her presence
to
be known.
Not yet.  But o
h how she wanted to join him. He was having such a good time. Perhaps if she eased toward him slowly he would not be as frightened of her as she sensed he would. Perhaps if she gave him just a tiny glimpse of her, he would not feel compelled to run away. He might even speak to her, if she were very lucky. She took another step in his direction and willed her presence upon him, the dogs able to sense her immediately.

The boy looked around himself, turning a complete circle as he tried vainly to see what had ups
et his grandfather’s hounds. Th
ey barked wildly at a spot to his left, yet nothing was there
, nor did he see anything emerg
ing from the trees beyond the house. What could be bothering them? What had they sensed?

He spoke to the dogs soothingly in an attempt at calming them, and they quieted except for an occasional whine or two as he again searched his surroundings. He continued talking to them in his mother tongue, its pleasant rolling sound calming not only the animals but capturing Shona as well. Its lilt embedded itself in her soul and settled to take root, as if committi
ng her to its sound.

She willed her presence forward, asking him to come.

The boy
flinched slightly before he
turned around slowly to
face her, his features
frozen in place. Afraid to look him in the eye, she stared at the grassy glen instead, her long hair blowing all about her. Carefully, with as much restraint as could be mustered, she looked up at him.

A fi
erce possessiveness came over Shona as she gazed at him and it reached the boy in a gentle caress. She knew the sensation frightened him, though
he didn’t show it, his eyes fi
lled with curiosity and wonder instead.
She aff
orded him some reassurance by channeling the possessiveness into need. Let him feel her need for him, she thought. Perhaps he would be more receptive and allow her to play with him. She just wanted to be his friend and she was lonely. Could he not come to her?

But something told Shona that now was not the time.
Danger lurked nearby.  She could suddenly sense it and reminded herself s
he had other things to do. She must
get what she came for or suffer
later. She too had to survive, to be protected, or she would die.
Hunted down by the horrible emptiness and the master that drove it. 
Again, she didn’t know how she knew, she just did. She had to do what her heart told her and do it quickly; time was running out.

The boy took a hesitant step toward her. She smiled.
Hurry,
she thought,
please hurry. There is little time and I must go soon.

He took another step, still indecisive.
Hurry!
Shona hoped her urgency did not frighten
hi
m, but she could feel
the fi
rst twinges of a dark searing pain
, p
ain that would consume her if he did not give
her what she needed, quickly.
Please …

She fought the urge to bolt into the nearby forest.  To run from t
h
e emptiness
as it now
began to deepen, pulling her into it ever so slowly.
Hurry…

The bo
y
quickly glanced around, sensing the danger as well, then
took another step, more
confi
dent
as his decision was made. He shuddered and s
he knew he felt what had her in i
ts grip.  With a determined stance
he looked deeply into her eyes, her very core
,
and committed her image to memory.  He knew to lock
it away deep within himself to plant the seed of her identity in his soul. When fully grown, it would serve to recognize her when it came time to join her heart forever with his. But he had to give her something, something that would allow that recognition to take place, something of his that would be easily recognizable once he saw it again. Shona knew there was on
ly o
ne thing that would work.
As
did he.

The emptiness
suddenly
tightened its hold and she gasped as if choked.
The boy
quickly held his gift
out to her and she reached for it gratefully, taking it from him with the utmost care, clutching the fragile treasure protectively and allowing it time to adjust to its new home, all the while letting him know she would guard what he gave her with her very life. No harm would come to his gift as long as she was alive, and
though the pain assailing her would have it otherwise,
that would be for a very long time.

Time! She had to go.
No, please not yet. Please let me stay with him, just
a little while longer. I do not want to go!

But her heart
bade her
to
go, and she was unable to disobey. She turned to leave, glancing back once to smile at the boy who stood and smiled in return, pleased she had liked his gift enough to take and keep it.
Now
she could
rest, the emptiness
leaving her. I
t would stay away
until she had
to fi
nd him again and re
turn the gift he had so unselfi
shly given to her. For by then it would be grown into and joined with her to become something new. For now, it would protect her and keep her safe until
the time came to give back the most precious
gift
she could ever receive. 

H
is heart.

* * *

Shona sat bolt upright in bed unable to comprehend or p
lace the horrible sound engulfi
ng her. It brutally shook the usually solid timber of her consciousnes
s, allowing confusion to fl
ood in betwe
en the cracks.

Yet
just as
suddenly, the horrid noise stopped.

“Really, Shona, I wish you would learn to either turn your alarm off or use a clock with a snooze button. This one has the most annoying sound I have ever heard! How can you stand to wake up to this thing every morning?”

Shona looked dumbly from the alarm clock on her nightstand to her mother at her bedside, a scream now lodged belligerently in her throat, its displeasure at not being released evident as a dull ache began to throb in the same area.

“Were you up late again last night?” Her mother inquired, concerned. “You look pale.”

Shona shook her head numbly in response as disappointment made its timely descent into her heart. She had woken up, or rather had
been
woken up, the little boy once again left far behind.
And
they had been communicating
in the dream
,
he’d done something
. She could never r
emember many of the details
, only him. And now he was gone. T
h
e
thought was
heart-wrenching
, and she clutc
hed the edge of her quilt to fi
ght
off the horrible sense of loss which was crazy in itself. They were only dreams …