Darian Mulvaney watched the others as they settled at the table, trying to sort out who knew what this time. His memory of the eighth century, of his father Erc’s demise and his own pledge, was crystal clear, but he hadn’t been so fortunate each time he and Bridei met.
The Fates were capricious when it came to memory. To Darien’s good fortune, it seemed there was still considerable confusion in the others’ minds.
Julian, fortunately, had no recollection of the past he and Darian shared. Baird seemed to harbor some animosity—and no wonder after all the times Darian had hacked the life out of him—but apparently his memory was unclear. Darian could use that advantage.
And he would.
Aurelia, the prize herself, was even more lovely awake than asleep. If he had ever seen her like this, he might have taken her on one of his many other visits to Dunhelm. Or let Bridei succeed and steal her from beneath the man’s nose.
Which would have been interesting, to say the least. Thus far, his only interest in Aurelia had been thwarting Bridei’s goal of saving her from her curse. Obviously, Darian’s thirst for vengeance had blinded him to the possibilities.
Possibilities that were very interesting indeed.
He’d have to ensure that didn’t happen again.
Darian smiled at his reluctant host. “I certainly have to thank you, Mr. Beauforte, for extending your hospitality to me,” he said expansively, watching the other man’s response with care. “It’s such a treat to have a good country meal.”
Aurelia leaned toward him with a trusting smile. “Elizabeth is a very good cook,” she said with the grace of a queen. “I am certain that whatever she has conjured will be wondrous indeed.”
Marissa snorted delicately. “Aurelia, darling, though such home-cooked fare suits a rural appetite like your own, some of us have more sophisticated palates.” She slid a hand over Baird’s and eyed him through her lashes. “Isn’t that right, Baird, darling?”
Ah yes, Darian swallowed his smile. Dear Aunt Drustic, as malicious a bitch as ever, making trouble as only she could. It was always refreshing to find another being more self-motivated than himself.
Drustic had really outdone herself in the packaging this time, Darian acknowledged with admiration. He might not be adverse to a little family reunion himself.
Not that Drustic’s figure seemed to make any difference to her prey—the link between Baird and Aurelia was as hot as a live wire. Once everything was lined up, Darian would take great pleasure in cutting that cord for all time.
By the time he was done deflowering the luscious Aurelia and giving Baird Beauforte what he deserved, no one would have any doubt he was victorious over both Dunhelm and its heiress.
Darian hadn’t once been the son of The Destroyer for nothing.
The air at dinner was colored with discomfort, with Julian forcing conversation, Marissa trying to corner Baird and Baird refusing to do much more than glower at the new arrival. Aurelia was in no mood to manage such a complicated tangle of events.
She did, however, over the course of the meal have the increasing feeling Darian was trying to goad each of them in turn into revealing something of themselves.
Aurelia told herself that she was only sensitive because of her concerns about summoning the Dreaming tonight. She escaped from the table early, but had only been in her room for a few moments before there was a soft rap on the door.
Aurelia opened it to find Baird leaning against the frame, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Like some company?” he asked softly. He was serious, but his eyes glowed with such intensity her heart skipped erratically.
Aurelia felt herself flush. She was sorely tempted to accept his offer. On the other hand, she had to dream tonight, despite the allure of sharing a bed with Baird once more.
She managed somehow to smile and hoped she looked as tired as she felt. “I am sorry, but I need to sleep tonight.”
There was a flash of hurt in Baird’s eyes and it pained Aurelia to know she had caused it.
Then he smiled wryly and the shadow was gone. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t let you get any?”
Aurelia arched a brow, feeling no need to say anything more.
Baird almost laughed. Then he touched her chin in the tender way she loved and brushed his lips across her brow. “Pleasant dreams, princess.” He flicked a finger across the tip of her nose and turned to stride down the hall.
Aurelia closed the door and leaned her back against it, fighting a ferocious impulse to call him back. Her room looked colder than it had just a moment past, her night of Dreaming less tempting now that she would do it alone.
But this had to be done if she was to know for certain. Let the Dreaming come and show her the shadows of Baird’s heart.
By the time Baird got back downstairs, the other two men had retired. He prowled the perimeter of the restaurant restlessly, refusing to admit what was bothering him.
He certainly hadn’t been counting on sleeping with Aurelia again. Baird circled the hall, toured the cellars, paced the entire interior of the resort and still wasn’t the least bit sleepy. All the same, he climbed to his room, paced its circumference, and then poured himself a healthy shot of Scotch.
It was Darian’s presence keeping him awake. It couldn’t be anything else. After all, this man could cost him Dunhelm.
And Baird didn’t like him.
His sour mood certainly had nothing to do with the way Aurelia smiled and chatted with Darian over dinner, much less that she had suddenly and unexpectedly turned him away.
Baird didn’t need Aurelia or anyone else.
The dream wasn’t subtle in its approach this time: it simply exploded in glorious color in Baird’s mind, without apology, introduction or fanfare.
He was in a stone room, the smell of the wind hinting that it stood on high ground. Its furnishings were simple, its occupants garbed in a manner similar to what Aurelia had worn in the well.
An auburn-haired woman slept in the great pillared and curtained bed in the middle of the room. Her features were beautiful, the curve of her lips kindly, the circles under her eyes hinting at her exhaustion. A golden ring glinted on her hand, the hand lying limp on the coverlet. A portly woman changed the linens beneath her, casting those bright with blood into a bucket.
A silver-maned man with a full beard stood impatiently beside the bed, obviously uncomfortable with his role here. He was tall and broad, a man with a muscled back who had labored hard. His hands were callused, there was a scar on his hardened cheek. A heavy silver chain encircled his neck and he carried himself like a man used to the weight of authority. A golden ring, the mate of the lady’s ring, adorned his left hand.
The power of this man’s feeling for the woman was a tangible force. He eyed her with a vulnerability that surprised Baird.
“She will be fine?” he asked anxiously. This battle-hardened warrior was afraid for his wife’s survival, Baird realized, and found himself hoping the woman would be all right.
The glance the older woman fired across the room revealed he had asked this before.
Many times. “Oh, yes, my lord. Women have children all the time. All your lady needs is a good sleep.”
“But the blood…” The warrior shivered with horror and looked to the bucket as though he couldn’t stop himself.
“Is not so much as I have seen before.” The woman dropped the last length of linen into the bucket, straightened a corner of the fresh ones, and then scooped up a red-faced baby from beside the bed. She expertly swathed the child, then handed it to the older man. “You might take the chance to make your son’s acquaintance, my lord.”
The man looked to the woman again, then accepted the weight of the child with an uncertainty that showed his lack of experience in such matters. He moved carefully to sit in a beam of sunlight, as though he was reluctant to move away from his wife. He cradled the child with the caution and awkwardness of a new parent.
“My son,” he whispered to himself, almost as though he could not believe it to be true. The baby clutched at one heavy finger and held on tight, the gesture lighting the father’s eyes with joy.
“You be sure you’re not disturbing the lady for a while, my lord. She’s had a rough go of it, but a good sleep will set her in order.” The woman, who Baird realized was a midwife, scooped up her bucket and swept out of the room.
The warrior barely noted her departure. He stared at his son, gradually gaining confidence in handling the boy, and his stern features relaxed into a smile.
“My son,” he said again, though this time, his voice echoed with pride.
The force of the man’s feelings assaulted Baird like a wave. He felt the man’s rush of paternal pride, he felt the strength of the warrior’s commitment to the blood of his blood.
And Baird found himself envying the child who would experience the force of this man’s powerful love shaping his life.
“He is the one, you know,” an elderly woman separated herself from the shadows, her voice low with import.
The warrior barely looked up. He tickled his son and chuckled when the baby gurgled. “What one?” His tone betrayed his disinterest.
“The one the prophecy spoke of, the one to break the curse laid upon Gemma’s daughter Aurelia.”
The warrior scowled. “You are not going to begin that nonsensical talk of prophecies again, are you? I long thought you a woman of good sense, Luan, but this has gone beyond reason.”
“It is not nonsense!” Luan argued heatedly. “I was there at the naming! I heard Drustic make her curse! You must betrothe this boy to Hekod’s daughter with all haste!”
The warrior looked up, skepticism bright in his eyes, reason in his low voice. “Luan, with all respect, you rave like a madwoman in this matter. This child is barely born, the Nairns have yet begun to weave the thread of his fate into their cloth. I cannot commit him to alliances and obligations so soon.”
Luan flung her hands into the air. “Do you care nothing for the consequences? Drustic will take him for herself just to keep her curse on Hekod’s child from being averted. You know how malicious she can be!”
“Luan, enough!” The man bounced the child lightly, and humor underscored his tone. “My son has yet to even have a name, let alone to know what he wants of this life. Give the child a chance to be whoever he is destined to be.”
“He is destined to lift Aurelia’s curse.”
The warrior’s brow arched skeptically. “That would be the curse that has yet to bear fruit?”
“Details!” Luan crossed the room to wave a finger beneath the man’s nose. “Can you not see the hand of destiny drawing near?”
“You have little faith in Gemma’s abilities, for all the powers you two share.”
“I tasted the malice in that curse, brother mine. Trust me, despite the will of all of us, it will come to pass.” Luan turned quickly away and her voice grew thick. “I wish, how I wish, that it were not meant to be.”
“Perhaps it is not to be.”
“Brother! You can stop it! Pledge the boy, pledge him now, and save Gemma’s child!”
The man’s lips thinned grimly and he pushed to his feet. “Luan, you are my sister, but you push too far in this. This is neither the time nor the place for your argument. I shall keep your advice in mind, but the time is yet too early for the boy to carry the weight of such demands. Let him be a child. Let him become a man, and then, we shall talk of his bride.”
Luan might have said more, but the warrior left the room, the baby tucked proprietarily against his side. Baird’s vision followed him down a dark corridor to the top of heavy wooden stairs. To Baird’s astonishment, when the warrior lifted the baby high, it was from the infant’s perspective that Baird saw the expectant crowd below.
“Behold, my people,” the man bellowed. A sea of faces turned toward him as the hall fell silent. “Behold, the Queen of Inverness has brought forth a son, a son hale and hearty, a son to be the pride of his father’s heart!”
“All hail the Prince of Inverness!” a man roared below and the crowd bellowed in delight. Baird felt the king’s grip resolute around him, heard the rumble of the man’s deep laugh.
For a heady moment, Baird was this man’s child. He felt the power of the warrior’s love for him flow between them and fill the baby with its potency.
It was stronger than Baird had ever guessed such a feeling could be and left him buoyant with the promise of what he, as this baby, might become. He could be a king himself, or a fisherman, he could be a silversmith or a warrior, but whatever he did, Baird knew this man would be there to catch him if he faltered.
That feeling was the greatest gift he could ever have known. To have a family, to have someone to rely upon, it was everything Baird had ever wanted and everything he had been denied.
And this baby had done nothing to earn such a powerful gift, nothing but come into this world, blood of this king’s blood. Baird marveled at the power of the human heart as the king held him high.
Then the dream faded with a snap.
Baird tossed in his bed, snatching at the snippets of the vision without success. He sat up in frustration, wide awake, and for the first time, he wished an unwelcome dream had not ended so soon.
But the fire of the king’s love glowed in Baird’s heart, like an ember left in the cinders of a once great blaze.
What would his life had been like, if he had known such a feeling when he was a child?
Aurelia awakened the next morning to an insistent rap on her door. “Come on, princess, rise and shine.”
Baird.
She scowled at the window, the sky just barely lightening, then rolled out of bed and shoved her arms into the blue robe. Against all odds, someone still held the key to her Dreaming. She had no understanding of what she had witnessed the night before and that fact had left her irritable.
What good was a Dreaming that revealed nothing?
Aurelia tore open the door and confronted the man she suspected was at the core of her troubles.
Baird smelled delightfully clean, his hair was still wet but already starting to curl in its usual wayward fashion. He wore a plaid shirt and chausses of deep blue, his hooked finger held his jacket over his shoulder.
But there were shadows beneath his twinkling eyes. Aurelia was not the only one who had slept poorly. Sympathy flooded through Aurelia before she caught her wayward response.
Curse Baird and his dangerous charm! The last thing Aurelia was going to do was show him any compassion.
But Baird quickly proved her wrong.
He stepped closer, kissed her with an audacity unexpected, then backed away and winked. Aurelia’s unruly heart lunged all over her chest and she hated herself for so easily falling prey to his kisses.
“Daylight’s wasting, princess, get it in gear.”
And with that, Baird turned and strode down the hall, his long legs making short work of the distance. Aurelia shoved a hand through her hair and tried to gather her thoughts, only to have Baird turn back at the hall doorway.
“Chopper’s waiting,” he whispered loudly, then ducked through the doors.
Chopper must be an impatient chariot driver. Aurelia dove back into her room, washed and dressed as quickly as was humanly possible, then flung herself down the hall in pursuit.
Baird was waiting at the foot of the stairs. Aurelia barely had a chance to wish him good morning, before he had clasped her elbow to steer her outside.
“You make great haste,” she dared to say.
He grimaced. “No wind, it may not last.”
That made absolutely no sense. Aurelia slanted a glance to her impassive companion and was not surprised that, yet again, she could deduce nothing of his thoughts.
“You would leave Dunhelm to this Darian Mulvaney?”
Baird fired a very green glance her way. “You don’t like him?” he asked with a smooth disinterest that contradicted the gleam in his eyes.
Aurelia frowned and shrugged. “I am not certain he should have the ritual well to himself.”
“Did you leave anything there?”
Aurelia deliberately avoided his keen glance. “Many have come to their demise there, either by accident or plan.”
Baird looked at her hard then, as though she had said something intriguing. Of course, the adventurer with the feathered hat had died in the chamber in Aurelia’s dream.
Had Baird witnessed that dream as well? It certainly had been disconcerting.
It was in that moment Aurelia spotted the silver dragonfly waiting for them. A man sat within it, his eyes covered with shiny black shields not unlike those of the insect in question.
He grinned and waved. “Mornin’ boss!”
The din of the contraption was deafening.
“’Morning, Tex!” Baird replied, but Aurelia balked when he would have led her closer. He leaned down and murmured into her ear. “Afraid, princess?”
“I am afraid of nothing!” Aurelia treated him to her most fearsome glare.
The cur’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Into the chopper, then.”
“Chopper” was apparently this strange device. It looked fearsomely unstable, but the noise made questions impossible. There were no horses to pull the thing—like the chariot of the day before—though Aurelia could not have imagined any sensible beast could have been persuaded to come near this.
Baird had a dangerously daring gleam in his eye. If he expected her to be afraid, then Aurelia would prove him wrong.
She climbed into the chariot and tried not to stare at its whirling wings overhead. Aurelia sat primly as though there was nothing unusual at all in boarding such a conveyance.
Then the chariot rose and wobbled uncertainly just above the ground. Aurelia panicked. Dunhelm dropped away beneath them with dizzying speed and as they moved out over the sea, Aurelia fought against her rising terror.
Never mind Baird’s assurances—those were no more than sweet lies to pacify her—he would see her killed! Had he not slaughtered her only brother?
What if Baird had found the knife she had forgotten beneath his bed? He would cast her out of this chariot in the name of vengeance and see her dashed to pieces on the rocks below.
Well, she would not go alone! Aurelia lunged across the tiny chariot and latched onto Baird with all her might.
“You will not be rid of me so easily!” she shouted.
The chariot lurched hard to Baird’s side of the chariot and the ground danced sickeningly before Aurelia’s eyes.
“What in the hell?” Baird bellowed.
“Je-sus! Boss!” roared the chariot driver. He struggled like a driver settling a wild team, launching a torrent of expletives as he did so.
Baird tried to extricate himself, but to no avail. Aurelia locked onto his shoulders and was not about to let go.
“You will not cast me to a gruesome death so easily!” she shouted at him.
“You’re not going to die, unless you keep this up!” he retorted.
“Ha! I will not believe your lies, you treacherous cur! My brother learned the price of trusting you to your word!”
The chariot steadied, the driver heaved a sigh of relief and glared over his shoulder. “I told you that these small choppers are more unstable than the one we use in the States, boss. What in the hell were you doing back there?”
“Everything’s fine now,” Baird said evasively.
“Oh, I get it! Lady’s afraid of flying, huh?” The chariot driver grinned as though this were a huge joke.
“I am afraid of nothing!” Aurelia shouted, her fingers nearly hooked into Baird’s flesh. “I am half Viking!”
The driver laughed. “Right! And I’m all Texan, but it took some talkin’ to git me into one of these babies the first time.”
Aurelia glanced down at Baird to find his corner of his mouth quirking in the half-smile she found so beguiling. His eyes twinkled and were startlingly green at such close proximity. Aurelia belatedly became aware she was sitting on his lap, her arms curled around his neck.
He looked straight into her eyes, the very image of sincerity. “You’re not going to be flung to your death,” he murmured so quietly Aurelia had to read his lips. Her heart began to pound. “Didn’t I give you my word?”
He had.
Aurelia licked her lips, not liking that she had played the fool and provided his amusement. Her face heated with embarrassment.
Baird slid his arms around her waist easily as though she sat thus all the time. “You should have just told me that you wanted to sit in my lap,” he teased.
Now Aurelia could not put distance between them fast enough. She darted back to her seat, earning another curse from the driver.
He glanced back with irritation. “Could you all just decide where it is that you all want to sit? Go ahead, make my life easier, it won’t break my heart.”
Aurelia had a hard time understanding his drawling accent, never mind his words, but when she looked at Baird the man winked mischievously. Aurelia turned quickly to the window, her pulse pounding unevenly in her ears.
Oh, he had a dangerous charm!
They were over the sea now and it did not seem that this shiny bird had any intent of falling out of the sky. Fascinated by the fact they indeed flew like a dragonfly, Aurelia leaned away from Baird and looked out over the landscape.
It was dotted with buildings of marvelous construction that confused Aurelia once again. Black roads stretched across the land, painted with brilliant yellow lines. Shiny things, much like beetles but in myriad colors, shot along these roads at alarming speeds.
Aurelia chewed her lip. She looked up to the whirling silver overhead and once again felt overwhelmed by the changes Baird had made in her world. It had to be Christian magic at root, for there was no other explanation.
Or was there?
Aurelia found Kirkwall a shock after the small towns near Dunhelm. Here there were countless chariots like the one she had ridden in there, and buildings beyond number. There were more people bustling about than she could have imagined and many small ships bobbing in the harbor.
She kept silent as Baird inquired after her sire, certain in her heart Hekod would never have come to this place.
Or would he? Was this not much as she had long imagined Micklegarth? But no one had seen or heard tell of her sire, after all. They trudged from place to place, without success.
When Baird offered a meal called ‘brunch,’ Aurelia was glad to accept. The shop they entered smelled so good her stomach protested its empty state mightily. It was only after she had finished eating her fill that Aurelia noticed the curious glances of those around them.
And Baird’s wicked grin.
Baird did his a-Viking again with the gold card, launching a charming smile at the woman just to smooth the way. Aurelia seethed that he should tease her about her eating, but waited until they were outside to have her say.
“What is the matter?” she whispered.
His grin widened. “They must be wondering whether you’ve got a pair of hungry greyhounds under the table.”
“I have always had a healthy appetite!”
“And an awesome metabolic rate.”
Aurelia did not know what that meant, but it was not flattery, that was for certain. She would have strolled proudly away from Baird, but a window snared her attention.
Aurelia froze and leaned against the glass, her breath fogging it as she strained closer. It was not the window itself that fascinated her—she had already wondered at that marvel—but the item displayed. Aurelia touched the glass in wonder.
It was her mother’s own silver bracelet. The same bracelet that had graced Aurelia’s own wrist when she climbed to the walls to help defend her father’s holding.
“What’s the matter? What is it?” Baird asked, his voice low with concern. His hand landed on the back of her waist and in the reflection, Aurelia saw his head bent close to her own.
He looked the very image of a man confused and concerned. Liar! That he should mock her in this was beyond reprehensible!
Oh, he had confused her with his generosity and challenged her assumptions about his character with his pledge to do her no harm. But this, this travesty showed his true colors as Aurelia knew them to be.
Aurelia spun to face Baird, her vision blurred with tears. She pushed him away from her, unable to bear such proximity to one who wished her ill.
“How could you do such a thing?” she demanded in a voice that throbbed low with emotion. “How could you steal my only token of my mother? Did they give you so much coin that such a betrayal was worth it?”