Baird awakened to the sound of rain drumming against the window. He tucked a dozing Aurelia tighter against his side and watched the dark clouds roll across the horizon.
All was right in his world. Not only had he found Aurelia, not only had he proven himself to her, but she had somehow surmounted her fears and faced the reality of her father’s demise. Her protective illusions had fallen away like scales from her eyes and she was whole and healthy again.
Everything was going to be fine.
He still couldn’t explain the weird dreams that had plagued him since coming to Dunhelm, but it didn’t matter anymore. Baird only knew he felt more complete than he ever had before.
And this was just the beginning.
The old king’s love from Baird’s last dream resonated in his heart. Baird had never experienced love like that, but now he had a benchmark to measure his own feelings against. So, the dream had helped him, really. This was all new ground for him, but for Aurelia’s sake, Baird was going to give it his best shot.
He knew somehow Aurelia was the woman for him—a woman with so many intriguing puzzles he would never figure her out completely—and if nothing else, Baird was learning to listen to those weird gut instincts.
He bent and brushed his lips across Aurelia’s forehead, smiling as her eyelids fluttered open. Her small hand landed on his chest in a proprietary way that filled his heart to bursting.
“Sleep well?” he asked, letting his thumb caress the soft sweep of her shoulder.
“Mmm,” Aurelia nestled against him. “But I’m hungry.”
Baird laughed out loud. “It figures, princess.”
She looked up at him with twinkling eyes. “I like how young you look when you laugh.”
“Will you give it a rest? I’m not that old!”
A wicked glint lit her sapphire eyes. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four.”
Aurelia waved off this confession. “A mere babe.”
The comment piqued Baird’s curiosity because he was sure she was younger than him. “And how old are you?”
“What year is it again?” When Baird told her, Aurelia made a great show of counting it out on her fingers. “By nearest reckoning, eleven hundred and ninety-eight.”
Baird blinked, but Aurelia wasn’t joking.
His heart sank to his toes. She was supposed to be over all of that! Baird’s vision of a glowing future disappeared in a puff of smoke.
She couldn’t still be nuts.
Baird swallowed his trepidation, rolled to brace himself over Aurelia and cupped her shoulders in his hands, carefully choosing his words. “Princess, I thought you understood that your father is dead,” he said gently.
She smiled. “I do.”
Baird was encouraged. “Then, you don’t have to pretend to be someone out of a history book anymore. Right?”
“There is no need to pretend anything. I now know the truth.”
“Great. Do you know who you are?”
Aurelia snorted. “I always knew who I was. I am Princess Aurelia, daughter of Hekod the Fifth, King of Dunhelm and Lord of Fyordskar over the sea.”
Baird blinked. “But…”
Aurelia interrupted him cheerfully. “But what I did not know was that the prophecy of my birth—one which I always believed to be nonsense—has come true.” Aurelia offered her thumb as proof. “I did indeed prick my thumb in the middle of the whorl and I did indeed sleep until my true love—you—awakened me.”
Baird took a deep breath. “Princess, you can’t be twelve hundred years old.” He borrowed Julian’s comment, but left out the sarcasm. “You would be very dead by now.”
Aurelia arched a skeptical brow. “Do I look dead to you?” Baird could only shake his head. Her eyes darkened and she rolled her hips mischievously beneath him. “And do I feel dead, Baird Beauforte?”
Baird bounced out of bed, not trusting his body to remain impartial in this debate, and shoved a hand through his hair. “Aurelia! This is serious!”
“And I am serious, make no mistake.”
She was.
Baird swallowed. “Are you saying that you really are Ursilla’s story, after all?”
“Of course not!” Aurelia propped herself up on her elbows, her golden hair tumbling across the pillows. To his amazement, her gaze was perfectly clear.
She was convinced of her thinking, even if he wasn’t.
“My tale must have been the inspiration for Ursilla’s story.” Her lips twisted. “Trust me, there were none who ever called me Gemdelovely Gemdelee and lived to tell of it. What a woeful excuse for a name!” She rolled her eyes, but Baird didn’t share her amusement.
He frowned at his toes, unsure how to proceed.
“You came to me! You are the one,” Aurelia insisted in a weird echo of Luan’s certainty. “You are the one who came to awaken me. It’s all true. Can you not see? It makes perfect sense!”
“Not to me,” Baird said stubbornly. “It doesn’t make any damn sense at all.”
“Baird, you must face the truth. We are destined to be together, just as in Ursilla’s tale. You have come and awakened me from a long slumber and now our fates are tied together.”
“Aurelia, that doesn’t make any sense. That’s crazy talk.”
“I am not crazy.”
“Right.” Baird heard the undercurrent of panic in his own voice. A part of him found her argument dangerously seductive, but Baird wasn’t going to listen to that.
Oh, he could pick ’em—that was for sure.
He jabbed a finger through the air at her. “If you’re twelve hundred years old, then how can you speak and understand plain old English? Nobody spoke that here then.”
She couldn’t refute that!
But Aurelia did.
“I have the gift of tongues,” she asserted without hesitation. She folded her arms across her chest and tossed her hair. “Once I heard you and Julian talk, I could understand and converse in your tongue.”
“Well, that’s handy if you’re going to sleep for ten or twelve centuries!” Baird shoved a hand through his hair. “Aurelia, listen to what you’re saying!”
His voice hardened with determination. “Do you not remember that I spoke to you in the Pictish tongue first? Then I tried Gaelic and Briton and finally Latin, but to no avail.”
She smiled, obviously to reassure him. His gut urged him to believe her—which make Baird just as crazy as Aurelia was.
It was time to get the hell out of here.
Baird snatched up his jeans and fought to get into them as he backed away from the bed. “Look, maybe we can get you some help around here. We’ll find someone you can talk to about losing your father. It could straighten things out in your mind.”
Baird stuffed his arms into his shirt and made for the door.
Aurelia’s words, so low with disappointment, brought him to a halt. “You do not believe me.”
Baird sighed. He turned back to face her, not liking that he was responsible for the disappointment in her eyes.
But he couldn’t lie to her. “Would you believe me if this was the other way around?”
Aurelia frowned thoughtfully. “No,” she admitted softly, then chewed her lip as she studied him. “How could I prove this to you?”
“You can’t.” Baird heard his own frustration. “No one lives for twelve hundred years. It’s that simple.” Baird rubbed his temple and had no idea how to make all of this come right. “Look, Aurelia, I’ve got work to do. Can we talk about this later?”
Though what they would talk about, Baird had no idea. Her disappointment was tangible, but Baird determinedly marched out of the room.
A couple of hours wasn’t going to evict the last of Aurelia’s delusions. On the other hand, her strange conviction had done nothing to diminish Baird’s feelings for her. What could he do?
Believe she had just had a twelve hundred year snooze?
Right.
Baird strode impatiently down the hall. Aurelia might turn him inside out, she might be sexy, funny and cute, smart as a whip, she might give him fantasies of a perfect future together unlike anything he’d ever imagined, but she was flat out nuts.
His eleventh foster mother’s doomsaying came to mind—lucky at cards, unlucky at love.
Maybe he should take up gambling.
Didn’t it just figure Baird would be dealt a winning hand in all the material signs of success? Until he had come to Dunhelm, he would never have complained about the balance, but now Baird felt a yawning hole in the very middle of his life.
And the one women who could fill it was bonkers.
Baird nudged open his door, freezing in the foyer with the sense he was not alone.
“Baird, darling, I’ve been waiting just forever for you!” Marissa rolled from the bed and strolled toward him in a black lace negligee and satin mules frothy with ostrich feathers. Her hair was pinned up in artful deshabille, her lips were red, her eyes were knowing. A waft of exotic perfume preceded her arrival and made Baird’s nose tickle.
She carried a pair of crystal glasses. “I thought a little aperitif might be in order, darling. We can start with sherry—it’s so British, don’t you think?” Marissa chuckled throatily and walked her fingers up a stunned Baird’s bare chest. “And then, darling, we can see where things go from there.”
Baird’s nose twitched, he sneezed violently and completely ruined the ambiance of the moment.
Marissa was undeterred. “Have you caught a chill, darling?” She leaned closer and pouted with false concern. “Well, darling, I’ve just the thing to warm you right down to your toes!”
This was the last thing he needed right now.
“Marissa, this is not appropriate.”
She chuckled throatily. “Well, Baird, darling, I have never wanted to be appropriate with you.” She hooked a finger through his unbuttoned shirt and tried to draw him into the room. “I see you’ve started without me, darling, but we can certainly progress from here.”
“Marissa, I’m serious.” Baird glowered. “Please leave.”
She pouted. “You don’t really mean that, darling. Why, we’ve had almost no time alone and—”
Baird’s tone was non-negotiable. “I’m asking you to leave.”
“And darling,” Marissa’s gaze hardened. “I will make my staying well worth your while.”
“Out,” Baird declared flatly. He pointed into the corridor, what might have been a dignified pose ruined by the sock and shoe dangling from his grip.
Marissa looked him up and down, obviously making a point of observing his state of dress. “Well! I see. Is that how it’s going to be?”
“That’s how it is.”
Her eyes glinted, then her smile turned brittle. “Mark my words, darling, you’ll soon be bored with that little package and come begging for more sophisticated fare. Even Darian, sweet boy that he is, was asking when you and I would tie the knot. It seems obvious to everyone but you that we’re absolutely perfect for each other.”
“Get out now!” Baird roared.
Marissa sniffed as she swept past him, both sherries firmly in her grip. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste, is there, darling?”
Baird’s only answer was the firm closing of the door. He emphatically shot the deadbolt home and trudged toward the shower, pausing on the way to shove open the window to fumigate the cloud of Marissa’s perfume.
Women. Who in the hell needed them?
Aurelia heard Baird’s door open and to her dismay, Marissa’s voice carried to her ears. Aurelia could not make out the other woman’s words, but she did not have to.
Baird had gone back to Marissa.
It was not fair! How could he deny the truth between them?
Aurelia flung herself across the room and let herself weep. She had lost her brother and her father, she had lost her home and everyone she had ever known. And now she had lost the man who was supposed to be hers for all time.
Well, Aurelia was not going to let him go that easily.
Baird was the one, she knew it in her heart. But he was skeptical of the power of his own intuition. He did not trust what he could not hold within his hands. Aurelia sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes.
Would she not have been skeptical in his place?
She would have, she knew it. The prophecy sounded like mere whimsy to the ears of a clear thinking person. Even she had put no stock in it until the truth had been undeniable.
Somehow Aurelia had to persuade Baird of the truth. If the prophecy intended for they two to spend their days and nights together, it was clear that prophecy needed a little help.
Fortunately, Aurelia knew exactly what to do.
Darian was bouncing like an enthusiastic pup when Aurelia came down to the hall that evening.
“You’ll never guess what I found today in the well,” he declared as soon as they sat down for dinner.
Darian looked expectantly around the table, but no one responded. Marissa looked sour, Baird dissatisfied and Aurelia was certainly not in the mood for small talk. She was impatient for night to come so she could convince Baird of the truth.
And angry with him for going from her to Marissa. She never would have imagined he could be so shallow and cruel!
Darian’s enthusiasm was unruffled by the lack of response. “Well, I just have a couple of Polaroids of it. Didn’t want to disturb it.”
“Well, what is it?” Julian asked, when no one else did.
With a triumphant flourish, Darian produced a shiny image of something so familiar Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat. “See?”
The image was of Aurelia’s crossbow, half buried in the dirt. The gutting was gone, the nut lost somewhere over time, but she would have known the inlaid wood anywhere. Her sire had commissioned the design especially for her when he thought her skill warranted the gift.
She had taken it to the walls that last morning. Aurelia touched the image, but it was flat, though the crossbow was complete in every detail. She swallowed, not daring to ask about this stiff square and its magic, and passed it to Julian.
“What is it?” Julian asked idly.
“I don’t know, but it’s old, that’s for sure.” Darian’s voice throbbed with excitement.
Baird fired a cold glance down the table. “Don’t you follow strict processes for removing and dating artifacts? I had assumed that this was going to be a systematic investigation.”
Darian fidgeted. “Well, you’re right, of course. I was just so excited!” His features brightened. “And isn’t it beautifully made? I’m sure someone can figure out what it’s for.”
“It’s a crossbow,” Aurelia said tightly.
Darian looked surprised. “I don’t think so, Aurelia. You see, it would have to have a firing mechanism and we know that Picts didn’t use crossbows…”
“They most certainly did.”
“I thought wood disintegrated in damp places,” Baird commented frostily, passing the Polaroid to Marissa.
“Well, well, it does. Usually.” Darian toyed with the print now back in his possession. “Maybe it’s not as old as all that.” He eyed Aurelia speculatively. “How could this be a crossbow?”
He was baiting her and Aurelia knew it, but her temper was such that she responded anyhow. She plucked the print from his hand. “Gutting from here to here, and here to here. A revolving nut here, it’s held this way and fires like so.” She squinted at the image. “There is the nut, fallen into the dirt directly beside it.”
They all stared at her, but Aurelia returned to her meal.
“And Pictish?”
Aurelia fired a glance at him, daring him to challenge her. “Dating from the arrival of the first Vikings.”
Darian smiled patronizingly. “Aurelia, the Vikings took possession of the Orkney Islands in the eighth century or so…”
“And Hekod the Fifth claimed Dunhelm, among the first to land on these islands. He married a Pictish woman, the crossbow is from that time, therefore the Picts used crossbows.” Aurelia ate her dinner with resolve, not tasting a single bite of it.
“Uh, well! You certainly seem to know a lot about the period,” Darian acknowledged.
Aurelia shot a glance at him. “You could say that I have lived it.”
Marissa laughed nervously. “More silly stories of prophecies for us, darling?”
“Prophecies?” Darian looked to Aurelia with open curiosity.
But it was Marissa who answered, her eyes bright with malice. “Yes, Aurelia has this charming fantasy she actually is a Pictish princess. Baird found her in the well, didn’t you, darling?”
“That’s enough,” Baird said tightly.
Marissa ignored him. “You know, Darian darling, it was the cutest little story.” She laughed harshly again. “But then, doesn’t every little girl dream of starring in her own fairy tale? It’s so much easier than actually growing up.”
An awkward silence settled around the table.
Darian cleared his throat, apparently uncertain whether to laugh or believe Marissa. Something flickered in his gaze, though, that gave Aurelia an instinctive understanding of Baird’s dislike of this man.
“Well, then, perhaps you’d like to help me excavate the site?” Darian leaned closer and smiled charmingly. “I could use all the expertise I can get and if we’ve got an extra fan of the Picts in the ranks, it would certainly help.”
If Aurelia had not heard Baird go to Marissa, she would never have agreed.
But agree she did.
“I would delighted to help you,” she said proudly.
Baird pushed to his feet, his features grim. “Well, I’m going to bed.”
“Need some company, darling?” Marissa cooed.
Baird’s glance was lethal. “Don’t push your luck,” he muttered, then stalked from the room.
Baird fought the dream tooth and nail, even though it began similarly to the one he had of Julian.
But this dream seemed more determined than the others, more purposeful in its invasion of his sleep. Baird had the eerie sense that it was intent on showing him something he had missed.
But that was illogical.
Baird stood in the doorway of the room where the woman had given birth to the child. The furnishings were slightly more worn than they had been before, but the room still had a welcoming feel. A trio of candles burned on a table, filling the shadows with their beeswax scent, and illuminating the proud figure of the warrior standing before the window.
His hands were folded behind him, his back to Baird as he stared out at the stars. It was the same man, with the same heavy silver chain around his neck, though he looked older and slightly smaller.
He turned at some minute sound and Baird saw the passage of the years more clearly in his lined face. His expression was grim.
“Come in, son.” He heaved a sigh and frowned, as Baird made sense of his words. “I have some news to share that will not come easily.”
Baird must be in the point of view of the son this man had claimed as his own. That would explain the passing of time. He glanced down at himself and saw that he was tall and dressed in a tunic and leggings similar to those of the king.
The old king pursed his lips. “There is no sense in drawing this out. I have a missive this day from Dunhelm.”
Baird’s heart skipped a beat.
“Bard, son of Erc, perpetuated a cruel ruse with marked success. He sent word to Hekod he would heal the rift between their families by wedding Hekod’s daughter Aurelia. Hekod, in good faith, sent his son Thord to negotiate the details.”
Baird’s mouth went dry, though which part of him was dismayed, he could not have said. The image of his friend at the harbor, the friend he knew to be Julian in the present day, drew clear in his mind.
“Has something gone amiss?”
The king leveled a steady glance at him. “It was a savage plot. Bard killed Thord and sent his head back to Hekod with the dawn, along with a declaration of war.”
Dismay swept over Baird in a dizzying wave. “No! Not Thord! He cannot be dead!” He could not have lost his greatest friend.
The world could not be without Thord’s merry laughter.
“But he is dead, Bridei, and naught can change that now.” The king’s tone was resolute. He crossed the room and laid a heavy hand on Baird’s shoulder, his gaze boring into Baird’s own.
“Though I respect that you would mourn, this is not the end of matters. There is little time for such doings now. War has been declared. Hekod has not asked for aid, but he will have need of it. He has served me loyally all these years and I will send an army to his aid.”
His grip tightened on Baird’s shoulder. “I would have you lead the forces, Bridei. The presence of my only son will show all the strength of my commitment to the defense of Dunhelm.”
Baird straightened and felt an alien thrill of pride course through him. His father trusted him to lead men into battle. He was indeed a man. “Yes, Father.”
The older man nodded and his tone was grim. “Perhaps you will be the one to strike the blow of vengeance for Thord. Bard, son of Erc, deserves no less.”
Baird’s throat tightened with his own resolve. “Yes, Father.”
“Look at you.” The older man smiled sadly. “I remember well enough my first battle and can imagine your anticipation. Know that I trust you to do us proud.”
“Thank you, Father.”
They gazed at each other for a moment, and Baird was sure an echo of the warrior’s sadness gleamed in his own eyes. Thord was dead.
“Go, tell your mother the news, but beware she may not take it well. You are her pride and joy, and her only chick, after all.”
The king called to him when he would have crossed the threshold, and Baird reluctantly turned back.
“Look well upon the daughter of Hekod,” his father said solemnly. “It was said once that much ill could be avoided if I pledged you to her, but I was loathe to commit you to anything when you were but a child. Perhaps I erred in this, perhaps this might have ended differently, but what is done is done.”
“I do not understand, Father.”
His father cleared his throat. “What I say is this—if Aurelia takes your fancy and you hers, know you have my blessing in making a match.”
Aurelia.
There she was again. In every dream, her presence was tangible.
“I shall do so, Father.” he bowed slightly. “Thank you for your trust.”
The king shook his head solemnly. “You may not thank me, my son, when you witness the foul deeds of which war is wrought.”
The dream blurred and Baird had the sense of time passing, of distance flying beneath his feet. He was on the deck of a ship, the sails snapping overhead and the ropes groaning with the tug of the wind. Excitement was high on the ship, every man determined to strike a blow for justice, and Bridei no less than the others.
The ship began to round a jut of land, every eye on the horizon, and the open sea stretched behind them. Ahead lay their destination, the battle that would prove Bridei’s manhood, perhaps the bride he would make his own.
They pulled around the point and the crew gasped as one at the sight. Baird’s heart dropped to his toes.
Dunhelm was burning.
He was too late.
Baird sat up and shivered. The acrid tang of smoke lingered in his mouth as though the dream had been real. He was chilled to the bone and gooseflesh rose all over his skin.
Failure hung on his heart like a lead weight and Baird felt an urge to weep for what he had lost. He mourned for Thord, even though he knew Julian slept just a few doors away.
No wonder Julian hated this place so much. He had been Thord, the son of Hekod, who had been ruthlessly slaughtered by Bard.
But that didn’t completely explain Baird’s sense of loss. He hated that as Bridei he had failed his father’s weighty trust. He had not proven himself worthy of the man’s powerful love.
And the knowledge tore him up.
Baird shoved a hand through his hair, knowing he had never been so twisted around by something he couldn’t see or control.
This couldn’t go on.
He rolled impatiently to his feet and paced the length of the room. There had to be something he could do to stop these dreams. Intuition came knocking in that moment and, for once, Baird Beauforte was listening.
He would go to Inverness.
Aurelia’s eyes flew open, her breath came in spurts and her fists clenched the linens. Dunhelm was burning! She had seen her father’s beloved hall consumed in flames.
But it had only been the Dreaming.
Aurelia sat up and tried to shake off her terror. It had been so real to her, so terrifying a glimpse of the world she remembered with startling clarity.
Dunhelm had burned to the ground.
Twelve hundred years before. It was hard to believe it had all happened so long ago, or that she had slept through all of it. Aurelia stared at the scar on her thumb.
It was hard to believe her gift was strong enough to summon such a powerful image.
Even knowing that she was responsible could not slow the pounding of Aurelia’s own heart. She slid from the bed and stood at the window, watching the moon. On the eve of the morrow, it would be full.
But would her Dreaming, even at the fullness of its power, be enough to convince Baird of the truth? He had been coming for her, coming to aid her sire. He had been Thord’s friend Bridei, and there would have been none more fitting for Aurelia than the High King’s own son.
Even in those days, Baird had been hailed as the one for her.
An intense yearning burned in Aurelia’s heart. They had been cheated of that time together, so many years ago, and now, Baird’s own reservations held them apart. Aurelia bit her lip and hoped fiercely he had shared the dream again, he had been persuaded, and she had the ability to convince this man to accept the reality of who she was.
Even though Aurelia knew the truth defied every grain of common sense.
Unfortunately, Aurelia knew Baird Beauforte valued common sense above all else. To believe in this, he would have to believe in the urging of his own heart and Aurelia was suddenly afraid Baird had learned all too well not to listen to his heart.
His mother in this life had served him poorly indeed.
Suddenly cold, she folded her arms about herself and watched the moon slide across the sky. Aurelia fought the urge to go to Baird, not knowing what his response to that would be, and impatiently waited for the dawn.
She had to convince him.
Somehow.
The sun was barely above the horizon when Tex pointed out the distant sparkle of Inverness. Baird climbed into the seat beside his pilot, his gaze intent on the town ahead.
A cliff rose behind the town nestled at the mouth of the Ness River and Baird scanned the details.
There. He picked out a desolate point and knew without doubt that the high king’s fortress had stood there.
But how could he know such a thing with such certainty?
Baird couldn’t explain it and he didn’t care. He had to go and stand right there and he had to do it today.
“Business, boss?” Tex demanded cheerfully.
Baird nodded, not in the least bit interested in conversation. They drew closer at an achingly slow speed, to Baird’s mind, the Moray Firth a long vee of sparkling silver below them. Finally, they wheeled around the sleepy town at a dizzying angle, the path Tex took giving Baird a bird’s-eye view of the harbor with the North Sea stretched out behind.
Baird swallowed. It was the same as his dream.
He knew he had never been here before—he and Julian had flown from Edinburgh on a small jet that had not passed near Inverness. Tex had picked them up at Kirkwall.
At least, he had never been here in this life before.
But if Baird knew Julian from the past, it only made sense he could know Inverness, as well. Inverness was where his dream indicated he had known Julian, after all.
What if the dreams he had had at Dunhelm were memories?