Chapter Four

“And they have these massive structures crafted of a clear but hard material.” Connall sat back in his seat, enjoying a winter sun unfettered by clouds. They’d convened in the great hall, but since the day was without rain, they’d thrown open the doors and set their chairs just inside to take advantage of the light and warmth.

His father and brothers settled across from him, leaning toward him with interest. He’d left his wife with some of the older women to get her acclimated to her new home.

“And the sheer number of people,” he said. “More than any I’ve seen.”

While part of him had been fascinated by all he’d witnessed, and the tools wielded by Ashley’s people, he was glad to be home. Home, where it smelled better, and the loudest noise intruding on his senses was the tang-ta-tang of the blacksmith’s hammer down the slope.

But would Ashley miss it? Would she demand to return? For the first time, unease at the prospect settled in his gut. She’d been a bit anxious on her arrival.

His father and brothers were intrigued, but not enough to shuck their lives here for those wonders. Except for his youngest brother Giric, who’d been peppering him with questions, his eyes round and eager. He probably didn’t realize that he’d even moved his chair closer to Connall’s.

Connall set down his mug of heather ale and propped his feet onto a low stool. “Glad I am to hear the people in her land are unable to reach us. Though I espied no weaponry, their tools were such that I imagine their weapons are superior. Better even than the Roman interlopers along the wall.”

Ten winters prior, the Romans had pushed farther north and built a second wall across the land to the east of Dunadd. Few of his own people had ever seen a Roman, but Connall felt confident he could discern one on sight. Surely a people arrogant enough as to build such a barrier would be arrogant in appearance as well.

His father scratched his gray-speckled beard. “I remember hearing from my own grandfather that when they first arrived, we had the better weaponry. They imitated our methods. And instead of wooden roads, they built them of stone.” He leaned forward. “And speaking of Romans, while you were away, some made the trek over the high mountain passes and through the waterways to our bit of land and proposed an alliance. How they managed to find us, I know not. The council met, however, and agreed that in light of our weakened position, we would be wise to accept.”

Then more than a few had seen a Roman now. Connall pushed down the curiosity and missed opportunity of seeing one for himself. He nodded and took a sip of ale.

His father lifted his own mug and extended it toward him. “And I’d like you to venture to the Roman outpost along their wall. We wish for you to—”

A commotion at the door interrupted them. Eithne, one of their elderly women, rushed in. “You have to see this. You do! Connall’s new wife—she’s a Diviner.”

Connall’s feet thumped onto the ground from their perch on the stool. “She’s what?”

“A Diviner, thank the ancestors.”

…

Ashley sat back on her heels and shoved her shaking hands between her clasped knees, unwilling to let those gathered see how unnerved she was. All around, the villagers chattered, their voices pitched high in excitement. She, however, was so not excited. After Connall had left her with some elderly women so he could consult with his father, she’d been trying to not draw attention to herself. She figured that was the best strategy. Until she got a better handle on what the eff was going on. But when she’d walked by a worker on the second terrace casting dirt across a stretched piece of leather and idly wondered what dangers existed here, words had popped into her head as if in answer.

And she’d said them out loud.

That had been freaky enough.

But the words… The words themselves made her hands shake. Still.

Romans shall bring strength but also danger. Ware the Painted People at the cragged rock.

Romans? Why had she said Romans? And why had she blurted the whole thing out anyway? It was as if the words just appeared in her brain right when the tossed dirt formed into a pattern. Her knees had buckled, and, yeah, now she was sitting on the rocky ground, staring at the leather, going ohmygod.

She rocked forward and back.

Oh, she’d lost her mind. Yep. Only explanation.

Connall and his father pushed through the small crowd. “What happened?” Connall crouched in front of her, his green eyes alight with concern and excitement. Was it horrible that she latched on to that concern from the only pair of eyes she knew here?

“She can divine events,” an older man said, his thin arm pointing to the stretch of leather. “She did a foretelling.”

Connall’s gaze now filled with a look of pride.

Shaking, her legs so much like jelly she was afraid she couldn’t stand without support, she put a hand to the ground and pushed herself upward. She stepped to Connall’s side, trying to ignore how close everyone was as well as their chatter. Chatter about her.

“Can I speak to you alone?” she asked in a low voice. Since Connall was the only familiar person here, she wanted some damn answers from him.

He nodded and ushered her to a waist-high stone wall that lined the courtyard. She placed her hands on the cool, rough stone and gripped it. Hard. No way they’d shake now.

God, her family would be laughing that she was in this situation. The helpless member of the family who had relied on them, and then her husband, for everything. No matter that she’d changed.

She would not be that helpless and weak person she used to be. Nor allow anyone here to form that opinion of her.

Needing a moment to ensure her voice came out strong, and to gather her thoughts, she peered over the wall’s edge from her dizzying height to the vast expanse of barren land. Ruggedly beautiful even in winter, but still barren. Wind whipped up the hill and pushed against her face and upper body, chilling her, but she refused to curl into herself. She tucked the loose strands from her braid behind her ear.

Clearly, the impossible had happened, and she had traveled backward in time. With some freakish new skills.

Connall settled against the wall beside her, his presence somehow reassuring and lending her strength. He remained quiet, seemingly content with giving her the time she needed.

She rounded on him. First things first. “Exactly when and how did we marry?”

“We were pledged to each other when you took my hand and we traveled here.”

“Wait. What? That’s it?”

“Cleaving two persons to a life together by clasping hands is a common practice. I would have preferred a druid as witness, but in—”

“Hold up—don’t you require my agreement?”

“Of course.”

Relief slumped her shoulders. “Then we’re not married. I didn’t agree.”

He straightened. “What trickery is this? You did agree, but you mean to deny this? I would not take an unwilling woman to wife.”

“When?”

“At the coffee shop.”

Huh? Honestly, that had been a blur of biceps. But before she could ask him to explain, he continued, “And the druid’s magic sealed our agreement when you put your hand in mine.”

Magicmagicmagic. OMG.

This was an even more fucked-up thing to process. She took a deep breath. Oh God, was she really about to ask him this?

“Tell me about this magic that brought me here?”

“To explain the magic is impossible.”

“But how am I able to understand you?”

“Transference, I’m told. The same happened for me when I visited your time and place. I could speak your tongue, and my wealth was reduced to that black flat thing. I’ll not question it, because it bought me what I required, but your currency is a strange thing.”

Transference? She flicked her hand to the crowd of people still gathered around the leather, pointing and talking. “Could it explain what happened there?”

He straightened and stepped closer, so close she’d swear his heat buffeted her. “Were you not a Diviner in your land?”

She shook her head, determined to stand her ground. His black hair streamed to the side as the wind whipped over the wall. He tossed his head to make some of the strands leave his face.

He frowned. “You don’t have a skill or ability with its equivalent?”

“Not that I can think of,” she whispered. God, this was all so unreal. She really, really wanted to move into his arms and let his large body shelter her.

How messed up is that?

To stop herself from touching him, she gripped the wall even tighter. She relished the realness of the stone biting into her skin. “Can I speak to the druid?” She’d just ask him to undo the spell and send her back.

“Which one?”

She dropped her hands. “You have more than one?”

“Druids are our intellectuals, our healers, judges, and priests. Of course, we do.” Pride infused his voice.

He knew exactly which one she wanted and was being cagey on purpose. “The one who cast the spell.” Well, if he thought she’d just accept her fate, he was abso-friggin-lutely wrong.

’Cuz which girl was fucking tired of men directing her, defining her, carving the shape her life was to take? This one!

The muscles in his jaw worked. “He’s not here. After I left he had to take a healing journey, needing solitude.” He waved a hand out over the barren stretch of land. “He’ll not be back until the full moon.” His gaze flicked to her body, and he stepped between her and the wall, blocking the wind. Was it her imagination, or did those smoky-green eyes soften?

It was unfair of him to have that combo of eyes, black hair, and sharp cheekbones. And damn, that jaw, too. And the ability to anticipate her needs.

So unfair.

But her body relaxed a fraction, no longer being blasted by the chill whipping through her strange clothes. “And when is the full moon?” she asked, desperate to stay on track.

“Twenty nights from now.”

Her chest squeezed tight. Twenty nights?

Dammit. Well, as soon as this druid deigned to make an appearance, she was going to be all up in his business until he sent her back to her own dang time, cuz there was no way she was staying in the past.

Wait. I’m talking about druids. This is all kinds of whack.

But twenty nights?

The vastness of the land around her and the collection of stone huts desperately gripping this promontory became like a weight pressing into her.

Could she survive here that long?

…

As a new night began, Connall ushered his wife down the slope to the next-highest terrace. Cormac’s domicile was his to claim, his father had told him, one of several now lying empty. He’d inspected it earlier and had found it clean and free of personal belongings, ready for him to make a new hearth with his wife. A wife as skittish as a colt ever since he’d brought her to his land. Seeing her at the wall—cold but too proud to admit any weakness—he’d longed to take her in his arms and warm her. He’d shoved the other ways to provide warmth aside—against a wall was not how he’d like to bed his wife for the first time.

Her prediction about the Romans worried him. Who were the “painted people” they needed to be wary of?

The terrace opened before them, and he steered Ashley with a hand lightly placed on the back of her arm. Even now, wariness stiffened her stride, but he took heart that she didn’t shy from his touch.

As his hand gripped the hearth latch, doubt lashed him—’twas a simple door, but… It represented crossing into their new life together.

His jaw clenched—no good came of doubting himself.

Swinging the door wide, he ushered his wife within. Someone had started a fire for them, and several torches flickered and sputtered along the wall. Ever since the talk by the wall and her request to speak to Mungan, Ashley had been quiet.

“What are you doing?” she said.

He whipped around, her words both a shock and relief. “Only closing the door. You can’t be telling me people in your land slept with them open for I witnessed none such behavior.”

She stood in the center of the room, the light bathing her features. Her back was as straight as a yew arrow. Her eyes narrowed. “I mean, why are you inside this hut with me?”

Hut? She made it sound demeaning. Like all the hearths on this terrace, it was one large room with a bed along one wall, spacious enough for a small family. The stone was cut smooth as a babe’s behind and tightly fit together, preventing any drafts. It was a fine home, and would be even finer with a woman’s touch. “Where else would I be?”

She flicked a hand toward the door. “In your own room, or hut. Definitely not in mine.”

He crossed his arms. “As your husband, this is my place as much as yours.”

She took a step forward, shaking her head. “Oh no, buster, we’re not really married. And I’m not sleeping with you, so if you have ideas in your head about that, you can just get rid of them.”

Now she’d put that image right back to the forefront of his mind, hadn’t she? Growling in frustration, he strode over to the fire and poked it into a roaring blaze with a length of iron. “The magic—”

“I don’t care what the magic did, we’re not married. I thought I was answering an ad for a part-time job in Scotland. Not an ad for a wife.”

He swung around. “I’m sorry you misunderstood, but it was not my intention.”

She marched over and settled cross-legged on top of the bed, as far away as she could get. This night was not going as he’d expected. Not at all. While, aye, she was on the bed as he’d imagined, it wasn’t an invitation. More of a watch your loins if ye value them.

And he did.

While it went against his purposes, he admired her strength. Her willingness to speak her mind to someone much stronger. And since it was in private, there was no harm in enjoying her spark.

Sparks made hearty blazes.

She’d learn, in time, who was in command.

She closed her eyes, and her chest rose and fell on a deep breath. He tried hard not to notice how it stretched the fabric across her full bosom.

When she reopened her eyes, calmness seemed to settle over her features. “Why didn’t you just get a local woman to marry you?” She assessed him from toe to nose. “You’re not bad-looking. Surely one of the women here would jump at the chance.”

He barely suppressed a smile. More than once a faint blush had tinted her cheeks after a surreptitious inspection. His upper arms seemed to draw her particular notice. He deliberately widened his stance and clasped his hands behind him, allowing the muscles along his arms to flex.

Aye, she darted a gaze there, and her tongue quickly licked her lips. She fooled no one.

“Yes. I could have convinced one of the women to be saddled with the likes of me.” But then his good humor left him on his next words. “But all marriageable ones are gone.”

“Gone?” Her forehead wrinkled. “All?”

“Aye.” The fight went out of him. He rounded the table and collapsed onto the bench facing her, his elbows on his knees. The weight of all that he was responsible for, all that his tribe had suffered, pushed down on his shoulders. By the ancestors, he was tired. “About a lunar month ago, we were attacked while most of the warriors were away, including myself. The raiders carried off most of the women and many of the children. To sell them, no doubt.”

A gasp cut through the room. She’d pulled her knees up to her chest, one arm wound tight around them and her other hand clasped to her mouth.

Her hand lowered, though her eyes were still wide. “That’s horrible. Slavery exists here? In this time?”

An old pain pinched his chest, and his voice choked out, “Aye.”

“Can you get them back?”

“We would if we knew who took them. Some of the men lost wives and children and wish for nothing more but to march on their stronghold to reclaim them.” They’d been returning from a successful hunt, joking and telling tales of their plans for when they reached home. They’d been absent five nights, leaving behind a small guard of younger men. As Connall and his companions crested the top of the last hill, though, all chatter died as angry smears of smoke spiraled upward from their stronghold. They’d kicked the sides of their mounts and raced to Dunadd, only to find most of their women and children stolen in a rare raid on their coast.

Anger filled him anew. If his mother had been alive still, she’d have been gone as well. Unable to take the shock and empathy she directed at him, he focused on the door. “We’ve sent runners to neighboring tribes, but none are close. On one side is the sea, and on the other are lochs and nearly impenetrable mountain passes, especially in winter.”

“What about survivors? Didn’t they see the raiders?”

“Aye, but in all the chaos, all they could tell was that they were not from nearby—their clothes and language were not ours.”

“Oh God.” Her choked words brought his attention back to her. She favored one god more than others? A nameless one, at that?

She was still curled against herself, her face paling. “I…I can’t believe… I must have gone pretty far back for Scotland to still have slavery.” Her eyes found his. “What year is it?” she whispered.

“Year?” The word sounded like one from her own tongue, not his, and he was unfamiliar with the meaning. Her tone indicated it was an important one, and he wished on all the gods that he could answer.

“Yes. I come from 2019, so this is…”

He frowned, still unsure of what she was asking.

“A.D. Anno Domini?”

“You speak the tongue of the Romans?” The rhythm sounded like the snatches he’d heard from local tribes who’d traded with them.

She put her hands to her face and then dragged them down. “So the Romans are still running around here? That should be a big, fat clue as to when. God, why didn’t I pay attention in history classes?” She unfolded her legs and gripped her knees, staring at him. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to your women, but I can’t be your wife. I have a life I need to get back to. As soon as that spellcaster returns, I’m having him send me home.”

He nodded. “Well enough, but know that by then, you probably won’t wish to return.”

Some of the spark returned to her face, her eyes. “Think that much of yourself, huh?”

He shook his head. “The tether will weaken for you the longer you remain. If you truly accept where you are, you will eventually forget your other life and be happy.” While he’d not felt much weakening—for there was no chance he’d accept life there—just the small amount had spurred him to finish his mission, enlisting Norton to aid him in placing the notice on the list of Craig’s.

She surged to her feet. “Wait. What? This magic will make me forget my former life by the next full moon?”

“After two full moons pass, aye. And it won’t make you. It’s only if you truly belong here and accept this as your home.”

“When is the second full moon?”

“Forty-nine nights from now.”

She paced to the far wall then back again, her gait jerky and stiff with tension. “Well, then, even more reason for me to not get all comfortable with you.” She gave a choked laugh, though it was still tinged with the heat of her anger. “This is not the job I signed up for.”

“It’s not a job. I’m not sure why you keep insisting this. Regardless, I told you what you could expect before you left.”

“When?”

“At the coffee shop, just before you agreed to return here with me.”

Her gaze went unfocused and then pink tinged her cheeks. “I, um…I didn’t quite hear all that.”

“I said them plainly in your tongue.”

She flapped her hands. “I was under the spell of your biceps, okay?”

“Biceps? That sounds like a word in your tongue not mine.”

She marched back to him. And pointed. At his upper arm muscles. “Those. Happy now?”

A surprising burst of pleasure filled his chest, but he kept very, very still.

Then she folded her arms and lifted her chin. “Anyway, I can’t stay here. This is not where I belong.”

He held his tongue. She was wrong. He was sure of it. She only needed time to adjust. She’d come around.

But having confirmation of her attraction gave him a new idea. He’d been mulling over the druid’s explanation of the magic. If he teased her, drew this attraction out longer, she’d eventually give in to her desire and join with him.

The way he saw it, if she initiated, she was telling the magic she belonged here.

He would simply have to exercise restraint. Somehow.

“I’m assuming we’re too far back for a shower?” she said.

“Shower?” This word was also in her tongue, as if the magic didn’t have an equivalent.

“A bath? Where’s the bathroom?”

He frowned, which made her eyes get rounder.

“Oh shit. Don’t tell me.” She flapped her hands around. “Where am I supposed to pee?”

That he understood. He pointed to a bucket in the corner.

She turned slowly back to him. “You have got to be kidding.”

“Why would I jest about such matters?” At the horror dawning across her features, another stab of uncertainty hit him as to whether his land was a better alternative. Of a certainty, they had a more efficient method for such matters.

“Why, indeed,” she whispered. She turned pleading eyes to him. “I can’t pee in a bucket. Not with you watching. What am I supposed to do with it after?”

“Throw it over into the south ravine like everyone else.”

She pointed to herself, then waved a hand around. “Me. Not where I belong.”

He sighed, stepped into the crisp night air, and closed the door behind him, giving her the privacy she required. Her adjustment might be harder than he figured.