The rules were established, not only for Iain’s territorial alpha-male comfort in allowing me to return, but also for my protection. Iain had lost control the moment I left, but he trusted my adherence to his few conditions as a way for him to keep me safe, even if he wasn’t here to personally guarantee my well-being.
My mind tackled the new scenario on the fly because, if I’d learned anything on my journey over the last weeks, adaptability ensured survival. I stepped out of the dwelling, collecting up an extinguished torch. I held the tip against the smoldering coals of a fire until the fibers ignited enough to create a makeshift flashlight. The glowing torch illuminated the space back inside, allowing me to search for clues. My whole gaining-knowledge-for-power mantra remained alive and well.
I swung the light through the room, surveying everything within arm’s length. The box sat at the head of our sleeping pallet. Its relocation made sense if Velloc wanted to make it work again without having to live at the cave. They must’ve left the box back in the cave the first time I’d arrived for a reason, though. I’d investigate that issue further later.
The beginnings of a plan developed as I chewed my lower lip. Iain’s rules helped guide my decisions as I worked through the sections aloud, soothed by the sound of my own voice.
“Rule number one: ensure my safety at all times.” We’d agreed I should remain in the cave a single day and night to await Velloc if he wasn’t in the cave when I arrived. If he didn’t show, I would travel along the same route, to the best of my recollection, back to the village. Not only had that been deemed unnecessary, I’d gained thirty-six hours in my quest by already being at the village. I only hoped the head start would help make up for time lost to actually find Velloc.
I poked around further in the small space, turning around. The table and chairs were empty. He’d taken his waterskin and personal weapons. And no yellow sticky note had been left saying, “Honey, I ran to the store. Back in a few.”
With no other clues visible, I returned the torch outside and scraped its glowing-orange tip out on the flat surface of a rock while I scanned the sleeping village. Finding my mate would have to wait until morning, since nothing short of an attack on our village would have me interrupt sleeping, or otherwise indisposed, couples.
Rule Number One repeated through my mind: ensure my safety at all times. I laid my head on an improvised fur pillow I’d made, inhaling Velloc’s scent. I missed him.
Pining for Velloc reminded me of Rule Number Two, which had been scored into my memory when Iain said with absolute conviction, “When you’re there, you belong to Velloc. When not . . . You. Are. Mine.” Iain stomached the gut punch of my returning by demanding I spend a lot more time in his world. My responsibility in the warped scenario had become a necessity for both our sanity and the relative happiness of the two men affected: love the one you’re with.
I grumbled to the box. “Kinda hard to do, since I’m alone right now.”
My only audience replied with a snap of energy, traces of power still sizzling from its surface. The artifact’s remaining activity had powered down to a low hum. Our connectedness emanated a soothing warmth into my body that lulled me toward sleep.
Morning would arrive on the flip side. When it did, I planned to make maximum use of the restriction I had under Rule Number Three, which ensured my return without a supplemental power boost.
“I have one week.”
CHAPTER Twenty-three
Highlands of Scotland—Ancient Reign of the Picts, One Day after My Return
I burst into abundant sunshine after realizing I’d overslept. I hoped I hadn’t lost too much time and had no idea why I’d slept so long—my body should’ve still been on thirteenth-century time. Again with the time-travel jet lag.
The tangerine sun’s half-sky position, and the Highland’s eighteen hours of midsummer daylight, hinted that hours of precious light had already burned off along with the morning haze. I searched for familiar faces as activity frenzied about like an ant farm, everyone capitalizing on the brilliant blue-sky day.
Suddenly, a raven-haired blur raced by. I shot my arm out, clotheslining her. Before I could blink, she flipped me flat onto my back, knocking the wind out of me. I coughed, trying to speak as she glared down at me, poised to attack.
Finally, I found enough oxygen to rasp out, “Dotán, it’s me.”
A smile brightened her face as she extended a hand. “Isobel!”
Her strong grip hoisted me up, and I dusted my ass off laughing. “Damn, girl. You’ve got one hell of a defensive reflex.” My spoken English wasn’t lost on her ears; she and I had spent time daily learning each other’s language, especially slang.
I switched to Pict, cutting to the chase. “Dotán, where have the men gone?” I grasped both her hands in mine, stealing her attention away from squealing kids that were teasing the puppies.
“On a hunt for horses,” she replied.
Raiding. Great. Commonplace piracy threatened to derail my entire trip.
Velloc and I had done plenty of game hunting. I knew all of their favorite stomping grounds, searchable in the span of what remained of the day, but we’d never gone raiding.
“I need a waterskin. Were any men or young boys left behind?”
Dotán nodded. “Ungust is injured and resting. Talorcan stays at the pens tending two mares about to foal.” She disappeared into her dwelling and returned, handing me a filled deerskin pouch. I tucked my head under the long leather strap, securing it diagonally across my chest.
“I’m going to find Velloc. If he returns, tell him to wait here for me.”
Dotán’s shocked expression matched my screaming gut. I’d tipped from the edge of crazy toward insanity.
I patted her shoulder, laughing. “It’ll be okay, Dotán. I promise.” I jogged off, heading to the stables, not sure if I’d been trying to reassure her or me.
A pregnant bay mare, heavy with her distended belly, stood in the shade of a rowan tree laden with creamy-white flowers. She raised her head, interrupting her afternoon snack of tall blades of grass, her ears swiveling at my approach without much concern. My sprint-induced gasping breaths had likely alerted her of my presence long before my arrival.
I poked my head into the teepees and scanned the area, searching for Talorcan. With no sign of him anywhere, I went to the stream. The teenage boy, about fifteen years old, napped on a flat rock shaded by an overhanging ledge, his reddish-brown hair fanned around his head.
“Talorcan!”
The boy bolted straight up, scrambling to his feet as if he’d been caught sleeping on the job. I laughed. He had.
“I need you to take me to the raiding party.”
He squinted at me, the lunacy of my suggestion registering on his face. He shook his head. “I’m to birth the remaining foal.”
“Did you birth the first one?” I asked in a clipped tone.
He grinned proudly. The expression gave his face a ruggedly handsome quality over his boyish charm. “Yes.”
“And did you need to do anything? Did you touch the mare? Did you have to pull the foal out? Did you assist in any way?”
His face fell as his gears turned.
I continued, helping my cause. “Aren’t older men tending the sheep, cattle, and horse herds?” I remembered seeing two of them in the fields as I confidently spoke the words.
Without answering my redundant questions, Talorcan whirled around and charged toward the pasture behind the stables where a few horses remained, including Malibu. I smiled.