Chapter Two
Castle Cumhacht, Scottish
Highlands
Laird Lachlan Gunn sent his men to fetch
Victor from the dungeon. Victor hadn’t lied. He did herald
from this perverse future where the dead stalk and make meals of
the living. Whilst the prisoner had mesmerized the laird with
fanciful tales and moving paintings that depicted a dying,
frightening future, ‘twas a story that had been difficult to accept
as truth. Lachlan kenned ‘twas time to accept the nigh unto
unbelievable tale.
Leastways, everything Victor had predicted
came to be. Even his sister Veronica had proven herself to exist,
having shown up on this AI scanner contraption a fortnight ago,
mayhap more. Lachlan had vowed to the mon that when and if his
sister died or arrived at the future Apple Creek
stronghold—whichever came first if it came at all—the laird would
release Victor from bondage. That day had come.
He liked Victor’s person, he did, and so
imprisoning him was not a task he’d taken any pleasure in, but
neither was Lachlan a fool. At thirty and five, he knew better than
to accept ordinary proclamations—much less outrageous tales—without
absolute proof. Mayhap the AI scanner itself should have been
testimony enough with its moving paintings and dark promises.
Leastways, ‘twas a decision he could live with for the wellbeing of
his clan came above all else. He hadn’t reached his station in life
without many a battle won and the protection of his people
proclaimed and freely given. Clan Gunn depended on him. Making
foolish mistakes was not in his nature.
His thoughts strayed back to the woman named
Veronica. He felt much admiration for her cunning ways and battle
prowess. In truth, never had he heard tell of a wench who could
make short work of men, yet she did so nearly everra day, sometimes
more than once in a day. She fascinated him as no wench ever had
afore. Both comely and deadly, Veronica was full of spellbinding
contradictions.
As laird, he knew the fortitude it took to
battle the living, but he couldna ken what it took to make war on
the resurrected dead. They were stronger, faster, and more vicious
than any mon he’d ever clanged swords with on the battlefield, yet
she cut them down like felled branches from a tree. Aye, she
intrigued him. Hell, she consumed his everra thought.
Lachlan paced back and forth in his
bedchamber, awaiting Victor’s arrival. His musculature corded and
tensed, his jawline grim. He wanted to understand how the woman
could come back through time. He dinna ken how Victor had managed
such a feat once, much less how he might bring someone back for a
second time. All the laird knew for a certainty was he wanted the
woman here under his protection.
He wanted her to come to him.