Chapter Thirteen
Joey
"Are you sure about that?" I ask. Rachel has witchy powers of her own. I know that for a fact since she used those abilities to craft a potion that stopped me from disappearing or whatever she thought might happen to me. "Seems like a garden could be a portal to who knows where."
Rachel laughs in a sweet way that makes me want to kiss her---and do a lot more than that too. "You're not entirely wrong. But it's not just any garden. The ancient stones must be arranged in a specific pattern, and the incantation..." She trails off, watching my face with sudden suspicion. "Why are you so interested in portals all of a sudden?"
I shrug, trying for a casual attitude but probably failing miserably. "Just trying to understand this world I've stumbled into. Knowledge is power and all that."
Her fingers brush against mine, sending that familiar electric current up my arm. "Joey Finnegan, you're a terrible liar."
Before I can defend my honor---or lack thereof---she glances over her shoulder. "We best go back inside, mo leannan ."
I'm about to ask why, but then I glance back too and finally understand. Efrica just appeared from inside the house, her figure blocking what little light filters through the narrow castle windows. The old woman's gaze remains steadily on me, though her attention doesn't feel mistrustful.
Efrica speaks directly to her niece. "Your father is coming, dearie."
Rachel tenses up, and her eyes widen a touch. "Now? Why didn't you say something sooner?"
"I have told you now, have I not?" Efrica waves toward the doorway behind her. "And here he is, mo leannan . I must say your father seems less than pleased with the situation."
The imposing figure of the laird of Dùndubhan emerges from the castle. His boots clomp loudly on the gravel, the sound echoing throughout the courtyard.
Oh, shit.
Kieran MacTaggart looks like he wants to murder me. With his squinty gaze and flexing muscles, he's doing a fantastic impression of an evil bastard who wants to rip my throat out and eat my entrails for dinner. But I'm not buying his act. Not much, that is. No, Big Daddy can't intimidate me. He does have a big old sword in his hand, but that doesn't mean he would actually murder me. Does it?
"Are you going to throw me into the garderobe shaft?"
Kieran chuckles in the evilest way. "No, laddie, I have other plans for you today."
Nope, that doesn't sound ominous at all.
Big Daddy halts right in front of me, keeping his hand on the hilt of his claymore. "Before I let ye spend more time with my daughter, I need to find out what yer made of, macan . That means a test, and it willnae be easy. Rachel is my only child, after all. I think ye ken what I mean."
"Yes, sir, I do. May I ask what sort of test it will be?"
Kieran grins with feral glee. "The physical sort, naturally. Can ye handle that, Mr. Finnegan?"
I remember the bartender back in modern times called me macan too. "I hate to keep asking these questions, but what does macan mean?"
"The term describes a young laddie."
"Okay, thanks."
I get that he needs to test me in the worst ways to make sure I can protect Rachel, and that I won't hurt her for fun. Still, it feels like he's going overboard with these physical tests. But I will endure every torture he puts me through. Why? Because Rachel is amazing.
"Prepare yourself, laddie," Kieran growls, his burly frame looming over me. "Let's see how ye handle yerself in a real fight."
Suddenly, I feel like a trout that's been caught on a fishing line. But he won't scare me away. "Listen, big guy, I appreciate the whole protective father routine, but don't you think we could settle this over a nice cup of tea instead? Or maybe a bottle of whisky?"
Kieran's eyes narrow dangerously. "Ye think this is a game, do ye?"
"No, sir, I don't."
"Good. Remain here."
Before I can ask why, Kieran jogs over to the bakehouse and disappears behind the building. A minute or two later, he emerges. But now, he's carrying a big log over one shoulder.
He drops it on the ground at my feet. "Pick up the caber and toss it clear across the courtyard."
"What? Are you serious?"
"Aye. Deadly serious."
I stare at the massive log lying on the ground, wondering if Kieran's lost his mind. The thing must weigh at least a hundred and seventy-five pounds. I've seen strongman competitions on TV, but I never imagined I'd be expected to hurl a telephone pole myself.
"You're joking, right?" I ask, hoping against hope that this is all some elaborate Scottish prank. I know he wants to test me, but still...
Kieran's face remains impassive. "Does it look like I'm joking, macan ? Mayhap you're afraid to try. No harm in admitting defeat."
I sigh, resigning myself to my fate. Then I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin. "Okay, laird. I'll give it a shot. But if I throw out my back, you're paying for my chiropractor."
"Your what?"
"Never mind. It's a twenty-first century thing."
Approaching the caber, I wrap my arms around it, trying to find the best grip. With a grunt that would make a wild boar proud, I heave the log onto my shoulder, teetering precariously as I struggle to balance its immense weight. My legs quiver, threatening to buckle under the strain. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I'm pretty sure I've pulled at least three muscles I didn't even know I had.
"Any day now, laddie," Kieran taunts, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
I take a deep breath, summoning every ounce of strength I possess. With a primal yell that probably sounds more like a strangled cat, I charge forward, my steps unsteady under the caber's bulk. At the last moment, I heave upward with all my might, flipping the log end over end.
Time seems to slow as the caber arcs through the air. I hold my breath, silently praying to any Scottish deity who might be listening. By some miracle---or sheer dumb luck---the caber lands with a resounding thud, perfectly upright, before toppling forward. I stand here, panting and wide-eyed, hardly believing what just happened.
Kieran's eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his stoic features. "Well, I'll be damned," he mutters, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Ye might have some potential after all, lad."
I try to suppress my grin, not wanting to appear too smug. "Thanks, I think. So, does this mean we're done with the medieval weight-lifting routine?"
Kieran's eyes narrow again, and I immediately regret my sarcastic jibe. "Not even close, boy. That was only the warm-up. Do it again, five more times."
Though I'm still breathing hard from the exertion, I suck in a deep breath and blow it out. Then I hoist the caber again, roaring as I throw it halfway across the courtyard. I fist pump and shout, jumping up and down like lunatic. Rachel claps and cheers. Well, at least she appreciates my effort.
"Not done yet, laddie. I have another test for ye." Kieran gives me that evil grin again. "Something much more dangerous."
Oh, great . I think he's trying to give me a heart attack just to get rid of me.
Kieran leads me back into the house, into the long gallery as it turns out. I haven't seen this room before. It has large windows and three separate sections, unlike the great hall on the lower floor. This room doesn't have any kind of furniture, not even a table. My heart sinks as Kieran gestures to a rack of weapons nearby.
"Now, let's see how ye handle a claymore."
I scrutinize the array of lethal-looking weapons. "A claymore? That's your weapon of choice, huh? You seem like the kind of guy who'd want the biggest, baddest sword around."
"There are larger swords out there---such as the Wallace, the Celtic war sword, and the silver basket hilt. But I prefer my claymore."
"Can't deny it's awesome."
Kieran's lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smile. "Dinnae fash, macan . We'll start ye off with a wooden practice sword."
"Oh, how merciful of you," I mutter under my breath.
I grab the practice sword, nearly dropping it as I underestimate its weight. How can wood be so...hefty. Kieran hoists his own wooden claymore with ease, twirling it like it's made of paper.
Kieran's grin is almost feral as he settles into a fighting stance. "Show me what ye've got, Finnegan."
He proceeds to put me through my paces, challenging me to beat him in this round of swordplay. He nicks me a few times---strictly to show off, I think---then I start to gain the upper hand. I wonder briefly if Kieran is holding back so he won't accidentally hurt me. But I finally decide he's not the type to do that. By the time our practice session ends, we're both sweaty and exhausted---in a good way. I haven't felt this energized...ever.
Kieran studies me with a less bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes this time. "Ye've got potential, laddie. But don't get cocky. There's more to protecting my daughter than swinging a sword."
"Whatever you want me to do, I'm game." I lean on my practice claymore for support. "What's next? Wrestling a bear? Climbing a mountain on hands and knees?"
The corner of Kieran's mouth twitches. "Don't tempt me, Finnegan. I could insist you climb Beann Dealgach exactly that way---on all fours. But for now, we'll work on your tracking skills. The Highlands can be treacherous, and ye need to learn how to navigate them."
"Uh, what was that phrase you spouted? I assume it was Gaelic."
"Aye, 'twas my mother tongue. Beann Dealgach is the mountain on which Dùndubhan resides." Kieran waves toward the gates. "Come with me, Joseph."
Rachel races up to us. "I must go with you, please, Father."
Kieran rolls his eyes and sighs. "No, mo nighean . This is a trial Joseph must undertake without your assistance."
Just as I open my mouth to ask the obvious question, Rachel glances my way and explains. " Mo nighean is the Gaelic version of 'my daughter'. Enjoy your manly time with the laird of the castle."
I follow him, my legs wobbling slightly from the exertion of our sparring match. We make our way to the edge of the castle grounds, where the manicured lawns give way to wild, rugged terrain. The misty Scottish landscape stretches out before us, a patchwork of emerald hills and shadowy glens.
"All right, laddie," Kieran says, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I'm going to give ye a head start. Ye have five minutes to disappear into the wilderness. Then, I'll come after ye. If ye can evade me for an hour, ye pass this test."
I blink at him, wondering if I've misheard. "You want me to play hide-and-seek in the Scottish wilderness? With you as the seeker?"
"Aye, that's the idea. And I suggest ye start running, laddie. Your time starts now."
Determined to meet Kieran's challenge, I sprint through the woods, tripping over rocks and depressions but never falling despite the uneven terrain. As I push deeper into the forest, I try to think strategically, knowing Kieran will easily track my obvious trail if I just keep running in a straight line. Veering left, I head toward a babbling stream I can hear in the distance. The sound of rushing water grows louder as I approach, and I step carefully into the shallow creek, wincing at the icy cold that seeps through my boots.
Wading upstream for several yards, I hope the water will mask my scent and muddy my trail. When I spot a low-hanging branch from a nearby oak, I seize my chance. With a grunt of effort, I haul myself up into the tree, scraping my palms on the rough bark. Perched on a sturdy limb about fifteen feet off the ground, I try to catch my breath and calm my racing heart. The mist swirls around me, providing some cover, but I know it won't be enough to fool Kieran for long. I'd guess that man must have the tracking skills of a bloodhound.
Just as I'm starting to think I might have given Kieran the slip, I hear it---the faint crunch of leaves underfoot, too heavy to be an animal.
Kieran's massive form materializes through the mist, his golden eyes scanning the forest floor. I hold my breath, not daring to move a muscle as he pauses directly beneath my perch. He kneels, examining something on the ground that I can't see.
"Clever laddie," he murmurs, a note of approval in his gruff voice. "Using the stream to mask your trail. But not clever enough."
My heart sinks as Kieran's gaze slowly travels upward, his eyes locking onto mine with predatory intensity. A wolfish grin spreads across his face. "Found ye, Finnegan. Ye might want to work on your climbing skills. Ye left quite a few marks on this tree."
I jump down, brushing off my trews, and I grin too.
Kieran folds his brawny arms over his chest. "Ready for the next challenge?"
"I'm up for anything you throw at me."
"Good. Let's go back to the castle."
Once we reach the outer wall, Kieran halts and gestures toward the stone structure. Then he grasps my shoulder and squeezes hard. "Ye haven't climbed the curtain walls yet."
"The whats?"
Kieran holds up one finger, pointing toward the giant stone walls that surround the castle.
Oh, shit.