CHAPTER THIRTEEN #3
Kit said, “Nick, that’s like looking for a needle in a haystack and you know it. It could take a week to turn up something that might not even pan out. Or it could take years.”
Maclean shook his head. “Sam doesn’t have days, much less years. They will torture her. She’s not afraid, but by the time they’re through, she’ll know fear.” His face hardened. “There is only one way to find her,” he said grimly. And he vanished.
Nick flinched as his screams began.
Loch Awe, Aug 11, 1527
HE’D NEVER TRIED to follow anything or anyone back in time before. But, as he recovered from the leap, he was certain he was in the right time and close to Sam.
He hesitated, slowly standing, on the threshold of Castle Awe’s great room. So much tension filled him that he could not move. He’d forgotten it all, deliberately. Now, everything came flooding back.
The room was huge, with raftered ceilings, stone walls and stone floors.
God, it was so familiar, even if the furnishings had changed.
The hearth remained the same, as did the pair of velvet chairs facing it.
And the trestle table was still there, with two long benches, an armchair at each end.
But there were crossed swords and a shield with a coat of arms on one wall, a rich, red and gold tapestry on another.
Small windows had been added, with iron bars, in the unlikely case of attack or a siege.
There were more chairs throughout the chamber and several beautiful chests and tables, as well as a pair of fine Persian rugs.
He remembered being a small, innocent boy in that room.
There had been rushes on the floor, not rugs, and the trestle table, benches and the two chairs in front of the fire had furnished the entire room.
He’d been happy then. There’d been a wolfhound bitch and her pups.
There’d been a small horse. Hunting trips.
Suddenly he could see his handsome father sweeping inside, calling out to him, fresh from a battle.
He remembered running to him, to be lifted high up and then set down, shrieking with laughter.
Maclean breathed hard. He didn’t want the damned memory, even though most men would consider it a good one.
But even worse was recalling Aidan seated at that table in a cloud of darkness, with the servants cowering before him, dining with his soldiers, who were demonic or possessed.
He wasn’t there, because he was Moray’s prisoner, but he’d used his visual telepathy to go to his father, to beg him to hear him—to find him and rescue him!
Instead, Aidan hadn’t been able to see or hear him.
It was so fucking ironic. His father hadn’t been able to rescue him, but now, his life was devoted to protecting the children of this world from the evil that preyed on them.
He was already distressed, and standing in that great room was making him become even more uneasy and uncomfortable.
He shouldn’t have come back.
But Brianna had the Sight. Surely she could locate Sam.
Thinking about Sam made his gut twist unbearably. He bent over, holding his midsection, breathing hard, through the pain. They were going to do to her what they’d done to him…
And he forced himself to see. He went still, horrified.
Sam was chained to a huge table in a dark room. A medieval surgeon stood before her beneath a light, holding a butcher’s knife.
He began to shake. He did not want to know what they meant to do with that knife.
Then he heard voices.
He straightened, alarmed. Sweating, he recognized the sound of his father’s voice—even though he hadn’t seen him in twenty-five years—and his stepmother, Brianna. He didn’t know if he could really face them. It seemed an impossible feat. Yet he needed Brianna’s help.
Time was running out for Sam.
Aidan appeared on the other side of the room with his wife.
He was a tall, powerfully built, extremely handsome man with dark, wavy hair.
He wore typical Highland dress: a belted tunic that came to midthigh, knee-high boots, and a blue-and-black plaid pinned over one shoulder.
He was unbuckling his sword belt as he entered the room, which a page took.
Brianna wore a long blue velvet gown with gold embroidery and a gold girdle.
Her dark hair was braided and coiled around her head.
Aidan saw him and halted, blanching.
Brianna saw him next. Her eyes went wide. “Ian!”
He put on the coldest, most indifferent expression he could manage, while inside, his gut churned more violently. He didn’t move as they rushed to him. Instead, he braced himself.
His gaze met Aidan’s. His father’s regard was searching and uncertain. Ian knew his father was desperate for a sign that he cared. He couldn’t give it to him. He didn’t even want to. He would never care about him as he once had, as a small, innocent child.
Because looking at him now, this way, made him remember every moment of every day he had been held captive. He recalled the worst moments of torture, the humiliation, the shame. He saw his grandfather, cruelly smiling, and the handsome monk, his blue gaze lewd and lusting.
And now Carlisle had Sam.
But before he could throw up, Brianna threw her arms around him and held him. “I’m so happy to see you,” she cried, clinging. Then she seized his face and held it in her two hands. “You’re so beautiful! Look at you—we’ve missed you so much!” She stared more closely at him. “Ian, what is it?”
He stepped back, somehow controlling his nausea. “Brianna, Father.” He was curt. “I’ve come for yer help.”
Aidan’s expression tightened. Sorrow flitted through his eyes. “O’ course we will help ye.” He reached out and clasped Ian’s shoulder, hard.
He knew how much Aidan loved him, but he couldn’t handle the small gesture of intimacy and affection.
He tensed and pulled away. “I was with Sam in New York City. A human captured her—Rupert Hemmer—and leapt with her. Hemmer is allied with the monk of Carlisle. I tried to follow her. I think she’s here, somewhere.
” He looked at Brianna. “She’s in a dungeon, about to be tortured. ”
Aidan inhaled. “The monk can be found most often at Carlisle Cathedral, Ian, from where he rules most o’ the Lowlands. Everyone fears him—the bishop, the mayor, the nobles, even our king. He has great powers, dangerous powers.”
“I’ve seen how powerful he is,” Ian said. He stared at Brianna. “Please help me find Sam.”
“Of course I’ll help,” Brie said, ashen now. She reached out to Aidan, who took her hand and squeezed it. “Sam is my cousin and my dearest friend.”
“She canna see on demand, Ian,” Aidan said quietly.
“I know.”
Brie let go of her husband’s hand and walked over to the fire.
She stood there, staring at it. Ian turned his back on her, ignoring his father, as well.
He focused on Sam. His tension soared as he realized that Hemmer and the monk stood behind the surgeon, who was sharpening the knife. Sam. Yer not alone. I am coming.
She was unmoving, but she said something to Hemmer and Carlisle. Hemmer’s face turned ugly.
She hadn’t heard him. But why should she? His father hadn’t heard him, either, all those years ago.
He tried again. Sam! I am coming.
She did not react. He did not want to see anymore, but had to help her. He didn’t think he could unlock the shackles with his mind through space and time, not when she hadn’t even heard or seen him, but he decided to try. He concentrated on the locks, when suddenly her image vanished.
He cursed inwardly and glanced at Brianna, who stared into the fire, as if in a trance. God, they did not have any more time!
He pictured Sam again. Now he noticed a small window high up on the wall behind Hemmer and Carlisle. Sunlight was coming through it. He focused on the locks one more time. And he heard a horn.
His attention jerked to the window behind the two men, because the sound came from outside the dungeon.
The horn’s trumpeting was an announcement of someone’s arrival.
Ian realized that he might know more about where she was if he could change his focus and get outside the stone chamber.
Ian breathed hard. Sweat poured down his body as he stared past her at the window.
The sound of the horn bugling became louder—closer.
Suddenly he saw the white stone steps outside the entrance of a magnificent cathedral, where a pair of liveried musicians were playing their horns.
A coach had arrived. Four bay horses pulled it.
A cleric stepped forward from the front steps, red and gold robes flowing, huge gold cross glinting.
The bishop turned to his secretary, who carried a scroll and a quill.
The coach doors were opened by two liveried servants.
No! He wanted to see that scroll.
Suddenly he saw the crooked red nose on the secretary’s pinched face. Then he saw the hunched shoulders of the bishop, from behind. He zoomed back. The secretary was writing.
And he saw the scripted Latin on the page.
No! He cursed, tried again.