IntoEternity (5 page)

Alexander was restless. Again.

He retired late to his chambers to seek his bed but found he
could not sleep. He’d suffered the same way night after night for weeks. As he
lay in the dark, visions of his beautiful, dark-haired, golden-eyed Selkie
haunted him. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her lovely face and feel
her luscious body pressed against him, he could still taste her honey-sweet
lips under his.

He dreamed of her nightly and always the dream ended the
same.

He kissed his lovely lady and she responded to him so
beautifully. He found his self-control slipping as his lips moved over hers and
his hands roamed over her supple curves. He laid her down on his plaid on the
forest floor and covered her with his body. She was hot for him. His passion
grew by the minute and he was aroused to the point of exploding, but as he
moved to make his sweet selkie his in truth, she vanished from his arms.

Each night, he woke up hot and sweaty, his body aching for
what his mind had conjured up. The realization of just how much she had affected
him was startling. He tried not to ponder on the mysterious occurrence in the
woods all those long months ago. But he could not free himself from the dreams.
Nothing he tried kept them at bay.

Six months ago he had stood dumbfounded in that glen after Gusty
had suddenly vanished, trying to understand what had happened. His men had
finally come to find him. Davin had looked at Alexander for a long time and
then shook his head in resignation. The Norseman knew better than question
Alexander about the matter.

Duncan had demanded to know to know where Gusty had gone.
Alexander had informed his young cousin that the woman had gone back whence she
came and had ordered him to speak no more of her. He had been curt in his
instructions, having been both angry and devastated by her desertion.

Alexander did not believe in woodland sprites and such but
what had transpired in the forest before his startled eyes, he could not deny.
How she’d disappeared, where she’d gone, he had no notion. She was there one
moment and gone the next. He had thought up several ways to tell his men she
had disappeared into thin air but he had not the courage to face their
laughter. So he had told them she ran away. Maybe he had just dreamed her up?

Nay!
Impossible.
Others had seen her—his
cousin, his men. But he had no other feasible explanation. And he could not,
did not want to analyze his feelings on the matter.

Duncan had been downhearted at the woman’s desertion but
only for a short while. By the time they made it home he had bounced back and
picked up the threads of his life as if nothing unusual had happened. The only
reminder of the lad’s flight of folly and his encounter with the mysterious “Gusty
of the Isles” were the extra chores Alexander had assigned Duncan as punishment
for endangering himself and his clansmen.

Tonight started out no differently than the other numerous
nights Alexander had lain awake with only his thoughts to keep him company. But
after lying in his large, empty bed, imagining a woman he wasn’t even sure
existed, he decided to take Caesar on a moonlit ride.

The stallion had found his way back to the keep soon after
being abandoned in the Ross forest. Caesar had shown up at the outer gate one
morning, waiting to be let in and fed. The magnificent steed had been a gift
from Alexander’s older brother, Seamus, before he had been killed in a late-night
raid just over a year earlier. Alexander’s cousin, Allister, had also been
killed in that raid. It had been a hard year for the Sutherlands, losing two of
their strongest warriors, one of them the laird. Alexander had not only
inherited the title of chieftain of the clan, he had also gained the
guardianship of Allister’s young son, Duncan.

It had taken some adjusting to get used to being the laird.
Before the fatal raid he had only himself to worry about. Now he had the entire
clan. He had already been appointed the war chieftain of the Sutherlands, while
his brother had seen to the politics and leadership issues. But he now had both
tasks to see to and he found that under his guidance, his clan was prospering
and they had not had any significant raids of late.

Having Duncan under his guardianship helped to soften the
pain caused by his brother and cousin’s deaths. The lad was more than a handful
at times, his constant antics and stubbornness a challenge to Alexander’s
patience. But he loved Duncan as if he were Alexander’s own son. The death of the
boy’s father only a year after losing his mother under similar circumstances
had been hard on him and he seemed to be taking his grief and anger out on
everyone in the keep. Duncan had the look of his father and many of the man’s
mannerisms and some day he would grow to be a great warrior. For now he needed
the love and patience and discipline of his older cousin and his clan.

Having donned nothing but his plaid and his boots, Alexander
exited the darkened keep. He made his way down the abundant stairs from the
motte, upon which the main keep was built, to the lower bailey. When he reached
the lower enclosure, he turned and headed toward the stables. All was quiet.
The only people moving about this time of night were the watchmen on the top of
the wall. He waved and waited for the gate to rise.

Alexander held Caesar to a slow walk, checking the desire to
race headlong down the treacherous trail to the rocky seashore below. A lengthy
ride along the shoreline to his favorite hideaway was the only thing he could
think of to help keep his mind off his beautiful selkie. But so far his venture
was not working. Her image in his brain was so clear, as if he could reach out
and touch her. He shook his head and urged on his steed. When had he sunk so
low that the desire to possess one woman had him riding the edge of insanity?
Nay…the lack of sleep had him on edge and made him want to howl like a
lust-crazed wolf. He needed to focus on the affairs of his clan not the affairs
of his heart. He vowed to himself then and there that he would banish the
mysterious woman from his mind forever. Never again would he lose a night of
sleep over her.

* * * * *

“It is not enough, Bart. I want her dead! Immediately and
completely! That is why I brought her back. It has taken years to find her but
now that she is here she can be eliminated.” Imogen had turned into a little
mouse of a woman, with her pinched lips, lined face and clawlike hands waving
about in agitation. She minced around the oversized throne-like chair.

Bart sat in silence, pretending to be listening diligently to
all she said, but in reality he was busily calculating into his plans the
events that had taken place within this last year.

Black Bart craved power. He dreamed of having it night and
day. When he eventually accomplished all his goals, he would be in the position
to punish those who had dared to insult him over the years and reward those who
had been blindly loyal to him. The annoying prune of a woman who walked circles
around him, shrieking at him in her highly irritating voice, fell into both
categories. True she had been useful to him over the years, had helped him gain
a position in Edgar’s court and had bred him children, though they were useless
girls.

He had put out time and coin for extra men toward Imogen’s
plot to draw the Sinclair lass out of hiding. But lately Imogen had grown
irrational and he found it harder to control her rages. She would get a crazed
look in her eyes every time someone mentioned the Sinclair name. Her hatred and
bloodlust for Malcolm Sinclair’s bastard grew by leaps and bounds as the days
passed.

Bart feared he would have to eliminate her sooner than
later. Especially since he had revised his original plans and he no longer
needed his lover’s help. He could not afford to eliminate Augusta Sinclair now.
She was no longer the obstacle in his path to becoming the King of Scotia. She
had become a valuable bargaining piece to achieve his goal instead of one more
body he needed to remove. Even at this moment she should be on her way to marry
the laird of Clan Ross. When he heard this bit of information from one of his
informants, Bart had mentally rubbed his hands together. Things were falling
into place and he had not even had to lift a finger. Fate was indeed smiling
down on him.

With the death of Alexander Sutherland and his brat of a
nephew and with the Sinclair bastard wed to the Ross, Bart was more than half
way to controlling two of the most powerful clans of the north. He would
eventually be as mighty as—if not mightier than—Edgar himself.

Aye. I will be the most powerful man in the Highlands and
I will rule all of Scotia.

Bart had but one last unfortunate task to accomplish.
Another raid on the Sutherland’s holding to draw the laird out of his fortress
and he would see the man dead and buried. Then he could move right in to
console the wee lad. Perhaps a handful of years would then pass before the
young heir to the Sutherland lairdship would meet with an unfortunate accident…and
then nothing could deter Bart Sutherland from his ultimate goal. There would not
be a soul who could stop him. By the time anyone realized what was happening he
would be re-shaping the future. His lifelong ambition would be set in stone.

“Alexander! Alexander! I found her! She’s here! She’s down
in the glen!”

Duncan’s high-pitched voice had Alexander swinging around.

“Watch out!” Davin shouted.

Alexander looked back at his opponent and then leaped to the
side, just as the point of the young man’s blade whizzed past Alexander’s chest.
He turned his glare on the young warrior and the boy nearly broke down weeping
at the close call.

“God Almighty, Alexander, keep your mind on what you’re
doing. The lad nearly put his sword through your gut!” Davin walked toward
Alexander, frowning fiercely.

Alexander ignored his second and stared at Duncan as he
raced toward them across the training yard, shrieking his head off and waving
his arms as if he would take off flying.

“What’s got into Duncan?” Davin asked.

“I don’t know but I intend to find out. The lad needs to
learn he cannot cross the practice field while the men are working out.”

“Alexander! I saw her! She’s camped in the glen!”

Alexander caught his young cousin as the wee lad threw
himself up and into his arms. He hugged the skinny body to his chest tightly
for a moment and then set the lad back on the ground and frowned down at him.

“How many times have I warned you about running across the
practice field without heed? Your inattention will get you seriously hurt one
of these days, lad.”

Duncan hung his head and his narrow shoulders drooped sadly.
As Alexander finished scolding the boy, Duncan peeked up through his lashes and
grinned.

The little imp! A harsh chuckle exploded from Alexander’s
chest as he ruffled the boy’s long hair with affection. The lad tried him
sorely.

“You, my laddie, are a rascal. Now what has you so excited?
Who is in the glen?”

“Gusty!”

“Gusty?” Alexander’s voice dropped to a whisper and he shook
his head in shock and disbelief. Could this be?

“Aye she is camped in the glen with old Hagen and Maeve. I
was down there watching them. They’re witches you know. Can we invite her up to
the keep? I want everyone to meet her. She saved my life you know.”

“She’s down in the glen right now?”

“Aye I was watching their camp because I wanted to learn how
old Hagen does his magic. But he didn’t do anything except fix some mutton
stew.”

The lad sounded so disappointed Alexander had to smile. But
his mind worked over the information that the mysterious woman who’d haunted
his dreams for weeks, for months, was actually here on his land, so close by,
and he could have his hands on her within minutes. And he would have her no
matter what it took.

“Stay with Davin, lad. I have to tend to some business. And
stay out of the glen. The gypsies will carry you off one of these days and I
don’t want to have to chase after you like I did last time. Understood?”

He gave his young cousin a hard look that had the boy
nodding in agreement.

“I’ll watch the lad, Alexander. What of you?”

“I am going to capture a selkie, my friend.”

As he strode across the practice yard to the stables, he
heard a roar of laughter behind him and he smiled widely as he entered the
stables to saddle up Caesar.

* * * * *

Gusty walked leisurely down the narrow path that meandered
through the thick coastal forest. She needed time alone to do some serious
thinking and she had taken the opportunity of a late-afternoon walk to the beach
to mull things over. She had been told the weather was unusually warm for this
time of the year but she considered the temperature a little too brisk to be
comfortable. When her grandfather told her he considered it downright balmy,
she thought he was joking. But he was serious. If he considered this warm, she
was probably going to freeze to death when winter arrived.

Her grandparents had been prodding her for weeks to learn
everything she could about the Scotland of this era. They had been tutoring her
in the dress, speech and etiquette of Middle Age Scotland until she was filled
up to her ears with it all. Their goal was to prepare her for the eventuality
of her marriage. When she had first learned about their plans for her, she had
immediately assured them she was not in the market for marriage or a husband.
But they had been emphatic about their goal. In their visions, they had seen
her married to a great clan chieftain and it was well-known that the Ross was
actively looking for a wife of Sinclair birth. They had assured her she was
born to be his bride. Her fate, they had said, lay entwined with his.

She really hated the idea of being railroaded into a
marriage she did not want. But her grandparents had presented the whole thing as
a duty she was expected to fulfill—her destiny as the long-lost daughter of a
mighty Scottish laird. But when asked, her grandparents would circumvent her
questions about her father. She had not been able to get a straight answer
about her childhood or his identity. They would say only that he was one of the
greatest warriors in all the Highlands.

Gusty’s ideas on love and marriage were totally different
than those of a twelfth-century Scottish miss. She had been raised in another
time, half a world away. She had grown up with Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and
Snow White. A girl was supposed to meet her Prince Charming, fall in love and
be carried away in his arms on the back of a huge white charger. They’d marry
and live in his fantasy castle, happily ever after or some reasonable facsimile
of the old fairytales. But her grandparents expected her to give up her dreams
of a loving romance now that she had landed in a time where a woman’s value was
set by her usefulness as a bargaining chip.

These last six months had been a big adjustment for her. It
had taken most of that time for her grandparents to convince her of the concept
of traveling through time and to help her adapt to the strangeness of this
primordial era and the primitive way of life. All the everyday comforts she had
once taken for granted, such as running water and indoor plumbing, electricity
and television were now part of the future, her past. She wished she had some
way to warn her brother to pack a few small luxuries before her grandparents zapped
him from his comfortable lifestyle and deposited him in the Iron Age. She could
really use a tube of toothpaste and some decent shampoo and hair conditioner.

Ah well, I can dream…

The here-and-now concerned her most. She had always believed
she would marry for love. But she now faced this obligation that she did not
know if she could accept. How was she going to make her grandparents understand
she had doubts about marrying a man she did not know?

She wanted to fall in love first. Would it be asking too
much if she waited a while before agreeing to marry a perfect stranger? Get to
know him. Have talks with him, walks with him, find out if he was a good man or
an ogre. A shudder ran down her back at the thought. It did not matter to her if
he was a powerful Scottish laird, if he had all the wealth in the world…she
wanted a man who loved her. A swift memory of such a man crossed her mind.
He was just a fantasy.
She refused to think about the time she had spent
with “her Highland laird”.

In the last few months, her grandparents had explain to her
again and again that she was destined to marry this man, this Scottish laird,
and the result of the union would be an alliance between two of the most
powerful clans in Northern Scotia and eventual peace.

But she had her own agenda to follow. The fact she had not
been able to get a straight answer from them about why she and Michael had been
hidden away in the future as small children bothered her. And she meant to get
to the bottom of the mystery. The probability of there being any danger after
all these years seemed extremely remote to her. But then again, who was she to
argue with them? After all, they had foreseen the danger to her and Michael
when they were children and had moved them through time and distance to protect
them.

In all the years she had spent growing up in Idaho, she had
never questioned her grandparents’ odd quirks and the rituals they had
practiced at different intervals throughout each calendar year. But even the
contents of the trunks she discovered in the attic after they had gone had not
prepared her for the discovery of their true calling.

Her grandparents were not phony “telephone psychics”. They
were genuine soothsayers, clairvoyants from the Middle Ages. But until they
offered her more than just “it is your destiny” or “Fate decreed it so”, she
was not promising them anything.

Earlier that afternoon, her grandmother had left for a small
settlement on the other side of the Sutherland stronghold to visit another one
of her friends. They had been camped in the Sutherland glen for over a week now
and Maeve had been making the rounds of all the crofts in the area. She was
still looking for information that might give them some clue as to who pulled Gusty
unexpectedly into the past before it was her scheduled time.

The reasons for her grandmother’s forays around the area
were twofold. Maeve was seeking out any and all tidbits of information she could
before they journeyed on to the Ross’ holdings, wanted to insure they were not
walking into a trap as they traveled through unfamiliar territory. Gusty was to
be introduced to Laird Ross, expecting an offer of marriage. Grandmother Maeve
wanted to know all the recent gossip about the man. Gusty was anxious to find
out all she could about him also. After all if she decided she could abide the
Highland laird, she was obliged to become his betrothed and then eventually
marry him.

The powerful leader of Clan Ross was shopping for a wife. If
she believed the gossip, King Edgar had decreed that the mighty Ross pick a
wife from Clan Sinclair, thereby putting an end to an old feud. But the wily
Highland chieftain had not agreed to the mandate without having a backup plan.
He had let it be known that any woman, noble or peasant, of Sinclair blood
would be eligible to become his wife, as long as she could pass a trial of wits
that he had designed. He would accept only a smart woman as his perfect match
and only when he found that woman would he agree to the marriage.

Gusty had to give the laird credit for his wit. He was not
going against his king’s wishes but he found a way to postpone choosing a
bride, indefinitely. According to the gossip, he had been searching for well
over a year and the women who arrived at his castle in droves had been culled
down rapidly, most sent packing. With fewer offerings arriving weekly, the
great laird Ross was running out of candidates. Grandmother Maeve seemed to
think Gusty would be the perfect mate for the man. Her grandparents had,
without her realizing it until recently, been preparing her since her childhood
for just such a possibility. They’d mentally and physically groomed her and
Michael to survive in this primitive environment. The old couple knew what their
grandchildren would have to endure and had seen to it that their charges were
well prepared. Who was she to question Fate? What was the chorus of that old
Doris Day song?

Oh
yeah!
Que sera, sera; whatever will be,
will be.

So Gusty would meet the man and size him up. There could be
no harm in that, right? If she didn’t like what she saw or if the man turned
out to be a horrible person, she already had her grandmother’s word they would
leave the holding, Fate or no.

Since the day after she had literally landed in their soup
pot, Gusty and her grandparents had been making their way slowly southward
along the coast of Scotia, leaving Sinclair territory behind them. She had not
minded keeping a leisurely pace. It was a pleasant change, not having to
arrange her life in accordance with her alarm clock. And best of all she had
finally been able to get some well-deserved rest! She had been sleeping soundly
at night despite the hardness of her bed, which was a pile of furs on the ground.
The dark circles beneath her eyes had faded and she had actually begun to put
on a little weight. Her grandmother assured her that in this century men liked
their woman with a little meat on their bones. Skinny was considered a sign of
sickliness and poverty and that would not do for the lady of a great laird.

If that was the case, then the men in this country were
going to love her. But if her grandmother fed her up any more, Gusty was going
to have more than just pleasing curves. She was going to be downright plump. Good
thing she had found the opportunity to do a little swimming now and then. The
exercise helped to burn off pounds and she loved the water. They had always
made time to visit the Oregon coast when they lived in Idaho. It had been a favorite
tradition of hers. She couldn’t get enough of the sea.

As they had been traveling south along the coastline, she
had spent many hours just standing on the beach, watching the rough, wild ocean
crash in against the shore. The sounds of the gulls and starlings, which soared
high overhead, and the strong breeze blowing off the water all combined to
soothe and mesmerize her. Every evening she could manage to get away she took a
walk down to the seashore. She did not always indulge herself by bathing in the
sea—some evenings the temperature was too cold. But she enjoyed strolling on
the beach no matter the weather. Her grandmother told her pointblank she was
crazy for skinny-dipping in the frigid water. But the temperature had not
bothered her overly much. In fact she never felt as alive as when she cut
through the cold, salty water, tiring herself out with the brutal pace she set
for herself.

Tonight would be no different. She was looking forward to a
long, tiring swim as she hurried down the path to the beach. The late-afternoon
swim would help clear her head of all her worries. Perhaps she could even rid
herself of the nagging feeling of uneasiness that had been plaguing her for the
last few days. A premonition of sorts, that something was going to happen and
she was not going to be able to prevent it. She was beginning to wonder if
maybe some of her grandparents’ peculiarities were rubbing off on her.