Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) (6 page)

Dallan, by his own admis
sion, had two goals in life. The fi
rst, and often
foremost, was to fi
nally get his hands around Kwaku’s heathen neck, take his time with the slow, steady, pleasurable
squeezing
of it and ignore the
strangled pleas for mercy the good-for-nothing might manage to squeak out.

The other, equally unlikely goal was to get out of wherever he was and back to Scotland and his people.
To just go home.
And at this point, Dallan was ready to do almost
anything
to get there.

Dallan tossed the now dirt and blood stained towel on the table, reached for his plaid, and headed for the door. Perhaps this interview was what he’d been waiting
for. Perhaps this time he’d fi
nd an ally in the Lord Councilor from Sutter’s Province.
Perhaps, at long last, he’d fi
nd a way to be rid of the painful company of Kwaku Awahnee.

Dallan left his cottage, one thought burning in his mind, a rekindled idea that always gave him hope. With determined steps he strode to the Lord Councilor’s
quarters, his face etched in fi
rm resolve. No matter what it took, this time he’d do it.

This time he’d escape.

* * *

 
John stared at the dying fi
re, his face locked in serious contemplation.

 
The Scot was unstable.

 
Not only was he unstable, he was frustrated and discouraged. A nasty combination any way you looked at it. How in the Creator’s name was John going to get him to open up?

He sighed, saddened by the circumstances surrounding the Weapons Master’s removal from his
home by Kwaku ten years ago. Th
e Time Master
should never have allowed Dallan’s deep emotional wounds to go unhealed, or let bitterness and vengeance be used to bind them. John’s people knew from experience that bitterness and vengeance were poor healers.

A knock at the already open door snapped John out of his thoughts. He sat up and turned in his chair. “Come in.”

To John’s surprise, Dallan entered. “Were ye no expecting me, sir? Ye look as if I’ve given ye a start.”

 
John quickly collected himself. “No, you didn’t startle me. I just didn’t expect you this soon. I thought you would need more time to get cleaned up.”

“Ye thought wrong.”

“Yes,” John began as he judged the stern tone in the Scot’s voice. “Please, sit down.”

Dallan took a chair opposite John’s an
d placed it before the dying fi
re. He sat and immediately assumed what John had learned was his favorite position, legs outstretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles, his massive forearms crossed over an impressi
ve chest. Th
e Scot
’s six-foot-six frame, in a one-
room cottage, seemed even larger and more intimidating. John was glad Dallan requested the door to the cottage remain
wide
open. It meant an easy escape route should the need arise, which luckily it hadn’t.

“I still have some questions I need to ask you, Dallan. I know we’ve discussed things you may not understand,” John began calmly. “I want to help you make sense of as much of it as possible.”

“If yer referring to all that Time Master nonsense, yer wasting your
time. I dinna believe a word of
it.”

The Lord Counci
lor took a slow, deep breath. Th
is was not going to be easy, but no use stalling.
He leaned forward slightly, fi
xed his eyes on the Scot, and let him have it. “Tell me, Dallan. What do you feel most ashamed of in your past?”

Th
e Scot stared at him as if the previous day’s interview had been the most monumental waste of time he could recall. His mouth twisted up to one side in a silent snarl, silence his only answer.

John didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until Dallan’s face calmed. He tried not to let him see how sorry he was to have asked the question, that it was only his job. But he could see Dallan read the reaction for what it was. Perceptiveness was one of the Scot’s many attributes the Elders deemed valuable.

“There is nothing in my life that I be ashamed of, sir,” Dallan said quietly, too quietly as far as John was concerned. He knew the Scot’s past and also knew the question had to have set off a multitude of unwanted emotions inside the man.
  

John decided to take a risk. “Not even of Alasdair?” It wasn’t a question so much
as a frontal attack. John stiff
ened slightly in his chair and waited for the verbal storm to come.

Dallan suddenly sat up straight, the transformation from man to warrior complete within two seconds of the question’s utterance. He sucked a long breath through his nose, then sat back in his chair and assumed his previous position. “What happened in Glencoe,” he began, a slight challenge in his voice, “wasna my fault.” His bright green cat’s eyes bore into John, piercing his concentration and weakening his resolve to get through the remainder of the interview by tomorrow night.

John knew he was defi
nitely going to need more time with this man. “Are you ashamed of it?” He asked, accepting the challenge in Dallan’s eyes head-on.

Dallan leaned forward in his chair until he was as close to John’s face as he could get without actually leaving his seat. “No.”

John noted the nonverbal message and
tried a diff
erent approach. “Have you ever known shame, Dallan? Has shame ever touched your life?
If not, I fi
nd it hard to believe. Shame has a way of touching us all in one form or another.”

“Aye,” Dallan began. “There is one thing that shames me.” His eyes
sought and captured John’s at that moment, holding them fast.

Th
e Lord Councilor stiff
ened. Dallan was going for a kill.

“You
shame me, John. You and yer people who keep telling me they will send me home, yet nothing happens! Ye keep me here against my will and treat me like some prized stalli
on being prepared for sale.” Th
e Scot’s eyes
narrowed further and seemed to suck the very air from John’s lungs. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

“Oh, I’ll admit ye give me my freedom to move about and go where I please. Within reason o’course.” Dallan’s burr thickened with sarcasm. “But I canna leave. I havena even been able to travel to the city! Why is that? What is there that ye canna bear for me to see?
Or are ye afraid
I might fi
nd my escape there, slip from yer grasp and
be gone from this place forever?
”

Dallan’s position changed too fast for John to react. Before he knew it the Scot’s face was inches from his own, those piercing green eyes practically drilling holes through his skull and out the wall behind him.

“What else?” Came John’s seemingly calm reply. He felt it to be a rather brave thing to say, considering he had two hundred eighty pounds of wound-up Highland warrior breathing into his face like an angry beast.

“What else?” Dallan
snorted
as he stood suddenly upright. He towered over John, who still seated noticed he was a good six feet from the chair Dallan had so recently occupied. How could a man of such size move so fast? His attention was suddenly drawn to the twitch i
n the Scot’s jaw, and he stiffe
ned in preparation for whatever Dallan might say or do next.

“What else, ye ask? What else indeed! I’ll tell ye what else, Lord Councilor.
You
try to spend yer life being followed around by a heathen the size of a bloody tree!
You
spend day in and day out defending yerself against him!” Th
e Scot waved a fi
nger in John’s face as he emphasized each of his next words. “Because ye ken if ye make one mistake, one wee slip, he’ll have his chance and make ye regret ye ever let him have it!”
He turned away from John briefl
y in an attempt to calm himself down.

It didn’t work. “I wasna careful today and look what he did!” Dallan spun to face him again and pulled the Sark away from his sho
ulder, displaying the
heathen’s handiwork.

John gasped. It was a sight indeed, spreading from the base of Dallan’s neck to the end of his shoulder and down his arm. He noted the injury was on Dallan’s right side, his main weapons arm. It must have hurt like burning bells and probably still did. By the Creator, how could the Scot keep the pain hidden so well?

“You’ll need to
have that shoulder wrapped. Th
e bone may be bruised.”

John shot Dallan a stern look. “Why didn’t you have that looked at before our meeting?”

“Because,” Dallan growled, “I didna want
him
to have the pleasure of knowing he’d gotten me. Again.”

John’s face
took on a look of amazement. Th
e Lord Councilor was
utterly shocked at how far the ancient Scot would go to protect his foolish pride. His face changed to a deep frown. “And did
he
hurt you?”

Dallan took in the frown and calmed somewhat, pacing to the opposite end of the room and back. “Wee
l,” he began almost sheepishly,
“it doesna feel as though I’ve been kissed there, if that be yer meaning.”

The confession drew a smile out of John and he leaned closer, tilting his head up to get
a better look at the damage. The Scot, quite
unexpectedly, bent down on one knee for him to do so.

John winced as he examined the area. Kwaku Awahnee was
incredible with a quarterstaff
, and he had obviously gotten one of his better shots. “You will get this taken care of, and you will do it now,” he commanded and rose from his chair, motioning the Scot to get up as well. As he ushered Dallan to the door, he became furious with both Kwaku and the Scot. At this rate, there would be nothing left of the only hope the Humans had for survival.

Without Dallan MacDonald, simply put, they had no hope.

* * *

“How’s it going?”

John looked up from his notes just in time to see his assistant enter the cottage, a small knapsack in his hand. He stretched, wel
coming the distraction Lany off
ered. He’d sent Dallan to the healer over an hour a
go and had been deep in thought pouring over Dallan’s case
ever since.
The Scot’s mental and emotional instability, his many thwarted escape attempts on fil
e, his anger issues with Kwaku.
The list went on and on …

John let go a weary
sigh. 
“Well enough for now. I would like to see Dallan open up to me more, but that will take time.”

Lany frowned. “Time is not something we have much of, Eaton.”

“What makes you say that? The Maiden has been found and is being guarded. Now the only thing left to do is prepare Dallan, something I would rather not rush if it’s all the same to you.”

“You mean
the Elders.” Lany commented fl
atly.

 
John sighed and nod
ded his reluctant agreement. Th
e Muiraran’s had
their own
se
t of “Elders,
”
or rather
leaders of their Seven R
oya
l H
ouses. Th
e
human Elders John dealt with
were the elite table of individuals who controlled every governmental
function of Sutter’s Province, t
he largest human settlement of the
Known Lands.  John
knew all of them well. W
ell enough to be able to judge whether or not a decision being made was in the best interest of the people or simply a way of one of them getting what they wanted. Thankfully, it was almost always the former. Otherwise, another revolt migh
t very well take place, like fi
fty years ago, when a few Elders decided they didn’t want Muiraran
involvement anymore, thinking M
an was better off on his own.
After all, couldn’t Man
come up with his own forms of power t
o help him dominate t
he planet?
And with any luck, they’d dominate the Muirarans as well. 
Not the brightest i
dea,
there had been casualties on both sides. The severe breach in relations with the Muirarans
was now thankfully mended, but took a
good fi
fty years to do the mending. As far as John was concerned, not enough time had passed since then.

“Give me an idea of what you’re doing with h
im. Maybe I can help.” Lany off
ered as he leaned forward in his chair.