Chapter Five
Four years later
Near Beauly, Scotland
A shadow moved between him and the fire. A woman. It was her. She walked toward him, her body hidden by the darkness. He strained to see her face, but as always, it was cloudy. But he could feel her. He had no trouble with that. She stooped and pulled back the blanket he’d thrown over him and joined him in his bedroll. She was naked. His hands made up for what he couldn’t see. He touched and stroked until he’d covered every bit of her, then he started with his mouth. He nuzzled her neck, and moved down to her breasts, and kept going until he’d tasted all of her. She tasted like honey and sunshine, and when she moaned and pulled at his shoulders, he slid up her body and opened her thighs to slip inside—
Faelan woke, his loins throbbing. He was face down with nothing underneath him but the earth and his bedroll. Bollocks. The dream again. If it was a dream how could he still taste her on his tongue, hear her name on his lips? Her name. He grabbed for the memory, yanking it like he might yank a line to snag a trout, but the memory slipped free before he could grasp it. Damnation. Why couldn’t he remember?
“He’s at it again,” Ian muttered from his bedroll on the other side of the fire.
They were on their way back from a battle in Edinburgh. Ian’s demon, this time. Leaves crunched as one of his brothers shifted. Faelan didn’t move. He was still hard and aching from the dream, making it damned uncomfortable lying face down on the ground, but he didn’t want them to know he was awake.
“Faelan needs a woman,” Tavis said, his voice low.
Ian snorted. “He’s got one.”
“A real one,” Tavis said. Something hit the fire and the flames hissed.
“Makes no sense,” Ian said softly. “All men dream of lasses, but the same one for years, and he doesn’t even know her name? That’s bloody strange.”
“This is one puzzle you won’t solve,” Tavis said.
“He could be lying.”
“You know Faelan doesn’t lie.”
“Then she must be his mate,” Ian said.
“He doesn’t have a mate.”
Neither brother spoke for a moment, and Faelan listened to the fire sizzling and wished he could go back to the dream, or get rid of it. It was becoming a torment.
“Maybe his spirit recognizes her, even though he doesn’t. The Watchers aren’t the only ones who have strange dreams. You know that.”
“That I do,” Tavis said.
Faelan shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable. He and Tavis both seemed plagued with strange dreams. But where he dreamed of a woman, Tavis dreamed of being buried alive, and other disturbing things. At one time, their father had wondered if Tavis was a Watcher.
“It’s a mystery, I reckon,” Ian said.
“Aye. But the only mystery I’m worried about now is how to get a good night’s sleep with only a couple of hours until morn. Between your snoring and Faelan’s dreams, I’ve not had a wink of sleep. The Council won’t like it if we’re late. This meeting’s important, and we were expected back yesterday.”
Faelan rolled over after he was sure his brothers were asleep. He lay back, thinking on what Ian had said. Usually a warrior found his mate after his duty was over, but occasionally it happened earlier. In the beginning, Faelan figured he must have created her in his head. She was certainly bonny. More than any man could wish. But he’d always preferred light-haired women, so it didn’t make sense that he would dream up a dark-haired lover. After a few years, he’d reached the same conclusion that Ian had. She must be his mate, and now that he suspected it, it was all he could think about. He looked at the night sky, the stars twinkling as if they knew a secret, and wondered who she was, what she was doing at this moment. Sleeping? Perhaps she was looking at the sky dreaming of him. Where was she? Ireland? Many Scots ended up with Irish mates. Like his father. But in all the years he’d known his dream lass, he’d never heard her speak.
The flames crackled as a piece of wood caught fire. He closed his eyes and pulled his blanket around him to keep away the chill. “Hurry,” he whispered under his breath. I need you.
They woke late. Cursing, they left for the castle, riding like madmen. They dropped the horses at the stable, leaving them with the lad there, and hurried inside the castle. Voices were coming from the library.
“Pish! We’re late,” Ian said.
They stepped inside the room and everyone turned. There were several warriors present, most of them familiar faces. The most familiar one frowned at them, a look matched by the chief elder who stood at the front of the room, his arms folded behind him.
Faelan tipped his head. “Our apologies, Chief Elder...everyone.”
A couple of warriors that Faelan knew grinned. They’d all been on the wrong side of the Council at one time or another. But Faelan usually wasn’t. The meeting dissolved into a discussion of the most recent troubling events. Druan, the ancient demon whose father had centuries before created the plague, was causing problems. The Watchers were issuing ominous warnings of danger. There had been an unusual number of battles and many warriors were dying.
One of the Watchers, a thin, worried-looking man, spoke up. “I’ve had troubling dreams. Nigel Ellwood came to me.”
The chief elder frowned. “The Watcher who disappeared decades ago?”
“He warned me that trouble is coming, that the Book of Battles is in danger.”
The book was a five hundred year record of battles between warriors and demons. Given to them by the archangel, the book included battles in the future. Or so the Keepers said. No one else was allowed to see the book. It was hidden in a location that only the Keeper knew. If demons got their hands on the book, they could find out the names of warriors and destroy them as soon as they were born, or while they were innocent children. They could eliminate an entire clan.
“Did he tell you where the threat is coming from?” the chief elder asked.
“No. I awoke in the middle of the dream.”
The chief elder looked at Quinn Douglass, the Keeper of the Book, who had gone pale. “Quinn, is the book safe?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps we should move it,” the chief elder said. “This is troubling.”
One of the other elders, an old man whose face was lined with wrinkles, spoke up. “I remember Nigel. He believed there was a traitor in the clan.”
“Nothing was ever proven, was it?” the chief elder asked.
The old elder scratched his still-thick silver hair. “If so, the knowledge died with Nigel. He disappeared soon afterwards. Most everyone thought he was touched in the head.”
“Do you recall anything specific about Nigel’s warnings back then?” the chief elder asked the older man.
“He felt that we needed to move the book and that the clan should have more than one location. He was quite adamant about it, in fact. He said if demons found us, we would all be destroyed. We needed someplace safe to go.”
“Was anything ever done?” the chief elder asked.
“I don’t know. I heard whispers about a secret group that was formed to investigate Nigel’s claims, but I wasn’t part of the group.”
A lengthy discussion followed and it was determined that Quinn would move the book and that the Council would appoint someone to look into Nigel’s concerns, even though they were from so long ago. Quinn offered to take on the task.
After the meeting, the Council left, and the warriors who didn’t leave to hunt their assigned demons either went back to the cottages or their rooms in the castle. Faelan and his family sat down to a breakfast fit for a king. Ma was overjoyed that all her lads were home. Alana was thrilled too. After breakfast, she showed Faelan a picture she’d painted of him. Then their father took them out to see the new horses he had acquired. He loved horses almost as much as he hated demons.
The day passed quickly. They moved horses and repaired a fence and a stable wall that one of the stallions had kicked down. After supper, the family gathered in the library and sat by the fire talking. It wasn’t often that all of them were here together. Alana questioned them about their plans for leaving. She didn’t want them to go, but Tavis and Ian had both been assigned demons. The brothers turned in early, still tired from the hunt and having so little sleep the previous night.
That night he had visitor, but it wasn’t his dream lass. Michael the Archangel stood before him, his presence so bright he could only come in dreams. “Faelan, you must wake.” Michael moved closer to the bed, staring down at Faelan. He was clad in his usual white and gold robes, his startling beauty radiating power and strength. Demons of all orders were terrified of Michael.
“The Book of Battles is in danger,” Michael said. “Terrible trouble is coming if Druan isn’t stopped. You must stop him.”
“Druan? But he’s an ancient demon.”
“Your task will be difficult. There will be a necessary sacrifice, but his plans cannot succeed. You will find him in America trying to start a war that will tear the country apart and turn brother against brother.”