"Please, Alyssa." I grip her upper arms tightly. "You are my wife and my heart and soul. I must know you and our child will be safe."

  "What will you do?"

  "Go now, I beg you. Hide yourselves in the secret room."

  Tears trickle down her cheeks, but she does as I asked. Alyssa takes my aunts upstairs to the hidden room. I follow them until they've climbed up the stair and out of my sight. My throat tightens. I clench my fists so tightly that my nails dig into my flesh.

  But I need to know what awaits outside the walls of Dùndubhan.

  So I dash through the house and up the tower stair, emerging onto the walkway. But I keep going until I stand directly above the gatehouse with a clear view of the moat and the path that leads into the forest—or in this case, toward the castle. Flashes of light among the trees tell me all that I need to know. A horde of armed men are preparing to descend on Dùndubhan.

  My claymore will not be enough.

  I wait atop the gatehouse as the figures once cloaked in shadow gradually emerge from the trees. Dozens, mayhap more. Each man carries at least one weapon. And at the front of the group stands Simidh Gunn. He holds no torch and seems to have only a claymore with which to defend himself.

  He halts on the other side of the moat. "Surrender now, Kieran, and mayhap I will spare your aunts. Alyssa will be mine either way."

  "Your sanntachadh shall be your undoing, ye olach."

  He chuckles. "I do covet your woman, but I am not a eunuch. Rest assured that Alyssa will be well satisfied when I fuck her."

  My wife would rip his cock off with her teeth if he tried to take the lass against her will. But I will never let him get close enough to touch her.

  "Come down from there, Kieran. Else I will be forced to lay siege to your fortress." He waves toward the horde behind him. "These men, your kinsmen, have made a sacred vow to end your reign of terror. We all know you have kept four women in this castle. How many times per night do you defile your aunts? It doesn't matter. You surely copulated with all four women during vile orgies designed to summon the one who shall not be named."

  Simidh has clearly studied the history of witch trials. He knows precisely what to say. How did he convince my kin to support him in this madness?

  The despicable coward flaps his arm as if he's calling in one of this horde. A blond man pushes through the crowd, halting beside Simidh. The stranger wears lavish clothes of the sort only a wealthy man could afford, complete with a feather-capped hat and an ornate walking stick.

  Simidh claps a hand on the man's shoulder. "Kieran, meet the witchfinder."

  An icy chill rushes through me. I do not fear for myself, though, but for my wife and aunts should my enemy discover their hiding place. Even if I surrender myself to the witchfinder, I can't be certain they will be spared.

  "Come down here," Simidh shouts. "You have until the count of thirty. Then we will destroy your home. Bring in the battering ram!"

  The crowd splits in two, and I soon see why. Six men push a cart down the path, though it's slow work since the cart holds a tree that has been cut and pruned specifically for this purpose. How long had my kinsmen worked to create a battering ram? I cannot fathom what Simidh must have told them to make them turn against me in this manner.

  Lifting the battering ram off the cart, the men set it on the ground. I watch, stunned, as they leap into the water and swim across the moat, crawling onto the opposite side of the channel. I can't see what they're doing now, but I hear pounding and creaking sounds. A man shouts with what seems like triumph.

  And the drawbridge falls.

  I should do something. What? I am one man against an army.

  The men with the battering ram lift it up and charge the portcullis.

  I break out of my stupor and race down to the tower stair, bursting out into the courtyard. I don't stop until I reach the gatehouse. The pounding and yelling outside seems loud even with the thick wooden doors between me and Simidh's men. I risk opening the window in the gatehouse doors—and see men trying to heave the portcullis up. They've succeeded in raising it nearly halfway. Only one option remains for me. I bring out my claymore, about to stab at one of the men who is trying to raise the portcullis. But I can't do it.

  The vacant look in the man's eyes has stopped me.

  Everyone in Simidh's army wears the same look, and all of them move as if someone has bespelled them. Though I've not seen anything like this before, I can think of no other explanation for their behavior. Mayhap I should fight them, but I doubt I could overcome a horde of bespelled men.

  With no weapon and no army on my side, I have but one choice.

  "Stop!" I roar. "Stop! I surrender."

  I lift the crossbar and open the doors.

  The men at last succeed in hoisting the portcullis, then they use their battering ram as a brace to hold the metal grille up. For the first time in hundreds of years, Dùndubhan has been captured by the enemy.

  The horde floods into the courtyard, and three men seize me. The others mill about as if they have no idea what they're meant to do, and I'm certain that's because their master has not entered the fortress yet. I make no attempt to resist. With Alyssa and my aunts hiding in the house, I will do whatever is necessary to ensure neither Simidh nor his men will discover them—even if that means I must die.

  Now that the bespelled army has taken the castle, Simidh and his chief cohorts amble into the courtyard to approach me. I expected to see the witchfinder, but now I realize Guarin Abadie accompanies Simidh as well. What grievance does he have against me? I suspect I will find out soon enough.

  Simidh leans in to snarl at me while spittle flies from his lips. "Where are the women, Kieran? Tell me now, or I shall ransack the castle until I find them. Can't promise that I won't defile the lasses forcibly, or that the witchfinder and my friend Guarin won't do the same."

  I grind my teeth, spitting my words at him. "When I am free, I will hunt you down and strap you to a rack to watch your limbs being pulled apart."

  He chuckles. "You won't live long enough to try that. Witchfinder, 'tis time to prove this man is guilty of witchcraft."

  The witchfinder steps forward and shouts, "This man has been accused of the vilest crimes of witchcraft. Strip him so I might conduct my examination."

  Simidh gives the order, and the bespelled men begin to tear my clothes off.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Alyssa

  I can hear most of what's going on down in the courtyard, though I can't understand what Kieran is saying. He speaks in a low, snarly voice. That much I can hear. The witchfinder just ordered Simidh's men to strip Kieran, and I know it's the witchfinder speaking because he has a British accent. Did Simidh bring someone here all the way from England? Or has this creep been prowling the Highlands in search of victims?

  Kieran surrendered. I know he must have had good reason for doing that, but I want to scream anyway. That would give away our hiding place, though. So instead, I jump up and try to get hold of the window ledge so I can find out what's happening now. But I can't get high enough.

  Screw this. I am not hiding in this room while my husband is out there alone, about to be tortured by an evil bastard.

  I spin around and race past the aunts, who are kneeling on the floor while softly chanting words I can't understand. I don't care what they're doing. They seem too absorbed in their task to notice me as I unlock the door and tear it open, sprinting down the stairs and out into the courtyard. I'm breathing so hard that I need to stop and recover, bent over with my hands on my knees. The second I'm able to do it, I march over to Simidh.

  "Alyssa, mo gaol," Simidh says in the most insincere voice I've ever heard. "Come forth and watch as we find the evidence that Kieran is indeed in league with Dòmhnall Dubh."

  "That must be the name of the man you've been having carnal relations with. Huh, Simidh?"

  He grabs my upper arms and drags me toward him. "Dòmhnall Dubh is another name for the one who shall not be mentioned."

  The devil, that's what he means.

  Simidh shoves me in front of him and lashes one arm around me, pinning my backside to his front. "You will watch whilst the witchfinder performs his duty."

  Kieran stands naked before us with his torn clothes lying on the ground at his feet. He remains impassive yet holds his head high and refuses to look away from the witchfinder. When he saw me, he gave only the faintest hint of emotion. No one else would have noticed it.

  I try to kick and bite Simidh, but he simply laughs. "You'll be punished for this, you bastard. Mark my words."

  The witchfinder begins his routine, exploring every inch of Kieran's body to search for who knows what. I'm not an expert on witch trials, but from what I saw in a documentary once, I think the witchfinder might be hunting for any little mole or discolored patch of skin that he will claim is the mark of Satan. The pervert even examines Kieran's genitals.

  "Turn around," the witchfinder commands.

  Kieran obeys, but I swear I see a spark of rage in his eyes.

  When I'd left the secret room, the aunts had been chanting. Are they trying to cast a spell that might stop this madness? I don't dare glance up the window, and I keep my gaze on my husband.

  The witchfinder kneels before his prisoner to study Kieran's ass, parting the cheeks as if he thinks he'll find a miniature demon in there. Then the pervert spots the brown smudge that lies just above the crease of Kieran's buttock. I'd noticed that spot once but dismissed it as a birth mark. Never thought to ask my husband about it.

  My heart beats so hard and fast that I feel a little faint. But I will not pass out. I need to witness whatever happens to Kieran.

  The witchfinder springs upright and whirls around to face us. He stabs one finger straight up into the air. "This man is the devil's disciple. The mark of the witch is plain to see on his flesh. He is guilty and must be punished."

  Simidh sneers as he shouts, "Turn around, Kieran, and face your fate."

  My husband shuffles around to face us.

  Run, Kieran, run, get as far away from here as you can. But I know he won't do that. The Laird of Dùndubhan would never abandon his charges—me and his aunts.

  Simidh keeps his arm lashed around me as he turns toward the entrance. "We shall hang him from the gatehouse. Get a rope, witchfinder. I will execute him myself. You may find what you need in the old bakehouse."

  The witchfinder heads for that building and returns with a long length of sturdy rope. Simidh orders his lackeys to get a chair from inside the house, and they return with it a moment later. The men attach the rope to the raised portcullis and set the chair beneath it.

  Kieran calmly follows the witchfinder to the makeshift gallows.

  A strange sensation flows through me, raising goosebumps and making the hairs at my nape stiffen. I instinctively glance sideways at the window of the secret room, realizing too late that I shouldn't have done that. Fortunately, it seems like nobody noticed. What was that weird feeling? It reminded me of something I'd felt in the moments right after I materialized in this century.

  Simidh drags me closer to the gatehouse. "Watch whilst your beloved strangles to death. Then we shall roast his body in the flames of perdition."

  I swear I can hear more chanting coming from up in the secret room. It grows louder and louder every second.

  Hot tears roll down my cheek, and the saltiness infiltrates my mouth. It feels as if a giant rock has been dropped onto my chest. I can barely breathe. A single sob rushes out of me.

  Kieran stares straight into my eyes. "Hush, mo chridhe. Close your eyes."

  "No, I have to watch."

  "Please, Alyssa. Close your eyes."

  I do what he asked, but the tears keep flowing. My breaths have become so shallow and quick that my ears begin to ring. Though I recognize that I'm on the verge of passing out, I can do nothing to stop it. I hear the crack as the chair is kicked out from under Kieran and the gurgling as he strangles. Then everything goes black.

  "Wake up, dearie, it's over."

  Efrica's voice rouses me, but I feel too groggy to understand what's happened. Slowly, I open my eyes. The sun blinds me.

  "That's right, lass. 'Twill take a moment to adjust. You gave us quite a fright when you collapsed, and Kieran was terribly worried about you."

  "Kieran? But he's—" The words get choked off by a sob.

  "He is not dead, gràidh."

  Her matter-of-fact tone snaps me out of my stupor. As my eyes adjust to bright sunlight, I see Efrica crouching beside me while someone else stands behind her.

  "Kieran!" I shriek, leaping to my feet. I nearly stomp on Efrica's hands as I throw myself at my husband. "You're alive."

  He wraps his arms around me. "Aye, I'm alive. Are ye feeling better now? You had me worried for a moment."

  "I had you worried?" I smack his chest. "You were on the gallows. Why didn't you tell me you had a plan to escape?"

  "Because I had no such plan. I believed I was about to die."

  He hugs me firmly to his muscular body and kisses me like the world might explode any second. His kiss takes my breath away. The simmering warmth of desire sifts through me, awakening me in ways I thought I'd never experience again. Kieran is alive.

  Once he gives up my lips, I have to ask a question. "What the hell just happened? How did you survive?"

  Efrica smiles in her motherly way. "Morna, Lachina, and I cast a seun that made Kieran invulnerable, temporarily. A seun is a charm, which is a kind of spell."

  Her sisters come up beside her, and Lachina says, "While we were ruining Simidh's attempt to murder Kieran, we also discovered that he had cast eòlas a chronachaidh on our beloved nephew. That is the evil eye. Removing that curse brought many good things."

  "Like what?" I ask.

  "Look behind you, gràidh."

  I wriggle out of Kieran's embrace and turn around. What I see amazes me. The army Simidh had brought with him now mills around in the courtyard, all of them seeming confused to varying degrees. Simidh and his witchfinder lie on the ground, hogtied and gagged.

  As I turn back toward Kieran and the aunts, I probably look as confused as those men behind me. "Okay, somebody needs to tell me what on earth went on while I was unconscious."

  "Oh, quite a bit, dearie," Efrica says. "But Kieran should explain."

  My husband clasps my hands. "After my aunts cast their charm to save me, Simidh's horde no longer obeyed him. They have no memory of being in his service because Simidh bespelled them, and now they are free. I then tied up the red-haired savage and the witchfinder too."

  "Why did Simidh do any of this?"

  "Let me tell you about that," Efrica says. "Whilst Kieran was taking care of the blackguards, we cast a spell to encourage Simidh to speak the truth. He admitted that he had orchestrated a campaign against Kieran because he was jealous. He coveted the lass to whom Kieran had been betrothed, and he employed the gradh a's fuath, which is an herb used to cast a spell that encourages love. But it can also warp itself into hate depending upon the intent of the one who casts it. If they harbor evil in their heart, such as Simidh did, the gradh a's fuath will sour into malice."

  "Wow. All of this happened because one jerk screwed up a spell." I lean against Kieran, grateful beyond measure that he's still here with me. "What about Simidh's army?"

  Kieran nods toward the shuffling, confused men. "Those laddies are MacTaggarts. The depth of Simidh's hatred, warped by the gradh a's fuath, grew beyond his own mind and infected those who encountered him. My kinsmen had no free will, but now we have liberated them."

  "Can we trust them?"

  "Aye. The magics are gone." I also discovered another man among the horde who had been bound by Simidh's magics but now is free."

  He leads me through the crowd to someone I recognize. "Guarin. He's not an evil prick after all?"

  Kieran chuckles. "Nay, he is merely a formerly bespelled man."

  "Does that mean he's your friend again?"

  "Mayhap. We shall see. It has been years since I set my eyes upon Guarin, so I will wait until I've had time to judge his character."

  "Good idea."

  In the aftermath of Simidh's attempt to murder my husband and sack Dùndubhan, we learn a lot about the "fire-haired fiend," as Efrica once called him. He has lost his mind, for one, though not in a dangerous way. He has lost his hunger for vengeance and now cares more about growing vegetables than destroying Kieran. My hubby's kinsmen know something strange happened, but they can't remember what. They want to give Kieran the job of clan chief, but he declines. All we care about now is our child, who will be born in about six months.

  Guarin does indeed become a good friend to Kieran—and to me. I'm glad for that. Simidh will never be a friend, but at least he's no longer an enemy.

  When I asked Efrica about Simidh's mental state, she told me, "I'm afraid he will never fully recover his wits, but neither shall he harm anyone. Henceforth, any male progeny he might beget will suffer from a similar illness of the mind once they reach their twenty-eighth year. But the spell may be broken by a MacTaggart when the time comes."

  We also summon my parents from the future and give them the choice to stay with us here in the past or go home. They choose to stay with no regrets about that decision.

  More changes keep coming, all of them good. The clan finally lifted Kieran's banishment and welcomed him back into the fold, but we decided to remain at Dùndubhan. It's become our home. His kinsmen insist on helping us to rebuild and expand the castle, and it has become the unofficial seat of the MacTaggart clan. Even the clan chief has no problem with that.

  And weirdly, the chief's name is Ruairidh—Rory, in English.

  So I've come full circle. My odyssey began when I met Rory MacTaggart in the twenty-first century and now ends when I'm introduced to his ancestor who shares the same name. My odyssey might have concluded, but my life's journey has only just begun.

  Yet we have one more adventure to undertake before we can close the book on time travel. And it involves a book, appropriately. Efrica has written the final entry in her journal, relating the tale of Kieran's execution and resurrection. When I suggest that she should indicate in her book that Kieran's death was a ruse, she gives me a surprising response.

 

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