ENTERING THE GREAT hall of Dun Aran always gave Cailean pause, and not merely to soak in the power and magnificence of the place. Here was a perpetual reminder of his own people’s power, embodied in the fierce, brawny men of the clan. Even the ancient Pritani blades and axes that adorned the walls of their stronghold was a reminder of it. But it also represented their greatest failure, that which was the dark side of the gift they had bestowed on the brave warriors.

Had they not made the McDonnels, the undead would not exist.

The moment they came into the castle, however, their presence sent servants fleeing and clansmen into the hall. A conclavist like Bhaltair Flen rarely came to call on the McDonnels, but when he did it meant grave matters were at hand.

Lachlan McDonnel came out of his tower to greet them, which he did with visible respect and obvious wariness. “Master Flen. Ovate Lusk. ’Tis good to see you both.”

That, Cailean thought, was an interesting lie. The laird’s aura radiated displeasure, although it seemed not directed at them. “My master and I would speak to you, my lord. May we find a quiet spot to do so?”

Lachlan took them out to the thriving kitchen garden, where he sent away a pair of maids gathering cooking herbs. In the center of the garden sat stone benches around a large catch basin used to collect rain for watering. A few sparrows perched on the edge, dipping their diminutive beaks to drink.

Cailean smiled his thanks to the laird. Druids felt most comfortable being out of doors and surrounded by nature. By bringing them here he meant to put them at ease.

As they sat down, Lachlan remained standing. “I reckon my seneschal summoned you here.”

“We came of our own accord,” Bhaltair corrected him, and grim lines deepened around his mouth. “Tell me of this mortal female you discovered in the oak grove.”

“Her name is Kinley Chandler, and she is from a far-off land called San Diego.” The laird told them how she had saved his life during the battle. “She has no living kin here or back in her homeland. Since I owe her a life-debt, I have taken her under my protection.”

“She works for you now, mayhap as a maid servant?” Cailean asked.

Lachlan smiled a little. “She is my lover, and gave her vow of loyalty to me last night. I expect Talorc didnae mention the latter.”

Bhaltair rubbed his face with his hands, sighing into them before he slapped them against his heavy thighs. “I will say this to you now because this female is dangerous to you and your clan. She is no’ from a far-off place. She was brought here from another time.”

The laird frowned. “Another time? There is no other time but this.”

Cailean cringed a little. Of course he would think that. The Pritani lived completely in the now. Even after twelve hundred years of existence they had no understanding of the fluidity of time, or how the druids could use it.

“My lord,” Cailean said, “there are infinite times existing all around us. The past, the present, the future are but separated and held apart by the gods, and their apotheoses on this…” He stopped himself and turned to his master. “Master Flen, she couldnae have used the grove, and if we didnae–”

“Aye, and that path will be traveled later,” Bhaltair warned him before he regarded the laird. “Cailean went to the oak grove where this woman first appeared. He found spellmark left by that which dragged her to our time.”

“Dragged?” Lachlan said sounding alarmed. “She didnae come willingly?”

The old druid pursed his lips and tried to out-stare the laird. Finally he said, “Spellmark, such as was left where the female appeared, cannae be made by any magic of ours. It must be the work of the grove itself. It took her from her time, and brought her to ours. She doesnae belong here.”

“’Tis very rare for such a thing to happen,” Cailean put in hastily. “That grove hasnae been used since the awakening, so the magic absorbed by the soil must have leeched into the oaks themselves–”

“Cailean, close your mouth now,” Bhaltair said, “or I shall remove it from your face.” He stood. “Lachlan, I must consult with my fellows in the conclave to determine why this female was thrust upon us. Until we have more knowledge of that, you must imprison her.”

The laird loomed over the old druid. “I shall do no such thing. You will take Kinley Chandler back to that damned grove, and return her to her own time. Today.”