“I SHALL TAKE great pleasure in killing that facking Viking,” Lachlan told Raen as they finished searching the oak grove and walked back to their horses. “It will take time, but I shall enjoy that as well.”

“Kinley would have found a way off the island without his help,” his bodyguard said. “Tormod but saw to it that she went safely. And Neac wishes to kill him first.” He saw something on the ground and crouched down to hold the torch closer. “There are fresh tracks here, from small boots and a large mount.” He stood and walked a short distance before returning. “She went north.”

“Good. She would have needed shelter for the night, and there’s a croft of orcharders two leagues from here.” Lachlan mounted and waited for Raen to do the same before riding off toward the village.

As they left the place where Kinley had first appeared, he remembered the words of the two druids. Cailean had said that magic had been absorbed by the soil of the grove. Bhaltair claimed it was no magic of theirs, but had stopped Cailean from saying more. The magic folk brooked no outside interference with their kin, or matters relating to them. Could Kinley be druid kind? No matter their looks, the druids were ancient. They were born into one life after another. Could it be that Kinley was a druid reborn from this time, and that the grove brought her back to rejoin her people?

And why did that make him even angrier?

At the village, Lachlan expected to find the mortals asleep, but all of the cottages around the apple orchards stood empty. Tormod’s big white gelding had been left tied outside a barn, sooty handprints on his neck. Lachlan scanned the area before spotting torchlight by the small loch just beyond the trees, and pointed it out to his bodyguard.

“There.”

Raen’s expression emptied, and he took off at a fast gallop, shouting over his shoulder, “Quickly, my lord.”

Lachlan saw the reason for his man’s urgency when they came within sight of the loch. The crofters stood assembled with hatchets, pitchforks and shovels around a woman and two men, who held another, slender woman who sagged unconscious between them. They were dragging her toward the water as the others shrieked their hatred.

“Douse the witch.”

“Use the poles to keep her on the bottom.”

“Drown that evil filth.”

Lachlan leapt down from his horse as Raen forced his way through the throng to reach the trio and their prisoner. The big man put himself between them and the water.

“You superstitious bastarts,” Raen said, his voice so cold it made all the mortals take a step back. “Give her to me.”

The plump woman scowled at him. “She’s a witch, Master. We saw her cast fire spell with our own eyes. We must douse her, else she torch our homes and crops.”

“Do you ken who we are?” Lachlan asked, and saw recognition on the faces that turned to look at him. “This is our clanswoman, no’ a witch. You will hand her to my man, or I will burn this place until naught is left but scorched earth.”

Raen shoved the woman aside and lifted Kinley in his arms, bringing her to Lachlan. When he saw her head injury he grew worried, but the marks on her face and torso made his gut clench.

After handing her over as gently as he could, Raen carefully plucked a thorn from her cheek. Tossing it away, he looked up at the sky, his face a grim mask of rage.

“Facking undead bastarts whipped her.”

“Find a place where we may tend to her,” Lachlan said, barely able to form the words.

His bodyguard trotted ahead to the croft, where he took charge of the largest cottage and cleared out the occupants. When Lachlan carried her inside, Raen spread a sheet over a large table and brought a brimming wash basin.

“Bring clean cloth,” his bodyguard ordered the mortal couple who came in behind them. To Lachlan he said, “Did they drain her?”

“No’ that I can see.”

He inspected the gash in her scalp, which was fresh, before he cut open her tunic to see the full extent of her lash marks.

Kinley snatched the blade from his hand before she rolled off the table and backed away, stumbling as she did.

“So you stone women before you rape them, huh? Takes the fight out of them?” She took in her surroundings before she stared at Lachlan. “Lay another finger on me and I’ll cut it off, along with your dick. Or maybe I’ll roast it. You want well-done penis? Take another step.”

Lachlan saw the same wildness in her eyes that he’d witnessed on the battlefield. She behaved as if she didn’t recognize him.

“Kinley, we are your friends,” Lachlan said calmly. “Do you ken where you are?”

“Idiot farmers jumped me,” she said and blinked as blood dripped into her eye. “Who taught you to talk Scots? Did you catch some of the U.N. troops? Torture them, too?” Her gaze shifted to Raen, who was inching forward. “You. Jag Face. Back off.” When he kept coming she slashed the air between them with the dagger. “I’ll slice you to ribbons, I swear to–” She ended with a scream as Raen slapped the blade from her hand and seized her, clamping her against his chest.

“She’ll do herself harm,” the big man said, grimacing as she kneed him in the groin. “I’ll put her out, then?”

Seeing her like this made Lachlan feel sick. “Gently,” he told his bodyguard, who gripped the side of her neck.

“Let me go,” she said and twisted against the arm holding her, but her struggles slowed and her eyes grew dazed. “Can’t. Die. Not…like…this…please…”

The moment she lost consciousness Raen released her throat and carried her back to the table. Lachlan wasted no time cleaning her wounds, and used the cloth the crofter woman brought to him to bind her head. Finally he tore off his own tunic to wrap around and cover the ruins of hers.

“We’ll tie her to the back of the gelding,” Raen said and saw Lachlan’s expression and his own turned bleak. “My lord, we cannae ken if she will wake herself. Clever as she is at escaping, ’tis too risky.”

“Aye, but you’ll tie her to me,” Lachlan said and looked at the crofter couple. “Bring me rope. Now.”

Outside the cottage Lachlan mounted his horse, and took Kinley from Raen as he lifted her to sit on his thighs facing him. She slumped against his chest, and looked so pitiful the laird rested his cheek atop her head. His bodyguard quickly bound her wrists behind Lachlan’s back, and secured her ankles to the saddle straps.

When he would have tied a gag over her mouth, Lachlan shook his head. “’Tis enough to bind her.”

“Watch her teeth, my lord,” Raen said and swung up on his own mount, tying the reins for Tormod’s gelding to his saddle, and then looked at the faces of the fearful mortals around them. “Naught ever changes with you ignorant fools. She comes here hurt and alone, and in need, and you try to kill her. ’Tis you who are evil.”

One of the oldest men lifted a torch to him. “Do I not ken you?” he said, squinting at him. But then his eyes went wide. “Aye. You came when I was a boy. But…”

He backed away, stumbled and almost fell, then hurried off.

“You’ll murder no more women,” Lachlan ordered the crowd, “whatever you think they are. If I learn you’ve done this again, I’ll come back with my men, and we will name each of you witches, and drown you in that loch.”

Neither he nor Raen waited for their reaction but headed their horses back south. Raen didn’t speak until they had ridden several miles.

“That old man did ken me,” he said. “He was Bradana’s youngest brother.”

“That was her family’s croft?” Lachlan said. When his bodyguard nodded Lachlan sighed. “You should have said.”

The big man glanced at Kinley. “I still cannae speak her name so easily.”

Fifty years ago Raen had fallen in love with Bradana, a mortal woman he’d met on the mainland. Because she was an outsider he’d married her in secret, and visited her when he could. When Bradana’s family discovered she was consorting with Raen they’d assumed he was a demon, and subjected her to a witch test by dousing. Unable to swim, she’d proven her innocence by drowning.

Lachlan had never understood the mortal penchant to blame their woes on those innocent and helpless. The Pritani had always been fiercely protective of their women and children. He also hated that Raen had been reminded of his worst loss.

“I’m sorry, lad.”

“As am I,” he said. He nodded at Kinley. “I should be carrying her, my lord. When she wakes, she may take fright again and burn you.”

“She didnae in the grove, or when we first brought her to Dun Aran, when she knew naught of me.” Lachlan tucked her head under his chin. “I think the undead somehow awakened her power. Mayhap that is why the grove stole her from her time, and brought her to us.”

“I pray ’tis so,” Raen said, and looked out into the night. “They are turning more mortals every season, while the clan cannae sire new warriors to replace the fallen. Already our numbers are too few against so many, and if they find Dun Aran…”

“They will kill us all,” Lachlan said, and suddenly understood the lash marks on Kinley’s body. “And ’tis why they tortured her.”