THE JUDGE WALKED the line of targets with great dignity before he tromped back to stand in front of Evander and the two other men remaining in the contest.

“Five points to Geordie Larson for a right eye,” he said and tied a yellow ribbon to the man’s sleeve. “One point to Macken Trilby for a hit to the gut, which is of no great surprise to those who drink with him.” He presented Macken with the red ribbon tied around a bottle of ale, which made the crowd laugh.

He then regarded Evander. “I’ve seen my share of spearmen, sir, when I served in the King’s infantry. I’ve no doubt you’re the finest ever to throw before these eyes.” He tied the contest-winning blue ribbon to his sleeve. “Ten points to Master Hunter for a third straight cock skewering.”

Evander had always been a proud warrior, aware of his finely-honed battle talents, but in this moment he felt more like the young mortal boy he had once been. In that distant time all he had ever cared for was practicing his throws out in the woods. He’d loved the simple beauty of the spear, and had kept at it until he could throw faster, longer and better than even the most experienced hunters of his tribe. That had been long before his Choosing Day, so only his youthful determination had driven him. The satisfaction of mastering the Pritani’s most ancient weapon had made him feel strong and skilled.

Rachel made him feel the same. He’d once hoped he could be just a man with Rachel. Now, thanks to her love, he had become more. He had found himself again.

Sending the message while she had been playing the stones game had been a risk, especially now that Evander knew his lover could read his mind, but he couldn’t take Rachel to the druids in the morning. He could never let her go now. Somehow he had to make peace with his clan, and find a way for the two of them to be together.

The crowd surged in around the three men, congratulating them with slaps to the back and shoulders, and squealing hugs from two proud wives. Evander looked over the heads of the villagers for Rachel, but saw no sign of her. His gaze shifted to the birches where he had left her, but only his jacket lay on the ground.

Mayhap she needed the privy, he thought, but remembered she had gone to the necessity just after they’d eaten.

Evander started wading out of the crowd, when the judge stepped into his path.

“Dinna go without your prize,” the burly man said, presenting him with a bundle of finely-made hunting spears, and then frowning. “What ails ye, lad?”

“My wife has vanished,” he said and quickly clasped the man’s forearm. “I thank you for the spears, but I must find her now.”

“Go with the gods,” the judge said, and stepped out of his way.

Evander added the prize spears to his back harness, and sprinted across to the birches, where he picked up his jacket and looked all around them. Behind the trees he found a patch of bruised grasses and churned earth, and from there boot tracks leading into the forest.

He stopped at the tree line, where he found strands of long, black hair caught in some oak twigs. Rachel knew better than to walk strange woods alone, and the tracks from the birches were much larger than hers. As the sunlight faded Evander wheeled around, running for the pen of horses, where he retrieved his roan and paid the lads to stable the dappled gray overnight.

“To light yer way, Master,” one of them said and held up a flaming torch for him. “Ye shouldnae ride out after dark. The blood-drinkers’ll snatch ye up.”

Mortals often gave such warnings, but Evander saw real fear in the lad’s eyes.

“Have they been seen near the village?”

“Aye,” the lad said and pointed toward the forest. “Last night, my sister saw one ride out from the trees to snatch a drover. He escaped later, but that doesnae mean ye will.”

Evander had heard talk of the drover who had been chasing one of the shepherdesses. She grazed her flock close to Evander and Rachel’s cottage. He tossed an extra coin to the boy.

“My thanks, lad.”

The roan flew across the green and into the forest, where Evander reined it in as he held out the torch and looked for signs of recent passage. The disturbances he spotted in the brush and over the moss-carpeted forest floor led him to a bare patch of ground bearing the prints of several men and their horses. He dismounted and crouched on the ground where it appeared a small body had lain. He bent to sniff the soil, and smelled Rachel. He sifted through the dead leaves until he found a torn bit of ribbon and a broken seashell.

“So my nose doesnae deceive me. Ah, Rachel, love, I’m coming.” He closed his hand over the bits and moved his torch to examine the boot prints, which showed a pattern of nail head marks he knew only too well. “Facking bastarts.”

The men who had Rachel had been wearing caligae, the hobnailed marching boots of the Ninth Legion.

Evander mounted the roan, and made a circuit of the ground until he found the trail left by the undead’s horses. That led him out of the forest and down to the shore, where the tracks disappeared into the rocks. If he went to the east he would only return to the village, and if that had been their intent the undead would never have taken Rachel away from it.

To the west he saw the shoreline curve away and disappear behind three columns of dark rock, shaped like giant spearheads thrust into the shore by the gods. Evander hissed in a breath as his ink burned across his chest. His war spirit came fully, flagrantly awake in him. But it didn’t flood him with endless rage or prod him to gallop directly into a battle with the undead. It seemed to be tugging him toward the ground, so he swung off the roan and tethered it to a tree before starting down toward the sea columns.

Keeping to what shadows there were, Evander drew two of the prize hunting spears from his back and held them ready as he approached the rock soaring over his head. Beyond them he glimpsed an isolated cove where a dozen horses had been left to graze, but no sign of the undead or Rachel. He stepped between the towering columns and stopped, using the rock as cover as he inspected the entire cove, and noted the marks left by dories that had been dragged down to the sea. Stepping out from the rock, he peered out at the water, and saw the faint outlines of a black ship with no lights.

“Using boats, now, are you?” he muttered, moving closer to the water’s edge.

It would take him only a moment to bond with the ocean and stream out to the ship, where he could board her with stealth and learn where they had imprisoned his lover. Then, once he got to her, he would—

“Well, now,” a familiar voice said. A thin, sharp blade appeared under his nose, and dropped to press in beneath his chin. “How long has it been, Evander?”

Blood trickled down his throat as he jerked, the voice stunning him so much he couldn’t speak until the blade dug deeper.

“But I killed you.”

“Very nearly,” Tharaen Aber said flatly. “Walk with me now, or you’ll be talking around my dagger.”

The laird’s bodyguard yanked him back behind the sea columns, and marched him into a tidal cave. Inside stood Lachlan McDonnel and a large warband watching the ship.

“More dories coming, my lord,” Fergus Uthar said, and pointed to a cluster approaching from the south. “Mayhap mortals.”

The laird barely spared Evander a glance as he handed a torch to Neacal Uthar.

“I’ll send the scouts to turn them back,” Lachlan said. “Keep watch, and wait on Evander until I return.”

Evander stood silently as a very tall, beautiful woman dressed like a man walked up to him and took Aber’s blade to hold it while the bodyguard accepted some rope from a clansman.

“Hi there,” the woman said, her accent sounding eerily like Rachel’s. “I’m Diana Aber, Raen’s wife. You must be Evander Talorc, the guy everyone wants dead. Including me, just in case you’re thinking of making a move.”

He saw a jagged mark on her palm that matched Aber’s skinwork, confirming that she had been chosen as a mate by the bodyguard’s spirit.

“Much has happened since I left Dun Aran,” Evander said.

“Shut up,” she said pleasantly. “Move a muscle, make a sound, or breathe hard on me, and I’m going to make the entire clan very happy.” She tilted her head to one side to speak to Raen. “Really, I’m one of his tribe? I’m not seeing it. I mean, we’re both tall, but he’s got a jerk face. Wait. Do I look like that, and you’ve just never told me?”

“No, love,” her husband said, his tone a little softer now as he divested Evander of his weapons, and bound his wrists together tightly. “The hair.”

Diana tugged back Evander’s hood, peered at his head, and scowled. “All right, but mine’s way, way prettier.” She looked into his eyes, and tightened her grip on the dagger as she moved in another inch. “Oh, is that a move I see coming? Think I’m distracted, talking to my Big Man?”

He could see the Talorc in her eyes now. “No.”

“Good,” she said and bared her lovely white teeth. Then she leaned in, as if she meant to bite off his nose. “Because I’m not distracted. Not ever.”

The threat she presented faded as Evander considered what her presence meant. Three women had crossed over from the future, all from San Diego. It couldn’t be by chance.

“Where is Kinley Chandler?” he asked.

“That’s Kinley McDonnel, the laird’s wife to you,” Diana said. “And it’s no business of yours.”

He wanted to ask them both if they knew Rachel, but shadows began filling the cave. The warband made way for a large group of druids lead by Cailean Lusk and Bhaltair Flen, who came to surround Raen, Diana and Evander. Beyond them Evander could see clansmen helping the magic folk drag their boats out of the water.

“Master Flen, Ovate Lusk,” Raen said. He took the dagger from his wife, removed it from Evander’s neck, and shoved him down on his knees. “Who summoned you here?”

“He did,” Cailean said and nodded to Evander. “He sent a message by bird from a village fair not far from here. It took little effort for us to track him.”

Bhaltair Flen came over Evander, his hair standing like a pale halo around his plump face.

“’Tis been a good while, Master Talorc. As soon as you broke your vow to deliver Mistress Ingram, we felt obliged to come and rescue her from you. Where is she?”

“The legion has her,” he said and nodded toward the black ship. “On the boat.”

“You delivered her to the undead?” the old druid exclaimed. He raised his arm, as his fist began to glow. “’Twill be the last of your betrayals.”

“Turn off the nite-light, Grandpa,” Diana said and caught Bhaltair’s arm and lowered it. “We can lower the boom later. We don’t want the bad guys to find out we’re here.”

“The legion stole her from me at the fair,” Evander told the old man. “I have been trying to protect–”

A huge boot filled his face, and kicked him over onto his side. Tormod Liefson appeared over him, his hands fisted and his expression rife with disgust.

“Seoc is gone. The shame you brought on him was so great he couldnae bear it. He gave himself to the legion in battle.” The Norseman leaned over. “’Tis for the suffering you caused him that I’ll end you, and I’ll no’ hurry it, you gutless worm.”

Cailean surged forward. “Master Liefson, dinnae resort to violence.”

“I wasnae always a map maker, Ovate,” Tormod said. His pale eyes gleamed as he regarded Evander. “Nor have I forgot how we Viking deal with betrayers.”

Evander managed to raise himself back on his knees, and glanced around at the faces glowering at him. It made him sick to think of Seoc dead, but being held in such contempt by the clan gnawed just as deeply at his insides. For the first time Evander saw what he had lost when he’d run off with Fiona. Few of the McDonnels had cared much for him when he served as the laird’s seneschal, but they had been his family. Dying might be the only way he could make amends, but before he faced the consequences he had to do what he could to save his lady.

“The lady from the grove is named Rachel Ingram,” he told Bhaltair. “She is druid kind, with a powerful gift. I came here to take her back from the undead.” He saw Lachlan walking into the cave, and shifted his gaze to Diana. “Release me and I will. Please, I beg you.”

“Begging is good. We like begging.” The tall woman crouched down in front of him. “Let’s hear more about Rachel’s ability. What exactly can she do?”

“She can hear thoughts, see memories and learn any secret hidden in the mind. She can read anyone.” He braced his shoulders against the cave wall. “Since she became my mate she has seen everything in my head.”

She recoiled. “You sick son of a bitch. You’re sleeping with her?”

“She embraced the choice willingly.” For once he let his emotions show as he glanced down at Diana’s fist. “I saw Aber’s mark on your palm. You’ve mated, so you ken ’tis more than facking. ’Tis love.”

“Yeah, I get it.” Some of the lines around her mouth eased away. “Did they grab her because of her power, or to get to you?”

“I cannae tell you. They saw me take her from the grove, and somehow tracked us here.” He lowered his voice. “If I may speak with the laird, Mistress Aber, I ken how to save her.”

“Mistress Aber makes me think I’m cheating on myself with my husband. Call me Diana.” She looked up at Raen, who nodded. “My lord,” she called out. “You should hear what he has to say.”

The McDonnels moved aside as Lachlan came and jerked Evander up onto his feet. In his dark eyes was as much hurt as anger.

“Tell me.”

“I ken that my sentence is death. On my honor I offer you my life, willingly, if you will give me the chance to take Rachel from the black ship.” He saw the laird’s expression darken. “She doesnae ken you or the clan, nor any of you her, but we are mated. She loves me. When I am close, she will hear my thoughts. I’ll tell her to jump overboard, into my arms.”

Lachlan released him. “The lady trusts you this much?”

“Aye. Once I have her, ’twill take me only another moment to come to shore and bring her to you.” When Lachlan didn’t respond, he said, “If no’ for me, then for the clan. She has the ability to see into any mind. I’ve no doubt she has all my knowledge of Dun Aran.”

The laird’s nostrils flared. “Neac. Come here.”

The chieftain appeared beside him, and drew his double-headed axe.

“Permit me the pleasure of beheading this turncoat, my lord. ’Twould be a great favor.”

One of the clansmen on watch rushed into the cave and came directly to Lachlan.

“My lord, we’ve sighted another black ship approaching.”

Lachlan gestured for Raen. “Release him. Cailean, a word.”

The bodyguard drew a dagger, hesitating as he eyed Evander’s blood-streaked throat, and then stepped behind him and cut through the rope.

“We are no’ finished,” Raen murmured.

Evander nodded, and accompanied the laird, the chieftain and the druid out of the cave and down to the sea columns, where he saw the distant shape of the second black ship headed directly for the first.

“She’s a brave lass, my lord,” Evander said. “She’ll no’ tell them of Dun Aran.”

“When they enthrall her,” Neac said, “she’ll lead them to our facking front gates.” He then told him in terse terms about how the undead had discovered how to turn mortal victims into devoted slaves who would do anything, even kill, for them. “We dinnae ken how they do it, but the only manner in which to break their hold is to end the undead master. Unless we ken that we have, all mortal captives are considered undead allies. Like you, Talorc.”

“I never helped the legion,” Evander said as he dodged Neac’s huge fist and stepped out of his reach. “I but took Fiona away. We lived along the highlands here, where no one could find us, until she–”

“Chieftain Uthar, please,” Cailean said. As Neac came at Evander, the druid stepped between them. “Let the man have his say. ’Tis the last he will.”

“Fiona died of pox. I buried her in the grove.” Evander looked at Lachlan. “’Tis why this happened. I went there often to visit her grave. That night, I found Rachel clawing her way out of it. Somehow they changed places, but Rachel was still alive when she was put in the ground.”

All three men exchanged long looks.

“We thought as much,” the laird said. “Raen found your buckler.”

He wished he could explain more, but he knew every moment he delayed Rachel could be suffering all manner of horrors.

“’Tis done,” he said and nodded toward the anchored ship. “May I go to her?”

“No’ alone,” Lachlan said. “You’ll take the druids’ boats out to the ship. No one is to use water bonding. Cailean, we’ll need you and yours to go first, and create a distraction so that Evander and the men may approach without notice and try his scheme. If it doesnae succeed, the warband is to board her and attack the crew.”

Neac eyed the horizon. “’Twould be better to wait until dawn for a boarding strike.”

“They’ll no’ be expecting the attack,” the laird said. “Either or both ships may weigh anchor whenever they please and sail off in the dark. It must be now.” He paused and glanced at each of them. “I want a moment alone with Evander.”

Neac didn’t look happy, and Cailean appeared faintly alarmed, but together they trudged back up to the cave.

“The ships are black because they’ve been painted with pitch,” Lachlan said. “Likely they did it to keep from being sighted by the merchants they attack, and to seal the upper decks against sunlight. ’Twas a foolish mistake, but then they’ve never battled on the sea. They dinnae ken the reason why we Pritani never pitched our boats.”

Evander eyed the anchored ship. “They’ve always fought on land.”

“Aye,” Lachlan said and took a tightly-sewn pouch from his belt, and handed it to him. “Do you recall what the Vikings did during the Siege of Paris?”

Evander checked the contents before tying it to his belt. “I’ll see to it, my lord, as soon as I have my lady safe.”

“You’ll hand her off to Cailean, lad,” the laird said. “For you’ll no’ be coming back with her. This is what you’ll do.”