Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) by Geralyn Beauchamp Page B
Authors: Geralyn Beauchamp
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cautiously, gripping John’s shoulder so hard his fi ngers became white.
Dallan gave the two men a condescending look and shrugged. “She must. I havena ever gotten it back.” He quickly looked away, his voice barely a whisper. “But what does it matter? ‘Tis naught but dreams now. Only dreams. And nightmares…”
Lany released his grip on John’s shoulder and moved to stand in front of him. “Eaton, you okay?”
John looked up at his assistant, lips white from pressing them together so tightly. He could only nod and smile, and Lany nodded in response.
This was the new s they had been waiting for. Th is was the sign the Muirarans prayed daily to see. At last, there was no doubt about it. Dallan MacDonald had already seen the Muiraran Maiden… and had bonded with her! Preliminary bond though it be.
Now, the Councilors could proceed as planned.
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away o’er lawns and lakes
Go answering light!
Yet Love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Th an e’er , beneath the moonlight’s star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar
Th e songs repeat.
Th omas Moore
CHAPTER SIX
John and Dallan left the confi nes of the one-room cottage to seek the friendly companionship of the village cookhouse, both ready for a brief repast after the day’s recent happenings. Lany had left to take care of business elsewhere.
John smiled as he hurried to keep up with the Sc ot, still elated with the confi rmation he and his people desperately needed: Dallan MacDonald was the right man. Kwaku hadn’t made another mistake; thank the Creator for that! He had already once grabbed the wrong Highlander, from the wrong century no less. At least the poor victim of the Time Master’s supposed miscalculations had taken it all in stride. After all, Kwaku had shown up just in time to rescue him from a hangman’s noose. But Kwaku had left him little say as to what would happen to him from then on.
John sighed as they neared the cookhouse. Kwaku was using the grizzled little man even now, having him keep an eye on the Muiraran Maiden for them while he prepared the real hero meant to save them all.
Whether said hero wanted to or not.
The two men reached the cookhouse across the village and stepped inside. A large room greeted them, a fi re in its homey cobblestone hearth. Th e fl ames seemed to wink merrily in their direction as pungent aromas embraced them in welcome. Long wooden tables accompanied by pairs of well-worn benches sat in four straight rows patiently awaiting the many villagers that would come eat that day. Vases of fresh fl owers sat atop brightly colored linen runners that stretched down the center of each table surface, adding to the cheeriness of the room.
Dallan reveled in the smells coming from the kitchen beyond the hearth. This was one of his favorite places in Genis Lee. He and John continued to hover in the doorway, to savor all the sights and smells around them.
The few villagers already in the cookhouse glanced up from their food to see who had entered. No one went back to their meal s . Dallan’s eyes captured theirs one pair at a time .
John watched with interest, making mental notes to himself. At least he wasn’t the only one to react to the Scot’s intimidating stare. He wondered if he ought to study it further, but his stomach had ideas of its own and began to rumble in protest at his delay. He searched for a suitable table for the upcoming meal and perhaps a continuation of what was left of the interview, anxious as he was to get done.
Dallan left the doorway, letting the villagers get back to eating and headed straight for a small corner table near the hearth. John followed him, noting the expressions of wariness on the faces of those around them, and committed them to memory as he and Dallan took their seats.
“Well, hello,” came a high-pitched voice from behind John. He turned in
Dallan gave the two men a condescending look and shrugged. “She must. I havena ever gotten it back.” He quickly looked away, his voice barely a whisper. “But what does it matter? ‘Tis naught but dreams now. Only dreams. And nightmares…”
Lany released his grip on John’s shoulder and moved to stand in front of him. “Eaton, you okay?”
John looked up at his assistant, lips white from pressing them together so tightly. He could only nod and smile, and Lany nodded in response.
This was the new s they had been waiting for. Th is was the sign the Muirarans prayed daily to see. At last, there was no doubt about it. Dallan MacDonald had already seen the Muiraran Maiden… and had bonded with her! Preliminary bond though it be.
Now, the Councilors could proceed as planned.
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To music at night
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away o’er lawns and lakes
Go answering light!
Yet Love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Th an e’er , beneath the moonlight’s star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar
Th e songs repeat.
Th omas Moore
CHAPTER SIX
John and Dallan left the confi nes of the one-room cottage to seek the friendly companionship of the village cookhouse, both ready for a brief repast after the day’s recent happenings. Lany had left to take care of business elsewhere.
John smiled as he hurried to keep up with the Sc ot, still elated with the confi rmation he and his people desperately needed: Dallan MacDonald was the right man. Kwaku hadn’t made another mistake; thank the Creator for that! He had already once grabbed the wrong Highlander, from the wrong century no less. At least the poor victim of the Time Master’s supposed miscalculations had taken it all in stride. After all, Kwaku had shown up just in time to rescue him from a hangman’s noose. But Kwaku had left him little say as to what would happen to him from then on.
John sighed as they neared the cookhouse. Kwaku was using the grizzled little man even now, having him keep an eye on the Muiraran Maiden for them while he prepared the real hero meant to save them all.
Whether said hero wanted to or not.
The two men reached the cookhouse across the village and stepped inside. A large room greeted them, a fi re in its homey cobblestone hearth. Th e fl ames seemed to wink merrily in their direction as pungent aromas embraced them in welcome. Long wooden tables accompanied by pairs of well-worn benches sat in four straight rows patiently awaiting the many villagers that would come eat that day. Vases of fresh fl owers sat atop brightly colored linen runners that stretched down the center of each table surface, adding to the cheeriness of the room.
Dallan reveled in the smells coming from the kitchen beyond the hearth. This was one of his favorite places in Genis Lee. He and John continued to hover in the doorway, to savor all the sights and smells around them.
The few villagers already in the cookhouse glanced up from their food to see who had entered. No one went back to their meal s . Dallan’s eyes captured theirs one pair at a time .
John watched with interest, making mental notes to himself. At least he wasn’t the only one to react to the Scot’s intimidating stare. He wondered if he ought to study it further, but his stomach had ideas of its own and began to rumble in protest at his delay. He searched for a suitable table for the upcoming meal and perhaps a continuation of what was left of the interview, anxious as he was to get done.
Dallan left the doorway, letting the villagers get back to eating and headed straight for a small corner table near the hearth. John followed him, noting the expressions of wariness on the faces of those around them, and committed them to memory as he and Dallan took their seats.
“Well, hello,” came a high-pitched voice from behind John. He turned in
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