Redeeming Vows
Page 2

No, compared to Tara and the rest, Liz felt inferior, like a cast off.
As if sensing her concern, Tara continued. “You are the one who comes up with every chant, every spell that keeps Grainna at bay.”
“Any of you could do that.”
“Really? I don’t think so.”
“All of us are Druids, Tara. We all have the ability.” Liz moved to the large fireplace and held out her hands. Sparks flew into the hearth and flames leapt to warm the room.
“Look at you. If I had told you a year ago that you were able to start a fire without a match, you would’ve had me committed. Now you prance around, spread your hands and voila… flames.” Tara stepped behind her. “I know you’re unhappy here.
But until this is finished, until we destroy Grainna and find the stones, you’re stuck here.”
Hearing the words aloud felt so final. It wasn’t that she hated the MacCoinnichs; she simply didn’t have any control over her own life. With Fin hovering close by, it was as if she couldn’t breathe.
In order to return to her century, they needed the sacred stones. Grainna had three of them in her possession. The MacCoinnichs held the other three.
“I know.”
“Think of Simon. If Grainna caught you alone, killed you…” Tara’s voice dropped away. “What would he do without you?”
Closing her eyes, Liz turned. Tara was right.
They all were right.
****
Fin supervised the cleanup of the dead birds, all the while dodging the questions posed by the Knights and servants of the keep. Keeping their ancestry concealed was becoming increasingly difficult with every passing day. Todd, his brother-in-law, stood beside him and nodded toward the yard. “Have you ever heard of Alfred Hitchcock?”
“Sounds like a name of a person.”
“It is. I wonder if Grainna watched a lot of movies during the twentieth century.”
Fin moved from the shadows and into the sun.
“Did she get this from your movies?”
Todd, a police officer from the century of which they spoke, would know if she did.
“I think so.” Todd picked up a dead bird between his thumb and his index finger before tossing it into a pile with the rest. “God I hope she didn’t like Freddy Kruger or Michael Myers.”
“Who are they?” Fin asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
Before he could question Todd, Gregor approached them.
“’Tis all there is. Do ye want us to burn them?”
Drawing his shoulders back, Fin answered. “To ashes, Gregor. Let no feather go un-touched.”
“Aye, ’tis best to have no evidence.”
Fin’s eyes narrowed. He nodded and left the yard.
“I think it’s time for a drink,” Todd said by his side. “Agreed.”
Together they walked into the main hall, past the dogs sitting at the base of the stairs, and through the door to Ian’s private study. Duncan and Ian already held glasses in their hands, enjoying what little Scotch remained.
“’Tis done?” Ian asked from behind his desk.
“Aye, Father. The carcasses are being destroyed, and there are no others in the sky.” Fin poured two goblets, handed one to Todd and took a seat.
“Where the hell is she hiding?”
“I wish I knew.” Ian, laird of the Coinnich land, ran a hand through his graying hair. “I’m not sure how much longer we will keep the village together if this continues.”
Duncan cleared his throat. “I’ve heard of several families fleeing to Lancaster in the past month.
Rumors of evil are driving them away.”
Ian dropped his drink to the desk. Amber liquid splashed against the side of the cup. “I expected loyalty from my people.”
“And ’tis why so many stay. If you were anyone else, your lands would be empty by now,” Fin reminded his father.
Ian stared at the men in the room. “If I could raise an army to fight this evil I’d do it. But how do you fight evil magic?”
Fin watched as they all sat, staring into their goblets, each of them large warring men, capable of their share of death and destruction. Each of them powerless against one evil woman. Grainna.
Chapter Two
Leafing through the pages of the book Liz aptly named her Bible of Druids, she jotted down a note within the margin.
We are peaceful people who mean harm to no one. Our maker judges all evil that dwells amongst us. Never should our gifts be used for injury upon another soul.
“Ha!” Liz turned the book over and glanced at the year the book was published. 1998. Selma Mayfair, the author, thought she was a witch. In truth, she was most likely a Druid who didn’t know it. She’d capitalized on her heritage and gift of premonitions to help the local police when a child vanished in rural Ohio. After the child was located exactly where Ms. Mayfair said she’d be, the media caught hold of her story and posted it all over the national news. Before long, Ms. Mayfair had every publisher and his brother asking for a book deal.
The first one, Sixth Sense, hit the New York Times Bestseller list, which made her an overnight sensation. But that book wasn’t the one Liz looked at now. This book was labeled Seventh Sense. The book lacked the drama of a child’s abduction and consequently didn’t do nearly as well in the bookstores as the first. Liz remembered the hype and the syndicated talk shows all blasting Ms.
Mayfair’s “abilities” when Seventh Sense came out.
Because the book teetered on a religious fence, most of the spiritual community ostracized the author and called her a fraud.
By the time Seventh Sense was in paperback, the only people picking it up were those self proclaimed witches who went around smoking pot and saying “Blessed be.”
Before Liz’s desired trip back in time, she’d bought the book for her sister. She meant it as a joke. However, it wasn’t an accident she’d remembered Ms. Mayfair’s plight long after her fifteen minutes of fame were over. It wasn’t an accident that while Christmas shopping for how-to books, she came across Seventh Sense in the closeout counter. And it wasn’t an accident when Liz first touched the tome of paranormal that a current of electricity jolted her down to her toes. No, the Ancients knew what the hell they were doing.
“Mom?” Simon’s voice bellowed down the hall as he approached her sanctuary.
“In here.”
Her son sauntered in the room with newfound confidence. He had grown in the short time they had been in the sixteenth century. At thirteen, he started to look more like a man. His features lost the baby fat of his childhood and his limbs started to fill out.