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Time Raiders: The Avenger
P.C. Cast


Unleash the untamed passions of the underworld in these deliciously wicked tales of paranormal romance.“You are about to enter a place of power, a place beyond imagining. ”Alex thought communicating with the dead was the worst of her troubles. She couldn’t have been more wrong! She’s just been sent to 60 AD by a secret army unit to recover missing pieces of a medallion that could change the world. Alex must use her gifts to entice Druid Caradoc into helping her.Yet soon she’s torn between duty and the man who’s been haunting her dreams. Returning to the present is the noble thing to do, but her heart tells her to stay in this enticing new world of goddesses and warriors.TIME RAIDERS Only they can cross the boundaries of time; only they have the power to save humanity.









TIME

RAIDERS


Only they can cross the boundaries of time;

only they have the power to save humanity



Meet the team of Project Anasazi, a secret military unit

sent through time to save the world, as they discover

dark and dangerous new passions.



Available from Mills & Boon


Nocturneв„ў:

The Seeker by Lindsay McKenna 21st May

The Slayer by Cindy Dees 21st May

The Avenger by P.C. Cast 4th June

The Protector by Merline Lovelace 18th June


Dear Reader,



One of the many reasons I enjoyed writing The Avenger so much was that the main setting, ancient Britain, 60AD, was a serendipitous research coincidence. Sounds weird, huh? Well, here’s what happened: at around the same time I was contacted about being involved in the RomVets Time Raiders project I was working on the first of my HOUSE OF NIGHT young adult books. In the HoN novels there is a school organisation called the Dark Daughters and this group figures predominately in the plot of the series. It’s supposed to be a club led by the best and the brightest of House of Night vampyre fledglings, young women who were being groomed to become high priestesses of the vampyre goddess, Nyx. So I needed to have a super-cool foundation for the group. I’m of Celtic descent and have always been fascinated by the history of my ancestors. Because of that I decided to give the Dark Daughters Celtic roots, which meant I needed to research exceptional women in the history of the Celts. That research led me to the Iceni queen, Boudicca. From the very beginning I was intrigued by her story – that her husband passed the torque of royalty to her at his death and that she was a well-respected leader. Then a Roman tax collector decided to flex his muscle and show Boudicca who was really in charge of the Iceni. He had her publicly whipped and ordered her two young daughters raped.

The story intrigued as well as horrified me.



I remember not being able to read fast enough to find out what happened to Boudicca and cheering as she united the Celts and actually kicked some Roman ass for a while.



History reports what happened to the queen of the Iceni and I’ll leave that story to my fictionalised, but basically historically accurate, rendering in The Avenger. What history isn’t as clear about is what happened to the queen’s two daughters. I decided they disappeared from human history because they were marked to begin the change that led them to be powerful vampyre high priestesses, so revered that they began an organisation that was to live long after they had passed to their goddess’s verdant meadows, the Dark Daughters.

And just as I decided that, Lindsay McKenna and Merline Lovelace contacted me with an interesting paranormal romance series idea…where military heroines have to go back in time to retrieve lost pieces of a medallion…to save the world…and out of the historical time-period choices I had to send my heroine back to was ancient Britain, 60 AD, and Queen Boudicca.



How could I say anything but yes! Yes! Yes!



Hope you enjoy the ride as much as I did.



Love



P. C. Cast




Time Raiders

The

Avenger

P.C. Cast











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


P.C. Cast was born in Illinois and grew up being shuttled back and forth between there and Oklahoma, which is where she fell in love with quarter horses and mythology (at about the same time).

Five days after graduating from high school, she joined the United States Air Force, which is where she began speaking professionally. After her tours with the USAF, Ms Cast attended college as a literature major with a secondary education minor.



Her first novel, Goddess by Mistake, was published by a small press in 2001. Thoroughly shocking the author, it won a Prism, a Holt Medallion and a Laurel Wreath, and was a finalist for the National Readers’ Choice Award. Since then Ms Cast has gone on to win numerous writing awards. Ms Cast is thrilled that her work with her daughter, Kristin, in young adult fiction has won numerous placements on the New York Times and USA TODAY bestseller lists.

P.C. Cast lives and teaches in Oklahoma with her fabulous daughter, her spoiled cat and her Scotties – better known as the Scottinators. The daughter attends college. The cat refuses higher education. The Scottinators are as yet undecided about their future.


This one is for the enlisted women in the USAF,

with a smile and a semi-insubordinate grin.

Enjoy!




Chapter 1


The dead woman sighed. Her voice sounded wistful and more than a little nostalgic. “It’s pretty here, isn’t it? There is something restful about all this open space.”

“You’re dead, Andred. Isn’t everything restful to you?” Alex said, lifting a brow at the semitransparent woman who leaned against the low wooden fence beside her.

“Do not be so literal. I am quite certain you are very aware that just because one is dead doesn’t mean one is at rest.” The spirit paused and gave Alex a knowing, sidelong look. “Your fear of leaving here is irrational.”

Alex frowned. The two things that had surprised her most about ghosts when she first started seeing them the year she turned six were they were so damn nosy, which made them ubergossips, and they were so damn free with their advice. As if dying turned them into talk show hosts.

“Look, I’m not afraid of leaving here. I just don’t like to. Even you said how restful this place is, and I love Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie. Not to mention my job’s here—why should I want to leave?”

“There is quite a difference between loving a place so you choose to stay, and staying in a place because you are too fearful to leave.”

“I said I’m not afraid to leave! I went to Flagstaff. I was gone for three whole days.”

“You hated every moment of it.”

“No, I did not. I loved seeing Tessa.” And I’m worried as hell about her. Alex closed her eyes for an instant and against her dark lids saw smoke and fire and smelled the acrid scent of computers frying in unbelievable heat. Professor Carswell had assured her that Tessa would be fine, but after the terrible accident she’d witnessed, Alex didn’t know how that could be true. But none of that is this damn nosy ghost’s business.

“You have not left the prairie once since you returned. You’ve even been giving your shopping list to Sam. Alexandra, when you resort to having a hired ranch hand buy tampons for you, I’d say you are turning into a hermit.”

“And what about you? Why are you still here? Hello! Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black? How can you lecture me about being afraid to leave?” Alex glanced pointedly at the woman’s archaic looking outfit, which was little more than a brightly colored linen tunic, and leather sandals with straps that wrapped around her calves. “What kind of a name is Andred? How long ago did you die, anyway?”

“Andred is a very old name, as I have been here a very long time.”

“And I have a feeling you should have passed on a while ago.”

The ghost of the young woman shrugged. “I will. I am in no hurry.”

“Well, that’s no different than me. I’m in no hurry to leave, either,” Alex said smugly.

The spirit turned to face her, her expression sad. “There is a vast difference between us, Alex. As you remind me often, I am not of the living. There is nothing out there for me. But you are alive. The world exists for you, except you’re unwilling to live, so you hide in here.”

Alex’s stomach tightened. “You have no idea what it’s like. You ghosts are overwhelming! In Flagstaff, with Tessa, ghosts were everywhere! I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think. Here it isn’t so bad.”

The spirit shook her head. “It’s not where you are, Alex. It’s you.”

“That’s such utter bullshit!”

“You haven’t always hidden yourself away out here. You used to be a part of the world. What happened?”

“I am still part of the world! I live and work on the tallgrass prairie. I’m a botanist. I give guided tours. I interact with people all the time. Living people. And I’m done talking to ghosts for today.” Alex climbed over the fence, and without another word, stomped into the bunkhouse and went directly to the small room she called home, forcing herself not to slam the door behind her.

“Damn know-it-all ghosts! God, they’re so incredibly annoying,” Alex muttered to herself as she went to the chic wine cooler she kept filled with a stash of her favorite reds and whites. She considered for a second, and then decided to splurge and open a new bottle of her current favorite red, The Prisoner, ignoring the irony of the name on the label. “I live!” she said as she opened the wine. “I just choose to live somewhere that doesn’t stress my brains out.” While she let the wine breathe Alex pulled off her jeans and sweatshirt, replacing them with comfy silk drawstring pajama bottoms and the matching top. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the outside of her closet and paused to smooth back her crazy hair. Sometimes it seemed her mood translated to her hair follicles, because nine times out of ten when she was angry her thick mass of strawberry-blond hair frizzed out to look like a lion’s mane.

“I should cut this stuff,” Alex told her reflection, but she knew they were just words. She would cut her hair when she was really old, and not pushing thirty-five. Hell, she might not even cut it then! It’d be fun to be called “that crazy old woman with the wild hair down to her ass.” At least it would give the ghosts something benign to gossip about. “Just pour yourself a glass of wine and stay away from the scissors,” she told her reflection.

Alex was curled up in bed with the glass of red wine on her bedside table and a fat copy of Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander, which she was rereading for the third time in ten years, when her cell phone rang. Annoyed, she glanced at the number, sure it was her mother making her requisite once-a-month call, which Alex would ignore. When she saw the name under the caller ID, she sat straight up and clicked the answer button.

“Tessa! Are you okay?”

“Alex, it’s great to hear your voice! You would not believe all the stuff I have to tell you. Man, talk about a wild ride.”

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “There was that fire just as you disappeared, and—”

“Hey, not over unsecured lines,” Tessa said quickly. “And I’m fine. Totally fine.” Alex thought she heard a deep male voice in the background, and Tessa giggled. “Well, maybe I’m better than fine.” Then her voice sobered and she added, “Oh, you should know that here with us I’ve also got—”

“Tessa, we need to talk.” It was Alex’s turn to interrupt. “You scared the living hell out of me. I thought you were dead for sure. And that damn professor wouldn’t give me shit for information, not to mention the stick-up-her-ass general. God, I’m so glad I don’t have to deal with military mentality anymore.” She snorted. “Talk about an oxymoron. Anyway, we gotta talk. I need details.”

“Well, Sergeant, we’d be happy to share all the details with you. There’s a nonstop flight that leaves tomorrow from Tulsa to Phoenix. I’ll have a car waiting at the airport to bring you to Flagstaff.”

There was absolute silence on the line as Alex worked on controlling her temper.

“As I was trying to tell you, Alex, I have General Ashton on conference call with us,” Tessa said.

“Lovely,” Alex said dryly. “Hello, General.”

“Sergeant Patton,” said the general.

“Look, General, I told you before, I haven’t been a sergeant for almost five years, and I have no intention of ever being one again. Just call me Alex.”

“As you wish, Alex. Your ticket is wireless. It will be waiting at Tulsa International for you.”

“I’m not coming. Not tomorrow. Not the day after. Not ever. I am not interested in joining your…” Alex hesitated, wanted to call Project Anasazi a bunch of geeks and freaks. But Tessa was still on the phone, and, in spite of trapping her into this annoying conference call, still Alex’s friend—even though she was definitely a psychic freak. After a long breath Alex settled for saying “…your team.”

“We need you, Alex.” It was Tessa who spoke into the dead air this time. “This is important.”

“So is the reason I’m not interested. Actually, so are the several reasons I’m not interested, and you know that, Tessa. Look, I’m glad you’re all in one piece, and I’m glad you called, even if we do have company on the line. But I am not the girl for this job. I left that life behind me a long time ago, and I’m not ever going back. If you want to come to the prairie and visit, you’re invited anytime, Tessa.” She emphasized her friend’s name so there could be no misunderstanding to whom Alex was offering the open invitation. “But I’m not going back to Flagstaff or to the military. Goodbye, Tessa.” Alex clicked the end call button.




Chapter 2


The call had pissed Alex off so badly that she couldn’t even concentrate on The Outlander, which only served to make her even more angry and resentful. Shit! She’d made herself very clear after Tessa had disappeared into the past as the damn lab had gone up in smoke. No, hell no, she wasn’t interested in “volunteering” for a time-travel mission—even if it did mean keeping marauding aliens or whatever at bay.

See, the problem was that in Alex’s life, what most people would consider alien was her norm. So what if the world had to deal with bizarre crap for a change? Alex’s mind flashed back to when she was six years old and her neighbor, Brian Campos, had disappeared. The police had gone door-to-door looking for him. When they’d gotten to her house, she’d told them, in her matter-of-fact little-girl voice, that she knew where he was—then she’d taken the detective’s hand and, to the horror of her parents, led him to Brian’s body. Everyone had freaked, and then labeled her as a freak. At six, how does a kid know not to admit she sees ghosts? At thirtysomething, Alex was a lot smarter.

They’d wanted her talent at Project Anasazi, also known as the Time Raiders. Alex had thought Tessa’s insistence on her coming to visit was because her longtime friend was just too damn lonely at her new home in Flagstaff. After all, Tessa was a strong psychic, which meant she was a freak, too. Come to find out, Tessa had wanted to see Alex, but Project Anasazi had really wanted her—for a time-travel mission.

Okay, even before she’d witnessed Tessa’s messed-up leap back in time, and gotten serious Something’s Wrong vibes from the lab fire, Alex had rejected their offer. The reason she’d given—that she was totally not interested in returning to anything resembling the military in any form—was true. As was her other reason—the fact that she had a great job as lead botanist, guide and docent for Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.

But the truest reason she couldn’t handle being a part of Project Anasazi was because she couldn’t handle leaving the prairie. It was the only place she could find any measure of peace, any break from the ghosts who haunted her.

It wasn’t true that ghosts hung around because they wanted someone to help them with unresolved issues. Well, maybe that was true in some cases. But most of the time ghosts hung around for the same reasons anyone, living or dead, hung around a place. Because they wanted to. Sometimes they were bored. Sometimes they were happy. Sometimes they were sad. Sometimes Alex didn’t know what the hell they were, except terrible gossips and seriously noisy. They were just there.

It hadn’t been so bad when she was younger. The U.S. Air Force had even helped for a while. At least there she’d been an accepted member of a group, that is until her “knack” for “knowing” what messages needed to get to whom had caused her to be singled out from the herd of airmen who schlepped around the main communications center of Building 500 at Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska. Her ability, honed from countless hours of listening to gossipy ghosts, had brought her to the attention of the NCOIC in charge of the communications center, CMSgt John Domonick.

One thing had led to another between the two of them, and eventually she’d ended up in his bed and he’d ended up knowing her freakish secret. Oh, she’d also ended up in a special assignment called TA, or Traffic Analysis, which basically meant gathering ghost gossip for John and, eventually, the colonel who was his commander.

It had been early in her comm center debacle that she’d started cramming in botany classes at the local university whenever she could. And when Alex’s next reenlistment had come around, instead of re-upping for another four years, she’d said goodbye to John Domonick and the USAF, and hello to a degree in botany—and an internship at Oklahoma’s beautiful, and mostly untouched, tallgrass prairie—where the ghosts somehow, some way, mostly left her alone. So that’s where she planned to stay. Forever if need be.

She was not going back into the military—not in any way, shape or form.

Still fuming over the phone call, Alex sucked down the rest of the glass of wine, and only realized when she got up to wash her face—and stumbled into the bed—that the glass had mysteriously been the last in the bottle, which was now empty.

Alex was definitely going to have a headache in the morning. Ugh. And she had to lead a group of wannabe ranch hands out on a sunrise bird-watching tour to Buffalo Ridge, which was a good three miles away.

“Well, crap,” she grumbled to herself as she snuggled under the covers. “I’m gonna have to remember to hydrate…”



It was spectacularly beautiful in Alex’s dream. The land around her was lush and so green it almost made her eyes ache. She’d never known there were so many variations of the color green! And the trees! Alex had never imagined trees could be so big and thick and dense. Sure, her dream self had found a path through the incredible woods, but damn! It was like she’d conjured up a version of the Lord of the Rings movie set and plopped herself down in the middle of Rivendell. She recognized chestnuts and oaks and even something one of her professors would call a witches’ beech. They were all massive and had a look of untamed health—as if a contractor would never even consider cutting them down to build a highway or, worse, a development of suburban double-income-all-basically-the-same houses.

Yeah, she’d definitely dreamed up her version of Rivendell. Now all she needed was to conjure Aragorn and she’d be all set. So while she waited for Aragorn to show up, Alex strolled through the lush woods.

Obviously, it was early morning—just barely dawn. The soft young daylight complimented the deep and varied green of the woods, making everything around Alex magical. She was following a small, winding path. On either side of it the forest floor was spongy, carpeted with thick moss that looked so soft she started to have thoughts about pulling the tardy dream version of Aragorn off the path and having a roll in the moss with him. Or at least she’d do that when he finally showed.

It was then that she heard a voice speaking. At first it was just a faint sound coming from somewhere in front of her. Alex paused, listening hard, and sure enough, the sound came again. This time it was recognizable as a voice, a deep, strong, male voice.

She practically skipped down the path in glee. Back in the waking world she might be working on a raging hangover, but here in this gorgeous dreamland she was going to play Arwen to a handsome Aragorn. And in this world she was actually going to have sex.

“Come back…”

The words finally became understandable, and they jolted Alex to a halt.

“Come back?” she said aloud, more to herself than to a randy, but invisible Aragorn. “But I haven’t found you yet.” The voice still came from somewhere in front of her, so she kept walking.

“Come back to me…”

Again the compelling voice pulled her forward.

“I haven’t gone anywhere!” Alex shouted, annoyed at her dream self. She got more annoyed as mist started to pour in from the woods, creeping over the moss and washing across the deer path like unsubstantial fingers.

Alex usually liked fog. It had a romantic, mystical quality that appealed to her. Plus, it wasn’t like she was scared of any boogey men it might be hiding. She was way too familiar with ghosts to be freaked by them.

But there was something weird about this mist. It moved oddly, swirling around her body, with tendrils of gray licking against her skin. It was almost liquid in its touch.

“Come back to me! I need you!”

He sounded as if he was standing right in front of her, but by this time the fog was so dense she couldn’t see through it.

“Where are you?” she called.

“I’m waiting for you! Come back to me…”

“I’m trying to find you! Where the hell—” Alex bumbled off the path and fell, facefirst, into the mossy ground.



“What the hell!” Gasping, Alex tried to sit up, but was totally entangled in her comforter. For an instant she was still in the dream, and she flailed around, thinking that the moss was clinging to her. And where was he? Where was the Aragorn guy with the incredible voice who kept calling for her?

Then a spike pierced her temple and she realized her mouth was dry and disgusting, which meant she had a hangover headache and a cottony mouth.

She wasn’t in an amazing, misty dream forest. She was in her room in the bunkhouse on the tallgrass prairie. Alex freed her arms and shoved off the comforter, rubbing her eyes and glancing blearily at her alarm clock. The luminous dial read 5:10 A.M., exactly five minutes before her alarm was set to go off. She sighed and, with a groan that sounded as if she were almost eighty-five rather than almost thirty-five, hobbled into her bathroom, going through her mental to-do list. She’d shower. Hydrate. Take aspirin. Eat breakfast—a light nongreasy one. Lead the city folks to Buffalo Ridge. She would not let her hangover kill her. She would forget about the weird dream.

Later that day Alex would try to convince herself that accomplishing six to-dos out of seven wasn’t all that bad.




Chapter 3


Alex figured she should be grateful it wasn’t August, one hundred five degrees and perfect tick-swarming weather. Okay, she admitted to herself as she resettled her back against the convenient hump in the ground behind her, today’s assignment has been one of the cushy ones. They’d eaten breakfast in the bunkhouse, and then started the trek to Buffalo Ridge. Alex could have hiked it in less than an hour, but the city folks were chatty and wanted to loiter, so she’d adjusted her pace to theirs, which didn’t really bother her since she was decidedly sleep deprived and hungover. After two hours of a leisurely stroll they were on the ridge, which was when her charges broke out their easels, watercolors, sketch pads and mimosas. They’d asked her if it was okay if they just stayed there on the ridge for the rest of the morning, sketching and drinking, instead of finishing the hike.

Alex had said no problemo.

Since she was responsible for them—and no way could they find their way back to the bunkhouse by themselves sober, let alone after ingesting the half-dozen or so bottles of bubbly they’d brought in their provision packs, Alex settled in to let them sketch the morning away while she caught up on some much needed sleep.



The dream started like the other one. She was in the middle of a dense, gorgeous forest, surrounded by layers of verdant green that could have very easily mesmerized her—had she not already been expecting some weirdness. This time she wasn’t a tourist. She was wary and ready for whatever her obviously stressed-out psyche could throw at her.

She walked down the same path as before, only now she wasn’t gawking at the nature surrounding her. Alex was paying attention to the fact that there were no damn birds.

Okay, a little detail like that might have escaped most people’s radar, especially most dreaming people, but Alex was an experienced hiker and was used to birds chirping away as she hiked. In her dream world, there were no sounds at all, not even the sloughing of wind through the thick green leaves of the ancient trees that formed a living canopy over her head.

“Same place, but it’s like someone pressed the mute button,” Alex said. “Well, at least in my dream I’m not hungover.” She had just decided her previous experience must have been wine-induced craziness when his voice drifted down the path to her.

“Come back to me…”

Had Alex reasoned out what she planned to do on her next visit to this made-up dream world, she would have said that she was going to be logical. She’d demand the man materialize, and if he didn’t, then she’d simply ignore him and go on about her dreaming, still hoping her subconscious would come up with a tryst with Aragorn.

But the dream wasn’t reasonable. It defied logic. The man’s voice had Alex reacting on a visceral level.

“I’m here! I came back! Where the hell are you?”

“Come back to me…I need you!”

“This is just ridiculous!” But even as Alex grumbled, she increased her pace. His voice was coming from down the path in front of her. This time she wasn’t going to wake up until she found out what the hell was going on in this dream.

The fog began to slither across the path.

“Damn it, no! This happened last time and I’m not putting up with it again! Hello! Where are you? Hello!” Alex was jogging now, shifting her gaze from the path to the misty space ahead of her, all the while straining to see through the soupy grayness.

The mist enveloped her. This wasn’t the romantic, cozy fog she liked to dream about lifting from low spots of the prairie on cool fall mornings. This mist was almost sentient. It was grasping, touching her with frigid fingers that crept into her clothes and down her spine, surrounding her body and soul until, panting, she stumbled to a halt.

“Where are you and what’s happening to me?” she whispered as she gasped for air, trying to catch her breath and regain her composure.

“I need your help. You must have the courage to come back to me.”

“Well, tell me who you are and where you are, and I will!” Alex blurted, utterly frustrated by this dream version of cat and mouse.

Ahead of her the mist cleared for just an instant and an image materialized. It was a symbol in the shape of an S, with both ends of the letter curling in and around to form a thick spiral. Its color was a deep sapphire-blue and she knew that this image held answers for her—somehow the S was his.

Automatically, Alex reached up, wanting to touch the pattern she glimpsed within the mist, wondering if the thing could be a part of a ghost. She’d never had a spirit get into her dreams before, but after almost three decades of seeing the dead, she figured nothing would surprise her.

Out of the mist someone grabbed her hand! Alex yipped a surprised “Yikes!” and tried to pull away, but the disembodied whatever kept a firm hold on her.

“Just do not say no. You must come back to me.”

And then Alex’s hand was lifted up into the mist, and she could swear that she felt lips—warm, firm, intimate lips—brush her skin. The touch somehow grounded her, settling her nerves and making her feel calmer, and surer that she was where she was supposed to be. Everything would be okay. This wasn’t a ghost—they couldn’t touch her. This was a man—a sexy dream man she’d conjured to entertain her sleeping mind. Through his strong grip he telegraphed need.

Alex grinned.

Of course he needed her. Of course he was calling for her. She’d dreamed him up. Now all she needed to do was relax. No doubt the mist would be whisked away—probably to the tune of the theme song from the cool old Lerner and Lowe version of Camelot. Oooh! Maybe that was who she’d dreamed up—King Arthur! Yep! He was definitely King Arthur. This dream world was a perfect pretend ancient England. No wonder he’d kept disappearing when she’d been imagining him as Aragorn—silly her! She was having a dorky historical fantasy, not a dorky sci fi/fantasy fantasy!

“All righty then,” Alex said happily, squeezing the hand that still held hers, “I’m ready. I’ve come back to you.” Still grinning, she braced herself, sure she’d figured out her dream version of the Gordian Knot, and everything would clear right up in an instant.

“It won’t be that easy, daughter of man!”

The new voice blasted Alex. Whoever had her hand dropped it, and, thrown off balance by the force of the voice and by the absence of the comforting presence that had anchored her in the dream world, Alex stumbled backward. And there was nothing behind her. Her arms windmilled, but she couldn’t stop herself from falling…falling…falling…



“Hey there, Ms. Patton! You’re awake now—everything’s okay.”

Alex jerked away from the old guy whose big, beefy hand was resting on her shoulder.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that you were making some real strange noises and I thought you might be having a doozy of a nightmare.”

Alex blinked up at the man—thinning gray hair, silver unibrow, lots of nose hair—and reality rushed back into her frazzled brain.

“Oh, Mr. Thompson, you startled me.”

“Were you having a bad dream, dear?” Mrs. Thompson, a plump woman who looked as if she’d be the perfect grandma, peered down at Alex over her husband’s shoulder.

“I—I guess I was. I don’t really remember.” She stood abruptly, brushing nonexistent dirt and grass from her khaki work pants. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she said, trying not to sound as disconcerted as she felt—especially when she realized she was the center the half dozen city folks’ attention.

“Sweetheart, you’ve been out like a light for the better part of two hours!” boomed Mr. Meyers, a retired butcher from Tulsa.

“Oh, Frank, leave the girl alone. I was just thinkin’ how tired she looked while we was hiking up here.” Mrs. Meyers, who insisted Alex call her Trixi, patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry. We all need our beauty sleep.”

“Okay, well, are we ready to head back?” Alex said, wishing she could crawl under the nearest rock.

“Yep, sure are! And I’ll bet you can set a quicker pace than you did on the way here, after that nap you took!” Mr. Meyers chuckled and slapped Alex on the back.



Thankfully, none of the tourists were staying the night, so Alex’s duties were done after she deposited the group in the prairie gift shop. Still feeling out of sorts after the weird repeated dream, she decided to indulge herself in one of her favorite pastimes—watching old BBC Masterpiece Theatre specials on her widescreen iMac. She’d popped some extra-buttery popcorn, poured a huge glass of iced tea—no wine today!—opened her new Netflix envelope and was just getting ready to pop disc one of The House of Elliott into her computer when the screen bleeped, telling her she had a new e-mail. Without really thinking about it, Alex clicked on the logo and saw that the new mail was from ACarswell@flagstaff.net.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered at the screen. With an annoyed jab, she clicked on the e-mail.

There was one line, which read: If you want to find out more about this, come to Flagstaff. It was signed A. C.

Alex glanced up at the address block and saw that there was an attachment. She almost didn’t click into it. What could Carswell possibly send her that she’d want to learn more about? But, grudgingly, Alex had to admit she was curious. She clinked into the attachment.

The symbol that filled the screen had her breath catching in her throat.

It was the sapphire S design from her dream.




Chapter 4


It took her too damn long to dig around in her address book and find the number to the Project Anasazi headquarters Tessa had given her months ago, when she’d first tried to talk her into joining Carswell’s team. Alex wasn’t at all surprised when the professor answered the phone herself.

“Where did you get that design?” Alex asked without any preamble.

“Alex, it’s good of you to call,” said the professor smoothly.

“Where did you get that design?” she stubbornly repeated.

“As I explained in the e-mail, if you want to know more about the symbol you’ll have to come to Flagstaff.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Nevertheless, that is the deal.”

Alex drew a deep breath and got a handle on her temper before she spoke again. Then, in short clipped sentences, she said, “I do not know why you’re doing this. I will not join the project. My answer there will be the same as my answer here.”

“I’m doing this because we need you. The world needs you, Alex.”

“That’s just more bullshit! The world? I can’t save the world. Find someone else—someone who’s more like Tessa.”

“It’s you we need for this particular mission.” When Alex didn’t respond, Professor Carswell continued softly, “The symbol is important to you. I can tell you that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Alex could hear the smile in her voice. “Because you’re not the only freak around.”

Alex snorted.

“Come to Flagstaff. It’ll change your life,” said Professor Carswell.

“I don’t want my life changed,” Alex insisted.

“Don’t you?”

There was a long silence on the line and then Alex heard herself saying, “Is that ticket still at Tulsa International?”

“What’s woad?” Alex asked Professor Carswell. She was sitting across from the professor in her office at the Time Raiders headquarters in Flagstaff, staring at a beautiful sketch of the S design the professor had scanned into the computer and sent to her. Only this original had been drawn on the outline of a human face. The face didn’t have any detail—it was just a frame for the swirling S pattern that spread from the man’s forehead and cheekbones, down to the side of his neck and even onto his torso.

Alex thought she’d never seen anything so exotic, beautiful or compelling.

“Woad is a powerful tattoo that ancient Celtic warriors used to adorn their bodies.”

“That’s an ancient tattoo?” Alex continued to stare at the design as if she was trying to see the man behind it.

“Well, there is a rather boring academic debate about whether the Celts actually tattooed the images on their bodies, or whether they were painted on. This particular image once adorned the body of a Celt who was a druid and a warrior. He lived about AD 60 in Briton. I’m sure about all of that, but I’m not certain if these designs were painted or tattooed on his body.”

“I don’t understand. How do you know all of this, and what does it have to do with me?”

“What does this have to do with you?” asked General Ashton, who’d chosen that moment to join them in Carswell’s office.

“You tell me. I thought that’s why I flew down here.”

“Why does this particular carrot dangle so enticingly for you that it did get you down here?” the general asked.

“Alex, I know this design is connected to you,” Professor Carswell said gently.

Ignoring the general, Alex spoke to the professor. “I’ve seen it in my dreams. I think the man who’s wearing this design is calling to me.”

“He’s asking you to come to him?” Professor Carswell leaned forward, literally on the edge of her seat, waiting for Alex’s answer.

“Yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

The professor nodded slowly. “Then it is you who must go on this mission. Alex, I’ve located the next piece of the medallion. I can tell that it is hidden in AD 60 Briton. I can also tell that it is tied to the Celtic warrior queen Boudica. The only other detail I know for sure about the placement of the medallion is that this particular piece in our puzzle is surrounded by death. It’s almost as if the dead have paved a path to the hidden piece. They know where it is. I do not.”

“So you see, Alex, we need someone on this mission who can speak to the dead,” General Ashton finished for her.

“Oh, no!” Alex was shaking her head. “Look, I haven’t even been away from the tallgrass prairie for a full day and already I’m sick and tired of seeing ghost after ghost swarming everywhere.” It gave her a twisted sense of pleasure that the professor and the general both glanced nervously around in response to her words. “Don’t worry about it—you can’t see them. Anyway, they don’t seem to like this building. There aren’t any in here. But here’s the deal—I know Tessa told you about my thing, and I understand why she did. Tessa’s all about being a team player. I’m not. I’m out of the air force. The whole thing…” she paused and gestured vaguely around her “…this whole thing is just too much for me. Yeah, I’m curious about the man in my dreams, but you guys are telling me he lived a zillion years ago, so that really doesn’t have anything to do with me today. I just want to go back home—to my quiet job—to a world where I can actually get some damn rest and not be driven out of my mind. Besides all that—in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not particularly into the military mind-set of do-what-you’re-told-and-shut-up anymore. Sorry I’ve wasted your time and mine.” Alex started to stand up.

“Sit down, Sergeant.” General Ashton didn’t raise her voice, but the tone of command in it had Alex sitting back down before she even registered the fact that she’d complied.

“You’re a blunt woman, so I’m going to be equally as blunt with you. This isn’t about some dream man. This isn’t about you getting your rest. This is about finding the twelve pieces of the medallion, which once reassembled, will stop a race of creatures who have been subjugating women for thousands of years. We are their only challengers, and they will unmake us in order to keep their power. This is about saving your daughters’ daughters and all those women who come after them. Suck it up, Sergeant. Stop whining. You can sleep when you’re dead.”

Alex met the general’s sharp gaze. The officer was obviously pissed at her, but that didn’t bother Alex at all. Actually, it was like a sweet walk down memory lane—she’d kinda liked pissing off officers. The truth was Alex respected that the general had finally given her the bottom line and stopped dancing around the damn bush. “These creatures, they’re really as bad as all that?”

“The Centauri will wipe out human females before they allow us to join the free galactic community.”

“I’m not a hero, General. I’m just a woman who hears the dead. And if I’m not buffered by the tallgrass prairie, that usually stresses me out so badly I can barely think.”

“How much thinking do you have to be able to do to ask some ancient ghosts to lead you to this?” General Ashton pulled out a drawing of what looked like a piece of a bronze medallion. It was oblong in shape and about the size of two quarters welded together. There was an interesting raised pattern on the piece that looked as if it might be sparkly, and vaguely reminded Alex of constellations.

She shrugged. “Depends on how long I have to go without sleep.”

“Alex,” Professor Carswell interjected quickly. “Do you know why you find the tallgrass prairie so peaceful?”

“No, except when I’m there the dead don’t bother me as much. It’s like they’re more tied to the earth or something. I’ve never really questioned it. I’ve just been glad Tessa and I decided to stop there on a road trip several years ago.”

The professor nodded. “Tied to the earth…that’s an interesting premise. Did you know the ancient Celts were very closely tied to the earth, too? I can’t know for sure, but my guess is you could be a lot less troubled by ghosts in the ancient world than you are in our modern one.”

“But whether the professor’s guess is correct or not, we need you to go on this mission,” said General Ashton.

Alex turned to face her. “I want to talk to Tessa.”

Ashton glanced at the professor, who cleared her throat, then said, “Tessa isn’t on earth right now, Alex.”

“Huh?”

Carswell gave a slight nod. “It’s true. She was only here briefly, when she made the call to you. Actually, she was here for a prenatal examination.”

“Prenatal!”

The general’s smile was self-satisfied. “Had you not hung up on your friend she would have told you herself.”

Carswell frowned at the general. “Tessa wouldn’t have explained that she’s pregnant with an alien’s child and is going to raise it to be a star navigator in the father’s home world. She would only have said that she was pregnant.”

“An alien kid?” Alex felt a little dizzy.

“Half alien, half human,” Carswell corrected.

“So her mission was successful,” Alex murmured.

“On many levels,” agreed the general.

Alex met General Ashton’s gaze. “I’m not like Tessa. She’s always been one of the good guys. She’s always known the right thing to do, and done it. I got sick of doing the right thing when I was six and my parents started to treat me like they were scared of me because I helped lead the cops to a neighbor kid’s body. For a long time I’ve preferred staying on the sidelines.”

This time the general’s smile looked genuine and softened her face, so that Alex suddenly thought how pretty she was. “So, aren’t you tired of getting splinters in your butt from staying on the bench? How about getting into the game for a change?”

“I think you’re backing the wrong player,” Alex replied.

“I don’t think so,” Professor Carswell said quickly. “You’re linked with the druid who bears that woad design.”

“What do you mean by linked?”

Instead of answering, the professor cocked her head to the side, as if she was listening to a whisper in the wind. “You’ve never been in love.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alex felt awkwardly compelled to answer. “No. I haven’t.”

“It’s never been right with any man, has it?”

“It’s a little hard to concentrate on romance after a guy finds out I can talk to dead people. It’s not like on TV. Guys don’t so much like it,” Alex said sardonically.

“The man who wears that woad design will change that. He is woven into your soul,” said the professor.

“And just what the hell does that mean?” Alex blurted.

“Accept this mission, go back to ancient Briton and find out,” General Ashton said.

“Ah, hell,” Alex groaned.

The professor and the general shared a brief, victorious smile.




Chapter 5


“Are you sure this bunny’s going to act right?” Alex peered into what looked like a cat carrier, at a very ordinary white rabbit.

“The rabbit will do what she’s supposed to do. Just unwrap her from the cloak you’ll be wearing, speak the lines you’ve memorized, and then drop her at your feet.” Professor Carswell smiled at Alex. “Keep in mind you’re the powerful priestess of a mighty goddess, as well as what the Celts recognized as a Soul Speaker—so you need to deliver the lines with some aplomb.”

“Aplomb? Seriously?”

“Seriously. You need to be in character.”

“I’ll do my best. Hope the rabbit does hers.”

“Leave that to me. I’m going to be sure you’re facing southeast. The rabbit will bolt away from you and directly toward Londinium.”

“And that will make Boudica attack London?” Alex said doubtfully.

“History is clear. Boudica was a devout follower of the goddess Andraste. Rabbits were sacred to the goddess, pure white rabbits especially so. Before making the final decision to march her army against Londinium…” Carswell paused to be sure Alex caught the correction in calling the city by its ancient name “…she released a rabbit, saying that she would march her army in the direction the goddess commanded. You’re posing as a priestess of Andraste, so that moment is the perfect one for you to materialize in the queen’s camp.”

“Assuming they don’t all freak and attack me because I’ve just beamed down. They have to be superstitious as hell.”

“Their specific belief in their goddess, and their more general belief in the magic of the earth, is what is going to ensure our plan works. What we consider science, they considered magic. Also, you don’t have to hide your ability to speak to the dead there. You’ll be venerated for it.”

“I certainly hope so.” Alex also hoped Carswell had been right about the ghosts of the past behaving like ghosts did on the tallgrass prairie. Even though the lab, which she hadn’t left for days, was insulated against psychic phenomena, Alex could feel the presence of spirits in the city surrounding her, and just that was enough to mess with her sleep and her nerves.

“Use some of that famous attitude of yours that has kept you butting heads with General Ashton these past several days, and no one will have any trouble believing you’re the priestess of a war goddess,” Carswell was saying.

“Ashton thinks I’m insubordinate.”

“War goddesses often are,” the professor stated, which made Alex laugh. “Just rely on your instincts. The knowledge that I place within your brain during the transport will be like a very strong gut feeling. Sometimes you’ll receive whole strings of information in your subconscious, so be sure you follow your hunches.”

Just then Alex’s nervous gut felt the urge to empty itself. “I really won’t have any trouble communicating?”

“None. The chip implanted in your brain’s language center will act as your own internal computer. It’ll translate what you say and what you hear. Remember, you aren’t Alex anymore. You are Blonwen, priestess of the goddess Andraste. You’ve escaped the Roman governor Gaius Seutonius Paulinus’s slaughter of druids and priestesses on the Island of Mona.”

“Who you believe could be a Centaurian.”

The professor nodded. “With his historic record of cruelty it’s a definite possibility. Plus, we know the medallion is there. No doubt there will also be a Centaurian tracking it and trying to keep it from us.”

Carswell handed over a cuff bracelet of beaten gold embedded with a quartz crystal, which Alex slide onto her right wrist. “My get-out-of-jail-free card,” she said.

“Don’t lose it,” General Aston called as she took her seat behind a computer monitor near the glass booth that stood in the middle of the lab. “The Emergency Signal Cuff is the only way we can get you out of there if you’re really in trouble.”

Really in trouble? Alex mused silently. Does she mean versus the unreal trouble I’ll be in the instant I step into the past?

“Don’t forget that we can correct historical events you accidently impact, but you have to activate the ESC before you’re mortally wounded. You aren’t a part of history, so you can actually be killed,” said General Ashton.

“That is impossible for me to forget,” Alex muttered wryly.

“Ready, Blonwen?” Carswell asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” she said.

“All right. Here’s Thumper.” Carswell pulled the rabbit out of the carrier and handed it to her.

“Thumper?”

The professor smiled. “Bambi was a favorite of mine.”

Too nervous to smile back, Alex concentrated on not holding the rabbit too tightly.

As the professor put on the crown-shaped headpiece that would allow her to harness sine waves and send Alex back in time, she whispered, “Your druid will be there for you. I know he will. Allow yourself to find him.”

Her mouth had dried to a desert, so all Alex could do was nod in response.

Much too soon Professor Carswell was seated comfortably in the plush recliner directly in front of the curved, glass-walled booth Alex had secretly christened the Glass Coffin. Alex stood inside the booth, holding the rabbit and trying to keep her breathing even. She was marveling at how utterly relaxed the professor looked, when the small hairs on her forearms began to tingle and then lift. She’d just tightened her grip on the rabbit when the pain hit. A terrible agony sizzled through her body. Waves of power made the air around her ripple as if she were in a whirlwind. Don’t fight this! Alex reminded herself. It’s like a wave you’re supposed to ride. But she had never done any surfing. She tried to concentrate on the professor—to focus on the fact that the woman looked calm. Everything must be fine. Carswell knew what she was doing. Everything was going to be okay.

A cloud of light built around Alex, and as she closed her eyes against the incredible brightness and clutched the rabbit to her, she began to feel weightless. She was telling herself not to think about the fact that that lightness meant her molecules were beginning to temporarily disconnect from each other when she felt as if she was being sucked up into the ceiling. As everything went black, Thumper’s panicked scream joined her own.



The vertigo was worse than Alex had thought it would be, and she stayed on her knees, bent over and trembling while she sucked in air. Just as Carswell had said, she was wearing a cloak, though how the professor managed to twine sine waves to create clothing was as mind-boggling as time travel itself. Alex still had the rabbit in her arms, and it was definitely alive, because she could feel it shaking.

Then the voices penetrated through the ringing in her ears.

“What is it?”

“A vision!”

“Aye! An apparition!”

“Is she a spirit?”

“Protect Boudica! Shield the queen from the apparition!”

Then a woman’s voice lifted above the others. It was filled with confidence and command. “Rise and explain who you are, be you spirit or flesh.”

Alex drew a deep breath and prayed silently to whatever god or goddess existed in this time that she could stay on her feet and make her voice work.

She stood up slowly, giving herself a chance to adapt to the dizziness, and kept her arms wrapped around the rabbit, hidden within her cloak. Alex didn’t open her eyes until she was fairly sure she wasn’t going to fall over.

The first thing she saw was a woman who blazed with power. Boudica—it had to be the queen—stood not twenty feet in front of her. She had more thick red hair than Alex had ever seen on anyone. Her clothes were of supple leather, intricately embroidered with brightly colored thread in complex knots and designs. They wrapped snuggly around her tall, athletic body. The tunic left most of her thighs bare. Flat-heeled leather boots that came to her knees were trimmed in fox fur, as was the cloak she was wearing. She had jeweled bracelets on her wrists and biceps, and around her neck was a thick ring of twisted gold that had stones inlayed on both ends. The words Torque—ancient symbol of royalty, whispered through Alex’s mind.

Yes! This had to be the queen. Alex lifted her chin and met the woman’s cold green eyes.

“Queen Boudica, I am Blonwen, priestess of Andraste. The goddess has sent me here, saving me from the carnage at Mona, so that I might show you her favor.” Alex had to pause as the people surrounding them broke into excited shouts.

Boudica raised one hand and easily silenced everyone.

“This is, indeed, a sign from Andraste, as I just evoked the blessing of the goddess on the battle to come.”

“I bring news for that battle,” Alex said quickly, picking up the thread of the lines she’d memorized back in the lab. “Andraste would have you follow the path she leads, and she has sent her sacred hare to show you the way!” With a flourish that would have made Professor Carswell proud, Alex threw back her cloak, exposing the white rabbit. The people gasped and Alex tossed the bunny to her feet, then held her breath. But as usual, Carswell was spot on. The rabbit leaped forward and ran straight for Boudica. The queen didn’t move, but her eyes widened as the hare raced for her. Then, at the last moment, it dodged to the right, coming so close to the queen that it brushed the folds of her cloak, before it darted off into the darkening forest behind them.

No one made a sound for a moment, and then Boudica’s face broke into a fierce grin. “The hare makes for Londinium, and so shall we!” She raised her fist in the air as the people shouted in joyful agreement.

Alex was almost positive she was going to be sick.

“Sit, Priestess! You look barely able to stay on your feet.” Boudica strode to Alex and put a firm hand under her elbow. “Aedan! Why do you stand and stare like a waterless carp? Aid me with Andraste’s servant.”

A man who looked as if he could scare croup out of babies just by glancing at them hurried over. He practically lifted Alex off her feet in his haste to get her to an odd looking chair set to the right of an intricately carved piece that was obviously a throne.

“Bring the priestess food and mead!” Boudica barked, and other men scrambled to do her bidding.

Soon a bronze goblet was handed to Alex. Gratefully, she sipped it and then, delighted with the sweet strong taste of mead, gulped thirstily. The cup was quickly refilled and a bronze platter of hot meat and hunks of bread put in front of her, and Alex, feeling as if she hadn’t eaten in days, went to work shoving food into her mouth.

Even though she had just materialized from thin air, had let loose a sacred rabbit and was now seated to the right of the queen, talk went on around her without anyone quizzing her about where, when, how or why. So as she ate, Alex surreptitiously studied the ancient Celts.

The professor had told her they were a tall people, but her flat textbook description didn’t begin to do them justice. They were savagely beautiful. Tall, yes, but also sleek and athletic. The women were bold looking, with thick ropes of braided hair in all the shades from the blondest of blond to Boudica’s striking fire red. The men were muscular giants, dangerous and sharp-eyed. Everyone wore brightly colored clothing—tunics, trousers and cloaks. Many items were as intricately embroidered as Boudica’s leathers.

At the sight of a man whose face was decorated with the sapphire woad design, Alex felt a snap of recognition, and her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest. But the design wasn’t of graceful S swirls. Instead it was in the shape of a dragon, the tattooed tail wrapping the warrior’s neck. But even though it wasn’t the image from her dreams, Alex’s appetite was gone.

“Better now?” Boudica asked, leaning toward her so that the two of them could speak intimately, while the men and women around them talked and threw curious glances their way.

“Yes, thank you,” Alex said.

Boudica glanced at the half-eaten food on the platter Alex had set aside. “So, you are not a spirit, for though they can take human form and appear corporeal, they can not take in nourishment from this world.”

“I promise you I’m not a spirit.”

“But you are magical, and you must be greatly beloved of Andraste. It was a most unusual and magical thing, that the goddess made you appear to me this night. I will dedicate to Andraste the first blood my sword drinks from the liver of my first kill in the battle to come.”

Not sure what to say, Alex nodded, hoping she looked pleased at the gruesome picture the queen painted.

“Word came to us that the Roman governor Suetonius slaughtered those of the sacred Isle of Mona.”

Alex tried to look as confident as possible as she said, “Suetonius did lead the killing on Mona. I was lucky that the goddess saved me.”

Boudica had been studying her carefully. Finally she said, “I knew the goddess would not allow this desecration to go unpunished. Andraste saving you and bringing you to me shows me I have been following the right path all along.”

As the queen spoke her gaze traveled beyond Alex to a place close to the fire where two young girls sat on thick pallets of furs. Both were beautiful, and Alex noticed one of them had hair the exact shade of Boudica’s. The youngest of the two was maybe eleven or twelve. She stared into the campfire, leaving food untouched on the platter in front of her. The older girl, as if sensing Boudica’s gaze, turned her head slowly and looked at the queen. Alex was struck by the dark circles under her eyes, and her haunted expression.

With a start of recognition, Alex realized these two girls must be the queen’s daughters. She remembered the story Carswell had told her about Boudica’s husband dying, and passing the torque of leadership on to his wife. The new queen of the Iceni had been reigning peacefully under a treaty with Rome signed by her husband when, without warning, the Roman tax collector, Catus Decius, attacked her—had her beaten in front of her people, and her young daughters publicly raped. Enraged, Boudica had rallied the Celts against Roman oppression.

Alex had thought the story a gruesome one when Carswell had told it to her, but coming face-to-face with the living people of legend was much different than history being retold in a laboratory. The girls were so young! And so obviously terribly damaged.

“I believe you’re doing the right thing,” Alex surprised herself by saying.

The queen’s smile was sad as she gazed at her daughters. “The goddess is with me and she will truly help us drive the vile Romans from our sacred land.”

Alex knew what would happen to this woman—that she would have victory over the Romans, but only a shortlived one. Her fate was to fall with her people, after which the Romans would subjugate the Celts for many years. But at that moment Alex felt herself caught up in Boudica’s passion, and she suddenly wished the queen could be victorious.

Boudica’s green eyes blazed and her face was framed by her brilliant red hair, which caught the glow of the campfire as if it, too, were made of flame. She looks like a goddess—like nothing in this world or any other could defeat her.

One of Boudica’s men spoke to her and the queen briefly turned her attention from her daughters. It was then Alex saw the firelight reflect on more than her glimmering hair. The golden torque at her neck flashed, pulling Alex’s gaze down—and she felt her eyes widened. There, in the half circle of braided gold that nestled against Boudica’s fair skin, wasn’t a large jewel, as she had at first thought. It was the medallion she had been sent to retrieve.




Chapter 6


Alex was staring at her torque when Boudica turned back to her. Without speaking, the queen looked at her for a long moment, and then her hand went up to touch the neck piece of braided gold.

“Sometimes I still believe I feel the warmth of my husband’s skin through it,” she said softly. “I touch it and remember how like this torque he was—beautiful and strong.”

“What is that medallion in the end of it?” Alex blurted. Then she quickly shut her mouth, worried that she’d said something inappropriate, or worse, something she should have already known.

But Boudica appeared unfazed. Her fingers found the medallion, tracing over the raised pattern. “It is an ancient image of the stars. It was thought to be a powerful talisman in my family, and was passed from mother to daughter until it, and its mate, came to me. When I wed Prasutagus I had both pieces set in his torque as a wedding gift.” The queen paused, stroking the object as she stared into the fire.

Then Alex’s mind caught up with what Boudica had said, and her gaze snapped back to the torque. Her stomach tightened as she saw that, sure enough, the medallion was only half of what Carswell had shown her—as if the original had been broken in two. She looked at the other end of the torque and felt the breath rush out of her as she saw that something was missing.

“It’s gone!” Alex gasped.

“Aye, it is indeed, but I shall retrieve it if I have to cut it from that monster’s body.”

“A monster took it?” Alex was utterly confused.

“Aye, a monster in the form of a Roman tax collector.” Boudica’s blazing green eyes seemed to pierce Alex. “You know that I was beaten and my daughters raped.”

It wasn’t a question, but Alex nodded and said solemnly, “I do.”

“The monster who ordered it was Catus Decius, a Roman tax collector. When his soldiers were beating me, the medallion came loose. Catus took it, saying it was payment owed to Rome by the Queen of the Iceni. He said my daughters’ virginity was payment owed to Rome, too.” Boudica curled her lip in a vicious sneer. “I will find him in Londinium and take back my medallion, as well as the payment Rome owes me for defiling my children.” The queen put her hand on Alex’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “And now with a magically given priestess of Andraste by my side, I know I cannot fail to exact vengeance for the wrongs committed against me and my people. You will stay with me, will you not? You must march to Londinium with us.”

“I’m here to support you. I’ll come to Londinium,” she assured her quickly. “I want to be there when you get your medallion back.”

How different it was to see the living, breathing Boudica than it had been to be briefed about her, Alex thought. Until moments ago, this mission had been one that had been imposed upon her—one that, other than solving the mystery of the man with the swirling woad, she didn’t particularly care about. But meeting the queen and remaining unconnected to her was impossible, especially as Alex knew all too well the tragic end that awaited her.

“Ah, I am glad to hear it.” Boudica leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “Welcome, Blonwen. The goddess must have known that, though I am surrounded by warriors, I have truly felt alone since Prasutagus’s death. It will be good to have a priestess as my confidente.”

Alex couldn’t speak. At that moment Boudica wasn’t an ancient queen, long dead and, except for readers of moldy history books, mostly forgotten. She was a woman, younger than Alex at this point in time, and one who needed a friend. As she tried to think of something priestesslike and wise to say, a flicker of movement beside Boudica caught her attention. A man suddenly appeared, not more than two feet away from the queen. He was dressed in a heavily embroidered tunic, and his hair was as brightly blond as Boudica’s was red. He was a giant of a man, with thick muscles and an expression so fierce and frightening that Alex automatically recoiled as he shouted at her, “You must help Boudica!”

“What is it, Blonwen? What troubles you? Is it an ill omen?” the queen said, turning to look around her at what might have drawn Alex’s attention.

The warriors nearby, standing just far enough away to allow Boudica and the newly arrived priestess privacy to talk, were instantly alerted by their queen’s words.

Of course, Alex hadn’t needed to see Boudica’s nonreaction to the appearance of the man to know he was a ghost—she could tell from her first glimpse of his semitransparent body. Okay, Alex told herself sternly, I’m a priestess. It’s normal that I can talk to ghosts. She cleared her throat and said, “No, it’s not a bad omen. It’s just a spirit telling me to help you, which is actually a good omen because that is what I intend to do.”

There was a hush in the campsite as every eye turned to her.

“I know you are more than what you seem and that you come here for reasons other than to be the queen’s confidente, but you must help her,” the ghost exclaimed. Though he was speaking to Alex, his eyes never left Boudica.

The queen didn’t look nervous or scared, as modern people usually did when they found out Alex was seeing a ghost. Boudica looked calm and more than a little curious. “What else does the spirit say?” she asked.

“Tell her the boy who first kissed her under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve tells her to stay strong,” said the ghost.

Alex swallowed hard and turned to the queen. “He says that the boy who kissed you under the hawthorn blossoms on Beltane Eve wants you to stay strong.”

Boudica’s eyes widened as the people around her murmured under their breath. Alex thought she could hear the words Soul Speaker being whispered through the campsite.

“Where is he?” Boudica asked in a voice that sounded choked.

“There, right beside you.”

As the crowd around them watched, talking in hushed tones, their queen turned slowly to where Alex pointed, and said, “Forgive me, my love, for not keeping them safe.”

Alex’s gaze automatically found Boudica’s daughters, who were still sitting, silent and white faced, beside the fire.

“You are not to blame, and you will avenge them,” said the ghost.

“He doesn’t blame you,” Alex told Boudica, though she couldn’t make herself repeat his words of vengeance. She knew all too well that Boudica wouldn’t avenge her daughters’ rapes; rather, the war would end in her death and the subjugation of her people.

“It is with my daughters that you must help her, Soul Speaker,” said the apparition, as if he read her mind. “Farewell for now.” Before he disappeared completely, Boudica’s husband put out a transparent hand to touch her cheek, and then he vanished.

“He’s gone now,” Alex said to Boudica, who had her own hand pressed against the cheek her husband’s ghost had just caressed.

“So you are a Soul Speaker as well as a priestess of Andraste,” said the man Boudica had earlier called Aedan.

“Yes, I am,” she replied.

“My father died last winter. It was sudden. I did not—” The big Celt’s words broke off and he looked down at his hand, which was gripping the hilt of the short sword hanging from a scabbard at his waist. “I did not have time to bid him farewell. If—if you could call him here, to you, so that I might speak with him one last time, I would, indeed, be in your debt.”

Alex suppressed a sigh. “I can’t do that,” she said.

Aedan’s nervous look turned dark. “You refuse my request?”

“You don’t understand. I’m not refusing to help you, I just can’t. I don’t call spirits, they come to me.”

The warrior frowned. “What kind of Soul Speaker are you?”

Alex didn’t know what else to say but the truth. “I’m a very tired one.”

“Enough, Aedan! Have we been so tainted by the Romans that we forget the rules of hospitality?”

“No, my queen,” the man said, bowing his head. He sounded contrite, but Alex noticed he kept sending her chilly looks.

“The ways of Andraste are often mysterious—her path difficult and long. She has sent her priestess here to help direct our steps, and not to perform for us like a tamed dog.” As she spoke, Boudica’s eyes swept the crowd, coming to rest on her daughters. Her stern face softened. “Mirain and Una, show Blonwen to our tent. She is as weary as the two of you look.”

The girls got up obediently and walked over to their mother.

“Rest well tonight. The march tomorrow will be long and there will be time for you and me to talk then,” Boudica said to Alex.

Alex stood up and then, not sure of correct protocol, followed her instincts and bowed to the queen with what she hoped was at least a little grace. Boudica kissed her daughters, called for more mead, and was staring silently into the fire as Alex followed the girls into the night, which wasn’t as dark and impossible to navigate as she would have imagined, thanks to the many campfires dotting the area.

Tents were mostly hides and lines draped from the sides of carts and staked to the ground either with polls or wooden spikes. The camp seemed huge, and was bustling with activity. The sounds of women laughing and men talking carried on the night air with the fragrant scent of roasting meat. All in all it wasn’t as crude as Alex had expected. The people, for the most part, weren’t dirty barbarians. They were actually attractive and pretty healthy looking. There wasn’t opulence and riches scattered about, but everyone seemed well-fed, and the horses and other animals she caught glimpses of appeared fat and happy.

She was still gawking around when she realized the girls had stopped in front of a large tent. This one wasn’t draped off the side of a wagon. It was freestanding, with tall poles in the middle and at its five sides. An old woman was tending a cheery campfire burning close enough to the open entrance to cast light within, but not too close to fill the tent with smoke.

The younger of the two girls gestured for Alex to go inside, which she did gratefully. She didn’t think she’d ever been so exhausted in her life. That’s something I’m reporting on when I get back—this time travel thing is hard work. The next traveler should be told she’s going to be dead on her feet. Unless it’s just me…crap, it’s probably just me—

“Priestess, did you not hear me?”

Alex mentally shook herself and focused on the older of the two girls. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. What did you say?”

“This is your pallet. If you need anything, Rosin, who keeps the fire, will aid you.”

“Thank you. I don’t need anything. Except which of you is Mirain and which is Una?”

“I am Mirain,” said the older girl. “My sister is Una.”

“Mirain and Una, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for showing me here and being so nice to me.”

“Our mother believes in the old ways,” was all Mirain said. Una didn’t speak at all.

After a few awkward moments, Alex turned to her pallet, which was a lovely, thick pile of furs. She pulled off her cloak and tried not to gape at the beautifully embroidered tunic that was revealed under it. Wow! It just seemed so impossible that Carswell could make all of this happen with her mind! Alex curled up on the pallet, using her cloak as a blanket. Just before she closed her eyes, she called across the tent to where Mirain and Una had curled together like puppies. “Good night, girls.”

There was a pause and then Mirain said, “Good night, Priestess.”

“I don’t believe you are from the goddess,” said a small voice that Alex knew had to belong to Una.

The girl’s words made her stomach tighten, but her reply was purposefully calm. “You don’t? Why not?”

“Because I don’t believe there is a goddess.”

“Shh, Una. Mother wouldn’t like it if she heard you say that,” Mirain said quickly. “Sleep now. Mornings are always better than nights, remember?”

“I remember too much.” Una’s whisper carried to Alex.

Alex wanted to say something profound and priestesslike, but she wasn’t actually a priestess and she sure didn’t know how to talk to a damaged teenager. Hell, it didn’t seem that long ago that she’d been a damaged kid herself! Feeling overwhelmed and incompetent, she finally let exhaustion take over, and she slept.

That night, Alex didn’t dream at all.




Chapter 7


It made her feel foolish, but the first thought she had when she woke up was he didn’t come to me in my dreams. The second thought was where the hell am I? And then all of her mind woke up and Alex remembered—Briton—AD 60 Boudica’s camp.

“Wake up, sleepy bugaboo! Time’s awastin’ and the queen is callin’ for ye!”

Alex scrubbed her eyes with her fists and looked up into the face of a true crone. “Rosin?” she asked, remembering the name Mirain had given her before she’d slept.

“Aye! I be Rosin. Boudica wants ye. Ye’d best take this and get movin’.” The old woman handed her two slices of bread with a thick piece of fabulously greasy ham stuck between them, and a bronze cup of sweet, strong mead.

“Thank you,” Alex muttered. She scrambled to her feet, straightened her clothes, attempted to tame her hair and then hurried out of the tent, bread and meat in hand.

The camp reminded her of a beehive. There was activity everywhere, but the busyness around her wasn’t what caught her attention. What she noticed most was the air. Alex drew a deep breath. It was like sucking in the newness of life. Everything around her was green and growing and so free from smog and pollutants and plastic that the world seemed virginal.

“It smells so good!” she exclaimed.

Rosin gave her a sidelong look that said she thought the new priestess might be weak in her head. “Aye. It is the forest, Priestess.”

“Well, I like it.” She bit into her breakfast sandwich and her eyes almost rolled into the back of her head with pleasure. “Real fat! Real bread! Real meat! I could kiss the cook!” she moaned.

“A simple thank ye will serve very well,” said Rosin. “Follow the path that way. Ye will find the heart of the camp and Queen Boudica.”

“Thanks!” Alex grinned and, feeling better than she had in days, started down the path. She hadn’t taken half a dozen steps when the air to the right side of the path shimmered and an old man materialized. His body was semitransparent, but his frank gaze made it impossible for Alex to ignore him. “What?” she snapped.

We are glad you are here to aid the queen…

Alex paused, looked around her and, not seeing anyone near them, said, “Fine. Okay. Good. But if you want me to help your queen, you’re going to have to leave me alone so that I can do my job.” She paused when he lifted his brows, and added, “You know what I mean by my job, right? The whole priestess thing.”

We know more than you think we do, the spirit said, meeting her gaze squarely before he disappeared.

Great. Just what I need—ghosts that are nosy and cryptic.

She followed the path, and though she kept seeing the flickery, semitransparent bodies of dead people in her peripheral vision, they didn’t approach her. It seemed they were content to simply hover around, which was totally fine with Alex. Left to herself, she enjoyed eating her sandwich and watching the controlled mayhem around her.

The Celts were definitely breaking camp, but this wasn’t an army camp like any she’d imagined. There were women and children everywhere. Carswell had told her that the family unit was of the utmost importance to the ancient Celts, and that they even marched to war accompanied by their families: husband, sons, wives and daughters. But seeing it up close and personal was amazing. No, Alex decided. It wasn’t amazing. It was intriguing. They were all working together, shouting and laughing and breaking camp. Alex was a product of the twenty-first century. She’d been raised in an antiseptic home where the upper-middle-class mother and father had had one child—her—and provided all the right things—good schools, nice clothes, the house in the suburbs. Yet home had never been warm and comfortable and, well, family. The Celts’ obvious sense of boisterous togetherness was as alien to Alex as was their ancient world. It was also as compelling.

They survive by depending on one another.

As used to ghosts appearing as Alex was, she was still startled, and then frowned at the see-through woman who had materialized by her side.

“I can figure this out for myself,” Alex said under her breath. Several of the people she was passing stopped loading carts and horses to bow respectfully to her and call out “Good day, Priestess!” Alex smiled at them and waved back, hoping this newest spirit would disappear like the old man had.

She didn’t.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Alex said quietly. “But I’d really appreciate it if you and all your kind would leave me alone for a while.”

“I am not here for you, child. I’m here because he will need me.”

“He?” Alex didn’t have a clue what this woman was talking about.

“Yes, he. You will see.”

Alex sighed and kept walking. She glanced at the spirit, who was keeping pace with her. The woman was older and maternal looking. She had a kind, round face with large brown eyes and strong high cheekbones, and when she lifted her right hand to brush back her long silver hair, Alex noticed that tattooed on her palm was a spiraling circle. There was something about it that pricked Alex’s interest. The ghost was also wearing an interesting outfit. Even though it was transparent, Alex could see that it had once been beautiful—robin’s egg blue with elaborately embroidered roses all over it. For an instant she wanted to ask the ghost about her clothes. Had she decorated them herself? Did the roses mean anything?

Don’t seem interested, Alex reminded herself sternly. Ghosts are worse than stray cats. They stay around forever if you give them attention. So even though she was curious about the woman, Alex ignored her and kept heading for the middle of camp, trailed by the momlike ghost and too many questions.

“Blonwen! There you are!”

Boudica’s voice carried over the noise of the breaking camp. Alex saw the queen waving to her from her place beside a campfire that looked like the same one as the night before. Had the queen even gone to bed? Alex didn’t recall anyone joining her and the girls in the tent.

“Good morning, my queen.” Alex bowed grandly. She was already starting to like Boudica, and it was easy to catch the spirit of excitement that permeated her camp.

“I’m so pleased to see you. Come close beside me. There is someone I know you will be eager to greet.” Boudica’s smile was filled with genuine warmth.

Alex’s gut immediately began to tighten. Someone she’d be eager to greet? That was impossible. She didn’t know anyone in this world!

“Look who has just joined our camp! Another survivor of the desecration of Mona. Our goddess is certainly merciful. She has brought him safely here to us, so now I have a priestess and a druid in my camp. Caradoc, my kinsman, this is Blonwen, the priestess I was telling you about. It is she who Andraste brought to me last night, and she who released the sacred white hare that raced toward Londinium. You said her name was unfamiliar, but you must know her now that you see her.”

A tall man stepped out from the group of warriors who stood at Boudica’s back, and Alex felt dizzy with shock. It was him! The left side of the man’s face was tattooed with sapphire woad in the swirling S of her dreams. She could see that the design went down his neck, spread over his broad shoulder and disappeared under his tunic. She looked from that distinctive pattern into eyes that were an unusual amber color. First she saw shock pass over his face, and then he seemed to draw himself up as he silently studied her with a calculating coldness that chilled her blood.

Before he speaks, tell him you have a message for him from me, and describe what I am wearing. Be certain to mention the spiral circle on my palm. The ghost of the middle-aged woman spoke from her place beside Alex. Quickly! she snapped when Alex only stared at her. Do as I say before he exposes you!

“I have a message for you from a spirit with a spiral circle on her palm. She is wearing a blue tunic embroidered with roses,” Alex said hastily, looking from the ghost to the man Boudica had called Caradoc.

She saw his eyes widen, and he said, “What is the message?”

Alex forced herself not to gasp at the sound of his voice. She’d heard it before! This was the man from her dreams. He had been the one who’d begged her to return to him.

Tell my strong, brave son, these exact words—that his mother would ask him to, once more, wait—think—and consider, or he may once more find himself naked and shoeless and dodging from briar patch to briar patch all the way home.

Alex stared at the woman.

Tell him! she commanded.

Alex turned to Caradoc, who was standing beside Boudica. The queen was watching her with an expression of open curiosity.

“Well…” Alex spoke slowly, making sure she got all the words right. “Your mother asks me to tell you to, once more, wait—think—consider, or you may once more find yourself naked and shoeless and dodging from briar patch to briar path all the way home.”

Beside him, Boudica threw back her head and laughed. “I had forgotten all about that! How old were you then, Caradoc? Eleven or twelve?”

He frowned and told his queen, who was still chuckling, “I was twelve.” Alex saw his jaw clench and then unclench as he continued to stare at her. Still, he did not speak to her, but said to Boudica, “You did not say she was a Soul Speaker.”

Eyes sparkling with amusement, Boudica raised her brows. “Why would I have to tell you that? Her name should have been enough for you to recognize her. Have your wounds affected your mind, Caradoc?”

Alex had been so shocked to see this man whose tattoos and voice were from her dreams that it wasn’t until Boudica mentioned it that she noticed Caradoc was injured. There was a gash at his hairline and he had a linen bandage wrapped around his right arm.

“My injuries have done nothing to my memory. The name Blonwen is utterly unfamiliar to me,” Caradoc said.

Alex braced herself for him to decry her, and as she did she felt an unexpected wave of disappointment at the thought that she was probably going to have to press the ESC and return to her own time. And that disappointment wasn’t just because she hadn’t completed her mission. While she waited for Caradoc to expose her as a fraud and call down Boudica’s retribution on her for deceiving a queen, she realized that she wasn’t ready to return to her old life, and that had nothing to do with Project Anasazi.

“My queen, I do not know her as Blonwen,” Caradoc said as his gaze met and locked with Alex’s. “I only recognize her as a Soul Speaker.”

He wasn’t going to expose her? Hesitantly, Alex let out a long, slow breath of relief.

“Ah, well, Soul Speaker, Priestess, Blonwen. Is it not all one in the same? I am simply pleased you both escaped Mona.” The queen smiled warmly at her kinsman and Alex, then all traces of amusement faded from her and she continued in a much more sober voice. “Tell me, Caradoc and Blonwen, is the isle utterly destroyed?” Boudica said.

Caradoc gave Alex a long, considering look and then said, “I will defer to the Soul Speaker to answer our queen.”

Do not lie! the ghost of Caradoc’s mother said quickly. Negative energy is released with untruths.

A shiver passed through Alex’s body at the spirit’s words. She was right; deep in her gut Alex knew that words and oaths, lies and truths, had a different power here than they did in the modern world.

“I can’t…” She hesitated, choosing the truth carefully. “I’m sorry, Boudica, but I have to ask you not force me to talk about Mona.”

The queen’s green eyes were filled with compassion. “Aye, I understand how difficult it is to speak of great loss to someone who wasn’t there and didn’t experience it with you. It is too much like reliving the tragedy. Later, perhaps, when the memory isn’t so fresh, we will talk.” She looked from Alex to Caradoc. “I would imagine the two of you have many things to say to one another. Blonwen, I give you leave to ride beside Caradoc as we march to Londinium. I would ask, though, that before we begin our trek today you offer Andraste libations and evoke her blessing under the rowan.” Boudica inclined her head in the direction of a craggy tree that stood apart from the others. It looked unbelievably old. Its bark was gnarled and its many limbs twisted, but it was peppered with delicate white flowers that gave it the appearance of an old woman sprinkled with a jeweled dusting of magic.

Alex had been staring at the tree and smiling at the image of it as an old woman, when she realized what Boudica had just asked of her.

She was supposed to perform some kind of blessing—there, in front of everyone.

“Blonwen, is anything amiss?” Boudica asked her.

Alex felt everyone’s eyes drawn to her yet again. She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. She was supposed to be a priestess! There was no way she could balk at asking for her goddess’s blessing—that was part of the priestess job description.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” she stated. “Well, except I don’t have any libations.” Libations…libations…what the hell are libations?

“Oh, of course. Bring the honey and wine,” Boudica commanded.

In what seemed like less than a couple frantic beats of her heart, a woman appeared with two jugs and handed them, with a shy smile and curtsy, to Alex.

“We will follow you, Priestess,” Boudica said, nodding for Alex to precede her to the old tree.

Numbly, Alex walked toward it. Of all the curious gazes that rested on her, she swore she could feel Caradoc’s eyes boring into her back as he waited for her to mess up.

And of course she’d mess up! She didn’t have any idea how to give libations to a tree and evoke the blessing of a goddess! She was going to make an utter fool of herself and, worse, expose herself as a fraud. Alex was considering whether she could faint with any believability when the ghost’s voice broke through her panicked thoughts.

You can do this. Still your mind and follow your heart.

The ghost of Caradoc’s mother was leaning comfortably against the thick bark of the old tree. She smiled at Alex.

Still your mind, she repeated. Trust yourself, child.

Having very little choice, Alex listened to the ghost. She walked up to the tree and set the two jugs at her feet. Then she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, letting it go slowly while she concentrated on relaxing the babble in her mind and the hammering of her heart.

She opened her eyes and stared at the tree. Rowan—a tree sacred to the ancient Celts. Known for protection. To give libations—sprinkling honey and wine or sometimes milk on the ground in sacred places as offerings to the gods. The thoughts seemed to pop into her mind. Seeing the tree with new eyes, Alex gazed up at the thick branches and the canopy of lush leaves decorated with brilliant white flowers. The morning light caught the blossoms and, for just an instant, Alex was sure they glistened.

On impulse, she reached out and rested her palms against the tree’s bark, gasping as something passed between herself and the rowan. It was as if she could feel the tree breathing, and through the tree she was connected to the world around her. Alex could sense life shifting and growing, and she knew beyond any doubt that there was an energy in this time—in this earth—that she was somehow meant to be a part of.

For the first time in her life, Alex felt completely at home. With a sense of unbelievable joy, she picked up the jugs of honey and of wine, and as she moved in a slow circle around the ancient tree, poured both liquids onto the rowan’s roots.

The words of the blessing whispered through her mind like the echo of a pleasant dream. Without any hesitation Alex recited, “We arise today, through the strength of Andraste and her earth—light of sun, radiance of moon, splendor of fire, speed of lightning, swiftness of wind, depth of sea, firmness of rock. As priestess of the goddess I ask blessing and protection for our queen and for her people. Let the justness of Boudica’s cause shine pure and visible to all, like the blossoms of this sacred rowan.”

Alex poured the last of the libations out as she finished the prayer. Then she bowed to the tree, breathed a deep sigh of contentment and turned to face Boudica.

The queen’s smile was as bright as the morning. “With Andraste’s blessing, we march on to Londinium!” she cried, and the people surrounding them took up her call, cheering their queen.

Alex sneaked a glance at Caradoc and wasn’t too surprised that she caught him staring at her—though she was taken off guard when he slowly, subtly, bowed his head.




Chapter 8


Alex was profoundly glad she already knew how to handle a horse. Sometimes horseback was the only efficient way to get to many remote places on the tallgrass prairie. Plus, she’d always preferred the silent ease of riding a horse to the obnoxious motor and jarring shocks of an ATV. Of course, riding a couple hours or so once or twice a week wasn’t exactly the same thing as riding with Boudica’s army all day long, through what looked like the forest primeval. The one thing Alex didn’t have to worry about was that she didn’t know how to make a horse start, stop and turn.

The “everything else” she did have to worry about was mainly Caradoc. The druid warrior was sticking to her as if someone had joined them at the hip. Under normal circumstances, Alex might not have minded a gorgeous man hanging out with her, but joining Boudica’s army and masquerading as a priestess of the queen’s goddess definitely did not qualify as normal circumstances.

Caradoc made her nervous. Very nervous.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t just the two of them. The ridiculous part was that it should have been impossible for them to find any privacy in the middle of a marching army, but apparently Boudica had put out the word that the druid and the priestess needed time to speak, time to grieve. Time, Alex decided, for me to start working on one hell of an ulcer.

So they rode together near the front of the army, within sight of Boudica and her inner circle, but in a little pocket of privacy.

“You did not come from Mona.” That was how Caradoc began the conversation once it was obvious they were going to be left alone and uninterrupted.

“No. I didn’t,” Alex said. His mother’s prompting wasn’t all that had made her decide to avoid lies. Telling the truth felt right, deep in her gut, and if Alex was sure of nothing else, she was sure that she was going to follow her gut.

Caradoc gave her an incredulous look. “You do not even attempt to deny it?”

“Well, that wouldn’t make any sense, would it?”

He stared at her silently.

“I mean, seriously, how long had you lived on Mona before the Roman attack?”

“More than half of my twenty-five years I have lived on the sacred isle of Mona.”

Alex was temporarily speechless. The place he’d called home for most of his life had been destroyed. And he’s twenty-five! Ten years younger than me! Alex shook herself mentally and said, “See, it wouldn’t make any sense for me to pretend to you I’d come from your home when you know very well that you’ve never seen me before.”

“I have seen you before,” Caradoc said.

“What? How?”

Instead of meeting her curious gaze, the druid warrior stared straight ahead. “In my dreams. The past many nights. I have seen your face and heard your voice.”

Shock kept Alex from editing what burst out of her mouth. “You’ve been in my dreams, too. Only I couldn’t see your face. I just heard your voice and I got an image of your woad.” She paused, wishing he would look at her so she could read his expression more easily. “But you actually saw me in your dreams?”

Caradoc nodded. “Yes. You were dressed oddly.”

Alex glanced down at the druid’s linen tunic and leather pants, both of which were embroidered with the same swirling S design of his tattoos. Had she actually seen him in her dreams she would have thought he was dressed strangely, too. So it was easy to imagine that her typical outfit of jeans and a T-shirt would have seemed utterly bizarre to this ancient Celt.

“You said you heard my voice. What did I say?” Alex asked, deciding it was best not to mention anything about clothing.

He didn’t answer her for so long that Alex didn’t think he was going to speak again. Just as she was going to say something banal about the weather, he said, “You told me to wait for you, and promised to come to me.” He did turn in the saddle then so that he could look her in the eye, and demanded, “Where did you come from, Soul Speaker, and what is it you want from me?”

While she stalled for time and tried to think of a reasonable answer that wasn’t a lie, Alex said, “I really wish you wouldn’t call me Soul Speaker.”

“Blonwen, then. Where did you come from?” he repeated.

“I can’t tell you that,” she stated.

“Can you tell me why I shouldn’t expose you to Boudica as a fraud?”

“I’m not here to cause Boudica any harm. I respect the queen and think her cause is just.”

“Still, that doesn’t tell me why I shouldn’t expose you.”

Alex was trying to formulate a reasonable response to him when the air behind Caradoc shimmered and the ghost of his mother materialized, sitting behind him on his horse’s rump. She smiled and motioned for her to go on.

Alex sighed and tried not to let the spirit distract her. “I’m here for a reason that goes beyond Boudica and her war. It has ramifications that will affect the whole world. No, I can’t tell you what they are.” You wouldn’t believe me anyway, she added silently to herself. “But I can promise you I want only good things for Boudica.”

“Yet you lie to her.”

“Only because I have to. I’m telling the truth about everything I can.”

“I know you can speak to souls. You could not have described my mother’s burial garb had you not seen her, and I know you could not have made up her words. But I do not believe you are a true Soul Speaker. Aedan said he asked for your aid in summoning the spirit of his father, and you denied him.”




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