“No,” he lied again, afraid to say more.

The monster turned to the skinny man beside him. Or was he another monster hiding under human skin? There was a bulge under his shirt, like a bandage, and the man looked as terrified as he felt.

“You didn’t tell me anyone was with her, Grog. Two centuries I’ve kept you, helped you increase in power, and you hide this from me? You’ve seen the man. Was it him?”

The skinny man’s skin rippled. “Master, I didn’t see anyone—”

“Liar.” The monster swiped with one of his claws, and Grog smashed into the wall. Half his face was gone. “If it’s the warrior, the plan will have to be altered. Keep looking, and find out the man’s name, or you’ll be keeping Grog company.”

The man ran from the room, sick with fear. He wiped his clammy forehead and tried to think. He was almost certain he had what the monster wanted. He’d found it by sheer luck when he’d stepped on a loose floorboard. If he gave it to him now, though, the monster would have no reason to keep him alive.

The hair rose on his neck. A stranger with long, raven hair stood in a dark doorway with a smug look on a face that was startlingly handsome after the earlier nightmare. The stranger watched from the shadows as two men talked farther down the corridor, one not fully human, the other immaculate, his hair streaked with silver.

When he looked back, the raven-haired stranger had vanished. This place was rife with secrets as well as horrors. He had to warn her. It was too late for him, but she shouldn’t have to pay for his sins.

***

Faelan gripped the arms of the seat, trying not to look at the earth disappearing below. His stomach dropped as the plane rose higher. He couldn’t remember what he’d eaten last, but he’d be lucky if it stayed down. Hot air balloons were one thing; this was madness. A big metal bird hurtling through the sky. He hadn’t stopped sweating since he stepped into the airport terminal carrying his fake birth certificate, driver’s license, and passport. In his time, a man’s name and his reputation were all the proof he needed.

At least the documents bore his real name. He didn’t know how he’d repay Bree. She’d given the man a wad of money that would have fed a family for a year, in his day. He was going to owe her his first bairn. If he ever had one.

“Can we change seats?” he asked Bree, averting his gaze from the clouds rolling past his window.

Her lips twitched. She patted his hand and stood in the aisle while he unbuckled and slid over. He didn’t dare try to stand, so she was forced to climb over him, her backside in his face as she took her seat. It was the only time his stomach had stopped rolling since he boarded this death trap. He wondered if the flight attendant would let her sit in his lap so he wouldn’t have to think about how long it would take for them to plummet from the sky.

Bree sat down and slid a cover over the window. Damnation. He wished he’d known the thing closed. He could’ve pretended he was in a car and worried instead about what he’d find when they arrived in Scotland. He started feeling almost normal until she said, “You’ll be fine. These things hardly ever crash.”

The plane landed none too soon, and he had to do it all over again. If he wasn’t afraid the disease would be released, he’d take a ship back to New York. Or did Bree expect him to stay in Scotland?

They rented a car at the airport, and after Bree finished chattering about having to drive on the wrong side of the road, Faelan got his first view of his homeland in more than a hundred and fifty years. This wasn’t the Scotland he remembered. Quaint villages had been replaced with crowds and buildings and cars, but outside the towns, the place was much the same. Homesickness gripped him as the scenery rolled by, flowers and sheep dotting hills and glens, farmhouses with curls of smoke drifting from stone chimneys.

“Look at those border collies. And sheep. I think there are more sheep here than people.” She turned her head as they passed a flock, and the car veered into the path of an oncoming vehicle.

“Watch out!” he yelled, grabbing for the wheel. They’d be lucky if they lived to meet his family, with Bree talking and driving and looking all at the same time.

“I see it,” she said, wrestling the car into the lane.

Trouble was, she wanted to see everything. At once.

“Look at that field of heather, and beyond it, the mist hanging over the valley. Can’t you picture the men in their kilts, raising their swords for battle? Oh my gosh, you experienced it, for real.”

He hadn’t battled other clans, but he’d battled many a demon on this soil.

“And the sky, it’s so… Scotlandy.”

“Scotlandy?”

“Just like I pictured Scotland. But better. I should have traveled here years ago.”

He was glad she was so enthralled with the land where he’d spent most of his youth. There was a kind of rightness about it all. It helped ease his worry over what he’d find when he arrived. He leaned his head back as she prattled on about fairies and kelpie, letting the gentle motion of the car and the scenery soothe his nerves. He wished he could show her the fields where he’d run and played with his brothers, the cold river where he’d caught fish and cooked them over a fire and frozen his arse off when the water was deep enough for swimming. The hidden cave where he’d camped, pretending to be a warrior long before he was. No matter where he roamed, the Highlands would always be home. Home. He closed his eyes.

“Faelan?”

Faelan woke with a start. Bree was shaking him.

“We’re almost there.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You needed the rest. According to the GPS, this is it. Oh, my.” She turned onto a paved driveway and pulled up to a large stone and iron gate.

Faelan wiped his bleary eyes and looked at the fence-lined fields rolling into green hills and copses of trees already showing red and gold. A dozen horses grazed, tails flicking. He leaned forward, gazing at the driveway that disappeared into the woods. A few feet beyond, it would cross a wooden bridge, spanning the gentle burn that in hard rain could reach Nandor’s head. The road had been dirt then. Home.

***

Duncan Connor surveyed the monitors covering the perimeter of the castle and grounds. Five hundred acres wasn’t easy to protect. In olden days, they’d relied on warriors stationed around the boundary. His father still talked of those days. Things were different now. In modern times, man had to use modern weapons, not that a demon couldn’t get through if he really tried, but he’d have hell to pay when he got over the fence. Shane moved into sight on monitor B, his sword strapped to his back, a Glock at his waist. He wouldn’t need the Glock. He was one of the fastest with a sword. Duncan glanced at the other monitors, checking the warriors’ positions. There were more on guard than usual today.

A beep sounded, announcing a visitor. Duncan turned to the gate monitor. A rental car sat at the entrance. This must be her. He pushed the button. “Yes?”

“Hello,” a female voice said. “I’m Bree Kirkland. I spoke to Duncan Connor about a relative. I believe he’s expecting me.”

Duncan couldn’t imagine what news she could have about a relative, but she’d sounded nervous, making him suspect a trick. He saw movement in the passenger seat. Almost surely a trick. She was supposed to be alone. Two warriors entered the room behind him.

“Gate’s open. Follow the drive and pull around back.” He pushed the button opening the gate, and the car rolled forward at a snail’s pace past the cameras mounted along the long road.

“Keep your weapons close,” he told the men flanking him.

“You think this has something to do with Angus?” Brodie asked.

“Aye. I’m starting to think so.” Her suspicious call, coming so soon after the one from Angus, made Duncan leery. Reinforcements had been called in, just in case she had something deadly up her sleeve. Duncan slipped his dirk into its sheath and listened for the car to roll to a stop. When he touched the doorknob, a shiver rippled up his arm. He’d been restless all week. Sorcha wasn’t helping, disappearing for days at a time, and when she deigned to resurface, she never revealed where she’d been. Did she have a serious boyfriend this time? The question stung like a hook in his gut. She flaunted her men like a fisherman flaunted trout.

He hoped her lies were as big.

***

“It’s a castle.” Bree stared at the large, stone structure and turned to gape at Faelan. “Druan’s castle. Why didn’t you tell me his castle looked like this one?”

“What was there to say? I don’t understand it either.” Connor Castle was almost the same as the last time he’d seen it. The stone appeared more weathered, and there were boxes mounted along the walls. Cameras, if his twenty-first century knowledge was correct. He’d seen them at the gate and on poles and trees along the drive as well. It would be interesting to see how time had changed the battle.

The castle sat in the middle of five hundred acres, encircled by a thick stand of woods blocking it from the prying eyes and the curious townsfolk of his day. Warriors had been posted at the boundaries, rotating every six months. Anyone who got past them—almost none did—found a horse farm, which it was, in part. It was also the seat of Clan Connor. Faelan had spent more than his share of time watching for busybodies and demons. When he wasn’t hunting, he stayed in one of the cottages along the boundary, to his mother’s delight and his. Her cooking beat his by far.

Bree turned off the engine. Faelan opened the car door and stepped out. A gust swirled at his knees, lifting the edge of his kilt. He pulled in the crisp highland air, filling his lungs with memories. The trees were thicker, taller, but the lay of the land was the same. The stable was larger, and he could see horses in the back fields. There’d always been horses. They hadn’t had Mustangs with powerful engines back then. There was a large building close to the castle, with several trucks parked outside and other buildings beyond it. He went around to open Bree’s door, but as usual, she’d already jumped out.

“It’s beautiful,” Bree said, her head turning in all directions.

“My great-great-great-grandfather built it to house all the warriors who came through.” In Faelan’s day, the grounds had been astir with young boys training. From the time a lad could walk, he was groomed to be a warrior. From birth until death, the warrior blood flowed, but the responsibilities changed to make room for families, for a new generation to be bred. The retired warriors handled most of the training, some specializing in weapons, others fighting, and some instructing in spiritual matters, so a lad understood the importance of his mission, why he was required to make such a sacrifice. All areas had to be mastered before warriors could do battle.

The active warriors, when time allowed, took pride in demonstrating special skills, how to fight, using their weapons and minds. Faelan remembered the first time he’d seen Kieran, how big and powerful he seemed to a lad of fourteen years. Kieran had done more than teach Faelan what it meant to be a warrior. The mentor had become a trusted friend, fighting by Faelan’s side, and in the end, Kieran had given his life so Faelan could live. A debt Faelan could never repay.

“Do you think Druan saw this place before he built his?”

“I think if Druan had seen this place he would’ve tried to destroy it.” Maybe his clan would know how such a thing could be. Faelan’s stomach knotted like twine. How would his family take meeting an ancestor who should be rotting in a grave? He glanced at Bree for reassurance, thinking how strange to be in his own land, standing in front of his home, finding comfort and familiarity in the face of someone he’d met only days before.

What would she do if his family didn’t believe him? Would she abandon him? Eventually, she would. She’d fall in love, maybe with the archeologist, marry, and have bairns. Jealousy took the edge off his nerves.

“Is it always this windy?” she asked, eyeing his flapping kilt.

“Aye. Much of the time.” He’d warned her to pack warmer clothes, and they purchased thick shirts and a coat for him when they went to get his identification.

“You realize we’ve just set foot in Scotland and you already sound more like a Scot?”

“That’s the way of it. Always has been.” When he became a warrior, he went wherever his assigned demon went, which was often and far. He’d mingled and hidden, whichever was necessary, picking up customs and languages from many lands. But this was home.