Excerpt of The Quest
Mac struggled to open his eyes.
The last thing he remembered was the yelling and cheering of the crowd. Now
there was only silence, and the feel of someone shaking him gently. He’d
probably been carried off the field and taken to a hospital. Well, he needed to
let the nurse know he was awake and that he was okay. He wondered how the team
was doing without him.
After a few attempts, he
succeeded in opening his eyes. He wondered why no one had taken off his helmet.
He removed it and spit out the mouth guard. A woman with waist-length red hair
and a smile that stopped his heart was kneeling over him. She looked as though
she were dressed for a renaissance faire. He pushed himself to a sitting
position, and his football rolled out of his grip.
Odd. He shouldn’t still have it.
He’d expected hospital whites and antiseptic smells, not a room that resembled
a dungeon. A fireplace and candles provided the only light in the room. A table
close to the hearth held several open leather-bound books and glass containers.
The room smelled musty.
The woman bowed her head. “I am
honored you have come, Cuchulainn. My name is Lady Ana de Dannon, but you may
address me as Ana if that is your wish.”
Mac scrambled to his feet,
clutching his helmet by the strap. His legs felt like overcooked spaghetti. He
was dreaming again, and it was even weirder than before. He wished his
subconscious would get his name straight. “I’m Kenneth MacKinnon, not
Cuchulainn, and what is this place?”
“Stirling Castle, my lord. 1328.”
The semester he had spent at the
University of Edinburgh must have made a bigger impression on him than he’d
thought. His parents would have been pleased. They always thought he should
have interests besides sports. “Stirling Castle is in Scotland.”
“Of course.”
A small, furry creature moving
among the clutter on the table caught his attention. The rodent’s red eyes
blinked and stared back at him. Something wasn’t right.
The animal seemed nervous and
afraid.
A door in the far corner of the
room opened. The rat jumped off the table as an older woman entered. “Fiona
said there was a matter of some import you wished to discuss with me. Are you
ill? You take better care of those around you than you do yourself. I worry
about you.”
Ana smiled and shook her head.
“There is no need. I am well.”
“And who is he?”
Ana nodded in Mac’s direction. “I
have wonderful tidings. I was successful in conjuring the Irish warrior. Our
champion stands before us.”
Ana’s hair was even longer than
he’d first thought. He wondered if it felt as silky soft as it looked. She wore
a long, green dress that clung to her full breasts and slender body. A gold
belt accentuated her hips. He swallowed. Her clothes resembled the style he’d
seen in a movie someone had dragged him to watch. The story had been all about
chivalry and codes of honor. He’d fallen asleep after the first thirty minutes.
However, if any of the women had looked like this one, he might have stayed
awake longer.
The older woman had
salt-and-pepper hair, piled on top of her head, and wore a floor-length blue
dress. She shook her head. “I have not the time for your jest, Ana. There is
too much left undone.”
Ana put her hands on her hips.
“Danu, it is not a jest. I have conjured the great warrior Cuchulainn.”
Mac rubbed the back of his neck.
They spoke with thick Scottish brogues, but he thought he heard the word
“conjured.” That word had something to do with spells or magic. Maybe both. The
fool linebacker had probably hit him harder than he’d thought. He must be
dreaming again. He tensed, remembering his nightmare, and the sound of a woman
screaming. Mac tried to wake up, hoping he hadn’t missed too much of the game.
Nothing happened.
Ana frowned. “Danu, you must be
aware of how closely he resembles the description of our legendary hero. This
man is muscular, broad of shoulder, and taller than an ordinary man. He has the
size and appearance of a mighty warrior.”
Danu raised an eyebrow and looked
over at him. “I have heard it said that the larger the animal the smaller the
brain. This one must have the intelligence of a flea. Wherever did you find
him, child?”
He was being insulted in his own
dream. Mac cradled his helmet in the crook of his arm.
As if trying to decide if what
her companion said was true, Ana glanced toward him. He wondered if his
engineering degree would impress her, and then couldn’t understand why he
cared.
She turned to the older woman and
lowered her voice. “You must not talk of Cuchulainn with such disrespect. He
might take offense. True, his intelligence is of little importance, but he must
still agree to our plan. He is our champion and our last hope.”
The remark made him feel
uncomfortable. He didn’t think he was the hero type. Mac shifted his helmet
from his arm and dangled it by the strap. This was all very interesting, but
he’d heard enough. Time to wake up.
The scurrying of tiny feet across
the floor caught his attention. The rodent had returned. It ran frantically
back and forth in front of a closed door to Mac’s right. There was a new smell
in the air. Smoke.
His helmet came loose from the
strap and clattered to the floor. He stared at it and then in the direction
he’d last seen the rat.
It was nowhere in sight.
The women continued to argue
about whether Mac was zapped by magic or brought here as a joke. He’d lost
interest in either theory. What drew his attention was behind the door. His
uneasiness increased as he walked toward it.
Mac raised his hand and reached
toward the wood. He hesitated. Without touching the panels he could feel the
heat coming through them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Mac
placed his palm on the door.
He jerked it away. He’d felt more
than heat. The panels bulged inward.
He stepped back. Fire. The door
was expanding with the heat. The flames were testing the strength of the walls.
He rubbed his hand against his thigh. Mac combed his fingers through his hair.
The two women were still arguing.
“Is there another way out? I
think this place is on fire.”
The older woman patted him on the
arm. “Your manner of speech is difficult for us to understand. We will need
time to accustom ourselves to it. In the meanwhile, calm yourself, Cuchulainn.”
Ana followed Mac’s gaze. Smoke
curled up the wood panels. “He is correct. We must hurry.”
So far no one had died in his
dreams. He didn’t want this to be a first. He moved toward an alcove. “Where
does that lead?”
Ana’s voice was low. “The
courtyard.”
He tested the wood panels on that
door. They felt cool. He forced it open. The corridor was narrow. He’d never
make it through wearing his shoulder pads. He pulled off his jersey and threw
it in a pile by his football and helmet. Then he unfastened his pads and tossed
them beside the rest of his gear. His stomach twisted in a knot. He was leaving
a part of himself behind. No, that was ridiculous. This was only a dream.
Mac reached for a candle that was
on a ledge over the hearth. He cupped his hand around the flame and headed
toward the door. “Follow me.”
“Please wait.” Ana rushed over to
the long table and grabbed a sword that was hung on the wall above it. She
cradled the huge weapon in her arms as if it were a treasured keepsake.
He shook his head. Now he’d seen
everything. Most of the people he knew might go back into a burning building to
save a cat or a family picture, but not a sword. She was obviously different.
But he didn’t want her carrying
such a heavy weapon; it would slow her down. He reached for it and grasped it
in one hand, still holding the candle in the other.
He led the way down a flight of
stairs that emptied into a dark void. The candle flickered, casting shadows on
the walls. The women kept close behind him.
Danu’s voice trembled. “He holds
the sword.”
“I know. There is the proof that
he is our champion.”
“And the fire.” Danu’s voice
sounded strained to Mac. “Could your spell be the cause?”
“I do not know.” Ana’s voice was
barely audible.
“Did you note the strange armor
your champion wore?”
“Yes, it is most curious. And his
manner of speech is like no other I have ever heard.”
They were talking around him
again instead of to him. Just as well. He didn’t feel like conversation. He
figured they were trying to keep themselves calm.
Sticky cobwebs clung to his face,
and hot wax from the candle dripped on his hand. He ignored the burning
sensation and adjusted his grip. The sword was damned heavy. Holding on to the
belief he was dreaming was proving difficult.
An icy breeze whistled through
the dark corridors.
Ana brushed his arm. She was
standing next to him, then leaned closer. “This door leads to the courtyard.”
Mac hesitated. He felt like a
contestant on a game show. Behind the door in front of him were three possible
choices: a football field, a courtyard, or a man-eating fire. He shrugged and
handed the candle to Danu. What the hell. No one lives forever. He leaned his
shoulder against the door and pushed.
It burst open.
Damn. It was the courtyard. He’d
been hoping for the football field. But at least it wasn’t a wall of flames.
Shouts filled the night air as
men, women, and children formed a bucket brigade, trying to put out the flames.
It looked to be confined to the area next to the room where he had been a few
moments ago.
The castle was enormous. Twin
towers flanked a gate that led to a courtyard the size of the field at Century
Link Field.
Behind him Danu was shouting,
“Ana, where are you going?”
Mac turned. He saw Ana run back
into the castle in the direction of the burning room. It looked like most of
the fire was out. Ana disappeared through the doorway.
“Here.” Mac handed the sword to
Danu. “Hold this.”
He raced after Ana.
He reached the room she’d
entered. It looked like a storage area. Two men were busy dousing rolled
tapestries with buckets of water. Smoke and the smell of burning cloth filled
the small room.
Through the thick haze he saw Ana
bent over a long metal chest that contained a rolled cloth of some kind. She
gasped as if relieved that it was still intact.
He walked over to her. “Why did
you run back? It could have been dangerous.”
She looked over at him and
smiled. “The danger has passed. The fire is out. Besides, I needed to find out
if my mother’s tapestry was harmed. But it is still safe. And why did you
follow me?”
“I wanted to stop you.”
“You mean you wanted to save me.
That proves you are the great Cuchulainn.”
“As I told you before, my name is
Kenneth MacKinnon, but everyone calls me Mac. Never Cuchulainn, whoever that
is.”
She stood. “I do not know why you
deny who you are. Perhaps you are testing us to see if we are worthy and have
full knowledge of your deeds. Very well. You are— that is to say— Cuchulainn
was a great Irish warrior who vowed to aid all who asked for his help. He
studied under the warrior goddess Scathach on the Isle of Shadow and returned
to Ulster to be a great warrior and leader of the Red Branch. It was said his
father was one of the gods.” She smiled. “But you know that.”
“I am not…” He shook his head and
decided that it really didn’t matter what she called him. After all, this was
only a dream.
She motioned for him to follow
her. “Come. My people have everything under control. I will show you the
chamber I have prepared for you.”
He followed her. The dress she
wore was close-fitting around her hips. He wondered if she knew that, or that
the sway of her hips was distracting.
She paused at the bottom of a
flight of stone stairs. He almost bumped into her. That would have been
embarrassing. He straightened.
She smiled. “In all the
excitement of realizing my spell was successful, I forgot to tell you how
pleased I am that you have come to help me.”
Even knowing that at any minute
he would wake up, curiosity got the better of him. “What do you want me to do?”
“Act as my family’s champion in
the Edinburgh tournament and free my mother.”
He nodded. Now he was glad this
was only a dream. From his short stay in Scotland he’d learned about
tournaments. Trying to play football in a hurricane would be easier.
She picked up her skirts and
headed up a long flight of stairs to the second floor. Torches on wall brackets
lined the wide corridor. She paused at a massive oak door and opened it. The
room was cold and dark. The stone hearth was bare and the wood shutters closed
out all the light. Ana walked over to the window and unlatched them. Fresh air
and moonlight streamed into the room.
Ana turned toward him, twisting a
ring on her finger.
“This is the finest chamber in
our castle. I had it prepared especially for you.” She glanced toward the empty
hearth. “I was not sure exactly when you would arrive, so please forgive the
lack of a fire.” She pointed toward a four-poster bed. “However, I have
selected clothes for you: a wool shirt, a féile-breacan, as well as boots, and
of course whatever weapons you desire.”
“Wait. Back up. What’s a…
féile-breacan?”
She paused. “It is clothing that
is wound around your waist. That which you are now wearing does not look as if
it would give you any protection against the cold.”
Mac looked at the woolen plaid
folded on the bed. From her description, it sounded like a kilt. Terrific. He’d
just learned a new word in his dreams. He checked out the rest of the room.
Medieval weapons of all types hung on the walls. There were war hammers,
battleaxes, and shields. Leaning in the corner was a pair of lances that looked
almost thirteen feet tall. It was a room meant for a warrior. She had gone to a
lot of trouble.
He looked over at her. Her back
was to the window and the moonlight seemed to reflect in her hair. He almost
wished he was the man she’d expected. What had come over him? This was only a
dream. Why couldn’t he remember that? It might be fun to play it out and see
what happened. If he remembered any of it when he woke up, it would be
interesting to see Jed’s reaction. Maybe there was a deeper hidden meaning to
all this medieval stuff.
“Is there a food you desire? I
was not sure if you would be hungry. I have never conjured someone from the
Other World.”
“I’m not hungry. It’s freezing in
here. Aren’t you cold?”
She nodded. “Yes, how thoughtless
of me. I will have someone sent up to build a fire.”
He shook his head. “I can do it.”
He was glad to have something to occupy his thoughts. He walked over to the
hearth and knelt on the cold tile floor. He reached for a chunk of wood. It was
dry and the bark coarse. He concentrated on setting the wood in place, not on
how real everything seemed.
The soft fragrance of roses
filled the air. She was near. He’d been focusing so hard on building a fire, he
hadn’t heard her kneel beside him. He turned silently. She held a lighted
candle in one hand and a basket of pinecones in the other.
Ana’s voice was so soft he could
barely hear it over the beating of his heart. Her eyes reflected the warmth of
the flames. She held the basket toward him. “These will help start the fire.”
Mac cleared his throat and
silently reached for the basket. He stuffed the pinecones under the wood and
then lit them with the candle, staring toward the wood as it burst into flame.
She moved to stand, and her shoulder grazed against his. The contact jolted
him.
“I shall have someone sent to
prepare your bed.”
“Don’t.” He had all but shouted
the word. That was not like him. He was normally under control. He needed to
wake up, and soon. He had never considered himself a player when it came to women,
but he’d never been at a loss for words. It must be his surroundings. It made a
man think of codes of honor and knightly virtue. This part of the dream he’d
better not repeat. His teammates would think he’d gone nuts.
He stood. “I didn’t mean to shout.
It’s been a long day. I don’t need anyone to help me.” She smiled and he
thought someone had flicked a switch in the room, but that was crazy since
castles like this one were unlikely to have electricity.
“Feel free to sleep as long as it
suits you. Tomorrow will be time enough for me to further explain why you were
brought here. Sleep well, Cuchulainn.”
Pam Binder. The Quest (Kindle
Locations 396-398). The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Pam Binder is an award-winning New York
Times, USA Today and Amazon bestselling author of ten novels
and two novellas. Based in suburban Seattle, Washington, Pam is drawn to Celtic
legends and anything Irish or Scottish. The prolific author blends historical
events, characters, and myths into her young adult, romance, historical, time
travel and fantasy fiction. Check her out on www.pambinder.com.
https://www.facebook.com/Pam-Binder-820665554640308/
https://twitter.com/PamBinder183
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/71186.Pam_Binder
https://www.instagram.com/pambinderauthor/
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/pam-binder
~~~~~~~~~
Do you enjoy time-travel romance?
Which is your favorite type of romantic time travel: past to present or present to past?
If you could time travel (with the sure knowledge of returning) where would you choose to go?
Two randomly chosen people who comment before 11:00 PM, July 19 will each receive a copy of The Quest (winner's choice of print (U.S. only) or e-book (English language - open internationally). Books will be sent to winners following the July 29th publication date.
*Must be 18 or older
