Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(43)

Iain had withheld information about the box, the wall, and perhaps other information about his castle and the people within. With all my respect for Iain’s right to privacy out the window, I planned on a thorough interrogation the moment I got home.

Hellooo, Iain! Details on the rules of the game seem kinda important right about now.

I snorted, earning an inquisitive look from my companion. I ignored his curiosity, walking on as he pushed aside brush that impeded the path to wherever he was leading me.

The irony of my situation returned during the silence. Tucked within the relative safety of Clan Brodie, I’d mistakenly thought I had all the time in the world to discover the mysteries Iain had kept locked inside. All the time in the world? Somebody call Merriam-Webster—a serious definition revision is in order. When expanded to include all of time, with no say in when and where I got to spend my time, it was ridiculous to assume I had plenty of time for anything.

I glanced at my host who’d been staring at me with interest. He made no attempt to look away. My dark incarcerator didn’t carry the demeanor of a captor, but I felt every bit a prisoner to him and the greater forces of the Universe at play.

Since he’d made no attempts to breach the silence, I began. “My name is Isobel, by the way.”

My ankle twinged painfully, an acute reminder to face forward as we picked our way through dense forest on uneven ground. I glanced his way again. He’d furrowed his brows at my words, but gave no reply. The whole clichéd jungle-meeting scenario came to mind. Only my crazy life would require a “you Tarzan, me Jane” icebreaker.

Well, what the hell. I decided it couldn’t hurt.

I stopped. Two footfalls later, he pivoted and stepped back to me. His eyes were dark, nearly black, and they searched mine under dropped brows. I smiled, the superficial action settling my nerves as I hoped to breach any negativity between us.

I pointed to my chest. “I’m Isobel.”

He gave no response whatsoever.

I tried again, poking my finger repeatedly into my sternum to a level of dull pain, as if driving the point home would achieve his comprehension any faster. “EeeeSoooBellll.” I bit back a laugh. If he didn’t understand it the first time . . .

His eyes widened. He lifted a lock of my hair, staring at it before smelling it, and mimicked my last incantation in a gravelly, low voice. “EeeeSoooBellll.”

I nodded, thrilled. Progress had been made. I waited for him to take his turn, but to my incredible dismay, he grunted, turned, and continued walking.

Imagine that. My naked, blue-tattooed ancient Pict friend has no concept of what twentieth-century cinema deems to be a proper introduction between a civilized and a native.

I dropped my distance to two paces behind him, deciding to have my conversation, even if he remained unable or unwilling to participate. In fact, it irked me that he chose not to reach out to me the way I clearly had to him. Annoyance at the man, and all men in general, fueled an ever-growing bad attitude.

“You know, I’ve had it with you superior men who decide us women have no need to understand the way things work. Like, say . . . oh, I don’t know . . . interdimensional time travel. You think you control me with the things you know but keep locked away. Well, fair warning: I intend to learn and master the powers of that damn box, with or without your help.”

My vent-fest received no response. Big surprise.

We continued traveling through thick, unrecognizable forest, giving me no idea if he’d directed us back the same way we’d come. My answer came when we left the tree cover, entering a clearing filled with half a dozen men, all facing our direction as if they’d expected our arrival. I recognized the two that had been in the cave. Off to the far left, familiar boulders rose out of the ground, which meant one important thing: around the bend opened the mouth of the cave . . . holding the box.

My heart hurt. An enormous longing for home . . . for Iain . . . filled my chest until it burned. I blinked back tears and tore off running as a force stronger than any I’d ever known propelled me toward my only way back to the man I loved.

Without warning, a clamp around my upper arm yanked me to a jarring halt. I hadn’t even covered half the distance to the boulders. The magnetic pull from the cave continued. A vibrational recognition—exactly like the one that incited my last touch of the box—possessed me to such a degree, I ripped my arm from its vice and clutched my skirt, racing as fast as possible toward the cave.

Neither the shouts from men chasing after me, nor the screaming pain from my ankle, affected my breakneck speed as I rounded the corner in a controlled slide. The turn fractionally slowed my momentum, and a battering ram slammed into my side, spinning me around and pinning me against the rock wall outside the cave entrance. Piercing pain shot up my back from the abrasive impact. With clenched teeth, I pressed my lips into a firm line, refusing to cry out from the injustice of it all. My nostrils flared, pulling in the oxygen my outraged lungs demanded.

Strong defiance tilted my chin up on its own accord, and I looked directly into my captor’s eyes. His glare dared me.

His entire body pressed into me, in clear illustration of his dominance over me. The close contact also pressed a sizable erection into my hip.

Great. Either the exhilaration of the chase had turned him on, or I had. I desperately prayed for the first option.

I set my jaw back and forth, taking a deep breath. My single nod gave him my wordless surrender. He eased away from me in slow movements—first his upper body that had been crushing my chest, then his arms, hips, and legs—until he remained certain he had me under control.