They’d stood watch over the sleeping camp all night, and through the uneventful hours they discussed the ramifications of the coming battle, of Cal not wanting to return to the twenty-first century and Biebe’s probable revenge on Eric over it all.

“What can he really do to you?” Cal chuckled. “I mean really. You’re a vampire, he’s just –”

“Just?” interrupted Eric. “There is nothing just about Biebe, or you for that matter. I exist on magic and imagination and so do the men of your … race. The Crowe race,” he grinned teasingly. “Biebe has been in the Portals, was claimed by them, demanded to return to his original existence and he managed to get himself out. That, my friend is nothing to ignore.”

“Oh. But hey, what can he really do?”

“I made an agreement with him that I would never mess with the Portals that affect his family and until you called to me, I was doing fine. Helping you get here … well I’ve basically broken a part of my contract with him. I have entangled his brother with danger in the Portal vortex. He can do plenty to punish me. What you fail to understand is the connection between my entry into any Portal … and John Biebe.”

Cal shrugged. “Translate.”

“The only entrance I have into the Time Portals is through Biebe’s Inn. My personal Portal takes me only as far as his pub. No more. Granted, it is from my world to his, but limiting. World travel is one thing. Time travel is the prize, McAffrey, especially for a man like me, a thousand years old and sometimes nostalgic. I’m pretty sure the way this all works has to do with the mix of magic and power. His and mine.”

“That’s just weird.”

“Yes, I agree. So, should Biebe determine that I am … shall we say … a bad influence on you … he can do any number of things to deny me access to the time Portals.”

“Like?”

“Sell his Inn to a less cooperative owner, or worse yet, burn it to the ground, tear it down and simply rebuild. I put nothing past him. He’s very protective of his family.”

“Well,” Cal sipped water from a skin. “If he’s so damn protective, why hasn’t he done anything yet?”

“He may not realize how simple it would be. He may not understand that his wife, Riley holds the key … as you discovered earlier when her command took you back. John Biebe might be working under the illusion that he has no control at all.” The vampire stretched his legs long and leaned back against a large rock. “The truth is, we all have some control. Each one of us has a personal Portal. Many have strangely converged at the Vermont Inn, all of your brothers’, a few others that seem random, although I suspect nothing is truly random. At least the witch who told me of the Portals believed so and I tend to agree.”

“A witch? Don’t be fucking with me.”

“Yes,” Eric’s eyes twinkled. “A witch, and if you intend to spend some time in this era, you’d best stop dissing witches.”

“So, you’re trying to say there really are witches.”

“There have always been witches, McAffrey. Probably several in your own lineage.”

“Yeah? Doubt it. Witches aside, I’m sure Biebe won’t be thrilled with my plan to stick around here.”

“He may surprise us. The precedence in his family has been set already.”

Cal shot a glare at the vampire. “Someone’s done this before?”

“Bud White, four years before your arrival. Pulled a genius escape back to his time. Lived out his life … and managed never to change one single thing in the past, except … that he had a family. You met his grandson, Cory White, at the Inn.”

“Jesus! I never put two and two together!” Pushing a hand through his hair he swallowed hard, turned and pointed. “Wait. Wrong. Having a family, grandkids, that changes history.”

“Does it?” Northman’s eyes twinkled like the stars. “What if White was meant to do that?”

“But you said they’re all ghosts.” Cal’s hand swept out over the large camp below.

“They are. The speculation is … maybe you are too.”

“Explain.”

“Later. For now …” the tall Viking leapt to his feet, crouched a bit and grinned ear to ear. “It is time to teach you how to fight.”

For hours Eric coached Cal on the simple approaches to hand-to-hand combat, how to use his body’s weight and girth to unbalance an opponent twice as large. Once, he’d even managed to trip the vampire, knocking him on his ass and getting a good laugh … until retaliation was exacted and Cal was calling ‘uncle!’ with a strangled voice.

“My concern is the bullets.”

Cal scrambled to his feet and stilled and scratched his head, unconcerned if a surprise attack was coming. It wouldn’t be the first time Eric caught him off guard by distracting him. “Right, the bullets.”

“You must remain close. I can heal anything with my blood, but if a bullet reaches a vital organ and you’re too far away …” Eric shrugged.

“I’ll be glued to your side, buddy.”

“Ah, from ‘bloodsucker’ to ‘buddy’? We are making progress, McAffrey.” Eric said, tossing a large arm over Cal’s shoulder. The time had come to find a safe place for the vampire to sleep. The cave wasn’t far away.

In the damp blackness, Cal continued voicing his opinions and speculations about staying, the Portals and Riley’s dubious power until he heard nothing in response. Absolutely nothing. No more rebuttals. Not a snore or even a smooth sleep breath. When Eric Northman was dead to the world, he was really dead to the world. Shifting to focus in the darkness, he noted that the man looked so dead it was hard to believe the body didn’t stink, wasn’t rotting or attracting worms. Very creepy. A shiver rippled along his flesh and Cal carefully found his way out into the sunlight.

Staying up all night was becoming a habit, but as a mortal on a regular life schedule, Cal had several more hours of awake time than Eric, averaging sixteen hours to every eight the vampire would enjoy. He simply wasn’t tired yet when Eric shut down.

Looking from the cave opening, he thought about the lovely, ethereal Colleen Barclay. Now there’s a broad he’d never have a shot at, no matter what century he was in. He thought about young Taran, twelve years old and filled with loyalty to his country’s cause. If Taran joined the fighting, he’d most likely be butchered, possibly taken prisoner like his parents. Tortured. Starved to death. That was a horrific thought, but worse yet, if the kid didn’t get to fight, he’d face a Scotland far different from the Highland life he knew. All of them will. The kilt and everything it represented would be history, technically was already outlawed, primarily worn as a blatant slap in the enemy’s face. The entire structure of life was altering and had been in flux for decades. Many of the more influential clans had already been tossed into prisons or were gathering together for protection. Lairds of large land holdings were becoming soldiers or officers. It wasn’t the best planned rebellion but it was one hell of a big one.

He blinked against the bright blue sky, twinkling at him through fluttering young spring leaves. So many were about to die, and the largest numbers in the very battle ahead. How does a nation survive something like that? How do the old men or the young maidens or the kids like Taran find a way to carry on? The Highlanders will be a conquered people.

Cal thought about the two young McAffrey men who joined the camp. Would they survive? How many McAffreys died during the uprising? The mere thought sickened him.

Would he be among them? Should he be?

If Eric’s theory was correct and he truly was one of the ghosts, the answer was … yes. He should be with his family and his country. He should be fighting at their side. He had the unique … magical … opportunity of a lifetime.

“Just call me a medieval renaissance man,” he sighed, brushing crumbs from his ratty plaid kilt and munching the last of his rations, dried bread and fruit. Hopefully they’d be roasting up some meat at the camp before they began the march. A little fat and grease sounded damn good to him.
 
As the sun reached the crest of a blue sky, Cal had finally given in to exhaustion. Dreams teased and flittered and every one of them were a woman with pale yellow hair and dark blue eyes … and perfect soft breasts. Ahhhh, sweet Colleen.

Just as his dream got hot and she was about to invite him in to explore the landscape hidden beneath her frock, a foot jarred against his hip and Cal abruptly woke. It was already dark. He jumped, calmed his heart and groaned. “’Morning.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

He rubbed his eyes and shrugged. Eric looked fresh as a daisy. “Sitting guard?”

“Badly. Come, we must report to James Garrow. Tell me everything you know of this coming battle.”

Northman seemed … off. More serious. Paler. Kind of, distracted. Oh-oh. “You hungry?” Cal asked and noticed an embarrassed nod. “I thought you said you didn’t need to feed as often as a younger vampire.”

“Something happens in the time Portal, it’s as though I too am at the age I was … then.” His eyes met Cal’s.

“Uh … no.”

“Fine. Wait here, I’ll return soon.”

“You said you’ll be careful, don’t be killing people.” But the vampire was gone only a few moments, returning in a sweep of wind to grasp Cal at the waist and carry him at lightning speed to the camp. In the cover of trees they landed. Flight, in the 1700’s. Go figure. “Good meal?”

“She was delightful.”

“Just don’t tell me it was Mary McAffrey.”

“All right, I won’t. Now, about this battle. Quickly, before we find Garrow.”

Cal talked quietly as they melted into the mingling men. “Tonight is a march to the sleeping enemy.”

Eric’s voice was like whispered whisky. “Good plan in theory,  but I’m guessing things don’t go well. Fighting along the trail?”

“Nothing noted in history, but I’m sure there is. It’s a huge swath of men, something like five-thousand, stumbling through the dark. Not like the Red Coats wouldn’t notice.”

“The full battle?”

Cal nodded to one of the young McAffrey men and tried to ignore the delicious smell of roasting deer on a spit somewhere just out of sight. “Not at the original destination. Jacobite leadership gets all split and pissy, a lot of them take their men, head back here to regroup in Iverness, but … a mess of Jacobites stay to face the bad guys. A thousand of them are massacred on the Culloden Moor. This is ugly, Eric.”

“I see. Stick close.” They’d found James Garrow’s tent, stood and listened as he hurriedly spoke to several officers.

“Remind the king that the Macpherson Clan will meet us on the trail. Ah, Brothers,” Garrow called to them. “Come, eat, we march within the hour.”

Eric managed to get out of the eating part, holding a long, involved conversation with a man managing weapons, makeshift shields, sharpened blades and a few rifles. Sidling near Cal later, as they joined the moving snake of men heading toward death, Eric tugged his arm and they stepped aside.

“McAffrey, this is foolishness. This campaign is mismanaged, badly funded and seriously under-manned. And the weapons?” His brow rose and head shook. “Let’s get away from this. It will be butchery. You should be no part of this.”

Cal glared. “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you? This is a battle that changed world events. This is the last conflict ever fought on British soil. This is –”

“Foolishness, and you will not survive.”

Cal hissed and kicked the ground. “Fuck! You’re not putting a stop to this. You can leave anytime you want. I’m,” he slapped a fist to his chest, “I’m going with the men.” He stomped his way back to the moving ghosts, not noticing or caring whether Eric was there or not. His heart was solid and mind made up. This was where he was supposed to be. If he was to die, so be it.

For the first time in his life, Cal was alive and sure. The courage that had evaded him since boyhood had finally arrived. Images of Colleen and his own relatives – Mary McAffrey and the two young men at his shoulders, of the old man and Taran back in Iverness – all molded into a solid wall, giving his life a sense of purpose and meaning.

Sorry Biebe, he thought as they trudged through the night. Sorry I didn’t feel this way about the family back there. But I kinda think you just might understand.

The first scrimmage came just after the moon set over the horizon. Four Red Coats charged the end of the line. It was the first time Cal realized that Eric was indeed with them. Danger averted, all four dead and hopefully no escaped messenger to warn the sleeping soldiers ahead, the Jacobites continued.

Just as history had recorded, the Highlanders began to squabble. Officers argued and the march came to a full halt more than once. Cal struggled with his fears. Knowing what was ahead and wondering what was ahead were two very different things. Could he really watch a thousand men die?

When the split occurred, it was nearly dawn. Cal tried to convince the two McAffreys to head back, telling them there was sure to be a bigger battle back home. Strangely, even though the young men hardly knew Cal, they insisted they’d remain at his side.

Just before the night gave way and pale light licked at the horizon, ninety Red Coats swooped in. They took down several of the exhausted marchers, including one of the young McAffreys and Cal fought hard.

Ghosts can sure fight, and they can fight the good battle but when it ended, it wasn’t a ghost but a vampire that altered Cal’s fate. The Medieval Renaissance Man had suffered three wounds, a bullet to his shoulder, a broken finger and a horribly broken and bloody leg. It wagged unnaturally as Eric lifted him into his arms.

“You are an idiot, McAffrey.” Like a rocket, he shot them into the air and in a heartbeat, he landed smoothly on his feet right at the door of a cottage.

“Where the fuck are we?” Cal gasped, weakening from blood loss and pain.

“Iverness.”

“Give me your blood, damn it! Heal me like we agreed!”

The vampire glanced up, squinted at the brightening sky. “No. If I heal you, you’ll go back and die in Culloden. I can’t save you there, my friend. That battle is in daylight. No, McAffrey … I will do better. I will save your life another way.”