Chapter 3

"So let me get this straight, you won't give us a room because we aren't married?" Christine asked the hotel receptionist.

"'tis improper for a lass an' lad to share quarters if not married." The woman said, she crossed her arms over her chest signaling her seriousness.

"But he's gay. So it's basically like a girl and a girl sharing a room." Christine argued. Larry looked at the woman with a smile and nodded.

"I'm a female trapped in a man's body. It's not my fault. Please put us in the same room." Larry pleaded, with the most sincere smile. It usually worked for him, but this time it's proving useless.

"No, sorry, I donna allow that kind of things in ma' place." The lady said.

"Fine," Christine acquiesced, "Can you at least give us adjoining rooms?"

"Aye that I will do." The lady handed Christine the keys, and shook her head at Larry.

As they walked up to their room Christine leaned over to Larry and whispered, "I'm not trying to judge, but I don't think she likes you. I think the whole girl in a man's body threw her for a loop."

"Yeah." Larry laughed.

Reaching the third floor landing proved difficult, but they made it with their entire load of luggage. Christine carried a very unofficial plastic bin that housed the ancient satchel. The fact that she was carrying it around, like it wasn't ancient, was making her sick. They shuffled with their baggage down the narrow hallway to Christine's room.

"I'm going to put my stuff in my room then I'll be back." Larry went next door while Christine carefully put the bin on the table at the foot of her bed. She turned and dropped her bedraggled and jet lagged self on to the bed which squeaked loudly under her weight. She rolled her eyes. Great. I love Scotland. I love Scotland. I want to be here, I do. But Christine's ideal first trip to Scotland didn't include a crappy motel. It was a small cottage in the Highlands with no other houses or buildings for miles. All she would see is green and purple rolling hills. But it was a dream, along with her ravaged warrior.

"These rooms suck, Christine." Larry said as he walked in and plopped down on the bed next to her.

"Yeah, I've recently found this out for my self." She replied.

"Well what do you want to do? It's like one in the morning. I'm pretty sure the woman down stairs didn't like our hour of arrival."

"Probably not, but we paid her, so she will live." She said, "I think we should go to sleep; but set your alarm for eight because we have to get into the right time zone."

Larry got off of the bed. "Good idea, I'm exhausted. I'll see you in the morning then."

"Night." When she heard the door close she jumped up and went to the plastic bin and opened it. She carefully reached in and took out the satchel. It dawned on her then that she had never looked in it before then; she was too busy getting ready so she could catch the flight.

It was leather, and incredibly worn. Inside was a scrap of plaid which was also incredibly worn with a few holes and pieces missing but she could make out a tartan. Intrigued, she went to her computer case and took out her computer. While she waited for it to turn on she studied the tartan. Thick green and black bands with small white and red ones. The fabric was way past due, but she couldn't help but feel the history radiating off of it. Someone wore this. 700 years ago, this was woven and worn. By who? Was the question steaming in her mind.

She searched on her computer 'tartan finder.' She typed in the colors of the plaid and it took her to a small list of tartans. She clicked each one until she came upon the right one. MacAulay Hunting Tartan. Curious, she searched the clan to find out more. The site she went to showed clan motto and location. Interesting. The MacAulay's made their home around Dumbarton, which is all the way over by Glasgow. How did this end up here? Christine looked at the satchel again, more closely this time. Until it caught her eye. On the opening flap of the satchel, she could make out Dulce Periculum. She gasped and turned back to her computer.

Clan motto: Dulce Periculum- Danger is sweet.

This defiantly belonged to a MacAulay, but why is it here in Aberdeen? In a stone circle, none the less? Christine thought. And how did it stay preserved??

Once more, with the utmost gentility Christine reaching and pick up the scrap of parchment and read it.

Air Saoradh! Air Mac-Ionmhainn! Fad Beatha!

She translated.

For Freedom! For Love! For Life!

It sounded vaguely familiar, as though she had heard it before. She shook her head and decided that I was a good time to sleep. She set about preparing for bed.

~;~

Soaked to the bone from the pouring rain, Erik rode on. He had wrapped the extra plaid around his head to keep warm. It was fine Scottish weather, for there were few days out of the year where it did not rain in Scotland.

He felt it. His destination drew close. He brought Caesar to a halt, closing his eyes and reaching out with his old magycks he viewed the distance between him and Castle Skene. But a few leagues off, he saw the fortress and smiled. Erik drove his heels into the flanks of his horse and spurred him on.

Announcement of his arrival wouldn't be necessary for he was close to Laird Malcolm Skene. They had been best mates since childhood. He was the only one besides Erik's father that has seen what lay beneath the mask. Erik laughed recalling the memory.

"Wha' tha'?" Malcolm said.

"'Tis a curse from God." Erik answered. Neither of them was yet Laird and both had no shame. Anytime either was missing they could be found with a maid or wench in the barn tooping.

"Let me see?"

"Nay, 'tis not meant for anyone's gaze." Erik replied not liking where the conversation was going. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and took another swig.

"Jus' show me." Malcolm said, grabbing the bottle from Erik and taking a drink.

"Fine, but if you throw up tha' perfectly fine whiskey I'll kill you." Erik untied the strings and pulled the mask from his face.

"Ugh." Malcolm said. Laughing he continued. "Aye, yer one ugly bastard. Ye should have gotten me drunk before showing me." They both laughed.

There friendship had only gotten stronger that day. It wasn't uncommon that one of the Lairds would leave their keep without notice to visit the other.

Erik grew closer to the castle and approached the guard who protected the entrance.

"Greetings, Laird MacAulay." The guard said.

Erik tilted his head in appreciation, and rode through the gates. While Erik was friendly to Malcolm, he tried to avoid as many people as possible, which only added to his legendary account: Tall, dark, menacing, animal on the battle field. Not one to come across on a bad day; and the punisher of the unjust.

He rode into the stable and dismounted, handing over his tired beast to a stable hand that bowed and took the reins. He didn't bother to knock, he let himself in. He didn't bother to call a servant to bring him some whiskey and food, he strolled into the kitchen grabbed a bottle and a loaf of bread with a nodding thanks to the kitchen staff. He walked up the grand stair case. Through the corridors to Malcolm's chamber and stopped. Knowing the likelihood of what he was about to hear, he put his ear to the door. Very distinctive moans and groans and heavy breathing. The "Oh God!" came form a woman. Erik sighed. He knew the drill it had happened before. He pounded a fist on the door once before walking away. They had an understanding. Whenever either of them was indisposed the other pound once to signal their presence and leave so the other could finish their business. Erik headed to the library.

Some ten minutes later, Malcolm strolled in, still fixing his clothes. Erik looked up and smirked.

"Was it good?" Erik asked. The mask less Laird shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Eh. Me thinks she enjoyed it more than I did." Malcolm laughed and dropped into a chair across from Erik. "How are ye' my friend, 'Tis been a month since your last message and then ye' were in a fankle."

"An' 'Tis worsened." Erik replied taking a swing before his face going into a stony reprieve.

"Why?" Malcolm asked, looking at his friend intently." Is your land threatened?"

"Nay."

"Yer Da?"

"Nay, he's fine. Last I heard, he was on his way back from Rome."

"Then what is bothering you? Donna hold back, brother, tell me." Malcolm said, grabbing the bottle and tossing some back.

"I feel, empty. Like a part of me is missing. And I havna been able to make peace with it." Erik said carefully.

"Canna ye use yer magycks to find it?" Malcolm asked. He was also the only living being besides Erik's father that knew he was a Druid. Erik's father was one too, as were all the men in his family. It just so happened that only he and his father still lived.

"Nay, I canna use them like that, but I had a dream, one that could very well be a sign."

"What of?"

"A woman." Erik replied, looking down at the half eaten loaf of bread. He set it on the table and took the whiskey from his friend.

"Aye, and?" Malcolm said with an amused grin.

"'Tis no jest, mate. She kissed me, and I had to mask on. She saw me and still desired me with an intense passion. We drank from each other. She was so beautiful, the most beautiful lass I ever had the pleasure of looking on, and she wanted me. But there was something strange about the dream. She spoke odd English and dressed in an odd fashion. But I didn't care; I was too distracted by her beauty and passion."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the only thing that makes me feel whole, and like a man, is in my dreams. I've dreamt about her twice. And I canna stop thinking 'bout her."

"You said she spoke strangely?" Malcolm asked, trying to figure out what it all meant, for his friend was clearly distraught.

"Aye, a dialect of English I ne'r heard before. But her voice sounded like the voice of an angel." He replied.

"Wha' words were exchanged between you two? Wha' do ye ken 'bout her?"

Erik swallowed back another gulp.

"All I know is she told me that I was a normal man, and that she would prove it to me."

"Tha's it? Ye ken no more? No' a name? Clan?"

"Nay, I ken no more." Erik stood up and started to pace in front of his friend. "An' I dinne ken wha' this means. I know I need a woman, and I ken this sounds strange, but after my dream no other woman will work. I have to have her. But she doesna exist!" Erik stopped pacing and turned towards his friend.

"My friend, I think this is one of those things that you need to trust time with."

"Perhaps, but I donna ken how much longer I can wait. 'Tis drivin' me to insanity." They was a quiet pause before Erik spoke again. "I think I shall go rest. I had a long and tiring journey."

"Stay as long as you need, Erik. You are always welcome here."

~;~

Their teeth scraped against each other, eliciting a passionate moan from both of them. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and gave a slow sensual tug before releasing it only to joust with her tongue. She moaned and tried, in vain, to pull him closer. She didn't even realize when her feet weren't touching the ground anymore, but gasped as her back rested against the green field. He hovered above her and, momentarily, lost himself in her green eyes.

"Tell me yer name lassie, that I might call out to you in my passion." He growled as he ground his erection against her womanhood.

"Christine." She gasped.

"Christine." He repeated, as if it were the most beautiful sound. "Beautiful, Christine." He said before diving for her lips. She stopped him by slightly pushing against his chest. "Christine, lass, is aught amiss? I long to taste you once more." She closed her eyes and moaned at his sensual words.

"You didn't tell me your name." she whispered.

He paused and smiled. "It's Erik, my sweet."

She smiled and pulled him down to connect their mouths. He ground his painfully hard member against her again and groaned when she pushed back against him. They simply looked at each other once more.

"Is this a dream?" Christine whispered, peering up at her ravaged warrior.

"Mayhap it is, but be it what you say, then I never want to awaken, for I fear that when I do awaken, you aren't next to me."

A tear fell out of her eye. Erik mimicked what she had done and kissed it then kissed her again. Primal need broke out amongst the two as kisses became frantic. They touched each other as if this was going to be taken from them.

Christine pushed Erik's shoulder and rolled on top of him, straddling his wool covered cock. He smirked and thrust up causing her to gasp and fall onto his chest. He snaked his hands to her ass and held her in place while he mimicked what he really wanted to do to her. As his hips grinded, his mouth kissed and nipped along her collar bone and the swell of her breasts above the neckline of her green sweater. She ran her fingers through his long raven hair over and over again. Their urgency was startling. Neither of them knew why, but it seemed as though they were in a hurry. Erik's hands moved to her waist and tugged the sweater over her head. He made a strangled sound, and Christine felt his cock swell beneath her even more, as he stared in wonder at the black lace bra that kept her full breasts from his hungry gaze.

Erik lifted a finger and touched the lace drawing a gasp from Christine as his fingers touched the sizzling skin of her breasts.

"Lass what is this? I find it strange but most sensual. I wish to burry my face in your breasts, lass, rid your self of this and deny us both no longer." He said still staring at her breasts.

Christine slowly reached behind her and touched the clasps of her bra. She slowly undid them, and slowly let the garment fall off of her body…