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THE QUEST
Pocket Books
August 2000
ISBN 0-671-77451-4
$6.50 U.S. $8.99 Can.

Scotland, 1328

     Conjuring with all of her will, Ana de Dannon summons the greatest champion of the ages, Cuchulainn, the legendary Irish warrior. Only he could defeat Ana's evil half-brother, Roderick, and free her mother, Rhiannon, from Edinburgh Tower. In a perversely generous gesture -- as he knows no man in the land will face him -- Roderick has offered to release any prisoner whose champion can defeat him in a tournament.

     But the powerful man Ana conjures is not Cuchulainn, though the word Warrior is written on his strange and colorful garment -- and his face is hidden beneath a massive helmet. Ana has mistakenly called forth Kenneth MacKinnon, quarterback for the Seattle Warriors, and the greatest champion of his age -- the year 2000. But he may be the hero she needs after all, when he learns to do battle for something greater than his own glory -- the love of a fair maiden

Prologue

The light from a hundred candles flickered over the stone walls of the chamber, illuminating the long trestle table. Ana de Dannon reached for a container of crushed sapphires and shook her head. “It should not be this difficult to conjure a man.” She turned the pages of a leather-bound book.

“I have followed the instructions in your Book of Spells, Danu.” She poured the dark blue powder into a large wooden bowl. “Perhaps the potion was not strong enough.”

Danu shook her head. “Conjuring the great Irish warrior Cuchulainn is not an easy task. Your mother, my sister, may have been mistaken about the spell. We shall find another way to free her.”

Wisps of graying hair framed Danu’s face. For the first time Ana noticed the lines of laughter and wisdom that marked the corners of her mentor’s dark eyes. The years they had spent under the protection of their king, Robert the Bruce, would have been happier if they had known Ana’s mother was alive. Ana shook her head.

“My stepbrother, Lord Roderick Matheson, has grown too powerful. The only way my mother will gain her freedom from his prison is under the conditions of the tournament. For that we will need a champion.”

Ana glanced at the open window. A full moon shone silver-white. It was a good omen. The most powerful magic was accomplished on nights such as these. The night of the Winter Solstice. There would not be another chance before the challenge must be met. The message young Jamie MacIntire had brought to her just over a fortnight ago was clear. She pulled it from her sleeve and read it once again.

To all those who honor the treaty of peace between
Scotland and England, read on. A Tournament will take
Place the first day of May. In celebration, the prisoners in
Edinburgh Keep will be freed under the following condition:
to prove their innocence their champion must defeat
All challengers.

Ana laid the message on the table beside the tattered parchment her mother had given her the last day she had seen her. Time folded back twelve years and Ana was a young woman of thirteen sitting in her mother’s favorite chamber. Floor-to-ceiling leaded glass windows lined the far wall, and a fire danced cheerily in the whitewashed fireplace. Ana sat and read from a book that recounted the tales of the legend of Cuchulainn.  Her mother silently wove silk threads through an emerald green tapestry.

She thought her mother the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Her long hair was the color of the gold silk she wove into the tapestry, and her smile could brighten even the gloomiest day.

Rhiannon paused and motioned for Ana to join her. Ana stood. She was eager to see her mother’s latest creation. She walked over and sat on a bench beside her.

Her mother brushed Ana’s hair from her forehead. “Your hair is the same flame red as your father’s.”

“I wish he were here. Tell me about him.”

She smiled. “Very well, but you know the story by heart.” She cleared her throat. “I met him in the forest that surrounds Dannon Manor. The time we spent together was hard to measure. It was a time full of enchantment. The days rolled into one another until time blurred.” She sighed. “And then he was taken from me.” Tears brimmed in her eyes.

“Enough of the past. You must always have courage, like the Irish warrior Cuchulainn. It was said that he was the greatest warrior of all time. And would come to the aid of those who would call on him. But Danu can teach you all there is to know of spells and their purpose.” She turned once again to the tapestry and pulled a golden thread through the fabric.

“My magic is in the stories I weave. You will find you own way.”

“I wish to be a healer.”

Her mother paused. “I am pleased. You have a gentle way about you and a thirst to learn how to ease the pain of others.”

“If only I could ease yours.”

“Do not trouble yourself. You have told me you will protect your birthright and that gives me courage.”

Her mother walked over and opened a wood chest at the foot of the bed. She knelt down and unwrapped a linen cloth, exposing a battle-worn sword. “As you know, it belonged to Boadicea. She was a mighty warrior queen. Many legends surround this blade.” She touched the image of a small full moon that was etched in the steel. “The blade is called the Golden Sword. Keep it safe.” She paused.

“You look so sad, Daughter. Do not fear, all will be well. Robert the Bruce will honor his vow to place you under his protection if I am not able to care for you.” Her mother lifted the sword from the chest and held it in her hands. “The legends that surround it hold that it can control the power of time and that all who possess it will achieve their goals. I lent the sword to our king at a time when he needed it the most. We cannot risk Roderick gaining possession of it. Robert the Bruce has brought peace to Scotland. Roderick would destroy what William Wallace and others gave their lives to win. Roderick believes the power of the Golden Sword will make him king.”

She laughed bitterly. “When your stepfather died, Roderick had the insolence to say he would find you a suitable husband in exchange for the blade. Promise me that when you wed, it will be for love.” She set the sword back down on the chest and reached for Ana’s hand. “Promise me.”

Ana remembered pulling away. “Mother, I wish to devote my energy to healing. I have no desire to wed. It brought you only sadness.”

Rhiannon shook her head slowly. “My marriage was not for love, but to give you a home. My brother, may he rest in peace, thought he was doing the right thing when he promised me to Roderick’s father.” She straightened, reached for the book Ana had been reading, and pulled out a loose piece of parchment that was folded between the pages.

She handed it to Ana. “If you ever find yourself in danger, I believe that the spell written on this page has the ability to conjure a warrior. It is the only one of its kind. If used with the sword, they have the power to control the currents of time and bring forth that which you desire. They are very powerful. Use them wisely. There may come a time when you will have need of such power. But be aware that the man you conjure from this spell may also capture your heart as well as protect you from evil.”

Ana felt someone tap her gently on the shoulder and bring her back to the present.

Danu smiled. “You were far away.”

Danu nodded. “I miss Rhiannon as well. I wish we had known she survived the fire and was held prisoner all these years.”

Ana shook her head. “According to Jamie, Roderick kept her identity a secret.”

The candle cast flickering shadows on the oak beams. Ana pulled her cloak over her shoulders. Tonight was the Winter Solstice and, according to her Book of Spells, this night marked her last opportunity to conjure a champion. It was her mother’s last hope for freedom from the impenetrable fortress of Edinburgh Keep. Ana’s other attempts to pull the warrior Cuchulainn from his resting place had failed. The time for Rhiannon’s spell had come.

“Time is not on our side. The man we choose must not only be a skilled warrior, but he must be more committed to freeing my mother than to the coin he will earn at the tournament. We need a man who will defeat Roderick and thus prove my mother’s innocence.” She wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. “Many able men are afraid to challenge my stepbrother.”

“For good reason. Jamie and the men he brought with him tell me that your stepbrother Roderick has grown more determined.” Danu tucked wisps of graying hair behind her ear. “All the more reason to reconsider. The ancient spell you invoke to conjure your champion is discouraged. A woman in the nearby village was burned as a witch for honoring the old ways.”

Ana knew the risks were high, but she would do anything to save her mother. She raised her chin. “At first you said that bending the currents of time was forbidden; now you say it is only discouraged. There is a wide valley of difference between those words. Besides, you are at fault, for you placed the notion in my thoughts, reminding me of my mother’s spell.”

“I remember the conversation well. I said that to challenge Roderick you would need a champion as strong and as bold as the legendary Chuchulainn.” She hesitated. “I did not mean that we needed the man himself.”

“We do need him.” She clenched her fingers together at her side. “My decision is made. These past few years you have shown me a mother’s love, now I will ask for your trust.”

Tears filled Danu’s eyes. “I give it freely. I will leave you to your spell-work. For if it is to succeed, you must do it alone. But take care, child. I sense that whatever the outcome, your life will be forever changed.”

Ana kissed Danu’s cheek. “You worry overmuch.” She watched Danu leave the chamber. The spell must succeed this time. Her mother’s life depended on it. She looked down at the tattered parchment written in her mother’s hand and traced her fingers over the words. She had recited them slowly and used the elements that should assure its success. Despite her efforts, he had not appeared.

There must be something she had overlooked. She glanced around the room, searching for the answer. Dried rosemary and thyme hung from the oak beams. On the long table before her, wood and horn containers held the carefully gathered seeds and roots that aided her when she ministered to the sick and injured. The fire cast a warm glow on the ancient sword mounted over the hearth. Ana watched as the battle-scarred metal changed to take on a golden hue. The blade reflected the amber flames.

She took a deep breath. Of course. She had almost forgotten the words her mother had spoken. The Golden Sword was the missing element needed to assure the success of the spell. That had to be the reason she had not succeeded in her last few attempts.

Ana reached for the potion she had mixed in a wooden bowl and walked over to the fire. She tossed the contents into the flames. The fire sizzled and hissed and sparks spat out over the stone floor. She ignored them and reached for the sword. It felt warm in her hands as she held the hilt of the blade and passed it through the flames.

Chapter One

Kenneth MacKinnon unsheathed his sword. It shone like liquid gold in the dark corridor of the castle as he burst through the door. A wall of flames greeted him, forcing him back. A woman screamed. He gripped the hilt of his blade and slashed through the wall of flames that engulfed the chamber. They were parted by the blade’s passage. He must reach her in time.

She stood with her back toward him; her waist-length hair was the color of the flames that surrounded her. His heart thundered in his chest over the roar of the fire. Somewhere in the distance he heard the sound of a man’s voice.

“There will be a forty percent chance of rain in the greater Seattle area today . . . .”

Mac awoke with a start and wrenched free of the nightmare. He could almost feel the heat of the fire. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at the radio alarm clock. It was 8 a.m. He had plenty of time before the boys’ practice started. The DJ’s voice droned on about some traffic accident on the 520 floating bridge. Mac reached over and shut off the news, grateful that he didn’t have to fight the traffic. He hated the congestion. That was the reason he’d bought the penthouse in Belltown’s Seattle Heights building. He enjoyed living in the city and being close to the stadium.

He felt the bedcovers move. Cindy was waking up.

She rubbed her eyes. “You were restless last night. I had a hard time getting to sleep.”

He looked over at her. “Sorry, Cindy. It was just a bad dream.”

Mac ducked as a pillow sailed past his head.

“I prefer Cynthia. Why can’t you remember? You’re barely thirty. Too young for memory loss. You don’t seem to have a problem remembering the names of all those kids you coach.” She tossed her long, blond hair over her shoulder. “My psychic friend tells me there’s a reason you keep forgetting.”

“I have a lot on my mind, that’s all. Besides, those kids in the shelters need me.”

Cindy twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “You’re such a boy scout. You can’t help every stray cat that comes your way.”

“I can try.” The huge salary he was paid as quarterback for Seattle’s pro football team, the Warriors, had its benefits. He had the time and money to do what he wanted. If he spent some of it on the shelter kids, that was his choice.

“Let’s not fight.” She smiled. “I need to ask you a question.”

Her voice had the singsong quality that always meant she wanted something. After six months together, he’d at least learned that much about her. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m listening.”

She leaned closer to him. “I realize you’d just as soon spend the evening in a sports bar, but we’ve been invited to the opening of that new French restaurant on Pike Street next Saturday. It will be good for your image.”

He doubted anyone cared where he ate as long as he got the job done on the field. He shook his head. “I don’t care where we go.”

Cindy continued in a rush of breath words. “Terrific, but I’ll need something new to wear. You don’t have a game until tomorrow. We could go shopping as soon as the stores open.”

“I can’t pick out women’s clothes. Buy anything you like.”

Cindy threw the bedcovers off and jumped off the bed. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

He watched her head for the bathroom; no kiss, no thanks, Mac. Nothing. Just the clinging smell of the gardenia perfume she wore.

He didn’t blame her. She’d expected a celebrity who liked to party until dawn. He’d wanted someone who . . . Hell, he didn’t know what he wanted.

He sat up and got out of bed. The remnants of his dream replayed in his mind. Odd, normally he didn’t remember much of his dreams. And who was the woman? An ex-girlfriend? He reached for his sweatpants that were slung over a chair and pulled them on. It was strange. He had the feeling he knew her.

The phone rang. Mac reached over to the nightstand and picked up the receiver. He recognized the voice on the other end.

“Hey, Mac, this is Jed. I can’t coach the boys at practice today. My daughter’s sick. Can you do it alone?”

“Sure. Nothing to it. How is Mary? Anything serious?”

“No, just a bad cold. But I don’t want to bring her to the practice, and Sarah has to work. Do you have enough extra footballs and gear?”

“I have two or three rooms full.”

Jed laughed. “I almost forgot. Hey, what do you want to do about the media?”

“I already told them to stay away. I don’t want the boys distracted. This is about them, not me.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Mac heard Jed ask Mary if she wanted him to read her a story. He couldn’t hear her response, but he was willing to bet it was a yes. Mary was only four years old, but already she had a love of books. It was the result of her parents’ influence and hard work. He wondered if he would have the patience.

Jed cleared his throat. “Hey buddy, gotta go. Talk to you soon. Good luck at the game. I’ll be watching you on TV tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” Mac hung up the phone and walked over to the window. He and Jed had been friends since college. Wow, that was almost ten years ago. Their paths had taken different turns. Jed was an engineer at Boeing, and Mac played pro football. Mac had received all the fame, but he’d trade places with Jed in a heartbeat. Jed and his wife, Sarah, were busy making plans for their future with Mary, while Mac’s future was measured in terms of pass completions.

He folded his arms across his chest and looked out the window. The view was great. It was another reason he’d bought the place. He had a three hundred and sixty degree view of Seattle. From his living room he could see the Space Needle, and from his bedroom, Puget Sound. Sunlight sparkled over the water as a ferryboat made its way to Bainbridge Island. The sights were beautiful, but up this high he felt isolated from what was going on down on the streets.

He heard the water in the shower turn on and it reminded him that Cindy was still here. He guessed she wasn’t any happier than he was. It was probably why she always wanted to go out where there were a lot of people. It meant less time they’d have to spend alone together.

He looked down and to his right. The bakery and fresh produce trucks were making their way down the narrow streets to Pike Place Market. He could almost smell the coffee from up here. He glanced over at the clock. It was only 8:20 a.m. If he hurried he could grab a bagel and cup of coffee at the gourmet coffee shop at Second and Lenora before he met the boys at 9 a.m.

Of late he’d done a lot of thinking about how his life had turned out. The pace was too fast. He wished it would slow down. Maybe that was the reason he’d had such a strange dream and why he’d been doing so much thinking about Jed and Sarah. Their relationship was special. It wasn’t easy to find the kind of connection his friends shared.

One thing he knew for sure; he didn’t believe in love anymore. After all, he’d tried it enough times. Finding a person to share your life with wasn’t for everyone. It was just an elaborate hoax concocted by the greeting card companies.

* * * * *

The morning was crisp and clear as Mac walked past the Space Needle toward Memorial Stadium. Steady traffic streamed by, but despite the number of cars it was pretty quiet. People seldom honked their horns in Seattle. He smiled. It was one of the unwritten rules, along with acquiring a taste for lattés and buying stock in Microsoft.

He finished his coffee as he approached the field and tossed the container into the garbage can. Mac walked onto the AstroTurf. Fifteen young boys between the ages of ten and twelve crowded around him, all yelling his name. He held up his hand for silence and smiled. He was only able to reserve Memorial Stadium for two hours before a soccer team came in, and he wanted every minute with his kids to count.

“Jed can’t make it here today. Mary’s sick. So you’re stuck with me.”

Another cheer.

He laughed. Working with these young men was one of the highlights of his weekend. He motioned for them to follow him. “Okay, you know the drill, twice around the field to warm up.” He heard them moan and groan, but there were no outright sounds of mutiny. He took off at a slow jog to let them all catch up with him and was immediately flanked by a handful of the kids.

Tommy, the smallest of the boys, rubbed his dripping nose with his sleeve. “Are you gonna win tomorrow?”

Mac smiled. “You bet.”

David, a dark-haired boy, nudged closer. “My dad says the Warriors don’t have a chance against the California Wolves.”

Mac shrugged. “That’s what makes it interesting. No one thinks we’ll win.”

Tommy tugged on Mac’s arm. “Sort of like us, Coach.”

Mac nodded. “Exactly.”

At first no one had expected his ragtag bunch of kids from the Helping Hand Shelter to do well against the other youth football clubs, but they were slowly gaining respect as a solid team. Mac stepped up the pace a notch as he rounded the corner of the field. He wanted them to be in shape for the tournament that started next Saturday. He considered this his team, even though Jed was the head coach. Mac did too much traveling and only helped out when he was in town. It was hard to believe that they’d been doing this since their college days.

David edged closer. His words came out in ragged bursts as he tried to run and talk at the same time. “Hey, you never told us how you got your name. My dad says it’s because tackling you is like trying to push over a Mack truck.”

Mac laughed. “Tell your dad I got my nickname the semester I spent at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland. The friends I met there shortened by last name, MacKinnon, to Mac.”

David’s eyes widened. “Wow. You were in Scotland? Did you ever wear those fancy skirts?”

Mac smiled. “You mean kilts? No, never.”

He slowed down and waited for the rest of the boys to catch up to him. They circled around him. “This next Saturday we’ll be facing a team that is undefeated.”

Tommy raised his voice. “Like the Wolves?”

“Right. But we can work that to our advantage. The team you’ll play will be overconfident. They’ve won this tournament the last three years. But I’ve watched them play. They’re good. I think you guys are better. You have more speed. We’re going to use that to beat them.”

The boys all cheered. They played for the love of the game; no hype, no agents, no media.

David smiled. “We’ll crush them.”

Mac nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Okay, let’s get started.” He reached for the bag and pulled out a football. “Tommy, go long.”

The boy ran toward the center of the field as Mac threw the ball. Tommy caught it. Mac smiled. It was a good sign. David was right. His team was going to crush their competition on Saturday.

Mac looked toward the sky. Clouds were gathering overhead. The weather was changing. It would be cold and wet tomorrow at the game. It would make it harder for his receivers to catch a slippery football. Mac shrugged. Well, he’d just have to make sure all his passes were accurate. Besides, his mom used to say the more difficult the odds, the better he liked the challenge.

* * * * *

Fluorescent lights flooded Husky Stadium. Mac stood on the sidelines with his teammates as the coin was tossed. Now it was time to see if the adults could play as well as the boys had at practice yesterday. Jed would’ve been proud. But now Mac had to take care of business.

He was anxious for the game to start. A thick fog rolled in off Lake Washington and hung in the air. It was hard to see the far stands. The weather was unusual, even for rain-drenched Seattle. The breeze was charged with electricity as the ball was kicked, signaling the start of the game. He breathed in the air, feeling invincible. Harrison returned the kick-off, giving Mac and the offense good field position at the forty-two.

The Wolves might be undefeated, but once again he would bring home a victory against impossible odds. He had built his reputation on getting the job done and that’s what he was paid for. With it came all the notoriety and the hangers-on. The familiar emptiness darkened his mood. He shrugged it off and focused on the game. That was all that really mattered.

The stadium vibrated with the roar of the crowd as he walked onto the field. The fans were all on their feet, chanting his name. Blood pounded through his veins and thundered in his ears. He was ready.

With play after play he moved his team upfield until it was fourth and goal. He looked at Coach Rivets and waited. After a long moment, the coach gave the go-ahead and waved off the special team. Mac turned to the huddle. A hush fell over the field as they broke and Mac took his position behind Johnson. He dried his hands on the center’s towel.

He noticed he’d forgotten take off his Super Bowl ring. He’d have to remove it when he returned to the sideline.

He checked the line. Every man was set. There’d be no offsides, they all knew how important this was. The defense looked determined and angry. He would be, too, after losing fifty yards in eight plays. The football was snapped clean on the count. He dropped back and avoided a lineman. Mac searched for Griffin. Two more counts and he’d be open in the end zone as planned. The Wolves had misjudged the Warriors’ newest play.

The fog was getting as thick as beer foam despite the thin, soaking rain. A linebacker blindsided him and drove him to the ground. He made sure the ball was still in his hands. Damn. He hadn’t even had a chance to throw it.

He was pinned against the AstroTurf. The faces of the players blurred. He felt dizzy, sick to his stomach. Hell, he hoped it wasn’t another concussion. The sound of the crowd became garbled as if they were a long way away. The dizziness increased. He fought to stay conscious as the energy seeped from his body.

Chapter Two

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 costume ball. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and his football rolled out of his grip. Odd, he shouldn’t still have it. He’s 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 a litter of clay 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.”

The semester he had spent at the University of Edinburgh must have made a bigger impression on him that he’d thought. His parents would have been pleased. They always thought he should have interests besides sports. “Stirling Castle’s 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 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 that was piled on top of her head, and she 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. Where 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 the 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 to 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 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.”

“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.

She 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 bridgade to try 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 Husky Stadium.

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 gave her the candle, too, and 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 is past. 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 . . . 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 of course 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.”