Page 17 of Crown of Tides and Fury

The big Highlander folded his arms and shook his head. “I dinnae ken if we all shouldn’t go along. Prepared for anythin’, aye?”

Wickham laughed. “Ye’re no help at all. If we are the only thing standin’ in Orion’s way, we mustn’t risk being taken together, now or in the past. Someone needs to carry on if others are…eliminated.”

Urban conceded the point with the tilt of his head.

“What if…” I waited for Wickham’s attention. “What if the reason he knew about mewasbecause you took me with you?”

He was already shaking his head. “Ye’re not goin’, so he must have kenned about ye another way.”

Kitch looked up from his computer screen. “What about me? I’m not Muir, so he’ll have no sway over me. I can keep ye safe, obviously, and I can do what I can to keep ye on subject. If things turn south, I’m the most expendable.”

Persi made a noise, then coughed. “I wouldn’t call anyone expendable here, even a mug like you.”

Kitch grabbed his heart as if he’d been shot. “Careful, lass. That was very near a compliment.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to picking at what was left of her tray of food.

“Fine,” I said, finally giving up the fight. “Let’s make a list of questions. Hopefully, he’ll be in a chatty mood.”

Wickham snorted. “He doesnae do chatty.”

7

The Bird Won’t Like It

Kitch had known Wickham for years. Though the strange man had pretended to find him in a pub one day, Kitch kenned right away Wickham knew more than he let on. He’d done his research. And he’d been right. Kitch was exactly what he’d needed.

A mercenary with a heart, Wickham had called him. The perfect sort to protect his wee family.

Soncerae, Wickham’s niece had gone missing, and though he’d asked for little help from Kitch on that front, he’d been concerned about his wife and sons. So Kitch had rounded up his old team and showed up on the man’s poorly guarded doorstep. For a while, he’d been happy to cash his generous paychecks and spend his days and nights turning a simple horse ranch into a secure compound that even the police avoided--for Wickham Muir’s influence went much higher than a local constable.

But things changed drastically after the niece had been found and her abductor eliminated.

A bus carrying thirty-some-odd Highlanders pulled up at the gates one cold February night, and the horse ranch turned into a military compound for kilted soldiers. In a matter of weeks, buildings had been erected or renovated. The milk barn was turned into a sizable bathhouse, the large barn into a barracks. The Highlanders had come to stay.

Sometimes, during a shift change, Kitch would hear his men speak of things they’d heard, and eventually, the team came to believe that Soni’s Highlanders were from the eighteenth century. Kitch never questioned Wickham directly, but all the evidence was there. And soon, no one on the ranch bothered hiding anything at all.

The only ones kept in the dark were Wickham’s bairns. The Highlanders, the guards, and the odd visitor were careful what was said around the laddies. Kitch wasn’t even sure the wife knew all of it.

And one night, when Kitch sat on the porch, surveying the compound, Wickham appeared before him, out of nowhere.

Caught, the witch confessed what he was, along with his sisters and his niece. He explained how the Highlanders had been ghosts from Culloden Moor until Soni had brought nearly eighty of them back to life.

Luckily, Kitch had already come to terms with impossible things. And they’d all rubbed along fine for another year and a half, while the former ghosts left the ranch, one after another, to begin new lives.

Then Persephone Ward had shown up on the scene and made him wish…for things that could never be his.

Despite the money, Kitch never considered leaving Wickham Muir’s employ. And if the man needed someone to watch his Six when he popped into the past, to face his nemesis, then Kitch was that man. He’d listened to the rest of the team weighing other options, but in the end, it was always going to be Kitch.

Wickham insisted on making one last trip to Muirsglen, to visit a witch called Jez. So Kitch found himself back in the old blue pickup truck, bumping along to the Black Isle. He had a bad feeling about it but kept his mouth shut. He’d never once succeeded at veering Wickham from his chosen course and wouldn’t waste breath trying.

The man thought he was unstoppable.

Kitch hoped he was right.

* * *

“I wonderif ye might want a new truck,” Kitch said, just a moment after they entered the city limits. Business windows were dark. No welcome signs. A few houses stood silent with front doors left open. It was all but deserted.

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