The Quest Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  Praise for Pam Binder and THE QUEST

  The Quest

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  A word about the author…

  Thank you for purchasing

  Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  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 renaissance faire. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and his football rolled out of his grip.

  Odd. He shouldn’t still have it. He’d 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 glass 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. 1328.”

  Praise for Pam Binder and THE QUEST

  “Featuring a strong, independent heroine as fiery as her hair, this crisply written romance is lighthearted yet engaging.”

  ~Publisher’s Weekly

  ~*~

  “An intelligent, innovative approach to time travel. With THE QUEST, Pam Binder establishes herself as a powerful and inventive voice in paranormal romance.”

  ~Romantic Times

  ~*~

  “Action-packed and filled with romance and danger.”

  ~ParaNormal Romance Reviews

  ~*~

  “I enjoyed Pam Binder’s fresh approach to time travel as well as her enchanting plot premises and delightful twists and turns.”

  ~Reader to Reader Reviews

  The Quest

  by

  Pam Binder

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  The Quest

  COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Pam Binder

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information:

  Cover Art by Abigail Owen

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History:

  Previously published by Pocket Books, 1999

  First Tea Rose Edition, 2020

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-5092-3185-0

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3186-7

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  In memory of

  my mother, Irene Louise Pleier,

  who taught me that

  the only barriers around your dreams

  are the ones you build yourself

  In the days when

  Magik ruled the land,

  And gods fought by our side,

  One stood out from all the rest,

  The valiant warrior Cuchulainn.

  ~Anonymous

  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 the night of the Winter Solstice. There would not be another chance before the challenge must be met. The message young Jamie McIntyre 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 went to sit 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 your 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 stood and stepped to a wood chest at the foot of the bed. She opened it, knelt, 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 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 had been folded between the pages.

  She handed it to Ana. “If you ever find yourself in danger, I believe 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.”

  “I was thinking of my mother. I miss her.”

  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 candles 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 be not only a skilled warrior but 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 Cuchulainn.” 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 the 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 and passed the blade through the flames.

  Chapter 1

  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 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 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 eight 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 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, blonde 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 breathy 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.”