Midnight's Master

by Donna Grant

  Gwynn nodded as his voice trailed off. “I’ll be careful. I promise.” She reached for the door handle, but his hand squeezed hers, halting her.

  “If there’s trouble, Gwynn, I want your vow that you will let me take care of it. I want you to get away as quickly as you can. I’ll find you.”

  “I’m not leaving you in there.”

  “I’m immortal, remember.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Immortal, yes, but you can still be killed. If they know about the Book of Craigan, it means they know of the Druids. Don’t you think it makes sense they’ll know about Warriors?”

  “Possibly. But my life is nothing compared to yours. We need the Druids to fight Deirdre. We need you.”

  Gwynn knew Logan wouldn’t relent until she agreed. She reluctantly nodded, but she had no intention of leaving him anywhere. He was just as important as she was.

  “Good. Let’s go talk to Declan Wallace,” Logan said.

  As one, they exited the car. Gwynn took a moment to lean her head back and look at the mansion. It was huge, the kind they featured on TV shows, the kind that only wealthy people saw the inside of. The kind that people like her could only look at and wonder.

  The kind that looked as if it was more than the outside showed.

  “Gwynn.”

  She lowered her gaze to find Logan standing beside her. The snow hadn’t let up, and Gwynn was glad she had purchased a warmer hat. It reminded her of the huge fur hats she’d seen Russians wear, but it was warm, and that was all that mattered to her.

  No sooner had they reached the top step of the mansion than the doors opened by what Gwynn assumed was the butler.

  “Welcome,” he said, but his eyes said something else entirely. He opened the door wider to allow them inside. “May I take your coat?”

  Gwynn shook her head as she stepped inside and tried not to gawk at the splendor before her. “I think I’ll keep it.”

  The butler rolled his eyes, actually rolled his eyes! Gwynn was so taken aback her mouth fell open.

  Logan’s soft chuckle beside her told her he’d seen it as well.

  “This is good Scottish weather we’re having, aye?” Logan said.

  The sound of Logan’s brogue made the butler pause and look at him. A smile actually appeared on the man’s aging face. “That it is. We’re in for a fine storm, sir. Follow me, and I’ll show you to Mr. Wallace’s office where you can await him.”

  It was Gwynn’s turn to roll her eyes as she jabbed Logan in the ribs. “Not fair,” she whispered.

  He shrugged, and she noticed the way he suddenly held himself stiffly, his nose wrinkling. “We Scots stick together.”

  “Obviously. Is something wrong?”

  His eyes took in everything. “For a moment I thought I smelled…” His voice trailed off and he leaned closer to whisper, “Evil.”

  A tingle raced down Gwynn’s spine that was anything but pleasant. She had the same brief thought when she’d driven up to the house, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t lay her finger on why.

  No more words were exchanged as they entered Wallace’s office, and even Gwynn had to admit she liked what she saw. Dark, rich wood covered the walls and the floors. Rugs, probably more expensive than her car, were spread around the room.

  A large fire roared in the massive fireplace, which had a couch and two chairs set around it. Across the way was a huge, ornate black desk with small traces of gold on it. It was immaculate. Not a paper out of place.

  On the walls were paintings and weapons from every era of Scottish history. And behind the desk was a bookshelf that reached the ceiling, with leather-bound books filling every shelf.

  “I’ll bring tea,” the butler said and closed the door behind him.

  “Oh, my,” Gwynn said as she turned to look around the office. “This place is amazing.”

  “He likes to show his wealth,” Logan said, his voice flat.

  “I take it you aren’t impressed.”

  He shook his head. “A man is no’ judged on how much coin he has. He’s judged on the man he is, his actions and decisions.”

  She licked her lips and smiled. “Then you are far wealthier than Mr. Wallace.”

  Instead of pleasing Logan, her words seemed to irritate him.

  “Doona say such things,” Logan ground out. “I’m no’ a good man. I’ve much to atone for.”

  “Which you are doing with me. Which you are doing by helping me find my father. Which you are going to do by finding Ian. And let’s not forget stopping Deirdre.”

  Logan blew out a harsh breath and faced the fire so that his back was to her. “When Deirdre is no more, then I’ll be able to look my fellow Warriors in the eye.”

  There was more to Logan’s pain than his words said. She took a step toward him to ask when the office doors opened and a maid carried in a tray.

  She smiled at Gwynn and Logan as she set the tray down on the table before the fire. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Thank you,” Logan said, and the maid left.

  Gwynn walked to the table and looked at the tray. “I bet it’s real silver. The teapot, too.”

  “Drink some. It will help warm you.”

  She lowered herself onto the couch and stared at the tray. She was tired of being cold, and though she wasn’t much of a tea drinker, with the sugar and cream, she was able to make it drinkable.

  Gwynn sighed as the warm liquid slid down her throat. She took several more drinks before she reached for a small cookie and took a bite. “These are delicious. You should try one,” she urged Logan. When he didn’t reply, she said, “You mentioned you smelled evil. Evil how?”

  “Do people normally enter houses so easily?”

  She finished off her cookie and took another sip of the tea before she set the cup down. “In my house, yes. In places like this, not really. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking we got in almost too easily.”

  She shrugged and picked up the cup again. “I mentioned my father. I’m sure that’s what got us in.”

  “Maybe. Hopefully.”

  “And if not?” she asked, unsure if she wanted to hear his answer.

  “Then we were allowed in for another reason, one I’m sure I’m no’ going to like. Where are your keys to the car?”

  Gwynn patted the pocket of her coat. “Here.”

  “Good.” His eyes constantly moved around the office.

  But Gwynn knew he wasn’t looking at the expensive weapons or fine art. He was looking for danger.

  “You’re scaring me, Logan,” she murmured and scooted to the edge of the couch.

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “I wish I didna have to, but there is something wrong here.”

  “What?”

  “It was masked before. But I suddenly feel … drough magic.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gwynn set down her cup carefully and firmly before she stood. “Deirdre?”

  “Nay. But nearly as strong.” Logan inhaled and let the bitter feel of the magic fill him.

  “Then we need to leave.”

  Logan shook his head slowly. “No’ yet.”

  “What?” Gwynn asked, her eyes wide. “Are you insane?”

  “I need to see who this drough is. I need to know what the connection is to your father.”

  “I’d rather not,” Gwynn said and came around the couch to stand in front of him. “I’d rather leave.”

  “And no’ learn about your father?” Logan hated to use that argument, but he knew if there was a drough with the kind of power he sensed, he had to learn all he could to tell the others.

  It was difficult, because he hated to put Gwynn’s life in danger. But he had to know.

  “You know I have to know about my father,” Gwynn said. She crossed her arms over her chest and let out a loud breath. “I’ve never encountered a drough before. I don’t know what to expect.”

  “Expect the unexpected,” Logan wa
rned.“They think only of themselves and doona hesitate to kill innocents. It could be this drough and Declan Wallace are all working with Deirdre.”

  “That’s not reassuring, Logan.”

  He sighed and wished, not for the first time, that he had another Warrior with him.

  * * *

  Declan tilted his head first one way then the other as he looked in the oval mirror hanging on the wall. He lightly brushed his fingers over the blond hair at his ears. After a few more touches to the hair atop his head, he smiled at himself.

  “I am handsome, aren’t I,” Declan said.

  There wasn’t a response, but then again, he didn’t need one. He’d been born with dashing good looks, but even if he hadn’t, his magic could have given him whatever he wanted.

  Just as it was doing now.

  Declan leaned his shoulder against the wall and inspected his fingernails. “How much longer, Austin?”

  “I can’t give you that answer.”

  Declan frowned as he looked at the disheveled professor. Gary Austin took pride in his appearance, or at least he used to. Now his greasy black hair hung lank about his face, and his glasses perched crookedly on his nose.

  His button-down striped shirt was half untucked, and his black pants were stained with dirt and food where he had wiped his hands.

  “I came to you with the Book of Craigan because I was told you were the best at translation.”

  Gary pushed his glasses up his nose and tossed aside his pencil. “I am the best at translating ancient Gaelic, but the words change every time I read them.”

  “It’s the magic.”

  “I know!” Gary yelled. Then he hastily ducked his head. “Each time it changes, it requires a different translation. I cannot find what I need when the words alter.”

  Declan pushed away from the wall and slowly circled the table where Gary had spread open numerous books as well as a notepad where he had jotted notes.

  “You told me you had enough magic to make the book give you its secrets.”

  “I do, but it’s not responding.”

  Declan stopped behind Gary and laid his hands on the professor’s shoulders. “I cannot even touch the book because of my black magic. There are so few Druids in the world now. I need someone who has welcomed their magic as well as used it. I thought that person was you.”

  Gary turned his head and looked at Declan. “It is me. I’ll get you the answers you need.”

  “Good,” Declan said with a smile as he started for the door. “I’d hate to have to look for another Druid and translator.”

  Before Declan reached the door, there was a knock and his captain, Robbie, walked in.

  “We have a problem,” Robbie said.

  Declan stopped short of snorting. To Robbie, everything was a problem. “What is it now?”

  “We have visitors. A Scotsman and a woman who says she’s looking for her father, Gary Austin.”

  Declan looked at Austin to gage his reaction. “Gary, your daughter is here.”

  “I heard Robbie,” Gary answered.

  “You doona care?”

  Gary impatiently looked up from the book, his lips curled in a snarl. “Gwynn has always managed to get in my way.”

  Declan chuckled at the irritation in Gary’s eyes. “Does Miss Austin know her father is here?”

  “No. She does know he spoke with you. I think she’s here only to see if you have talked to the professor recently.”

  “Let’s go see Miss Austin, then,” Declan said and walked from the room.

  Before Robbie shut the door behind them, Declan looked inside to see Gary working. The threat of death had a way of making people do things they normally wouldn’t.

  “Do you really think he can find where the Tablet of Orn is?” Robbie asked.

  Declan shrugged. “He’d better. I will make his death as painful as possible if he doesna. I need that tablet, Robbie. I must get it before Deirdre does.”

  “I’ve no doubt you will.”

  “Your confidence is staggering,” Declan said with a snort.

  Robbie grinned. “You didna hire me for my confidence in you.”

  “Nay. I hired you because you’re the best at killing people.” Declan paused at the stairs and regarded Robbie. “Who is the man with Gwynn Austin?”

  “I have no idea. It was the butler who told me he was a Scot.”

  Declan tapped his chin with his forefinger. “Why would Miss Austin need to have a man with her?”

  “Maybe he’s a guide. Maybe he’s the one who drove her here.”

  “Could be,” Declan said. “In any event, have your men ready. I may want to detain Miss Austin. For all of Gary’s claims, her presence might help to motivate him.”

  An evil smile split Robbie’s lips. “Just what I wanted to hear. Give me two minutes, and my men and I will be in position.”

  Declan nodded and started down the stairs. Gwynn Austin’s arrival hadn’t been expected, but it could work to his advantage. If she couldn’t make her father work faster, Declan might keep her for himself.

  He’d seen a picture of her when he’d had Gary tailed for a month before Declan had approached him. Declan didn’t do anything without knowing everything first.

  There wasn’t a facet of Gary’s life that Declan didn’t know about. He had even been informed about the special clause in Gena Austin’s will that prevented Gary from getting any money unless he maintained a steady relationship with his daughter.

  Declan had gotten a good laugh about that. Surveillance on Gary and Gwynn had proven quite comical as Declan watched Gary force smiles and conversation. Gary could never get out of Gwynn’s apartment fast enough.

  When Declan had asked Gary why he hated his daughter so, Gary’s response had been, “she’s a waste of oxygen.”

  Harsh.

  But then again, it didn’t bother Declan.

  He halted in front of the mirror next to his office door and checked his appearance again. He smoothed his hand over his Armani sport coat, and then tugged at the sleeve of his Ermenegildo Zegna French-cuff shirt.

  Declan turned his ruby cuff link until it was aligned perfectly. Then he walked to his office door and opened it.

  He strode in to find Gwynn seated on his leather couch before the fire. “Welcome, Miss Austin. How can I help you today?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Logan knew the instant he saw Declan Wallace that the drough magic he’d felt was Wallace’s.

  With Gwynn across the room from him, all Logan could do was watch as Declan leaned his blond head over Gwynn’s hand and kissed it.

  Logan wanted to kill him. To rip him limb from limb for touching Gwynn. To flay the skin from the pompous arse again and again.

  “Hello,” Gwynn said.

  Logan saw a small frown crease her brow, but it was there for only an instant.

  “And who is this?” Declan asked as his gaze landed on Logan.

  “A friend who has graciously accompanied me,” Gwynn said. She rose and walked around the couch until she stood next to Logan.

  Declan’s smile didn’t reach his blue eyes as he stared at them. “Does your friend have a name, Miss Austin?”

  “Logan,” Logan replied.

  The fake smile slipped from Declan’s mouth. “Logan?”

  “Aye.”

  Declan fiddled with a ruby at his wrist that seemed to hold the cuff of his shirt together. “What is your surname?”

  There was no doubt in Logan’s mind that Declan was working with Deirdre. Only someone who knew of the Warriors who had fought against Deirdre would be aware of their names.

  “Smith,” Gwynn suddenly said.

  Logan didn’t take his eyes off Declan, but he moved so that his hand brushed Gwynn’s.

  “Well, Logan Smith,” Declan said, the smile plastered back on his face. “Welcome to my home. You’ve both risked much by venturing out in this storm.”

  “Gwynn is concerned about her father.”


  “Aye, as any daughter would be.” Declan scratched his cheek as he walked behind his desk and sank into his chair. “Why would you think I’ve had any contact with your father, Miss Austin? And please, sit, both of you.”

  Logan would have preferred to take Gwynn’s hand and drag her out of the mansion, but with his enhanced hearing, he knew men were taking up position outside the office.

  He should have listened to Gwynn. They should have left. But he’d wanted to know whose magic he had felt. Now that he did, he knew their trouble had only just begun.

  The click of metal told him the men in the hall had guns as well. Bigger than those held by the attackers on Eigg, if Logan had to guess.

  “Well,” Gwynn said, glancing at Logan.

  He gave her a small nod.

  “I heard from my father three weeks ago. He usually checks in pretty often. When I did a GPS search on his phone, I discovered he was in Scotland.”

  “So you came here,” Declan said.

  “Yes. I was able to get into his computer system at the university and I learned about you and the Book of Craigan.”

  Declan leaned back in his chair, seemingly enthralled with Gwynn’s tale. He braced his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers.

  Logan clenched his hands into fists when Gwynn took one of the chairs in front of Declan’s desk. Logan stayed behind Gwynn, his gaze never leaving Declan.

  “How resourceful of you, Miss Austin,” Declan said. “The book, as I’m sure you know, is written in an ancient form of Gaelic.”

  “One that I’m guessing my father could translate,” Gwynn said.

  Declan nodded. “Indeed. The book didna turn out to be what I had hoped it would be.”

  “Which was?” Logan probed.

  Declan’s blue eyes lifted to Logan. “I had hoped it would hold information about some Roman coins that had been stolen from the Ninth Legion.”

  He could lie, Logan would give him that.

  But then again, any drough could lie well enough to fool almost anyone.

  “I’m sorry you weren’t able to find the Roman coins,” Gwynn said. “Can you tell me what might have brought my father to Scotland?”