by Lyn Horner
She sighed in drowsy contentment. “How did you get rid of them?” she asked, repeating Conn’s cryptic words.
He stroked her back, taking his time about answering. “Let’s just say they took a wrong turn and had an accident. A fatal accident.”
“Oh.” Perhaps she should regret the death of their enemies, but all she felt was vast relief. Yawning, she wanted only to sleep secure in Tristan’s arms.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she mumbled.
“What makes the scrolls you Guardians protect so valuable?”
His question brought her wide awake. She stiffened briefly but told herself he’d earned the right to know. “The scrolls contain prophesies that have been handed down through our families for thousands of years.”
“You mean Biblical prophesies?”
“No, they date back farther than the Bible. Our ancient ancestors were an early Irish race known as the Tuatha Dé Danann – meaning People of the goddess Danu. They’re famous in Irish mythology, but they were very real. They arrived in Ireland on huge clouds from the west, it’s said. No doubt the clouds were actually ships.”
“Wait a minute.” Loosening his hold on her, Tristan propped his head up on one hand. “By the west do you mean they came from North America?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. No one does, but they were supposed to practice magic and they were great warriors. They defeated the prehistoric tribes who inhabited Ireland before them and created a civilization that lasted for two hundred years. Then they, in turn, were defeated by the invading Milesians, who came from the Iberian Peninsula – where Spain and Portugal are today.”
Trailing her hand over Tristan’s shoulder and down his arm, glorying in his rock-hard muscles, Char went on, “Before the Tuatha Dé Danann were driven underground, as the legend goes, their high priests – Druids – recorded seven great prophesies of the distant future on parchment scrolls. They gave the scrolls to trusted followers, one to each man or woman to guard. Those seven chosen ones passed on their duty to one offspring, and on and on through the millenia.”
When she stopped speaking, Tristan lay back beside her. He remained silent for a few moments. Then he asked, “Do you know what the prophesies say?”
“I know what the one I guard says but not the others.”
“Why do you think the Hellhounds want the scrolls?”
“They must believe the prophesies will give them power and wealth.” She snorted at the idea. “I suspect they’re wrong, but since I haven’t read the other six scrolls, I can’t say for sure.”
Tristan rolled on his side and drew her close. “Don’t worry about it. Sleep now.”
That’s all she needed to hear. Burying her nose in his throat, she sighed and was asleep within seconds.
*
Night had grown short when Conn lay down next to Lara. Tristan had relieved him without needing to be waked, telling him to go get some sleep.
Lara turned toward him, splaying her hand on his chest. “Mmm, you’re chilled.”
“A little. Sorry I woke you.” He gathered her in his arms, loving her softness.
She smiled against his throat. “I don’t mind. I’ll warm you up.” She cuddled even closer, tangling her legs with his.
He chuckled. “You already have.” Brushing back her long hair, he kissed the scar running down her cheek. It was so much a part of her that he hardly noticed it anymore, except at moments like this when the mark drew his loving attention.
“Conn, do you think Penelope led the Hellhounds here as she believes?”
“Very likely. They showed up not long after she did.” He nibbled her ear, drawing a shiver from her but failing to distract her thoughts.
“I don’t think Char is a traitor working with the Hounds, do you?” she asked in a breathy whisper.
“Probably not,” he murmured, nuzzling her throat.
She hummed with pleasure and arched her neck to give him better access, yet persisted, “She cares too much for Marilee to endanger her, let alone her own mother.”
“I Agree,” he murmured. Closing his hand around one full breast, he caressed the nipple with his thumb. She gasped and he whispered, “Let’s not talk.” Then he sealed her lips with a hungry kiss.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thankful that the remainder of the night brought no further trouble, Char gathered with Tristan and the others in the kitchen shortly after sunrise. Worn out by the events of the past twenty-four hours, she’d had to drag herself out of bed when her fiendish lover tickled her awake. They allowed Marilee to sleep a while longer.
Tristan insisted on fixing breakfast. Proving his skills in the kitchen, he had a scrumptious frittata of eggs, sausage, hash browns and onions ready to eat in no time. After filling their stomachs and heaping praise upon the cook, the group sat around the kitchen table discussing where to take Marilee.
“I could call my sister,” Tristan offered, “and ask if she’d be willing to take care of our cousin until Johanna returns.”
“But your sister has two young children,” Char said. Seated next to him, she gazed at him earnestly. “Caring for a disabled person isn’t easy. Do you think she can manage Marilee along with her own kids?”
His lips drooped at the corners then crooked up into a wry smile. “Maybe not. She does have her hands full with her two rug rats.”
The room went quiet except for the sipping of coffee as everyone mulled over their dilemma. Char had given the matter a lot of thought, reaching the only possible conclusion.
Clearing her throat, she said, “I think we should take Marilee to Johanna’s penthouse as Tristan suggested yesterday.”
“But you said there’s no one there who can care for her,” Lara protested.
“True, which is why I’m going to stay there with her.”
“No! Absolutely not,” Lara said sharply.
“No way!” Tristan declared at the same time. “I’m not leaving the two of you there alone.”
Char shook her head. “We’ll be perfectly safe. The building has tight security.”
“Maybe so, but if you stay there I’m staying with you.” His jaw set in a stubborn line.
“Charlotte, you must come with Conn and me,” Lara pleaded. “We’ll take you to a place we know is safe, where I mean to gather all the Guardians and devise a plan to defeat our enemies.”
“Listen to Lara, honey,” Mama said. “She’s the High Guardian. She knows what’s best, and you have a sacred duty to perform.”
“But, Mama, I have a duty to Marilee, too.” Char spread her hands palms up, indicating the quandary she was in.
“I know that, and that’s why I will stay with her.”
“What! No, you can’t. It’s too dangerous.”
Her mother raised her eyebrows. “You just said the building is secure and you would be perfectly safe there. The same should hold true for me, shouldn’t it?”
“But Marilee is not your responsibility,” Char insisted, hands knotted around her coffee cup. “She’s mine.”
“Nonsense. I adore the child. I want to do this for her and for you. Furthermore, when her mother finally turns up, I plan to set that woman straight about a mother’s duty to her child.” Mama nodded firmly, lips compressed in righteous indignation.
“But, but … .”
“Angel, your mother makes good sense. Her staying with Marilee frees you to fulfill your obligation as a Guardian,” Tristan said, tunneling his hand under her hair and gently massaged her tense neck. “And by the way, I’m going with you wherever you go.” He sent Lara and Conn a determined glance, getting no argument from either one.
“But what about the restaurant?” Char asked. “You can’t just walk away from it.”
“Gus is capable of running the place on his own for a while,” he assured her. Then he smiled at her mother. “Penelope, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you for volunteering to take care of my cousin.”
“You’
re welcome, Tristan. It’s my pleasure. As I said, I adore her, and I want my daughter to be someplace safe where she can carry out her role as a Guardian.”
Lara and Conn also thanked her mother for coming to the rescue. Glancing around the relieved, grateful faces, Char saw it was no use arguing. She quietly sipped her coffee, ignoring the intermittent conversation around the table. Moments later, Marilee rang the bell attached to her bed, calling for her. Excusing herself, Char dashed upstairs, awash with sadness because she would soon have to part with the child she had come to love, as well as her own mother.
“Good morning, sweetie. You’re awake early.”
“I heard voices again.” Leaning up in bed on her elbows, Marilee rubbed her eyes one at a time.
“Everyone is up early today because we’re going to your mother’s other house after while.
“We are? Why”
Busy picking out clothes for her charge, Char explained in simple terms that they were afraid more bad men might come here, but they wouldn’t be able to get into the penthouse. The mention of bad men convinced Marilee leaving was a good idea.
Char skipped the girl’s usual bath and, making quick work of the necessities, she got her dressed and escorted her downstairs. Fixing her breakfast of oatmeal, toast and juice, she left her to eat with Char’s mother and Lara keeping an eye on her while they cleaned up the kitchen. Tristan and Conn had gone out to check the grounds for intruders.
Rushing back upstairs, Char packed medical supplies and only a few clothes for Marilee, knowing she had plenty at the penthouse. Next came toys. Filling a large tote with stuffed animals and dolls, she also reached up onto the top shelf in the girl’s closet. In the far back corner, behind dusty shoe boxes, she found what she was looking for: a small, bluish metal tube. In it was the precious scroll she was entrusted with. She’d put it there amid Marilee’s things thinking it the safest possible place.
Next, she packed her own belongings, leaving behind anything she deemed unnecessary. The scroll went into an inner pocket of her duffle bag, along with her socks and underclothes. Tristan walked into her room just as she was zipping the bag.
“How’s it coming?” he asked.
“I think I’m done.” Hands on her hips, she turned in a slow circle to make sure she hadn’t forgotten something she might need. “Yes, that’s it. Marilee’s bags are in her room.”
“This is heavy,” he said, picking up her duffle bag. “What do you have in here, a few gold bars?” He winked, clearly teasing.
“Ha! I’m afraid not. All it contains are my meager possessions, minus a few I won’t miss.” She smiled from her heart. “And one very special item.”
His hazel eyes glowed. “Thank you, angel, for trusting me with it.”
A short time later, she sat beside him in his Porsche. Her mother and Marilee rode with Conn and Lara in their SUV. After folding down the third row of seats, the men had managed to hoist the power wheelchair into the back of the large vehicle.
“Johanna will be furious when she finds out about the damaged gate,” Char said as they drove through the wide gap in the wall.
“Tough,” Tristan sneered. “The witch can afford to have it repaired.”
Char hid a grin behind her hand. He really couldn’t stand his stuck-up cousin by marriage. Come to think of it, neither could she.
Heavy traffic slowed them down, but they arrived safely at Johanna’s Park Avenue address. The place offered valet parking and Joseph, the dignified black doorman, was accommodating after he recognized Marilee and Char. He helped unload Marilee’s chair then buzzed for a valet. While he oversaw the parking of their vehicles, they proceeded inside where they were greeted by William, the tall, gray-uiformed concierge.
“Welcome, Miss Marilee,” he said with a wide smile. Knowing Char and Tristan, he also welcomed them. However, he eyed their companions uncertainly. Sensing his suspicion, Char introduced her mother and told him Lara and Conn were friends who had graciously helped transport Marilee from Long Island. That seemed to satisfy the man.
Char felt a twinge of guilt for telling him Cantrell House was in need of unexpected repairs and that Mrs. Cantrell knew they were bringing her daughter here for safety’s sake. She disliked lying but what else could she do?
A handsomely decorated elevator carried them swiftly and quietly to the top floor. Since Char had a key to the penthouse for emergency use only, which this certainly was, they had no problem gaining entry.
“My word!” her mother gasped when they stepped into the luxurious residence. Staring at the expensive, ultra-modern furniture, watered silk wall coverings and garish, gilt-trimmed paintings, she said, “I thought the mansion was grand, but this is so … .”
“Ostentatious?” Tristan supplied. “Johanna does love living in grand style.”
“Is my mother here?” Marilee asked.
“No, sweetie,” Char replied, removing the girls hat and mittens, “but she’ll be here as soon as she returns from her trip. Remember I told you she was going away with her friend? But she will be back before Christmas.”
“Goody! She’ll bring presents.” Clapping, the innocent girl smiled brightly, looking like a golden-haired cherub.
“Sure she will.” Char hugged her, heart aching for this child who needed a mother who would give her love, not just material things. “Right now, let’s show my mother your room, okay?”
“Okay.”
Char glanced at Lara, seeing she’d taken a seat in the living room – the salon, she corrected herself. Conn perused an abstract painting on one wall that Char hated, while Tristan examined Johanna’s well stocked bar. Leaving them to their own devices, she guided Marilee’s chair down the hall to her room with her mother following.
“I’d know whose room this is just by the colors,” Mama said upon entering the pink-decorated bedroom, obviously recalling Marilee’s room at Cantrell House.
“I love pink,” the girl chirped.
“Well, of course you do. It’s a perfect color for such a pretty girl.”
Marilee beamed. “You’re nice, Penny. I like you.”
“I like you, too, honey.”
Interrupting, Char said, “Let me show you the bathroom, Mama. It’s specially equipped for Marilee.” She opened the wide door, letting her mother precede her into the private bathroom.
“As you can see, I use a lift to move her from the chair to the tub and back again.” She explained how the lift worked then frowned in concern at her mother. “The difficult part is lifting her on and off the lift. She’s not super heavy but she’s still an armful. Do you think you can handle her?”
“I’ll manage just fine. And if I should happen to need help, I’ll buzz that nice man at the desk in the lobby. I bet he can find someone to give me a hand.”
“I didn’t think of that, but I’m sure you’re right. William will do whatever he can to help. Good thinking, Mama.” Giving her a quick hug, she went into the details of caring for a paraplegic.
Marilee sat watching and listening the whole time. Smarter then most people, including her mother, gave her credit for, she figured out what was going on.
“Char, are you going away?” she asked fearfully.
Taking a deep breath, Char crouched in front of her. “Yes, darling girl, I am, for a while. But my mother will stay with you until your mother comes home, maybe longer.” She darted a questioning look at her mother and received an affirmative nod.
Marilee’s lips trembled. “But I don’t want you to go away.”
Rising, Char, bent over the tearful girl, holding her tight. “I know, love, and I don’t want to go. But Lara and Conn and some other people need my help. It’s very important, but I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“Do you promise?”
“Yes, sweetie, I promise,” Char vowed in a choked voice.
*
Cloaked in dark gray with a deep hood hiding his features, Master Balor – as he was known to his followers – paced his diml
y lighted workroom, seething with rage. Thanks to the idiots he’d ordered to capture Lara Flewellen, she had eluded him again along with one of the lesser Guardians. Passing a long table piled high with papers and books on occult subjects, he furiously swept a stack of papers off the table, scattering them across the floor.
After waiting all night for his three lackeys to deliver the captured women, he’d sent out two more men to investigate. They’d called in minutes ago, reporting that the Long Island mansion where the two Guardians were holed up now stood empty. Spotting skid marks left by two vehicles racing away from the house, they’d traced their route to a turnoff with more skidding tire tracks. This led them to a steep cliff, at the bottom of which lay a wrecked car half submerged in water. The pair had recognized the white sedan belonging to one of the original three worthless fools. The trio had fallen into a well-laid trap.
Cursing their stupidity, the Balor stopped pacing when a door opened. One of his men led in a young woman dressed in a filthy white tunic, with bedraggled dark hair concealing her downcast face. She swayed on her feet, requiring the guard to steady her.
“Look at me,” Balor ordered, holding one finger over the opening of thetracheostomy tube in his throat that allowed him to breathe. His voice emerged as a metallic hiss. He hated it.
The girl raised her head, blinked and stared at him through drug-glazed eyes the same golden color as her sister Lara’s eyes.
“How’s my queenie this morning?” he sneered.
“I’m fine, Master,” she muttered.
He’d promised to make her his queen once he possessed the scrolls and the power he was certain they would bestow upon him. The idea of making a heroine addict his consort was beyond laughable, but she’d believed him, allowing him to use her unusual connection with her sister to further his aims. He fed her drug habit, making her easy to control. Amazingly, her hazy state did not prevent her from carrying out her tasks, the only reason she still lived.
“Come here, Sara.”