Eternity's Mark

by Maeve Greyson

  “Yes, Hannah. Ye were delirious.” Taggart raked his wet hair away from his face, then sheathed his claymore at his side.

  Stomping over to her bag to rummage around for another shirt, Hannah stumbled and tripped over the folds of the blanket. She silently cursed the rock that had just jammed her big toe. As she hopped and yanked the blanket out of the way, Hannah snapped, “Well, if I was so delirious with a fever, what did I try to do?”

  His jawline rippling with his clenched teeth, Taggart folded his arms across his chest. “Ye don’t believe me? Ye don’t think ye were delirious? Be careful what ye wish for, my little Guardian, because with just one word and a wave of my hand, I can return every memory to your stubborn little head.”

  After she fished a shirt out of her bag, Hannah moved back closer to the fire. She should’ve never come to Scotland, especially not with such an infuriating smart-ass. “I haven’t known you all that long, but I know I’m not a bad person. What could I have possibly done that was so bad in this dreadful state of delirium?” Pulling the fresh shirt underneath the blanket, she returned his narrow-eyed glare. She wished he’d just spit it out. She was freezing to death and still jet-lagged. She wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions. “And you’re the one who’d better be coming up with some explanations, Taggart. As soon as I finish getting dressed and get this fire built up, we’re going to discuss this little chronological announcement you made down at the spring that started my little roller-coaster blackout.”

  With a muttered curse, Taggart strode across the clearing in a ground-eating stride, clapping his hands in her face. “Esromer!”

  Hannah tasted Taggart on her tongue as though he’d just lifted his mouth from hers. She rubbed her fingertips across her lips; the fresh rasp of his stubbled jaw throbbed anew across her flesh. Her body flushed hot. Her nipples tightened; her breasts ached for the return of his touch. She remembered. She’d kissed him, reached out to him; she’d wanted more but ... no. It hadn’t been him. Oh good gawd, she had called out to Jake. “Well, it wasn’t like I was really kissing you. You know I thought it was Jake.”

  Taggart whirled away from her, stomping his way back across the clearing, where he shot her an angry glare across the fire. “That explanation makes it so much better. Thank ye very much, Hannah.”

  Hannah fumbled out of her ripped blouse, yanked on the fresh shirt underneath the cover of the blanket, and then wadded it up into a ball. She kicked it over beside her pack. She had no trouble maintaining her body temperature now. Taggart’s attitude kept her plenty warm. There wasn’t any reason for him to be a jerk. He still owed her many explanations. “Well, apparently, you weren’t all that wild about kissing me anyway. I don’t remember anything about you pushing the advantage.”

  Taggart rolled his eyes and held up a warning hand. “Oh no! I am not taking that bait. Many a man down through the centuries has met his downfall by following that line of conversation with a woman.” He circled around the edge of the clearing, gathered a few sticks of wood, and tossed them on the fire. “Have ye seen Gearlach? He was supposed to be watching over ye while I took a swim in the spring.”

  Hannah frowned and shook her head. “No. I was alone when I woke up, and why would I need someone to watch over me? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Believe it or not I’ve lived this long without you watching my every move.”

  Worrying his hands through his still-dripping hair, Taggart eyed Hannah as though she’d lost her mind. “I’ve just finished healing ye from a delirious fever. And need I remind ye of the attack on your life but a few days ago?”

  “Oh—well. I guess you have a point there.” Hannah picked up a stick and stirred the coals of the fire, grudgingly mesmerized by the glowing embers. She’d tried to put the memory of the felled trees from the attack at Jasper Mills to the back of her mind. “Which reminds me, you said you’d tended to Gearlach since he was a hatchling and he’s now five hundred years old. So exactly how old does that make you?” Hannah raised her stick from the depths of the coals and watched the flame dance about on the tip. Not a sound could be heard except for the hiss of the fire and the distant hoot-hooting of an owl serenading the stars.

  Hannah turned from the fire, the flaming brand in her hand, her temper simmering hotter than the tip of the stick. “Taggart, I’m waiting. How old are you? I know you’ve got to be older than five hundred years if you’ve been babysitting Gearlach all that time.”

  His face drawn, Taggart approached Hannah as though he trudged to the gallows. “Why does my age shock ye so, Hannah? Ye didna bat an eye at the sight of an eighteen-foot Draecna, but ye fainted when ye learned I was over five centuries old.”

  He’s not human. Hannah tossed the stick and hugged the gooseflesh of her arms as she peered deeper into the iciness of his gaze. She’d seen his smile. No fangs that she’d noticed. Then what exactly was he? Hannah swallowed hard at the knot lodged in her throat. Her voice rasped around her uncertainty. “Answer the question. How old are you, Taggart? And more importantly, what are you?”

  His lips tightened as he lifted his chin, fierce blue eyes filled with challenge. The chiseled planes of his body tensed as he stalked around the dancing flames of the fire. “I am Taggart de Gaelson, eldest son of the Royal House of Cair Orlandis. I am seven hundred and seventy-seven years old and I come from another reality. I come from Erastaed, from the world on the other side of the portal of Taroc Na Mor, ancestral home to the race of the sacred Draecna. I am chosen protector from the Guild of Barac’-Nairn, watchers over the blessed guardian.”

  “Blessed guardian?” Hannah swallowed hard before licking her lips. That movement proved futile; her mouth had gone drier than the sands of the Sahara.

  Taggart nodded once in her direction. “Aye, that would be you.”

  Hannah sank to a fallen log and leaned back against a tree. Digging her fingers into the sponge of the rotted bark, she gulped a ragged breath of the dank, loam-scented wood. Hannah ground her palms against the log until it splintered between her fingers. She plunged her nails deep into the damp crumbling bark; maybe if she clenched something tight enough the reality of Taggart’s words might somehow make more sense.

  “Seven hundred and seventy-seven years old.” Hannah repeated the words as though mumbling a spell. “A world called Erastaed.” Maybe if she said it aloud it might make it easier to accept. No, this couldn’t be real. She must still be delirious from that fever. She pressed the back of her hands to check the heat of her forehead as she choked out a whisper, “I’ve never heard of that place ... that Erastaed, and nobody can live to be over seven hundred years old. At least I’ve never heard of anyone living that long. I just don’t see how what you’re saying could be true. There’s got to be a more logical explanation.” She closed her mind against the nagging inner voice. The voice whispering that if Taggart’s words weren’t true, then how could she explain Gearlach?

  With a bitter laugh, Taggart turned away and tossed another log into the middle of the fire. A shower of sparks exploded into the night and the flames licked higher into the air. “Do ye no’ think it a bit conceited to believe this world ye’re standin’ in is the only reality in existence?”

  Hannah covered her face with shaking hands as an icy shiver of recognition tickled teasing fingers up her spine. Grandma had repeated wondrous folk tales to her when she was a little girl. The eerie bedtime stories often portrayed Hannah as the heroine and never failed to lull her to sleep. But surely, that’s all they had been—stories to entertain a lonely child. Weren’t they? She couldn’t wrap her mind around this. Jet lag. Strange country. A freakin’ creature that looked like he’d stepped out of one of her mythology books, and now an annoying, sexy guide who turned out to be from some other reality.

  Not bothering to open her eyes, Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, you know how self-centered we earthlings can be. But why don’t you humor me and just tell me the name of your world again. I’m afraid I’m in inform
ation overload right now and I didn’t quite catch it earlier. Could you please repeat it so I’ll know exactly where you’re from?”

  The log shifted as Taggart joined her, causing Hannah to lurch against his side. Scrabbling her way to the other end of the teetering seat, she glared at the mischief flashing in his eyes. He did that on purpose. He delighted in baiting her. Did he want her to split his lip again? Hannah gritted her teeth. “Are you going to tell me where you are from or not?”

  “Erastaed is the name of my world. Cair Orlandis is the Royal House or the bloodline from which I descend.” Taggart folded his hands as he rested his elbows on his knees. “Ye reach my world through the portal located at Taroc Na Mor. There is a powerful gateway there permitting passage to many wondrous worlds, or dimensions. Gearlach and his kind are the conductors of the portals. Without the awesome power of the mystical Draecna, the gateways would cease to function.”

  Royal bloodlines, portals to other worlds that needed mystical beasts to power them? Hannah closed her eyes and massaged her temples. He’d said he was the eldest son. Hannah opened her eyes. “If you’re the eldest son of a royal house, then why aren’t you back at the castle leading your people or something? Or isn’t that how it works in your world?”

  A groaning sigh pulled Taggart’s face into a troubled scowl. Rising from the log, he stoked the fire until the flames licked even higher toward the winking stars piercing through the darkness. Lifting his face toward the pinpoints of light, he turned a slow circle as though searching for a particular set. “The hour grows late, Hannah. Pull your pallet close to the fire and try to get some rest. There will be time for more answers tomorrow. I promise. The longer we’re at Taroc Na Mor, the more you will come to understand.”

  Hannah’s head snapped up in disbelief. Did he actually presume to send her to bed? Was he serious? Taggart’s face glowed by the light of the blaze as he stared down into the depths of the coals.

  “I am not tired,” Hannah retorted. “I want information. I think it’s important I know more about you before I go any further.”

  “Please, Hannah,” Taggart begged without pulling his gaze from the snapping flames. “I’m weary and I’m askin’ ye. Please leave it until tomorrow.”

  Something in his voice wrenched at her heart. Hannah heard utter bleakness, a deeply felt sorrow; she sensed a sadness sifting into his tone. Taggart sounded defeated. She didn’t like it when he went belly up. It just didn’t fit his protective nature.

  Rolling her aching shoulders as she rose from her seat on the stump, she headed over to fetch her pallet. Another glance at his drawn, weary face stayed the questions on the tip of her tongue. No. She’d bide her time. Find out more when Taggart was ready. After all, there wasn’t any need to cause him pain. Hannah scooped up the blankets and hugged them to her chest. “Well, maybe I’m more tired than I thought. Good night, Taggart. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “Sleep well, Hannah, and thank ye.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Why did you leave her after I specifically asked ye to watch over her?” Taggart risked a glance back over his shoulder at Hannah as Gearlach fidgeted in place before him. Good. She still slept. At least while she snored beneath the mound of blankets, she didn’t batter him with questions he wasn’t prepared to answer.

  Gearlach hung his head and worried a splintered claw around one of his crooked horns. He wrinkled the mottled skin on his great, greenish snout as he stubbed the foreclaw of his right foot deep into the soft earth. “I heard something prowling about in the wood and I thought I should go have a look-see.” He fretted and scraped an odd-shaped symbol in the dried silt he’d knocked loose from the limestone shelf extending around the base of the cliff. He balanced himself with stubby forearms held akimbo; his scaled body swaying back and forth as he scratched jagged glyphs deep in the darkened soil with the curved claw on his biggest toe.

  “Stop that, Gearlach! Ye know that symbol will call up a storm and I am sick and tired of getting soaked.” Taggart rubbed out the markings with the toe of his boot as he shoved against the sulking Draecna’s chest.

  “Well, if ye would go ahead and mate with the snippy lass, ye wouldna have to keep dousing your cock in every bit of icy water ye can find.” Gearlach shoved back, knocking Taggart across the clearing into a thicket of newly sprouted rowans.

  Rage surged through him as he disentangled himself from the weave of silvery branches. With teeth clenched, Taggart stumbled out of the brush and knocked broken branches off his sleeves. He’d strangle that insolent, oversized lizard. With a glance over at the motionless mound of blankets by the fire, he bit back the response he longed to roar. Hannah still hadn’t moved. Thank the fires of all Erastaed; the longer the woman slept, the better. He dreaded all the questions she’d launch at him as soon as those accusing eyes popped open.

  “It—is—forbidden,” Taggart hissed through gritted teeth. “And ye know there are several reasons why.”

  Gearlach rolled his golden eyes as he stretched out a tip of his hooked wing and scratched behind his scaly pointed ear. “Do ye truly think she will mind the fact ye are a Draecna hybrid and ye’ve hidden your form in that human shape she seems to favor so much? She seems to be the sensible sort. After all, she didna mind me. She didna even scream.”

  “Ecnelis!” Taggart snapped with a nod of his head. “Ye will be silent until I decide ye have found the wisdom to know what information should be spoken aloud and what should not be shared with any who happen to be in your presence.”

  “What is all the yelling about?” Hannah’s muffled growl emerged from the depths of the blankets piled beside the fire.

  “God’s beard,” Taggart groaned. “Now look what ye’ve done. Ye’ve awakened the raging beastie herself.” Taggart shot Gearlach a withering glare as the Draecna fixed him with a sharp-toothed grin and returned to cleaning the dirt from underneath his claws with the pointed tip of his tail.

  “I heard that,” Hannah snapped, throwing back the covers as she rolled to her knees. She wrestled her way out of the wad of blankets and stumbled toward the dwindling fire while rubbing her lower back. “Why did you let me sleep so long? We should’ve been up and going hours ago.”

  “Ye needed your rest,” Taggart grumbled. He wasn’t about to tell her the real reason. He cringed and waited for the arsenal of questions he knew perched on the tip of her tongue.

  Shaking out the blankets, Hannah winced with a roll of her shoulders and folded the blankets against her chest. “I guess I was pretty tired. Jet lag must’ve nabbed me after all. But we really need to get moving. Instead of bothering with a campfire breakfast, can we just eat some of that dried trail mix while we ride? Where’s the bottled water? If you don’t mind, I’m not all that up on drinking water out of that spring.”

  Taggart cut a glance over toward Gearlach, who merely tapped a claw across his pale green lips and returned a wink before ambling off into the woods. “Ye don’t even want some of that noxious coffee ye favor so much? I have a coffeepot in the pack. I can have some of the black wicked brew ready for ye in no time at all.”

  Hannah rolled the blankets into a tighter bundle and belted them behind her saddle. “As tempting as that generous offer sounds, I’m anxious to see Taroc Na Mor. I’ll just wait until we get there for my first cup of the day. I’d rather we got going if you don’t mind.”

  The minx plotted something. He’d bet Gearlach’s oversized arse in gold. Did she think him some sort of fool? Taggart scratched the stubble peppering his face while he admired the temptation of her fine, round backside as she bent to shove gear into another bag. She hadn’t mentioned a word about last night. Not one prying question or comment about anything they’d discussed. He’d been certain she’d launch a verbal assault as soon as those fiery green eyes popped open. She had to be setting some sort of trap. “Aye, perhaps that would be best. The sooner we get ye settled at Taroc Na Mor, the sooner ye shall see what a fine place ye have come to call y
our own.” Taggart kicked dirt on what was left of the night’s fire and smothered out the orange, glowing coals.

  As they rode down the trail, Taggart rolled his shoulders as though feeling an itch he couldn’t reach. Hannah’s stare burned through the center of his back. Her mind hummed at him with questions she longed to ask. Dammit to hell, the woman electrified the very air with everything she wished to know. She fair ticked aloud like an activated bomb set to detonate at any minute. Taggart slowed his horse and turned in the saddle to face her. “Hannah, for heaven’s sake, by all that is holy. Just ask me what ye want to know.”

  Hannah arched a brow and stared back at him, her hands folded atop the horn of the saddle. “Wow. Aren’t we a little tense this morning?” She popped another handful of raisins and nuts in her mouth as she rocked to the rhythm of the horse’s gait.

  With an irritated growl, Taggart swung back around in his saddle and urged his horse to a faster trot. The woman bordered along the edge of impossible. He knew she wanted to ask him questions. Why didn’t she just do it?

  “I learned a long time ago no man is going to tell me anything until he’s quite good and ready. I figure when you’re ready to talk, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”

  The little minx. Taggart pulled on his reins and brought his horse to an abrupt stop. He turned in the saddle just in time to catch Hannah’s grin. “Last night ye asked me why I wasn’t the leader of my people since I am the eldest son of a royal line? Do ye remember that, ye wicked woman? Never ye mind, dinna answer that.” Taggart arched a brow well into his hairline while his hands tensed into a strangle hold on the reins. He wasn’t about to give her the opportunity to answer, knowing Hannah would just piss him off. “I guess ye could say my father found me to be bit different. So, he chose my younger brother in my stead.”

  Hannah shifted, leaning forward in the saddle and scrutinized him up and down. “What do you mean different? Is it your magic? Grandma always told me to keep quiet about the magic. You know people fear what they don’t understand.”