by Brenda Joyce
But she wasn’t fond of him. Women did not betray the men they cared for.
Could she really betray him?
It almost hurt to think that she could.
Someone touched his shoulder. He was so deeply in thought, he hadn’t heard his approach. He flinched and met Rob’s intent gaze. “Ye let her speak against ye.”
He stiffened. “’Tis her way.”
“The men are whisperin’ she has ye bewitched.”
His tension soared. “They dinna ken the truth about her.”
“They ken ye want her so badly, ye let her rant an’ rave without respect or discipline.”
Rob was right.
“Will ye let her betray ye, as well?”
“Of course not,” he snapped. But he felt uncertain—and he was never uncertain.
“A woman should make a man strong, not weak.” Rob walked away.
He was incredulous again. Rob thought him weak? But if he let her plot against him, if he did not punish her, then he was very weak, indeed—and Blayde would eventually fall victim to his enemies.
He had to end this before she did the unthinkable.
His mind was made up. He strode to the front doors and flung them open. She was still trying to put her magic on him. She hoped to block him from her thoughts. Every time he felt her magic pressing on him, pulling him into its vortex, he willed it far away. He intended to be the victor in that contest.
He saw her on the ramparts, silhouetted against the clearing skies. If she cared about him, even a small bit, she would not be doing this.
He glanced at his prisoner. The MacDougall boy was cloaked in his red-and-black colors. He choked. Then he turned and shouted, “Rob, get my brat from the boy.”
“I wouldna wish to be her now,” Rob muttered, hurrying past him.
Macleod strode across the ward. He started swiftly up the stairs. As he came up to the ramparts, he saw that she was in a deep trance, her eyes closed, her face lifted to the emerging sun. Sweat shone on her skin, making it almost translucent. Her arms were extended, palms up and oddly limp. She did not notice him.
For one moment he stared, aware of her beauty, her power and her grace. In that moment, he thought about how she had wanted to offer him comfort, which he’d refused. Her desire to somehow heal him and erase the past had annoyed him dangerously. Now, he would dearly love to have her harping on him that way. Then he glanced into the bailey. Rob had stripped the boy of the wool.
Macleod noted the pail. Tabitha had brought him water. His displeasure increased. So did his resolve. “Tabitha.”
She did not hear him.
“Tabitha.”
She started, her eyes flying open and, when lucidity appeared in her gaze, she paled.
“Will ye come inside an’ dine?” he asked flatly.
She was breathing hard, trembling, and the fine gown he’d given her clung to her lush curves. Even as angry as he was, his body stirred. She did not answer, starting to rise. He reached to help her, but she flinched at his touch and jerked away. “Don’t.”
He truly tried to check his anger. “Ye begged fer my touch this dawn.”
A flush appeared. “Yes, I did.”
He hadn’t expected such an answer. “I can make ye beg again—right now—right here.” She would not be his enemy when she was weeping in pleasure and release.
“No, you can’t,” she warned.
He was tempted to show her that the attraction which raged between them, the desire which made him insatiable, remained.
She breathed hard and said, as if reading his mind, “No, Macleod. Don’t think it. It’s over now.”
“’Tisna over, Tabitha. ’Tis only ended when I say so.” And he meant it.
“I cannot allow you to abuse Coinneach, and I will not let you execute him.”
Didn’t she know how provocative those words were? “Yer courage amazes me. Ye dinna give the commands here.”
“What you are doing is wrong,” she said. “In my time, there are rules which govern the treatment of prisoners. Do you want to hear them?”
He was actually interested, but he shook his head. “I willna war with ye, and I willna allow ye to war with me.”
“The reason there are rules is not to protect the enemy’s soldiers as much as to protect your own soldiers. Of course, in my time, we value all human life.”
He stared at her. Coinneach’s mother was a witch, but he was certain that Coinneach was not evil or inhuman.
“Has it ever occurred to you that if you showed mercy to a MacDougall, they would show mercy to a Macleod?”
“O’ course,” he said, suddenly angry. “But there wasna mercy in 1201. I dinna start this feud.”
She inhaled. “I know. It was awful. I am so sorry!”
He was stunned. She still wanted to help him! She thought to free Coinneach and help him with his pain. He softened his tone. “Come down and dine before ye get sickened. We can converse about yer rules—an’ about the massacre.”
Her eyes widened. It took her a moment, but she said, “Are you trying to distract me? Because it won’t work.”
“So ye refuse to come to the hall with me?”
She hesitated and, grimly, she nodded.
“I canna free him,” he exclaimed, all patience gone. “He will return, an’ next time, mayhap he’ll put his dagger in my back while I sleep! Do ye wish me dead?”
“Of course not. But someone has to take the high road and stop this insane war.”
His tension soared. “This war will go on forever.” It was actually a dismal thought. “I’ll war until I die. I owe my father that much. Why canna ye comprehend my world?”
“I do comprehend your world. It is a world of violence, where might makes right—only the strong survive. It is a jungle, with no value for human life! What will it take to end this bloody feud? How many boys and men must die first? Isn’t it enough that evil claims so many innocent lives?”
“My father made peace with the MacDougall, an’ it was a great mistake. While he slept, while we all slept, they came inside Blayde an’ murdered everyone except for me. Children died in their beds that day, Tabitha, Macleod children.”
“You have suffered terribly, Macleod. I wish you had been spared all that you have lived through. And your father was a great man, to attempt to make peace. Whatever you think you owe him, you’ve paid—overpaid! I have no doubt he would want you to be happy.”
He jerked. “Happy? What kind of word is that?”
“He’d want you to be at peace!”
“My duty is revenge.”
She shook her head, her color high now. “What happened here in 1201 was evil. Many innocent men, women and children died. But you’re not evil, and Coinneach is Innocent.”
“An’ now ye’ll harp on me?”
She nodded, her face strained. “I refuse to believe that you are not destined to be a Master. You were born to protect Innocence, not destroy it. I know that massacre made you hard and vengeful. I know you think it your duty to war on your mortal enemies. But you have a much higher calling in life. Why won’t you consider that?”
“Ye sound like MacNeil!” he exclaimed.
She suddenly touched his arm and he felt her compassion flowing from her. “Have you ever considered forgiving the MacDougalls and starting over with them?”
He was disbelieving. “Ye ken naught o’ this world!”
“Others will suffer as you have, both Macleods and MacDougalls, if this does not end. Do you want your son to spend his lifetime beheading MacDougalls to avenge you?”
He trembled with absolute rage. The ramparts shuddered beneath them, around them. “Cease! I willna have a son!”
Her eyes widened. “Of course you won’t. You’re too smart. You would never wish this life on your child.”
He could not allow her to continue this way. He seized her shoulders. He ignored her stiff, resistant body and pulled her closer; she gasped when his manhood brushed her. “Ferget the
MacDougall boy,” he snapped. She was very still in his arms, while he pressed fully up against her. “Come with me now, to my chamber. I want this war over…an’ I will win.”
She pushed against him, but she was breathless. “No, stop. I will not be seduced—this is too important!”
He ignored her and wrapped her in his arms. “This is much better, Tabitha, dinna ye agree?”
She trembled violently and it was a surge of desire. He felt a moment’s pure triumph, looked down, and their gazes locked.
Hers was clouded with tears, pride, passion and fierce determination. “Even if I give you my body, I will come back here and free Coinneach.” A tear fell. “Then, even if you beat me, starve me, abuse me, I will stay and help you find a way to get past the massacre.”
He released her. “Even in yer defiance, ye’re the most annoyin’ shrew!”
She hugged herself, rocking on her heels, another tear falling down her cheek. But she didn’t back up or try to flee. “There is something strong and powerful between us,” she whispered. “I saw you across time and you felt and saw me. Not just once but for a century. And the desire, well, it’s obviously still there.” She wiped the tear away. “I’m a Rose. I am proud to be a Rose. Fighting to protect, defend and to help others, is what we do. I am fighting for Coinneach, and I am fighting for you.”
He almost told her he could fight for himself. Instead, he was silent. He was certain he had never encountered such conviction before.
“Macleod, please, let the boy go. His great-grandfather caused the deaths of your family. He is an Innocent.”
He tensed, almost tempted to surrender to her. But the moment he realized that, he knew he had become dangerously weakened. This woman had weakened him. He had to fight her powerful allure. He spoke without passion. “Will ye come down to dine?”
“Can you really watch him die, day by day? Can you?”
Not only could he do so, he would do so. “Come down to dine,” he said again. “This matter is closed.” And if she tried to raise it later, when they were alone, he would change the subject and use his powers of sexual persuasion if he must.
She shook her head. “We won’t be alone later, Macleod. I thought I made that clear.”
His hard body told him otherwise. He crossed his arms and stared. He never spent the night alone and he had no intention of starting now.
“I can’t ignore what you are doing. I will help you, but I can’t share your bed again, and that is that.” She trembled.
He was almost amused. “I never sleep alone,” he finally said. “If ye refuse me, I will send for another woman.” He was merely stating a fact.
She cried out.
He was surprised that his use of another woman would be so hurtful to her, but he did not dwell on that. It was hardly important. Instead, he said, “I suggest ye think long an’ hard on whether ye choose the boy over me.”
He turned to go but she stopped him in his tracks. She said, very softly, “If you sleep with another woman, you will never have me again.”
He faltered, incredulous. As he faced her, he knew she meant it. His next words were a warning. “Tabitha, ye must choose to ignore my affairs.”
“I can’t,” she said simply.
His heart lurched, hard. “Then we are at an impasse.”
“Yes, we are,” she said.
KRISTIN LAFARGE’S SENSES told her her roommate was out as she unlocked and entered their small apartment. She was pleased, because the woman was getting on her nerves.
Her mother wasn’t there, either.
Kristin was alarmed. She hadn’t seen her mother for almost twenty-four hours. Where was she? “Mother? Can you hear me? I need to speak with you.”
Kristin took off her coat, crossing the living room, which was sparsely furnished. She’d left the front door unlocked—she did not fear evil, and why should she? When she heard the door open, she turned, thinking it her mother. Then she sensed her roommate, Liz.
Liz smiled at her, then ducked her head and rushed into the kitchen. Kristin smiled. Her roommate was afraid of her. Liz was starting to speculate—and pretty soon, she might even figure things out.
Kristin laughed. She wasn’t worried, not at all.
“Mother, would you please get back here?”
There was no response, and Kristin sat down on the couch, taking her small laptop out of her briefcase.
Liz poked her head out of the kitchen. “Are you talking to me?”
“No, I’m not.” Kristin smiled sweetly. Liz paled and returned to the kitchen. She went online. “Well, if you’re listening, she went to Blayde in 1298,” she continued. “And guess what? I am going to get the powers I need to follow her there. Don’t worry. This will be over very, very soon.”
Liz came out of the kitchen, staring at her in alarm.
“Looking at me that way is not a good idea.”
Liz flushed. “Look, Kristin, this isn’t working out. I think you should find a new place.” She shifted uneasily.
Kristin sighed. If only the bitch had minded her own business. She simply stared at her, forming her black power into a noose. She slipped the noose around Liz’s throat. Liz touched her neck, obviously feeling something. Kristin smiled, pleasure beginning. Her mother had told her that one of her ancestors had been Satan’s grandson, centuries ago. It would explain why she could take so much pleasure in torture and pain.
She murmured, “Tighten, noose.”
Liz gasped, her hands flying to her neck as the invisible rope began to strangle her.
“Tighten, noose,” Kristin said, now breathing hard.
Liz reeled, trying to pull the invisible noose from her neck. She staggered across the room, choking. Her eyes were wide with panic and terror, and they begged Kristin to stop. Kristin wet her lips. “Tighten, noose,” she cried.
Liz fell to the floor, her face turning blue.
Kristin stood, panting. “Tighten!”
And she heard Liz’s neck snap.
She closed her eyes and let the pleasure wash over her, moaning softly. Then she imagined that it was Tabitha Rose, the bitch, who lay on that floor, broken and dead. Her pleasure renewed itself.
It took her a moment to calm. And then she sat down at the laptop and booked the presidential suite at the Carlisle Hotel.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE SUN WAS SETTING. The occupants of the castle had finished dining some time ago. Tabby had been able to hear the dinner conversation from her new bedchamber. Macleod had been angry when she insisted on a separate room, but he hadn’t taken a stand and tried to force her into sharing his room. She had decided not to go downstairs to eat, not because she had no appetite but because she did not want to sit with Macleod—it was far too tense between them now. A small girl had brought her meal up to her, although she hadn’t had to ask for it. Unfortunately, she knew Macleod had sent it.
She wished he hadn’t done that. She did not want to see him as thoughtful, but the gesture had been exactly that. Of course, she’d been given a full meal—while Coinneach starved outside in the stocks.
Tabby hugged her knees to her chest. She was seated on the pallet she would sleep on. The chamber she’d found was in Blayde’s south tower, directly across the hall from the north tower where Macleod slept. It was the size of a prison cell, but it had a window, which Tabby thought was a plus. There was no furniture, just a small stool and the pallet.
Downstairs, a silence had fallen, as everyone settled down for the night.
God, she was feeling so sad now. She felt sorry for Coinneach, who was physically suffering, and she felt sorry for Macleod, who was a prisoner of his duty, his anger, his grief and, apparently, even his guilt. She was starting to realize why he wanted that boy dead. She was suspecting he wished he had died in the massacre, too. Instead, he had survived, and now he lived for revenge.
It made her feel even sadder. He was so courageous and so powerful. If he would walk away from that revenge and take his vows,
he would be a hero. Wanting to help them both made her feel as if she was walking a very precarious tightrope, with no net below to break her fall.
Tabby was acutely aware that she could not stop thinking about Macleod. It was almost funny. She’d become obsessed from the first time she’d seen him at the Met, when he was hurt and burned from An Tùir-Tara—when it was obvious that he needed her. But when she’d seen him at school, she’d been so certain that the dark, dangerous warrior didn’t need her or anybody. She had been completely wrong. But the real irony was that from the moment they’d met, she’d wanted to avoid getting close to him, yet every encounter had deepened their intimacy. Their moral conflict was keeping them apart, but it was also making her see him and understand him as never before.
Why will ye nay comprehend my world?
Do ye wish to see me dead?
Ye said ye willna judge me.
She laid her face on her knees. She had to free him from his past. She felt certain he would become a changed man if she could accomplish that feat. If he gave up his revenge, he might even take his vows.
Think long an’ hard on whether ye choose the boy over me.
She had promised Coinneach she would free him that night. To do so, she would have to use her magic against Macleod. The only way she could get those keys was if she put a sleeping spell on him—and if it worked.
She was wondering if her spell to block him from reading her mind had worked. He hadn’t mentioned anything, but she had cast her spell with care. Hopefully any thoughts she had about Coinneach were now impossible for him to hear.
Tabby glanced at the chamber’s sole window. It was dusk now, the sky a dark shade of lavender, a few stars emerging in the purple sky. Right now, if they weren’t in this terrible predicament, she’d be in his bed, in his arms. She did not want to let her mind go there, but being in his embrace had felt incredibly right.
She flushed. She had ended their physical relationship, but a part of her knew it wasn’t over. How could it be, when she was so determined to help free him from his bondage? When she was so damn attracted to him? When he was the only man who had ever thoroughly and completely aroused her?