by Brenda Joyce
She stared at the darkening sky, sick with dread. Was he alone?
She couldn’t imagine him refraining from sex, now that she knew how virile he was. But if he had taken another woman to his bed now, she would never forgive him, not if she went home and not even if she saw him again at An Tùir-Tara after two-hundred-and-fifty years had passed.
Her heart hurt, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had to stop thinking about him. She had to mentally shut down and forget about what he was doing, and with whom. Coinneach was outside in the bailey, shackled and in stocks. It was too early to try to steal Macleod’s keys, so she had to wait.
Resolved, Tabby got up, putting one of his red-and-black brats over her shoulders. She’d eaten exactly a third of her meal, saving the rest for Coinneach. She picked up the trencher.
Think long an’ hard on whether ye choose the boy over me.
She went downstairs. Most of his men were asleep on their pallets, but a handful of men were at the table, gaming. They turned to stare at her, seemingly disapproving and suspicious. Macleod was not present; he had retired for the night.
Do not think about it.
She straightened her spine, ignoring them all while mentally daring any man to try to stop her. No one did. She crossed the hall. But at the front door, she heard someone behind her. Tabby turned to face Rob.
He shook his head. “No good will come o’ this battle, lady. Ye canna win. Ye dinna wish to turn him against ye.”
“If I win, Rob, he wins, too.” Tabby pushed her shoulder against the door, slipping outside.
It was a purple night, still cloudy, and only a few stars were illuminating it. She crossed the bailey swiftly, being as careful as she could be not to spill the ale. Coinneach had been sleeping, his position an awkward one, and Tabby realized he must be exhausted. Her heart went out to him. As she knelt, he heard her and awoke. He looked up and relief filled his eyes. Then he started.
Tabby felt Macleod’s huge, powerful presence looming behind her. Her heart skidded and she glanced up over her shoulder at him.
He reached down and hauled her to her feet, the ale spilling. Without releasing her, he took the trencher from her and flung it to the ground.
She had thought him preoccupied with another woman. She had been caught red-handed trying to succor his prisoner. “He is starving.”
His gaze was searing. “Aye, he is.”
She didn’t bother to try to pull away. His grip felt like a brand. She trembled. “He needs to eat. He needs water.”
“Ye’ve defied me again.”
Tabby tensed. Why did his power have to be so consuming? “Are you surprised? You know where I stand. I cannot compromise my values or my beliefs.”
His mouth curled mirthlessly. “Nor can I.”
They were at an impasse.
“Come,” he said.
Before she could answer, he was pulling her with him back toward the hall, his strides long. She had to run to keep up with him. “Where are we going?” she cried, alarmed.
He didn’t answer.
When he started toward the north tower, she realized where they were going. She dug in her heels; he did not stop and he pulled her with him. “I am not going upstairs to your chamber with you!”
He didn’t look at her, but his grasp tightened. “I’ve had enough o’ this war. ’Tis madness.”
“I cannot stand by and watch you torture and execute that boy while sharing your bed. I can’t do it, Macleod,” she cried as he dragged her up the stairs with him.
He did not answer her.
“Macleod!” she cried, as he shoved open his bedchamber door. “Are you going to force me against my will?”
He finally let her go. Tabby turned to run past him, out the door and into the corridor, but he slammed the door closed in her face, caught her arm and whirled her back around closer to the bed.
She paused in the center of the room, shocked.
He folded his arms. “There will never be force.”
He meant to seduce her. Tabby was already acutely aware of him—she was always acutely aware of him. His words made her stiffen and vibrate. It made all those newly discovered pulse points come to life.
He slowly smiled.
She shook her head, her heart thundering now, her mouth dry. “Don’t do this. I will be furious in the morning.”
He stripped off his tunic, revealing his hard, scarred, aroused body, and flung it aside.
Tabby meant to look anywhere but at him, but her gaze had a will of its own. “I will not forgive you,” she warned. Her tone was unyielding.
“Ye’ll forgive me. If ye insist on war, we’ll war in the day. But not in the night.”
She was disbelieving, but she couldn’t stop her treacherous body from responding to the mere idea of a nightly truce and all that it entailed. Her skin was burning and tight.
“Or would ye rather I seek comfort elsewhere?” he murmured, and he was finally amused.
Tabby looked down. She tried to breathe and failed. He slowly walked over and she lifted her eyes. “I hate the idea of you with somebody else.”
“Then offer me comfort, Tabitha.”
They could argue tomorrow. Her hand strayed and found his rock-hard hip where his hip bone protruded. He went still, except for that huge, quivering length. Tabby slid her fingers lower.
When she touched him, the desire was acute, blinding.
He laughed and pushed her down onto the bed.
Tabby cried out, seizing his hair, pulling his face forward. As she kissed him, he drove deep.
THE CHILD’S CHOKED SOBBING awoke her.
Tabby jerked upright. The sun was high and bright, pouring through the closed shutters of the windows. For one moment, she didn’t move, recalling every impossible, frenzied detail of last night.
She had surrendered to Macleod with more than her body last night. She flushed. She’d been the insatiable one. And it had been wilder and more intense than ever—perhaps because of their differences, their war. He’d been so triumphant and he’d let her know, repeatedly, who was in control and who had won. But she hadn’t minded, oh, no.
In fact, she’d been so insatiable that she’d forgotten to steal his keys when they’d finally calmed. She’d fallen asleep, not even thinking about Coinneach.
She had missed the perfect opportunity to steal those keys, and she didn’t know how she felt about that—just as she wasn’t at all certain how she felt about giving in to him last night. It was late in the morning, a new day. She probably shouldn’t have succumbed to him last night, but she had. Had their truce only applied to last night? She wouldn’t mind a rational debate in the broad light of day. Maybe making love last night could be turned into an opportunity to discuss their differences.
Tabby slowly got up, opening the shutters. Outside, it was a magnificent day, the skies azure and cloudless. The ridges to the southeast were thick with forests, and glittered as bright as emeralds in the sun. Now what? she wondered. Last night, he had wanted sex and he’d gotten it. The problem was, she had no regrets, not on that score. But what she did regret was his ignoring her express wishes and refusing to discuss Coinneach and his Fate.
And then she heard the soft childish crying, again.
Alarmed, Tabby went to the door and flung it open, expecting to find a small child there. But the hall was empty.
Tabby hesitated, uncertain. Was her mind playing tricks on her? First she had dreamed about a crying child, and now, she’d heard him. Except no child was nearby.
Or was she sensing a child who was somewhere else, the way she’d sensed Macleod as a boy on the beach? Suddenly she heard the child crying again.
Very concerned, she lifted her skirts and started down the hall. The sound seemed to increase slightly in volume, as if she’d find that small girl or boy weeping on the stairs. But when she reached the narrow staircase, it was empty.
She tensed. Last night, the spirit had not made an appearance. Tabby did not know wh
at that meant, but she was certain it was the lull before a huge storm.
And her mind was playing tricks on her now. She was certain that someone—or something—was behind those tricks. Was it Criosaidh, Coinneach’s mother? What about that spirit from An Tùir-Tara? Was it involved in this mischief?
Tabby started downstairs. Peigi was cleaning up the hall with two other women. “Did you hear a child crying?”
Peigi shrugged. “Maybe ’twas young Seonaidh. He was here a moment ago.”
Tabby did not know who Seonaidh was, and she found herself going to the front doors of the hall, which she pushed open. There were several little children playing in the bailey, but no one was crying and they were too far away for her to have heard any one of them. As she watched them tossing stones at a stake, she heard the child again.
And he or she was closer.
Tabby stepped outside, wide-eyed, scanning the bailey, the crying louder now. She saw two toddlers with their mothers, the women leading a pair of milk cows, but she did not espy a crying child. I am being enchanted, she thought uneasily.
But the sound shifted, and her concern escalated. She glanced up at the ramparts, starting for the stairs leading to them. Then she realized that the child was in the arched gateway, leading to the drawbridge. The drawbridge was down, but that did not seem unusual so early in the day. She hurried to the gated entrance of the stronghold.
Tabby paused inside the dark, cold tunnel, searching the shadows there. No child was present, but he or she was crying harder now. Suddenly she worried that the child was in the cellars below.
“Lady?”
She turned. It was the handsome young Highlander who had been on watch yesterday. “Do you hear that?”
“I dinna ken…I dinna speak…English,” he said haltingly.
The crying had stopped. Tabby strained to hear. As she did, the child began to cry again, but this time, most definitely from outside the keep. Over the drawbridge and past the moat, she saw the rutted road she and Macleod had climbed up to the stronghold the other day. Beyond the road, the forests seemed thick and impenetrable, the kind of wilderness that did not exist in her time. Between the forests and where she stood, no child was in sight.
The young Highlander spoke abruptly to her. Tabby did not have to understand Gaelic to know that he was telling her not to leave the keep. She ignored him, vaguely aware that she was enchanted and this was treachery, but too worried about the child now to think clearly. She had to find this child. There was simply no choice.
She rushed through the arched gateway and across the drawbridge. The crying became louder. The child was terrified.
The young man shouted at her.
Tabby lifted her skirts and ran toward the road. The sound of the crying shifted. Tabby veered off the dirt. The child screamed as if it was being murdered. Tabby ran harder, branches scraping her face, her breasts. And then there was a shocking silence.
She halted, confused, panting hard. The fog lifted and she stilled, shocked.
She had just been lured away from Blayde with powerful magic. There was no child!
For her senses had returned, as clear and as acute as ever. “Highlander,” she cried, turning. And she did not know where she was. Huge, towering pines surrounded her. She was in the forest, where it was dark with shadow and brush. She could barely see the sky through the canopy of boughs above her—and she could not see Blayde.
Comprehension stabbed through her. She was lost.
Branches rustled, snapped.
More comprehension came. She was not alone.
Alarmed, Tabby fought the sudden fear. The calm that always preceded evil came. Becoming still, she put a protective spell on herself, finally turning to the sound.
Five darkly cloaked figures emerged from the forest, their appearance shocking. They were adolescent boys, all fair in complexion, with black, empty eyes. They were obviously medieval boys. As Tabby was surrounded, the comprehension was even more stunning now.
There were sub gangs burning witches in 1298, too.
They began to smile, their expressions evil, approaching.
Tabby turned to run.
Her heart thundered as her arms were seized from behind. She struggled but it was futile and she was dragged back. She heard someone else approaching, but she was pushed hard to the ground. She cried out, landing on the rough ground on her hands and knees, her face. They wanted to hurt her.
How far would they go?
The possessed always had unnatural strength, and she did not have the power to escape them, she thought, carefully getting to her hands and knees. Begging would accomplish nothing. Evil did not know the meaning of mercy.
“Bind her and start the fire.”
Tabby cried out at the sound of Kristin Lafarge’s voice. She was dragged to her feet and she whirled, incredulous. Kristin was striding into the small glade, grinning at her maliciously, her eyes overly bright. She was clad in medieval Highland garb.
Tabby’s hands were jerked behind her and tied with rough rope. Her fear vanished and calm descended. “You enchanted me.”
“Yes, I did. Hello, Tabitha.” Kristin approached, clearly relishing the moment.
Tabby straightened, ignoring the pain of the cord. “Are you from this time or my time?”
Kristin touched her cheek lightly with her nails. “I’m hardly a medieval woman. Do I appear to be?”
She didn’t have the slightest trace of a Scot brogue, Tabby thought. “You could pass for a Highland woman in those clothes.”
“I have relations at Melvaig.”
“Are you a MacDougall?” Tabby asked swiftly. Everything was tied to An Tùir-Tara, she thought.
“You ask too many questions. And how are your relations, dear?”
Tabby went still. “What?”
Kristin grinned. “How is your warrior-bitch sister? I wonder.”
The calm vanished. Icy fear returned. “If you have hurt her, I will kill you.”
Kristin laughed. “And how will you do that? Fire, arise,” she said smoothly.
Tabby heard the flames crackle and she whirled. The boys had gathered up a huge amount of brush and a fire instantly blazed in the center of the glade. Fear slithered through her. “What did you do to Sam?”
“Sam survived my magic, but she probably still has a tummy ache.”
Sam was okay, Tabby thought, relieved. She reached out for the calm and it came swiftly to her. “What do you want? Why did you follow me into the past?” And then she wondered at the coincidence—two evil things had followed her into the past from New York City. “Wait a minute. Was it you at the Met? Did you try to get into my loft? Did you attack me the other night in Macleod’s chamber?”
“I wish I had that kind of power. Unfortunately, I have to be present to use my magic on you.”
Tabby began to shake. She believed her. Not because of what she had said, but because this woman did not have the same imprint of evil as the woman from An Tùir-Tara. Kristin was a diluted version, somehow. “How are you related to An Tùir-Tara?” she demanded.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Kristin’s pleasant smile and demeanor vanished. “I was there.”
Tabby stared, surprised. “And I’m going to be there, too, aren’t I?” She didn’t know how she knew. Or maybe she did—all those emotions were just too intense not to belong to her.
Kristin grinned. “Hmm, how shall I answer? No, you will be there…Wait! Yes, you were there.”
Tabby felt ill. And she knew suddenly that if she looked at the fire, she was going to feel all of the evil and hatred, the rage and outrage, despair, loss and love associated with An Tùir-Tara all over again. She kept her eyes on Kristin. “What happened?”
Kristin gave her a disparaging look. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I am going to destroy you, Tabitha. And I just can’t wait to feel your pain.” She licked her lips.
Tabby inhaled. Kristin was demonic. Not completely—but somewhere in her genes, she was t
ainted with Satan’s blood.
Tabby prayed for courage and strength. Then she dismissed Kristin and dared to look at the fire. She stared into the flames, feeling sick, beginning to feel the hatred, the evil, the rage—the love. The sight blinded her. Sweat trickled from her brow. She could not let the emotions paralyze her now. “Fire obey me, fire go out.”
The fire hesitated, and then it began decreasing in size.
“Fire obey me, fire go out!” Tabby cried.
As the fire shifted, becoming even smaller, Kristin hissed, “Fire arise.” And the flames blazed.
Tabby realized Kristin had great power—more than she did. She breathed hard and fought the dizziness brought on by those terrible feelings, and said, “Fire obey me, fire go out.”
The fire subsided into a few small flames, and then into embers. Tabby was surprised and relieved, but Kristin seized her by the hair, crying, “Fire, arise.”
The fire blazed and she shoved her face toward the flames. “Who is stronger, bitch? And don’t you want to know where your protector is?”
Tabby tensed in alarm. She reminded herself that Macleod could take care of himself.
“He went out with his men this morning. Not only is he far to the east, he is under my spell.”
“I don’t believe you,” Tabby gasped. “He’s too powerful for a petty magician like you.”
Kristin hissed, “Fire arise!”
The flames roared, becoming a bonfire the size of an entire room. Tabby began to struggle, because if she was pushed into that inferno, she was dead. Kristin laughed and the five boys grabbed her and started dragging her closer to the bonfire. Tabby clawed at them. Heat engulfed her, and she was so close to the flames Tabby thought her dress and hair would catch on fire.
“Fire obey me,” she panted. “Fire go out!”
The fire wavered, its hesitation clear.
The boys pushed her closer.
Thunder sounded.
In confusion, she looked upward as the thunder rolled more loudly, but the small patch of sky she glimpsed through the boughs overhead was brightly blue. And then the ground beneath her feet moved.
The thunder stopped.
She was abruptly released and she fell, hard, flames not far from her hands. Tabby rose. On the other side of the bonfire, she saw a woman on a horse.