by Brenda Joyce
She went still. Behind her, she heard the boys running away into the forest. She glanced back. Kristin stood as still as a statue, her expression livid.
Tabby looked back at the woman. She was dressed like a male medieval Highlander, in a belted thigh-length tunic and a royal-blue and black brat, and she held a full-size sword effortlessly in one hand. She rode her gray charger slowly forward. Hundreds of riders filled the forest behind her.
Branches snapped.
Tabby jerked—Kristin was gone.
Tabby looked at the fire. “Fire obey me, fire be gone.”
The fire became the size of a large man.
Tabby repeated the command, and the fire was reduced to a few dancing flames and embers. Tabby glanced back at the woman.
The woman returned her stare. She had long, curly reddish-blond hair, a striking face and searing eyes. She looked as if she lifted weights and ran triathlons. Her power came from the other side, white and bright. It was very much like Sam’s. But Tabby didn’t have to feel that to know that she was a Highland warrior.
“Macleod is here,” she said in heavily accented English. She turned the horse and galloped into the forest, her vast army following her.
As the thunder subsided, Tabby began to shake, collapsing against a tree.
Kristin had followed her through time; Kristin wanted to kill her; Kristin would be at An Tùir-Tara.
Hoofbeats sounded. Tabby looked up, feeling Macleod’s power. Relief made her weak. He galloped through the trees, a handful of mounted men behind him. He leaped from his black stallion before it halted, reaching her in a stride. He clasped her, pulling her forward. Tabby went into his embrace.
“Kristin followed me from New York.”
“The deamhan-ghost?” he demanded.
“No, she’s a black witch—and a powerful one.”
His intense gaze moved over her face. “I felt her, Tabitha, an’ I felt yer fear. I followed yer fear until I found ye. What are ye doin’ so far from Blayde?”
Tabby breathed deeply. “She cast a spell and lured me out. Macleod, a warrior woman with great white power appeared in the nick of time. Kristin was afraid, and so were the subs. She chased them away. Who was that?”
“The Lady of An Roinn-Mor,” he said abruptly. “Some say she’s a goddess. I dinna ken, but she can rouse two thousand mortal men an’ each one will die fer her.”
Tabby absorbed that.
“Are ye tellin’ me Kristin is more powerful than ye?” Macleod asked. His hands moved to her face.
Tabby didn’t hesitate. “Way more powerful.” His eyes darkened. “Macleod. She seems to be allied with Melvaig and she wants me dead.”
His eyes burned with anger. “Then I will ha’ to kill her.”
“There’s more.” She clasped his arms tightly. “You’re not the only one who will be at An Tùir-Tara. I am going to be there, too.”
TABBY SIGHED AND CURLED her toes and sighed again, smiling. It was late. The sky outside was gleaming ebony, but spangled with a billion stars. She stared at Macleod, her smile widening. He knelt naked before the fire, which he was starting with a tinderbox.
She leaned up on one elbow, so she could admire every inch of his body. Starlight illuminated him, highlighting his bulging muscles and powerful build. “Fire obey me, fire begin. Fire obey me, fire come in,” she said.
Macleod turned, sending her a slow and sexy, very satisfied smile. Behind him, the fire started, a few small flames crackling. He glanced at it and stood.
Tabby actually felt herself blush. “More?”
“Aye, if ye can manage to match me.”
“A challenge I can hardly refuse.” She wet her lips, trying not to stare, but then she decided to give up. Why not stare when he was so magnificent? She glanced at the fire. “Fire obey me, fire rise up.” The fire grew, its flames filling the hearth.
Macleod sat beside her. “A useful spell. I wish a word, Tabitha.”
His tone was somber and she tensed. Macleod was not inclined to conversation much less discussion. They had been making love ever since he’d found her in the forest. She straightened. They certainly had a lot to discuss.
“This war betwixt us is over,” he said, and it was not a question.
That feeling, which was half satiation and half anticipation, receded. Dismay rose up. She searched his gaze and thought it softened almost imperceptibly. She would never accept his treatment of Coinneach or any other such prisoner, but she did not want to resume warring with him, either. So much had happened in such a short time, it felt as if they had been together for ages, not days. And most importantly, he had been so concerned when he had found her in the forest—as if he did care about her as a woman, not a sex object.
Her heart opened. Comprehension came slowly. She was starting to really care about him, too. She couldn’t help but admire his courage, his determination, his power. Sure, he was medieval in a lot of ways. But that was to be expected, and his heroism made up for it. And they were more than lovers now. They were partners in this life-and-death struggle against evil. She needed him and he needed her, as MacNeil had said. Their Fates were so clearly intertwined.
And they would both be at An Tùir-Tara.
It was a frightening thought. Tabby hugged her knees to her chest, aware of his watchful stare. Going through all that they had, even the conflict over Coinneach, had increased the intimacy in their relationship. Their relationship felt as if it was growing in leaps and bounds. She wasn’t afraid of him anymore, either. He wasn’t as daunting and intimidating as he’d first seemed. They might even be on the path to becoming friends, because friends looked out for one another; friends cared about one another.
It felt huge, eternal and irrevocable.
But of course it did. Otherwise she wouldn’t have seen and felt him across centuries, as he’d seen and heard her. And she wondered if he was her soul mate.
It would explain everything. But how could that be possible when they were still worlds apart? When Kristin and the evil from An Tùir-Tara were vanquished, when Coinneach was freed, she would be going home—wouldn’t she?
Suddenly Tabby did not want to think about the future. It was distressing.
“Being with you feels so right,” Tabby said softly. “I know you think so, too.”
“Ye need to bend to me,” he said. “I must do my duty, Tabitha. Ye need to trust that my decision is right.”
He was referring to Coinneach, she thought, but the pang she had wasn’t half as huge as it had once been. There was no question in her mind that his decision was wrong. Now, she thought that there might be hope for him to change his mind and see the light. “I trust you. And I know you are doing what you think is right. But I am not going to approve. And by the way, your ancestors—the gods—won’t ever approve, either.”
He flinched and stood, his hard body rippling.
The gods were such a sore subject with him, she thought.
His face tightened. “Then ye’ll disobey me, even now?” He was disbelieving.
Going against him, behind his back, suddenly seemed unbearable. She knew she had no choice but she didn’t want to think about it. She spoke slowly, carefully. “Doesn’t your feud with Coinneach seem paltry after what happened today with Kristin? Shouldn’t the war on evil—all evil—take precedence over all mortal affairs?”
“The murder of my family wasna paltry. I willna allow ye to weaken me, Tabitha.”
She inhaled. “I’m sorry. That isn’t my intention. And I believe that if you ever took your vows, you’d become stronger than ever.” She slipped from the bed.
She’d remained impossibly modest until that precise moment, and his eyes widened. Tabby moved to stand between his legs, taking both of his hands. His eyes darkened instantly. “Your revenge diminishes you, but let’s not beat a dead horse.”
He tugged his hands from hers and cupped her breasts. “Will ye use yer body now to sway me?”
It crossed her mind that if sh
e could, she would. “I know you can read my mind, so you know I am starting to care for you. I want what is best for you, Macleod, not for me.” He started. “We remain at an impasse.” She touched his face tenderly. “But at least we are discussing it. That is a step in the right direction. It is civil.”
“And bein’ civil pleases ye, aye?” he asked softly, clasping her waist and pulling her forward, his face pillowed against her breasts.
She inhaled. “It pleases me almost as much as you do.”
He lifted his face and smiled at her, his eyes hot.
And that was when she saw the woman standing in the fire.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE WOMAN SEEMED to be standing inside the hearth, on the other side of the fire. Tabby could see her clearly, even if she could see through her. She was dark-haired, and clad in medieval finery. Her hatred and evil filled the room.
Tabby cried out, jerking upright.
Her protective spell had been breached.
The fire became a wall, roaring between them. She was horrified, outraged, consumed with dread, with fury. The emotions made her reel, all conflicting. She had to triumph over her.
The woman smiled and suddenly Macleod was standing on the other side of the fire behind the woman, his eyes wide, and it was déjà vu. In that moment, Tabby knew how much she loved him—and she was terrified.
But so was he.
And then she saw herself.
Tabby went still as her heart lurched with absolute dread.
The woman and Macleod stood on one side of the fire wall and she was on the other. And now, the fire raced toward her, encircling her.
And she went up in flames.
“Tabitha!”
It took Tabby a moment to realize that Macleod had seized her, was shaking her. And then she realized she was staring at a simple fire in the hearth, and that the woman was gone. Macleod held her arm, his eyes wide with concern. Tabby felt the evil receding the way a wave rolled from the beach, vanishing into the ocean.
The fire blazed furiously now, and the open shutters were rocking on the walls.
But she was gone.
“Sit down,” he said, putting his arm around her.
She reached for him. “It was the evil from the other night,” she began. “The bitch from An Tùir-Tara. She’s trying to manifest.” She realized she was shaking wildly in his arms.
“I saw her, too, Tabitha.”
Tabby started.
“’Twas Criosaidh.”
Tabby was surprised—or was she?
“Tabitha?”
She just looked at him, still shocked by what she’d seen, and let him read her mind.
Macleod cried out.
“OUR LOVELY FRIEND is not at home,” Nick said.
Sam stood with Nick outside the apartment Kristin Lafarge shared with her roommate, Elizabeth Adler. Neither one had bothered to draw a gun, because they could both sense that evil was not present. A bullet would work well on the bitch—unless she could cast a spell to deflect it. Sam would not be surprised. Kristin’s power was dangerous. She would still love to see what a bullet or another weapon could do to the witch. Sam believed in grudges, revenge and payback.
She wasn’t surprised that Kristin was gone. “GTB,” she said grimly. Gone to Blayde. She didn’t bother translating, because she damn well knew Nick could read her mind.
Which was why she was so carefully controlling her thoughts. He was taking that dumb bimbo Jan back in time, when Tabby was in so much trouble. Her plans were none of his damned business now.
“Let’s see if anyone has read the mayor’s Home Safety Code.” Nick reached for the doorknob, and it turned.
They saw Elizabeth Adler at the same time. She lay on the floor, not far from the front door, her eyes wide and sightless. Sam hurried over to her, already knowing her neck was broken and that there would not be a pulse. Nick beelined for the laptop he saw on the coffee table, sitting down with it. Sam knelt. She was careful not to feel anything for the victim. Feeling only got in the way of war. She had learned how to shut out and shut off her feelings a long time ago. Compassion was always a bad idea.
She now noticed how pristine Adler’s throat was. Sam closed Adler’s eyes, aware that Adler was about her own age and too young to die. They were always too young to die, she thought without emotion. Then she checked her arms, wrists, hands and nails. “Not a scratch, much less a bruise. Doesn’t look like there was a fight.”
But of course there hadn’t been a struggle. Kristin had killed her with her black magic.
She stood and walked over to Nick. “I thought you’d be GTB by now, too.” She guarded her thoughts really tightly, but she let her anger seethe. She’d never forgive Nick for this.
“This is Lafarge’s,” he said cheerfully, seated on the sofa. His blue eyes gleamed as he looked up. “School calendar. Looks like she’s missing a day.”
“What did you find?” Sam asked, instantly interested. As far as she was concerned, Kristin was her quarry, not Nick’s—and certainly not Jan’s.
“Look at her screen saver,” he said.
Sam walked over and saw a landscape with ruins and she knew instantly it was Scotland.
“That’s Melvaig,” Nick said, pleased.
“And you know that how?” But Sam’s nape prickled. She couldn’t help being excited. If Nick was right—which he probably was—Kristin was connected to An Tùir-Tara, too. Which begged the question, just how old was she?
They’d gotten back the DNA comp results and Nick had been right. Kristin’s blood was tainted. She was only ninety-two-point-three percent human.
“It’s in our new Macleod file. He warred with the MacDougall clan for the first century of his life.” He glanced up at her. “I wonder if your sister domesticated him a bit. In 1325, he actually went to war as an ally of the MacDougalls.” He tapped the keys, opening Kristin’s Recent Items folder. His eyes widened. “Well, well.”
Sam leaned over. “She booked a suite at the Carlisle. For last night.”
He closed the laptop and picked it up as he stood.
“Why would she do that? My sister is at Blayde.”
“She must have met someone before she made her trip,” Nick said. His stare was penetrating. “Whatever you’re planning, don’t do it. I’ll check on Tabitha when I go back. Meanwhile, you’re on this. Find out who she met and what she wanted.”
“Okay,” Sam lied smoothly. She was good at lying. She had to do it on the streets all the time, like any undercover cop. Sometimes she played vigilante, and sometimes just mean, almost evil and ready-to-be-turned tough ass. Either way, lying was a good way to get in with the wrong people.
“I mean it. You’re too involved. Jan and I will nail Kristin. And your sister is fine.”
“She’s not fine. She’s in over her head. She’ll be fine in a few hundred years, when she’s superpowerful—assuming she makes it through the fires of Melvaig. And you damn well know it.” Sam was furious. “Nick, may I say that you are the most heartless SOB I have ever met?”
“I’ll see you at HCU.” He handed her the laptop and walked out, already on his cell, dialing CDA’s Medivac unit.
Sam breathed hard. As if she would take orders from Nick when she knew what she had to do. She knew how to get back. Or rather, she knew someone who could take her back—if he could be persuaded to help her.
He was a bastard and more heartless than her boss, but she knew exactly how to convince him.
Sam had already booked her flight to Glasgow under an assumed name. And she knew that Ian Maclean was in residence at his fine home on Loch Awe.
TABBY SANK ONTO THE BED. She was still feeling sick from the onslaught of so much hatred and rage. It had been even more intense than what she’d felt at the Met and at school. But mostly she was feeling sick because she was certain she had looked through the window of time again—and she had just seen herself die.
She would die at An Tùir-Tara.
K
ristin had said she would be there. But she had already known it, hadn’t she? The déjà vu had been too strong. Somewhere in the back of her mind, in the depths of her soul, she had known that those feelings were hers.
But she’d assumed that the evil woman had died—not her.
Macleod sat beside her and seized her hand, his eyes blazing, his face hard. “Ye think too much! Ye imagined it! ’Twas nay yer death ye saw.”
Her temples pounded now. She was ready to throw up. “It’s okay,” she lied, trembling. “That’s two-hundred-and-fifty years away.”
He exploded. “Ye canna die in the fire! She dies!”
Tabby stared. “Are you sure it was Criosaidh that we just saw? She wasn’t crystal clear—”
He cut her off. “’Twas Criosaidh.”
Tabby looked at their clasped hands. Realizing how tightly he held her hand, he released her and stood. He began pacing like a caged tiger, restlessly, with repressed rage. Tabby wished she could read his mind.
Maybe it was better not to think about her death. It was a long time away. If it was Fate, it couldn’t be changed anyway.
But time travel made an infinite number of scenarios possible. She didn’t want to think it, but she did. She could be taken to the fires of An Tùir-Tara at any moment. She could die there tomorrow or the day after or the day after that.
She looked at Macleod. He needed her. She couldn’t die anytime soon, not until she’d helped him let go of his past, not until he took his vows and became the kind of man she knew he could be.
“Ye think of me now?” He was incredulous.
Tabby nodded, but even as she did, that fiery vision returned. She would never forget seeing herself become a human inferno. She shut off her thoughts. She told herself she was not going to throw up. She could and would handle what she knew. She was a Rose! And if she was lucky, Macleod was right—she had imagined what she’d seen.
Except, she’d smelled the smoke and she’d heard her own screams.
He whirled to stare at her, his face twisted with revulsion and dread.