Cian made no reply.
“Tell me, is she as ready for you to die as you are, Highlander?” Lucan called.
Cian broke into a sprint toward the stairs.
“I don’t believe you want to die, Keltar,” Lucan yelled after him. “I know I don’t. In fact, I’d do virtually anything to stay alive. I think I’d agree to anything at all to pass that tithe through the Dark Glass at midnight on Samhain.” His voice rang out, carrying clearly across the lawn, echoing off the stone walls of the castle.
Cian reached the stairs and loped up them. Turning Jessica by her shoulders, he steered her back in the castle and closed the door behind them.
Lucan didn’t care. He’d accomplished what he’d come for. His final words had not been meant for the Keltar at all. They’d been meant for the woman who’d stood on the steps so foolishly betraying her emotions, her hands anxiously fisted, her eyes deep with grief.
It would take time. He had no doubt it would take more days than he would bear well, and others would die, victims of his displeasure, in the interim. Though he could not read her, in fact, had smashed up against that strange smooth barrier once again, he’d read her body. There was no greater fool than a woman in love.
“Think on that, Jessica St. James,” he whispered. “And let it begin to eat away inside you.”
Many hours later, long after Lucan Trevayne had gotten back in his sleek black-windowed, black limousine and gone, Jessi sat staring at the computer screen in the darkened library.
She pressed her palms to the cool surface of the small library table beneath the softly illuminated portrait of an eighteenth-century MacKeltar patriarch and his wife, keeping her hands well away from the keyboard and the mouse.
It was four o’clock in the morning and the castle was silent as a tomb. It had begun to feel like one to her too.
She hadn’t been the only one affected by the dark sorcerer’s visit earlier in the day. It had cast a somber pall over all the MacKeltars.
Cian alone had been grimly satisfied by it. He comes begging. He knows I’ve won, he’d told her.
Won, her ass. Dying was not winning. Not in her book.
Lucan Trevayne was evil. He was the one who should die. Not Cian.
She raked a hand through her curls, staring at the display. Lucan Trevayne was, in fact, utterly terrifying. She’d had no idea what to expect of Cian’s ancient enemy, but even if he’d warned her, nothing could have prepared her for what she’d seen.
He hadn’t even looked human. The plate in her head that shielded her from compulsion and deep-listening indeed shielded her from all magic, for, while Gwen and Chloe had seen nothing more than a handsome man in his forties, Jessi’d seen the dark sorcerer’s true appearance.
He’d been so heavily tattooed that his skin had appeared rotted in places. He’d moved with sickening reptilian stealth. His eyes, if they could be called that, had been fiery crimson slits. His tongue had flickered blackly as he’d spoken.
But far worse than his grotesque appearance had been the chill and suffocating sense of pure evil that had emanated from him, even from so far across the lawn.
Not so far that she hadn’t been able to clearly hear every word he’d said.
She’d tried to stay in the castle as Cian had ordered.
But when they’d gone toe to toe, when she’d seen her man facing off with that twisted . . . thing . . . out there on the lawn, she’d burst from the castle, unable to stop herself.
Her every instinct had demanded she do something—anything—to help Cian, though she’d known there was nothing she could hope to do. Not against something like Trevayne. At that moment, she’d understood much of Cian’s conviction. It wasn’t just horrific evil that rolled off the ancient sorcerer, it was horrific power too. Not nearly as great as Cian’s, but now that she’d seen him with her own eyes, she had to concede the possibility that once Trevayne had the aid of the Dark Book, he might genuinely be unstoppable.
I think I’d agree to anything at all to pass that tithe through the Dark Glass at midnight on Samhain, the sorcerer had said.
Jessi wasn’t stupid.
She knew he’d been baiting her.
Problem was, he had the right stuff on his hook.
Cian’s life.
She buried her face in her hands, massaging her temples. The instant he’d said it, some terrible, weak-willed part of her had wondered how she could possibly contact him, if she wanted to.
The answer had come swiftly: E-mail. Of course. [email protected]. She’d had the means to contact him all along.
After a moment, she raised her head and returned her gaze to the display.
Her laptop battery was dead and she had no adaptor, so she’d waited until she was certain the castle was asleep before leaving her makeshift bed on the landing, winding down the echoing stone corridors, and booting up one of the three computers in the Keltar library.
She had over a hundred new E-mails.
Forty-two of them were from Lucan Trevayne. He’d been trying at periodic intervals to reach her again since that night in the hotel. His earlier efforts had no subject line. The more recent E-mails were captioned with blatant taunts: Do you love him, Jessica? Are you ready to watch your Highlander die? You can save him. Would he let you die? Would he give up on your life? Buy time, Jessica, live to fight another day.
Such a juvenile ploy. And so damned effective.
All she had to do was open an E-mail to open communications. She had no doubt that back at his residence in London—or perhaps no more than a few miles down the road, somewhere between the castle and Inverness—Lucan was monitoring a computer, waiting for the moment she did so.
Waiting for a mere “yes” to keep Cian alive.
At what cost?
Her stomach felt sick.
You can see him as he is, can’t you, lass? Cian had asked, as he’d steered her back into the castle.
She’d nodded, tears threatening, for she’d known exactly where he was going.
I am the only one who can stop him, Jessica.
Yup, right where she’d thought he was going.
I am all that stands between that monster and that monster gaining unlimited power.
I don’t need a crash course in ethics, Cian, she’d snapped. She’d instantly regretted her tone and words.
They had so little time left. She’d sworn to herself that she would not make a moment of it ugly, that she would not vent her rage and frustration and grief on him. That she would save her ugliness for later, when she’d already lost all she had to lose.
That now, she would give her strong, determined, noble Highlander the only gift she had to give him: perfect days and perfect nights.
A small perfect lifetime in no time at all.
I’m sorry, she’d said softly.
Nay, lass, ’tis I who am sorry, he’d replied, drawing her into his arms. ’Twas I who should have told you from the—
Don’t! She’d pressed her finger to his lips. No regrets. Don’t you dare. I have none.
A lie. They were eating her alive. Regret that she’d not slept with him that first night in the hotel room, knowing what she now knew. Regret that she’d not stayed that first night in Professor Keene’s office and summoned him out then, and gotten to have more time with him.
Regret that she was such a coward.
That she couldn’t say “Screw the world! Let them fend for themselves against Lucan. Let somebody else save everybody’s ass. Not my man. What about me?”
She bit her lip, hard, staring at the screen. Reached for the mouse. Pulled away. Reached again, her finger hovering above it. Even without contact, she could feel the chill.
Her choices: lose Cian by letting him die to kill Lucan, or lose Cian by betraying him, by allying with his enemy to keep him alive.
Either way, she’d lose him.
And if she kept him alive, he would surely hate her. “I can’t do it,” she whispered, shaking her head.
&nbs
p; A few moments later, she powered down the computer and left the library.
As the door closed behind her, from deep in the shadows, concealed behind a velvety drape, Dageus watched the display go dark and sighed.
Earlier that day, after Lucan had gone, Jessica had cornered Dageus as he’d been hurrying—unnoticed, he’d thought—in the back entrance to the castle, in an attempt to avoid contact with Cian, as he’d been doing for several days now, unwilling to risk his powerful ancestor trying to deep-read him.
Dageus, do those ancient people, the Draghar inside you, know anything? Is there any way to save him? she’d asked, her face wan, her jade eyes dark with grief.
He’d drawn a deep breath and given her the same answer he’d given Drustan when, a few days ago, his brother had asked him the same question.
Nay, lass, he’d lied.
26
Memory/Day Nine: Cian and I were married today!
It wasn’t anything like I used to imagine my wedding would be, and it couldn’t have been more perfect.
We wrote our own vows and had a private ceremony in the estate chapel. When it was over, we scribed our names in the Keltar Bible, on thick ivory parchment edged in gold.
Jessica MacKeltar, wife of Cian MacKeltar.
Drustan, Gwen, and Chloe stood as witnesses, but Dageus wasn’t feeling well, so he couldn’t come.
Cian is my husband now!
We had a wedding breakfast of cake and champagne and honeymooned a long, rainy day away in a big four-poster bed before a roaring fire in a magnificent, five-hundred-year-old Scottish castle.
His vows were beautiful, so much better than mine. I know the MacKeltars thought so too, because Gwen and Chloe both caught their breath and got teary-eyed. Even Drustan seemed affected by them.
I wanted to say the same thing back to him, but Cian refused to let me. He got really funny about it. He placed his hand on my heart and mine on his—it was so romantic—and he said:
If aught must be lost, ’twill be my honor for yours.
If one must be forsaken, ’twill be my soul for yours.
Should death come anon, ’twill my life for yours.
I am Given.
The words gave me chills through my whole body. God, how I love the man!
Memory/Day Eight: We decided on names for our children this morning. He wants girls that look like me and I want boys that look like him, so we decided to have four, two of each.
(I’d settle for one. So, if anyone’s listening up there: I’D SETTLE FOR ONE, PLEASE.)
Memory/Day Five: Damn the man—he asked me not to be there when it happens!
Jessi didn’t see it coming. The conversation began innocuously enough. They were lying in bed in the Silver Chamber, Cian stretched on his back, Jessi sprawled, blissfully sated, on top of him. Her breasts were pillowed against his hard chest, her legs were parted across one of his thighs (and every time he moved the slightest bit she got a delicious residual tingle from the orgasm she’d just had), and her face was pressed into the warm hollow where his chest met his neck.
They’d been making love for hours, and had just been laughing about how they wanted to go raid the kitchen, but neither of them had the strength to move.
As their laughter died, there was one of those long moments that stretched uncomfortably. They’d been occurring more and more often of late, as there were so many things both of them were being excruciatingly careful not to say.
“What if we broke the mirror, Cian?” she blurted into the strained silence. “What would happen?”
He cupped the back of her head, threading his fingers into her curls. “The glass is but my window, or door, if you will, on the world, Jessica. The actual Unseelie prison I inhabit exists in another realm. I would be trapped inside that Unseelie place, with no way out. Then, when the tithe was not paid, both Lucan and I would die. He in your world, I in a windowless broch of stone.”
She shuddered, hating that image. “If you knew that breaking the mirror was a sure way to keep Lucan from passing the tithe through, why didn’t you do it before you ever came to Chicago?”
“Och, lass, prior to meeting you, I had no one to summon me out, or I might have. I attempted to persuade the thief to release me, but he thought he was going mad and crated the mirror up. After that debacle I concluded mayhap ’twould be wiser to let time and distance separate me from Lucan. Trevayne searches constantly for relics of power and has many contacts. I knew not which merchants might have ties to him and feared if I continued showing myself word might get back to him and he would succeed in reclaiming the mirror before Samhain. Then, once I’d met you I had to be able to leave the glass in order to protect you. ’Twas why I was so concerned it not be broken, so you would not be left defenseless.” He paused, then added softly, “There was also the small fact that I never wanted to live more greatly than I did the moment I saw you, lass. For over a thousand years, life had meant naught to me but vengeance. Then the moment my vengeance was at hand, life suddenly meant everything. ’Twas a bitter pill to swallow.”
Jessi was choking on the bitterness of that pill herself. As each precious day slipped by, as Drustan and Dageus continued to shake their heads and say they’d still not found a way to save him, so, too, did her grip on herself slip.
Cian might have accepted his death as a necessity, but she never would.
Each night, at some point, she ended up in the darkened library, sitting in front of the computer, her hands clenched in her lap. The past few nights she’d not even dared to turn it on.
Because each day she was weakening. Ethics? What were ethics? She wasn’t even sure she could spell the word. Wasn’t in any dictionary she knew.
“What if it was broken when you were outside it?” she pressed.
“The same. ’Tis not the mirror I’m actually reclaimed back into, but that place in the Unseelie realm. When whatever hours of my freedom I was allotted that day expired, I would be returned there again, with no way out. Again, as the tithe could no longer be paid at Samhain’s end, we would die.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she cried, pulling away from him. Sitting up, she punched the mattress with a fist. “I’m surrounded by magic! The three of you are Druids. On top of that, you’re a sorcerer and Dageus was possessed by thirteen ancient, evil beings! Don’t any of you know a spell or enchantment or something that can undo this stupid indenture?”
Cian shook his head. “One would think so, but nay. The Keltar were chosen to protect Seelie lore, not Unseelie. Though some of us are wont to dabble with things best left alone, we ken very little of the ways of Dark Magyck, even less about the darker half of the Tuatha Dé Danaan.”
“There has to be another way, Cian!”
He sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders, his whisky gaze fierce. “Och, Christ, lass, do you think I wish to die? Doona you think if there were any other way to stop Lucan that I would seize it? I love you, woman! I would do anything to live! But the simple fact is, ’tis my very life that keeps Trevayne immortal, and nothing but my death can take that away from him. In time, he will find the Dark Book. He cannot be permitted to have that time. ’Tis not merely our lives at stake, ’tis the lives of many, ’tis the very future of your world. I can stop him now. Before long, no one will be able to.”
“And you can’t live with that,” Jessi said, unable to keep the note of bitterness from her voice. “You have to be the hero.”
He shook his head. “Nay, lass. I’ve never been the hero, and I’m not trying to be one now. ’Tis but that there are things a man can live with and things he can’t.” He took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly. “I told you I was tricked into the mirror and that much is true. But I didn’t tell you that I wanted the Unseelie Dark Glass too.”
Jessi went very still. “Why?” Was he finally going to tell her what happened to him so long ago?
“Lucan and I were once friends, or so I thought. I later learned he was naught but subterfuge and deceit from the beg
inning.”
“Didn’t you do that deep-listening thing to him?”
Cian nodded. “Aye, I did, for my mother cared naught for the man. But when a surface probe yielded nothing, I didn’t push. I arrogantly thought myself so superior in power and lore that I didn’t deem Lucan a significant threat. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I didn’t know that he’d sought me out deliberately to get the Dark Glass. Or that he was born a bastard, sired by an unknown Druid father on a village whore, and had been shunned all his life by other Druids. They refused to teach him, refused him entrance to their inner circle.
“What lore Lucan had managed to acquire before we met had been gained through violence and bloodshed. For years he’d been systematically capturing and torturing lesser Druids for their teachings. Even more powerful ones had begun to cede him wide berth. But he couldn’t overwhelm and take captive a Druid who knew the art of Voice, and he needed that art desperately.
“He learned of me somehow and came to Scotland, to my mountains where, isolated from so much of the world, I’d not heard of him. I learned later all of Wales, Ireland, and much of Scotland had heard tales of this Lucan ‘Merlin’ Trevayne. But not I. He befriended me. We began to exchange knowledge and lore, to push each other, to see what we could do. He told me of the Scrying Glass and, before long, he offered to help me get it if I would teach him the art of Voice first.”
“The Scrying Glass?” Jessi repeated.
“Aye.” He smiled bitterly. “Lucan lied about what it was. He said ’twas used to foretell the future in fine detail. That with it one could alter certain events before they ever happened. ’Twas an enticing power to me. Especially since I’d begun to wonder what my own life held. I’d begun to doubt there was a Keltar mate for me. After all, I was nigh a score and ten, quite old for a man to have never been wed in my century.”
“A Keltar mate?”
“‘Tis legend that there is one true mate for each Keltar Druid, his perfect match, his other half, the one who completes him with her love. If he finds her, they can exchange the Druid binding vows and bind their souls together for all time, through whatever is to come, beyond death, unto eternity.” He paused briefly, his gaze turning inward. “If, however,” he murmured, “only one of them takes the vow, only that one will be forever bound. The other remains free to love another, if he or she so chooses.”
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