A Highlander's Destiny (Digital Boxed Edition)

by Willa Blair

  Sure she did. Nessa turned toward the door. She wasn’t about to share her deepest desires with the MacKays. They were a kind and generous couple who she felt certain would become friends. However, she just wasn’t ready to open up and bare her soul. She’d learned at a young age that when you shared your innermost thoughts and feelings it only exposed you to painful barbs. In her experience, Trish was the only person who’d never hurt her and she just wasn’t brave enough right now to enlarge that elite circle of trust.

  Remembering the words of the mysterious woman at the goddess well, Nessa paused and turned back into the room. “By the way, do either of you happen to remember any stories about an ancestor of yours by the name of Latharn MacKay?”

  A new fit of coughing seized Brodie, his hands flying to his chest as panic registered in his eyes. Fiona renewed her pounding on her husband’s back, her eyes wide as she replied, “Latharn MacKay? Why do ye ask? What have ye heard about the name?”

  The lights in the sphere danced into hyper-drive. The agitated energy of the orb bounced off the walls, reflecting off every item lining the shelves. Nessa dropped her bag back to the floor and stared at the vibrating globe. She edged her way toward the counter. Uneasiness stirring in the pit of her stomach, her skin tingled at the reaction of the lights.

  “Latharn MacKay,” she whispered, leaning closer. She waited for the globe’s response. Violent purple energy shot from the globe. It crackled and filled the entire room.

  “Look at that. It’s like the light responds to his name,” Nessa whispered and spun on her heel. Watching the frustrated energy spark about the room, she grew breathless with anticipation. It bounced from the windows, to the ceiling, to the floor, and on every reflective surface in between. Her skin tingled with excitement, every hair stood on end as Nessa called out to the traveling light. “Latharn MacKay, are you in this room?”

  The energy responded and concentrated into one spot. It caressed and swirled about her body. A familiar stroke brushed her cheek. Nessa recognized the warmth of this touch. This comforting embrace had pleasured her many times from her Highlander in her dreams.

  “You’re real,” Nessa whispered, a shiver of recognition rippling across her skin. “You’re not just in my dreams.”

  The aura surrounded her, swirling, touching. The essence warmed gentle feather strokes against her skin, swaddling her in a cloud of vibrating color. The cursed globe sat poised, squatted on its pedestal, the colors flowing freely from its center.

  Her heart hammering so hard she couldn’t breathe, Nessa fought against her rising hysteria. Backing away from the ball, apprehension churned inside her like a mounting storm. In all her years, in all her finds, she’d never come across any artifact as powerful as this crystal appeared.

  “What is this thing?” She nudged her chin in the direction of the globe as she stole a glance at Brodie and Fiona.

  Shaking their heads, they remained silent. They just stood there, mouths clamped shut, watching Nessa and the globe.

  Nessa gritted her teeth, trying to remember to breathe as she edged her way toward the door. Whatever was happening with the wildly glowing crystal, it was eerie and she wanted it to stop.

  Fiona recognized that Nessa was about to bolt. She rushed from around the counter to pat her on the arm. “It’s all right, Nessa. Dinna fear. It’s just a wee energy ball that reacts to the static in the room. If ye look out the door, ye will see it’s about to storm. We figured that out a few years back when we first brought it into our home.”

  Glancing out the window, Nessa almost wilted at the sight of the darkening clouds. Fiona was right. Nessa blew out a breath of relief as lightning splintered through the blackened banks of thunderheads. She spun on her heel and shot Brodie a withering glare as she poked a finger in his chest with every word. “Then why did you say you’d never seen it respond to anyone’s touch like it did mine? Out with it, Brodie!”

  Brodie backed away and struggled to apologize. “I was merely teasing ye. ’Twas just a wee bit of Scottish superstition meant to lighten your day. Forgive me, Nessa, I meant ye no harm.”

  Nessa scooped her bag up and slung it over her shoulder. “Oh, ha ha. Let’s make a sucker out of the silly American. Very funny.” With a yank on the door, she laughed at herself and the tension eased out of her chest. “If Trish shows back up any time soon, tell her I’ve decided to take a cab to the dig. She can pick me up there and then we’ll go over to the pub and finish off Mr. Gabriel Burns.”

  As Nessa stepped out into the street, she cringed as lightning pealed down through the clouds. It struck so close the air reeked of sulfur. Leaning against the doorway, Nessa covered her ears against the deafening thunderclap that shook the ground. A tree split in front of her, bursting into flames as each half crashed to the ground. Pinned back against the building, she wiggled her way back to the door and slipped her way inside.

  “Are ye all right?” Fiona rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulders as she searched Nessa’s pale face.

  Nessa nodded as she brushed the singed leaves from her hair and blew a burnt leaf off the end of her nose. “Whew! I’ve always loved thunderstorms but that one was a little close for comfort. Looks like I’ll be waiting for Trish here in the shop.”

  Just at that moment, Trish pulled up in the jeep and parked it a good distance from the burning tree. She fanned the smoke out of her face as she slipped into the shop. Motioning toward the blaze, she brushed the ash from her clothes. “Have you guys called the fire department yet?”

  Brodie shook his head as he looked out the window. “No need. The rain is dousing the flames. ’Tis coming down in sheets.”

  With the downpour and the water rising in the storm drains, Nessa tossed her bag onto the floor with a sigh. They weren’t going anywhere in this weather. The trip to the pub was out. She turned to the MacKays and Trish with a shrug of her shoulders. “Anybody want to play cards?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You had her that close and you couldn’t trick her into saying it? You couldn’t get her to call him out of that ball?” Trish paced back and forth in front of Brodie and Fiona, then turned and tapped on the top of Latharn’s sphere. “And you! They said you frightened her. Maybe if you had toned down the light show a little bit she wouldn’t have headed for the door. Did you ever think of that?”

  Latharn bellowed from his crystal cell, sending the lasers cutting across the walls. “I will not be spoken to in such a manner.” He rumbled the globe across the table, disappeared, and reappeared on a shelf across the room. He didn’t care if Trish was Nessa’s best friend or not. The woman would not scold him as though he were a child. Latharn glared at them from across the room. He would watch them from the mantel above the fireplace.

  Brodie pounded his fist on the table and made his own defense to Trish. “We dared not speak any more than we did for fear of sending Latharn’s soul into the abyss.” Raking his hands through his red hair, he jumped to stalk about the room.

  Latharn sympathized with his descendant. Trish obviously understood very little about Scottish curses. One wrong word, one wrong move and your arse sizzled in eternal hell.

  Trish resumed her pacing, while massaging her temples. “Is this curse written down in some ancient text somewhere? Maybe recorded in a family journal? Or were all the details just passed down word of mouth from one generation to the next?”

  Latharn spun the globe to improve his view and leaned against the glass. What was Trish looking for? They already knew how to break the curse. Nessa had to whisper his release. “Why do ye want the texts, Trish? What good will reading the grimoire do?”

  Brodie jerked his chin toward the globe. “I agree with Cousin Latharn. I see no point in reviewing the curse, but we do have it recorded here. There’s an ancient journal written in Rachel MacKay’s own hand listing everything she discovered about the curse. But I don’t see what good it will do to go over it again. ’Tis just a waste of time.”

  Trish’s e
yes narrowed into plotting slits as she leaned back into her chair. “The way I figure it, a curse is like a contract. All we have to do is find the loophole. I handle all the contracts for our digs. The contract lawyers hate me. I have a knack for seeing loopholes.” She offered a saucy smirk.

  “This is no contract, Trish. It’s a complicated curse spelled by a powerful dark bana-buidhseach.” Fiona handed each of them a cup of tea from the tray she balanced on one hip.

  Tea. Latharn cringed. They should drink ale or at the very least mulled wine when they plotted a battle. Now, what had Trish said about contracts and curses?

  “You’ve obviously never been around many contract lawyers,” Trish retorted with a grin. “So, have you got this journal here or what? Is there any way I could get a look at it or is it locked away in someone’s library?”

  With a shrug of agreement from Fiona, Brodie ceased his restless pacing and headed to the built-in bookshelves lining the opposite wall of the room. He pushed aside several trinkets and baubles to reveal the combination lock of a safe. Brodie unlocked the safe and swung the door aside. He lifted a leather-bound book from the box.

  Latharn stared at the journal from across the room and drew a ragged breath. The sight of the book nearly knocked the wind from his chest. It had been one of his mother’s last grimoires. They had spoken every day until the morning before she’d leapt to her death. He’d pleaded with her not to take her life. Latharn choked against the painful memory of her final words. She had told him she couldn’t bear life without Caelan. Latharn had never understood the depths of her pain until he’d found his Nessa.

  Brodie set the book on the table in front of Trish. “This is the last journal of Rachel MacKay. The faded purple ribbon marks the passage about Latharn’s curse.”

  Trish held her hands over the well-worn book. As she opened the journal to the designated spot, Latharn watched her mouth drop open in surprise. “This is in English. Modern English. Is this supposed to be some kind of hoax? I thought you said this came from the 1400s.”

  Brodie MacKay hissed as he turned from the window. “Rachel MacKay was not from the past. She was a time traveler from the year 2008.”

  Trish’s hands dropped into her lap as she leaned back in her chair. “What you’re saying can’t possibly be true. This MacKay history just keeps getting wilder. How could a woman from the year 2008 be the mother of a man from 1410? You cannot be serious.”

  “I can and I am,” Brodie challenged, his chin jutting into the air.

  “He speaks the truth,” Latharn added from his globe shimmering on the shelf.

  Fiona stepped between them shaking her head, holding up her hands for silence. “It’s a long story, Trish, that of Rachel and Caelan and how they came to be joined. Suffice it to say, they were meant to be together and nothing, not even time or space, could ever keep them apart.”

  “Trish,” Latharn said. “Sometimes knowing in your heart is all the matters. There are many things in this world and beyond that are yet to be explained.”

  Her eyes widened in amazement. Trish looked up from the journal, disbelief written on her face. “This story just keeps getting better. Time travelers, witches, and cursed Highlanders in a ball. Is there anything else I need to know?”

  Fiona pointed at the faded words upon the page. “That should just about cover it. Now can ye read Rachel’s inscriptions? The dark outline, there. That surrounds the part about the curse.”

  Trish leaned closer to study the faded pages. She ran her finger back and forth just above the words, keeping space between herself and the yellowed page. “Okay. Here’s the part about Latharn not being allowed to speak to Nessa so that he can’t tell her how to break the curse.”

  Latharn watched impatiently as her lips moved while she read.

  “And here’s the part about no one of MacKay descent being allowed to tell her how to break the curse.” Her mouth fell open. Trish lifted her head. “I can tell her.”

  “No.” Brodie’s hands clenched into fists. “Ye will shatter the crystal and Latharn will be lost. Ye must not break the terms.”

  For the first time in centuries, hope surged through Latharn’s body at the excitement in Trish’s voice.

  “Don’t you see, Brodie? I am not of MacKay descent. Therefore, it doesn’t apply to me.” Trish eased the book closed as she hastened to explain, “Only those of the MacKay line are forbidden to reveal the way to Nessa’s true love. I’m a mutt. I traced my family tree once and trust me, there’s not a drop of Scottish blood flowing in these veins.”

  “It canna be that simple.” Fiona dropped into a chair. “Then we wasted our chance. I could’ve told the lass yesterday when she was so close to calling him out.”

  Trish shook her head, in disagreement. “No. You did the right thing by keeping the pact and holding your tongue. When you married Brodie, technically, you became a MacKay. If you had said any more to Nessa then what I understood you to say, the crystal would’ve disintegrated along with his soul.”

  Latharn shouted, “Then go get her! What the hell are ye waiting for?” He beat on the glass, rattling the globe across the length of the mantel. Could it be this simple? Could Nessa’s friend tell her what she needed to do?

  Brodie grabbed Trish by the arm, pulling her out of the chair. “Do as he says. Go to her then. Tell the woman. Let this damnable curse be at an end.”

  Trish shook her head and remained in her seat. She picked up her tea and took a sip as she studied the sphere upon the shelf. She set the delicate china cup back in its saucer and ran one finger around the rim of the cup. “No. We still have to play this out just right. If we spook Nessa, she’ll never break the curse. She’ll be especially leery after Latharn’s visitation at the car wreck and the nightmares she had afterward. She’s just now beginning to calm down again. He must’ve smoothed things over in another dream. He’s been trapped in there for almost six hundred years; a few more days will just have to do.”

  “Are ye insane? Have ye any idea how long six hundred years can be?” Latharn roared and pelted the room with energy blasts until they dove beneath the table. “Just explain it to her and she will be fine. Just tell her. Once I’m out, I will soothe things over.”

  “Don’t you remember how spooked she was after the car wreck and the nightmare she had that night? Remember how nervous she got when she thought the orb was you…she almost ran out of the shop yesterday just from the light show you put on. We have to take this slow,” Trish shouted at him from underneath her chair. “Nessa has trouble accepting the supernatural. Think about it, Latharn.”

  The room fell silent. Latharn scowled from his prison and glared at Trish as she opened one eye.

  “Is it safe to come out?”

  “Aye. Ye can come out. I will not blast ye,” Latharn grumbled. “Perhaps I can bear this hell a few more days.”

  Crawling out from under the furniture, Trish dusted off her knees. “By the way, I haven’t seen Nessa this morning. But I noticed the jeep is gone. Did she say where she was going? It’s Sunday. I figured we’d just laze around here today.”

  Fiona straightened her skirts as she crawled out from under the table, retying the strings of her apron. “She didna say. She was just out the door with a smile and a wave. But come to think of it, she was dressed as though she was going someplace nice.”

  Brodie nodded in agreement as he dusted off his trousers. “Perhaps she was going to church?”

  Trish shook her head as she closed the journal and pushed her chair under the table. “I doubt that. Nessa views religion as a cultural enigma. I really don’t think she follows any specific faith herself.”

  “Someone needs to find where she went. I’m trusting ye all to take care of my Nessa.” Latharn bounced warning lights around the room. They needn’t stand around gaggling like a bunch of geese.

  Trish paused, tapping her fingers on the back of the chair, ignoring Latharn’s display as she mused aloud. “Gabriel seemed unusually disappoint
ed yesterday and very determined to meet with Nessa sometime soon. It’s strange. I’m not saying he shouldn’t be interested in her but he’s just a hair shy of being completely obsessed.”

  Brodie straightened the chairs around the table. “It would be unwise for the fool to try to get too close to Nessa. Latharn may not be able to speak to his love but there’s not a power on earth that will keep him from protecting her.”

  “I will kill the bastard if he so much as stirs the air in which my Nessa breathes,” Latharn stated.

  With a look on her face that said she was clearly fed up, Trish squared off between Fiona and Brodie. “Okay. Out with it. What’s the story on Gabriel Burns? I have the distinct impression here that there’s something I need to know. If he’s a serial killer, I think I have the right to know. After all, Latharn has officially inducted me into the MacKay Mystery Club.”

  Latharn couldn’t resist a chuckle at Trish’s comment but he dreaded hearing the story that was about to ensue. If he hadn’t been trapped in this accursed globe, he would’ve rendered justice himself.

  Fiona bit at her lower lip and rubbed at an invisible spot on the table. “Before I became Brodie’s wife, Gabriel and I were engaged to be married.” With a trembling voice, Fiona swallowed hard before she could continue. “Gabriel seems kind and wonderful at first, until he’s positive that he has ye in his snare. Then he can become quite controlling…even cruel, some might say.”

  Latharn itched to clench his hands around Gabriel’s throat as Fiona’s hands trembled at her side.

  “Are you saying he’s physically abusive?” Trish leaned closer, her hands tightening around the back of the chair.

  Latharn’s heart went out to Fiona. That was another reason he’d chosen her for Brodie. The lass had suffered so.

  That was also why the bastard deserved to die. Latharn still didn’t understand this twenty-first century justice.

  Fiona nodded. “I think, given enough time, he might even become truly dangerous. Thankfully, Brodie came along before I found out just how much damage he was willing to do.” She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and buried her face in his chest.