Dark Gathering

by Karlene Cameron

  The soldier howled in pain and struck Caitriona, catching her across the jaw. Her head snapped backward as tears welled up in her eyes. The soldier fisted his hand in her hair and yanked her back. She cried out and covered her attacker’s hands with her own, trying to create some slack in the painful hold he had on her.

  “Control your witch, MacKinnon,” Hawkins yelled, firing a single shot at the closest Templar, who fell forward, dead. Caitriona stopped fighting as she stared at the dead Templar, whose eyes stared vacantly at the dark night sky. The soldier closest to her grabbed her and pinned him against her.

  “Enough,” Hawkins bellowed, effectively silencing them all. He pulled Caitriona from the soldier and placed her against his front, his elbow pressing against her throat, cutting off any further protests.

  “Ah, my pet, we are reunited at last.” He inhaled deeply.

  Duncan locked eyes on her. She had to find a way to free him and his men or they would all die here today. Working hard to still the erratic beating of her heart, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath of air in through her nose. She emptied her mind of the fear and anger that drove her desperation. She opened her mind, searching for Nicolas. She felt him nudge and she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m uncomfortable having the witch in our camp,” Billinger snarled, as he and the other soldiers grew more uneasy with the otherworldly power she was summoning.

  Caitriona opened her eyes, Nicolas’ energy wrapping her in warmth. She watched, almost as an outsider would, the way Hawkins eyed his second with disdain. She knew Hawkins had no room for superstition on his watch.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Billinger,” Hawkins snarled. “There is no place here for childhood tales of demons and sorcery. I also didn’t take you for the superstitious sort…perhaps my faith in you has been misplaced.”

  “I’m not superstitious,” Billinger replied. “The witch has powers that we’ve all seen. What other gifts has she been hiding?” he asked. He stressed the word gifts, disdain for her deviation from genetic perfection apparent. Caitriona knew the man was walking on dangerous ground. There weren’t too many who would openly challenge Hawkins.

  “All I want is the girl, Hawkins,” Duncan repeated. “Let her go.”

  “The girl has certain value to us,” Hawkins told him, his eyes cold and unrelenting. “So, if I refuse?” Hawkins challenged.

  “Then you—and your pathetic army—will die.”

  Hawkins laughed out loud “Your threats are as meaningless, as they always are, MacKinnon. Especially since I have the prize we are all after.” He nuzzled Caitriona’s ear. “Do as you think you must,” Hawkins called out. “I think we’ve proven on several occasions now that I take what I want from you and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it, MacKinnon.”

  “Let her go, Hawkins,” Duncan repeated.

  Caitriona felt Nicolas nudge again and this time, she understood. Closing her eyes, she drew her energy inward. Her body began to tremble as her eyes took on the milky-white cloud that signaled only one thing.

  Duncan watched as Caitriona began trembling, her lips muttering and her eyes becoming milky white. Goddess, she’s channeling Danika, his mind screamed. “Dinna do this, Caitriona,” he begged. “Ye dinna ken what yer doin’, lass.”

  Whether she ignored him or couldn’t hear him, he didn’t know. The energy visibly grew stronger around her as she continued drawing energy to her. Hawkins mouthed a small “oh,” as his hands dropped away from her and he stepped back. Billinger also took several steps away from her, clearly looking for an exit path should Caitriona unleash her power.

  “What is she doing?” Hawkins screamed. When he was met with silence, he fixed his gaze on Duncan. “What kind of dark magic is this?” Hawkins bellowed. “Make her stop, MacKinnon.”

  Duncan pleaded with her again. Not because Hawkins wanted him to, but because he was worried for her safety. LaFelle wasn’t with her to ground her energy.

  Hawkins was crazy when it came to Caitriona. Damnu, his mind thundered. This was not going as planned. He focused again on undoing the wrist restraints, his efforts fueled by the power Caitriona was conjuring. Mine, the word tore through his brain, like an incessant earworm that refused to be abated.

  Hawkins stepped away from Caitriona and leveled the gun at Duncan. “I will kill him, Caitriona. Stop what you are doing or he dies,” he screamed.

  Caitriona arched her body. Duncan knew the energy was coursing through her body and would soon be unleashed. He also knew she’d be unable to control its trajectory.

  “If you don’t stop the fucking witch, I will kill you now,” Hawkins screamed at Duncan.

  Hawkins squeezed the trigger just as Caitriona released her energy. The wave of power sent the weapon into the air where it discharged, reining debris from the nearby vegetation down on those closest to the blast. It was the distraction Duncan needed. Moving swiftly, he worked the restraints from his wrists as he rolled to a standing position. Bellowing in rage, he lunged for Hawkins. Around him, his men scrambled to gain the upper hand, their restraints hindering their progress.

  “Alive,” Duncan yelled. “I want the bastard alive!” He dodged a stream of laser fire that erupted just above his head. “Damnu,” he screamed. He was damn tired of this maniac always slipping through his fingers. He owed Caitriona this much. He rolled as another blast of laser fire nearly missed him. Jumping to his feet, Duncan spun when he saw one of the Order’s soldiers draw his sword. Drawing his claymore, he spun and ducked away from the soldier’s deadly blow, easily side-stepping the uncontrolled thrusts of the younger man’s blade.

  Duncan swept past the man, hooking the young man’s leg with his foot, effectively bringing him to the ground. The young soldier dropped his weapon giving Duncan time to cold cock him on the forehead. Turning, he saw his men in a full-on battle with the Order’s soldiers. He admired the way his men fought as one, how they moved as a unit, each protecting the other yet never giving an inch to the Order’s men.

  A sharp blast of fire near his right side sent Duncan scrambling for cover. Spying Hawkins, Duncan tore after the man, coming up short as the recalcitrant leader fired a shot that came dangerously close to ending his life. Lee fired in rapid succession, effectively halting any more activity from Hawkins.

  Hawkins waved his next-gen gun at Caitriona, using his other hand to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of his lips. Hawkins laughed. “We aren’t finished, Commander.” Motioning to Billinger, they both fled into the shadows of the night.

  Caitriona felt the energy building within her. She was unsure what to do or how to control the pulsing waves that threatened to consume her. She knew Hawkins had released her, but her physical vision had gone dark when she began channeling Danika’s energy. Within minutes, she released a stream of energy that sent a plume of fire arcing out around them. She screamed and collapsed to the ground, her whole body shaking, a wave of nausea gripping her.

  She could hear Hawkins sputtering but couldn’t tell what was happening. She crawled toward Duncan, trying to reach him. Suddenly, strong arms reached down and pulled her to her feet. She sobbed as she recognized the arms that held her tight.

  Duncan pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. She sobbed, holding him close, not wanting to let go. “Hawkins,” she said, trying to extract herself from his powerful embrace.

  “Gone,” he growled. “Dinna fash yerself, love. We will find him. I promise ye.”

  She put her head on his chest, splaying her fingers across his taut muscles. “He’s not going to stop, Duncan. Not now,” she said. “He knows what I am.”

  “I ken,” he replied in her ear. “Let’s get ye home.” She looked in his eyes.

  “Dunrobin?” she said hesitantly.

  “Aye,” he told her. “It’s time we all go home.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  “Good morning, Leannan,” Duncan said, giving her an impish grin. “I made ye breakfast, lass.” He set two la
rge plates of food in front of her, pouring coffee for her from the carafe that had been brought by one of Dunrobin’s serving maids earlier that morning.

  She stretched, wincing at the reminder that not all her bruises and injuries had completely healed. While Fiona had healed the worst of their injuries, she knew there would be several follow up sessions in the weeks to come, especially as it related to the baby’s health. “That’s enough food for an army, Duncan,” she said, biting into a piece of toast that had been generously slathered with butter. She wiped the crumbs from her mouth.

  “Yer eatin’ fer two, Alainn, and the bairn needs all the fuel he can get if he is goin’ tae grow big and strong,” he said, taking a bite of the toast from her hand. She swatted at him playfully before he sat down in the oversized chair across from her.

  She stuffed a sausage into her mouth, savoring the perfectly spiced juices. “Still, we haven’t eaten this well in weeks. What is the occasion?” she asked between mouthfuls. She adjusted the pillows on the back so she was more comfortable.

  “Well, if my math is correct,” he said, counting on his fingers, “this is the second time we’ve almost been killed. I felt like that alone was cause for some sort of celebration.”

  She laughed.

  “I love the sound of your laugh, Alainn. I want nothing more than to spend my life giving you every reason to laugh.”

  “I haven’t felt this happy in a very long time,” she replied. “I didn’t think I could feel like this again. It’s been so long...”

  He grinned at her. “If it makes ye happy, I can make myself available…” The promise of something more, something unbidden and sultry, sat beneath his statement. She found herself growing wet just thinking about all the delightful ways he could make himself available.

  She set the food on the table and climbed out of the bed. She gave Duncan a sultry look as she crossed the room to where he was seated and climbed into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him to her. Her lips found his, her tongue tasting him, exploring him. She groaned, wanting to feel much more of him than just his lips and his tongue. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling the wetness between her legs. How she needed this man. Every fiber of her being called out to him. Her body ached to have him inside her.

  “You know I don’t like being told what to do,” she quipped, nuzzling him.

  “Aye. I have half a mind tae bend ye over my knee and give yer hide a good tannin’,” he said, but there was a hint of mischief in his voice.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m here,” she tossed back. She leaned in close to his ear. “Turns out I may need a good tanning.” Her breath tickled the hairs on his neck and she smiled seductively as she wriggled off his lap and stepped away from him. She undid the laces on her gown, letting the garment slide to the floor.

  “Och, Caitriona,” he whispered, opening his arms as she climbed into his lap once again. His mouth found hers as she groaned and parted her lips, enjoying the butterflies that surfaced again and again. His hand slid behind her neck, fisting in her hair and drawing her in even closer. His mouth covered hers, his lips forcing hers apart as his tongue raked across her teeth. His other hand slid down her shoulder and cupped her buttocks, caressing each cheek until she undulated softly beneath him. Where his hands explored, they left an electrical trail that set every nerve in her body on fire, an energy that was so uniquely theirs.

  He was the first to break the kiss, his hands cupping her face. She leaned into his hands, not ready for their time together to be over. Plucking at the drawstrings of his pants, her hand gave up their task, cupping his hardness through the material of his pants instead. He groaned and tilted his head back, obviously enjoying the expert ministrations she plied. She slid off his lap and pulled him to his feet, this time easily divesting him of his trues.

  Grasping his hardness in her hand, she sank to her knees, eagerly taking him into her mouth. He groaned as she sheathed her teeth and took the length of him, alternating between gliding her mouth up and down his shaft and swirling her tongue along the rim. He inhaled as her fingers trailed against his balls.

  “Catie, lass,” he groaned, his voice husky with unspent need. He pulled her to her feet, his hand cupping her breast and teasing the nipple to hardness. She gasped, need filling every part of her body.

  “Ye are my world, lass” he whispered against her ear. Scooping her into his arms, he backed her up against the wall, her legs eagerly parting and wrapping around him. He cupped her buttocks and thrust hard, his need matching her own. She moaned, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him deeper into her. She gasped as Duncan increased his pace, sweeping her along in a tidal wave of passion neither could control. Just as she reached her own climax, Duncan cried out, his body shaking as he reached his own climax.

  They stayed like that for several minutes, Caitriona listening as his heartbeat returned to normal. Carrying her to the bed, Duncan deposited her in the middle, climbing in next to her. He kissed her sweetly, a soft kiss that held the promise of a lifetime together.

  Hours later, the food cold and the sun high overhead, Caitriona nestled against Duncan, her fingers tracing the lines of his chest. He opened his eyes and kissed the top of her head.

  “I wish I could stop time,” Caitriona said. “I don’t want this to end. As soon as you leave this room, the war will consume us both.”

  Duncan tilted her head so that he was looking in her eyes. “I’d like nothing more than tae stay wrapped in yer arms, lass—and between yer legs—for the next hundred years.” He winked at her and she laughed at him, nestling deeper in his arms. “But ye ken I canna do that. There’s a mad man out there who will stop at nothing tae possess ye.”

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She knew where Duncan stood on this matter.

  “What’s next?” she murmured against his chest.

  “The council has requested an emergency session,” he said, frustration lacing his voice.

  “What do they want?” Caitriona asked, already knowing the answer. But she needed Duncan to say it out loud.

  “Yer value tae them has increased, Caitriona. And the powers yer sister has displayed are far greater than anyone had assumed. They want tae ensure ye and yer sister are well guarded and protected at all times.”

  “Bullshit,” she said, pushing herself up on her elbows so that she could look at him. “That’s just political rhetoric and you know it. What aren’t you telling me?” she asked again. She didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

  “Dinna fash, lass. Additional security details right now canna hurt.”

  “I’m not disputing that, Duncan. Can’t you just assign more of your men to watch over Dani and me?”

  “Aye,” he told her, but the conviction wasn’t in his voice. “Dinna fash yerself,” he told her again. “I will handle the council.” He pulled her back to him, his lips capturing hers, ensuring there’d be no further protests.

  Chapter Fifty

  Duncan pushed back his chair and eyed the council members with disgust.

  “Where is the young woman?” the elder asked, his gnarled and wrinkled hands resting in front of him on the table.

  “The lass is in a safe place,” Duncan replied.

  “We sorely underestimated her power,” the elder confessed, testing the weight of each word. “The woman is a source of great power and needs to be well guarded and trained,” he said, not bothering to see if the other elders agreed.

  “She will be, I assure ye. But nae with the council. She stays with me…and her handler,” he added.

  “How do you two propose to keep such a powerful woman safe and out of the Order’s control?” he asked. There wasn’t a hint of malice in his voice. Duncan knew they were truly concerned about safeguarding the Seer’s gifts, but they also didn’t want to run the risk that she could change the timeline.

  He ignored the question, deciding deflection was a safer route.

  “None of ye have any idea
how to help the lass,” Duncan said. “Ye never have. Hell, I’m nae certain any of us ever have. We are moving into uncharted territory that none of us ken anythin’ about. The safest place for the Seer—and her sister—is with LaFelle and myself.”

  The council members bent and whispered among themselves. Duncan shifted his feet, growing more agitated and impatient with each passing minute. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t hear them; his genetically engineered hearing saw to that.

  The oldest council member tapped his fingers against his chin, alternating between that and pulling his beard. “Commander MacKinnon, do you even comprehend the trouble you have put us all in?”

  Duncan stared at the council members, unsure of what he was hearing. They were all on board with this plan when they first embarked on this treacherous journey so long ago. Yet now that Caitriona—and her sister—were more than they realized, they wanted to abort part of their plan and sequester the sisters in the council’s care. He recognized this for what it was: the council wanted the women close so they could track their progress, and more importantly, test their latent abilities. He shook his head, disgusted at this latest turn of events.

  “The trouble I’ve put ye in?” he asked, incredulously. “These women are hunted. The Seer’s been tortured and nearly raped and ye have the balls to sit here and bemoan yer difficult decision of what to eat today?” He shook his head, disgusted with the men he once revered.

  “How likely do ye think the women are going tae be if ye lock them away in a dark corner, poking and prodding them all day?” He laughed and leaned in close. “I hardly think they’ll be as willing as ye think them tae be, gentlemen.”

  The council members began talking in excited whispers among themselves. Duncan shifted his weight, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword, a stance that to him was as natural as walking. He had dressed for the occasion, donning his clan tartan, crisply starched white button-up shirt, and tartan beret. He looked every part the dashing Scotsman, his Highland claymore swinging at his side.