Dark Victory (15 page)

Coinneach cried out, struggling to rush forward, as if believing he could pull the shackle from the wall.

Suddenly Macleod felt a touch of regret. Not for what he must do, but for provoking the boy as he had. But it was the truth—Coinneach’s father had been a coward and the boy knew it—he had watched. Suddenly Macleod realized he had something in common with the MacDougall boy. He’d helplessly watched his father being murdered, too.

He was uncomfortable, and he did not like it. “Ye’ll break yer leg,” he said flatly.

Panting, Coinneach subsided, sliding to his knees. “I’ll kill ye,” he cried. “I swear, I will find a way!”

He refused to compare himself to Coinneach another time. “Put him in the stocks in the bailey so all my people can see the Fate of thieves and those who think to murder me. He’ll have no food, no water…an’ we’ll see how long he lives.”

S
HE TURNED TO WATCH
Macleod vanish into a dark stairway. Tabby decided she had enough to worry about without getting involved in Blayde’s business. He’d undoubtedly taken many prisoners over the course of his long lifetime and this one had only rustled cattle. The lady of Melvaig was a witch. She could barely adjust to that startling and ominous piece of information. If An Tùir-Tara had resulted from a war of witches, did it mean that the current MacDougall lady would be one of the witches in the battle two hundred years from now? There were spells for longevity, although Tabby had never found one or known anyone who had used one. But hadn’t MacNeil said he’d known Grandma Sara? She’d been ancient when she passed. She and Sam had assumed she was about a hundred years old, but now Tabby was uncertain.

Her head was hurting again. To survive, she needed Macleod. If she was not mistaken, she was cruising along just as Fate had planned. Tabby grimaced. She did not want to ever decipher MacNeil’s comment about souls.

The serving maid tugged on her sleeve but Tabby wanted to look around. “One moment,” she said, smiling at her.

Macleod had left, but Tabby felt him everywhere. Now that she was resigned to having gone back in time, she could not believe how she’d shouted and vented at him, much less hit him. She’d angered him—of that, there’d been no mistake. She was lucky, she decided, that for some reason, he hadn’t hit her back.

It crossed her mind that maybe he wasn’t as brutal as she’d assumed. Or at least, he hadn’t been brutal with her, not yet.

She intended to keep it that way. No more un-Tabby-like temper tantrums. Tabby gave the great hall a cursory glance and nodded at the maid. “Let’s go.”

They crossed the room. It was barely furnished, with a massive fireplace, and exactly as one would imagine a medieval
great room to look like. The ceilings were high and timbers crisscrossed them. There were rushes on the floor.

The history books were all wrong, she thought as they left. The chamber was clean. Dogs were not present. The rushes were fresh and smelled great.

Tabby paused before starting up another spiral staircase. The huge room should have felt cold and uninviting, but it seemed almost welcoming. She didn’t mind it being so spartan, not at all—frankly, it suited Macleod. And suddenly she saw herself curling up in one of the two chairs before the hearth with the Book of Roses.

She cried out.

What on earth did that fantasy signify? She was never going to sit before that fire and work on her spells! The only place she would do that was at home. And she didn’t have the Book there, anyway.

Real dismay began. The Book was always in a Rose woman’s keeping—always. It was her responsibility, and it was at home, with Sam. If she needed a new spell, she might be screwed. But hopefully, she’d be at home before that ever happened.

She followed the maid upstairs, uneasy, thinking about the black witch of Melvaig.

A moment later she was on Blayde’s third and uppermost floor. Facing her was an open tower room. She saw stairs that went to the ramparts, where the watch were. The maid went to the only door on the landing and showed her into a large bedchamber.

It was Macleod’s. As it had in the hall, his power and presence filled the chamber. Here, his mark was so strong it made her feel faint, stirring her body pleasantly. Tabby looked at the fireplace briefly as the maid knelt before it. Then she looked at the bed. It was heavily carved, the wood almost black.
A dozen embroidered pillows were piled up against the ebony headboard, and red and blue wool blankets, a fur and a red-and-black plaid were at its carved foot. Ralph Lauren would love this bed, she thought. It could be in one of his showrooms.

Now that their terrific argument was done, her body was starting to make demands on her. She hadn’t forgiven him for treating her like baggage—and she wasn’t going to, either. So she had to rein in that sudden and intense wave of desire.

She looked past a rustic table and two carved chairs set against the wall beneath a pair of shuttered embrasures. Because it was a beautiful summer day, the shutters were open, revealing an expanse of sparkling sapphire-blue sea. She walked over to the narrow window. The sea below was so large she assumed she was looking at a part of the Atlantic Ocean. It was a view no one could ever tire of.

She reminded herself not to get too comfortable. Her new plan was to stay at Blayde for a few days and gather information on Melvaig and its witch.

She looked at the bed. When Macleod apologized to her—with sincerity—and made it clear that he understood the error of his ways, she’d join him there. Otherwise, it was hands off. A major principle was at stake.

The maid was having trouble lighting the fire. Tabby told herself to focus. The first order of business was to put a protective spell on the bedchamber. She could not possibly sleep there otherwise, not with a witch a few miles away at Melvaig. But it was very cold inside the room. Tabby closed her eyes and focused on the wood.

Fire obey me, fire burn. Fire obey me, warm the room.

Tabby spent a few minutes casting the spell, and she opened her eyes. The maid turned, sending Tabby a helpless look. Then she said something and left.

Not even an ember glowed, and Tabby sighed. She’d been
able to stop that guard’s gun from working, but she couldn’t get the wood to burn. However, her protective spells were habitual. She walked over to the bed, sat down there and closed her eyes.
“Good over this chamber, good around it. Good everywhere, barring dark intent. Circle formed, protecting us.”

Her focus sharpened. She intensified her desire, until it tingled through her flesh and bones, chanting the spell again and again. Perspiration began. When she thought it likely she’d finally succeeded, she sat back in the bed, drained.

Tabby started.

A small fire was burning in the hearth.

Had she started it? She murmured,
“Fire obey me, fire burn. Fire obey me, warm the room.”

The fire danced merrily, but it did not blaze.

Suddenly one of the open shutters slammed against the wall.

Tabby sat bolt upright. It was a still summer day. How would a sudden gust of wind cause it to lift away from the wall where it rested and then slam down?

The shutter slammed on the wall again.

It was entirely unnatural. As a terrible comprehension arose, another shutter slammed against the wall, too. So did the next shutter and the next one, as if someone was walking from shutter to shutter, lifting each from the wall and banging it down.

Hatred and malevolence surged closer—the same hatred and malevolence she’d encountered in her loft.
It had come back.

And then the fear and shock vanished. Calm slipped over her. She did not take her eyes from the windows, where she could feel the evil lurking.
“Evil get out, evil be gone. Protection spells of mine keep you far from here.”

The shutters all began slamming on the wall at once in a fit of fury and hatred.

Tabby was aware of the open bedroom door. It was tempting
to leave. Instead, she started to repeat the spell, her eyes on the door, and it slammed closed.
“Evil get out, evil be gone. Protection spells of mine keep you far from here.”

But she wasn’t a fool. Tabby went to the door and seized the handle but the door didn’t budge. Fear surged again. She willed it away.
“Evil get out, evil be gone. Protection spells of mine keep you far from here.”
She used all of her strength to pull on the door.

It suddenly opened.

She hurried from the room, chanting the spell. An ice-cold blast of air struck her with a huge force from behind, coming not from the chamber but the tower or the window at the end of the hall. She stumbled, stunned.

The ice-cold air pummeled her from behind.

“Tabitha!”

Tabby fell, hard, to the floor. She heard his heavy booted steps as he ran up the stairs and she tried to get up, but the icy blast was pushing her down. She looked up, and saw Macleod, still in his jeans, his face a mask of rage. Silver energy blazed from his hands. “A Thabitha!” he roared.

Tabby heard stone shearing, and as it crashed to the floor from the ceiling, the pressure pushing her increased. She strained against it.
“Evil get out, evil be gone,”
she cried.

She thought she heard laughter.

Macleod cursed. Tabby looked at him and saw his power blazing, while more stone sheared off the walls from the tower. He was trying to blast the energy coming in from the window, but clearly, his power was meant for a far more physical entity. If she didn’t send the evil away, it would break her back.

“Evil get out…evil be gone.”

The vicious hatred pushed at her so hard Tabby thought it had finally snapped her bones. As viciously, Tabby fought back with her magic. And as she did, the terrible pressure suddenly
vanished. Tabby cried out, gasping in relief, getting to her hands and knees.

Macleod knelt, his huge hands stunningly gentle, and he pulled her into his arms. “Are ye hurt?”

Tabby slowly sat up, amazed that she wasn’t broken, and she leaned against him, meeting his wide blue eyes. Shock vanished and she looked toward the end of the corridor, where an open window embrasure and the stairs to the ramparts were. She began to tremble. “Macleod. It followed us here from New York.”

New York City
December 9, 2008

H
ER PAGER WOKE HER UP
.

Sam was a light sleeper. She shot upright, looked at the pager and dialed Nick. As his cell rang, she realized she’d had less than two hours of sleep and she cursed. Why in hell was Nick bothering her in the middle of the day?

“Where’s your sister?” Nick demanded.

“Hey, good morning to you, too.” Sam was instantly uneasy. “I assume she’s out and about.”

“You helping her keep secrets, Rose?” Nick sounded pissed.

Sam could not read minds, but she didn’t have to. Nick knew all about Macleod. She was certain. “What’s up? Because I need my beauty sleep and I am a bitch when I don’t get it.”

“A really big man, who might be a magician—because he seemed to create lightning with his hands—robbed the Met.”

Sam went still. “Shit.”

“Oh, and another cop is dead. And a priceless friggin’ necklace is gone. So where did you say your sister is?”

Holy shit, Sam thought. “I’ll call you right back.”

“Rose,” Nick shouted, but Sam hung up. She jumped into her jeans and was pulling on a crewneck tee as she ran barefoot into the loft. She didn’t even bother to call her sister’s name, because
she knew she was gone and so was Macleod. The loft was empty.

She breathed hard. There was no way Tabby had left the city and gone back in time without saying goodbye. She would never do such a thing. It sounded like Macleod had robbed the museum. If so, they’d probably walk through that door at any moment.

She breathed harder, shaking. She never trembled; she had nerves of steel. But now, she stared at the garbage bags taped across the living-room windows. Her cell rang.

She had it in her back pocket and she picked up. “I don’t know where Tabby is. But, Nick, something tried to get in here last night. Tabby swears it was a demonic energy.”

Nick was silent. “First some demonized kids, and then a demon ghost?”

Sam wet her lips. “Can a demonic ghost command subs?”

“How the hell would I know?”

“Gee, I don’t know, you seem to know just about everything,” Sam said, suddenly furious.

“Have you seen Macleod, damn it?”

“Yes,” Sam gritted, “and I lied. Tabby asked me to keep it quiet, so I did. Fire me. Like I give a fuck.” She realized she was choking, as if on the verge of tears.

Nick’s tone softened. “I might suspend you, but I’m not firing you. Come into HCU so we can figure this out. And, kid? You’ll hear from her.”

Nick was being
kind.
Sam’s rage knew no bounds. “She didn’t leave—she’s coming back!” She almost threw her cell across the room, but at the last moment, jammed it back in her pocket, instead.

The doorbell rang.

Sam was instantly wary. No one could get up without buzzing up from the exterior lobby first. She went to the door.
Halfway there, she felt evil—and recognized it. Her surprise vanished as she opened the door and stared at Kristin Lafarge.

Kristin smiled, holding a bag from a nearby French bakery in her hand. Her attention went to the garbage bags on the windows and back to Sam. “Hello. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I couldn’t sleep last night because of what happened. I tried to call your sister this morning, but she didn’t answer. I became worried. I thought I’d drop by on my way to school.”

“It’s noon.”

“Vanderkirk told me I could take a half day. At first I refused, but this morning, I changed my mind. Is Tabby here?”

“Come on in,” Sam said, smiling. But inside, she was ice-cold. This bitch was going to talk before she was allowed to leave and Sam did not intend to play nice. “Neighbor let you in?”

“Yes, the sweet elderly lady who lives on the second floor.” Kristin set the small paper bag on the kitchen counter. “Is Tabby here? Is she all right?”

Mrs. Morris would never let anyone in whom she did not know. She’d been mesmerized by Kristin. “As you can see, we had a bit of an altercation last night—the good, old-fashioned, horror-movie kind.”

Kristin sighed. “Sam, should we get to the point?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam said, licking her lips. “Why are you after my sister?”

“Payback is a bitch,” Kristin said softly. Her eyes glowed and a dark wave resonated from her body. “Bitch get down, in so much pain.”

Sam felt a knife go through her stomach. She gasped, “I should have known—a witch from hell.” She flung her power at her.

Kristin was struck so hard she slammed against the kitchen counter.

Although her stomach still hurt, enough that she was afraid she might be bleeding, Sam smiled. “You can’t mess with a Rose.” She struck her again and Kristin cried out, going down to her knees. Then Sam advanced. “What has Tabby ever done to you?” she demanded, standing over her. “Why are you hunting her?”

Kristin closed her eyes and began chanting silently. Sam tensed, fully aware that Kristin was trying to cast a spell on her. She steeled herself against it. If Kristin was as powerful as her mother or grandmother had been, she might be toast. “Answer me, bitch!”

Kristin opened her eyes, which glowed eerily again, like incandescent opal. “Where is your sister, Sam?”

“She’s at Blayde, in Scotland.” Sam was horrified—she’d just told Kristin where her sister was!

Worse, she was confused. Suddenly she didn’t know what she wanted from Kristin, or why she was filled with so much urgency. And the moment she became aware of her confusion, she knew she had been mesmerized.

She had to fight the spell. She hadn’t told Kristin the year in which she could find Tabby.

“Is she there now, in the present? Or did she go into the past?” Kristin asked, approaching.

Sam struggled against the witch’s hypnotic eyes, knowing she must not answer, but replied helplessly, “She’s in the past.”

“What year, exactly?”

“1298.” Crap, Sam thought, as she spoke. Kristin had dark power and she was after Tabby, and Sam had just told her where to find her. But she’d get out of this spell and go back in time, somehow. She’d protect her sister, to hell with Macleod.

Kristin smiled and said, “Don’t move, darling, not yet.” She turned and went into the kitchen.

Sam felt as if she was caught up in an invisible vise. She
knew she had to act—she had to destroy Kristin—but her will would not obey her mind.

Kristin returned, holding a butcher knife. “Take the knife, Sam.”

Sam knew what Kristin intended.
I am a Rose,
she thought, furious, and suddenly she lifted her hand and to her relief, her power blazed. The knife was struck from Kristin’s hand.

“Bitch get down, in so much pain,” Kristin hissed.

The invisible knife stabbed through her, but Sam strode forward, fighting the pain. Kristin paled and turned, rushing for the door. Sam picked up the knife, gasping in pain as she did so. Kristin murmured in a strange language Sam had heard before. Shocked, she held her abdomen with one hand, the knife in the other.

She was chanting in the ancient tongue of the demons.

Kristin seized the moment and ran out of the loft.

Sam breathed hard, slowly sliding down the wall to the floor, and eventually, the pain lessened. How did the witch know a language that only the oldest, most ancient demons still used?

“A
RE YE HURT
?” Macleod repeated, his gaze piercing.

Tabby inhaled and started to get up. He put his arm around her, helping her to her feet. “I’m fine.” She was still shaken. He had been at her side in another crisis and she was glad. Of course, there was no way of knowing whether she would have been attacked again if she’d remained in New York, where she was supposed to be.

But it was hard to hold a grudge now. She smiled wanly. “You appeared in the nick of time.”

“I was leavin’ the tower an’ I felt the evil, Tabitha.” He was subdued, too. “It dinna follow
us.
”

Tabby felt her insides lurch with dread. “Okay, you may be right…
may
being the operative word.”

“I
am
right. Do ye wish to sit down?”

His face had that hard warrior expression now, and she felt his impatience. He wanted to fight the evil spirit. She just knew it. “I’m okay. I feel a bit battered and I might even be bruised, but I’ll live.”

His face tightened impossibly. “Evil dared to breach my walls!” He erupted, and the walls shook. Small pieces of stone and mortar fell from the ceiling. Tabby ducked and Macleod pulled her close.

She looked up, instantly aware of him in every possible way. He was courageous, powerful, sexual and a gazillion-percent male. “I think you should control your anger—not that I blame you for it—so the whole wing of this castle doesn’t come down on us.”

He released her. “Aye.”

“Macleod, I feel certain that evil came from New York. It was the same evil that came from the Met. It is the evil associated with An Tùir-Tara. But is there any chance I am wrong? Could it be the Melvaig witch, sending us a little present?”

“Criosaidh is a witch, Tabitha, but a mostly human one. There are rumors one of her grandfathers was a deamhan, but I dinna ken the truth. But she lives an’ breathes as we do. She canna put herself into the air as evil.” His expression changed. “Or I dinna think she can.”

Tabby hugged herself. Now that the attack was over, the ramifications were suddenly sinking in—all of them very bad for her and Macleod.

“I’ll protect ye.”

She met his steady regard. “Why? Because we’re sharing a bed?”

“Aye…an’ ye’re Innocent.”

“But you’ve refused to take your vows.”

His dark blue eyes glinted. “MacNeil has harped on me like
a shrew for almost a hundred years. Dinna start, Tabitha. Ye’re Innocent and ye have power. I wish to protect ye an’ I will.”

“I have a news flash.” Tabby grimaced. “Your power is meant to stop our flesh-and-blood enemies. You can’t stop a spirit, apparently.”

“But ye can.”

“Maybe, but my powers are erratic!” Tabby cried, really worried now. “One day they will be strong, I think, but I can’t depend on them. If we’re counting on me, we’re in trouble, Macleod!”

“Yer magic is stronger than ye believe.” He left the hall and Tabby followed him into the bedchamber.

“We still don’t know why a vanquished demon would hunt me,” she finally said.

“Ye have enemies,” he said flatly, staring down at the locked chest at the foot of the bed. His expression became thoughtful.

“As far as I know, my enemies are dead. Every time we’ve fought evil, we’ve vanquished it—otherwise, we’d be dead right now.”

“But the evil has come back from the vanquished, aye?” He gave her a look over his shoulder and knelt, taking keys from his belt.

She suddenly recalled something he’d said to her—if he didn’t kill his enemies, they would kill him. Maybe their worlds weren’t as different as she’d believed. “Macleod, I don’t think it got in here. It was at the embrasures, and really mad that it couldn’t get in. But it pushed the door closed, sending its energy from the window.” She sobered. She’d barely been able to open the door. And she had been afraid that the spirit would break her back.

Macleod darkened. “’Twas in the hall with ye, Tabitha, right there, outside this chamber door. I felt it strongly.”

“I put a protective spell on the bedroom, but not the hall.” Tabby shivered. “She hates me—or us.”

He shifted to look at her. “She?”

“Remember the Met?” When he nodded, Tabby said, “My first visit there, I saw your mother’s pendant and instantly felt a woman’s dark evil. This spirit is a woman.”

He stared. “Ghosts dinna haunt the past, they haunt the future.”

He was right. It was one thing for a ghost of any kind to haunt her in 2008, coming from 1550. But this ghost had gone
backward
in time. Slowly, she said, “Well, if we can time-travel, I guess it can, too.” Then she added, “What are you doing?”

“Hold this,” Macleod said, reaching into his jeans’ pocket.

Tabby started as he handed her the amulet he’d stolen from the Met. It was ice-cold in her hand. “I forgot about this entirely.”

He gave her a look and unlocked the chest.

Tabby felt her tension soar as she realized what he was doing. He had told her that he’d left his pendant in a chest at Blayde. But she had the same pendant in her hand, and she didn’t know what to expect. There couldn’t be two of a single object, could there?

She wet her lips. Time travel changed everything. If she traveled back to the future, but to a few days before she’d ever met Macleod, what would she find? Would she encounter a slightly younger version of herself? Would she come face-to-face with herself? Was it even possible? “I need the Book,” Tabby said suddenly. “Every Wisdom you can think of is in that Book. I’ve never been without it, not in my entire life.” She became uneasy. “The Book is always guarded by a powerful Rose witch. My grandmother left it to me. I don’t know if I can manage without it.”

His glance was steady. “The Masters live by many rules, Tabitha. Over the years, I have learned a few of their laws. ’Tis
forbidden fer a Master to leap forward or backward an’ encounter his self in another time. ’Tis one of the most sacred parts of the Code.”

“Why?” Tabby asked with some dread.

“I dinna ken, but the consequences are dire—or so I have been told.”

Tabby looked at the pendant in her palm. The moonstone was flat and lifeless. “This has lost its power. It had magic, Macleod, but it’s gone.”

He had heard her but he didn’t respond. He reached into the open chest and, to Tabby’s shock, produced the identical pendant. Even though he held it, she instantly felt its warmth and power, its protective magic. The entire talisman glowed. She looked more closely; the moonstone was as bright and alive as a star.

Suddenly she cried out, dropping the pendant she held. It had become so cold it had burned her hand. Incredulous, she looked at the patch of frostbite on her palm. Then she saw the pendant on the stone floor, turning into white-gold dust…and it was gone.

Macleod seized her hand. “Ye’ll be fine. A wrapped rag with loch water will take the chill from yer hand.”