Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (21 page)

The crack opened, revealing a sword hilt stuck in the stone.

The first thing Daisy noticed was the stone set in the pommel. It was quartz, clear and achingly beautiful to her. It was set in a rose-gold bezel surrounded by sterling that had been engraved with spirals. Just like the pendant she was wearing. The pendant was a gift from Magnus for her seventeenth birthday. He crafted it just for her, and when he clasped it around her neck, he swore he’d never craft another pendant exactly like it. The stone grew warm against her chest.

Daisy didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and withdrew the sword from the stone. It gave way with a swooshing noise. As soon as it was free the stone closed again, sealing itself. Daisy stared at the sword. Its edge glistened in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees above her head. She tested its balance, first one-handed, then with both hands, as it was meant to be used. It rent the air with the sound that only a perfectly balanced sword makes when properly wielded.

It felt right in her hands, like she and it were one. It hummed in her grip and she swore she could feel the stones in her pendant and in her sword surrounding her with pure energy. She felt giddy and powerful and…

She heard the sound of a twig breaking behind her.

Merlin appeared from the trees. “We’d better get out of here before someone reports seeing a crazed American in a bright pink hat with a maniacal grin on her face brandishing a sword at invisible foes in the trees. There are lots of British tourists out there, and Brits tend to frown on open displays of psychoses.”

Daisy looked at her sword. She had nowhere to put it. Merlin was right. Getting out of there without being seen wasn’t going to be easy. “It didn’t come with a scabbard,” she said, as if that would have helped.

Merlin held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

Daisy hesitated. It didn’t feel right handing a weapon that had clearly been made for her to anyone. Not even Merlin.

He looked at her with his age-old eyes and she
felt
his power. She shook her head, but the certainty that giving her weapon to Merlin was the only way to get it out of there safely and inconspicuously remained. She handed her sword to him, pommel first.

He took it, wrapped it in
a length of leather he pulled from his pack, and secured the whole thing under his clothing in less time than it took her to scan the area again. When she looked back at Merlin, no evidence of the sword remained. The old-man look in his eyes was gone too. The grinning young man was firmly back in place.

“Don’t worry, Daisy. Your sword is safe with me.”

She didn’t see the one person observe her as she took the sword from the stone. She didn’t hear him as he followed her and Merlin down the hill. She didn’t feel him as he passed, close enough to touch. Close enough to kill. What she did sense was a wash of foreboding, prickling her skin. Daisy tried to chalk it up to the rush of cool air hitting her on the ride back home, but she couldn’t. Something wasn’t right. Someone intended her harm. The feeling was nebulous but no less real to her.

Perhaps she was going to need her sword, after all.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Rowan relayed the events of meeting Daisy in his usual stoic way. He used few words, but from those words Magnus learned three things. The first and most vital was that Daisy used her innate skill at finding and her honed gift of heightened intuition to find the sword Merry helped them hide. Had she not found the sword, her quest to become a Finder would have ended and Lauren would have sent her home.

The second thing Magnus learned from Rowan was that Rowan
liked
Daisy. Of course, he didn’t say so, but the small smile and the warm look on his face as he recounted their meeting were clues enough that he did. Since Rowan didn’t like many people and the few he did he respected or admired, that put Daisy in rarified company. It shouldn’t have surprised Magnus that Daisy pushed her way into Rowan’s affections, such as they were. Everyone who had any sense at all liked Daisy. She was fun and funny, sweet and warm, tough as nails when she had to be, and acerbic with her wit when the situation merited it. In fact, she was just about perfect…for him.

That led Magnus to the third thing he learned, something that had him grinding his teeth and tightening his fists reflexively. Daisy found Rowan attractive. That wasn’t surprising. Magnus wasn’t blind. Rowan was almost as large as he was, blond where he was dark, eyes as blue as the sky and as clear as the Caribbean Sea on a calm day. His were the deep gray of the stormy North Sea crashing against rocky Scottish shores. Rowan was handsome in a Brad-Pitt-on-steroids kind of way. Magnus was a metalsmith. Craggy, paws for hands, arms covered in scars from blades and from sparks of flame. Hell, all of him was big and scarred and weathered beyond his years. He had nice hair, though. At least he used to, he thought, running his hands through his own newly shorn curls, which now came just under his ears.

He wasn’t surprised Rowan liked Daisy. He wasn’t surprised Daisy noticed Rowan’s appeal. He was damn irritated by both. He didn’t like Daisy responding to any other male. In the last ten days, she’d responded to two. That reprobate, Butler, who liked to see himself naked, and Rowan, who—as far as Magnus knew—didn’t. The man didn’t even date. In all the years Magnus had known him, Rowan never mentioned women at all. He’d caught Rowan noticing one once or twice, so he knew the man wasn’t gay, but he’d never seen Rowan with a woman.

He didn’t want to let him alone with Daisy again. “Bloody hell, boyo. She’s nae gonna appreciate jealousy from the likes o’ you.” Magnus looked down at his hands and forced them open. “Get a grip, mon. She’s got the sword. That’s wha’ matters now.”

Two weeks with Daisy and already she had him talking to himself. He shook his head, packed his bag, locked up his smithy, and headed back to Kilmartin House.

It was well past time to pluck his reluctant flower.

…

When Magnus made it up the stairs of Kilmartin House, he thought someone had possibly been in his room. By the time he walked through his door, he knew it with certainty. He also knew whoever had done so had advanced training. They made it past three of the five tells he planted, which meant that their training was exceptional.

Magnus went straight to the desk where he kept his sketchbooks. They were still in the spot he left them, but they, along with the rest of his things, had been expertly tossed. The hair on the back of his head stood at attention. Who were these people? It couldn’t have been Daisy—she wouldn’t have been that subtle, as she’d already proven. What were they after?

The answer to that question, so vital a second ago, fled as Magnus heard a splash. He looked up toward the open bathroom door. A bright yellow bra hung on the doorknob, the doorknob leading into his bedroom.

Not dimwitted by nature, but immanently cautious when it came to Daisy and her penchant for tossing projectiles at his head, Magnus approached the bathroom with caution.

He dropped his messenger bag and tossed his small sketchbook on the desk. He’d worry about securing them later. Magnus took off his shirt and tossed it on the chair. Baring his chest and his beating heart to her might not be the smartest move, but he wanted her to see him. He might not be Brad Pitt, but his torso was roped with muscle gained from long hours forging and working weapons. He planned to use that and everything else in his arsenal to get Daisy to want him. After all, she used to find him attractive.

The water was running, splashing into the tub, and that made Magnus smile. Daisy liked her water hot. She’d add burning hot water to the tub for hours on end at Potters Woods and just sit and soak. Everyone teased her about it. Magnus wondered just how long she’d been in there. Naked. Rubbing herself with bubbles. He groaned, wondering how much her body had changed.

An image of her in that skimpy swimsuit, the day he pulled her from the pool, flashed in his head. Who was he kidding? She was perfect. Fuller now, more rounded at the shoulders, hips, and thighs. So lovely. So touchable.

Magnus caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the desk. Studying his reflection, he tried to visualize what Daisy saw when she looked at him. He stared at the daisy and thistle tattoo over his heart. It was a nice touch, and it had held up well. He got it less than a month after their ill-fated wedding. He wondered if she’d realize its significance. It didn’t much matter. He knew what it meant; his symbol and hers wrapped around each other for eternity.

He couldn’t do anything about his face, except start wearing sunscreen, so he ignored that. His torso was v-shaped and acceptable by most standards. He looked down at the dark line of hair leading to his groin, his eyes narrowing. He’d never given much thought to how he looked naked before. He unbuttoned his jeans, thought better of it, and buttoned them again.

Daisy’s body may have gotten better over time, but you, my lad, are no longer twenty-two with three percent body fat. Keep your trousers on until asked to take them off. Besides, if you’re forced to flee, at least you won’t be showing her your bare arse as you go.

“Are you going to stay out there all afternoon, Magnus? Or are you coming in?”

Magnus flew toward his bedroom door, closed it. Kicked off his shoes and socks, and headed to the bathroom at a more leisurely pace. He didn’t have to be asked twice.

…

The knowledge that Daisy was naked in their shared bath did nothing to keep the sight of her from smacking Magnus in the head and stopping him where he stood just inside the bathroom door. She was covered in bubbles from the top of her small but fuller than he remembered breasts to the tips of her garishly painted toenails. The toes reminded him of the teenager he used to know. The look in her sherry-gold eyes said she liked what she saw and wanted more. That part of her he didn’t know, but he wanted to. Badly. Somehow he didn’t think he’d ever fully understand the woman she’d grown into, even if she allowed him to remain by her side every day for the next thirty years. He wanted that access. He wanted to learn everything about her, every nuance, every quirk. He wanted it all.

She wore a chain around her neck, leading below the water, that tantalized him in a way that such an everyday occurrence shouldn’t have the power to do. He wanted to follow that chain all the way down, past her stomach, to her hips, to the very heart of her heat, then follow that line all the way up again with his lips and his tongue. He wanted to touch and taste and inhale every part of her. He wanted to absorb her essence and have it mingle with his own. He wanted her to want all that with even half as much passion as he felt. Until she gave him some clue she could feel that deeply again he wasn’t about to move.

“What is this about, Daisy?”

“I’m taking a bath,” she said, as if that wasn’t painfully obvious.

She looked at him, her gaze traveling up and down, then back up again, pausing at his tattoo before settling on his face. She smiled in a way that said she wanted him naked, but was happy to soak him in for a while. She rubbed the ball of one foot up her leg, parting the bubbles, showing her shapely calves and the barest hint of thigh. He’d seen more of her that day by the pool, but he hadn’t been as aroused then.

His wee head wanted to stand up and howl, as it strained painfully against his jeans. Unzipping them was going to be a sweet kind of torture. “I can see that. I’m asking why you’re naked, now, after everything that’s passed between us. Are the open door and the bra an invitation? I want no misunderstanding between us. Not this time. Not ever again.”

Holding himself back was killing him, but he needed to hear the words. He needed to hear what she wanted from him, from their relationship. He wanted so much more than a bath and romp. Did she?

Daisy sat up, and water and the remnants of foam slid from her chest, baring her high-tipped breasts with their deep brown aureolas. Her perfectly shaped nipples puckered in the sudden chill. A small shudder racked through him, leaving his gut hot and his skin chilled.

“I’ve missed you, Magnus. I’m tired of denying it. I need a friend here as well. There’s something happening that Lauren won’t share with me, but I think it scares him. If he’s scared, then I should be too. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want to be lonely anymore. I haven’t had sex in months and I’d like to fix that too. Now. I want you. Let’s share the darkness and make it lighter, if only for a little while.”

Simple words. Not so simple feelings. Not for him, anyway. If Daisy was being truly honest with herself, it was not so simple for her either. The look in her eyes said she knew it wouldn’t be that easy for her, but she was still willing to pretend that was all that coming together with him would mean.

Her strength blended with an achingly poignant vulnerability that twisted something vital inside him, softening his demeanor, making his voice thick. “I am your friend, lass. I have been since the day we met. I will hold your hand. I’ll kiss the top of your head when you need affection.”

He closed his eyes a moment, collected his thoughts, steeled his resolve. “Make no mistake, my love, when I sink into you, I’ll be making love with you, and there won’t be anything
friendly
about it. It’ll be deep and dark and dirty and it’ll happen over and over again. Maybe in twenty or thirty years we can make love in a
friendly
fashion, but I doubt it. If I live to be one hundred, I’ll want you with a ferocity that transcends simple friendship.”