Haunted Warrior (37 page)

Kendra bit her lip, a surge of unease sweeping her.

She glanced at Graeme, but he didn’t even seem to know she was there. He was speaking faster now, repeating the same words again and again, his eyes almost shining as he moved forward to stand only inches away from the bluff. Intent on the spell, he placed his hands on either side of the fissure, splaying his fingers against the rock.

It was then that Kendra saw his eyes weren’t the only thing glowing.

An eerie blue light was beginning to stream out from beneath his hands to ripple up and down the crack in the cliff. As she watched, the light spread, slowly covering the entire bluff in a brilliant, otherworldly sapphire shade that reminded her of Raziel’s eyes.

And still Graeme spoke the words of power, his voice rising, echoing in the narrow space.

Nothing else happened.

Kendra didn’t move, aware only that Jock had stopped patrolling the cliff base and now stood guard before her. A sentinel who, in the weird lighting, appeared to have grown much larger and fiercer.

Then a low rumbling began deep inside the bluff, a sound that reminded Kendra of an earthquake. Only unlike any natural disasters unleashed by nature, shrill howling accompanied the grinding of stone. Thin, hollow wails that rose to fill the heavens and pierce Kendra’s heart, for she recognized what they were: the cries of souls.

Her chest tightened as her pulse quickened, her heart thundering in sympathy. The earth began to tremble,
and around the fissure the blue light that had spread from Graeme’s hands began to spark with color. Dazzling shades that glittered, dancing along the crack and then showering upward into the air. In an eye blink, a kaleidoscope of brilliance rushed from the cliff, spinning quickly into a multicolored vortex of whirling mist.

Kendra saw more.

She saw a legion of souls—­men, women, and children, even babes in arms. Their number was beyond counting. And their forms—­always diverse—­ranged from full-­bodied to the barely there wisps she’d worried she’d not be able to see if they’d attempted the spell on a night of rain and mist. She didn’t miss any soul now.

They were everywhere, so many that she couldn’t even see Graeme through their number.

But she heard him, his deep voice a comfort as her own work began to drain her.

She’d never faced so many spirits at once.

Their pull on her energy dizzied her, making her light-­headed.

But she ignored the discomfort, focusing harder than she’d ever done in her life. She cast her powers as strongly as she could, letting all her energy greet them, thanking them for their earthly lives and wishing them well in their new ones, as freed souls able to live and breathe again in the Otherworld, of course.

Then it was over.

The souls speeding away toward the sea, their glowing flight fading to nothingness even before they’d reached the far side of the bay.

At the rock face, Graeme lowered his hands, stepping back as the cliff’s low rumbling ended on a hard, jarring
thud
as the fissure closed.

“Kendra!” He sprinted over to her. “We did it! Did you see the souls? I heard them and felt their passing,
but”—­he shoved back his hair, panting—­“did you see them? Have they gone from here?”

“Yes…” She slumped to her knees, her legs too weak to hold her. “They’ve left. Every last one of them, and they’re happy, Graeme. I felt their joy so powerfully, it took my breath.”

“Thank the gods.” Graeme helped her stand, pulled her fast against him. “And bless you for coming here and helping them, helping me. I couldn’t have done this without you, not with such splendid results.”

Kendra pulled back, remembering something he’d said earlier. “Then you’re okay?” She scanned his face, looking for some sign that the spell had damaged him, claiming payment. “Nothing has happened to you?”

Beside her, Jock barked, lending his concern.

Graeme shrugged, reaching down to ruffle Jock’s ears. “I cannae say, honestly. I feel no different from before. But you’re right. No magic is worked without a price.” His expression turned serious and he drew her close again, wrapping his arms around her. “As long as you and Jock are okay, nothing else matters.”

“That’s not true.” Kendra leaned her head against his shoulder, relief flooding her to hear the steady beat of his heart. “To me, all that counts is knowing the two of you are safe.”

“Aye, well, we are.” He kissed the top of her head, smoothed his knuckles along her cheek. “Jock and I always survive. We—­”

“Seventy-­five years,” Kendra blurted Ordo’s quip, the comment that had earned him a reprimand from Raziel. “The number just came to me.” She didn’t mention the Viking spirit guide. “Does being a Guardian mean you aren’t immortal but have a set life span of seventy-­five years? Are you then visited by a replacement, taken away so he can begin his own term?”

It was the only thing she could think of.

She knew she was close when Graeme frowned.

“Och, Kendra…” He released her, paced a few feet, and then turned back around. “I didn’t want to worry you. My life span is seven hundred years and a day. And of those years, I have seventy-­five remaining.

“Now you know why I’ve been so quiet lately.” His voice thickened, his eyes darkening with regret. “I haven’t known how to tell you. It’s also why I can’t marry you. I’ve vowed to be the last MacGrath. I’ll not leave an heir to suffer the overlong life I’ve had to live.”

“But you
do
live.” Kendra went to him, gripping his hands. “We can be together for all the time we have. Believe me”—­she hoped he would—­“I’ve seen and learned enough through my work not to be surprised by your specialness, or to let it come between us.”

“I wouldn’t call my guardianship special. And I’ve cursed its burden more than I’ve welcomed it.” He looked up at the night sky, drew a long breath. “I live with it, but have despised its accompaniments. Do you recall asking me why I didn’t leave footsteps at Balmedie?”

Kendra nodded, not following him.

“That’s one of the benefits of being a Guardian.” He made it sound anything but. “We can walk through the night and no one can trace our passing.”

Kendra frowned, remembering how she’d puzzled about the trackless sand.

She also remembered Raziel’s urging her to watch the ground. His meaning—­if she was right—­made her heart leap, hope surging through her. Breaking away from Graeme, she took a deep breath and then turned, looking back the way they’d come.

Moonlight shone down the narrow path beside the house, illuminating the muddied stone flags. And revealing three sets of footsteps: her own, Jock’s, and Graeme’s.

Somewhere close by, she caught Raziel’s faint huff of approval as the implication slammed through her.

“Oh, Graeme!” She dashed back to him, pulling him away from the rock face and toward the path. “Look there!” She pointed, her hand trembling as she indicated the evidence. “Your footprints are in the mud, right alongside my own and Jock’s.”

“They can’t be.” He looked at her, disbelieving until he followed her outstretched arm, his jaw dropping. “Great gods!” His voice shook, his beautiful dark eyes misting. “The payment of the spell must’ve been my immortality. It must’ve been taken from me when I began the incantation. As if I’d regret the loss!”

He whipped around, grabbing her and lifting her in the air, spinning her in a circle. “Sweet lass, do you know what this means?”

“I hope so.” Kendra laughed, almost dizzy as he whirled her. Jock joined in, racing madly around them. “I’m thinking it has something to do with making an honest woman of me?”

“It does, sweet. It does.” Setting her down, he took her face in his hands, kissing her hard and deep.

And she returned his kiss as soundly. She tangled her fingers in his hair and held him fast, knowing she’d never let him go.

Not Graeme or his dog, whose loud and happy barking made further conversation impossible.

It didn’t matter.

She had her answer already.

Graeme loved her and he’d make a proper proposal soon, maybe even that night. Her sixth sense told her it’d be perfect in every way, a moment filled with hope, wonder, and romance. And, she was sure, with Jock having a starring role in the proceedings.

She wouldn’t want it any other way.

She did sigh as Graeme drew her closer into his arms.

Someday she’d also thank Zack and Scotland’s Past for sending her to Pennard. But first she leaned into Graeme’s embrace, her heart swelling with more joy than she would’ve believed possible.

Then Graeme swept her up in his arms and carried her back along the path to his cottage. Jock went with them, his step light and his tail wagging.

Life was good in Pennard.

Long may it be so.

Mindy Menlove lived in a mausoleum.

A thick-­walled medieval castle full of gloom and shadows with just the right dash of Tudor and Gothic to curdle the blood of anyone bold enough to pass through its massive iron-­studded door.

Once within, the adventure continued with a maze of dark passageways and rooms crammed to bursting with rich tapestries and heavy, age-­blackened furniture. Dust motes thrived, often spinning eerily in the light that spilled through tall, stone-­mullioned windows. Some doors squeaked delightfully, and certain floorboards were known for giving the most delicious creaks. Huge carved-­stone fireplaces still held lingering traces of the atmosphere-­charged scent of peat-­ and heather-­tinged smoke. Or so it was claimed by visitors with noses sensitive to such things.

Few were the modern disfigurements.

Yet the castle did boast hot water, heat, and electricity. Not to mention cable TV and high-­speed Internet. MacNeil’s Folly was also within the delivery area of the nearest pizza shop. And the daily paper arrived without fail on the steps each morning.

These luxuries were made possible because the ancient pile no longer stood in its original location somewhere on a bleak and windswept Hebridean isle, but on the crest of a thickly wooded hill not far from the quaint and pleasant antiquing mecca of New Hope, Pennsylvania.

Even so, the castle was a haven for hermits.

A recluse’s dream.

Only trouble was that Mindy had an entirely different idea of paradise.

White sand, palm trees, and sunshine came to mind. Soft fragrant breezes and—­joy of joys—­no need to ever dress warm again. A trace of cocoa butter tanning lotion and mai tais sipped at sunset.

A tropical sunset.

Almost there—­in her mind, anyway—­Mindy imagined the castle’s drafty drawing room falling away from her. Bit by bit, everything receded. The plaid carpet and each piece of clunky, carved-­oak furniture, and even the heavy, dark blue curtains.

She took a step closer to the window and drew a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she inhaled not the damp scent of cold Bucks County rain and wet, dripping pinewoods, but the heady perfume of frangipani and orchids.

And, because it was her dream, a whiff of fresh-­ground Kona coffee.

“You should never have dated a passenger.”

“Agggh!” Mindy jumped, almost dropping the mint chocolate wafer she’d been about to pop into her mouth. She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

All thoughts of Hawaii vanished like a pricked balloon.

Whirling around, she returned the wafer to a delicate bone china plate on a tea tray and sent a pointed look across the room at her sister, Margo, her elder by all of one year.

“What of your watercooler romance with Mr. Computer Geek last year?” Mindy wiped her fingers on a napkin and then frowned when she only smeared the melted chocolate, making an even greater mess. “If I recall, he left you after less than six weeks.”

“We parted amicably.” Margo peered at her from a high wingback chair near the hearth. “Nor was it a
water­cooler affair
. He only came by when the computers at Ye Olde Pagan Times went on the blink. And”—­she leaned forward, her eyes narrowing in a way Mindy knew to dread—­“neither did I move in with him. I didn’t even love him.”

Mindy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snorting.

It wouldn’t do to remind her sister that she’d sung a different tune last summer. As she did with every new Romeo that crossed her path, whether he chanced into the New Age shop where Margo worked, or she just stumbled into him on the street.

Margo Menlove was walking flypaper and men were the flies.

They just couldn’t resist her.

Not that Mindy minded.

Especially not when she was supposed to be mourning an unfaithful fiancé who’d choked to death on a fish bone during an intimate dinner with a Las Vegas showgirl.

A fiancé she now knew had no intention of marrying her, had used her, and—­much to her amazement—­had left her his family’s displaced Scottish castle and a tidy sum of money to go along with it.

Generosity born of guilt, she was sure.

The naked pole dancer from Vegas hadn’t been Hunter MacNeil’s only mistress. She’d spotted at least three other possibles at the funeral.

They rose before her mind’s eye, each one sleazier than the other. Frowning, Mindy tried to banish them by scrubbing harder at the chocolate smears on her fingers. But even though their faces faded, her every indrawn breath suddenly felt like jagged ice shards cutting into tender places she should never have exposed.

She shuddered.

Margo noticed. “Don’t tell me you still care about the bastard?” She leaned forward, bristling. “He used you as a front! His lawyers all but told us he only needed you to meet the terms of his late parents’ will. That they’d worried about his
excesses
and made arrangements for him to lose everything unless he became a bulwark of the community, supporting their charities and marrying a good, decent girl!”

“Margo—­”

“Don’t ‘Margo’ me. I was there and heard it all.” Margo gripped the armrests of her chair until her knuckles whitened. “What I can’t believe is that you didn’t see through him in the first place.”