Highland Pull (Highland Destiny 2) (23 page)

Breathing hard, Randi surveyed her handy work. The giant stranger had mentally assaulted her, leaving her doubled over in pain, so that when he rushed toward her, she assumed he was taking his assault to another level. Her police training taught her how to take advantage of leverage and momentum. One minute the big man was rushing at her hunched frame, his arm reaching out to grab her. The next, she yanked that big arm, pulling him closer still, and using the force of his own forward momentum, she created a fulcrum with her own body, and over he went, flat on his back.

It was merely a coincidence that she had the dirk in her hand. It was Gabhran’s personal weapon, and she had only moments before picked it up, just to hold something of Gabhran close to her heart. It was razor sharp, and she watched, a combination of fascination and horror as a drop of blood welled on his golden-tan skin, where she held the tip to his jugular vein.

He lay very still, and she realized it was a trick of the light and his voice that had led her to think it might be Gabhran at first. This man was slightly taller, his black eyes flecked with iridescent sparks. His hair was that same black as coal color, but longer, not quite as wavy, and he wore a close cropped beard. He was dressed in leather riding trewes, a linen shirt, and he wasn’t Gabhran. She didn’t know who he was but she resented everything about him that reminded her of Gabhran.

He gritted out between clenched teeth, “If you remove that knife of your own volition now, lass, I will let you live. If I am forced to remove it from you myself, I will not be gentle, and you will be hurt or killed in the process.”

Her rage and grief filled her with fury, and she pressed the blade a little harder, and a small rivulet of blood trickled down his neck. “I’ve had a bad fucking week; I don’t think I’d press my luck if I were you. Now tell me, just who in the hell are you, and why are you in my bedroom?”

His eyes widened, she didn’t know or care if it was the profanity or her refusal to capitulate that surprised him most. Before he could say another word, the door to her
bed chamber flew open, and Ian burst in. It must have looked like quite a scene, with the big man who wasn’t Gav on his back, blood trickling from the wound on his neck. Randi kneeling over him, hand steady, eyes never moving from her captive.

Ian did what any trained warrior and loyal friend would do. He exploded with laughter. His laughter gripped him until he was gasping for breath, and when Randi and her captive both barked orders at him at the same time, he laughed all the harder, until tears streamed down his face.

“Worthington, remove this witch now, before I hurt her,” the big man roared.

“Ian, fetch the guards, bring some rope,” Randi demanded.

Nearly doubled over, Ian pulled in deep lungfuls of air, and cleared his throat. Moving slowly, approaching Randi from the front, Ian began to speak softly to her.

“Miranda lass, pull the blade back a wee bit, while we talk about this.”

“Don’t be a bloody arse, Ian. Take the knife, use the compulsion.”

“Hold your whist, Alex. Let me guess, you were trying to read her, to deep-listen? I think ‘tis about time we got many things straight around here, seems as though there are a few too many secrets.”

Randi held the knife so that Alexander was unable to move his head without causing a deeper cut. A deep growl and snarl of his lip indicated his displeasure. She wanted to ask Ian more about the deep-listening as he called it, but that could wait, especially since she thought she had a pretty good grasp on what he meant. Randi kept her gaze locked on the Druid beneath her blade, her concentration razor sharp and all focused on maintaining control over Alexander.

“Miranda, allow me to introduce you to your brother-in-law, Alexander MacLachlan, clan chief and Laird, the only brother of your beloved husband, Gabhran. Alex, this is your brother’s wife, Miranda.” As he spoke he continued to move closer, and knelt across from Miranda and stretched his hand across Alex, palm up, silently requesting she hand over the dirk.

Neither her hand nor her resolve waivered, as she asked for clarification. “I thought Alexander was lost at sea and died.”

“
Och, well apparently those reports were wrong, now let me up,” Alexander roared.

“Oh, aye my fine brother-in-law, I will let you up and hear your story,” she imitated his thick brogue, “but I will be keeping my husband’s blade, if you doona mind. If you ever try to touch me again, I will plant it between your legs, and be warned, if you reach into my mind again, I will kill you.” Her voice was quiet, firm, and the remarks were delivered with such casual indifference that both men shivered.

When Randi finally moved the blade, she wiped one side of the blade across his white linen shirt, then she flipped her hand and wiped the other side of the blade. She smiled at the effect of the red ‘X’ on Alexander’s shirt, made with his own blood. Then she stood and backed away, keeping her gaze on Alex, unwilling to extend her trust on Ian’s word, alone.

In that moment, she realized the power she had sensed within herself all those weeks ago was not just feeling some nearby spirits who would help from time to time. No, her power felt deep and strong, hungry for knowledge, anxious to be used. This was the power thought to appear only once in each generation of her family. It was the power of her cousin Marie and the ancient Voodoo Queen, Marie
Laveau. It was the power of her mother.

Miranda finally understood, it was not about voodoo at
all, it was about the magick that existed in the world. Some people were destined to be the instruments of that magick, different people, different magick, and it was the magick that chose. That explained the existence of voodoo and witches, Wiccan and Druids, and she was now certain there were more types of magick out there of which she was unaware.

In New Orleans, where there were plenty of vessels for the unique bayou magick, her power had lain dormant. Here in fourteenth century Scotland, her inherent capacity for magick was no longer dormant, the magick had entered her, and she needed guidance to learn its true nature. She was not the only one in the room with great power; she could feel it coursing through her veins, thrumming, pulsing,
alive.

She had drawn on spirits twice now, once intentionally and once by accident. Somehow,
when Alex had tried to probe her thoughts, something ancient and powerful had awakened within her. She’d been called. There was no going back.

****

Alex watched as Miranda moved to the library fireplace, while he took a seat across from Ian. He noticed that although her gaze drifted occasionally toward the fire, her focus never entirely left the two of them. Ian assumed the role of host, and offered drinks, then asked Alex to begin, to tell them what had happened and how he came to be presumed dead.

Before Alex told his tale, he started with an apology and confession of sorts to Ian.

“Aye, Ian, you had the right of things when you spoke of secrets. ‘Twas not just you and Gav that were trained in Druid ways, I also received training, and for reasons I doona yet understand, I was to keep that knowledge to myself. Gav and I could sense the growing power within each other, but we never acknowledged it or spoke about it.”

Then Alex launched his tale, including the betrayal by one of Robert’s guards, and his eventual discovery that the real Tristan had been murdered weeks before the ship sailed and it was the imposter who had arranged for the ship to leave early, prompting Alex to go in
Gav’s stead. The false Tristan held him captive for weeks on the island, kept him drugged, starved, dehydrated, and tortured. It was this combination that had weakened him and kept him from accessing his Druid powers or senses.

As Alex told his story with words, he also added details with his mind so Ian would have a better idea of what Alex had endured. He knew Ian was listening with his Druid senses and would pick up the mental images, but he would not speak of the torture aloud to spare the lass.
Spare the lass indeed, she is a hellcat, and would probably use some of those same techniques against him if he explained. How did my brother come to marry her?

“Eventually he became less vigilant, and failed to notice I didna eat or drink for nearly two days, trying to clear my system of the poisons he used. I waited until I could feel my strength return and I escaped my bonds while he slept. ‘Twas no challenge to strip his mind of all the knowledge he possessed, his Druid skills were marginal, a mere apprentice.

“Unfortunately, he had limited knowledge of the actual mastermind of the plot. From what I gathered, there is a new Druid sect forming, started by someone previously denied Druid training, but who obviously has some inborn powers. The plan was to keep me there for many months, while they stripped my mind of my Druid knowledge. He was to be joined by more skilled men later.”

He walked to the side table and poured a glass of amber liquid, tossed it back, and poured another. He had told his damned story, and he hated it. It left him feeling violated and weak, something that would fade in time, he knew, but was still raw and fresh for the now. He began to close his mind, erecting the shields necessary so that he could hear Gabhran’s tale. It was imperative that he act shocked at the news of his brother’s death. He would not have to act out the grief.

“So tell me Ian, where is my brother, I canna sense him, where has he gone?”

“
Och, Alex, there is no easy way to tell you, Gav died and we buried him yesterday. He was wounded in an assassination plot that killed my da and William. Gabhran was a hero, and used his own body to shield Stephan and me from the assassin’s crossbows.” Ian sat quietly then, as if waiting for Alex to absorb the news. He glanced over at Miranda, appearing worried how reliving it might affect her, but she still was half turned toward the fire, her hair shielding her face.

Alex absorbed the information, feeling the fresh pain of grief wash over him at his brother’s absence, if not his death. “Tell me what happened, Ian.”

Glancing nervously at Miranda, Ian demurred, “Perhaps it would be better if we spoke alone.”

“Tell us both, Ian,” Randi said with quiet dignity. “I need to hear.”

Alex thought of the woman across the room. For the first time, he felt a momentary stirring of sympathy in his heart. Her eyes flicked to him, then quickly away, almost as though she’d known what he’d been thinking. Then he dismissed her from his mind and focused on Ian’s tale. Alex sucked in a breath when his old friend got to the part of his brother’s betrayal. The room grew still when Ian stopped talking, and Alex was lost in thought for a long minute.

“Now perhaps you will tell me your story, lass. How is it you came to be married to my brother?” Alexander asked, turning his head and attention to Miranda. He challenged her with his tone.

Ian quickly stepped in, as if feeling protective of Miranda, and all she’d suffered. “I helped Gav with that, Alex. After he heard you had died at sea, he became frantic to create heirs, lest something should happen to him as well. He negotiated a fair agreement with Miranda’s father. “Twas not but a sen’night after the wedding that we had to leave for battle. We were gone much longer than anticipated, and ‘twas a scarce minute Gav didna speak of Miranda. ‘Twas his last wish that I bring him home to her.”

Miranda’s breath shuddered on a suppressed sigh. Alexander looked at her skeptically. Did she expect him to believe that after a scant week together in their marriage, she was stricken with grief? She had some game afloat; he needed to learn more of her background. Perhaps she liked being married to the Laird.   

He noticed Miranda’s eyes flicked to him again, and he saw her shoulders stiffen. She must be sensing some of the hostility he felt for her.

Miranda turned and faced him fully for the first time, although she spoke to Ian. “Ian, I need to speak to my brother-in-law in private. Would you give us a minute?”

With a curt nod, Ian left the room, and shut the door behind him.

Alexander smiled a tight, slightly mocking smile at Miranda. He was feeling completely on edge. This woman unsettled him.
I doona like her
, he thought wonderingly,
now why is that? Could it be that she kicked your arse or are you jealous of your brother’s love for her? Both?
 

“What is it you wish to see me about that needs to be done in private? Are you perhaps looking to wed the real Laird, now that you know my brother never held the title? Or do you wish to return to your father’s house since the contract has been fulfilled? I will have no objections. Leave as soon as you will.”

The cruel words were barely out of his mouth when he doubled over as if someone had punched him in the stomach and flew backwards through the air to land on the floor with an “Ooomph.”

He had no idea how that happened, but it felt for
all the world like he’d been hit hard enough to send him flying. He glared at her, but before he could draw enough breath to speak, Miranda stalked across the room to stand over him.

“How is it you know with absolute certainty that my husband’s still alive?” she asked, then quickly followed with, “Why haven’t you asked even once about Alysone, about
Lissa? And what exactly is it you know about time travel?”

Alexander felt like all the air was just sucked out of the room.