Highland Pull (Highland Destiny 2) (24 page)

Alexander sat and stared at Miranda in stunned disbelief. Had she done that? She'd looked as astonished as he felt to see him sail across the room. He weighed close to two hundred and fifty pounds, and he had just been tossed fifteen feet through the air, and the lass never moved, never uttered a word, never even wrinkled her brow. What in the bloody hell was she? Who was she?

From his mind to his mouth, the words exploded, voice layered upon voice, he hit her with the full force of his compulsion spell. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice reverberated around the room, echoing off the walls.

She looked at him as though he were an imbecile. Truth was, seated on the floor, shirt stained, hair flying loose about his face, he felt like a fool. He wanted to throttle the woman.

He waited, knowing
no one could resist the full power of his compulsion, she would answer.

Heaving a mighty sigh, Miranda said in an irritatingly patient voice, “My name is Miranda Close MacLachlan, and I am married to Gabhran, and stop that ridiculous shouting.”

Alex hurried to his feet, while searching her face. Although she’d technically answered his question, it seemed to have been because it was an innocuous question, not worthy of resistance. People fully under the spell of compulsion only performed to the letter of the command. She’d answered his question and then continued to give him her own command, albeit without any force behind it.

He tried another command. “Sit in that chair.” And he regally pointed at the chair across the room, near the window.

“Oh, get over yourself, will you? We have a lot to talk about, and it’s clear we don’t trust each other one whit. So you don’t tell me what to do, and I won’t tell you.” Then she walked to stand behind a small settee that was near where he stood staring at her, his mouth agape.

Dropping all attempts to coerce her through compulsion, he asked, “What are you, lass, what is your magick?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, locking her gaze on his. He read the truth of her words in her expression.

Then as though her newfound and untested strength were of little consequence, she took a deep breath and what must have been giant leaps of faith. “Are you ready to talk, to lower the walls between us and share what we know?

He nodded curtly, afraid to trust himself to speak.

“I know you don’t believe Gabhran is dead, but that Ian does. Somehow, even though you know he is not dead, you still grieve for Gabhran. I don’t believe he is dead either, but he isn’t here with me, and that makes me grieve for him too. Ian told me we buried him two days ago. I was here two days ago, and I know we didn’t. So how is it two of us believe he is alive, and another actually remembers burying him? I know you know the truth of that question.”

“What makes you think you know anything, lass? ‘Tis an overactive imagination you have.” He reverted to the safety of his overbearing attitude. How did she know these things? How could he tell her about Gav? Then another thought struck him, one that caused his insides to grow cold. Where had Gabhran found her? Had she traveled here herself? Was she one of the foretold Druid betrayers?  

“Is it always one step forward two steps back with you, Alexander? I don’t particularly trust you, so I know it’s useless to ask you to trust me on blind faith alone. Except for this. I love Gabhran and he loves me. It is the most important thing in my life to find him and be with him. Can you do some kind of Druid thingy and see I am telling the truth without hurting me like you did upstairs?”

Thingy?
“What say you with this thingy word, why is it you speak in such an odd fashion?”

With a much put upon sigh, Miranda tried again. “Alexander, can you sense I am telling you the truth about my love for Gabhran without hurting me?”

He locked his gaze with hers for a moment, wondering if he was about to take another flying leap backwards across the room. Very cautiously he reached for her mind and heart.

Miranda felt as soon as he entered, and forced herself to endure his scrutiny. Something hovered just out of reach, ready to slam closed the doors should he press too far. It was a positively creepy sensation, to willingly let him read into her thoughts and feelings.

Gabhran and Marie must both have done something similar to me, this sensation is bringing back vague memories of feelings I’ve experienced before. There is a huge difference between then and now; now my magick has awakened. Now it makes me feel sick.
She shuddered. “That’s enough, for now.”

Alexander sat back, looking thoughtful. “Miranda, I can sense you love him very much, but also that there is something you are withholding, will you tell me what it is?”

Miranda was surprised.
What am I withholding about my love for Gabhran?
“I don’t know of anything, I wasn’t holding anything back.”

“Very well,” he said rather stiffly, “we will have to proceed from here.
I canna help what I sense, ‘tis almost as though you have two loves. Was there another man?” he suddenly shouted at her.

“Oh for crying out loud! Will you just stop! Sit down and let’s talk.” She stared at him until he finally walked over and sat on the chair opposite the settee. Once he sat, Miranda followed suit, and finally they were face to face, on an even footing to begin the most important conversation of her life.

****

Ian heard a loud thud, that sounded like someone was throwing furniture, and then all was quiet for a minute. Then Alex was using the strongest voice of compulsion he’d e’er heard. It leaked through the door and spilled into the great hall. When he’d used it a second time, Ian sensed the exasperation in Alexander’s voice.

Perhaps the lass wasna susceptible to that magick, either. Eventually all had grown quiet, except for the occasional murmurs of people talking. Ian finally breathed easy. He stifled another grin at the image of Alex under Miranda’s dirk, and went to ride the grounds. He would leave on the morrow for home and face his brother. He glanced at the closed doors then decided Alex was on his own. There was something important he needed to do before he rode out.

Ian wondered what had made his brother so bitter. They had been raised in the lowlands, and at only one year apart, they’d been thick as thieves when they were young. As was the family custom, each boy was sent to foster when he reached the age of twelve. Their father had sent each of them to a different family, so they could be trained in their different interests. Ian had asked to go to the highlands, and through a series of mutual acquaintances, the
MacLachan had agreed to foster him.

His brother had also asked to be fostered by the MacLachlan, but the senior Worthington
wanted each boy to follow his own path and grow into his own man. The boys returned home each Christmas and on other special occasions, but mostly they were raised apart. Stephan took the separations especially hard and begged to go with Ian, particularly when Ian was accepted for Druid apprenticeship.

He realized now he knew very little of the man his brother had grown to be. Stephan had fostered with the MacDougal, a fine clan, and assisted their father in overseeing the nearby village and had begun to manage more of the estate business affairs. He was also a powerful warrior and swordsman.

Ian had believed until the very moment Gav was in the wagon that he and Stephan were still close, still united in their grief. That had all changed in an instant. He’d heard the intention on the wind; his brother would try to kill him on the return journey. He knew which part of the return trip would lend itself perfectly to ambush. Less than a day’s ride from the Worthington Manor was a copse of trees, surrounded by craggy rocks and caves. The road passed through a densely covered portion for a mile or more. There were many places along that stretch of road that a man could lie in wait, his crossbow at the ready.

He knew not whether Stephan would wait alone or if he had more assassins employed. He was sure Stephan would not bring a large force, when one or two men would be as effective and harder to spot. It would appear the
Comyn left some men behind to try to destroy the clan.

Ian would gather his select soldiers tonight and they would leave at once, arriving in the area well ahead of Ian and any attacker. They would capture or kill Stephan and any of his assassins. Either way, he would pay for his crimes against their family, against Gabhran.

Ian arrived at the standing stones, while he’d been reflecting on his brother. Now, it was time to put Stephan out of his thoughts. He was here to say good-bye to Gav, his true brother in so many ways. They’d done everything together for nigh on twenty years now. Now each would go on alone. If the gods were willing, they would ride together again in another life.

He was grateful Gav had known peace and love with Miranda at the end. Now she would bear his child, and Ian would do everything in his power to see that
Gav’s son or daughter would know the fine man their da had been.

****

“I answered your question, and even let you…read me. I asked you three questions and you haven’t answered any, I think it’s your turn now. How about we take turns, you answer one, then I’ll answer one.

“In case you forgot, I want to know how it is that you know Gabhran’s still alive, why you haven’t asked even once about
Lissa, and what exactly is it you know about time travel? I’ll start by telling you about the day I met Gabhran. It was in a courtyard, in a place called New Orleans. Have you ever heard of New Orleans?”

Alex shook his head, but didn’t say anything. Apparently he would wait for her to continue.

She looked away, and stared out the window, unsure if her next comment would convince him to trust her or convince him she was insane. The old adage, nothing ventured, nothing gained echoed in her head.

“That’s because New Orleans is in a country that doesn’t exist in the fourteenth century. It’s called America, and I met Gabhran there in the twenty-first century.” She turned slowly to
meet his gaze.

He met her gaze for an instant,
then looked away just as quickly. She saw the tension in the tightening of his jaw, before he sighed and turned back to face her once more. “Aye, lass, I knew Gabhran was in the twenty-first century. Tell me, did you love him there as well?” he asked.

Much to her chagrin, the strong, kick-ass detective and newly-filled-with-some-kind-of-magick Miranda Close MacLachlan, felt her eyes fill with tears. Before she could regain her composure, she whispered, “Yes.”

Then the tears began to fall.  

****

Stephan stood just outside the ring of stones, hidden by the trees, and raised his crossbow. He could feel the magick of this place, it was all around him. It was a magick he would possess someday. The dark spirit within him flexed and swelled in anticipation of the blood-letting to come and with the strength of Stephan’s dark desires.

Ian was so predictable, and that made him an easy target. How that fool Gailtry had ever thought that of the two of them, Ian would make the better Druid was beyond knowing. Ian would begin his journey on the morrow to Worthington Manor, and he
wouldna expect any treachery. He would know to be vigilant in the bandit prone areas of the trail, however dressed as he was, as a smithy, none would bother him, for he would be assumed to be as poor as any robbers.

Stephan knew his brother would want to say a proper farewell to his Druid brother, and that would only happen at the standing stones, the day before he departed for home, and he would insist on being alone.

The sound of his brother’s horse was muffled by the thick fog that had started rolling in from the sea. Stephan lowered his bow long enough to draw the hood of the thick gray cloak over his head, making him impossible to spot. He repositioned himself only moments before his brother dismounted and entered the circle. He thought to take aim and fire immediately, yet his hand was stayed by an overwhelming curiosity to see what Ian would do.

His brother lit a small fire with his flint and some dried kindling. Ian sprinkled crumbled pieces of rock, forming a large circle upon the
ground, he divided the circle into fourths, chanting quietly to himself in Gaelic. His voice was too low for Stephan to hear all of the words, but he heard enough to understand Ian was calling for the spirits of the four elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. As he called forth each of the elements, he placed a symbolic item in each of quarter of the circle. A bowl of water, a small pile of stone, and feathers. In the fourth he placed the candle.

Ian then sat in the center of the circle, continuing to chant, his voice ever softer, until he appeared to enter a deep meditative state, his head lowered to his chest. The fog began to swirl as the breeze picked up around them. Stephan’s heart began to beat uncomfortably fast in his chest, and he felt the black spirit within him recoil.

A whirlwind began to swirl, following the path of the circle, leaves were picked up and tossed, and sparks flew from the fire. The magick was palpable, the air thrummed with power. Ian’s head dropped back, until he was facing the sky, a look of exultation on his face.

A disembodied voice filled the air, the voice of a thousand angels,
the voice of a thousand demons, beatific and terrifying, light and dark, life and death. “Human,” it seemed to say as the sound filled the circle.

Stephan’s eyes were teary with the beauty and the fury, and he steadied his hand and took aim. He released the bolt, and the metallic twang of the
bow string was lost in the sudden crack of thunder that accompanied the flash of blue fire that split the night. Stephan was knocked to the ground, rendered unconscious by the force of the explosion.

When Stephan woke, it was to a sunny and cloudless sky, all signs of the earlier storm erased, save for the smoldering fire in the middle of the circle where his brother had once been. The notched tip of his arrow was still visible in the embers of the fire.