Immortal Desires (Well of Souls) (12 page)

"I dinna mean to question you, but how can you be sure?" Ian gazed at Robert's face. The man looked tired—unusual for an Immortal being.

"Because the Conrí Council is going after something else. If it were only to prevent a complete pairing of soul mates, they would have scattered them at random."

"I'm no following your logic." Ian frowned and tried to concentrate. A jumble of past memories had just flashed into his mind. He blocked them out for a moment.

"The Conrí Council didn't randomly select souls when they attacked the Well," Robert explained. "They targeted certain families for a reason known only to them. The Aeneas Council believes those particular pairings will become a threat to the Conrí in the future."

"But they canna see into the future." Ian shook his head in confusion.

"Exactly. Which means one of the Gods is helping them."

Ian jumped up from the log where he'd been sitting and turned to stare at Robert. "You mean the Gods are going to war?"

"It does seem that way, doesn't it?" Robert stood back up and gripped Ian's arm. "That problem is beyond our capabilities, though. Let's concentrate on your own priorities."

"Blethering idiot!" Ian shouted, his hands beginning to tremble.

"Who?" Robert spun around, searching the path but Ian ignored him and closed his eyes so he could think.

"Ian, what's wrong?" Robert shook his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and looked at Robert, seeing the bleakness on his face reflected back at him. His body shuddered as he remembered golden hair spilled on the ground. "The Cailleach did something to Deanna. She just collapsed."

Chapter Twenty-Three

Highlands, May 1505

A blinding light enveloped Deanna, bathing her in fire. Ants seemed to march under her skin, the pain and itching even worse than the heat. She tried to cry out but her voice got sucked into the maw of the tunnel she found herself in. Was that the way back home?

She tried to crawl toward it, seeking relief from the torture. The skin slid from her hands and knees, somehow lessening the pain she felt. Advancing another few inches, Deanna choked back the bitter bile that filled her mouth and tried to go on.

Something held her back. Deanna looked behind her but saw only darkness. The pain sharpened its claws as punishment for hesitating. She vomited and faced forward again.

"Dinna leave. Stay with me." More words that had no meaning, spoken in a different language. Gaelic? The fire pressed at her, driving the words away once more.

A drop splashed her face and cooled the pain. The light began to dim as another drop hit. Something brushed her mouth. Deanna sighed into the darkness.

***

The lass collapsed to the ground so quickly that Ian barely had time to save her from injury. More injury than he'd already inflicted, he amended, disgusted with himself for choosing to bring her to the Cailleach in the first place.

Her body burned with fever and she twitched as he held her in his arms, as if trying to escape his hold on her. Ian spoke to Deanna at length—even tried singing the songs his mother used to soothe him with as a bairn. She remained far from him and Ian feared for her life.

"Dinna leave. Stay with me," he whispered. Ian kept talking, unashamed of the tears that fell from his eyes. He'd hurt her and now she could die because of his rash actions. His lips brushed hers, dry with the heat consuming her body. She didn't respond.

"Brìghde, I beg you watch over her." His head bowed as Deanna grew still—too still, as if she were slipping from him.

"My life for hers," he pleaded to the Goddess and held Deanna through the night, the ominous stare of a raven in a nearby tree a witness to his folly.

The Cailleach showed him what his heart already knew. This woman was matched to him. His soul mate. Then she took delight in revealing his future without her—a bleak, lonely existence cut short, never knowing Deanna's love.

That he now believed her story of traveling through time would be scant comfort to her—assuming she lived. He'd treated her badly instead of pledging his aid. Ian tried to imagine how she felt, ripped from her home and clan and dropped into the midst of hostile strangers.

He scrubbed at his head, weariness settling in. They hadn't all been hostile. His mother and Munro both seemed taken with the lass. In truth, only he had treated her badly.

Her breathing hitched and he gazed at her fevered face in the first light of dawn. The vein in her neck fluttered like a bird. He was losing her. In desperation, he continued to beseech Brìghde, his lips mumbling the words aloud in case it made a difference.

A breath of warm air brushed his cheek, the scent that of leaves in springtime. "I have other plans for you, my young Druid."

Ian raised his head, wondering if he only imagined that voice.

Deanna's breathing steadied and her eyes opened to meet his gaze. She said something unintelligible about the light burning her, then drifted back to sleep.

Ian brushed the damp hair away from her face. The fever had broken and the flush had faded from her cheeks, leaving a pink glow in its wake. Her sleep seemed more peaceful now. She even smiled as she murmured his name. He thanked the Goddess for the return of Deanna's health and leaned his head back against the tree trunk, following his own dreams with his Lady safely in his arms.

***

Deanna woke to find herself sprawled in Ian's lap, his arms wrapped around her as he snored. How did she end up in this position? She remembered feeling sick as they were riding…then nothing.

Birds chirped in the trees overhead, flitting through branches that blocked out most of the sun. Deanna thought it had been foggy and drizzling. Was this the next day?

She shifted and Ian's eyes opened, looking at her with a softness she hadn't seen before.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. He still held her tightly against his chest and she struggled to sit up.

"Okay, I guess. Confused. Did I get sick? I had a dream…the light burned me."

He nodded and dropped his arms when she pushed on his chest. "You were burning with fever."

Deanna pushed back sweaty, dirty hair from her forehead. "I feel like a sticky mess. Is there any water? My throat hurts, like I swallowed sand."

"Aye, but it's no safe to drink here. Let me get you some ale." He slid out from under her and hurried over to the packs on the horse.

She took the cup he offered and gulped the liquid, choking on the strong drink. It wasn't watered down like the stuff they served with meals.

"Forgive me for taking you to the Cailleach. I shouldna put you at risk that way."

Deanna peered up at Ian's face. He wasn't looking at her but studied the ground by his feet instead. "Why? She didn't do anything—"

But she had, Deanna realized as she saw the guilt carved into Ian's features. "She made me sick? You knew she might do that?"

"I didna think she'd hurt you, I swear it. Only me. It should have been me." His eyes begged for her understanding but Deanna wasn't about to give it to him.

"What did she say to you?" She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why was it so important to take me there?"

"We'll go back to the keep first and then I'll answer your questions. You still need to rest."

She was tired of being pushed around by this man who thought he could get what he wanted with a snap of his fingers. Just because she was drawn to him didn't mean he could give her an order and she'd obey. "On one condition. You give me the brooch so I can get back home."

He set his jaw and stared at her. She stared right back, their eyes locked in a battle of wills. He finally gave her a curt nod of his head and strode off to collect the horses.

Winning the contest didn't give Deanna the elation she thought she'd experience. She should be happy to be going back home. Why did the prospect suddenly make her feel miserable?

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ian urged the horses on, both concerned with Deanna's welfare and angry—at her, at himself, and at the Gods for playing this horrible trick of fate on him. Why would they deliver his soul mate in the body of a woman who had no wish to stay with him? Let her go back home. He didn't need a wife to complicate his life anyway.

They arrived home after supper, Deanna slithering off the pony in exhaustion as he helped her down. She looked beautiful in the gloaming, her golden hair sparkling in the last rays of the sun. Too bad her disposition hadn't improved.

"I can walk." She batted his arms away and swayed where she stood.

"As you wish." He dropped his hands and handed the reins over to a stable lad. If the bampot fell on her face, he'd leave her there in the dirt.

Munro rushed out to meet them and Ian ground his teeth as Deanna took his arm, leaning into the other man as she wobbled toward the keep without a backward glance to see if he would follow. Of all the—

"My laird?" Tomas interrupted his wounded thoughts.

"What is it?"

"Your mother wishes to speak with you right away."

"I'll be there in a minute. Tell her to have a soaking tub set up for the lass. She's no feeling so well." Ian watched Tomas run ahead with the message. He'd hand the brooch over for her to get back home but it'd be on his schedule, not Deanna's. She'd be cared for first, whether she liked it or not.

By the time he entered the hall, only Munro was there to welcome him back.

"What did you do to the poor wee lassie to wear her out so?"

"I didna touch her." Ian growled at his friend when Munro raised an eyebrow at him. "And she's no a poor lassie so dinna start on me. She's addlepated, insisting my da's brooch will take her back home."

"You havena charmed her into staying yet?" Munro cracked a smile at him. Ian glared and didn't answer. The older man frowned. "What did the Cailleach say?"

Ian didn't want to share that information with anybody. "The Cailleach gave Deanna a sickness—almost killed her."

"So that's why the lass is so weak. She's better now, right?" Munro twisted his hands together. Ian wondered why he was so fond of the lass. A pang of jealousy wormed its way through his gut. He breathed deeply, trying to shake it loose. That woman had him thinking all manner of nonsense.

"She'll be fine," his mother said, coming downstairs just then and interrupting whatever Munro was about to say. Ian didn't know if he was relieved or not, judging by the frown on her face.

"May I speak to you, Ian?"

"I'll be out in the barracks, should you need me." Munro scrambled out the door in a hurry. Ian wondered if he already knew what his mother had to say.

She remained silent while the serving girl brought Ian supper. He ate quickly, figuring he'd lose his appetite once she started talking.

"I had another vision while you were away."

"Aye?" He chewed faster.

"It was the Cameron. They rode under a full moon…and Deanna rode with them."

His teeth missed the chunk of bread and sank into his tongue, the taste of blood as bitter as his thoughts.

"She willna be here long enough to betray us." Is that why the Cailleach had tried to kill her? Ian shook his head in disgust. Nothing made sense anymore. "Deanna wants to go back to her time. I'm giving her the brooch and good riddance."

His mother's hand flew to her mouth; her eyes wide with concern. "I didna say she betrayed us, only that I saw her with them. I dinna ken what it means. That brooch holds no magic. What makes you think it will send her back?"

Ian rubbed his head where the blood beat a staccato rhythm at his temple. He'd been foolish to believe the Cailleach. Her talk of soul mates had been a ruse to weaken him. "Mayhap it's the magic in Deanna that will allow the brooch to send her on her way. No matter. I willna hold her in this keep if the lass wishes to leave."

His muddled brain couldn't take anymore tonight. He needed a bath of his own and rest. No telling what might happen if he saw Deanna in his current state of mind. "Tell the lass I'll see her on the morrow…with the brooch." He left the table before his mother had a chance to analyze his mood and went up to his bedchamber to spend an uneasy night.

***

After the initial embarrassment of watching all the activity involved in preparing a bath for her, Deanna gratefully sank into the tub filled with steaming water and relaxed muscles worn raw from riding a horse. The piece of soap left for her had a rough texture to it, but smelled of wildflowers and herbs—way better than how she smelled at the moment.

Sometimes the simple things could make you happy, Deanna thought as she wound the large drying sheet around her and sat on the rug in front of the fire to dry her hair. A place like this made you realize how important just having food to eat and a bed to sleep in was. The people in her time had become spoiled and jaded, confusing luxuries with necessities.

Her stomach rumbled just as Isobel knocked on the door and announced herself, coming in with a tray of food and a bundle of clothes. She set it all down and turned to Deanna, a serious look on her face.