Mortal Magick (3 page)

Chapter 3

Keara’s fingers sank into long, soft tassels and she tucked the cover tighter under her chin. She was freezing. She snuggled deeper beneath the heavy blanket. Beth must have the air-conditioner turned on full blast. Her nose and cheeks felt as cold as icicles. Something hard was poking at her butt. The mattress was a lot firmer than normal. Her nose wrinkled.
What in heaven’s name is that damn smell?

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Instead of the vanilla-cream-painted ceiling in her bedroom she normally woke up to, her eyelids fluttered open to discover cotton-ball clouds floating in the midst of a clear-blue sky directly overhead. She bolted upright. In place of the pretty, quilted comforter Beth just bought on sale from Boscov’s, she stared at the shaggy animal pelt draped over her. And it reeked.

Her hand slowly traveled down her backside. She was half-afraid to discover what the stiff item was poking her in the ass. She clutched the item, a jagged stone, which cut her palm. She winced. A warm trickle of blood ran down her fingers. She shook her hand and cursed under her breath as she watched the rock skip across the ground after giving it a good toss.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to recall what happened. The last thing she could remember was discussing Highlanders and romance novels with Beth and getting a terrible headache. She must have blacked out. Her fingers gently rubbed the substantial lump on the back of her scalp. Everything else seemed a fuzzy blur except the strange dreams about a gigantic beast carrying her in his arms.

Nothing appeared familiar. There were no signs of people, houses, or roads close by. Just herds of sheep grazing in open green meadows filled with wildflowers. The perfect setting for a picture postcard. Thick forest glens and snowcapped velvet mountains in the distance stretched for miles.

Keara jumped when she heard the warm, rich sounds of laughter. The heavy pelt fell from her grip. She was stripped naked! A faint gasp escaped her quivering lips. A bulky nightshirt that had obvious seen better days now covered her. She eyed the sharp rock she’d just discarded. It lay in front of a small, crackling fire. She grabbed the stone and hid it beneath the sheepskin for the time being.
It might come in handy as a weapon
.

She scanned the area for her clothes. Strange animal tracks led away from the fire toward a boulder. The hoofmarks were soon replaced by human footprints.

Something weird was definitely going on here. There had to be a logical explanation for this. She was probably just hallucinating.

A goliath of a man stood roughly fifty feet away. She focused on his firm, muscular legs spread wide apart. He was helping a teenage boy pull back a taut bowstring. She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. She reopened them. No, she wasn’t imagining it. Both of them wore odd skirts of some sort.
An old-style kilt possibly?

The older guy most definitely exuded pure masculinity. Even with a skirt. The man wore nothing else, other than a pair of corded, wrapped leather boots.

His massive, broad shoulders must’ve been a yard wide. She bit her lip and gazed at the rippling muscles that streamed down his powerful, bare tanned arms. Her face warmed, taking in his tempting, well-sculpted male physique. A head full of light-brown hair hung low and brushed the top of his shoulders. She could only imagine what he’d looked like once he turned around. His too-perfect body couldn’t possibly be blessed with a rugged handsome face to match.

From the distance, the boy appeared no older than early teens. Fairly tall for his age, he was slender with lanky arms and legs. His build reminded her of a basketball player. Besides the brown-colored skirt, he wore a baggy top similar to the one she was wearing.

The older man bent slightly forward. Hands on his hips, he appraised the boy. The young man drew back the bowstring, the narrow dowel held between steadied fingers. He took aim and sent the arrow flying high in the air. “Fine job, Colin. Ye be hittin' anything ye target in no time.”

The supportive voice sounded pleased. He patted the boy on his back, and handed him another arrow. Keara couldn’t miss the thick, Scottish brogue.

“Aye, lad. Come fall of next year, ye’ll be more than ready for the Highland games. With practice, ye’ll make a grand, skilled bowman.”

Out of nowhere, she spied a cat. It could’ve been her Samson’s double. The feline rubbed against the man’s leg and leapt into his arms. She swore she heard the contented cat purring from the distance. She grinned
.
“That can’t be Samson. He doesn’t even like men.”

The man swiveled to face her. She’d spoken loud enough to draw their attention. A surprised gasp escaped her parched lips.
I wonder if Olympian gods really do exist.

This drop-dead-gorgeous hunk of a man certainly fit the description. Hell, it had to be a dream or hallucination.

With long easygoing strides, he moved toward her.

Bloody hell!
This was just like watching a character step out of a scene from the movie
Braveheart.
Only without buttered popcorn. This time her sister Beth wasn’t sitting next to her on the comfy sofa to share the excitement.

Within moments, her eyes locked with a pair of deep-turquoise-blue ones gazing back at her.

She could never tire of staring at his rugged, handsome face. Her mind raced with wanton thoughts. It filled with vivid images of her fingers tracing over his exquisite muscular chest. She imagined his firm hands caressing her from head to toe. Her heart fluttered. Her face felt flushed. She lowered her head and prayed he couldn’t read her mind. She peeked up sheepishly, surprised at her own body’s reaction. Still, she was dying to run her hands through his thick mop of wavy hair.

What in heaven’s name has suddenly come over me? By the Goddess, woman, get a hold of yourself.

She shook her head and tried to focus. The sumptuous hottie stood directly next to her. He held his head to the side, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. He was the perfect combination of Mel Gibson, Gerard Butler, and Chris Hemsworth—all wrapped up in one gigantic package.
This just can’t be happening. Especially not to me.

“Aye, ye’re finally awake, lass. Did ye sleep well?” The man squatted, attempting to face her at eye level, but not before she caught a wee glimpse under his brown woolen kilt.

“Yes, thank you.” She scarcely recognized her own voice, shakier than she would have liked. A few drops of perspiration dribbled down her flushed face. It must be beet red by now. She swallowed hard, certain he could hear her parched throat make a gulping sound.

The cat she spotted earlier darted in leaps and bounds toward her. It scurried as fast as its short legs would carry it.

Keara swooped him up in her arms then hugged the feline and speckled small kisses over his forehead.

“It
is
you, Samson.” Warm tears rolled down her face. Relief flooded her to know her small companion was safe and alive. She sighed and smiled and nodded in a small gesture of thanks.

Her handsome Goliath’s hand gently pushed stray tendrils of unruly hair away from her cheek. A shock of electricity raced through her body the instant he touched her skin. A strong connection washed over her. Something odd, and beyond words. And quite strong. Something she never felt before in her life.

A massive feeling of loneliness overwhelmed her, and an intense pain and suffering flooded her senses. She immediately knew she was she was sharing the feelings of the man standing next to her. Then a powerful energy penetrated her face, trickling over her skin like a cool rain shower on a hot summer day. This peculiar emotion made her dizzy. Somehow, she knew, he was now a distinct part of her. Her fingers clutched his hand. His gaze probed until it reached her inner soul. An intense and stunned expression crossed his face. She realized that he, too, felt the bond.

“Uncle?” a panicked voice rang out. “Please hurry!”

The mysterious Highlander jolted upright then hurried toward the urgent cry for help. Keara scanned for the young man. The boy, Colin, had disappeared without a trace.

Chapter 4

“Colin!” The Highlander’s thick brogue thundered. “Colin! Where are ye? Answer me, lad.”

Damn.
Keara needed to concentrate. Her heart pounded within her chest.
Okay, this isn’t a
dream.

The vein in her neck began to throb. This was reality. She took a deep breath.
Calm down and take one step at a time.

Barefoot and shivering, she stood and rubbed her hands vigorously up and down both arms. Tiny goosebumps peppered across her skin, spattering over her entire body. Frantic, she scanned the area for her clothes. She remembered her cell phone was tucked inside the front pocket of her capris, in case she needed to call 911. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Samson’s tail swishing back and forth. He was crouching next to a gigantic sword resting against a saddle bag.

Another bellow from the Scotsman made her jump. She clutched a pair of long baggy pants lying next to the sack and pulled them up around her waist. She grabbed the wool blanket and tossed it around her shoulders. Her nerves tensed as she darted off in the direction of his voice.

She raced through a patchwork of green grass empurpled with flowered heathers, ending at the edge of a sheer drop. Massive black boulders stretched down to the sea. Her lungs filled with frigid ocean air. Her nose twitched from the scent of salt water. Crashing waves slapped against the ragged stones.

Keara spied a narrow pathway winding around a steep bend. Several bleating sheep scampered off in different directions. A bit lightheaded, she swayed and tried to steady herself.

Shadows of quickly moving clouds rolled in. She darted around a few disgruntled sheep before heading down the sodden path. Her feet slipped from under her, and she landed hard on her bottom. Luckily, her tightly wrapped cover acted like a toboggan, guiding her safely down the remainder of the slope.

Not far ahead, she spotted the rugged Highlander lying on his belly. His head and arms were hung over the edge of yet another steep cliff. She raced to his side and stopped short within several inches of his body. With her feet braced firmly apart, she concentrated all her weight on her back foot for support. Like a hawk seizing its prey, her fear of heights clutched at her guts. Panic pierced her spine. Dizzy, her stomach lurched as the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. She knelt on the ground and clutched a handful of wet grass before cautiously looking over the edge.

She spotted the young boy dangling from a scrawny branch with an arrow stuck beside it. The spear-tip wedged firmly between the crooked limb and inside the crevice of a jagged rock just out of reach of the Scotsman’s arms. The strong hand of the merciless wind slapped the lad’s body back and forth against the serrated stones, like a flag whipped in a storm. A chain of screeching black ravens circled in the darkened sky.

“What can I do to help?” she cried, her eyes fixed on the swaying boy, who struggled to hang on. The prolonged time of his weight on the weak limb, was causing it to bend.

“Colin, I canna reach ye. Hang on, laddie. I’m goin’ back for me rope.” The Highlander raised himself up, his biceps bulging. His eyes met hers. Determination was written across his handsome face.

“Wait.” She reached out and grabbed his arm. His muscles rippled beneath her fingertips. “What if the branch breaks before you get back?” She felt helpless not doing anything. “Use my body as your extended arms.” She wavered, his touch still surging through her flesh.

His face brightened at the offer. He stood, taking her hand to help her stand, and stared at her. His face appeared bewildered for a moment. “Are ye sure, lass? Ye didna ‘ave to do this. ‘Tis a dangerous thing to be askin’ of any woman.”

“I’m sure. Just hurry and get this over with before I lose my courage.” Her fingers shook tying a knot in the front of the loose shirt so it wouldn’t fall off once she was hanging upside-down. She took a deep breath and lowered herself onto the cold ground—right at the edge of the treacherous cliff.

“Are ye ready, lass?” His deep voice was filled with concern. A strong pair of hands gripped her lower legs. “I’m gonna lower yer body down slowly. Ye yell if I’m hurtin’ ye. Or if ye wish me to stop.”

“Colin, grab the wee lass’ hands as soon as ye can, lad, and hold on,” he hollered down.

Keara suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Her entire body trembled.
What in bloody hell am I thinking?

“Are ye all right, lass? Ye need to balance yerself with yer hands against the rocks.”

Oh damn! I think I’m gonna be sick.

His hands tightened their grip on her ankles.

I’ll be fine, just take a deep breath, and it will be over in no time. I hope.

She peeked through squinted eyelids and gazed into Colin’s face. He smiled up at her. Her fear began to subside with the sight of hope in his eyes. His thin arms were covered with bloody cuts. She struggled to push her body away from the jagged stones.

“Lower me just a bit more,” she cried out to the Highlander above.

“Colin, grab my hands!” The teen’s fingers grasped hold of the thin, wobbling branch. His hands began to tremble. She was concerned whether the boy could hold on much longer.

Colin’s reply got muffled by a callous gust of cold wind. A chilling wet mist pricked Keara’s face. The drenched nightshirt clung tightly to her shivering body. Her eyes stung from the fresh salt water, whipped into her face by the merciless wind. She blinked several times and tried to flush her eyes with fresh tears. She desperately wanted to close them but feared she would lose sight of the boy. A fast, heavy fog was enveloping his body.

With every effort of strength, she stretched her arms in attempt to grab Colin’s hands. High waves of water rose, and snarled at their frozen bodies. She winced in panic.

Her fingers touched Colin’s knuckles. She gasped. “I’ve almost got him, just a little more.”

A cold hand grasped her wrist.

She sighed and grabbed his hand. “I’ve got you. Give me your other hand.”

She encouraged him to hold on while she struggled to get a tighter grip.

Like a melting cube of ice, Colin’s hand began slipping through her fingers. She pushed all her weight against the jagged rocks in hopes of getting a better grip. Her arms and legs scraped against the razor-sharp edges. She twisted her body. Blood trickled down her wrists.

Her fingers stretched out and grasped a handful of cold air.

Colin’s dark-brown eyes widened in fear and stared up at her. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His innocent face centered on hers as his arms flailed over his head.

Hot tears filled her eyes. The helpless figure plummeted far below into rippling white tips of high-cresting waves. The Highlander’s piercing shouts from above echoed through her ears. The boy’s frail body had been swallowed beneath the clutches of the ocean’s currents. Powerful hands tightened around her ankles. Keara screamed right before her body was heaved back up to safety.

A heavy blanket wrapped tightly around her quivering body. Stunned at first, a soft gasp escaped her lips. The Highlander scooped her up in his arms and placed her safely on the ground behind him. Away from the edge of the cliff. “Ye were verra brave, lass. ‘Twas not yer fault.”

Too shocked to say anything, she gaped up at him. Tears streamed down her face.

“Ye stay here and rest. I’ll be back soon with the lad.”

The rugged Highlander stripped off his leather boots and woolen skirt and tossed them in front of her feet. She heard her own quick intake of breath at the sight of the taut muscles of his legs, his firm, bare bottom. Her strong attraction for the man, particularly at a time like this, was disturbing. She stared, helpless. The incredible man surprised her again as he dove off the cliff. The splashing of water was the last sign of him.

“It’s too late,” a wispy voice whispered in her ear.

Keara turned her head. She hesitated, confused at what she thought she heard.

“What a pity for the boy. Duncan should have listened to me.” A woman started to laugh.

Keara’s gaze darted around and she didn’t see anyone. Clutching the Highlander’s discarded skirt and boots in her hands, she jolted and ran toward the steep slippery path, which led to the bottom of the cliff. She must hurry before it was too late. Sheer panic swept through her body as she feared a tragedy was about to befall Colin and the Highlander

That voice. It sounded familiar.
But from where?

“The boy’s fate can’t be changed.”

Keara flinched at the tone of the eerie voice chasing her. Tight knots twisted in her stomach. Confused, she ran as fast as she could, swallowing deep breaths of salty air into her lungs. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder, anxious to escape the sinister woman’s invisible presence.

Keara reached the bottom and found wet turf leading to another steep drop to the sea. Short of breath, she stopped, bent over, and grabbed her knees. Over the roar of wind and crashing waves of the sea, the entire horizon danced with fire. Sunrays lit up the sky. The ocean became calm. Dark clouds rolled away with a strong gust of wind. A crash of thunder bellowed high above.

“Damn that Duncan McCord,” the voice spit harshly, her words racing overhead. “He’s still too late to save the young brat.”

The wretched voice cackled once, and then it was gone.

“Duncan.” Keara whispered his name for the first time and touched her chapped lips. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand trying to focus on the sparkling water for any sign of the Highlanders.

The screeching ravens circling overhead were the only things in sight.

“Duncan! Colin!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please, by the Goddess, at least one of you answer me.”

Grief ripped through her heart. She now feared the worse. The sweet image of Colin’s innocent face combined with the rugged features of Duncan’s profile raced through her mind. Her knees buckled and hit the ground. She lowered her head and fought back hot tears. Her fingers gripped the woolen skirt and held it next to her face. The strong masculine scent of her new Scottish friend still lingered in the soft, heavy fabric of his kilt. The thought of never seeing either one of them again left her with an enormous feeling of emptiness. She could barely swallow the lump now stuck in her throat.