The Highlander's Touch (2 page)

“Did you specify whether the flask would come by itself?” Adam asked with sudden amusement.

“What?” Circenn regarded him blankly.

“The flask. Did you consider that the mortal who touches it might be transported with the flask, if you used a binding spell?”

Circenn closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

“You used a binding spell.” Adam sighed.

“I used a binding spell,” Circenn admitted. “It was the only one I knew,” he added defensively.

“And whose fault is that? How many times have you refused the honor of training among my people? And the answer is yes, Circenn, the man
will
be carried by the binding spell. Both man and flask will be delivered to you.”

Circenn growled his frustration.

“What will you do with this man when he arrives?” Adam pressed.

“Question him, then return him to his home with all haste.”

“You will kill him.”

“I
knew
you would say that. Adam, he may not even understand what it is. What if an innocent man finds the chest washed up on the bank of the river somewhere?”

“You will kill the innocent man, then,” Adam said easily.

“I will do no such thing.”

Adam rose with the graceful surety of a snake uncoiling for the death strike. He crossed the space between them and paused an inch from Circenn. “But you will,” he said softly. “Because you cursed it foolishly, with insufficient thought as to the outcome. Whoever comes with the
flask will arrive in the midst of a Templar sanctuary. Your curse will bring him, innocent or not, into a place where none but your fugitive warriors may trespass. You think you can simply send him away with a fare-thee-well and never-speak-of-this, stranger? And a by-the-bye, please don’t mention that half the missing Templars linger within my walls, and don’t be tempted by the price on their heads.” Adam rolled his eyes. “So you
will
kill him, because you pledged your life to put Robert the Bruce firmly on the throne, and to take no unnecessary risks.”

“I will not kill an innocent man.”

“You will or I will. And you know I have a habit of playing with my prey.”

“You would torture an innocent man to death.” It was not a question.

“Ah, you understand me. Your choices are simple: either you do it, or I do it. Choose.”

Circenn searched the fairy’s eyes.
Don’t seek compassion, I have none
was the message he read there. After a protracted moment, Circenn inclined his head. “I will take care of the bearer of the flask.”

“You will kill the bearer of the flask,” Adam insisted. “Or I will.”

Circenn’s voice was flat and furious. “I will kill the man who brings the flask. But it will be done my way. Painlessly and swiftly, and you will not interfere.”

“Good enough.” Adam took one step backward. “Swear it upon my race. Swear it upon the
Tuatha de Danaan.”

“On one condition. In exchange for the vow I now give you, you will not darken my door again without invitation, Adam Black.”

“Are you certain that’s what you want?” Adam’s lips
thinned with displeasure. Circenn had reverted to his arms-folded, furious stance.
Such a glorious warrior, dark angel. You could have been my mightiest ally
.

“That’s what I want.”

Adam inclined his dark head, a mocking smile playing at the corners of his lips. “So be it as you asked it, Brodie, son of the Brude kings. Now swear.”

To save a man from a painful death at the fairy’s hands, Circenn Brodie sank to his knees and pledged upon the oldest race in Scotland, the
Tuatha de Danaan, that
he would honor his vow to kill the man who arrived with the flask. Then he sighed with relief as Adam Black, the
sin siriche du
, the blackest elf, disappeared, never to darken Circenn’s door again because Circenn certainly wouldn’t extend an invitation, even if he lived a thousand years.

Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down
I am feared in field and town.
Goblin lead them up and down.

—
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
/Shakespeare

P
RESENT
D
AY

“H
EY!
W
ATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING!
” L
ISA CRIED, AS
the Mercedes zipped around an idling taxi and passed dangerously near the curb where she stood, splashing sheets of dirty water up her jeans-clad legs.

“Well, get out of the street, you idiot!” the driver of the Mercedes yelled into his cell phone. Lisa was close enough to hear him say into the phone, “No, not you. It looked like some homeless person. You’d think as much as we pay in taxes …” His voice faded as he drove off.

“I wasn’t in the street!” Lisa yelled after him, tugging her baseball cap lower on her head. Then his words sunk in. “Homeless?”
Dear God, is that what I look like?
She glanced down at her faded jeans, worn and frayed at the hems. Her white T-shirt, although clean, was soft and thin from hundreds of washings. Maybe her slicker had seen better days, a few years before she’d bought it at Second-hand Sadie’s, but it was durable and kept her dry. Her boot had a hole, but he couldn’t have seen that, it was in the sole. The chilly puddles from the recent rain seeped into her boot, soaking her sock. She wriggled uncomfortable toes
and made a mental note to duct tape her boot again. But surely she didn’t look homeless? She was spotlessly clean, or at least she had been before he’d come whizzing by.

“You don’t look like a homeless person, Lisa.” Ruby’s indignant voice interrupted her thoughts. “He’s a pompous ass who thinks anybody not driving a Mercedes doesn’t deserve to live.”

Lisa flashed Ruby a grateful smile. Ruby was Lisa’s best friend. Every evening they chatted as they waited together for the express shuttle to the city, where Lisa went to her cleaning job and Ruby sang in a downtown club.

Lisa eyed Ruby’s outfit longingly. Beneath a dove-gray raincoat with classic lines she wore a stunning black dress adorned with a string of pearls. Strappy, sexy shoes displayed French-manicured toenails; shoes that would feed Lisa and her mom for a month. Not a man alive would let his car splash Ruby Lanoue. Once, Lisa might have looked like that, too. But not now, when she was so deeply in debt that she couldn’t fathom a way out.

“And I know he didn’t get a good look at your face.” Ruby wrinkled her nose, irritated with the long-gone driver. “If he had, he certainly would’ve stopped and apologized.”

“Because I look so depressed?” Lisa asked wryly.

“Because you’re so beautiful, honey.”

“Yeah. Right,” Lisa said, and if there was a trace of bitterness, Ruby tactfully ignored it. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m trying to impress anyone.”

“But you could. You have no idea what you look like, Lisa. He must have been gay. That’s the only reason a man could miss a woman as gorgeous as you.”

Lisa smiled faintly. “You just never give up, do you, Ruby?”

“Lisa, you
are
beautiful. Let me doll you up and show
you off. Take off that cap and let your hair down. Why do you think God gave you such magnificent hair?”

“I like my cap.” Lisa tugged at the faded bill of her Cincinnati Reds cap protectively, as if she feared Ruby might snatch it away. “Daddy bought it for me.”

Ruby bit her lip hesitantly, then shrugged. “You can’t hide beneath that hat forever. You know how much I care about you, and yes”—she waved away Lisa’s protest before it even reached her lips—“I know your mother is dying, but that doesn’t mean you are too, Lisa. You can’t let it defeat you.”

Lisa’s expression grew shuttered. “What are you singing for your opening number tonight, Ruby?”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I won’t let you give up on life,” Ruby said gently. “Lisa, there’s so much ahead of you. You’ll survive this, I promise.”

Lisa averted her gaze. “But will I want to?” she muttered, kicking at the curb. Her mom, Catherine, had been diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. The diagnosis had come too late, and now little could be done with the exception of making her as comfortable as possible.
Six months, maybe a year
, the doctors had advised cautiously.
We can try experimental procedures, but
… The message was clear: Catherine would die anyway.

Her mom had refused, with unwavering determination, to be the target of experimental procedures. Spending the last months of her life in a hospital was not how either Lisa or Catherine wanted it to end. Lisa had arranged for home health care, and now money, which had always been tight for them, was even tighter.

Since the car accident five years ago that had crippled her mother and killed her father, Lisa had been working two jobs. Her life had changed overnight following her father’s
death. At eighteen, she’d been the cherished daughter of wealthy parents, living in Cincinnati’s most elite, private community, with a brilliant, secure future ahead of her. Twenty-four hours later, on the night of her high-school graduation, her life had become a nightmare from which there’d been no awakening. Instead of going to college, Lisa had gone to work as a waitress, then picked up a night job. Lisa knew that after her mother was gone she would continue to work two jobs, trying to pay off the astronomical medical bills that had accumulated.

She winced, recalling her mother’s recent instructions that she be cremated because it was less expensive than a burial. If she thought about that comment too long she might get sick right there at the bus stop. She understood that her mom was trying to be practical, seeking to minimize expenses so Lisa would have some small chance at life when she was gone, but frankly, the prospect of life alone, without her mother, held little appeal for her.

This week Catherine had taken an irrevocable turn for the worse, and Lisa had been slapped in the face with the inescapable fact that she could do nothing to ease her mother’s pain. It would stop only with death. The gamut of emotions she experienced lately was bewildering to her. Some days she felt anger at the world in general; other days she would have offered her soul in exchange for her mom’s health. But the worst days were the ones when she felt a twinge of resentment beneath her grief. Those days were the worst because with the resentment came a crushing load of guilt that made her aware of how ungrateful she was. Many people had not had the chance to love their mothers for as long as she had. Some people had far less than Lisa:
Half full, Lisa
, Catherine would remind.

As they boarded the shuttle, Ruby pulled Lisa into the seat next to her and maintained a stream of bright chatter intended to lift her spirits. It didn’t work. Lisa tuned her out, trying not to think at all—and certainly not about “after.” Now was bad enough.

How did it come to this? God
—
what has happened to my life?
she wondered, massaging her temples. Beyond the glass and steel panes of the express shuttle to downtown Cincinnati, the chilly March rain began to fall again in uniform sheets of gray.

*   *   *

Lisa breathed deeply as she entered the museum. In its tomblike silence, she felt a cocoon of peace settle around her. Glass exhibit cases graced marble floors that were polished to a high sheen and reflected the low light from the recessed wall sconces. She paused to wipe her wet boots carefully on the mat before stepping into her sanctuary. No soggy footsteps would mar these hallowed floors.

Lisa’s mind had been starved for stimulation since her last day of high school, five years ago, and she imagined that the museum spoke to her, whispering seductively of things she would never experience: lush, exotic climates, mystery, adventure. She looked forward to going to work each night, despite having spent an exhausting day waiting tables. She loved the domed ceilings with their brilliantly painted mosaics depicting famous sagas. She could describe in vivid detail the most minute nuances of the latest acquisitions. She could recite the placards by heart: each battle, each conquest, each larger-than-life hero or heroine.

When her boots were dry, Lisa hung her slicker by the door and strode briskly past the introductory exhibits,
hurrying toward the medieval wing. She brushed her fingers over the plaque outside the entrance, tracing the contours of the gilded letters: