Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (18 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Lauren took the ferry back to Malaig, where he’d left his car before visiting the High Court of the Damselfly Society. The drive back to Kilmartin gave him time to think about the many things that had happened since he set foot again in Scotland, not the least of which was his inexplicable attraction to Merry Peacock.

Lauren rubbed his temple as he negotiated the twists and turns leading into Kilmartin. It was late. He was tired. Bone weary actually, and sick of the King and Council politics. Maybe he should just chuck it all and start his own learning center. He laughed, the sound echoing through the empty Jaguar he’d rented. Who was he kidding? There was no “out.” Not really. The Arm-Righ would make sure Lauren met with an unfortunate accident if he tried. Leaving wasn’t what he wanted anyway. Lauren wanted to fix the Council and the Society. Not abandon it.

He wanted to be King.

Watch yourself, laird. Wanting has a way of setting a man on a path to making his wants real.

Merry’s voice came, and this time Lauren didn’t try to push it away. He didn’t question why he heard her. She had power over him, and for once he welcomed that fact instead of fighting it. He liked her. He was drawn to her. He
wanted
her in a primal kind of way. “In all my travels to Argyll, why didn’t I meet you before now?”

The path appears when the traveler is ready.

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

He heard Merry’s slow, sensual laugh. He wanted to hear that laugh when she was lying under him, naked.

It means that you’re ready for me now, MacBain. You weren’t before. And I always laugh when I’m naked.

Lauren didn’t question this easy communication that wove around him like a fine, translucent web, tenuous, yet incredibly strong, binding Merry to him with its delicate strength. He laughed at the image. Merry was no spider, and he was no fly. He was a practical man, with practical thoughts. Lauren knew magic was real because he saw it happen. He felt it when it was being wielded in his presence. He’d even used that kind of sacred energy himself on occasion, albeit sparingly. Magic wasn’t supernatural. It was elemental, as elemental as nature herself, and as real.

Lauren pulled into the drive. Suddenly he wasn’t tired at all. He wanted, needed, to find Merry.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“I’m being watched.”

Magnus put the finishing touches on Rowan’s new training sword as the man himself walked through the door of his workshop with, as usual, no pretense of polite conversation. Since Magnus wasn’t feeling overly polite with Daisy’s safety plaguing him, he didn’t tease his friend as he usually would have over his lack of social niceties.

“Since when can’t the Ghost can’t shake a tail?”

“I didn’t say that. I didn’t try to shake him. I was hoping to find out who sent him and why.”

Magnus put down the polishing cloth and set the sword on the table in front of him. It gleamed in the sunlight. Beautiful. Deadly. Just like the one he’d forged for Daisy, although far less ornate and as yet unnamed. “Did you?”

“No,” Rowan said as he walked into the room. He stopped across the table from Magnus. “I don’t know who he is or who sent him, but I know I’m not the only one he’s following.”

Magnus stiffened, but said nothing.

“Whoever it is, he’s skilled. It wasn’t easy to follow his trail. I backtracked as far as I could with certainty.”

“Where did the trail lead?”

“It ended before it led anywhere definitive.”

“Best guess?” Rowan’s guess was better than most men’s certainty. Magnus could and would act on it.

“I lost the trail when I hit the south end of cairn trail in Kilmartin Glen. There were too many tourists mingling about to follow farther or to decipher footfall.”

Magnus looked into Rowan’s eyes, trying to read the man’s expression. Rowan’s jaw tightened, one hand fisted at his side. Rowan was worried. “Whoever it is, we should assume he’s following Daisy.”

“Yes. Potentially Merry Peacock as well.”

“Why Merry?”

Rowan just looked at him in that way that said
I know who she is. Pretend with me at your peril.

Magnus gave a nod, his suspicions confirmed. Whatever else Rowan might be, he knew the players and he knew the lay of the land. “Were you seen planting the sword in Merlin’s Stone?”

He knew Rowan didn’t like his prowess or his professionalism challenged, that much was obvious, but defending Daisy’s destiny was more important than any man’s pride to Magnus, even his own.

“Gleipnir was hidden in the stone long before my tail found me, Druid.”

Rowan’s expression didn’t change, nor did he raise his voice, but he was as close to anger as Magnus had ever seen him and Magnus wasn’t quite sure why. Rowan wanted justice as much as Magnus did, and their only real hope in gaining it for themselves and for the Council lay in trusting one another. And in preparing Daisy, who didn’t have a clue how important she was to him or how important she was going to become to the Council.

“Is your tail from the Council or the King or someone else? Is it someone who wants to outrank you and become the first among the Silent Ones?”

The heat left Rowan as quickly as it came and the man was once again as expressive as an oak tree, un-swaying in the face of the wind. He eyed the sword on Magnus’ table, clearly appreciating the work that went into it.

“My best guess is that it’s none of the above. If I were a betting man, which I am not, I’d put money on the Arm-Righ’s Second. That excuse for a man would sell his mother for the throne. He’s not strong enough yet to make a move against the King, but he’s smart enough to know there’s storm brewing between MacBain and the Arm-Righ. He’ll take advantage of any weakness he can find. He’d hurt Lauren if he can. If he can’t, he’ll hurt Daisy.”

Magnus lifted the sword he’d forged specifically to train Daisy. She knew sword technique. She’d learned from Sensei Schwartz and was quite good at it. The problem wasn’t in wielding a blade, the problem was that Daisy’s training was with a katana, a Samurai sword, not a Viking sword. The balance was different, the length was different, the stances—although similar—were different.

The weapon of choice for settling disputes at court that required bloodletting was the sword. Anglo-Saxon or Viking. Not Samurai.

Magnus handed the sword to Rowan, grip first. Rowan didn’t take it. “She’s going to need to be prepared,” Magnus said. Still Rowan didn’t take the sword.

“Then prepare her.”

“You are the best swordsman in the Society.”

“You know I’m not technically part of the Society any more than you are. And you are as good with a sword as I am.” Rowan’s eyes narrowed and then he gave a rare smile. At least, Magnus
thought
it was a smile. His lips curled up and a look as close to empathy as Magnus had ever seen cross the man’s face settled there. “Besides, she needs your tutelage more than she needs mine. You train her and I’ll step in if and when I’m needed.”

Magnus shook his head. “She won’t like me telling her what to do. She hates me right about now.”

Rowan laughed, a quick, barking sound that startled Magnus. “She loves you. You’re the only one who can’t see it. That makes you a stupid bastard, but not an unskilled one. Work it out, man.”

Magnus didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

Rowan turned serious again. “She needs
your
strength, Magnus. Give it to her.”

Magnus nodded. If Rowan didn’t train her, he was the only one who could. So he would. Whether she liked it or not. He hadn’t realized he was deep in thought until Rowan snapped him out of it with his question.

“The stone you placed at the end of Gleipnir’s grip is the same as the one you put in this sword. It’s also the same as the one you placed in mine.” There was a question there, but Rowan didn’t ask it.

“The stones are Herkimer diamonds.” Magnus waited, but Rowan didn’t interrupt. He should have known better. Rowan came as close as he would to asking for information that he didn’t need do his job. Rowan rarely asked out of curiosity, and he wouldn’t ask again.

Magnus lifted the sword and exposed the pommel to the light that streamed in through the window. The stone was mounted in a bezel of 14k rose gold surrounded by sterling. He’d carved spirals into the silver and set each with a black tourmaline, a protective and grounding stone. Herkimer diamonds weren’t really diamonds, they were six-sided double terminated quartz; harder than most quartz, relatively inexpensive, and easy to find. He purchased them in New York, in Herkimer County where they were predominantly found, hence the name. Magnus loved using them in jewelry. The stones, however, had a deeper, more meaningful purpose.

With Merry’s help, he’d charged the stones he put in the pommels; programmed them with positive energy. Winning energy.

Magnus turned the pommel in his hand and the transparent quartz sparkled brilliantly, sending out rainbows of light. What really made them special were the thoughts, the energy, the
purpose
he and Merry put into them.

“These stones,” Magnus said, sparing Rowan a glance, “are powerful. They give off their own energy and they are receptive to outside energies, which they can focus and amplify.”

“And the black stones around them.” Again, a non-question question.

“I surrounded each quartz, even yours, with black tourmaline. The tourmaline will ground you and help channel your energies.”

“Are you telling me that the black stones are for protection against negative outside energy and the clear stone amplifies the power I put into it?” Rowan said.

Magnus set the sword back onto the cloth draped table. “Pretty much.”

Rowan nodded.

Magnus didn’t know how much of what he’d just shared Rowan believed—the man’s face didn’t give anything away, but he pondered the information. Magnus waited and let him work it out, seeing if Rowan wanted to know more. Then his friend surprised him again.

“Thank you,” Rowan said, meaning it.

Magnus’ eyes widened as he registered a new first where Rowan was concerned. He’d never heard Rowan thank anyone before. He was honored. So much so, he volunteered more. Something he’d been warned against. When it came to magic, the first rule was to keep it to yourself. This time, though, Rowan and Daisy needed to know about every tool they had in their arsenals.

“Rowan, take out your sword.”

Rowan arched a brow, but did as Magnus asked. He carried the blade down his back. Magnus had modified it so it wasn’t quite as long as a traditional long sword. The man had to move in a society where sword carrying would get you noticed.

Magnus picked up the training sword. It hummed in his hand. He came around the table and stood beside Rowan, blade out. He closed his eyes, seeing the ray of energy he’d put into both stones. Warrior energy. Concentrating on that ray until the stone in Rowan’s sword picked it up and sent it back. The hum got stronger. And stronger.

Magnus opened his eyes. Rowan was staring at his blade, awe and something like glee shining in his eyes. He looked from his blade to Magnus and back again. “It’s like it’s speaking to me,” Rowan whispered.

Magnus smiled. Rowan had a way of cutting to the heart of the matter.

“They’re called attunement stones. They link and amplify people’s energy when worn or touched. Even from a distance.”

Rowan put his sword away. The energy it shared with Magnus’ sword, although muted, remained. Rowan didn’t question the how or the why of what just happened. He was a realist. If he experienced something, it was real. Whether he could explain it didn’t really matter. Rowan didn’t need to talk about something to believe in it—a quirk Magnus was thankful for.

“So, Magnus, you’ve made Daisy stronger when she’s with one of us?”

“Yes. We are each more powerful when our energies are aligned to one purpose.”

Rowan’s jaw tightened. “You’ve made us a unit,” he said, and walked toward the door.

Rowan turned and looked back at Magnus. Magnus nodded.

Rowan nodded back and left as quietly as he came.

For a man whose whole identity revolved around being self-contained, a lone entity, a ghost, Rowan had taken the news with relative calm. Magnus hoped that was good sign. Something inside of him said it was.

All he had to do now was convince Daisy that she was better off as part of a team; a team that, first and foremost, included him. Magnus looked through the skylight to the heavens. “Goddess, help me. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need it. Oh, and if you’re in a convivial mood, I’d also like to get laid soon.”

Careful what you ask for, Highlander. You just might get it.

Magnus heard the gentle trill of feminine laughter in his head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Daisy pulled into the designated parking area for the last stone circle site on her list. There were a number of cars, most of them tiny by American standards, a few tour buses, all of them huge and more luxurious than those at home, and a handful of motorcycles, most of them touring bikes. People dotted the grounds. Everywhere.