Claire Delacroix (29 page)

Then it was gone, leaving Baird wondering whether he had imagined it in the first place.

“You must all call me Darian,” the arrival insisted. “After all, I’ll probably be underfoot for quite some time. These investigations take time, at least when they’re done properly.”

Didn’t that just figure.

Julian glared at Baird before he could say anything remotely disparaging and as much as he hated to admit it, Baird knew that this time the lawyer was absolutely right. This Heritage Society could probably claim Dunhelm in its entirety as some kind of historic site - or encourage the government to do so - and Baird would lose the property he had fought so hard to obtain.

He couldn’t let that happen. Darian Mulvaney’s presence would have to be tolerated.

But Baird didn’t have to like it.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Darian Mulvaney watched the others as they settled at the table, trying to sort out who knew what this time. His memory of the eighth century, of his father Erc’s demise and his own pledge was crystal clear, but he hadn’t been so fortunate each time he and Bridei met.

The Fates were capricious when it came to memory. To Darien’s good fortune, it seemed that there was still considerable confusion in the others’ minds.

Julian, fortunately, had no recollection of the past he and Darian shared. Baird seemed to harbor some animosity - and no wonder after all the times Darian had hacked the life out of him - but apparently his memory was unclear. Darian could use that advantage.

And he would.

Aurelia, the prize herself, was even more lovely awake than asleep. If he had ever seen her like this, he might have taken her on one of his many other visits to Dunhelm. Or let Bridei succeed and steal her from beneath that man’s nose.

Which would have been interesting, to say the least. Thus far, his only interest in Aurelia had been thwarting Bridei’s goal of saving her from her curse. Obviously, Darian’s thirst for vengeance had blinded him to the possibilities.

Possibilities that were very interesting indeed.

He’d have to ensure that didn’t happen again.

Darian smiled at his reluctant host. “I certainly have to thank you, Mr. Beauforte, for extending your hospitality to me,” he said expansively, watching the other man’s response with care. “It’s such a treat to have a good country meal.”

Aurelia leaned toward him with a trusting smile. “Elizabeth is a very good cook,” she said with the grace of a queen. “I am certain that whatever she has conjured will be wondrous indeed.”

Marissa snorted delicately. “Aurelia, darling, though such home-cooked fare suits a rural appetite like your own, some of us have more sophisticated palates.” She slid a hand over Baird’s and eyed him through her lashes. “Isn’t that right, Baird, darling?”

Ah yes, Darian swallowed his smile. Dear Aunt Drustic, as malicious a bitch as ever, making trouble as only she could. It was always refreshing to find another being more self-motivated than himself.

Drustic had really outdone herself in the packaging this time, Darian acknowledged with admiration. He might not be adverse to a little family reunion himself.

Not that Drustic’s figure seemed to make any difference to her prey - the link between Baird and Aurelia was as hot as a live wire. Once everything was lined up, Darian would take great pleasure in cutting that cord for all time.

By the time he was done deflowering the luscious Aurelia and giving Baird Beauforte what he deserved, no one would have any doubt that he was victorious over both Dunhelm and its heiress.

Darian hadn’t once been the son of The Destroyer for nothing.

* * *

The air at dinner was colored with discomfort, with Julian forcing conversation, Marissa trying to corner Baird and Baird refusing to do much more than glower at the new arrival. Aurelia was in no mood to manage such a complicated tangle of events.

She did, however, over the course of the meal have the increasing feeling that Darian was trying to goad each of them in turn into revealing something of themselves.

Aurelia told herself that she was only sensitive because of her concerns about summoning the Dreaming tonight. She escaped from the table early, but had only been in her room for a few moments before there was a soft rap on the door.

Aurelia opened it to find Baird leaning against the frame, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Like some company?” he asked softly. He was serious, but his eyes glowed with such intensity that her heart skipped erratically.

Aurelia felt herself flush. She was sorely tempted to accept his offer. On the other hand, she had to dream tonight, despite the allure of sharing a bed with Baird once more.

She managed somehow to smile and hoped she looked as tired as she felt. “I am sorry, but I need to sleep tonight.”

There was a flash of hurt in Baird’s eyes and it pained Aurelia to know that she had caused it.

Then he smiled wryly and the shadow was gone. “And what makes you think I wouldn’t let you get any?”

Aurelia arched a brow, feeling no need to say anything more.

Baird almost laughed. Then he touched her chin in the tender way she loved and brushed his lips across her brow. “Pleasant dreams, princess.” He flicked a finger across the tip of her nose and turned to stride down the hall.

Aurelia closed the door and leaned her back against it, fighting a ferocious impulse to call him back. Her room looked colder than it had just a moment past, her night of Dreaming less tempting now that she would do it alone.

But this had to be done if she was to know for certain. Let the Dreaming come and show her the shadows of Baird’s heart.

* * *

By the time Baird got back downstairs, the other two men had retired. He prowled the perimeter of the restaurant restlessly, refusing to admit what was bothering him.

He certainly hadn’t been counting on sleeping with Aurelia again. Baird circled the hall, toured the cellars, paced the entire interior of the resort and still wasn’t the least bit sleepy. All the same, he climbed to his room, paced its circumference, then poured himself a healthy shot of Scotch.

It was Darian’s presence that was keeping him awake. It couldn’t be anything else. After all, this man could cost him Dunhelm.

And Baird didn’t like him.

His sour mood certainly had nothing to do with the way Aurelia smiled and chatted with Darian over dinner, much less that she had suddenly and unexpectedly turned him away.

Baird didn’t need Aurelia or anyone else.

* * *

The dream took no cautions in its approach this time: it simply exploded in glorious color in Baird’s mind, without apology, introduction or fanfare.

He was in a stone room, the smell of the wind hinting that it stood on high ground. Its furnishings were simple, its occupants garbed in a manner similar to what Aurelia had worn in the well.

An auburn-haired woman slept in the great pillared and curtained bed in the middle of the room. Her features were beautiful, the curve of her lips kindly, the circles under her eyes hinting at her exhaustion. A golden ring glinted on her hand, that hand lying limp on the coverlet. A portly woman changed the linens beneath her, casting those bright with blood into a bucket.

A silver-maned man with a full beard stood impatiently beside the bed, obviously uncomfortable with his role here. He was tall and broad, a man with a muscled back who had labored hard. His hands were callused, there was a scar on his hardened cheek. A heavy silver chain encircled his neck and he carried himself like a man used to the weight of authority. A golden ring, the mate of the lady’s ring, adorned his left hand.

The power of this man’s feeling for the woman was a tangible force. He eyed her with a vulnerability that surprised Baird.

“She will be fine?” he asked anxiously. This battle-hardened warrior was afraid for his wife’s survival, Baird realized, and found himself hoping the woman would be all right.

The glance that the older woman fired across the room revealed that he had asked this before.

Many times. “Oh, yes, my lord. Women have children all the time. All your lady needs is a good sleep.”

“But the blood...” The warrior shivered with horror and looked to the bucket as though he couldn’t stop himself.

“Is not so much as I have seen before.” The woman dropped the last length of linen into the bucket, straightened a corner of the fresh ones, then scooped up a red-faced baby from beside the bed. She expertly swathed the child, then handed it to the older man. “You might take the chance to make your son’s acquaintance, my lord.”

The man looked to the woman again, then accepted the weight of the child with an uncertainty that showed his lack of experience in such matters. He moved carefully to sit in a beam of sunlight, as though he was reluctant to move away from his wife. He cradled the child with the caution and awkwardness of a new parent.

“My son,” he whispered to himself, almost as though he could not believe it to be true. The baby clutched at one heavy finger and held on tight, the gesture lighting the father’s eyes with joy.

“You be sure you’re not disturbing the lady for a while, my lord. She’s had a rough go of it, but a good sleep will set her in order.” The woman, who Baird realized was a midwife, scooped up her bucket and swept out of the room.

The warrior barely noted her departure. He stared at his son, gradually gaining confidence in handling the boy, and his stern features relaxed into a smile.

“My son,” he said again, though this time his voice echoed with pride.

The force of the man’s feelings assaulted Baird like a wave. He felt the man’s rush of paternal pride, he felt the strength of the warrior’s commitment to the blood of his blood.

And Baird found himself envying the child who would experience the force of this man’s powerful love shaping his life.

“He is the one, you know,” an elderly woman separated herself from the shadows, her voice low with import.

The warrior barely looked up. He tickled his son and chuckled when the baby gurgled. “What one?” His tone betrayed his disinterest.

“The one the prophecy spoke of, the one to break the curse laid upon Gemma’s daughter Aurelia.”

The warrior scowled. “You are not going to begin that nonsensical talk of prophecies again, are you? I long thought you a woman of good sense, Luan, but this has gone beyond reason.”

“It is not nonsense!” Luan argued heatedly. “I was there at the naming! I heard Drustic make her curse! You must betrothe this boy to Hekod’s daughter with all haste!”

The warrior looked up, skepticism bright in his eyes, reason in his low voice. “Luan, with all respect, you rave like a madwoman in this matter. This child is barely born, the Nairns have yet begun to weave the thread of his fate into their cloth. I cannot commit him to alliances and obligations so soon.”

Luan flung her hands into the air. “Do you care nothing for the consequences? Drustic will take him for herself just to keep her curse on Hekod’s child from being averted. You know how malicious she can be!”

“Luan, enough!” The man bounced the child lightly, and humor underscored his tone. “My son has yet to even have a name, let alone to know what he wants of this life. Give the child a chance to be whoever he is destined to be.”

“He is destined to lift Aurelia’s curse.”

The warrior’s brow arched skeptically. “That would be the curse that has yet to bear fruit?”

“Details!” Luan crossed the room to wave a finger beneath the man’s nose. “Can you not see the hand of destiny drawing near?”

“You have little faith in Gemma’s abilities, for all the powers you two share.”

“I tasted the malice in that curse, brother mine. Trust me, despite the will of all of us, it will come to pass.” Luan turned quickly away and her voice grew thick. “I wish, how I wish, that it were not meant to be.”

“Perhaps it is not to be.”

“Brother! You can stop it! Pledge the boy, pledge him now, and save Gemma’s child!”

The man’s lips thinned grimly and he pushed to his feet. “Luan, you are my sister, but you push too far in this. This is neither the time nor the place for your argument. I shall keep your advice in mind, but the time is yet too early for the boy to carry the weight of such demands. Let him be a child. Let him become a man, and then, we shall talk of his bride.”

Luan might have said more, but the warrior left the room, the baby tucked proprietarily against his side. Baird’s vision followed him down a dark corridor to the top of heavy wooden stairs. To Baird’s astonishment, when the warrior lifted the baby high, it was from the infant’s perspective that Baird saw the expectant crowd below.

“Behold, my people,” the man bellowed. A sea of faces turned toward him as the hall fell silent. “Behold, the Queen of Inverness has brought forth a son, a son hale and hearty, a son to be the pride of his father’s heart!”

“All hail the Prince of Inverness!” a man roared below and the crowd bellowed in delight. Baird felt the king’s grip resolute around him, heard the rumble of the man’s deep laugh.

For a heady moment, Baird was this man’s child. He felt the power of the warrior’s love for him flow between them and fill the baby with its potency.

It was stronger than Baird had ever guessed such a feeling could be and left him buoyant with the promise of what he, as this baby, might become. He could be a king himself, or a fisherman, he could be a silversmith or a warrior, but whatever he did, Baird knew that this man would be there to catch him if he faltered.

That feeling was the greatest gift he could ever have known. To have a family, to have someone to rely upon, it was everything that Baird had ever wanted and everything that he had been denied.

And this baby had done nothing to earn such a powerful gift, nothing but come into this world, blood of this king’s blood. Baird marveled at the power of the human heart as the king held him high.

Then the dream faded with a snap.

Baird tossed in his bed, snatching at the snippets of the vision without success. He sat up in frustration, wide awake, and for the first time, he wished an unwelcome dream had not ended so soon.