Dark Embrace (10 page)

Aidan had heard her silent thoughts. He met her gaze, his mask briefly cracking apart. She saw a man near tears—she felt that oceanic wave of grief again.

Brie stood and grasped his arms, shocked by the steel-hard muscles there. “We'll figure this out together.”

His rage erupted. He pulled away. “There is no
we,
Brianna. Ye dinna blame me fer wantin' revenge. I'll tell ye who to blame. Blame the gods! Damn every single one o' them!”

His anger sent her backward across the room. “You don't mean that!”

“Oh, aye, I mean it,” he snarled at her. “My son was innocent, more innocent than anyone. I took vows to serve Innocence, yet my son was taken from me. It was written?” he roared. “Well, I have written the fate o' the gods, but they're cowards, because they willna come to earth to fight me.”

He was challenging the gods. No mortal could win and neither could a demon, nor the son of one. “Please take back your words,” she whispered, terrified for him. “Before they hear you—before they accept!”

“I hope they can hear me!” He paused at the fireplace, leaning against the stone, his back to her, trembling.

She wanted to comfort him; she didn't dare. She wanted to beg him to take back his words; he would refuse again or start another tirade. She wanted to run from the rage, which was making her sick; she couldn't leave him now. So she simply stood there, looking at the most beautiful man in the world—and the most tortured one.

A long moment passed as he fought his rage. Then he looked at her. “Ye'll be stayin' close to me now.”

Brie tensed, uncertain of his meaning and wary of his intentions.

He turned and strode to the door, where he paused. “Tomorrow we leave Awe.”

“Where are we going?” she asked nervously.

A cool smile formed. “We go to war.”

B
RIE STIFFENED
,
certain she had misheard him. “What?”

“We ride within the hour,” Aidan said. “We march on Inverness.”

Brie was stunned. Her mind raced. This was the year of his execution, and it was already late November. He was hanged for treason! She was filled with dread. “Are you riding with the MacDonalds?” she managed.

His gaze narrowed. “Ye ken our wars?”

Oh, God, Brie thought. “Aidan, treason is an offense punishable by hanging.”

“I dinna care much for the Earl o' Argyll,” he said with a ruthless look. “Yes, I ride with MacDonald. I've promised him four thousand men. We fight for the Lordship o' the Isles.”

“And which side is the Royal Lieutenant of the North on? He's a Frasier, isn't he?” Brie demanded, thinking about the text she'd read. “You ride against the Crown. They will hang you for treason!”

His eyes widened.

Brie turned away from him, shaken to the core of her being. She had gone back in time to a point frighteningly close to Aidan's execution. She wasn't meant to stop Ian's murder, but she was surely meant to stop Aidan's hanging…wasn't she? For there was no point in redeeming a man slated for death.

Before she could think further, he had her face in his hand. He'd tilted her chin up so that their eyes locked. “Ye can tell me about my hanging later.” And he strode from her bedchamber.

Brie stared after him until he was gone from her sight. Then she held her head, her temples throbbing.

He was taking her with him. She was going to march on Inverness with four thousand rebel Highlanders?

She had to stop him from going to war or, failing that, prevent his imminent execution. He was in so much pain. He needed healing and his son needed peace. If he could let go of his grief, maybe he could heal and find his way back to his faith.

My god,
Brie thought, her headache increasing. She was only one shy and modest techno geek, and not a very brave one—at least, not until recently. What were the gods—and Grandma—thinking? What was
she
thinking?

A maid appeared, hesitating on the threshold of her room, interrupting her rampaging thoughts. She held a pile of clothing in her arms. “My lady? His lordship wishes fer ye to clothe yerself. 'Tis cold by day and colder by night,” she added with a smile.

Brie started. Aidan was thoughtful enough to send her warmer clothes? The maid laid a pile on her bed, and Brie saw a long linen tunic, a black plaid, a belt and fur-lined boots. Then she saw the pince-nez on top of the plaid. She rushed to it. “A pair of medieval eyeglasses!”

“His lordship took them from his steward,” the maid offered.

A pair of thick lenses was connected by a simple wire, with no earpieces. Brie didn't care. She put them on her nose and was thrilled when the maid's features became clear, right down to the freckles on her nose. She might not have twenty-twenty vision, but she could see.

Aidan had gotten eyeglasses for her.

It felt like the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.

She turned, and really looked out the window.

A loch was beyond, as if the castle floated upon it, and the rising sun had stained the water peach and gold. Silver swans drifted in the ethereal morning light, as did a flock of ducks. The shores beyond were covered with snow, but thick, emerald-green woods emerged from them. Beyond the forests, mountain peaks were shrouded in the morning mist, white with snowcaps. For one moment, Awe felt magical.

But it wasn't magical—it was medieval, and she was about to go to war. The maid had left. She removed her sweatshirt and put the tunic on over her T-shirt and jeans. She threw her sweatshirt back on, kicking off her sneakers and stepping into the high, furry boots. The plaid was huge—the size of a queen-size blanket—so she draped it over both shoulders like a cape. She added the belt, hoping to hold it in place, and was relieved when she became slightly warmer.

Had Aidan meant to be kind, or were the gestures been simply practical ones?

Uncertain, Brie left the bedroom. Ahead was the west tower. It was an open, circular room with no walls separating it from the hall she was crossing. That meant that it had been built for defensive, military purposes. The windows were glassless and of various sizes. The tall, skinny loopholes were for artillery. Others were for bowmen, and the widest was for bombards and mortars. Brie started to become aware of a seething mass of savage and masculine humanity close by.

Dread arose in her, and she ran to the closest loophole.

The bailey below was a sea of men and animals.

Her heart lurched. There had to be hundreds of men below. Armor glinted in the morning light. Interspersed amongst the knights and chargers were the standards of their bearers, waving above them in vivid colors. She could make out the Highlanders, too, in their pale leines and colorful plaids.

Her pulse had soared to a dangerously high point. She felt so much savagery below. She glanced across the bridge spanning the loch and squinted. She couldn't see well, but the bridge was shimmering, undulating, as if it were alive.

“He has four thousand men,” Claire said from behind her.

Brie whirled. “Is that bridge filled with men?”

“And their mounts, and even some pack animals. The army was here when we arrived yesterday, and it backs up to the village on the eastern shore.”

She couldn't breathe. She was really going to war with a medieval army.

“Are you okay? You're as pale as a ghost.”

That was a bad choice of words, Brie thought. “I've always secretly wanted to live out
Braveheart.
”

“He and Malcolm have argued about his taking you with him, but he is determined.” Claire was grim.

Brie stared back as grimly. “Are there really four thousand knights and Highlanders out there? How many men do the bad guys have?”

“I don't know,” Claire said. “But now that you can see Ian, Aidan won't let you out of his sight. He'll keep you safe.”

Of course, Brie thought. He was taking her with him because she could see his son's ghost, and not for any other reason. It crossed her mind that she'd rather be important to him in a far different manner, but she shoved that treacherous thought aside. “Can he be talked out of this war? I'm pretty sure the rebels will lose.”

“They do,” Claire said. “I already did some research on the Internet.”

Brie stared at her.

Claire grinned. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve.” She sobered. “I learned long ago to accept the power of the Ancients. They brought me to Malcolm. I am what I am and who I am because it was written. Feel free to try to convince him to back out. He will or he won't. If this is what the Ancients have decreed, then it will pass.”

Brie already knew all this. If Claire knew about the hanging, she wasn't giving an inch.

“By the way, Allie knows you're here. I sent her a message, special delivery.”

“Did she reply?”

“Not yet. Royce is still furious with Aidan for something he did about fifty years ago, so it might take her a bit to get in touch with you, as long as you're hanging with him.”

Brie decided she didn't want to know what Aidan had done to anger Royce and Allie.

“I just want you to know that I'm on your side, and so is Malcolm,” Claire said. “Can you promise to be careful? And by that I mean I'm more worried about Aidan than I am about the royal armies and the Campbells.”

“We actually had a civil conversation earlier,” Brie said. She almost told Claire that Aidan had been thoughtful enough to find her the pince-nez.

Claire hesitated. “Women in love don't think straight. You need to be
really
careful. Just think things through before you make any life-altering decisions,” she said.

“I think my life has already been altered and it's out of my hands. Can I assume that Aidan is a good soldier and he knows what he's doing?” She had
Braveheart
battle-scene images flashing through her mind now. They were bloody, filled with gore and tragic. She shivered.

“He's a hell of a soldier. Not too many noblemen command four thousand men. He's been a mercenary for a long time and he knows what he's doing. You'll be safe behind the battle lines.” Claire suddenly hugged her. “You look so worried, as if you're on the way to the guillotine.”

“I am worried. There's so much going on. I really didn't need a treasonous war right now. My plate is kind of full.”
Overflowing, actually,
she added silently.

“Rebellions like this one are pretty ordinary in the Highlands. Don't brood over the fact that it's an act of treason. Look, Malcolm and I remain neutral in these wars, because our vows come first, but if you need us, summon him. He'll be listening.”

Before Brie could thank her, Aidan's huge, hot power swirled into the tower room. It was like a cyclone of testosterone. Flinching, she turned to face him.

“We ride now,” he told her, eyes ablaze with what looked like savage excitement. Did he
want
to go to war?

“Guard her with your life,” Claire said to him. “And I mean it.”

He gave her a cool look. “Mind yer affairs, an' have Malcolm mind his. She's my concern now.” He nodded imperiously at Brie.

Nervous energy consumed her. She walked over to him, and his gaze locked with hers. “I am seconding the motion,” she said softly. She really wanted to get through this war in one solid piece—if she couldn't deter him from it.

His lashes lowered. “Ye'll live to see the morrow,” he said. “Even if I dinna.”

 

N
ICK STARED OUT OF HIS THIRD-STORY
window at the city sidewalk below. It was half past eight in the morning, another warm and bright Indian summer day, and the pedestrians hurrying to work on Hudson Street were in short sleeves and tank tops, the men carrying suit jackets over their arms. Traffic was heavy, mostly yellow cabs and dark Towne cars. He really didn't notice any of it. Twenty-four hours had elapsed since Brie had been abducted by Aidan of Awe.

A sharp knock sounded on his open office door. He knew who it was before he turned.

His latest HCU recruit, Kit Mars, grimaced at him, and he gestured her inside. Interestingly, she was distantly related to Brie Rose. He'd recruited Kit out of Vice at the NYPD, not just because she was damned good at her job—and like Brie, had no life but her job. He'd been after her because she'd watched her twin sister die in a pleasure crime when she was eighteen, not far from the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. She had motivation, and lots of it.

Kit came inside, a folder in her hand. She was a very attractive, slender woman with fair skin and dark hair, which she wore in a blunt, no-nonsense cut. Nick had never seen her wear a stitch of makeup, or anything other than a black top and black pants or jeans. He approved. Kit was hot on the war against evil, and she was ambitious. If she stayed away from a personal life, she was going places.

And she didn't have a clue that she had an ancestor in common with the Rose women.

“This is a compilation of the field data you asked for, going back to the moment Brie first began empathizing with Aidan of Awe,” she said seriously.

“You've got nothing,” Nick said, reading her mind. He had no patience left.

A flicker of worry crossed Kit's face. “We've got zip, Nick. I'm sorry. I'll keep trying.”

“Let's change the drill. Run program 6C and start expanding the quads. We have every available agent in the field. If they're still in the city, we will find them.” He was filled with tension, but working hard to control it. Brie was his agent, his responsibility, and by now, she could be very dead.

Aidan of Awe might have belonged to the unnamed Brotherhood once upon a time, but he reeked of evil now. Worse, it was highly likely that he'd taken her through time. If that was the case, she could be anywhere, in any time.

There was nothing worse than losing an agent in the past. He'd mourned every agent who'd died in the line of duty, but an agent lost in time was even worse. He wouldn't let it happen to Brie Rose.

Big Mama was running full-time. She was the agency's supercomputer, and she was analyzing more than three thousand historical case files, a quarter of which were so highly classified only three people, himself included, had access. Maybe, just maybe, once upon a time, someone had seen her, and it was in a report. One mention and he'd know where to look for her.

Kit left, and his beautiful secretary poked her head in. She looked like a human version of Barbie. Beyond her stunning, blond good looks, she was the best assistant he'd ever had. She was cleared to Level Five and was one of the other two people with access to HCU's most classified data. He'd known Jan—and trusted her—for a really long time.