Dark Embrace (17 page)

“He was my friend.” Aidan pointed at her, eyes hard. “But he accepted my son's death because the gods wanted it.”

“I want to meet him,” she said quickly.

Aidan stared.

Brie tried to keep her mind still.

“Ye think he has the key to unlock my secrets an' my heart fer ye?” He laughed at her. “I have many secrets, Brianna, but I lost my heart when my father took my son.”

“Bull,” she said.

He gave her an exasperated look and left the tent.

Brie jammed on her boots and ran after him. “Aidan, wait. This is important. How
can
he be vanquished? He was already beheaded. In the future, when you kill a deamhan, its evil power is destroyed, too.”

“Some say he's immortal,” Aidan said, walking over to the first cook fire. Will was stirring what smelled like oatmeal there. “MacNeil told me he's mortal. But he has used the past sixty-six years to increase his powers.” He nodded at Will.

Standing there in only her sweatshirt, jeans and boots, Brie was so cold she began jumping up and down. “How does a demon increase its powers?” she chattered.

“The gods gave the Brotherhood three books in the beginning of time. The Book of Wisdom remains on Iona, in its shrine. The Cladich is the Book o' Healing. Before Ian's murder, a powerful deamhan had some of its pages, but they are now enshrined on Iona, too. The Duisean was stolen and no one has seen it in hundreds of years.” He paused significantly. “MacNeil told me that Moray has parts of the Duisean, perhaps hidden in yer time.”

Brie had a really bad feeling now. “Okay. What kind of power is in that book?”

“Every power known to mankind.”

Brie began to tremble, and not from the cold.

“And every power known to the gods,” Aidan said.

T
HE MISSIVE CAME AT SUNRISE
.

The king's lieutenant wished to parlay with him.

The sun was high over the snowy plain as Aidan slowly rode his black charger toward the royal armies, alone. It was a cold winter morning, and his breath and that of his charger's steamed in the air. His men remained behind him, lined up across the muddy road, silent. He could hear the bridles clinking from their mounts, weight being shifted from foot to foot, and Brianna thinking. She was terrified because he rode alone to meet Frasier. She was afraid he'd be arrested, believing he would soon hang.

He thought about his bargain with the gods. Brianna might be right, he realized, but he did not fear his own demise. An eternity in hell would be blissful compared to his life amongst the living.

Ahead, the royal army fanned out across the plain, blocking the road, a seemingly endless sea of armored knights and chargers glinting fantastically in the high winter sun. Another man might have felt a moment of trepidation riding forward toward such might, but Aidan felt nothing but resolve. The march on Inverness was insignificant compared to the war with Moray, and his father had promised him that they would meet on this day.

He looked forward to it, but he feared their confrontation, too, for the first time in his life.

Because Brianna's life was now at stake.

Five knights started forward, detaching themselves from the front lines of the royal army.

Why do you have to be so brave?

He stiffened, having heard Brianna as clear as day, as if she was beside him, speaking naturally. He glanced back at his army of knights and Highlanders and saw her instantly astride her gray mare, in the front ranks. She had expressly defied him; she was supposed to be hidden in his army's midst.

He could not be arrested that day—not that he expected an arrest so soon. At the least, he had to take Brianna to the sanctuary on Iona, where she would be safe.

He faced his adversaries as they paused, the five knights lining up across the road, barring his way. The standard bearer in their midst was carrying Frasier's banner, bearing his lion, crossed swords and fleur-delis. Aidan carried his own standard. All visors were lifted, and Aidan was surprised to see that two of the men had black, soulless eyes.

He looked swiftly at Robert Frasier, the man Brianna thought would have him hang.

Frasier smiled coolly in return. He was a big man with dark hair and fair skin, his dark eyes piercing. He spurred his destrier forward. “I have come to ask you to cease from this madness, Aidan of Awe,” he said without preamble. “You have long since forfeited all your titles and lands, and only Castle Awe remains. Further aggression will result in the loss of your last stronghold—if not your liberty, and perhaps, your life.”

Aidan laughed at him. “Pay me ten thousand pounds, an' perhaps we shall seal a new bargain.”

Frasier was angry. “You will not reach Inverness—not without great suffering. We have cut you off from the MacDonald and Maclean armies. There is no hope of victory for you.”

Aidan moved his black toward Frasier and felt the man's surprise. He paused only when their horses were shoulder to shoulder and he was knee to knee with the lieutenant. “I like suffering,” he said softly. “An' my men lust fer English an' Lowland blood.”

And his stallion bit the other charger, causing it to rear back.

Frasier spurred it ruthlessly forward. He looked into Aidan's eyes and said, “Do you not wish to see Ian again…my son?”

His voice hadn't changed, but Aidan froze. Moray had descended anew, taking possession of Frasier this time.

And Frasier's eyes turned blue, then glowed red. He laughed the mocking laughter of Moray, laughter that would haunt Aidan in his dreams—if he ever slept.

“A Ihain!”
Aidan roared, drawing his sword in absolute fury. But even enraged, he knew that killing Frasier would solve nothing.

Frasier drew his sword, thrusting viciously, and Aidan met his sword. Metal screamed across the entire plain, imbued with their unnatural powers. Aidan gasped, putting his entire force against their crossed blades, but he could not push Moray back.

“Aye,” Frasier murmured, laughter in his tone. “Ye should have taken more lives last night, instead of playin' nursemaid to our sweet Brianna.”

In that moment, Aidan's heart stopped. Moray had spied upon them again. And once more, he distracted Aidan.

They were ringed by the royal knights. Aidan somehow withdrew, wheeling his black backward, and Frasier came at him, striking ruthlessly as if intending a deathblow. Aidan threw all his power at the demon and at the descending sword. The blow should have cut into his shoulder; instead, the great sword hung in the air, quivering just inches from him.

Frasier grunted and began pushing the sword down.

Aidan felt hot metal touch his shoulder.
“A Ihain,”
he roared. He blasted the sword, which flew from Frasier's hand, whirling far across the road.

Aidan thrust his own sword now, but Frasier struck at it with his black energy. Effortlessly, the sword was torn from his hand and hurled far away onto the plain.

The black screamed, rearing in fury, striking at Frasier's charger. The other destrier rose up, striking back, front hooves flailing. Aidan leapt from his horse. “Come down an' fight,
Father,
” he hissed. “If ye have any courage at all!” The body no longer mattered to him; he would fight Moray to the very death in whomever his father chose to use.

Frasier grinned and landed lightly before him. Before Aidan could react, the energy sent him flying backward in a tumbling ball, until he landed hard, not far from the front ranks of his army.

Brianna screamed.

He was on his feet, sending his power up the road at his demonic father. Even as he saw Frasier try to block it, he whirled. Brianna had broken free of his men, and her mare was trotting toward him! “Get her gone from here!” he shouted at Will, who was chasing her.

Frasier's next blow sent Aidan backward through rows and rows of his men, who parted like the Red Sea. He landed on his back, and the sky above spun, stars erupting in the blue skies. Vultures circled there, hungry and waiting for death.

“Aidan!” Brianna screamed.

He got to his feet and saw Frasier coming, his strides long and hard, his eyes glowing with diabolical intent. He was briefly confused. “Do ye think to kill me at last?” he asked, breathing hard.

“Now, why would I do that?” his father asked. “When you have defied me for decades, at every turn, when I had such high hopes for you?”

Comprehension began. Aidan would not die today. But there was no time to dwell on it. Aidan blasted Frasier and sent him backward, but not to the ground.
He did not have enough power to defeat him.

Frasier leapt up and laughed. “Besides, my dear son, I am hoping to reunite you with little Ian.”

Fury exploded within Aidan, blinding him, consuming him. “Ye lie! Ian is dead!” He struck with all the power that he had.

This time, the royal lieutenant was hurled backward through Aidan's army, landing hard on the road before his four knights.

Aidan ran toward him, blasting him repeatedly, but Frasier put his energy forth as a huge shield, and his own power was turned back onto himself and those closest to him. Men screamed, going down, wounded or dead. Aidan halted, not daring to strike again.

Frasier now slowly stood. His expression was ruthless. Aidan tensed in dreadful expectation, uncertain of what he planned.

Then Frasier looked past him, his energy blazing from his eyes, and Aidan knew whom Frasier thought to strike. He cried out, turning.

Brianna was hurled from her gray mare, across the tops of dozens of his men, until she slammed into a huge pine tree. Bones cracked loudly. For one instant she hung there, as if nailed to the wood, and then she slid limply down to the ground, where she lay unmoving.

Aidan froze in horror.

“She is a great weakness,” Frasier said softly, his breath against Aidan's ear.

He had murdered Brianna.
Aidan whirled to destroy him. Nothing could or would stop him now—and as he roared in rage, he met Frasier's dark, bewildered eyes instead of his father's.

“What happens?” Frasier demanded. “You dare to fight with me?” He was in disbelief. “Where is my horse?”

Aidan ignored him, his heart exploding with fear. He began running to where Brianna lay in a crumpled heap upon the ground, and the short distance felt like thousands of miles. And for the first time in many decades, he prayed to his enemies for her life.

He would do whatever the gods wished, if only they would let her live.

He would die then and there if they would resurrect her.

She lay utterly motionless on her back, as pale as a corpse, a pool of blood spreading from beneath her head.

He knelt, his heart leaping in fresh terror and renewed dread. “Brianna?”

There was no response. Her lashes did not flutter. Her chest did not rise. He knelt over her nostrils, but air did not tease his face. And he pulled her broken body into his arms, fighting a terrible desperation, a gut-wrenching fear.

She did not deserve to die.

He couldn't let her die.

He held her, blinded by sheer panic—the same panic he'd felt the day he'd fought to save Ian's life. It hadn't served him well. He gasped, forcing the raw panic aside, and he focused. He fought to feel her life force.

For one moment he felt nothing at all. The panic tried to leap forth; it wished to flame.

And then he felt her life flickering weakly, bravely—the last gasps of her fading soul.

He held her tightly, fought shocking tears and summoned his white, healing powers.

He did not know how great they were. Long ago, there had been promise. Long ago, he'd begun to experiment with his healing powers, powers no one expected him to have, powers given to him by his grandmother. The last Innocent he'd healed had had but broken bones. It had taken intense effort to mend them, even in 1435.

He cupped the back of her head, where her skull was fractured in many places and bleeding in torrents into his hand. He could envision every broken line. He struggled to find the white power within him, a power he had purposefully walked away from.

Surely it was not lost. But it had been so long, and as he delved deep inside himself, he found only shadows and spaces, empty places. He almost succumbed to despair and frustration. Surely, in one of those great hollows within him, a seed of white power lived!

And suddenly warmth seeped from within him, outward, into his hands.

Relief erupted. He removed his hands from her head and stared at the white, starlike energy in his palm, then he showered the white power over her. A fine white mist began sprinkling over her. Aidan knew he had to direct the healing power to her head. He willed more white power from within into his hands. Clasping her bleeding skull, he somehow willed the mist upward from his palms, into her fractured head.

He did not know how long he sat there, filling her head with healing light. It felt as if he sat with her, her head bleeding in his hands, for hours, but when he realized the bleeding had stopped, the sun remained high and bright. Mere moments had passed.

She had stopped bleeding.

He closed his eyes and felt her carefully with his mind. Her skull was whole. He could not envision a single fractured line.

He gasped in relief and heard her moan. “Dinna move,” he said, for she was as white as a ghost and her eyelashes were fluttering. “Let me finish healin' ye, Brianna. Ye will be fine.”

Her lashes lifted and her green eyes, filled with pain, met his. “You…survived?”

“Hush,” he said. He realized her ribs were broken, as was her right arm, and he sent his healing light now to both places.

Her labored breathing slowed, becoming normal. Realizing he'd healed her body, he glanced at her face. She was staring at him closely, and when their eyes met, a huge warmth filled his chest.

In that singular moment, he
wanted
her to look at him with faith and trust.

She lifted her hand and clasped his cheek. He became aware that she lay with her shoulders in his lap, and a stunning desire came. It almost hurled him backward into the tree, hollowing his chest completely. It stiffened his body, raised his loins.

His heart thundered.

He wanted to take this beautiful woman to his bed. But he didn't want power.

He wanted pleasure, but not for himself.

He wanted to give it to her.

“Ye should have taken more lives last night, instead of playin' nursemaid to our sweet Brianna.”

Aidan froze.