Dark Embrace (34 page)

“The Baron of Awe?” Brie asked, chills sweeping through her.

“Aye. He's a descendant of the Wolf's, or so it's claimed. He has a fine home on the eastern shore of the loch, built in the eighteenth century. Of course, he's rarely in residence, as he much prefers city life. I believe he's in Barcelona, but I know he's expected back at any time.” Mrs. McKay smiled at her.

Brie wasn't sure that speaking with one of Aidan's descendants would help anything, when the woman exclaimed, “Speak of the devil! There's his lordship now. He's one of our best customers, of course. In spite of his playboy ways, he is very well educated and an avid reader.”

Brie felt so much white power that it took her breath away. The Baron of Awe was no ordinary man, she somehow thought, and she glanced out of the storefront window.

Her heart exploded. For one second, she thought it was Aidan stepping out of the black Mercedes convertible.

Her heart raced wildly.

But it wasn't Aidan. He could have been Aidan's twin, but she simply knew it wasn't him.

“Ah, well, all the women look at him that way. He's a handsome fellow, is he not?” She laughed. “I'll get him for you.”

Brie couldn't breathe as the proprietress hurried to the front door. “My lord, good afternoon! I hadn't realized you were back in town.”

Aidan's double turned and smiled, clad in a navy blue sports coat, a polo T-shirt and tan trousers. He was the epitome of power and old-world elegance, right down to his Cartier watch. “Hello, Mrs. McKay. How is business treatin' ye?” His dimples were identical to Aidan's.

“Very well, sir. Can you step in? I'd like you to meet an American tourist who is researching your family.”

The baron glanced past the clerk and saw Brie. His smile vanished. His blue eyes darkened, a perplexed expression crossing his features.

Brie wet her dry lips. Was this a great-great-great-grandson, perhaps?

“His lordship, Ian Maclean, Baron of Awe,” Mrs. McKay said proudly. She stepped back to her register and began taking out the day's receipts.

Brie closed her eyes, becoming faint. This was a coincidence.

He steadied her. “A pleasure to meet ye,” he said quietly.

She opened her eyes and looked into his blue ones, and felt a jolt of recognition. She thought of Ian, imploring her to comprehend him, his blue eyes bright, intense, in his small, childish face when she had seen him in Awe's great hall and in Aidan's tent. She breathed hard and whispered, “Ian? Is it you?”

His expression hardened. “Have we met?”

“I'm Brie. I think…I know your father.”

The cold look on his face was identical to Aidan's when he was angry. “My father died long ago.” He turned abruptly, stepping out of the store.

Brie ran after him, catching his sleeve. “Your father…the Wolf of Awe?” she managed, praying desperately.

His eyes blazed, and they were Aidan's. “Ah, now ye play a
dangerous
game! The Wolf was hanged centuries ago. The truth is right there in that pamphlet ye hold and in the tomb at Castle Awe.”

Brie began shaking her head. Her heart was screaming at her that this was Aidan's son. Hadn't Ian begged to go home? Hadn't Tabby's guides told her he was alive? Hadn't Moray said so? She tried to think calmly and rationally—this was probably Aidan's great-great-great-grandson—but she said, “Take me back. We have to stop it. I won't let him hang!”

His eyes widened. He leaned close and said angrily, “Are ye mad?”

“I have to go back! He can't die. And don't tell me it's written!”

He caught her, eyes wide with disbelief, as she began to weep. “I remember ye now. I remember ye from all those years ago when I was a small child being held prisoner, tryin' to tell my father that I was alive so he could rescue me!”

She clung to strong, powerful arms. “Is it you? Ian?” She touched his face.

“But he never came, not for sixty-six endless years,” Ian said harshly.
“He never came.”

Urquhart, 1502

H
E WAS CAREFUL TO STAY
back in the crowd, for it was dangerous to step forth in his own corporeal identity, especially when he was expecting the Brotherhood to appear. A huge crowd had gathered for the Wolf's hanging, mostly Highlanders. He had held and attended hundreds of executions over the centuries. Even in this kind of death, there was so much pleasure and satisfaction to be had. And while hangings were his least favorite form of execution—so little pain was inflicted—the crowd that gathered to cheer and jeer was always festive and bloodthirsty. This crowd was oddly subdued, and he could not understand it. He needed their sadism; he relished it.

Centuries flashed before his eyes. There had been so much power, so much destruction, so much death. But this past century, one single son had defied him. He hated his son with a vengeance.

It was too soon for Aidan to die.

He hadn't suffered enough. Now his son wished for death, in order to protect the woman and find peace. He must change this day, use the woman as he'd intended. There would be little satisfaction in doing so if Aidan were not alive to know of it. He must never allow Aidan peace.

Thoughtful, Moray stared. Aidan had yet to be brought forth from the dungeons. When he appeared, he would be expecting death, but he would be stoic. There would not be any pleasure in those first few moments. His gaze sharpened. Frasier stood with some of his men by the scaffold, grim and severe, intent upon doing his duty. He was merely obeying his king. There was no pleasure to be had in feeling him, either. Then Moray saw the Masters approaching.

He saw Malcolm of Dunroch first—the Master whom he had almost turned, the Master who had almost vanquished him—and Malcolm was near tears.

Moray's anger vanished. His lust thickened. He instantly fed off his fear and grief, swelling with delight.

Then Moray saw the woman by his side, a warrior for whom he had once had great plans. She was pale and in tears, too, clinging to Malcolm's hand. He had considered having his revenge on Malcolm, but he was leery, because the woman made the Master eerily strong. Her power, while not as apparent, ran so deep that he feared it. More importantly, he feared their love.

Other Masters close to Aidan had come, as well. Black Royce and a small, beautiful woman with a shocking white power were with them. The golden Master was resigned and his grief was buried deep, making it far less pleasing, but the woman's helpless rage amused him. She thought to heal Aidan; she had no intention of letting him die. He had heard many stories about the Healer, and he would enjoy bringing her to her knees, too—but not today.

The crowd shifted and murmured. Excitement began.

Moray saw armed soldiers bringing Aidan toward the gallows, his hands manacled behind his back. He began to feel amused. Did Aidan really think to protect Brianna by dying for her? Little did he know his suffering was only just beginning.

Aidan was staring blindly ahead, looking at no one. Then he jerked and looked right at Moray, as if sensing his thoughts. Hatred blazed in his son's eyes.

Moray laughed at him. As Aidan was led up the stairs of the scaffold, Moray left the midward and hurried inside a tower chamber, bolting the door. He lay down on the small bed and willed his power to Frasier, so he could stop the hanging. He would do so only at the last possible moment, when Aidan was a breath away from death.

Nothing happened.

It was impossible
. He tried again.
He had been blocked. Someone had shielded Frasier from his power.

It was too soon for Aidan to die. He hadn't paid for his defiance!

Moray sent his energy into the closest passing human, a husky knight.

Outside, he heard the crowd roar.

 

“C
LAIRE
, I
CANNA STAY AN
'
WATCH
him die,” Malcolm gasped. His heart had been broken since he'd left his brother in the dungeons yesterday, swearing not to intervene. His brother, whom he'd spent the first twenty-five years of his life hating and whom he'd then come to love. He'd spent almost seven decades clinging to faith and hope, refusing to believe the rumors about Aidan. And he knew, in this last hour, that he had been right.

Aidan wasn't evil. He was on his way back to the Brotherhood.

He had to stop this.

Claire clung to his hand. “The history books all say he dies, but I can't stand it, either. Malcolm, do something!”

“Aidan,” Malcolm cried.

The noose was around his neck as he stood above the crowd on the scaffold, barefoot and clad only in his leine, shoulders squared, head held high. He had been looking far into the distance, above the crowd, but his blue gaze settled on Malcolm, bleak and worn. He smiled in resignation.
Thank ye fer yer faith.

“Release me from my vows,” Malcolm roared.

Aidan seemed to shake his head.
Take care o'Brianna. Guard her well. Let me go now. I'm done with war.

Malcolm decided to hell with his vows. But before he could blast the rope into shreds, Royce seized his arm, blocking his power. “Let him go. He wishes to die.”

“I canna!” Malcolm shouted at his uncle, well aware that his uncle understood this twist of irony far better than he ever would.

“He is tired o' his grief. He needs peace. Canna ye see it? Canna ye feel it?” Royce asked softly.

“He's my
brother.
”

“Aye, an' he has been grievin' fer his son fer too many years. Now he wishes to protect the woman he loves. He dies blessed, nay in shame or disgrace.”

Suddenly Allie left them, and ran through the crowd to halt at Aidan's feet. Tears streaming down her face, she cried up to him, “Let us stop this. Let me heal you!”

“An' can ye save Brianna from Moray?” he asked her softly.

Allie started to weep.

Aidan dragged his gaze away

“Brie loves you…I love you!” Allie sobbed. “Don't do this!”

Soldiers seized her, dragging her back. “Another word and you will be arrested, Lady Morvern,” Frasier snapped. “'Tis noon. Hang him.”

Allie screamed, fighting the soldiers. Royce rushed to her side. He stepped between the men, taking his wife into his arms. Tabby and Guy Macleod materialized beside them. Those who noticed gasped and crossed themselves, but most eyes were on the man on the platform. The floor dropped. Without support, Aidan swung in the air by the noose around his neck, and finally a loud crack resounded.

Malcolm roared.

“Jesu,”
Guy whispered, holding his wife upright.

Aidan's head fell forward.

Allie collapsed in Royce's arms. “Let me heal him.”

“Let him go, Ailios. Let him go.”

 

A
STUNNING FEELING
, like a knife sliding deep into her heart, went through her. Brie paled, doubling over.

“Brianna?” Ian slid his arm around her.

She felt dizzy, faint. She blinked up at him. This was Aidan's son. Ian had not been murdered in 1436 after all. Aidan had to know. It might change everything. “What happened?” Brie whispered.

Having steadied her, he released her. He said tersely, “I was released after his execution in 1502. In fact, I later learned I was released that very day.” He laughed without mirth. “I had just been returned to Elgin. Evil had no more use for me. It went on to other prey. Because of his black power, I was still nine years old, even though I had been imprisoned in New York City for most of the sixty-six years.”

The extent of the abuse he'd suffered hit her. He had been imprisoned for decades
in New York City
and he had been nine years old the entire time. What child could withstand that kind of cruel abuse? “Oh, my god, we have to change this!”

“Ye can't change Fate,” he snapped.

She searched his angry eyes. “How did you survive?”

“I spent almost every moment of every day thinking of my father, praying for him to come. I also tried to escape. Every day I had a new plot to trick the guards, and as often, I was beaten soundly for my efforts.”

She hugged herself. His suffering had known no bounds. She did not want Aidan to ever know. “What happened after you were released? Malcolm and Royce must have taken you in.”

He laughed derisively again. “I made my way home from Elgin myself, on foot mostly. It took me two months, as it was a cold, snowy winter and I was no longer accustomed to the Highlands. In truth, I was neither a modern lad nor a medieval one. And I wasn't nine years old when I reached Awe, Brianna.”

“Are you saying that once Moray's spell was broken, you began to age?”

“I was a full-grown man when I reached Awe—only to find it in the hands of Argyll.” He nodded at the pamphlet she held, eyes flashing. “There's mention there o' how Argyll seized the opportunity. With my father hanged, he simply marched on Awe and added it to his Campbell holdings. I spent the next fifty years warrin' with him, until I got it back,” he added harshly. “It's been mine ever since.”

Brie reached for his hand, but he wouldn't let her hold it. “I am sorry. You should know that your father is living with the pain of having lost you and it has been killing him.”

“My father is
dead.
”

This time, she seized his sleeve. “He isn't dead. I just left him, very much alive—and grief-stricken over you, Ian. We have to go back in time! What if we can stop his execution?”

“Ye canna fix what is meant to be.” His eyes blazed. “Ye love him.” It was not a question. “Ye loved him then, an' it must be why ye received my thoughts when I was tryin' so hard to send them to him.”

“Yes, I love him. Are you a Master?”

His gaze flickered. “Ye ken a great many secret matters, Brianna.”

“I guess I just got my answer.” She took his hand. “I'm ready. I'd prefer you hold me really tightly, because I do not want to get lost in space and time.”

“He's dead. I have spent my entire life living in the shadow of the legend—and truth—of the Wolf's hangin'. Ye can't change Fate.” He jerked free. “I willna try.”

“Do you hate your father? Is that why you won't take me back to save him?” she cried furiously.

“What father fails his son?” Ian's eyes flashed.

Brie felt raw despair. “He loves you so much.”

Ian made a harsh sound. “I wouldn't know.”

“Brie!” Sam shouted from across the street, waving madly at her.

Brie was glad for the interruption. She had never dreamed, not in a million years, that she'd find Ian this way—a bitter, dark and modern man. Brie saw Sam in her high heels and a slinky jersey dress, hurrying across the street. Every single male pedestrian turned to look at her, and a sedan passing on the street in front of Brie rear-ended a hatchback as its driver rubber-necked her. Ian turned to see what the commotion was about. He stared, his gaze narrowing.

Brie watched Sam weave through the cars. She had stopped all the traffic on the busy thoroughfare.

“Tabby called,” Sam said, her smile faltering as she glanced at Ian. “Okay. He's not Aidan, is he? What did I interrupt?”

Brie breathed hard. “Sam, this is Ian—Aidan's son.”

Sam was as sharp as they came and she didn't blink. Her gaze had locked with Ian's. “If you can't convince him to take you back, you can give me a shot.” But she wasn't smiling, not at all. “Tabby has not found the spell, Brie.”

Ian's mouth curved, just barely, and it was a moment before his gaze moved to Brie. “No one can change the past.”

Before Brie could respond, Sam said, “Not true. Sometimes mistakes are made. Sometimes Fate is denied, defied—interrupted. And then it can be restored. We happen to know firsthand, because our friend Allie went back in time to change the future, and succeeded.”

“Please, Ian,” Brie said. “Your father needs you. Take me to Urquhart—take me to the day they hang him in 1502!”

Ian looked back and forth between them. “Fine,” he said, looking damned unhappy about it.

“Wait—I'm coming, too!” Sam cried.

But Ian swept Brie close, ignoring Sam, and as they were flung across the slowly moving traffic and whirled upward, she screamed.

 

B
RIE GASPED FROM THE IMPACT
of landing, her face against Ian's chest, still in his powerful arms. She was dizzy from the leap and the landing, but she knew she must get up.

Ian said tersely, in horror.
“My God.”

Brie pulled away from him, onto her knees, and she saw Aidan.