Highland Sorcerer (4 page)

"No. Never." Lenore's fingers swept
over hers. "You okay?"

"Yeah. It's just weird, you
know?"

"Do you want to stop?"

"No, I want to know what
happened." She needed to know. She didn't understand it, but since
she'd healed Toren, saw what he'd gone through, felt his resolve;
she desperately needed to know he was okay. She frowned. Who was
she kidding? It was more than that. She knew the man, knew him
better than she knew anyone. She had felt his inner essence,
everything that made him
him.
From what irritated him to what he held dear. With
the healing, he had somehow gotten deep under her skin as though he
were almost a part of her now. She was going to find out what
happened to him and his story had better end up being a happy one
or else…or else what? What could she do about anything? She'd
healed him and he'd gone back to where he belonged. That was that.
That was all it could ever be. Right?

Right?

But she had to know, had to help him
somehow. She couldn't stop thinking about helping him. She had to
help him.

Which was monumentally stupid to dwell
so much on, considering whatever the outcome with the witch who was
torturing him, Toren Limont was still centuries long
dead.

"All right." Lenore was back in
research mode—all business with her glasses sliding down her little
nose. She'd twisted her Faerie-soft blond hair on top of her head
out of the way, slipping a pencil in the knot to hold it in place.
"Your Toren was the last known sorcerer before the clan vanished
for good. You see these other names below his?"

Charity squinted, her belly
taking a tumble at the word
vanished
.

Lenore traced the names with the tip of
a gloved finger.

Toren Limont

Shaw Limont

Edeen Limont

Col Limont

"He had two brothers and a sister. It
looks like that together the four siblings kept their people safe
and the balance of magic in check. They also…" Lenore's eyes lit
up. "They also each had their own unique brand of magic. The sister
was an empath."

"She could tap into other people's
emotions."

"Yes, but back then when magic was part
of everyday existence and so much stronger, an empath would have
been able to do way more than feel emotions. We're talking the
ability to really get into people's heads, dive into memories they
don't even know about if she wanted to."

"Seriously? So if she touched one of
us, she'd see everything we know?"

"Yes. Can you imagine our healing
potential if we lived back then? Magic was in everything, as simple
as plucking it from the air." Lenore's smile was bright,
excited.

Charity could very well imagine the
potential. She'd experienced the power of Toren's magic firsthand,
had tapped into its strength and healed him as easily as a
thought.

Lenore chatted on, the deep-seeded
learner in her charging ahead full bore. "So your Toren was the
sorcerer, Edeen an empath. The youngest brother, Col, was a
shape-shifter, and Shaw—" Lenore's nose wrinkled and her glasses
slipped down farther. "Moon sifter."

"Which is?"

"I have no idea." But Lenore's lips
puckered outward in that way that meant she was determined to find
out. "So now you know. Your visitor really was a Highland sorcerer,
last of his line before the entire clan Limont vanished and magic
hasn't been as potent on the earth since. It's all pretty amazing
when you think about it."

"Yeah." Charity sighed.
"Amazing."

"Hey." Lenore reached over and pushed
stray wisps of dark hair behind Charity's ear. "It is amazing. It's
not every day things like this happen."

"I know."

"You did what you could for him. And
you got to feel incredible power flow through you, more than either
of us could generate in these days. That had to feel awesome,
right? I know it's hard when you heal someone. You feel like you're
responsible for them, but there's nothing more you can do. It's not
like you can travel back through time and check on him."

Charity's gaze snapped up. That's
exactly what she wanted to do. "We have time-travel spells.
Grandma's done it." Healers couldn’t open time and space rifts like
a sorcerer could, but when a healer’s emotions were focused
strongly enough on helping someone else, there were spells and
formulas that could do the trick for very short stretches across
time. Very short. A few hours, possibly a day to help someone avoid
an accident or illness that a healer didn’t have the magical
strength to heal. The connection between healer and patient had to
be very strong, very motivated. The emotions on
high-voltage.

Lenore pulled her glasses off. "She
went back half a day to stop Uncle Frank from getting in that car
accident that took his leg. Even if you could pull it off, what
would be the point in going back to last night and your Highlander?
You’ve already done what you can for him. It’s not like we have the
ability or spells to travel across centuries. Not even the
sorcerers of today have the juice to do that anymore."

Frowning, Charity glared down at the
open pages.

"I'm sorry," Lenore said. "I
get it, but it's not possible so there’s no use in worrying about
him anymore. Whatever happens—
happened
—to Toren Limont is out of
your hands. You got to just let it go."

"I know, okay." Charity got up and
pulled her grandmother's little pink book of spells from one of the
lower shelves, the book she knew had the time-travel incantations.
"I'm going to take this home, all right?"

"Sure." Lenore's lips puckered out
again. "Just don't…you know."

"Like you said, no one has the juice to
travel back that far anyway."

Chapter Five

Toren lay in the dungeon, his cheek
against the cold stone exactly where Aldreth had left him after
tossing his filthy kilt at him. At least she had left him alone
without starting immediately back in with her whips, or worse, her
magical tortures.

She was right, even with the recent
healing, he wouldn't be able to endure much longer.

He stared at the enchanted band on his
wrist inches from his nose, feeling the frustration of no choices
as deeply as the exhaustion enveloping his body.

He could goad her into outright killing
him, but then her attention would be turned to his siblings. Nay,
he had to continue as long as he could to give them a chance to
flee. If they hadn’t already. There was no way to know.

He was just so bone-weary.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Toren
drifted away, allowing sleep to bolster the reviving energies the
little healer of the future had gifted him.

At the last moment before Aldreth had
pulled him back, the young healer thrust everything she had into
him. It hadn't been anywhere near the amount needed to restore what
Aldreth had bled from him, yet Toren was touched that the maiden
would give him all that she had.

Toren escaped to sleep with
the swirl of a name on his lips.
Charity
.

He knew her. Somehow during her
healing, a connection between them had been made. He knew all the
depths and layers to this woman of the future and marveled at the
sweetness that existed in her demeanor. She hoped deeply and loved
fiercely. Family meant everything to her. She would dive into the
murkiest waters to protect them.

A smile curved his lips in
sleep.

She came to him—in his dreams—all
creamy skin and lustrous dark hair. He'd wanted to feel the
softness of it when he'd first seen her, but coming as a beggar in
search of a Healer Enchantress's aid, he had refrained.

He walked in the dreamworld now and she
a manifestation conjured by his mind.

She ran to him, across the moor, mist
curling at her hips, teasing cloudy swirls around her
breech-covered legs until she stood before him, slender hands upon
his crisp white shirt.

"Toren," she breathed.

He smiled at the unusual inflection she
gave to his name and since she was but a dream, he indulgently
dragged his fingers into her hair, sighing at the
silkiness.

"Toren, I need you to tell me where you
are. I'm going to help you."

What's this? Toren grazed the back of
his knuckles along her cheek. His dream conjured sorceress
shouldn't look so troubled.

He wanted her to be pleasant, pliant, a
lovely peaceful image to hold on to, to focus his mind on during
the worst of what Aldreth would surely bring. He didn't know how
long he'd be given uninterrupted sleep and he intended to make the
most of it. Toren willed his dream to fall into order, arranging
his thoughts so that the focused lines above Charity's pert little
nose would smooth.

Her lips tightened in exasperation.
"Toren, focus please. Tell me where you are. Where is the dungeon?
Within a castle? Tell me how to free you."

Toren pulled back, holding her at arm's
length to really get a good look at her. Impatience and sharp
intelligence stared back through disarming violet eyes, filled with
far too much life to be a dream-induced manifestation.

"Are ye dream-trailing?"

Dainty shoulders hitched up in a shrug.
"I'd just gone to bed, now I'm here." She fluttered her hands. "But
I know enough to realize that sometimes truths that you normally
can't see in the light of day will come to the surface in your
dreams. I took an entire course on dream analysis once. Well maybe
not a course, more like a weekend workshop. Anyway I figure since
I'm dreaming about you I may as well be direct and ask you what I
want to know. Who is the witch? Where is she keeping you and how do
I get you out?"

Toren clasped her hands between his in
an attempt to stop her from rambling since her fingers twirled and
gestured to emphasize every word. What was she talking about? The
only thing certain was that she was real and believed him to be the
dream.

His lip quirked up, pleased that she
would deem to dream of him.

"Charity." Hands still within his, he
brought her fingertips to his lips and kissed. That brought her
ramblings to a quick end. She blinked owlishly up at him and Toren
spoke while he could get a word in. "Ye are dream trailing. We both
are. Ye're here. I'm here."

She opened her mouth to speak, then
closed it, then opened it again, but only swallowed. Then blinked
again. The flit of emotion filing across her face was mesmerizing.
Pulling a hand out from between his, she poked his arm. "You're
real?"

He grinned. "As real as the part of me
that can travel to the realm of dreams."

She jabbed him again. "So you're not
real."

He recaptured her hand. "I'm real
enough to feel that so cease, though in truth my flesh and bones
sleeps in Aldreth's dungeon."

Her eyes narrowed like a hawk that just
spotted prey. Cunning little hunter. "Aldreth is the witch? Where
is she keeping you?"

So she was back to that again. "Shhh,
'tis naught ye can do from centuries beyond mine. Forget about me.
My time is finished before yours ever begins."

"But I can help. I can do
something."

Her earnestness sailed straight to his
heart, melting the protective fortifications. "Ye have helped me.
More than ye know."

"But your entire—" She looked away as
she worked her bottom lip between her teeth.

Ah. He understood. She'd been about to
tell him something of his future. 'Twould be easy for her to have
searched the histories of his people and find out what had become
of him and for a moment the temptation to ask how his clan fared
ran great. But knowing could be a danger as well, could unwittingly
change an already set outcome.

Except…from the worry in her expression
and the urgency in her tone, he'd wager all was not
well.

His Adam's apple bounced hard in his
throat, the words dry in his mouth. "Ye're right to not say
anything."

"I know." Her hand twisted patterns in
the air again. "That whole stupid time continuum thing. It's dumb.
What's the point of having knowledge if you can't do anything about
it?" She dropped her arms to her sides and tilted her face up to
look him in the eye. "I'm going to save you Toren Limont. Don't
think I won't."

And for just one moment, regardless of
the lack of innate magic he sensed flowing through her, he believed
that she could.

Chapter Six

Aldreth paced in front of the large
hearth, stepping through the dancing light and shadow the fire cast
across the floor. Damn Toren Limont. Damn the entire Limont clan.
Foolish, foolish pawns the Fae manipulated like pieces on a
board.

Protectors of magic and mankind. Bah. A
lie.

Whirling, she faced the fire and froze,
transfixed by the lapping spikes and flow, cradling birth and death
in a powerful heaving blaze. Of all the elements, fire enslaved
her. She rarely looked straight into the flames as the blazing heat
sifted away all thought and purpose, drawing her to its hypnotic
spell like a moth.