Shadows of the Keeper (3 page)

“Your concerns
regarding Aurelia matter not.  Even in the end, she adhered to my father’s
law, protecting the knowledge and ending her life to shield us.  She was
immortal, human, did you know?  Had Ardra been successful, Aurelia would
have been enslaved to their goddess, Shadow, for eternity—which is now how long
you will walk this miserable existence, cursed for your failure to protect the
Keeper.”

Hastily,
Aunsgar stepped from the ring of his guards.  “Pendaran, my lord, you
cannot do this.  Men craze from immortality.”

Sizzling eyes
staked the Elf prince.  “
You
were to protect her.  His head
should be piked at the end of your sword when he betrayed my trust.” 
Pendaran’s glower speared the growling Outlander before snapping back to
Aunsgar.  “And his betrayal to your queen.  Now, you will protect him
until she returns.  Fail her again, and your bodies will feed scavengers
for eternity.”  Pendaran spun away, wanting nothing more to do with any of
them.  Snow powdered and swirled violently, a vortex towering over
Pendaran.  Stepping into the spinning, churning tunnel, unaffected by the
fierce winds within, he turned slightly, glaring with such rage that even the
Elves collectively stepped back.

“A thousand
years your kind to roam, a thousand more until history’s unknown.  Shadow
warriors, death you will spurn, to protect the Keeper upon her return.”

Pendaran and
the lifeless princess vanished.

Broc snapped
his attention to Aunsgar.  The prince continued muttering.

“What are your
words?”

“I send her my
requests for forgiveness.”  Aunsgar lifted his pale face towards darkening
sky, his blue eyes glittering as he openly wept.  “I was to protect
her.”  His eyes squeezed shut.  “I failed.”

Broc turned
away, visions of horror imbedding themselves deep into his soul.  Ghostly
mists crawled towards them from the forest and prodded the dead before
cocooning them.   Garreck, born of the same mother, searched amongst
the carnage for survivors.  With blessings by Danu, none would be left
alive.  None would be forced to share in the curse of walking forever; of
remembering that Aurelia allowed this to happen.

Present Day

 “Now see
here, Lord Garreck, she was on the wrong side of the road!”

“If ye’ weren’t
already dead, I’d kill ye’ myself!”  Footsteps scuffed against . . .
wood?  Emily tried opening her eyes.

“Christ’s
blood, do ye’ think it’s really her?”

“She’s the twin
of your laird’s painting, which is all I have to go by.”

“You’ve nosed
enough with yer’ blatherin’ questions—“

“I’m a
scholar.  It’s my nature to
nose
, to seek information.”

Garreck bristled. 
“It’s your nature to be interferin’.  ‘Tis ‘ow ye’ got yerself stuck in
Netherworld in the first place.  Do you ken what ye’ would ‘ave done had
Aunsgar not advised I take steed and ride day and night?”

“If I were
alive, I’d have you all committed for madness.”

The familiar
sound of metal sliding against something likened to a gasp caused Emily to
frown in semi-consciousness.

“ ‘Tis no’
madness that drives us, English.  We wait for
the
return.”

“Yes,
yes.  Thirty-six hundred years, cursed.  I’m acquainted with your
suffering.  Now, put that away lest you slice through my furniture again.”

Her tongue felt
waxed, her throat burning.  What . . . were . . . they talking
about?  Eyes fluttering, she ached everywhere.  Her fingers prodded,
causing her to flinch against their chill.  She had to verify that her
head wasn’t as it felt: split in two.  Male voices dropped to incoherent
whispers. 
Dead already
? 
Cursed
?  Was this limbo
before heaven and hell?  Which was she destined for—coffee!  She
smelled coffee!

“Please,” she
croaked, “please, coffee.”

“A Yank! 
Told you she was on the wrong side of the road!”

“Cease your
bleating and fetch the wee lass water.” 

Footsteps
neared. 

“Ye’ can’t be
‘aven coffee just yet, milady.”

Thick brogue
curled around her. 
Milady
?  She dared peek.  Candlelight
poured onto her eyes.  A cozy room. 
Heaven has waiting rooms
? 
Fire crackled, its embers glowing upon a polished dark wood floor. 
Dark
floor.  Official.  I’m in Hell.  Everything in Heaven is
pristine white.  Explains my pounding skull.  Maybe they charred me
earlier and this is why my neck burns. Or I’ve been beaten with sin-sticks.

Memory
tidal-waved.  She’d been in a car, reading a blasted map—car!  She
moaned again, pain in her head pressing. 

“Here,
lass.”  A strong arm braced her back, the couch sagging deeply next to
her.  “Water.”

She looked up
at the man, flinching against his sharp inhale.  “As bad as it feels?”

“Yer’
eyes.  Lumyn—“

He silenced,
holding a silver goblet against her lips.

Allen nearly
clapped his hands.  “How many times have you sang ballads, expressing the
beauty of the other’s eyes, their odd color of gold?  I told you!  I
told you! It’s
her
!”

“I doona sing,
spirit.”

Emily squinted,
peering into a dark corner.  Swiveling her attention back up at her
cupbearer, pain knifed down her neck.  Squinching seemed to help. 
Pain subsided.  She peeked again at her couch mate.  He didn’t
look
like a demon, save for the scar running from temple to cheek, and tucking just
under his jaw.  Handsome.  Rugged. 
Definitely a demon
.
 
And I’d know.
  She tamped down memories of her ex-fiancé’s brutal
lessons of how evil lurked behind an attractive face. 

Her current
nemesis weaved like a banner in the wind.  “Please, don’t move . . . so
much.  Vertigo.” 
Or is he a viper preparing to strike
?

“Lass,” he
frowned.  “I’m not movin’.  ‘Tis that knock to yer’ head ye’ suffered
when ye’ were driven off the road.”

“Now, see
here!  I did not force her to crash.”

Emily’s eyes
snapped to an area where someone should have been present to go along with that
voice.  “Did I total the car?”

“Total?”

“She means
damaged,” the faceless voice started.  “Destroyed, complete loss, never to
be used again, unfixable—“

“I get the
point, mohn!” Her demon growled before returning his attention to her. 
“The car is, uh,
totaled
.”  He smiled apologetically.

“Am I dead?”

“Nay, lass,
verra much alive.”

Rules out
Hell
.  “I need a phone.  Have to—“

“Doona’ have
one here, nor at the castle.”

“Castle?”

“Aye.”

Emily’s brow
furrowed.  “I was trying to find my way to MacLarrin Castle.”

“Confirmed! 
I told you—“

The demon held
up his hand silencing the faceless voice.  “You were in search of the
MacLarrin?” 

Emily didn’t
like his tone.  She liked his expression even less.  “My company is
looking into buying his castle.”  She winced.  Talking increased her
pain.  “I’m . . . supposed to take pictures . . . finalize the sale. 
Lost.  Tried reading a map.  Why are you glaring?”

“The castle is
never, has never been for sale, milady.  Where did you get a notion like
that?”

She avoided eye
contact.  “I believe it was part of a ruse to get rid of me.”  Shards
of pain shot through her skull.  “So my fiancé could marry his bitch.”

“Your intended
plans to wed his hound?”

Almost, Emily
laughed.  The most she could offer was a snort.  “A woman he’s been
with, and I was too stupid . . . to read the signs.”

“Lass, lie
back.”  Garreck helped ease her back.  “Seems ye’ ‘ave escaped a
spineless bastard.   Right now, what ye’ need most is better aid than
borrowed magicks.”

“What?”

Her forehead
sported a brazen gash, the swelling grave.  Thank Danu, Garreck muttered
in Gaelic, she’d been unconscious when he’d reset her shoulder.  That the
woman was both awake and alert was attributed to powerful magic, but he was no
fool.  Sunrise would hear her death march without Aunsgar’s direct
touch.  Her amber eyes were glazing, her soft lips turning blue. 

“Too much
pain.”  Her lids weighed down, his mumbling a soothing lullaby. 
“Think I’ll take your advice,” she whispered.  “And rest.”  Emily
exhaled so deeply, Garreck halted his Elvish words inducing her into a deep
slumber.  Long moments passed before she inhaled again, her breathing now labored.

“She won’t last
the night.  Aunsgar must come to her.”

“Here?” 
Allen’s voice quivered.  “No chance we could just call upon a modern
doctor?”

“Skirtit . . .
daith . . . Dezenial.”  Tears streamed from Emily’s closed eyes.

Resembling a
man faced with his own death, Garreck slowly turned on booted heel and stared
down at the unconscious woman.

“Run quickly,
death?  She speaks Gaelic as well as you!” Allen became animated.  “
Now
do you believe me?  I tell you, it’s her!  What’s the word ‘Dezenial’
mean?  Don’t recognize that one.”

“Not what,
Sassenach,
who
.”

She muttered
more, this time in a language Allen had never heard.

“You pale as if
death comes to collect you,” the spirit whispered.  “
You
impossibly
fear
nothing
.  This is going from bad to worse.”

“She . . . she
speaks in a language I have not heard in well over three thousand years.”

“Fascinating,
chap.  What does she say?”

“She speaks the
guarded language of a Quemorian.”

Allen
sputtered.  As if his head sat upon a hinge, he looked several times from
Garreck to the woman sleeping on his sofa.  “Now you have no choice but to
believe me.  You must tell me what she keeps muttering.  She’s
becoming frantic.”

Garreck stared
at Emily for long moments.

“Mi’lord?”

“She calls for
Dezenial.  He be the Lumynari prince, Sassenach,” green eyes flicked to
Allen.  “Ye’ have far more ta’ fear, spirit, should
that
one
arrive, than the Elves ye’ quake around.”  Garreck stormed out, leaving
behind a choking scholar.  Even the deceased mortal knew to fear Lumynari.

*   *   *   *   *

Warmth enveloped her.  Deeper,
she burrowed amongst softness, nothing more decadent than heavy quilts and the
faint scent of—coffee!  Emily’s eyes snapped open.  She blinked
several times just to be sure the incredible sight she beheld.

Man.

Exquisite man.  Very long dark
golden hair, dual thin braids cascading from temple to shoulder.  His
strong hand deftly plucked the burden of a large serving tray from an older
woman, setting it upon a cozy table for two. 
Gorgeous
man. 
Edible. 

Definitely Heaven this time, though
still not pristine white.

“ ‘Tis uncanny.  She looks ta’
have stepped back amongst us as if nothing more than a nap took her away
instead of thirty-six hundred years.”

“She’s a modern.”  Gorgeous
man poured a dollop of scotch into a silvery stein.  “I advise
wariness.  Unless scientifically proven, they have a tendency to believe
nothing.”  He cast a gaze upward at the elder, watching as she arranged
heavily scented lilacs.

“Took the liberty of bakin’ a few
sweet breads,” she said more to herself than the man scowling.

“Maeve—“

“The soul remembers, mi’
lord.”  The woman backed away, eyeing her handiwork.  “Most
especially hers.”  Rounding the small table, she stood in front of his
tall frame.  “Have ye’ never met someone and experienced instant hatred so
deep yer’ belly burned?  Or love at first sight?  Think you ‘tis just
a saying?”

“Foolish notions for the
romantic.  I ceased believing in love a very long time ago.”

“Think you, she returns now, having
finally forgiven us?”  Even from where she lay, Emily could see the
age-softened eyes sparkled with hope.

His remained cold.

Seemingly immune to his aloofness,
the old woman continued chatting.  “Aunsgar arrives again today.  He
worries.  Too many days, the wee lass has slumbered—“

Emily sneezed.

“Milady!”

The man’s hand snaked out, halting
the woman’s advance.  “Leave us.”

Visibly crestfallen, the woman
pocketed eyefuls of Emily before bustling from the chamber.

Emily wasn’t too sure she was happy
about being left with this . . . he was staring at her.

Oh-oh
.

Eyes, midnight dark and glittering
with animosity, remained unblinking.  His five o’clock shadow was joined
by a mustache that came down in thin lines each side of his . . . mouth. 
Emily frowned.  Another sneeze escaped her.  She’d kissed that mouth
before.  Extensively.

Never again will such an
occurrence transpire, Keer’dra
.

Emily flinched.  Above and
around, there didn’t exist another in the chamber.  Who had spoken? 
And how could anyone own such an erotic voice?  Again, she looked to the
man still staring at her.  Definitely not him. 
His
mouth
remained clamped like a disapproving schoolmarm.

“Where am I?  Who are
you?  Last time I opened my eyes, I was in purgatory.  Or was that a
dream?”  This last part was said more to herself. 

“You find yourself in my home,
Castle MacLarrin, my chambers, to be exact.  I am Broc MacLarrin.” 
She waited for a snappy salute to follow.  None came.  Castle
MacLarrin.  Quite by accident, she’d found the place.  She sneezed, coughing
hard. 

“God, my ribs ache.”

“You are weak and need to regain
your strength.  Since you’ve decided to awaken, you will eat.”

Well, isn’t he just a bundle of
joy—not!  Another Peter.  Lovely
.  “Can I trouble you to
share your coffee?”

Curtly nodding, Broc turned towards
the table set for two in front of a gorgeous stone fireplace.  Indian type
leggings hugged very masculine thighs, a long shirt with cuffs draping strong
hands—those hands had been all over her body.  No.  Wrong.

I’ve never seen him before
. 
Yet . . . I really need to lay off reading historical romances
. 
Too
bad Peter didn’t even come close to being like those heroes!
  Emily
sat up, disentangling bitter memories of her fiancé marrying—she was dressed in
an oversized shirt.  Outstretching her arms, she marveled at the fabric
whispering against her skin.  Delicately, she fingered  the fine
white material . . . a shirt very similar to the one
he
currently
wore.  “I remember my head bleeding,” she frowned.  So where was all
the blood—braless! 
Oookay, this wasn’t awkward
.  “I bashed my head
and . . .” 

Trembling fingers reached up to dab
where she remembered pain.

Silver coffeepot paused, the man
scrutinizing her.  “Careful.  Tenderness should still exist.”

Her fingers made contact with
stitches.  Instantly nauseated, she swallowed revulsion. 
Thank
God I slept through that
! “My neck hurts too.”

“I did not allow Colin to shave
your hair, but sewing your flesh could not be helped.  As for your neck .
. . time will care for your wounds.”

His irritation was palpable.  Emily’s
guard inched higher.

“You are lucky to be alive.” He
stirred sugar into her coffee.  “Apparently, you and automobiles do not
co-exist.”

“If there’s a doctor’s bill, I can
pay.” 
Dick
.

“I own the doctor.”

“Then why the anger?”

His rolled R’s were delicious. 
His tone was biting.  Thunder clapped.  Involuntarily, she slightly
cowered.  Rumbling skies rattled leaded glass windows.

“
Another
storm upon us,” he
muttered. 

Is he implying I’m a storm
? 

Closing in on her, his dark eyes
matched the violence brewing outdoors.

“I don’t like storms.  I don’t
like storms, or waking up in a stranger’s bed and missing my own
clothes.” 
Innuendos right back at you, buddy
!