Spell of the Highlander (21 page)

He smiled faintly then, suddenly far less chafed by the prospect of yet another ruckus in his life. After all, wasn’t that what life was about?

Ruckuses.

And if a man was truly blessed, he got a woman like his Gwendolyn with whom to share them.

“Pick me
up, you ham-fisted oaf. The bloody frigging sun is bloody frigging blinding me,” the mirror snarled.

Dageus blinked down at the glass. ’Twas lying faceup on the lawn and stuffed nigh to bursting with an enraged Cian MacKeltar.

One of his ancestor’s hands was braced at the side of the mirror on the inside of the glass, the blade of his other hand to his forehead as if shielding his narrowed eyes from a glare.

For a long moment, Dageus simply couldn’t find any words with which to form a sentence. Then, “What the hell are you doing in there, kinsman?” he managed blankly.

There was a man inside a mirror. His relative. His ancient relative. He thought he’d seen it all, but he’d ne’er seen aught like this. Dozens of questions collided in his mind.

“Sun. Blinding. Pick me up,” his ancestor snapped.

Dageus glanced up. The sun was directly above him.

He glanced back down. Mystified, he bent and stood the glass up on end, facing him. He handled it gingerly, trying not to touch much of it. Because his grip was not firm, it slipped from his fingers and nearly went right back down again. He scarce managed to catch it in time.

“For Christ’s sake, be careful with the damn thing!” his ancestor hissed. “
’Tis made of glass. Sort of. In an odd sense of the word. Are you always so clumsy?”

Dageus stiffened. “Are you always such a foul-tempered arse? You’ve the manners of a blethering Lowlander. ’Tis no wonder you’ve such a bad reputation.”

“I’ve a bad—” His ancestor broke off, raising his hands as if to ward off further talk on that topic. “Forget it. I doona wish to ken what they say about me.” He glanced around the lawn. “Where the hell have you taken me?”

“Castle Keltar.” Dageus thought a moment, then added, “A second Castle Keltar, not the one you likely knew.”

A muscle worked in his kinsman’s jaw. “And how far would this second Castle Keltar be from Inverness?”

Dageus shrugged. “Half an hour or so.”

“Let me guess, you interfering barbarian. For some reason, you took my vehicle?” the mirror snapped.

“
I’m a barbarian? Look who’s talking,” Dageus said indignantly.

“You bloody fool, you will go back down there and get my woman. Now.
”

“Your woman? The lass ’twas with you in the store?”

“Aye.”

Dageus shook his head slowly. This was leverage. “Nay. Not until you tell me what’s going on, and explain yourself to my brother. What are you doing in the mirror? I ken full well what it is. ’Tis the Dark Glass, an Unseelie Hallow, and the Keltar have no business with Unseelie relics. How are you using it? Are you practicing black magycks? My brother will not permit such doings in his keep. Drustan suffers no—”

His kinsman pounded his fists on the inside of the mirror, actually rattling it in the ornate frame. “Go
get my woman! You left her unprotected, you son of a bitch!”

“Nay. Answers first,” Dageus said flatly.

“Not a word until she’s here,” Cian said just as flatly.

They glared at each other, at an impasse.

A sudden thought occurred to Dageus. Why wasn’t his temperamental, formidably gifted ancestor bursting forth from the glass and going after his woman himself? What could stop a Druid as mighty as Cian MacKeltar. “You’re stuck in there, aren’t you?” he exclaimed.

“What the bloody hell do you think? You think I’d be sitting in here twiddling my thumbs if I could do something? Go. Get. My. Woman.”

“But you were out earlier. How? Why—”

“You said you had a woman of your own,” his ancestor cut him off roughly. “How would you feel if she’d been left by herself in the middle of a city she’d never been in before, and there were trained assassins hunting her? My woman is in danger, damn you! You must go after her, man! Then I’ll tell you aught you wish to ken!”

A fist closed around Dageus’s heart at the thought of Chloe in such a situation. He’d seen her in danger before and it had damn near killed him. A man’s woman took priority over everything else. Questions could wait. The care and well-being of loved ones could never be deferred.

Never.

“Och, blethering hell, I didn’t know. I’ll go get your woman,” he said instantly. Tucking the mirror beneath his arm again, he hastened with it toward the castle.

“We’re going the
wrong way!” the mirror shouted for the third time, as Dageus walked up the front steps and entered the castle.

“Nay, we’re not. I told you, I’m not taking you with me,” Dageus said flatly. “I will find your woman far more quickly if I doona have to be worrying about breaking you. I know what she looks like. I’ll find her, I vow it.”

’Twas truth that he didn’t wish to have to be concerned about damaging the
mirror, but even more truth that he didn’t want to be in such close proximity to the Dark Hallow any longer. He suspected its strange pull had been working subtly on him the entire time he’d been driving home, peaking when he’d opened up the back of the SUV. He had no desire to spend what could be hours driving around, with the Hallow no more than a few feet away from him, in an enclosed space.

Tossing his head back, he bellowed,
“Drustan!” with enough volume to rattle the eaves.

“Christ, Dageus, I’m right above you,” his brother replied, wincing. “There’s no need to go shouting the walls down.”

Dageus glanced up. His twin was standing at the balustrade that overlooked the great hall entrance, gazing down. “How was I to know that? Why are you standing there, Drustan?”

“Why are you talking to a mirror, Dageus?” Drustan said very, very quietly.

“I said ‘wait for me!’ “
Gwen cried at that moment, from somewhere down the corridor behind his brother.

Dageus shook his head. He had no time for explanations. The woman’s name, Cian had told him as they’d crossed the lawn, interspersed with his increasingly pissed-off demands to accompany him back down to Inverness, was Jessica St. James. She was an innocent in this—whatever “this” was—and she was in mortal danger.

He had to go.
Now.

Propping the mirror against the wall near the door, he waved a hand at it and clipped, “Drustan: Cian MacKeltar. Cian: Drustan MacKeltar.”

“Dageus,” Drustan’s voice was soft as velvet, never a good sign, “why are you
introducing me to a mirror?”

“Look
in the mirror, Drustan,” Dageus said impatiently, angling it a bit so he could see into it from above.

His brother’s jaw dropped.

Dageus smiled faintly. ’Twas nice to know he wasn’t the only one utterly discombobulated by the sight of a man inside a mirror. “I doona believe he can get out, Drustan, so he shouldn’t present a danger. However, you may wish to store him away from women and children until we know more.”

Drustan was still gaping, speechless.

The mirror growled, “Away from women and children? I’ve never been a threat to women and children, you lummox!”

“Verily, kinsman, we know naught about you,” Dageus retorted. “So why doona you try explaining things to my brother while I’m gone? Then mayhap somebody can explain them to me when I return.”

“Doona leave me here,” Cian hissed. “Take me with you.”

“I said I’ll find your woman, and I will.”

Above him, Drustan finally found his tongue. “Cian MacKeltar!” he exploded. “Mean you our ancestor Cian? The one from the ninth century?”

“Aye. And ’tis the Dark Glass, Drustan, one of the Unseelie Hallows,” he imparted tersely. His brother didn’t contain the vast knowledge of the Draghar within him, and Dageus doubted his ability to recognize it for what it was. “You may wish to keep your contact with it to a minimum. It works on the magic in our blood, enticing us.” He added a final aside: “I inadvertently left his woman unprotected. I must go get her. I’ll
return as soon as I can.”

Without further ado, Dageus turned and raced from the castle.

20

Jessi polished off her third hamburger, balled up the paper wrapping, and tucked it back in the bag.

“Better, lass?” Dageus asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said with a contented sigh. She’d never tasted such scrumptious, decadently juicy, perfect hamburgers in her entire life, though she suspected not having eaten in over twenty-four hours might be biasing her the teeniest bit. She gulped thirstily at her super-sized water; all the walking and worrying she’d done today had left her feeling dehydrated.

Leaning back against the seat of the SUV, she stretched out her legs. She was feeling tremendously better, buoyed by food, heartened by the discovery that Cian was somewhere safe, and quite frankly delighted that she wasn’t going to have to sleep beneath a bridge somewhere tonight using newspaper for blankets.

“Och, Christ, have I told you how sorry I am?”

“Only about a hundred times now,” she told Dageus dryly.

“‘Tis but that I feel like such an ass, lass. I’d ne’er have taken the mirror if I’d thought ’twould leave you in any danger. Please believe that.”

“I do,” she assured him. “And it’s all right. Everything turned out okay. I’m here, Cian’s safe, and no one’s the worse for wear.” Although, she appended silently, she wasn’t going to feel a hundred percent okay until she saw Cian with her own eyes.

She glanced over at Dageus. It was full dark outside and the only light in the SUV came from the faint green glow of the dashboard’s electronics. He looked a lot like Cian in the low light; same strong features, long hair, powerful body. His quiet respect and responsibility toward women reminded her of Cian as well.

He’d been searching for her for hours, he’d told her, when they’d finally crossed each other’s path.

At a complete loss for what to do upon discovering the SUV missing, Jessi had commenced methodically searching every street, alley, and parking lot in Inverness, hoping against hope that she would somehow miraculously stumble upon it somewhere. It was a terrible plan, and she knew it, but she’d needed to take some action,
any
kind of action, to avoid having a meltdown.

The truth was, she’d not really expected to find the stolen vehicle again and, near dusk, when she’d spotted it at the end of the next block, idling by the curb, she’d been flabbergasted.

She sprinted eagerly, stupidly toward it the moment she’d glimpsed it. Belatedly, she’d checked herself and stopped warily, a dozen feet away.

Then Cian’s descendant had stepped from it.

Hey,
she’d blurted to his back, without thinking,
I know you! What are you doing with our SUV?

The sudden fear that he might be a bad guy, too, had spiked through her then. But he’d turned and looked at her and his expression had been one of such pure relief that her fears vanished.
Thank God! There you are, lass. I’ve been looking all over for you!
he’d exclaimed.

Exhausted and starving, she’d nearly burst into tears.

She wasn’t all alone and lost in Scotland with nowhere to turn, after all. Someone had been looking for her. Someone was glad to see her.

He’d told her, with the first of his many apologies, that he’d only taken the SUV because he’d seen the Dark Glass in it and been worried about what was being done with the Hallow. He’d been home already when he’d discovered Cian in the mirror, and been sent back by his furious ancestor to find her.

His furious ancestor,
he’d said. He
knew
. And he wasn’t the least bit weirded out by it!

Although Dageus had referred to Cian as “kinsman” in Tiedemann’s, Jessi had decided that Dageus must have believed they were somehow distantly related in
current
day, that Cian was an illegitimate, distant cousin or something.

Certainly not that he was an ancient ancestor who’d been trapped in a mirror for eleven centuries. Really, what sort of person would readily accept that kind of nonsense? She certainly hadn’t. She’d resisted until the last possible moment, only when she’d been forced to concede that her life was at stake.

But Dageus wasn’t having any problem with it at all. Which pointed to only one logical conclusion.

“So, I guess none of you MacKeltars are normal, huh?” she probed.

He smiled faintly. “Nay, not exactly. I’m fair certain my wife will tell the tale better than I, but I and my twin, whom you’ll meet shortly, are from the sixteenth century.”

Jessi blinked. “Did you turn too? Is that how you got here?”

“Turn?”

“Into a dark sorcerer,” she clarified. “Is that how you and your brother ended up here? Did you guys get stuck in things, too?”

Dageus made a choking sound. “By the sweet saints, is Cian a dark sorcerer, then, lass?”

“Don’t you know anything about your ancestor?”

“His name was stricken from all Keltar annals eleven centuries ago. Verily, until just recently when the underground chamber was reopened, we believed him a legend, naught more. Is he a dark sorcerer, then?”

“He seems to think so. I’m not so sure.”

“How did he end up in the mirror?”

“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it. Yet,” she added firmly. Jessi’d had several epiphanies today while hunting for Cian, terrified that she might never see him again. The day had stretched on and on, and, alone with her thoughts and fears, certain facts had attained a stark clarity in her mind.

One was that she wanted to know everything there was to know about Cian MacKeltar. All of it, good and bad. She knew from the parts of his stories that had penetrated her stupor the night he’d killed the assassin masquerading as Room Service, that he’d had a wonderful childhood in the Highlands. She knew also that, somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. She wanted to know what it was; how he’d ended up in the mirror; how he could think he was a dark sorcerer when every time she looked at him, she saw light.

Oh, not pure sweet blinding light. Not even close. Cian MacKeltar wasn’t that kind of man and would never be. Truth was, she didn’t much like that kind of man anyway. Cian wasn’t one of the bad guys—but he could be if necessary, at the drop of a hat and utterly without remorse.

But “bad guy” wasn’t his primary persona. He was what psychologists and anthropologists would call an Alpha male, men who were defined by an inherent lawlessness. They obeyed only their own code, and if it happed to briefly converge with the laws of society-at-large, it was mere coincidence. One could never be completely certain what an Alpha male would do if he, or those he considered his, were threatened. One could only hope to stay within an Alpha male’s protected circle—or as far out of his line of sight as possible.

Jessi knew where she wanted to be, smack at the center of Cian MacKeltar’s protected circle. And not just because someone was after her, but because he wanted her there under any circumstances. That was the second epiphany she’d had today while frantically hunting for him.

“But you doona think he’s dark, eh, lass?” Dageus jarred her from her thoughts. “You think he’s a good man? Do you believe in him, lass? With your heart?”

She looked at him curiously. There was a note of urgency in his voice, as if the question was very important to him. “You don’t even know me. Would it matter to you if I did?”

“Och, aye, Jessica. A woman’s thoughts and feelings always matter to Keltar men.”

Hmmm. With each passing moment, she was liking Keltar men more and more.

“So? Do you?” he pressed.

“Yes,” Jessi said without reservation. “I do.”

When they got to the castle—Crimeny, she was in a
castle
!—Dageus guided her through at such breakneck speed that her surroundings whizzed by and she hardly managed to see a thing.

She got a brief, astonished glimpse of a magnificent great hall with a fabulous fairy-tale staircase that descended from both sides of the upper stories, a rapid look at a stunning suit of armor in an alcove, and a much-too-hasty glance into a darkly paneled room adorned by ancient weaponry, with claymores, battle-axes, spears, and broadswords gracing the walls in intriguing geometric patterns. She’d positively itched to grab a chair, pull them down, and begin testing for authenticity. Though she suspected everything she was seeing was the genuine article.

Why wouldn’t the contents of the castle be from centuries long past? The occupants were.

After steering her into a library, he deposited her there, then hurried off to “gather the rest of the clan and bring your man in. My brother and our wives will join you anon.”

Now, waiting by herself, she proceeded to take a thorough, fascinated peek around.

The library was a beautiful, spacious, yet cozily inviting retreat, reminding Jessi much of the understated, impeccable elegance of Professor Keene’s office.

Tall bay windows, draped in velvet, overlooked a manicured garden. Cherry bookcases were recessed into paneled walls. An enormous, dusky-rose stone and marble fireplace climbed one wall, the elaborate mantel climbing all the way to the ceiling. There were many richly brocaded, overstuffed chairs and ottomans arranged in various conversation areas, beside lavishly carved, leather-detailed occasional tables. The trey ceiling had ornate embossing and three tiers of elegant moldings. A stately bar was custom-crafted into a section of the bookshelves.

From what she’d seen on her rushed way through, the entire castle was a historian’s dream, liberally scattered with antiques and relics, and the library was no different.

Centuries-old tapestries adorned the walls. The room was illumed by exquisite—and she was willing to bet real—Tiffany table lamps that cast a stained-glass amber and rosy glow about the room. The majority of the books on the shelves were leather-bound and some looked quite old, resting with care on their flats, not their spines. A massive desk with a top inlaid of three gleaming burled panels divided by intricate Celtic knot-work occupied one corner, with a tall leather chair behind it. Library tables perched beneath spotlighted portraits of Keltar ancestors. Muted antique rugs warmed the room, accented by an occasional plush lambskin. A pretty ladder with sides of carved scrollwork slid along the walls of bookcases on padded wheels, atop the gleaming perimeter of wood floor.

She was just moving toward the ladder, to push it to an especially interesting-looking pile of manuscripts, when two pretty blondes burst into the library, followed by a man she initially mistook for Dageus.

“Welcome to Castle Keltar,” one of the blondes said breathlessly. “I’m Gwen and this is my husband, Drustan. This is Dageus’s wife, Chloe.”

“Hi,” Jessi said tentatively. “I’m Jessi St. James.”

“We know. Dageus told us,” Gwen said. “We can’t
wait
to hear your story. You can start now if you’d like,” she said brightly. “We’ve been waiting all day.”

Dageus walked in then, toting the mirror, holding it by the sides.

She’d half expected to hear furious bellows heralding his approach, and was somewhat surprised that the glass was silent.

He crossed the room and propped the mirror up against the bookcase, near the conversation area where she and the MacKeltars had gathered.

She peered at it. It was flat silver and there was no sign of Cian.

Jessi hurried over to the looking glass, reaching instinctively for it.

At the same moment, Cian’s hand rose within the silver as he stepped forward, making himself visible.

She heard feminine gasps behind her.

“So
there
he is,” one of the women exclaimed. “Not only did he refuse to answer any of our questions, he wouldn’t even
show
himself until you got here.”

The world receded around her and narrowed down to nothing but Cian. The expression in his whisky gaze was stark.

“Och, Jessica,” he said, his butter-rum voice rough and low. He was silent a moment, drinking her in. “I’m not much of a man when I can’t even protect my woman. The bloody glass reclaimed me and I couldn’t get to you!”

My woman,
he’d called her. She could see in his eyes and hear in his voice that the day of worrying had been hell on him too. She was sorry it had been; and she was glad. Glad it hadn’t been just her going crazy. Glad because it meant his feelings matched hers. “Yes, you
are,
” she told him fiercely. “You’re more man than any I’ve ever known. You’re more man than any other man could ever
hope
to be. You’ve saved my life twice! I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. Besides, you couldn’t possibly anticipate that your stupid descendant would
steal
you. Who could have seen that coming?”

Behind her, someone cleared his throat. She thought it might be Drustan, but he and Dageus were so alike that it was hard to be sure. Then she knew it was Dageus because, with a note of wry amusement in his voice, he said, “His stupid descendant wishes to know how you release him, lass.”

She pressed her other palm to the glass. Cian aligned his to hers. They stared hungrily at each other. After being afraid she’d lost him, she needed to touch him, ached to feel his body against hers, to taste his kisses. To feels his hands claiming her.
His woman, he’d called her, and she was pretty sure those weren’t words a ninth-century Highlander ever used lightly.

“Is it okay if I tell him?” she asked Cian.

He shrugged. “Aye, I suppose so.”

She said over her shoulder, “There’s a summoning spell—
Lialth bree che bree, Cian MacKeltar, drachme se-sidh
—but it won’t work right now because—”

Even as she was about to explain that not enough time had elapsed since that morning when he’d last been out, the runes carved into the ornate frame began to blaze with a brilliant inner light and the parameters of the library felt suddenly skewed. Her jaw dropped.

Cian looked just as startled as she. Then his dark eyes blazed with exultation. “Mayhap because the last two times were so short, lass,” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Who cares the why of it?”

He pushed forward, reaching for her. One moment Jessi had her palms pressed to cool glass, the next it was full black and icy, and then the warm strength of his hands was closing around hers. He separated from the mirror, peeling away from the silvery rippling pool, walking her backwards, his gilt-whisky eyes glittering with passion and lust not-to-be-denied.