Spellbound (10 page)

Her hand shook as she reached to touch the glass case. She slid her fingers over the top, brushing aside crispy leaves. A man with dark hair was preserved perfectly inside. His skin did not look like a corpse’s, but like that of a man sleeping, and yet his chest did not rise and fall with life. A rash darkened his cheek in the perfect trail of a tear.

Jane knocked on the glass, but he didn’t open his eyes. The vibration of her interference caused the vines holding the lid to crack. The lid slid to the side without her pushing it. She held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Suddenly, something grabbed her wrist and jerked her hand down to his face. A healthy vine held her. She was forced to touch his warm skin. Her fingers tingled as if the man pulled life from her and in turn from the vine. Jane ran her thumb over his lips in a gentle caress. The gesture seemed to drag renewed color, and his lips parted. Breath finally whispered against her fingers.

“Get away from my son!”

Jane flinched and jerked her hand from the man’s face. As soon as the contact was severed, the vine on her wrist turned to dust, and her fingers stopped tingling. The frail old woman stood on the edge of the dead circle. She looked worse than before, her frame not much more than a skeleton in loose flesh.

“Get away from my son. I know what ya are, death’s
reipseach
,” the woman shouted. “
Thalla’s cagainn bruis. Thalla’s cagainn bruis!
I smell the death on ya. I will protect my house from your master. Ya cannot have my son. I have cast spells of protection. I have called to all the forces in the earth to help me bring him back. Ya cannot have him, death’s
reipseach
. The forces are coming to save him. Go away. Ya cannot have my son.”

Thalla’s cagainn bruis?

Away and chew a brush?

What the hell kind of insult was that? And why could Jane understand that it was an insult? None of this made sense.

A ball of energy shot out of the woman’s hand as she teetered on unsteady feet. The shaky aim was the only thing that kept the ball from hitting Jane’s head. Jane yelled in fright and ran for the shelter of the nearby trees. Another shot fired and she felt a sizzle against her arm. Her legs were still weak from walking on the dead vines, and she tripped. Her head hit against the base of a stone statue of a woman surrounded by brush.

Time slipped, but somehow she managed to pull herself up and wander her way home. Her head ached, her legs burned, and when she pulled her tired body up the stairs, she collapsed near the couch, missing the soft cushions as she passed out on the hardwood floor.

“
O
ne word
about my making a mistake and I’ll hex ya, Angus MacGregor.”

Jane stiffened at the threat and fought to open her eyes. Her hazy mind and heavy limbs felt as if she’d been drugged. No matter how much she wanted to move, she couldn’t.

“What would I say, but ya look beautiful, my wife?” Angus answered.

Why was Margareta in her bedroom?

Why was Angus?

Wait. How was she? She was supposed to be working in the gardens.

No, they’d used magick on her and turned her to stone. They’d wanted to give her a potion. Niall wanted to do something to her.

A horrible taste coated her tongue, bitter and strange. Had they given her the potion?

Jane somehow managed to move her arm, dragging her elbow back to push her body up before her eyes even opened.

“She moves,” Angus declared.

“Quiet,” Margareta scolded. “Don’t hover over the girl.”

Jane opened her eyes to find Angus’s face near hers. She gasped and fell back. Her head bounced lightly on the soft mattress.

“Wha-ah-eesh,” she said. The words sounded strange, even though her brain tried to say,
What is happening?

“Good morning, dear,” Margareta pushed her husband out of the way. “Ya are coming out of the spell. Give it a moment. Your thoughts will align. The memories of the past will fill in.”

Jane narrowed her eyes in concern. It was about all the movement she could manage. Though her body didn’t obey her mind, that didn’t mean her mind wasn’t sharp. Iain’s mother looked sixty years younger than the woman she’d seen being pushed in the wheelchair…than the aging woman in the gardens throwing electric magick balls at her.

Coffin.

Iain.

“Iain,” she mumbled, again trying to stir. She remembered Iain trapped in the gardens. Hallucination? Real? It felt real. Iain’s mother was indicating it was real.

“Sleeping,” Margareta said.

Jane blinked, confused. She had a hard time concentrating.

Margareta reached to touch her cheek, and Jane’s widening eyes followed the woman’s hand. Iain’s mother had tried to kill her. She’d found Iain asleep in the forest, and all she’d wanted to do was help, but Margareta had tried to set her on fire with a magick ball. Fear filled her as a tear slipped from her eyes. Margareta brushed the moisture away. Leaning over, she smiled. “Ya woke up too quickly. Ya should be asleep as well. It will make the transition out of the potion’s spell easier.”

Jane didn’t trust that smile. She tried to shake her head, the only gesture she could make to stop whatever Margareta planned. The woman lifted her other hand holding a small bottle, dripping translucent orange liquid between Jane’s eyes. She closed her lids, trying to keep the potion out of her eyes. It didn’t work. Liquid pooled outside her lids. Sleep came swiftly.

I
ain shot up in bed
, instantly levitating above his mattress. Power snapped through him, and for a long moment, he merely hovered, arms reaching wide, legs dangling. His mind swam with thoughts, incoherent and broken—Charlotte near a bonfire taking the life out of him, death, pain, the end, a pair of beautiful eyes, coffin glass distorting the sky, the tingle of magick entering his mouth to give him life, the beginning.

Those eyes. Jane.

Remember Jane.

After the
lidércs
had nearly killed him, he’d been kept in a preservation coffin. Jane had saved his life. He’d needed her and she’d come. Why hadn’t he remembered? Why didn’t she tell him? Did she even remember? It must have been some powerful magick if they’d forgotten about it.

Jane.

Instinct took over. Iain cried out as his muscles became so stiff his bones snapped. Though his transformation was based in magick, it didn’t stop the contracting of his body from hurting. His heart beat faster. As he became smaller, feathers were pushed out of his skin like tiny needles. His feet hardened and cracked apart, forming large talons.

There was a wild energy to being in bird form as if his warlock magick was amplified within the smaller size. He flapped his wings, instinctually trying to find freedom. At first he went to the window, but it was closed. His wings beat against the glass.

Conscious thought came in a focused stream.

Remember Jane. Find Jane.

Jane.

In that moment, his life depended on that one thought. Jane. He had to find her. He had to stop whatever his family wanted to do to her. He had to protect her from Sean. He had to stop Niall from taking her memories. He had to save her from all the dangers of the world.

Jane.

When it became apparent he wasn’t flying through glass, he changed directions and flew along the ceiling, trying to find a way outside. He circled the room and finally landed on the end of his bed. There was no way out, and yet he remained desperate to find one. He tilted his head and listened, perched and tense. Footsteps.

“Iain? That ya moving around?” Raibeart opened the bedroom door and poked his head in.

Iain took the opportunity and dove toward his uncle’s face. Raibeart screamed and ducked. Iain turned, bumping into the heavy door on his way through before sweeping through the home.

“Eagle in flight! Eagle in flight!” Raibeart yelled after him. “Man the windows, lads!”

Iain went toward a window. A shot of magick passed him, slamming the glass down. He turned, following the subtle shift of air flow for another opening. Euann and Rory were running around the bottom level, manually pulling windows closed and latching them.

“The fireplace,” Rory said. “Stop him!”

“Iain, over here,” Euann yelled to get his bird brother’s attention. He flapped his arms widely, trying to distract while Rory magickally produced bricks to block the fireplace chimney.

Iain squawked in frustration. Upstairs, he heard doors slamming shut as they sought to contain him.

“Stun him, lads,” Raibeart ordered.

“What’s going on out here?” Angus appeared along the top rail.

“Bird boy’s loose,” Euann answered, “and I’m trying to make fried chicken.”

Iain dodged Euann and Rory’s attempts to stun him. Magick blasted along the ceiling and walls, making a mess.

“Don’t hurt your brother,” Angus demanded.

“We’re just trying to stop him,” Rory said.

“We can’t let him get out,” Euann said. “Someone has been out shooting in the woods. Ruined all my cameras.”

“Poachers?” Angus asked in fear. He hurried to the top of the stairs. He lifted his unprotected arm as if ready to catch a falcon. “Iain, come here, my boy.”

“Wrong bird form,” Raibeart said. “The eagle never listens. Besides, he’ll tear your arm off if he lands there.”

“Iain,” Angus demanded more insistently, still holding out his arm. “Ya can’t leave. It’s not safe.”

“Find your nest or you’ll be a ten-piece chicken basket,” Raibeart said.

“Not helping,” Angus answered.

Iain watched all of this but didn’t really process it. He needed to find Jane. None of these things were Jane.

With only one option of escape left, he built up speed, tucked his head and dove into a glass pane. He prepared for impact, knowing it was going to hurt.

“Nay!” Angus yelled. Seconds before he would have crashed through, the window disappeared and he was free. The air felt wonderful against his wings, and for a moment, he soared high above the mansion on the hill, enjoying the freedom. It was a short-lived celebration as Jane once again took the forefront of his thoughts. The longer he stayed shifted, the harder it would be to remain focused. Soon the wild would take over.

Find Jane. Remember Jane.

Iain didn’t know exactly where he should look, but he turned toward the nursery. He focused his eyes and looked for her like a hunter seeking his prey.

Find Jane.

Protect Jane.

J
ane woke up swinging
. Her fist contacted flesh as she scrambled to get out of the bed. A light gasp of surprise met the strike. Thankfully, movement had returned to her limbs, and she used every ounce of energy to escape whatever fate awaited her. Her legs tangled in bedding, and she kicked. Somehow, her wild exodus from the bed landed her on the floor. She stood, arms raised, ready to charge anyone who stood in her way.

Margareta held her cheek. Jane couldn’t help the small feeling of pleasure at seeing who she’d struck. Then, taking in the older face, she felt instantly guilty.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you, but, you…” Jane edged for the door. Margareta didn’t try to stop her. “I’m leaving. I don’t know what you were doing to me, but—”

“Ya sound better,” Margareta answered calmly. She dropped her hand, and her cheekbone was bright red beneath one eye. “And you’re no longer drooling. That’s a good sign.”

“I’m leaving.” Jane held up one hand and reached for the door with the other. “Don’t try to stop me. And I’m sorry about your eye, but Iain needs me. He’s in the… He’s in the coffin. He’s in the…”

“I probably deserve worse after how I treated ya,” the woman answered.

“Well, I think you deserve… Wait, what?” Jane frowned, hand on the knob but not pulling it open.

“If ya tell anyone I apologized, I’ll deny it. I am the matriarch of this clan after all, but I regret how I acted. In my defense, I didn’t remember ya saved my son’s life, and ya can hardly fault a woman for trying to protect her family.”

“Wait, what?” Jane tilted her head in confusion. “But the coffin. It was Iain. The coffin. He needs me. Can’t you hear the bagpipes calling me to come? I have to go to him.”

“Breathe, dear, your thoughts will align.”

“What did you do to Iain? Why is he in the coffin?” Jane looked at the window. It was bright daylight. Fear and confusion swam inside her. Only one fact remained prominent and clear, she needed to save Iain. “Is he…coffin?”

She couldn’t say
dead
.

“He’s fine, thanks to ya. Iain and Erik were in fight trying to save Lydia and Charlotte. Iain was severely injured. I used all my powers to save my son from death, but it wasn’t enough, so I preserved him,” Margareta said. She didn’t move or show signs of aggression. She kept her hands down at her sides. “After he was attacked, I worked an enchantment spell, placed him in a preservation coffin and put him in the gardens to help his magick rejuvenate. I then used every spell I know to help him. A mother will kill herself to save her child. But ya saved him. I don’t know how ya did it, but ya came to the gardens and gave him life.”

“So they’re all right? Everyone’s fine?”

“Breathe, Jane. It only feels like it just happened because ya re-experienced the events. From what I can gather, this happened before ya officially met my son, before Erik proposed. So, yes, everyone is—”

“Charlotte,” Jane interrupted.

“Is recovering. Slowly.” Margareta sighed. “We are doing what we can to help her. The townsfolk who were there think they were dosed with magic mushrooms in a potluck casserole.”

Jane remembered talking to Alana about that very event. “I don’t understand.”

“How did ya find Iain in the forest?”

“I followed the bagpipes. It was an impulse I couldn’t fight.” Jane frowned, starting to remember the events more clearly. “What happened to him? Why was he in there? Why am I only now just remembering doing this?”

“Psychic vampires poisoned Charlotte in hopes of using her as a vessel to drain Iain’s magick out of him so they could make themselves corporeal. It almost worked. We stopped the threat, but Iain nearly died. Some would argue that he did die and was stuck in limbo.”

“And you think Charlotte is recovering? I saw her the other night. She didn’t look well.”

“She’s being looked after. Ya mustn’t mention this to her. She’s very fragile. We had to take the memory of the event from her. The knowledge of what happened was too hard for her to live with. Lydia and Erik have her under their care.”

“Why am I only now remembering my part in this?”

“The magick I used was strong. It’s possible healing him took a lot out of ya, just as summoning help took a lot out of me.” Margareta made a move as if she would touch her. “We both didn’t remember what happened until Niall gave ya the potion and we could see the events for what they were. Since Iain was touching ya when ya drank it, there were a few unexpected side effects. Iain relived his memories of the events, as well.”

Jane lifted a finger in warning as she tried to sort her thoughts. “So the aging?”

“As I said, a mother will kill herself to save a child. Preserving Iain in the coffin took a lot out of me. It’s a good thing too, if I’d been at full strength, I might have stopped ya from saving him.”

“The sound of bagpipes pied pipered me to the gardens. I found Iain and somehow my touch saved him? You attacked me.” Jane frowned. The memories were clearer with each second, but the truth of it was so surreal. “Why did you try to kill me if I was there to help?”

“Spells are not always an exact science, more of an art or an educated guess. The results can be surprising. The bagpipes called you to help him. It was destiny that ya two should meet. But when I sensed what ya are, I thought ya had come to claim his soul.”

“Sensed what I am?” Jane shook her head. “I don’t understand. Aside from my ability to grow plants, I’m not special. I’m not magickal.”

“The death in ya,” Margareta said. “Cait read your hand. We know your life line has been interrupted many times.”

“Is that why everyone keeps thinking I’m something I’m not? That’s because I’m dying,” Jane said. “I’m told many people who walk close to death all the time often see through the veil to the other side. I see ghosts because I’m dying, and they sometimes like to follow me once they find out I can communicate with them. If you sense anything, it’s that. I’m not anything special.”

Margareta scowled. “How can ya say such? Ya saved my son’s life. Ya saved mine because I would have surely died trying to help him. The MacGregors owe ya—”

Jane’s hand on the door knob was thrust to the side as the door swung open. Angus glanced at her in surprise before saying to his wife in a worried tone, “Iain’s out.”

“What’s wrong?” Jane demanded.

“Out?” Margareta repeated. “Out-out?”

Angus nodded adamantly. “He’s over the forest. Euann said there have been poachers.”

“Ah, about that,” Rory said behind his uncle. He poked his head in the door. “Hey, Jane.” Jane didn’t answer as she silently willed them to tell her what was wrong with Iain. “That was me. I used Euann’s cameras as target practice. I’m sure Iain will be fine. Once he calms down, he’ll shift back, and we’ll go pick him up.”

“Ya shot my cameras?” Euann demanded in anger from the hallway.

“Well, ya shouldn’t have sent those pictures of me examining my bleeding ass to the family,” Rory answered. “A man’s got a right to privacy in his own woods.”

“Enough.” Angus pushed Rory behind him to get him out of the room. “Argue about the family’s Christmas card photos later.”

“Will someone please tell me what is wrong with Iain?” Jane insisted.

“He’s had a small incident. It’s nothing to be overly worried about, but he’s locked in an altered form for the moment. The potion we used to discover your intentions had a strange side effect and hit him too. The two of ya were petrified at the same time, and he was touching ya. When he came out of it, his hold over his inner bird slipped, and he transformed into an eagle,” Angus said.

“And now he’s outside, flying around, stuck as a bird?” Jane clarified.

Angus nodded, looking as if he half-expected Jane to have a panic attack. What was it with these MacGregors acting like humans couldn’t handle a little bit of magick and supernatural?

“Why are we standing here?” Jane said, moving to slip past Angus. “Let’s go get him back.”

J
ane wasn’t sure how
, but she found herself standing outside her nursery, gazing up at the trees. A large eagle stared down at her. She’d seen those shifted eyes before.

“Iain?” she asked. His head turned as if he knew her.

“Easy, lassie,” Angus whispered, edging up behind her. “He will tear ya apart with his talons. He’s not the Iain ya know right now.” Angus took her by her arm and tried to pull her away with him.

At the sight of his father, Iain flapped his long wings and dove toward them. Jane stumbled. Angus made a small sound of surprise. When Jane glanced back, she saw Angus holding his bloody forearm.

Iain perched on a lower branch, eyeing his father as if daring him to touch Jane again.

“He’s protective of ya,” Angus observed.

“I have this,” Jane said, keeping her tone even. “Give us space.”

“I don’t like leaving ya to handle my son. Let me petrify him in flight and the boys can catch him when he falls,” Angus said.

“Then what? You have a frozen bird for a son?” Jane shook her head.

“We’ll get him locked in a cage until we can talk him out of it. He hasn’t been gone long. It should only take a few weeks to get him to come out of it.” Angus gestured that she should back away.

“Bird Iain seems to like me,” Jane said. “Let me see if I can talk him down.”

“I don’t like it.” Angus hesitated, but then she heard him back away to the other side of the greenhouse. “Lydia was able to calm Erik’s beast; perhaps ya can help Iain. Careful. We’ll be right behind this building. If he makes one false move, we’ll stun him.”

When she was alone with the eagle, Jane lifted her hand. “Iain? What are you doing? Everyone is worried about you. Please, come down from there.”

Iain flapped his wings several times before leaving his perch to land on the ground in front of her. Jane kneeled. For a bird, he was large. For an Iain, he was tiny. She tried to touch him.

“Lassie?” Angus called.

Iain snapped at her fingers. She snatched her hand back.

“Hey, who are you snapping at?” Jane scolded. Then louder, she said, “Give me a moment.”

Iain rocked back and forth as he walked toward her, head slightly down. He stopped near her hand. She hesitantly touched along his back feathers.

“All right, transform back now,” she said. He merely looked at her. She dropped her hand. “I’m serious, Iain. Put your man parts on. Grow arms.” She held her hands to the side and shook her fingers. Nothing. Jane dropped her hands and sighed. Sarcastically, she mumbled, “Dammit, Iain, as if seeing ghosts isn’t strange enough. As if dating a warlock isn’t weird. As if being told I had the starring role as Prince Charming to awaken your Sleeping Beauty ass from a coffin—really, a coffin? But now I also get a bird boyfriend? Are you really going to make me the crazy bird lady who is having a romance with her pet eagle?”

Iain made a strange bird noise.

“You all make me crazy, Iain MacGregor. Your mother magickally called me to save you, I hear bagpipes all the time and hallucinate Scottish moors. I stole energy from plants to get you out of a coffin your mother put you in all because she cast a spell that apparently knew we were each other’s destiny. I’m talking to a bird, who is a man that I’ve slept with… I don’t even want to finish that line of thought. This is insanity. The whole lot of you are insane, and you are making me insane.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m going to need you to give me one good reason as to why I shouldn’t jump in my truck and keep driving.”

Iain began to shake and emitted a burning smell. Jane wrinkled her nose and tried not to breathe too deeply as she backed away. His skin stretched, pushed out from within. She flinched at how painful it looked. The bird body extended to one side and then contracted before reaching in the other direction. Suddenly, the creature exploded. Jane screamed and fell back.

“Jane, we’re coming, lassie,” Angus yelled. She heard feet running. Iain emerged, growing from within the feathered husk.

“It’s all right,” she answered, lifting her hand to stop them from charging in. Iain gasped for breath and stopped shaking.

A power surge shot over her. It hit her hand, instantly stiffening her fingers and weighing them down. It dropped to her lap. The magick hit Iain, freezing him into statue form. He kneeled naked before her, brown eyes with flecked with green stuck in her direction. There was something very erotic about the Iain statue before her, sculpted male perfection, but she didn’t want to be caught staring at his naked form as his family surrounded her.

“Get the wheelbarrow,” Angus ordered. “Let’s get him home before anyone sees.”

“I have the perfect place for him,” Euann said. “Right in the garden fountain. We need a statue there.”

“Euann,” Angus chided. “Ya will put him in his room.”

Jane’s arm began to ache and then her chest as if her blood couldn’t flow. “Ah, help?” She gasped, trying to rub the frozen digits.

“Ach, sorry, Jane, this won’t last long,” Euann said. He lifted his hand. Before she could protest, he was freezing the rest of her. “We’ll make sure you’re locked safely inside your home before we go.”