Midnight's Temptation

by Donna Grant

  “The selmyr are breaking through my shield,” Isla said tightly. “We need to do something now.”

  Aisley’s fingers, stuck at different angles, touched his face. “You know what I have to do.”

  “It willna kill you. Do you hear me? Doona let it. Stay alive so we can get around Wallace’s spell.”

  She smiled, her fawn-colored eyes swimming in tears. “Put the box on the ground and keep everyone away from it.”

  “Aisley,” he urged.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  It was all he was going to get from her, but Phelan knew it wasn’t enough. Isla’s shield began to crack. The selmyr would once more descend upon them. Everything hinged on Aisley.

  Something dripped from his arm that was holding her. He looked down to see it was blood. The idea of someone as beautiful and wonderful as Aisley tortured made his soul and his god bellow in fury.

  He looked up as the mist began to pour through the crack in the shield.

  “I know you won’t believe this,” Aisley said. “But I love you.”

  Phelan looked down at her, unsure of what to say. He’d have time to think of it after she was healed. Then he would know how to respond.

  Everyone moved away as the spell tumbled from her lips. Everyone but him, that is. He couldn’t make himself release her. There was no magic inside him to aid her, but he would give her whatever she needed.

  The ground began to vibrate rapidly, the leaves raining down from the trees. Phelan looked at Camdyn, but the Warrior shook his head to let him know he’d had nothing to do with it.

  Aisley’s magic grew and expanded with each word of the spell. It was then he understood she was causing the disturbance.

  Phelan watched the mist pause as if unsure what was going on. When they tried to retreat, Aisley sealed the crack in Isla’s shield trapping the selmyr inside.

  The Druids formed a circle and linked hands, offering their magic alongside Aisley’s. The tremors were so violent, it felt as if the world was about to break in two.

  Phelan held Aisley close. The spell fell faster from her lips, coinciding with the vibrations.

  Several Warriors surrounded the Druids while the MacLeods kept watch over Britt. But everyone had their eyes on the mist. The selmyr were desperate to get out of the shield. The mist rammed the shield again and again, but it held.

  The sheer amount of magic coming from Aisley made Phelan’s skin tingle and need course through him. How he missed holding her, seeing her. Touching her.

  “Phelan.”

  He looked at her, sure he’d heard her whisper his name. But her eyes were closed and the spell still underway. There was a shout as the mist dove at the Druids on its way to Aisley.

  Suddenly her eyes flew open, her body tensed as she finished the spell.

  The screams of thousands of selmyr filled the air as the mist was forced into the box. Ronnie hurried over to it and slammed the lid closed when the last of the mist was inside.

  “It’s over,” Phelan said and looked at Aisley with a smile. That smile fell when he felt the magic draining from her as fast as her blood. “Fight, Aisley.”

  She tried to smile as her eyes closed. And she took her last breath.

  “Aisley,” he said and shook her. “Fight, dammit. Fight!”

  “She’s gone.”

  Phelan looked up to find the Fae woman standing before him. She didn’t wear a sassy smile this time. The sadness in her swirling silver eyes said it all.

  He swallowed and pleaded, “Please help her.”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.” The Fae knelt next to Aisley and rested her hand atop hers before she also touched Phelan. “She saved you. She saved all of you.”

  “And there’s nothing you can do?”

  She shook her head of long blue-black hair. “Aisley knew by doing the spell it would take the last of her life.”

  “So she’s in Hell now?” Phelan asked, hating to even think about it.

  The Fae rose in one graceful motion. “There is much left for you to do, prince. I’m going to ensure Wallace can’t bother any of you for a few days so you can bury Aisley. It’s all I can do. I’m sorry.”

  Phelan didn’t watch her disappear. His gaze was on Aisley. Bury her? He wouldn’t bury her. The thought of her locked underground as she had been at Wallace’s turned his stomach. Her spirit needed to soar.

  He gathered her limp body in his arms and stood. Then he turned and started toward Ferness.

  * * *

  “How is he?” Hayden asked Charon.

  Charon shook his head as he stared at his whisky. Phelan had been locked in the storeroom with Aisley’s body for hours, refusing to come out or allow anyone in.

  “Is the pyre ready?”

  Hayden poured himself a glass of whisky and sank onto the couch. “Aye. Just.”

  “I should go tell him.”

  “No need. Isla is taking care of that.”

  Charon frowned at Hayden. “Was that a good idea?”

  “My wife is stubborn. She also yearns for Phelan’s forgiveness.” He scratched his chin. “Isla was never fully drough. Aisley was. How does a drough fight against everything they are?”

  “I wish I knew. Maybe it would help Phelan heal from this.”

  “Will he ever heal from this?”

  Charon drained his glass. “Doubtful.”

  * * *

  Phelan sat staring at Aisley’s body. He cleaned the blood and dirt from her, changed her into a long black gauzy dress he’d gotten from Laura, and combed her midnight locks.

  Never again would he look into her fawn-colored eyes or run his fingers through the silky strands of her hair. Never again would he feel her satiny skin or hear her scream in pleasure. Never again would the sound of her laughter brighten his day, nor would he trip over her discarded shoes.

  Never again would he feel her magic or know the taste of her kiss.

  “I should’ve listened to your explanation,” he told her. “You tried to tell me, but I couldna get past the idea that you were drough. You were running from Wallace. I knew you feared whoever it was, and I wish I’d have known then. I would’ve never let him get to you.”

  He blinked and felt something drop onto his cheek. Phelan swiped at it and found a tear. The last time he’d cried was after he’d been chained in Deirdre’s prison as a young lad.

  Phelan squeezed his eyes closed as he recalled the wounds and injuries he’d found on Aisley’s body as he washed her. How she had been able to even stand, much less stay alive, he would never know.

  “I was too afraid to admit how much I cared for you. What a fool I’ve been. I never got to tell you that I lo … I love you, Aisley. And now you’re gone.”

  He waited for her to sit up and tell him what an idiot he was. Phelan was prepared to grovel at her feet, anything, if only she’d come back to him.

  There was a soft knock on the door. A touch of magic could be felt. He knew of only one Druid who would dare approach him at that moment.

  “Come in, Isla.”

  The door creaked open and she stepped inside before closing it softly behind her. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nay.”

  “I’m sorry, Phelan. I truly am.”

  Emotion he’d been holding back choked him. He nodded, but didn’t try and speak.

  Isla stood beside him and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Aisley looks beautiful.”

  Phelan rose and walked to Aisley. “The pyre is ready, is it no’?”

  “Yes. It doesn’t have to be done now. We can wait.”

  “She deserves to be set free.”

  Phelan was surprised when Isla laid a small handful of wildflowers beneath Aisley’s hands, which were clasped over her stomach. He lifted his eyes to Isla and found her crying silent tears.

  “I forgive you for your part in what happened to me,” he said. At her surprised expression he jerked his chin to Aisley. “She told me to let go of the past. She was right. I sho
uld’ve done it long ago.”

  Phelan carefully lifted Aisley one last time. He was tempted to do as Isla suggested and wait, but he knew it was wrong. He would be staring at a body, not the soul that had once been housed within it.

  Phelan followed Isla through the forest to a spot near a small stream. On either side of the path were Warriors and Druids from the castle. And to his surprise, he spotted Rhys, Constantine, Banan and Jane, and Guy and Elena.

  The pyre was built up over the ground so that Phelan had to take two steps so he could place Aisley’s body on top. He smoothed out her gown and hair and placed one last kiss on her lips.

  “Be free,” he whispered.

  When Phelan turned around, Charon was waiting at the bottom of the steps with a torch. Phelan took it as he walked down. Before he changed his mind, Phelan thrust the torch into the bottom of the pyre and walked back to the group.

  The hardest thing he ever did was watch the fire grow, the flames getting closer and closer to his beloved Aisley.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-THREE

  Aisley felt the warm sun on her face, the light flickering even behind her closed eyelids. She opened her eyes expecting to find herself in Hell with Satan waiting with a smile to begin her torture.

  Instead, she was in a forest.

  She looked down to a dress of gauzy black and bare feet, but the pine needles weren’t hurting her. Aisley was growing more confused by the second.

  Off to her right, a stag came bounding through the trees before he slowed to a trot and then stopped. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. The animal proceeded hesitantly before he halted again and lowered his head. When he lifted it, water dripped from his muzzle.

  Aisley started toward the stag, amazed when the animal looked at her but didn’t run away. He seemed not to mind her presence.

  The loch came into view with the sunlight glinting off the water that was smooth as glass. She smiled and stopped beside the stag.

  “It’s so beautiful.”

  The animal went back to drinking. Aisley grew bold and skimmed her hand along the stag’s back. His dark red fur was soft and bristly. With one jerk of his head he could gorge her with his antlers. Yet, she wasn’t scared.

  Not about the animal, the fact she was somewhere she didn’t know, or that she was shoeless. Why was she shoeless? And why had she expected to be in Hell?

  Then she remembered.

  “I died.”

  Her contentment burst as she thought of Phelan. All her memories of the battle returned. She recalled how gently he’d held her, how wonderful it had been to see his amazing blue-gray eyes looking at her.

  It was a memory she would never let go of. Whether she was in Hell or Purgatory, she would hold onto that last memory of Phelan with all she had.

  Aisley lifted her gaze and looked across the loch. Her body jerked as she caught sight of the cabin. Phelan’s cabin.

  “It can’t be.”

  The stag blew out a breath before he turned and walked away. Aisley didn’t follow. She stayed rooted to the spot looking at the cabin and the splash of color from the flowers Phelan had planted.

  After awhile she sat, her knees huddled against her chest with her arms wrapped around her legs. She couldn’t figure out why she was there.

  It had been the last place she had been happy. Maybe that’s why. Or it could be some trick of the Devil’s. She wanted to swim across the loch, but what awaited her in the dark depths of the water?

  For two days she sat there staring, the sun rising and setting without anything bothering her. She didn’t get thirsty or need any kind of nourishment.

  When the sky burned a brilliant red and orange from the setting sun on the second day, Aisley stood and walked into the water. Whatever happened to her, she had to try and make it to the cabin.

  She dove beneath the water and swam as fast as she could across the expanse. Not once did her muscles tire. All the while she waited for something to grab her feet and yank her down. But nothing did.

  Her feet touched ground on the opposite side of the loch and she walked out of the water. Aisley reached back to wring out her hair only to find it dry. Her clothes were dry as well.

  “Well, I am dead,” she said to herself.

  Her gaze came to rest on the cabin, and she forgot all about her dry clothes and hair. Flashes of her time while at the cottage assaulted her.

  The first time Phelan had brought her to his home, the first time she saw him gardening, the first time they’d made love. The first time she realized she loved him.

  She didn’t try and stop the tears. She cried for what had been, and what she had lost. She cried for her mistakes, and the one thing she’d done right, which was Phelan.

  But most of all she cried because she would never know his touch again.

  “Is this my torture?” she screamed.

  If it was, Satan couldn’t have gotten anything that would hurt her more.

  Aisley angrily wiped away her tears and stalked to the cabin. She took the stairs and threw open the door. But she couldn’t make herself go inside.

  It was hard enough standing in front of the cabin. By going inside, she would relive those few glorious days she and Phelan had had as if they’d been the only two people on the face of the earth.

  Darkness grew with the last light of the sun falling behind the mountains. Aisley sniffed and lifted one foot. After a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold.

  She closed the door behind her and made her way to Phelan’s bedroom. Everything was as neat and tidy as the first time she saw the cabin. She smiled wryly at the times she’d seen him pick up her stuff to pile it together.

  Neatness had never been something Aisley managed to obtain. Usually people got angry with her. But not Phelan. He never said a word no matter how many times he tripped over her shoes.

  She walked into his bedroom and crawled onto the bed. Aisley lay on her side looking out the large window that faced the loch.

  Her time might have been short at the cabin, but the memories had been the best. The mornings waking up to see the magnificent view of the loch and mountains with Phelan’s arms around her.

  The evenings when they had made love and fell asleep listening to the sounds of the forest.

  Aisley closed her eyes and knew nothing could make her leave the cabin now.

  * * *

  The flames were licking at Aisley’s feet. Phelan wasn’t sure he could stay and see her body burn. But he couldn’t leave her either.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to need him. Which was absurd because she was dead. Lifeless.

  Gone.

  Phelan wanted to bellow his anger at the unfairness of it all. Scream at himself for not giving her a chance. How was he going to get through eternity after losing her?

  More than that, how could he live with himself for what he’d done to her? He’d turned his back on her and given Wallace the chance to hurt her. After Phelan had sworn to keep her safe.

  “This isna your fault,” Charon said.

  Phelan fisted his hands that hung limply at his sides. “Ah, but it is. I gave her my word, and then broke it.”

  “She didna tell you who she was.”

  “I knew her, Charon. I had spent days with her. I should’ve at least given her the courtesy of listening to what she had to say. It was my blind hatred of droughs and being betrayed that prevented it.”

  Charon sighed and shook his head. “It’s always easy to look back at something and think what you could’ve done or said differently. But that isna how life works. We are faced with something, and we react.”

  “As much as I hate droughs, why is it I’d do anything to have her back?”

  “Because you love her.”

  Phelan clenched his jaw as emotion swelled through him. “Aye. I love her. And I’ve lost her.”

  “Take your vengeance on Wallace,” Charon said. “Make him pay.”

  “I intend to,” Phelan promis
ed, fury dripping from his words.

  His chest ached and it grew difficult to breathe as the flames reached Aisley. He could barely see her now. Soon the only thing that would be left were her ashes.

  * * *

  Aisley woke to the sounds of whispering, of a multitude of voices, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying since they were talking over each other.

  They began to fade, and she quickly rose from the bed and rushed out the back of the cabin to follow them. They led her into the woods.

  Then they began to move faster until Aisley was running to try to keep up with them. She effortlessly jumped over fallen trees and gullies.

  With the sunlight filtering through the trees, the birds singing, and the trees swaying in the wind, it felt as if Aisley was in a magical forest.

  With her long gown gathered in her hands to help her move easily, Aisley found herself smiling the deeper into the forest she went.

  She began to hum as she ran after the voices. It took her awhile to notice her humming matched that of a distant sound of drums. She stopped in her tracks, her heart pounding, because she knew those drums. They were from the ancients who had spoken to her the last time she was in the forest.

  The same ancients that had helped her find the spell to contain the selmyr.

  “Aisley!”

  She jumped at the sound of her name from the voices. Suddenly, they surrounded her. They began to all talk at once again, growing louder and louder until she had to cover her ears.

  A hand softly touched her shoulder. Aisley jerked her head around to find a woman of incandescent beauty standing before her. She had thick black hair and fawn-colored eyes. Aisley would’ve sworn she was looking in a mirror if it wasn’t for the fact the woman’s skin was several shades lighter than her own.

  “Hello, Aisley,” the woman said.

  Aisley’s hands dropped from her ears. “Who are you?”

  “A very distant relative. I’m the one who trapped the selmyr the first time. You were amazingly brave to face them.”

  “You.” Aisley paused and swallowed as she tried to wrap her head around what she was seeing and hearing. “How do you know what I did?”

  The woman smiled. “We’ve been watching you. We always watch the Druids, mie and drough alike.”