“Can you read them?”
“It’s been a long time. I’m really rusty,” she lied. The less she pretended to know about this sacred document, the safer Angus would remain. With Taran and Brigid sworn to uphold Drandar’s dark ways, that left Isolde to fulfill the next ritual, to deal her sire the next destructive blow. Which meant, no matter how she longed to deny it, these churning feelings inside her were destined to morph into love.
If they hadn’t manifested already.
She let out a shaky breath. “My brother Fintan can, though.” And the family home in Scotland was the safest place to take this vessel of might. Fintan’s coven had already witnessed Drandar’s power. They would willingly offer their collective energies to help keep this scroll safe until Taran and Brigid could be dealt with.
Hesitantly, Isolde allowed her gaze to meet Angus’s curious green stare. “Would you let me take it to him?”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I bet if you tried hard enough, you could remember the language.”
Great. Leave it to Angus to challenge her. If he only knew what he was asking, he wouldn’t be so persistent. Nevertheless, his offer left her time to confront the writings alone. Time to digest what this ritual demanded before she spoke with Fintan. Maybe by then he’d have an answer to her suspicion about the Shaws, for this scroll appearing to Angus only doubled Isolde’s feeling that the Shaws somehow connected to the Selgovae.
“I-I’ll give it a try. I don’t know how long it will take.”
Angus’s hand fell on Isolde’s knee. Strong fingers squeezed, sending ripples of pleasure all the way up her thigh. She resisted the urge to squirm as heat infused her womb. “I have faith in you. I’ve suspected for a while, the way you know all these minute facts about the ancient people…” He paused, his gaze probing hers. “You’re pagan, aren’t you?”
Isolde’s words lodged in her throat. Now what? If she confessed, would he forbid her to spend even more time with Thomas?
****
The color that stained Isolde’s cheeks told Angus his answer. It also confided she didn’t care to broadcast her faith. He gave her knee another affectionate squeeze. “There’s nothing wrong with nontraditional beliefs. It’s the heart that matters.” And Isolde had heart aplenty.
Slowly, she nodded. “What gave it away?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s rather obvious if you stop and pay attention. I’m not dumb, Isolde.” Giving in to a sudden playful urge, he nudged her shoulder. “I might be a little dense sometimes.”
The smile that lit her face then made poking fun at himself worth it.
Her laugh made it impossible to think of anything but dragging her into his arms and drowning in her honeyed kiss.
“Oh? You admit you have faults?”
“A great number of them.” Drawn to her beyond rationalization, he nudged her long hair away from her shoulder and dropped his lips to the side of her neck. “Shall we start with greeting you good morning like a cad, when all I wanted to say was, I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night?”
Her shiver vibrated into him.
“Angus, I—”
“Are amazing, I agree.” He trailed his mouth to the tender spot beneath her ear, not unaffected by her sharp intake of air. “I want to spend time with you, Isolde. Ease Thomas into this, whatever it is.” Teasing her as much as he taunted himself, he flicked his tongue against her earlobe. “We’re going to Thornborough Henge tomorrow for the Beltane celebration. Come with us.”
“To…Thornborough?”
“Mm-hm.” As he grazed his teeth against the thick vein alongside her neck, she turned her head a fraction. Her lips parted. Her irregular breathing joined his.
Angus inched his way closer to those heavenly lips, no longer certain of his own actions. He was playing with fire. Only he couldn’t be certain he wouldn’t be the one to burn in the end.
Isolde’s chin dipped. “It’s not…a good…idea…”
Aw, bloody hell.
Angus closed his eyes on a soft groan and cupped her chin in his hand. Turning her head, he captured her mouth. Satisfaction thrummed through him at the clasp of silken flesh. The way she opened him up no matter how he tried to stay closed, the way the slide of her tongue sent sparks of desire sizzling through him like never before—he could die a happy man with Isolde in his arms.
But he drew the kiss to a close before the pressure in his groin became impossible to ignore. He brushed his cheek against hers. “Why isn’t it a good idea?”
“It’s just not,” she murmured.
“Because of last night?”
She twisted into his arms, one hand braced on his shoulder as her lips fluttered against the corner of his mouth. “Something like that. Kiss me again, Angus.”
Nothing could have made him turn away from her whispered request. He turned his head, but she was already there, her lips playing against his, the nip of her teeth demanding all he had to give.
Angus dropped his hand to her narrow waist, his fingers gripping tight as he fought what his body demanded but his head refused to accept. He needed this woman in his life, more than he’d ever realized could be possible. And yet, the fear of an unknown future, the heartache that had broken him wouldn’t let him go. Embrace her. Run from her.
She swayed into his body, and her breasts brushed his chest. A shockwave of pleasure coursed through his veins. In an instant, he returned to the night before. Isolde guiding his body into hers, her soft mewls of pleasure filling his ears…
The door creaked, and Isolde jumped. Angus drew back, equally as startled. Surprise, however, turned to momentary panic as he sighted Thomas in the doorway, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth formed into a tiny O.
Damn! Not what he wanted. Now he’d have to explain…something. What, he wasn’t quite sure. He’d done everything he could to keep the earlier women away from Thomas. The last thing he wanted was his son asking questions about Isolde that Angus couldn’t answer.
Thomas’s gaze darted to Isolde. “Are you going to Thornborough with us, then?”
Color once again filled her cheeks. “I-ah—”
Angus swore inwardly. Damn him for listening at the door. “Thomas, you shouldn’t eavesdrop.”
To his absolute consternation, Thomas rushed into the room and grabbed Isolde by the hand. His grin was bright enough to light a cave several hundred leagues under the sea. “Say yes, Isolde. We could have a handfasting, you and me!”
Isolde chuckled, but the glance she shot Angus conveyed displeasure. He rushed to intervene. “Thomas, go along now. If Isolde wants to join us, we’ll leave it up to her. We’ve both asked. Let’s not push.”
The immediate disappointment that downturned Thomas’s elated expression stabbed regret through Angus. He let out a heavy sigh and pushed a hand through his hair. It seemed no matter what he tried, he was crushing someone today.
Before he could work out a response that would ease his son’s dismay and make Isolde feel more comfortable, Isolde stood. She gave Thomas’s shoulder a squeeze. “All right, young man, I’ll go.” The tight lines around her mouth smoothed with a warm smile. “For you.”
She looked to Angus as she took a step toward the door. “I’m going to look over this scroll, and then I’m going to see these tadpoles.”
Damn it. Over his dead body would Thomas go near that river. But as soon as his protest rose, it lodged on the tip of his tongue. Isolde had already disappeared into the hall.
Chapter Eleven
Angus beckoned for Thomas to sit beside him. Before his son got the notion Angus had approved of Isolde’s foray to the river, he needed to make sure Thomas understood it had not.
Thomas plopped onto the mattress enthusiastically. “Father, I saw you kissing Isolde! Does this mean she won’t leave Hatherly this time?”
Good Lord—could a situation become more awkward? Angus pursed his lips as he considered how to answer without revealing he didn’t k
now whether he wanted Isolde to stay this time. It was tempting. But damn…
He backtracked in double-time to a safer subject. “Thomas, it’s rude to eavesdrop.”
“I was just walking past your door, Father. I didn’t listen long.”
Long enough to witness things Angus couldn’t explain. He groaned inwardly and shook his head. “It’s still rude, son.”
“Isolde didn’t mind.” He grinned mischievously. “Do you think she’ll go? Do you think she’ll handfast with me?”
At that, Angus laughed. “No, son, I don’t know if she’ll go. But if she does, I wouldn’t get your hopes up about a handfasting. Those are promises taken very seriously and made between adults.”
“Then maybe she’ll do so with you. If she did, she’d never leave. You should ask her.”
Damnation! His own son was pushing him to acknowledge things in his heart he didn’t want to consider. How had he failed to recognize Thomas cared so much for Isolde?
Regardless, he couldn’t continue this conversation. Better to cut it off than let it go too far and truly disappoint Thomas if Isolde chose to leave after all. “Son, I want to talk to you for a minute.”
“What about?”
“The river.”
A harassed sigh issued from Thomas’s lungs, and he rolled his eyes. “Father, I can swim. I’m just wading up to my ankles.”
Angus didn’t want to upset his son any more than necessary, but he’d been battling the issue with the river for too long. Every time he turned around, Thomas was sneaking off to visit the tadpoles, to feed breadcrumbs to the passing fish, to wade in the clear water. It was time for him to truly understand the risk.
“Your mother died there, Thomas. She slipped on the moss and hit her head. She could swim even better than I. It isn’t about swimming. The river isn’t safe.”
Thomas mumbled something beneath his breath that drew Angus’s attention. He cocked his head. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” he answered shortly.
“No, you said something.” He could have sworn on his entire ancestral line his son had just muttered, She didn’t slip.
“None of your business. You’re mean and unfair. You don’t worry about Isolde or Nadine going to the river. Or Philippe, when he wants to fish. I’m the only one!”
Angus threw his hands in the air. “Because you’re my son. They aren’t.” He bent forward and braced his hands on the mattress, bringing his gaze level with Thomas’s. “Now, I’ve told you not to go to the river. I expect you to abide by my decisions. I’m your father, Thomas. I know what’s best more often than you think.”
Thomas shot to his feet, his head a breath away from smacking into Angus’s nose. “No you don’t! You always say so, but you don’t! You think Aysgarth is good for me, and it’s not. I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you and Isolde.”
Jaw clenched, Angus straightened. He counted to ten, reminding himself Thomas was a child and as such was entitled to childish outbursts that lacked logic. “You’re going to Aysgarth. We’ve discussed this already. Now I don’t want to hear any more of these tantrums, Thomas. The subject is closed.”
“You don’t know what’s best, you don’t!” Thomas ran for the door as his voice cracked with threatening tears. “At least Isolde can keep me safe. She’s not afraid of everything like you are!”
Angus stared, shocked to the core as his son whirled on a heel and ran into the hall, tears coursing down his cheeks and sobbing in great hiccupping gulps.
****
Isolde sat near the grove of willows alongside the river, her mother’s ritual in her lap, her cell phone in her trembling hand. With a deep breath, she hit SEND and lifted the phone to her ear.
Fintan answered on the second ring. “I was just about to call you.”
“Oh?” Her spirits brightened. If he’d discovered no tie to Hatherly, then the words that stared her in the face didn’t hold as great a meaning.
“Goraidh the Scarred—remember him?”
Isolde’s stomach pitched sideways. She shook her head, unable to form the pictures of her youth. Though Fintan was only two years older than she, and they’d both been young when they fled the Selgovae lands, those two years held more memories than her centuries of existence. “No,” she murmured.
“He fled with us, only he didn’t stay in the Brigantes lands. He left the Selgovae entirely. He was last known as part of the Coritavi.”
The tribe that had inhabited the very land she sat on. Her fingers fell to the grass, curling into the lush blades and drawing strength from the ground itself.
“I’m still looking for the link to the Shaws. I have our tribal members’ history recorded, but I need to research the Shaw genealogy.”
“But chances are, there’s a link,” she muttered.
“Maybe. Shaw is a common name. This isn’t going to be easy. Can you get me birthdates of the immediate family?”
“Probably. I have a bigger problem though, Fintan.” Her gaze strayed back to the parchment, and she smoothed a crinkled corner. “I have the sixth scroll.”
A heavy moment of silence passed before Fintan hesitantly asked, “And?”
“And what?” Wasn’t that enough?
“Are you…you know…”
“In love with him?” She sighed as she dropped her head back against the tree trunk. “Probably. The darkness is stronger. But it’s never affected me like the rest of you.”
“Probably?” Fintan chuckled. “Either you are or you aren’t. This is one of those black and white issues, sis.”
“All right. Yes. I am. But it doesn’t matter. I can’t do this ritual.” And the words she held in her hand only confirmed that fact.
Her brother’s voice held confusion as he asked, “Why not?”
“If I’m mortal, we lose all our advantage against Drandar. Brigid and Taran will never join us. I’m the only one who can keep the rest of you safe.”
Another pregnant pause drifted through the line. Isolde stared at the writing, hearing the words within her mind. “There’s more. Listen to this.”
“I’m listening.”
She turned to the last page and cleared her throat. “Through the union of two tormented hearts, a sacrificed soul will see one flourish and one languish. Hasten to the henge before the fires light, for in flames, the shadows burn with life. With the truths unveiled, death shall be avenged. Should ignorance reign, innocence shall suffer.”
“Blessed ancestors, Isolde, that scroll was written for you.”
A chill drifted down her spine. She’d had the same thought. The others had been more generic, able to be performed by any sibling that stumbled onto the scroll. This however, earmarked her situation. Particularly with the reference to the henge.
Worse, it said specifically, she would languish. It might not name her precisely, but if she united with Angus, he wouldn’t be the one suffering. Which meant she’d return as a weak mortal. Her mother had assured that outcome when she passed her strength to Isolde.
“I can’t do this, Fintan. Too much depends on me. We haven’t come this far to lose the battle now.” Not to mention how in the world would she convince Angus into a union. A union named specifically as a handfasting prior to the paragraph she’d just recited.
“Isolde, you have to trust yourself. Our mother sent this to you. The knowledge of the power within it exists in your soul. Far more than anyone else’s. I have some of that might, but not nearly what she gave you.” He added more quietly, “I can’t help you.”
No, he couldn’t. Not beyond discovering the link to the Shaws. He couldn’t advise, he couldn’t make this decision for her. Trick Angus into a handfasting, trust Nyamah knew this would somehow work to their advantage, or do what her gut said she must and keep her immortality to protect her family.
“Isolde!”
Thomas’s sharp call brought Isolde’s back off the tree. “I’ve got to go, Fintan. I’ll see what I can find out about those birth date
s.” She hung up and pocketed her phone as Thomas entered the grove.
“Thomas, what are you doing out here?” she asked with forced cheer. Carefully, she returned the parchment to the canister and tied it to her belt loop. When she looked at Thomas, however, the sunlight glinted off his tear-stained cheeks. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
He shook his head as he stubbed a toe into the dirt. “Nothing. I don’t want to go to Aysgarth.”
Oh. Her heart twisted for his circumstance. If Angus would only open his eyes and see, really see, his son, he’d realize he was making a huge mistake.
She grabbed Thomas’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “Well, now that you’re here, why don’t you show me these tadpoles?”
With a sniffle, he smeared his sleeve across his nose and tugged on her hand. Isolde rose to follow him to the river’s edge.
Chapter Twelve
Angus pushed away from his desk with a frustrated mutter and pinched the bridge of his nose to tame a budding headache. Two hours of reviewing complicated legal jargon could drive even a man who’d built himself in real estate insane. Especially when it included a dozen paragraphs or more about how each little trinket in the cupboards would be carefully maintained and preserved. He didn’t give a damn if they kept them in temperature regulated environments or if they scattered them all over the floor like marbles. Anything to be done with this never-ending process.
Add in the argument with Thomas, the situation with Isolde, and Angus could have easily made quick work of the decanter of aged brandy on the end table across the room.
Speaking of Thomas…
Angus frowned as he lowered his hand away from his face and listened to the voices in the hall. This time of day his son usually made it habit to trail after Nadine while she conducted tours. But Thomas’s voice didn’t resonate among the crowd that passed beyond Angus’s cracked-open door.
Nor did Isolde’s. Although that shouldn’t surprise him. If she wasn’t still studying that old Celt document, she’d probably ventured into the cellar to hold up her end of their bargain.
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