Her heart stilled each time Isolde met Angus’s gaze. The questions there faded, replaced now by tender affection that she longed to bask in for eternity. Love she might well lose with the final binding words.
For Thomas. Be strong for him.
She chanted the liturgy in between appropriate responses, using it to push herself past the fear, past the tearing of her spirit as her darker half combated destruction.
The woman set her hand atop both Angus’s and Isolde’s once more. “Repeat together, after me.”
Isolde closed her eyes once more, embracing the finality that awaited the closure of the ritual. The effort of standing required all her strength. Forming words seemed a feat more difficult than climbing ice-capped mountains. Sheer force of will allowed her to push the syllables from the depths of her soul. “Heart to thee, soul to thee, body to thee, forever and always, my promise shall eternal be.”
Dizziness swamped her. The rush of blood filled her ears as her heart slowed, then faltered. Through a thousand planes of existence, Angus’s voice met her ears. “Isolde, are you all right?”
Before she could moisten her throat and attempt to speak, lightning split the sky. With deafening thunder, the dark force coalesced. Screams broke out. Terror blended with the sudden, violent shift in energy.
Isolde fought through the haze of death and shook one hand free from the braided ropes that joined her to Angus. She grabbed for Thomas’s hand. But he scampered away, just beyond her reach.
Her sire coalesced behind him with a blood-curdling snarl.
“Stand still, Thomas!” Isolde cried. The effort of yelling pulled the last of the strength from her body. She sank to her knees and defiantly stared her sire in the eyes. “He cannot hurt you, Thomas…” Where the bindings caught her opposite wrist and pulled tight, pain streaked up her arm. Then it was gone. Erased by absolute nothingness. “I have given my soul to protect you.”
As the last of her whisper tore free, darkness claimed her.
****
“Isolde!” The thunderous cry bust from the depths of Angus’s being.
There was no time for fear. No room for the terror that had gripped him since the first day he felt the vile presence that now loomed behind his son. And his fatherly protectiveness overrode the anguish that tore at his heart. He lunged across Isolde’s unmoving form and jerked Thomas behind him, placing himself between those he loved the most and the horrific man-creature whose face twisted with unspent rage.
People raced around him, fleeing the grove, the very henge, their screams a chorus that echoed in the night. With them went the priest who had begun the ritual that Angus now understood held far more meaning than the promise he sought to make. The priestess, however, remained. From the corner of his vision, he observed the way she knelt beside Isolde.
The being in front of Angus, lunged. Vicious claws struck out at his chest. He braced for imminent pain.
When it didn’t come, when the man drew back as if Angus had scalded him, Angus’s eyes widened in shock. Tugging on his pants leg filtered into his awareness.
“Father, look,” Thomas whispered with strange calmness.
The man drew back, inching toward the trees. Angus took a step forward, intending to pursue the being to the depths of hell if he must. But a sharp feminine voice drew him to a halt.
“Angus, it is not your battle.”
Dumbfounded, overwhelmed, and at the end of his ability to comprehend what had just occurred, he turned toward the sound. Standing beside Isolde’s shoulder, a luminescent figure cast light over the priestess and Thomas, who had moved closer to the pair.
“Thomas get back here.”
“I am Nyamah, High Priestess to the Selgovae Celt people. Thomas is safe with me,” the figure continued. As her words lost the otherworldly dissonance, her features became more clear, morphing into a woman that could have passed for Isolde’s identical twin.
For a moment, Angus doubted his sanity. If it weren’t for the fact the apparition bore a manner of dress that stemmed from a far earlier time, he’d have sworn he stared at Isolde’s ghost.
He shook his head, desperate for a glimpse of normalcy.
“Your son was marked through his mother’s blood,” she continued. “Blood that descends from my people. From Isolde, my daughter. He is gifted in ways you cannot imagine. And the demon who took your wife sought him. Isolde has given her life to protect Thomas.”
Every horrific nightmare Angus had envisioned took life with the woman’s words. Reality jabbed a stake into his gut. If he had paid attention to the suspicion Camille’s death was unnatural. If he had convinced the right people to look closer…
“You cannot change the course of things, Angus. Do not berate yourself. Isolde did as it was foretold she would.”
Anguished tears rose to burn his eyes as he looked from his son to the woman he had fought to love, only to lose her when he had believed he could overcome the very fear of just that. Given her life for Thomas—God above, he didn’t know what to do with the magnanimity of that truth. He wanted her back. Needed her here, if for no other reason than to show her the depth of his gratitude.
“I must keep this short. You have suffered much in your life, Angus.” Nyamah moved closer and set an ethereal hand on his shoulder. More quietly she added, “Isolde had to die. She could not carry my full power with a divided soul. But take heart, for unlike your Camille, she will live again. There has never been a question that she would.”
Live again? Angus opened his mouth to ask her meaning. The fierce grip of her fingers, however, silenced his questions.
“There isn’t time to explain. The authorities are coming as we speak. Take her from here. Take Thomas, and the young woman who bound you will help me mitigate the aftermath. But you must make a choice, Angus.”
Silver eyes that mirrored the mesmerizing hue of Isolde’s bore into him. He nodded, unwilling to hear the rest, unable to remain ignorant of what loomed ahead.
“Search your soul. Decide whether you will walk away from her or turn from fear and embrace the vows of marriage you spoke tonight.”
His eyebrows shot to his hairline with surprise.
The woman let out a musical laugh. “Indeed it is true. That was no mere promise you made, but a confession from your heart.”
Sirens wailed in the distance.
“Go,” Nyamah insisted. “Go now.”
As she faded into the dark of night, Angus met the young priestess’s knowing gaze. A sympathetic smile turned up the corners of her mouth. She stepped away from Isolde, bowing her head in reverence. “Her pulse beats once more.”
Angus swallowed hard. Impossible. And yet…
“Father!” Thomas shouted in a whisper. “Hurry!”
His son’s urgency broke past the haze of incomprehension, and Angus scooped Isolde into his arms.
Chapter Eighteen
Isolde opened her eyes to the light of the moon streaming through her bedroom window at Hatherly. She lay still, taking slow inventory of the new sensations brimming through her body. For the first time in centuries, her soul was at peace. No more conflict between the divided halves. No more underlying torment of how fulfilling it might be to follow her sire’s vile path.
Instead, power infused her veins. Strength that doubled what she had known only hours ago. And with that ancient might came the inherent knowledge of the ancestors she’d stood before, as they praised her for her devotion to their ways. She knew truths she had never heard, rites she had never learned, and wisdom that defied even her centuries of age.
A wistful smile curved her lips. She’d gained her mother’s power, but at what cost? Thomas was safe. But Angus…had she lost him?
He wasn’t here with her, waiting for her to awaken, though he had clearly brought her home. Had he taken Thomas away? She couldn’t fault him for doing so if he had. What he must have gone through when Drandar appeared in the henge—all he wanted was to keep Thomas safe. More than likely, he assume
d she brought the threat. That she was somehow responsible for Drandar’s dark designs on Angus’s son. Like Angus always did when he couldn’t control the fear and bend it into submission, had he run despite his promise not to?
Sighing against a wash of sorrow, she eased into a sitting position. Wishful thinking would get her nowhere. He wasn’t here. He wouldn’t be coming. She knew him too well. The best thing she could do was leave and accept the fact she’d been brought back to mortality to live with a broken heart.
Doomed to torment—her path had been written as such.
As tears threatened, Isolde scanned the room, replaying the stolen moments she’d spent in Angus’s arms. Kissing him in the moonlight. Making sweet love in this very bed. Standing at the bedpost as she told him for the first time she loved him.
Her gaze skidded to a stop in the corner behind the door, along with her heart. Angus sat in the shadowed chair, elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands. Watching her.
Oh, sacred ancestors he’d stayed. Behind her ribs, her heart grew wings and soared. “Angus,” she exhaled.
His quiet voice brought indescribable comfort. “You aren’t…normal…are you?”
Not exactly the greeting she’d hoped for. Just like that, the surge of elation ebbed. She answered with a slow shake of her head. “No. Well… I am now. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” Even the near darkness couldn’t hide the lift of one eyebrow.
How in the name of creation was she supposed to explain over two thousand years of existence? At least in any fashion that wouldn’t scare him away or convince him he’d be better off without her. In truth…he probably was.
“You saw the incubus?”
He answered with a nod.
“He’s my sire. I was born in the year 192.” She paused for a moment then added, “B.C.”
A moment of silence passed as Isolde waited for his reaction. When he merely continued to stare, she delved into the damning secrets of her family. “My mother—Nyamah—was the last priestess of the Selgovae Celt tribe. Drandar seduced her for the power she would pass to her children. He sought dominion over my people, and he sacrificed the sons and daughters she bore him, claiming their abilities for his own.”
The scant shadows deepened the frown that creased Angus’s brow. “But you are…alive.”
“My mother bore him sixteen children. Eight of us survived after she hid us away and presented him with false heirs. She was too strong for him to control. When she realized what she had become trapped in, she devoted herself to his destruction.” Isolde took a shaky breath, amazed Angus hadn’t already bolted from the room, and pushed her long hair over her shoulders. “She wrote the means in a spellbook, and for her betrayal, paid the price with her own life. Her spirit roams, guiding those of us who stand against Drandar. She cannot be at peace until each of the eight rites are completed and Drandar is eradicated.”
“I met your mother,” he murmured.
Isolde smiled. It didn’t surprise her—Nyamah wouldn’t have left Thomas and Angus to sort through things entirely alone. That Angus accepted what she spoke now and hadn’t bolted from the room, only added proof.
“She explained what you did. Isolde…I…” He closed his eyes, bowed his head. “I don’t have words.”
“Is Thomas all right?”
“He’s sleeping.” Angus lifted his head to meet her gaze. “Peacefully.”
Thank the sacred ancestors. A small part of her had feared the incident at Thornborough would push him deeper into fear.
“Your mother said Thomas was now safe.”
“Yes. He recognized Camille as a descendant of my people, and saw Thomas as a means of obtaining power. He wanted Thomas, Angus. He killed Camille to get to him. He chased him in dreams. But he can’t touch him now.”
She watched, spellbound, as Angus rose to his feet and slowly crossed the room to sit on the edge of her bed. He caught her hand, lifted her knuckles to his lips. “He loves you, you know.” His warm breath washed across her skin as he kissed her hand again. “As do I, Isolde McLaine. Is this is over now?”
Dread rolled around in her belly. No, it was far from over. Thomas might be safe, Angus likely as well. But her own journey had just begun. She was the only one in the family who could fend off Drandar. The only one capable of overpowering Taran.
“No,” she whispered.
“No?” He lowered her hand to his thigh and covered it with his opposite palm. “What happens next?” What he didn’t ask burned behind his green eyes: What happens with us?
She didn’t have the answers. Not any he’d want to hear. And yet, she couldn’t keep the truth from him. To do so would be unfair and would thrust the two people who meant the most to her into uncertain circumstances.
Unwilling to witness his inevitable rejection, she turned her head to stare out the window. “There are two scrolls left to be found. And two of my siblings who are as dark as my sire. Drandar will return, and I’m the only one who can stand against him. I will likely have to. If not him, then my sister and brother.”
“And then?”
Pain lanced through her with his quiet question. She’d give anything to be able to tell him they could have a life together. Yet she couldn’t make the promise when the risk was so great. Nor could she encourage him with anything but the bitter truth. In a voice that she had to strain to hear, she answered, “I may well die, Angus. I’m mortal now.”
Her heart drummed in her ears as she waited for Angus to extract his hand and slide from the bed. Tears threatened, pooling in her eyes, though she refused to blink and set them free.
To her surprise, a gentle hand cupped her chin and turned her face to his. His gaze bore beneath her skin, affection burning bright. “Then I suggest we make the most of every day we’re given.”
Isolde’s lungs cinched so tight, her breath caught. Against her will, the tears spilled, streaking hot down her cheeks.
A smile graced Angus’s handsome face. “I love you, Isolde. I’m not afraid.”
She searched his face, seeking the same confidence he had somehow discovered. Emotion clogged her throat. She swallowed it down, and whispered, “What if I’m the one who’s scared?”
He dropped his hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into a protective embrace. His other hand stroked her hair. “I won’t let you be.”
The firm vow broke her. A sob escaped her tightened throat, and she wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging tight, touched more profoundly by that simple conviction than any affectionate touch, any lingering caress they’d shared. “Oh, Angus,” she murmured as she tucked her cheek against his chest.
Leaning away, he nudged her out of his arms and lifted her chin with two fingers. His eyes held her watery gaze, speaking the words that soared in her heart but she couldn’t work through her throat. Promises that ran deeper than all the oceans combined.
Slowly, he dipped his head. His mouth feathered across hers, soft and tender, nudging her lips apart until the tip of his tongue touched hers. With the electrifying stroke, Isolde’s heart unraveled. Strength that even her mother’s ancient power couldn’t create bloomed. It poured from him, into her, and filled all the uncertain places that her mortal life created.
She kissed him in return, lost to all but the warmth of his body, the net of safety he cast, and the overwhelming emotion he alone could provoke. Mind, body and soul, she belonged to Angus.
As his body bent into hers, she eased into the downy cushion of pillows and heavy quilts, drawing him with her. His weight was comfortable, the slide of his hand across her ribs intoxicating. But as his palm covered her breast, he drew the kiss to a close and looked her in the eyes. A grin teased his sensual mouth. “I suppose there’s no need to ask you to marry me now.”
Isolde couldn’t stop a laugh from slipping free. She shook her head as heat filled her cheeks. “No. We already did that. In spirit at least.”
He dropped his head to the side of her neck. Sharp te
eth pricked the skin at the juncture of her shoulder. “Can we make it legal then? For Thomas’s sake? I promise not to sell Hatherly.”
Grinning, Isolde looped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Then for Thomas’s sake, I suppose we must.”
“Mm.” Angus’s hips pressed into hers, the hard ridge of his erection stroking her most sensitive spot. “We must. We absolutely must.”
As pleasure seeped into her bloodstream, Isolde closed her eyes and arched into his embrace. “I love you, Angus.”
His lips slid along the length of her neck on a slow, torturous path to her mouth. “I love you as well, Isolde. More than words can convey.”
His lips caught hers, his kiss ardent and demanding. The world slid away, carrying Isolde into a tide of ecstasy. He was hers. She was his. Thomas belonged to the both of them. Though Drandar would rise again, for now, she was content to follow Angus’s suggestion and make the most of each day they were given. To love him so completely, she would never know torment again.
A word about the author...
Claire Ashgrove has been writing since her early teens and maintained the hobby for twenty years before deciding to leap into the professional world. Her first contemporary novel, Seduction's Stakes, sold to The Wild Rose Press in 2008, where she continues to write steamy, sexy stories for the Champagne and Black Rose lines. Adding to these critically acclaimed romances, Claire’s paranormal romance series The Curse of the Templars debuted with Tor in January 2012. For those who prefer the more erotic side of romance, she also writes for Berkley Heat under the pen name Tori St. Claire.
Claire lives in Missouri with her two toddler sons, fifteen horses, five cats, and five dogs. In her “free” time, she enjoys cooking, winning at rummy, studying ancient civilizations, and spending quiet moments with her family, including the critters. She credits her success to her family's constant support and endless patience.
Doomed to Torment Page 11
