“Nathair sgiathach,” he whispered and instantly bowed his head, respectful and awed.
This is why Bradon’s hair had turned white, why McKayla’s had streaked. They had seen Torra as her true self. They’d suffered the magical repercussions of her immense power. Yet McKayla’s white streak was already returning to its normal color so he suspected his brother’s would as well.
Clenching away the tremble in his hands, he cupped Torra’s cheek. “I will protect you always, my sister. Please know that I will never again abandon you.” He put a hand over his heart. “You have my solemn promise.”
“And mine,” Bradon said as he entered the chamber.
“Aye, and mine as well, luv,” Ilisa said softly, not far behind.
Torra, silent as ever, looked up.
As if wind whistled through unseen cracks she started to release a long, low keen.
Colin met Bradon’s eyes. His brother nodded. Ready.
Calm, Seth and Ilisa stood next to one another, waiting, prepared.
They might very well be getting ready to live their last moments but none showed an ounce of fear. A new MacLomain era unfolded this eve.
Hands folded over his sisters, he said one last prayer to the gods.
For the time had finally come.
Chapter Fourteen
McKayla sat on the bed and debated her next move.
Leslie put the back of her hand against her forehead. “See, this is the thing about the medieval period. The food. No FDA to screen whether or not it’s healthy. What did you eat tonight? List everything.”
“No, I’m fine.” McKayla stood and walked over to the window. Sure as heck, a line of bobbing lights glimmered on the distant shoreline. “I think.”
Sheila joined her and frowned as she stared out. “Are those what I think they are?”
Leslie peered out as well. “They look like ships.”
“Enemy ships I’d guess.” McKayla swallowed and leaned against the eave. “A lot of them.”
“Do the MacLomains not have ships?” Leslie asked.
“I have no idea.” Worry brought her brows together and a nervous bit of humorless laughter escaped. “Can you believe I never thought to ask? And here I call myself a historical writer.”
“You’ve got a lot on your mind, sweetie. Don’t beat yourself up,” Sheila said.
“Listen to the wind and see the waves. They’re immense,” Leslie pointed out. “The enemy is foolish to come in by water. If the MacLomain’s have ships and they’re not using them, then they’re the smart ones.”
Now that’s the way she should be thinking right now. Logically. Not with her emotions. Because right now she was letting a heart near paralyzed with worry jumble her mind. What sort of chieftain’s wife would she truly make if she allowed such to continue to happen? “I never even asked how to use my magic or how to fight with a bloody weapon. I assumed all along he’d protect me.” McKayla frowned. “Ugh, I’ve been such a girl! In a frilly, damsel in distress sort of way.”
Leslie put a firm hand on her shoulder, voice stern. “Don’t you for a second blame yourself for not being better prepared. You’ve only been here for a few days.” Though she hesitated momentarily, her cousin decided to continue. “Colin has known long enough that a day like this would most assuredly come along. And it did. So this falls on him entirely. Not you. Once we get through this you’ll learn everything you need to know. We will too.”
Sheila nodded. “For once, I completely agree with Leslie. Colin knew. And though I remain in his corner, I’m not good with you taking any blame or responsibility for his lack of action when it comes to your knowledge of magic or weaponry.”
They weren’t just cousins but good friends, which brought her back to another concern…their inevitable involvement. An involvement that no matter the circumstances, she did take responsibility for. As such, it was time to stop whining and start showing a bit more gumption. Though she dreaded every step, Colin had told her how she could get them home and it was past time she do so.
Determined, she crossed to the trunk at the end of the bed and crouched. Large but not ornate it’d been here all along. An unassuming piece of furniture. What better place to hide a treasure?
“What are you doing?” Sheila asked and joined her.
“I was never sick at all. Colin told me the enemy had arrived. He urged me to come back here and open this trunk. In it I’d find an object that would get us home.”
Leslie came over as well, crouched beside her and put a hand over the trunk. When her eyes met McKayla’s she was surprised to see her cousin’s eyes glistening. “If you were the heroine in your book and the voice in your head, also known as Iosbail, said not to…what would you do?”
Gone was her steadfast agent, in her place was someone who truly cared. In truth, Iosbail always tended to sway her heroine to do the opposite of what she should. Mostly because there was always a greater outcome to be had when following the path less traveled. And what if Colin’s implication was true? What if Iosbail was an ancestral muse who inspired her through magic or as a ghost?
McKayla understood what Leslie implied. She glanced at Sheila. “Are you of the same mind?”
Sheila, who had crouched on the other side, met her eye. “What, that we don’t flee home but stay and help out our new friends? You bet your ass I’m of the same mind.”
Screeech. Thwap. Crash.
The castle rumbled and the floor trembled. Sheila fell back. McKayla pulled her to her feet and the girls leaned against the wall as another crash resounded overhead.
“What the hell?” Sheila said.
“Hell itself so it seems,” Malcolm said, walking into the room. With sure strides he walked over to the trunk and shook his head, casting them a frustrated glance. “McKayla, you must open this trunk now.”
Again, about the last person she expected to join them was Colin’s moody cousin. But moody might be putting it delicately right now. No, he was seething mad. Turbulent pale brown eyes met hers. “Now.”
“Dinnae do it!” Loch Nessa said from the doorway, eyes upset as she wrung her hands. “If you do, Colin will be lost.”
A heavy, disappointed frown ruined Malcolm’s face as his tortured gaze met his wife’s. “Go back to our chamber where ‘tis safe.”
“‘Tis safe nowhere,” she said vehemently. “And we both know it.”
“I know verra little,” Malcolm ground out and turned his gaze back to McKayla. “Do as your husband asked. I beg of you.”
Who to believe? Malcolm who clearly hated Colin…or his wife, who clearly loved the laird? It was impossible to know. Wind screamed. The window skins ripped away. Torch flame bent and spit, struggling to survive.
Her cousins gasped when black fog started to seep over the eaves.
“Now!” Malcolm yelled. Not willing to wait a moment longer he reached out to grab her while simultaneously opening the trunk. But when he did Sheila blocked her and instead was yanked forward.
“McKayla, Leslie, touch Sheila’s arm now,” screamed Seth as he rushed in from a hidden entrance with a girl in his arms.
Not hesitating, trusting him as one of their own, they did.
Both chill and warmth ran over her, and then a sharp bolt of what felt like static electricity. Not only hers but her cousin’s legs buckled and they fell. Frozen in place, she watched Malcolm tuck a small chunk of stone into her palm. It seemed movement was impossible. Malcolm, aware that this would happen, pulled free his blade and stood in front of them.
Swords began to clash just outside the door.
A fire roared to life on the hearth.
Terrified, McKayla met the eyes of the girl who hung limp in Seth’s arms. Torra. She wouldn’t allow her to get hurt. As hot as the fire, a burning started deep down inside, rising up through her core until bit by bit she was able to move.
Bradon and Ilisa were right behind Seth, weapons drawn as the black, oily fog started to ooze around the chamber. It smelled as t
hough a corpse rotted. As if she were a child being punished, Loch Nessa fell to her knees and crawled across the room, sobbing. “I tried to stop the chest from opening. I didnae know about it soon enough or it would have been destroyed somehow, master,” she whimpered. “I swear it.”
Who was she talking to?
Horrified, Malcolm ran to her.
This left them exposed. As if sensing weakness, the blackness ebbed and flowed their way. Not sure what else to do, she leaned in front of them and flung her arms back. There was no way it was getting them.
“Oh, I think the hell not,” Seth muttered.
Not losing his grip on Torra, he ran and swung fast, somehow managing to crouch with his back to the blackness, defending all four women. This put Colin’s sister eye to eye with McKayla. Caught in the glowing white gold orbs she heard a voice, Torra’s voice, enter her mind.
Tell Colin he never needed forgiving. He but fulfilled his destiny.
McKayla nodded before her attention was snagged away by the horror show unfolding. Pure havoc broke loose and war erupted in her chamber. Men formed of the greasy, enemy darkness. Inky warriors with jerk-like movements came with sword and ax and magic.
With a wild, berserker cry, Ilisa jumped up on the large bed and used one of the end posts to swing and kick. All the while she released three blades, each aimed true. Blood gushed. Nearby, Bradon sparred with one warrior while he threw a dagger that efficiently sunk into the forehead of another.
Meanwhile, William, Iain and Ferchar rushed in, all armed, all deadly.
While McKayla might have thought the chamber large upon first sight, now it seemed far too small. And as she learned fast enough, no battle should be had in closed quarters. Then again, it’d be gruesome anywhere. Warfare was a thousand times more petrifying when not on TV or in a book but executed in real life. Even despite the fact that this battle was a little different. Though blood sprayed, none fell. Made of black magic and supernatural limbs, the enemy warriors vanished as quickly as they’d appeared.
Bradon, furious, seemed to cut down even more than most, working his way to stand in front of Seth and the women. Malcolm now fought over his wife, a whining useless woman who pleaded to some unknown face.
Until, bit by bit that face formed.
Even Seth shuddered and grew more determined as warriors started to fade and one, all-consuming presence became more and more obvious.
Kilted, tall, with a long black cloak and hood, a man appeared.
Sound ceased.
The air smelled of burnt plastic and sulfur.
Black, throbbing fog wrapped around his legs and pulsed around his body as blacker than night eyes swept over the room. Any remaining enemy warriors bowed then faded away. Booted feet smoking on the now chilled stone floor, he took one step. In reaction, the dark fog sunk against the walls like saran wrap.
As if he had the power to control time, all started to move slowly.
Ilisa, still standing on the bed, slowly lifted her blade in his direction, blackened blood dripping from it. Bradon pulled free his ax, caught halfway in the otherworldly sluggishness. Iain, William, even Ferchar, struggled with various weapons, faces enraged.
Malcolm, determined, tried to cover his wife.
Where the hell was Colin?
“Shhh.” McKayla heard Torra from deep inside, her voice though distant was reassuring. “Time to find your calm center.”
Seth, face straining, looked back through jet black eyes. As slick and evil as the warlord standing in the center of the room save one difference…he still protected. Despite the darkness in him, Seth was good...or at least used his magic for such.
“Keir.”
Her eyes shot to the corner of the room when she heard the strange voice.
As if part of the wind raging in through the window, a man formed then dissipated then reformed. As tall as their dark enemy, the Scotsman shifted and fluctuated. His…its voice when it came was wispy, hoarse. “Da.”
Expression partly hidden behind the hood, Keir stared back. When he spoke it sounded like a blade being dragged over gravel. “Son?”
“Caught,” the form responded. Half of it flipped and caught in a burst of wind. Half of it was sunken in by blown rain. “In between.”
A ripple of fury made Keir’s cloak twist around his legs. “This cannae be.”
If all of this wasn’t horrific enough the same face that’d formed in the fire from her dream once more appeared.
Colin MacLeod.
Disgusted, his fiery voice whiplashed at his sister, Nessa. “All I needed was the MacLomain’s lass. Her capture would have led the laird straight to me and his sister would have pursued! All you had to do was keep the MacLomains away long enough so that I could lull her to me. ‘Twas simple really. I’d already entered her subconscious so she knew my name. But you turned and ran from Torra’s chamber when faced with a challenge.”
Loch Nessa had been there in her dream?
But as it turned out it had been no dream at all.
And now McKayla knew where she’d got the inspiration for her hero’s name. Colin MacLeod himself had somehow planted it there!
Nessa, shaking violently, looked from Colin MacLeod to her seething master.
“My laird, please forgive me. Give me another chance,” she cried as she looked up at Keir. Her words were long and stretched in the strange otherworldly place they all existed. After Nessa shook her head at the ghostly visage of Keir’s son her wild eyes turned to the fire. “Brother, I tried to help you but their magic was too strong!”
As if discovering an ant beneath his foot, Keir said, “You never gave anything you promised, lass.” As if two aircraft carriers crashed together, he lashed out and sent a bolt of pure blinding death from his hand. Malcolm tried to defend but it was too late. The dark laird’s wrath hit the floor, wrapped around Nessa and strangled her to death in a split second.
“Noooo!”
McKayla was surprised the sound came from behind. Sheila?
But as soon as she heard her cousin’s cry, all sound snapped shut again.
Then, boom. A terrible moment made of screams and death and vengeance raged around the chamber. Echoing, horrific, she watched, terrified, as he who had called himself Keir’s son rushed at the powerful warlock.
With a wide thrash, Keir shot out his hand and black lightning erupted.
As if materializing from thin air, the mysterious stranger formed into Colin. He flung his arms up in the air and started to chant.
“Ecce terra mea, et in arcem ex me tibi iniqua interdicunt. Nunc et usque in sæculum.”
Seth, teeth gritted, started to repeat the same words.
A voice, maybe Torra’s, entered her mind and said the words so that she would understand.
Here on my land, in my castle, I ban you from this ground. Now and forever.
Over and over, Colin and Seth chanted.
Then, through all the chaos, the ghostly form of a robed man with long white hair appeared. Just like in her dream! He said nothing but lashed out against the fiery form of Colin MacLeod. Soon caught in their own private war, the two struggled within twisting tunnels of fire and wind.
Meanwhile, her husband and Seth shot bullets of black and white lightning at Keir. Caught between a warlock and the magic his own son had taught another, the dark enemy began to struggle. But he was by no means ready to give up. Infuriated, he lashed out at Seth first.
When her friend took a direct hit, pain sliced across his face. His shield over them weakened and she felt a portion of what he’d felt when her muscles suddenly tightened. She could only compare the feeling to one big body-ridden Charlie horse. Inhaling sharply through her teeth, McKayla looked at her cousins as best she could. Blatant pain was apparent on their faces as well.
Though her eyes shone brighter and brighter, Torra seemed at peace.
Worried about Seth and her cousins, it took several long seconds to realize that Keir had swiftly turned his attack back t
o Colin. His fellow MacLomains, still caught in a time vortex, could do nothing but watch. Terribly enough, their laird was somehow trapped, ensnared and imprisoned magically by their adversary’s rage. With a crazed roar, Keir unleashed an even stronger bolt of energy at Colin.
McKayla watched in horror as a tornado of darkness wrapped around Colin, whipping him up the wall so fast that it appeared his head snapped against the ceiling. Like a ragdoll he fell to the floor.
“Ecce terra mea, et in arcem ex me tibi iniqua interdicunt. Nunc et usque in sæculum,” Seth croaked over and over.
Like a cool wind over sunburned skin, another soft voice joined him.“Ecce terra mea, et in arcem ex me tibi iniqua interdicunt. Nunc et usque in sæculum.”
Keir Hamilton’s aura bubbled with sparks and what almost appeared to be the misconstrued pixels on a fuzzy television screen. Staggering backwards, he swung his gaze her way.
But it wasn’t actually directed her way at all.
No, he looked at Torra MacLomain.
“I’ll find you no matter where you go Nathair sgiathac. You belong to me,” he promised, his tongue sluggish. Now he was caught in the same anti-gravity he’d inflicted on everyone else.
The energy that Seth had maintained fizzled away as he fell back and Torra stood. Fine boned and stunningly beautiful, her gaze fell on all in the room. There was compassion and trust in her surreal gaze.
Her eyes, shining with a ferociousness meant only for him, once more connected with Keir’s and she repeated, “Ecce terra mea, et in arcem ex me tibi iniqua interdicunt. Nunc et usque in sæculum.”
Then, fleet of foot, she dashed across the room and leapt onto the window’s eave.
For what felt like several long excruciating moments, she hovered there.
What was she doing? Oh God, no. Don’t do it.
After a long inhale, Torra’s body rippled and she jumped.
With a mad cry of outrage, Keir was sucked unwillingly into the fire. Before he faded away, the ghostly man with long white robes shot one last ravenous bolt at the vanishing form of Colin MacLeod. In an instant the fire sizzled down then puffed out, taking the evil creatures with it.
Mark of the Highlander (The MacLomain Series: Next Generation, Book 1) Page 24
