Midnight's Master

by Donna Grant

  He would kill anyone associated with Deirdre. And he would help to end her and whatever evil had pulled her into the future.

  Logan scanned the valley as he recalled the words spoken and the battle that had taken place there. His gaze fell on a small monument in the middle of the valley.

  He made his way to the valley and paused beside a stone cross that rose as high as his waist. He squatted beside it and ran his hands over the beautiful knotwork chiseled into the stone. The cross was worn and chipped in places.

  He had no doubt his fellow Warriors had placed the cross in the valley in remembrance of Duncan Kerr.

  “A brave Warrior, a good friend,” Logan said. “I willna let you down, Duncan. I will find Ian and help him battle his god for control. I may no’ have been able to save you, my friend, but I will save your brother. I give you my vow.”

  The rain slowed until it became nothing more than a drizzle, and for just a moment, the thick clouds split and a ray of light fell upon Logan and the cross.

  Logan smiled and touched the cross once more before he rose to his feet and continued on to Mallaig and then Eigg. Maybe he would find some answers there.

  Maybe he would find the artifact he’d been sent to find.

  He’d taken only three steps when he felt the tingle of magic. Eigg had once been home to a large group of powerful Druids. They had protected Eigg from any attacks Deirdre had sent them.

  Could there still be Druids there?

  Logan lengthened his strides and hurried toward the port town of Mallaig. Before he’d been tossed through time, he’d felt the power of the Druids on Eigg from Mallaig.

  His steps slowed as he reached Mallaig. It had grown just as Salen had. Logan let his eyes roam over the town, disappointment heavy in his gut. To his frustration, he barely felt any magic at all. Either the Druids had left, or they no longer practiced their magic.

  Neither possibility was good.

  Neither would help him against Deirdre.

  He walked to the docks and looked out over the sea to the isles beyond. Eigg was the smallest of the isles, but it had been a great defense against Deirdre and anyone else the Druids didn’t want on their land.

  “Lookin’ for something, lad?”

  Logan turned to the bent, white-haired man to his left. By the weathered look of his face and the deep lines grooved into his cheeks and around his eyes, Logan could tell the man had seen many years.

  “Are there many who live on Eigg?”

  The man cocked a white brow and lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “No’ too many. It is said centuries before there was a large sum of people who called Eigg home. But things change.”

  So it would seem, Logan thought. “Have you lived in Mallaig your entire life?”

  The old man chuckled and sat on a stool as he rubbed his knee. “Aye. Fishin’ was me life. It’s what me family has always done.”

  “Have you seen anything unusual lately?”

  “Lad,” the man said with another laugh, “we get a lot of tourists, so we see all kinds.”

  Logan wasn’t sure what that meant, but he presumed it meant the old man hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, which was good.

  In a way.

  Logan looked out over the water toward Eigg. It would be a good place for Ian to hide, or for Deirdre to look for the artifact. If there weren’t Druids guarding the isle as they once had, it gave Deirdre a prime opportunity to get what she wanted.

  “Ye have the look of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders,” the man commented.

  Logan grunted. “Perhaps I do. My name is Logan Hamilton. What can you tell me about Mallaig?”

  “Well, Logan, I can begin by tellin’ ye me name is Hamish Fletcher. Sit down and I’ll tell ye anythin’ ye be wantin’ to know, lad.”

  Logan was lowering himself to another stool beside Hamish, when he felt the tingle of magic again. It was stronger than what he had felt before, but still weaker than the power he was used to feeling from the Druids at MacLeod Castle.

  He looked around, hoping he’d discover the source of magic. And that’s when he saw the little red car that had nearly run him down earlier.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As Logan listened to Hamish speak of Mallaig and its trials, he found himself thinking of his childhood and his family.

  He usually kept memories of his parents and younger brother pushed far in a corner of his mind, but as soon as he had reached the mainland port of Mallaig those memories had bombarded him.

  He hadn’t tried to rid himself of them. In fact, he allowed himself a few moments to remember a happier time, a time when life had been pleasant. A time when he had been a good son.

  A time before he had betrayed his family.

  Memories he had hidden away were returning with a force too strong for him to shove away easily.

  He didn’t know what was in store for him in the coming days, but whatever it was he knew it would alter the course of his future. He didn’t care what happened as long as he could continue to fight against Deirdre.

  The oath Logan had made to put an end to her rode him tirelessly. He hadn’t felt as if he were doing enough, which was why he had stepped forward to find the next artifact, the Tablet of Orn. The tablet would lead the Warriors to the place where Deirdre’s twin, Laria, slept.

  Laria was the only one who could kill Deirdre.

  Logan took a deep breath, Hamish’s words barely registering. The sounds of conversations, haggling, and laughter assaulted him at every angle along the dock.

  In the distance Logan spotted an outdoor market. A person could find any number of items at such a place, Fruits, vegetables, cloth, baskets, ribbons, and even weapons. It was a visual spectacle he hadn’t realized he’d missed until that moment.

  The sights, the sounds, the smells were all just as Logan recalled. The only thing missing was his mother examining a piece of cloth they couldn’t afford while his younger brother begged for a coin to buy a sweetmeat.

  An ache, bone deep and crushing, began in Logan’s chest. He couldn’t breathe or move. He could do nothing to hold back the tide of memories.

  If he gave in, if he allowed the memories to overtake him, he would be lost. They were as demanding and insistent as his god, Athleus.

  He curled his hand into fists, thankful when his claws plunged deep into his palms and blood dripped between his fingers.

  It was that pain, though momentary, which allowed him to get the upper hand in his recollections and shove them back into a deep, dark corner of his mind.

  When he opened his eyes he glanced down at his skin to confirm it hadn’t turned the silver of his god. Only then did he raise his gaze.

  “Mallaig has survived,” Hamish said, his voice low and full of pain.

  Logan could understand the old man. “We all survive. There is no other choice.”

  Hamish lifted his gaze and gave a single nod. “Aye, lad. Ye’ve the right of it. What have ye survived, being one so young?”

  “Naught you’d believe, old man,” Logan said with a smile he knew didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  He turned his head to look around him and stiffened as his gaze collided with a woman’s. But not just any woman. She was stunning.

  Dazzling.

  Mesmerizing.

  For a moment, Logan couldn’t form a coherent thought as he drank in her extraordinary beauty. She stood still as stone, her wide, expressive violet eyes trained on him.

  Her black hair hung thick and straight just past her shoulders where the ends lifted and swirled around her in the breeze coming from the sea. Her skin was unblemished, the color of cream, and beckoned to be touched. He longed to stroke it, to see if it was as soft and smooth as he imagined it would be.

  Logan’s blood began to pound. His balls tightened, and he was eager to know the taste of her lips and the feel of her curves against his. He grew hard just thinking about holding her, of skimming his hands along her body.

  Logan h
ad always enjoyed women, but never in all his years had one affected him as this one did. She intrigued him in a way that made him wonder if he should approach her or run the other way.

  She was bundled against the weather with a hat of some kind in various shades of pink stripes. She was of average height, but there was nothing common about her. She was a siren, an irresistible enchantress.

  And he was smitten. Besotted. Infatuated.

  He had to know her, but more than that, he had to taste her. Touch her.

  Claim her.

  Logan rose, intending to discover her name and every secret she had when he felt it glide over his body. Magic. It was soft, almost hesitant, but it was magic.

  A delicious, succulent feel that he had never experienced before.

  “Now, that is a woman,” Hamish said, and whistled softly.

  Logan nodded, uncaring if Hamish was looking at the same woman or not.

  “She’s got the look of a tourist.”

  “Tourist?” Logan said and frowned. He glanced at Hamish and confirmed they were speaking about the same woman.

  “Aye, lad.” Hamish’s old eyes narrowed in suspicion. “People who visit places. Tourists.”

  Logan sighed. Many things had changed, and he needed to learn quickly in order to find his answers.

  “How do you know she’s no’ from here?” Logan asked.

  “Her clothes for one. Look around ye, lad. And though her coat is heavy enough, her scarf and gloves willna stand against our harsh weather.”

  Coat. So that’s what she’s wearing.

  Logan assessed the woman as he let his gaze roam down her lean legs encased in form-hugging pants that disappeared into boots that reached almost to her knees and were decorated with four big silver ornaments on either side going up from her ankle.

  To Logan’s delight, the woman licked her lips and started toward them.

  “Ye’ve caught her attention, lad,” Hamish whispered and slowly rose to his feet.

  Logan reached out a hand and helped steady the old man as the woman reached them.

  “Hello.”

  Her voice was as warm as the sunshine, as bright as the sun. Logan looked into her violet eyes and was again taken aback. He’d never seen eyes that color, made more dramatic by how large and expressive they were.

  Her face was heart shaped, her lips full and succulent. Black brows sliced delicately over her amazing eyes. She had a stubborn lift to her chin, and a vulnerability that made him want to pull her against him and shield her from the world.

  The magic seemed to grow and fill the space between them, beckoning him, inviting him ever closer to the lovely, bewitching woman before him.

  “Ah, an American,” Hamish said, smiling at her.

  Logan grunted as Hamish jabbed an elbow into his ribs. “How can we help you?”

  “I’m … uh. I’m looking for someone.”

  Logan had never heard her accent before. He found it altogether charming, and combined with her nervous smile, he imagined she didn’t want for anything.

  “Who, lass?” Hamish asked.

  She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled something out. “My father. Gary Austin.”

  Hamish took the thin, square object and looked at it before handing it to Logan. Logan could only stare at what was in his hands. It was a man looking back at him. He noted the similarities between the man and the woman before him, but they were few. Logan turned the object over and looked at the back, but it was blank.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  “It’s a picture of my father,” the woman said.

  Picture? What the hell was a picture? Logan cleared his throat and handed it back to her.

  “Have you seen him?” the woman asked. “He called me three weeks ago from Mallaig, and I’ve not heard from him since.”

  Logan hated that he couldn’t help her. He wanted to be the one who took away the worry that filled her beautiful violet eyes. “I’ve no’ seen him.”

  Hamish scratched his grizzled cheek. “He looks a wee bit familiar. Three weeks, ye say?”

  “Yes,” the woman said, hope flaring in her eyes.

  Logan felt another wave of magic, this one more potent than before. There was no mistaking that it was coming from the woman. A Druid. Did she know what she was? Did she know how close she was to a land where Druids had ruled?

  Hamish had called her an American. Did that mean she knew nothing of the magic in her blood? Her magic was strong, but … unfocused. As though she didn’t use it.

  “I’m old, ye ken, and me memory isna what it used to be,” Hamish said, “but I think I recall seeing him board the ferry for the isles.”

  The woman lifted her eyes and looked out over the water. “Do you know which one?”

  “Nay,” Hamish said with a click of his tongue. “Sorry, I can no’ help ye more, lass.”

  “It’s more than I had before,” she said softly.

  Logan wasn’t ready for her to walk away—not until he found out if she knew she was a Druid. If she did know, she could help him, and right now, he needed her help more than he wanted to admit.

  “Are you staying here?” Logan asked.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

  “So if I remember more I can tell ye,” Hamish answered for him.

  She looked from one to the other. “I’m at The Marine Hotel. My name is Gwynn Austin.”

  “Gwynn. I’m Logan Hamilton.”

  * * *

  A chill raced over Gwynn when the tall, model-perfect man repeated her name. She’d first caught sight of him when she’d scanned the docks. He was, without a doubt, the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on.

  She let her eyes linger on his tall form. He was wearing a kilt that had seen better days, as if it were his second skin. His pale brown locks, highlighted with gold, tangled about his face in the breeze. She drank in his strong jawline, committing it to memory.

  He had a wide forehead, an aquiline nose, a square chin, and cheekbones that even made her jealous. The shadow of a beard darkened his cheeks, giving him a rugged, primal look that made her heart miss a beat.

  He had a face that guaranteed passion and pure, wonderful, breathtaking sin.

  Gwynn’s gaze lifted to his, and she was ensnared in the hazel depths, caught in the pull of his direct and lethal gaze. In his greenish-gold eyes, she glimpsed sorrow and … guilt that were quickly hidden by his all too charming smile.

  Gwynn was taken aback by Logan’s vitality and masculinity. She could tell that he was a man used to command, a man used to action and battle.

  A warrior in every sense of the word.

  She wasn’t used to seeing such men. Her heart raced and her palms grew clammy. She wanted to be near him, to know what made him who he was.

  At the same time, she sensed a current of danger that swirled around him. If she got too close, he was likely to pull her down with him.

  Gwynn was the one who did everything safely. The one who never took chances, the one who kept herself—and her heart—closely guarded. Yet she found she wanted to take a chance with this bad boy named Logan.

  It was a chance, however, she knew she would never be able to take.

  Gwynn licked her lips and drew the frigid sea air into her lungs. The air was heavy with salt and the smell of fish. The wind whistled around her, carrying with it the crash of the waves, the cries of the gulls, and the conversations among the fishermen still on the dock.

  Despite everything around her, Gwynn couldn’t tear her gaze from Logan and the lean sinew and hard body she glimpsed beneath the saffron shirt and kilt. She’d even forgotten what they’d been talking about.

  “Gwynn, I’m Hamish,” the old man said, reminding her that she and Logan weren’t alone. “I sit on these docks every day. If I see yer father, I’ll be sure to let ye know.”

  She forced a smile. “Thanks, Mr. Hamish.”

  He chuckled. “Nay, lass. Just Hamish. I hope ye find your fa
ther. No’ many get lost around these parts.”

  “What was he doing here?” Logan asked.

  Gwynn tried not to look into his hypnotizing eyes, but she couldn’t help herself. “He was here on research.”

  “What kind of research?”

  “I’m … I’m not sure. He found something, a book, that led him here.”

  Logan’s brow furrowed. “Here? To Mallaig? In all the places in Scotland with standing stones and history, he came here?”

  Gwynn had thought the same thing. “If I knew what he was looking for, I would have a better chance of finding him. All I have to go on is the coordinates I got from his cell when he called me.”

  “Cell?” Logan repeated.

  “Mobile phone,” Hamish said and scratched his chin.

  Gwynn kept forgetting that the Brits had a different word for just about everything. It wasn’t a cell phone here. It was a mobile phone.

  Mo-bile, she thought with a grin.

  Yet, Logan hadn’t seemed to understand what a mobile phone was either which was beyond odd. Everyone knew what a cell phone was.

  She pulled out her iPhone and held it up. “This,” she said as she showed Logan. “People talk on it.”

  His gaze narrowed as he stared at her phone. “Of course.”

  She wasn’t buying it. He didn’t know what a cell phone was, and what person in the last fifteen years didn’t know that?

  Her curiosity about who Logan was only increased. “Of course,” she repeated.

  Hamish glanced over his shoulder toward the isles. “Most folk who come to Mallaig come to see the isles.”

  “That’s my guess as well,” Gwynn said. “Especially since I checked every bed and breakfast and hotel here.”

  “That didna take you long,” Hamish said with a laugh.

  Gwynn couldn’t help but smile at the old man. “No, it really didn’t.”

  Silence stretched between the three, and though Gwynn didn’t want to leave, she had her father to find.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Y’all have been helpful.”

  She started to walk away when Logan reached out and touched her arm. Gwynn paused and looked at him. “Yes?”

  “I could help you. Locate your father.”