by Donna Grant
Gwynn had always loved the sound of a Scottish brogue, and Logan’s certainly made her blood race. But if he was near, she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on finding her father. There was something that potent and alluring about him.
It reminded her that she was a woman. And he was a man. It made her think of kissing, of naked bodies gliding together, of sinful pleasure and mind-melding bliss.
He was trouble, and the quicker she got away from him the better.
“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”
“Is it safe for women to walk around by themselves in this time?”
She cocked her head to the side at his words. “In this time? What do you mean?”
Logan shrugged his thick shoulders, the saffron shirt molding to the hard muscle. “I’m merely concerned for your safety.”
“I’ve got mace, and I know enough karate moves to take care of myself.”
Confusion clouded Logan’s face. It was as if he didn’t understand anything she said.
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Scotland, of course.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know that, but you act as if you don’t understand anything I’m saying.”
“It’s yer accent, lass,” Hamish quipped. “It takes some gettin’ used to.”
Gwynn knew it was more than that. “Do you understand me?” she asked Logan.
“Some.”
She was surprised he had answered her at all, but more surprising was the truth she heard in his words. “Good-bye, Logan. Hamish.”
“Good luck, lass,” Hamish called as she walked down the docks.
Gwynn was tempted to look back and see if Logan watched her. Instead, she kept walking, her gaze locked on the ferry that was loading.
CHAPTER FIVE
Logan found himself looking for Gwynn for the rest of the afternoon. Everything he needed to know he learned from Hamish.
As the sun began to set and the fishermen returned with their boats, they all stopped and spoke with Hamish. It gave Logan the chance he needed to question others.
But once again, there was nothing.
Maybe he had arrived before Deirdre. It could be that Ian had not been pulled forward in time as well.
Logan couldn’t know for sure.
Part of him wished he could use one of the mobile phones that others had and talk to those at MacLeod Castle. He wasn’t sure how it worked or if those at the castle would have one.
He needed to talk to them, to hear their voices and laughter. They were his family now. Duncan’s death was a huge weight on his shoulders, made heavier because he hadn’t been there to see his friend buried.
All because Deirdre had been pulled into the future. There hadn’t been time to see Duncan buried. Logan had made the decision to jump forward through time to find Ian. To save Ian.
Since Logan hadn’t been able to save Duncan.
He owed Ian at least that much.
Logan’s mind was full of all the new things around him, yet he saw some of what he had always loved about Scotland was still there. The loyalty of her people, the love of the land. He saw it in each Scot’s eyes.
And that made him take an easier breath.
He had never thought what his land would be like in the future, because he’d been too busy trying to keep Deirdre from destroying it all.
“These old bones can no’ take the cold as they used to,” Hamish said as he rose to his feet. “Besides, me missus will have me head if I doona get home for dinner.”
Logan smiled as he helped Hamish stand.
“Yer welcome to join us.”
Nay, there where things about Scotland and her people that would never change. “I must decline for tonight.”
“Ye doona ken what yer missin’. Me Mary makes the best haggis in all of Scotland. If ye change yer mind, follow the road up the hill and take a left. Me house is the third one. Ye can no’ miss it.”
Logan waited until Hamish was deep in conversation with another man as they made their way off the docks before Logan turned to the sea.
Soon, the activity on the docks died down until it was just Logan and a few others. The temperature continued to drop, and the clouds far in the distance heralded a horrendous snowstorm.
As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon and the night descended over Mallaig, Logan closed his eyes and opened himself up to feel magic.
The last time he had done this was when he and Galen had searched around Loch Awe for a group of Druids who had hidden away in fear of Deirdre.
Worry began to spread through Logan the more he searched for magic and the more he found only a thread. That thread was so faint it was almost nonexistent.
But he knew the feel of that magic. It was Gwynn.
“Gwynn,” he murmured, his blood heating just thinking of her.
He wanted to know what had happened to the incredibly powerful group of Druids who had made the Isle of Eigg their home. They’d had unbelievable magic, the sheer might of it enough to keep even Deirdre away.
Logan wished once more that MacLeod Castle wasn’t on the other side of Scotland. He should probably have gone to the castle first thing. Sooner or later he would find himself standing in front of the gates of MacLeod Castle.
His thoughts, as they had often that day, returned to Gwynn Austin. There was something about the woman that wouldn’t allow her to leave his thoughts.
It was more than her beauty, more than the steel beneath her fragility. More than her magic, even. Logan couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was that drew him to her, but it was powerful enough that he knew where she was at all times.
Almost as if his body was attuned to hers, which was impossible.
Or was it?
Scotland had always been steeped in magic and unexplainable occurrences. The Druids helped to draw the magic around them, but maybe there didn’t need to be Druids for him to sense, to feel the essence of whatever magic was left.
Logan smiled and opened his eyes when he discerned Gwynn watching him from the window of the building she was staying in. What had she called it? Ah, aye, a hotel.
His smile grew when she left the hotel and walked toward him. Her steps were quick and sure as she neared him.
“It’s after midnight,” he said when she stopped behind him.
“The time change has messed me up. Where I’m from it’s only five. I’d be thinking about dinner right now, wondering if I wanted to go out or cook.”
He wanted to ask what she meant but decided to stay quiet and see what it was that brought her to him.
She lowered herself to sit beside him and let out a deep, heartfelt breath. “I’ve wanted to come to Scotland for as long as I can remember.”
“Is this your first time here?”
“Yes,” she said with a wry smile as she glanced at him. “And I’m not enjoying any of it.”
“You can still see my land as you search for your father.”
She looked at him, her violet eyes searching. “It wouldn’t feel right. I can’t explain it, Logan, but I feel it in my gut that something is wrong, that something has happened to him.”
“I learned long ago never to question my feelings. Listen to your instinct, Gwynn.”
Her shoulders drooped as she leaned her head back and looked at the sky. “So many stars. Back home, I never get to see the sky like this. It’s like everything is different here. I wonder why?”
“Magic.”
Her head snapped up and she looked at him. “What did you say?”
Logan didn’t miss the wariness that stole over her stunning face, or the fear that flashed in her eyes. “I said magic. Have you never heard the legends of my land?”
“I have,” she admitted softly. “When I was a little girl, my grandmother would tell me the most wonderful stories about the Druids who once roamed this land.”
A thrill rushed through Logan. Maybe she did know what she was, after all. “Did she, now? What else did sh
e tell you?”
“As with all stories, there was a villain.”
“Did this villain have a name, perhaps?”
Gwynn shrugged. “I don’t remember. All I do recall is that she was very evil. Despite the villain, I remember Grams painting a picture of Scotland that made me yearn to be here. As silly as it sounds, it made me feel as if this was where I belonged.”
Logan decided to see how much Gwynn knew. And how much he would have to tell her. “There are all kinds of stories about my land. So many good men have died in battle fighting for it. Do you know the story of Rome and Britain?”
“I do,” Gwynn said with a smile. She shifted toward Logan. “That was one of the stories Grams told me. I don’t recall much, other than that the Celts ran Rome off.”
“Shall I tell it?” Logan offered.
“I would like that very much.”
Logan wasn’t sure how much of her grandmother’s telling was the original story, but he was about to find out. The “story” he would tell her was the truth about how he, and others like him, became Warriors.
“The Celts fought long and hard against Rome for many years. Several decades before the Druids had divided into two groups.”
“Two?” Gwynn asked.
“Aye. The mies, who used the pure magic that flowed within them to heal people. They used their wisdom to guide the leaders of the clans and to help crops grow, among other things.”
“And the other group?”
Logan swallowed, hating to even talk about them. “The other Druids were called droughs. They craved power more than anything. They underwent a ceremony where they cut their wrists. Their blood, along with a spell, bound their souls to diabhul, the devil. That connection gave them the ability to use black magic. And with it they wore a small vial around their necks with their drough blood inside. It’s called a Demon’s Kiss and it, along with the cuts on their wrists, were how droughs were recognized.”
“Good and evil,” Gwynn murmured. “It always seems to come down to that.”
“And it always will. You can no’ have one without the other.”
“How do the Druids figure into the story with Rome?”
“After years of fighting with Rome and keeping them from pushing too far north, the Celts realized they needed something more to get Rome to leave for good,” he said. “They turned to the droughs.”
“Why the droughs? Why not the mies?”
“Because the mies didna fight unless they had no other choice. They would defend those around them in a battle, but they didna seek out war. The droughs, however, were a different animal. They had an answer for the Celts, one that would change history.”
“What was it?” She leaned closer, her gaze eager.
“The droughs called up gods that had been locked in Hell. These gods were so ancient their names had been lost over time. They were vicious and bloodthirsty and they were just what the Celts needed to defeat Rome.
“The best warriors from each tribe agreed to host the gods. Once the droughs released the gods from their prison, they took over these men, creating Warriors.”
Gwynn’s brows lifted as she blew out a breath. “None of this was in any history book I read, but I do recall some of it from Gram’s stories.”
“This wouldna be in any book, Gwynn. These Warriors defeated Rome in quick order. Rome couldna leave our shores fast enough, but once they departed, the Celts were left with men who were more god than mortal. The Warriors turned on each other and anyone who crossed their path. Where our rivers and land had run red with the blood of the Romans, now it ran with the heart and soul of Britain.”
Logan paused as he watched Gwynn. She knew the story, or at least part of it. That meant there had to be a Druid somewhere in her family. It was the Druid’s role to pass the story to their descendants so the same mistakes wouldn’t be made.
“The Celts begged the droughs to remove the gods, but despite the powerful black magic the droughs possessed, they couldna force the gods to abandon their hosts. With no other choice, the droughs turned to the mies. It was the first—and last—time the Druids worked as one. Since no spell they cast could remove the gods, they devised a way to bind the gods inside the men.”
“Bind them?” Gwynn asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Aye. With the binding in place, the gods couldna control the men. The men woke with no memories of what they had done to the Romans or their own people. They never knew of the gods still inside them, gods that moved through bloodlines to the strongest Warrior of each family. The Druids, however, remembered. They stayed close to the Warrior families in case they were ever needed.”
Gwynn tucked a black lock of hair behind her ear and stuffed her hands in her coat pockets. “I’d like to think this is just some tall tale, but … somehow I know it’s not. The story doesn’t end there, either, does it?”
“It does no’.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear the rest.”
Logan liked how at ease Gwynn was around him. Would that change when she discovered that he was a Warrior, that he had one of those primeval gods inside him?
“My imagination has always been vivid,” Gwynn said as she looked anywhere but at him. “Yet, while you spoke, it was as if I was there, that I was one of those Druids. I saw everything, Logan.” She finally looked at him. “How can that be?”
“I told you. It’s the magic of my land.” The real reason was that Gwynn was a Druid, but he wanted to wait before he told her everything. Wait and see just how much she knew.
“You believe there really were Druids?”
“I know it for a fact, lass. I know several women who are Druids.”
She blinked in surprise, then shrugged. “There are many people who claim to be something they’re not.”
“You doona trust easily, do you?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “Not when there is no one worthy of giving my trust to.”
CHAPTER SIX
Gwynn wanted to discount everything Logan had told her. But she couldn’t. Somehow, someway, deep in her soul, she had not only heard his words before, but she knew they were truth.
Fact.
Reality.
The question was, how did she know?
“Will you finish the story?”
Logan’s hazel eyes flecked with gold met hers. She glanced at his wide, thin lips and wondered what it would feel like to have those lips on her. To have his large, callused hands hold her against all that hard muscle of his body. She mentally shook herself and huddled deeper into her coat.
“If you’re sure you want to hear it.”
“I don’t think I do, but I think I have to.”
Logan gave a single nod. “The gods stayed bound inside the men for many years. The droughs and mies divided once more and life continued as it was. More invaders came to Britain, but no one, least of all the Druids, wanted to unleash the gods, for fear of no’ being able to bind them again. No one wanted to see Britain destroyed, but the loss of its people was feared even more.”
“So Britain fell, first to the Saxons and then to others.”
“Aye. Until one day a young drough found a scroll long thought to have been destroyed. That scroll had the spell to unbind the gods, and it gave the drough one clan name—MacLeod.”
Gwynn blew out a breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard this part of the story.”
“This drough took the scroll and left her village. She hid in a mountain.”
“Cairn Toul,” Gwynn said, then covered her mouth with her hand as she stared at Logan. “How did I know that?”
His gaze was unwavering as he said, “You’ve heard the story.”
“The drough’s name? What was it?”
“Deirdre.”
A shiver raced down Gwynn’s spine. She had heard part of this story before. The villain in Grams’s stories was always named Deirdre. “What did this Deirdre do with the scroll?”
“She looked to the great MacLeod clan t
o find a warrior who had the god inside him. She discovered three brothers equal in every way. She destroyed their clan, killing everyone but the brothers. She tricked them into her mountain where she unbound each brother’s god. And created Warriors once again.”
“Wouldn’t they be as uncontrollable as the first Warriors?”
“Nay,” Logan said softly as he turned his head to the sea. “This spell limited the gods’ powers. However, the god could gain control if the man was no’ strong enough to hold him back.”
Gwynn stared at Logan’s profile. There was something in his words, pain and regret and shame, that told her this story was more than just words to him.
“After that, Deirdre began to find other men who had a god inside them,” Logan continued. “All the while, she hunted and captured Druids who she killed in order to steal their magic.”
Gwynn didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there was anything to say. The story was too wild to be true, yet how could her Grams have known the exact same one?
Logan cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him. “The MacLeods escaped her, but others were no’ so fortunate. Many Warriors fell to their god, which allowed Deirdre to use them to her advantage. But there were others who banded together with the MacLeods to fight her.”
“What happened to her? Did the MacLeods win?”
Logan’s face hardened as he swung his head to look at her. “I doona know, lass. The battle still rages.”
For a second, Gwynn believed him. Then she laughed. “You had me there for a minute, Logan. You’re an incredible storyteller. Is that what you do for a living?”
He frowned. “I doona know what you mean.”
“That’s the second time today you’ve said that. Why don’t you know the meaning of my words?”
“If I told you, you wouldna believe me.”
“Try me.”
He shook his head. “If you doona believe the story I just told you, then there’s no use.”
But Gwynn wanted to know. Her curiosity was urging her to beg, to plead, anything to discover what made Logan so different from other men. What made her want to know every secret he had. To know the man she sensed he kept hidden.
