His heart drummed harder the higher he climbed. This was mother’s tower. A gifted witch from the twenty-first century, she’d traveled back in time to join with his father. The portals of time had strengthened her powers; her mystical abilities had grown with the energy within the veil. Inhaling a great breath, Latharn held the torch higher. He didn’t fear the unknown the darkness held; he feared the emotions of the past.
Mother had combined her knowledge with that of the chief druid of the clan and the two of them had recorded everything they had ever learned. Usually, rituals were committed to memory by repetition and practice. Ancient druidry wasn’t recorded on parchment or stone. But neither Latharn’s mother nor the wise druid of the clan wanted to risk the knowledge ever being lost. Death was an ever-threatening thief of knowledge. It could strike down a gifted teacher at any moment.
With a shudder, Latharn recalled the day his mother had told him of her plans to hide the gathered knowledge after his father’s murder. She’d seen to the concealment of the library of the mysteries before she’d jumped to her death. Although it had been several centuries ago, the memory still pained him, as though the wound was still fresh. It was a dark time for the clan MacKay; several members had been falsely accused of spell craft by rival families. The avaricious witch hunters had gone so far as to torture one poor woman to death. This death had sparked a bloody clan war. A war that had sent his father’s lifeless body home, his shield laid upon his cold, still chest. His mother had then ordered all the clan records of the mysteries hidden within the castle walls.
Defending magic and his people had killed her husband. Never again would she allow magic practiced among the clan. Then she’d gone to the cliffs overlooking the ocean to fling her body down upon the jagged rocks below.
Latharn shook himself back to the present as they arrived at a heavy door with a single iron circlet hung in its center. Handing the torch to Brodie, he gritted his teeth, set his shoulder against the barrier and shoved. Dust and dirt sifted out of the crevices that hadn’t been disturbed in hundreds of years. The ancient portal groaned its way open and revealed a suffocating darkness within.
Brodie raised the torch, the glowing circle of light struggling against the shadows of the room. Latharn instructed him to light the additional sconces hammered along the wall. Lights blazed about the room, revealing a high-ceilinged chamber. Mouths agape in amazement, Trish, Brodie, and Fiona all spun around to gaze at the sheer number of books lining the walls.
Trish groaned as she wandered around the room, staring at all the shelves. “We’ll never find the answer in three days’ time. This place is as big as the Library of Congress!”
Snapping around, Latharn grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her an irritated shake. “Never speak such negativity again! Ye attract whatever ye send out. I willna listen to words of defeat. In three days’ time, my Nessa will be back at my side.”
Trish fended him off, twisting out of his grasp as she backed her way across the room. “I’m sorry, Latharn. It’s just there are so many books, so many scrolls, so much…stuff. Tell me where to start and I’ll help any way I can. Just tell me what I’m looking for.”
So many shelves. So many books. How had mother managed them all? Damn, Mother. Did ye have to write down every thought? Scrubbing his jaw, Latharn turned and eyed the croweded shelves covering the walls. “I wish the mirrors of time hadna been destroyed. I could’ve traced her soul across all of the planes with one simple incantation.”
“Mirrors of time?” Trish arched a brow as she turned the pages of a dusty tome she’d pulled from one of the shelves.
“Aye, the mirrors of time. I remember reading about them.” Brodie nodded in complete agreement. “There were three of them. Past, present, and future portals. Ye could scry with them, ask them to find ye anything, and if ye had the gift, they would tell ye the answer ye sought.”
Trish emitted a low whistle of admiration. “Well, that would’ve definitely made our search a lot easier. What happened to them?” She turned to Latharn after she replaced the book she’d been studying back on the shelf. “You said they were destroyed? Who would do such a thing to something so rare?”
“My mother.” Latharn heaved a heavy sigh as he remembered the incident as though it happened yesterday. Rachel had thrown a fit of uncontrollable rage when Caelan’s body had returned lifeless and cold. “She cursed them with a shattering spell for not warning her of the danger to my father’s life.”
Her mouth formed into a silent O. Trish cringed and turned back to search the shelves. “So what subject am I supposed to be searching for? Curses? Autumnal equinox? Full moon? Disappearing into thin air? What?”
“Scrying,” Brodie shouted from across the room where he pawed through the lowest shelf in the corner. “What about scrying? I know ye don’t have the mirrors, but there are other tools that can be used to see into the mists.”
With a wave of his hand, Latharn lit the thick stubs of the many candles scattered across the table and motioned for Brodie to bring the book he’d found. Brodie grunted, pulling the three-foot-wide wedge from the shelf and wrestled it to the table. Worn leather sandwiched yellowed parchment. The ancient tome was huge.
Reverently, Latharn opened the weathered cover. The leather crackled in protest at being disturbed. With a ginger touch, Latharn turned one page at a time, his fingers spread as they traced the text he scanned. The mustiness of the pages smelled of time forever lost and the faintest hint of his mother’s favorite scent, heather. His mother must have pressed a flower somewhere in the book’s pages. Latharn frowned and tried to shake free of the fragrance and concentrate on the spell. Since his parents’ funeral, he hated that smell. It had even permeated into his crystal prison. His lips moved with a whisper as he absorbed the words. “Do ye know if the chapel is still intact?” Latharn asked without looking up from the ancient grimoire.
Emerging from a set of bookshelves across the room, Fiona nodded, paging carefully through a book she held in her hand. “Aye, I visited it myself a few months ago to lay some heather upon the altar. The stonework is worn but it still stands whole and has survived the tests of man and time. Why do ye ask, Latharn?”
Latharn eased the delicate parchment over to the next page to finish reading the passage. This gave him his answer. This spell would guide him to Nessa. He stroked his chin, leaning closer as he peered at an elaborate equation scribbled off in one of the margins. “I need holy water that’s been charged by the waxing moon to have the most power o’er seeing into the mists.”
Trish pushed up her sleeves and stepped up to the table. “Give me a bucket and point me toward the chapel. I’ll tote all the holy water you need. I have got to do something besides just stand here.”
Latharn moved to the farthest wall and spread his fingers across the stones. Scowling, he searched his hands over the rocks, closing his eyes as though listening to the wall’s silent instruction. Arms widespread, he placed his right hand high, the left lowered to his knees. Latharn leaned hard against the wall and pushed into it with all his might. He gripped and clutched the oddly carved stones, twisting and turning to shove them deeper into an unseen passage. As the stones receded, the wall ground its way out and revealed a breathtaking vista of the sea. Moonlight flooded the room, illuminating it with an ethereal blue-white glow.
Latharn gazed into the sky and drew a shuddering breath. He sent up a silent plea to the goddess and every mystically blessed ancestor in his past. He bowed his head and turned from his supplication to the moon. The eerie glow of the beacon of the night energized him for his task ahead.
“Fiona, you and Trish must find the divining bowl. It should be somewhere amidst these many shelves. It must be filled with holy water from the baptistery, then set upon this pedestal to absorb the power of the moon. At daybreak, we will bring it back into the darkness. There must be no other light in the room. Then through the power of the mists, we will find our way to Nessa and how to bring her back.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Her head pounded. Blood roared in her ears. Nessa swallowed hard at the bile burning in the back of her throat. Whatever she did, she couldn’t allow herself to vomit. The gag in her mouth would cause her to choke to death if she did. Her shoulders ached from the odd positioning of her bound hands, feet throbbing from the over-tight ropes at the ankles. A blindfold covered her eyes, the material thin and pulled tight as though made of a silk scarf.
Trussed up like this, she felt trapped in a box. She fought against visions of live burials, of dirt thrown on the tops of screaming victims. She struggled against the hysteria of claustrophobia, fighting to convince herself she could still breathe.
I am getting air. I am breathing.
She forced away the feeling of suffocation and the rising panic it fueled. She concentrated on the fact that she could breathe. She reminded herself she was getting air.
I am breathing. I’m going to be okay.
Instinctively, she knew in order to survive, she couldn’t show her captor any sign of weakness. If she did, that weakness would become a tool of torture for them to use.
She forced herself to lie still even though her body ached. Her muscles screamed out for relief. Nessa strained, listening to the room around her. There wasn’t a sound. She’d never witnessed such silence. It was almost as suffocating as the darkness. The one other sense available to her was her heightened sense of smell.
Mildew. Damp stones. Centuries-old decay. Her nose transmitted this information to her brain. From the scent of things, she was either in the bowels of some sort of stone structure, or worse yet, deep in some underground tomb. She forced that out of her mind. Inhaling a careful breath, Nessa reminded herself she still had plenty of air. She wanted to ensure the rise and fall of her chest gave nothing away about her level of consciousness. She didn’t know if she was watched or not but she wasn’t ready for them to know she was awake.
“I know ye’re awake. I can tell by the color on your cheeks. The fair-skinned can keep no secrets.” Gabriel shoved the blindfold up onto her forehead and leered down into Nessa’s face.
The sudden light blinded her. Nessa blinked up into his face as her pupils adjusted to the abrupt absence of darkness. Gabriel? She’d believed Fiona’s stories of Gabriel’s violent nature, but she’d never thought him capable of this.
Gabriel traced a fingertip along the edge of her jaw, his leering scowl growing even darker. “Ye see, Nessa? Ye underestimated me. Ye should’ve given me a chance.” His face relaxed, grew thoughtful as he cupped her cheek in his hand. Gabriel licked his lips as he turned and scanned the rest of her body. As his gaze traveled across her breasts and then lower, he flinched and clutched a hand to his chest.
Nessa swallowed hard, almost gagging, and forced herself not to react. He’d only feed on her fear. She just continued staring up into his face and blinked when she absolutely had to.
Gabriel returned his hand to trace his thumb across her bottom lip and brought his face closer to hers. “But now we’ll ne’er know what it could have been like, thanks to that bastard ye’ve decided to wed. I don’t know how he’s done it, but whenever I even think about giving ye what ye deserve, my heart almost explodes in my chest.”
His sneer grew wider. Gabriel’s eyes took on a maniacal gleam as he jerked his head. “I can’t even obey what the voice tells me to do. Just binding ye nearly stopped my breathing.”
Voice? Nessa almost shuddered, her skin crawling beneath his touch. Great. Not only was Gabriel violent, but he wasn’t the only one inside his head.
Yanking his hands through his hair until it stood on end, Nessa saw clearly that Gabriel had left sanity in the dust. He jumped up to circle about the room while he scowled and batted at something only he could see. His voice shrilled as Gabriel shook his fist at his mysterious tormentor. “The powers? The powers ye promised to me are useless if ye refuse to allow me to use them! What good is control over another if I must keep it hidden?”
As Nessa watched him, she realized Gabriel argued with a voice only he could hear. While Gabriel ranted to his invisible friend, she flexed her hands and tested the ropes at her wrists. If he’d leave her blindfold up where she could watch him, she was almost positive she could wiggle her hands free.
“I don’t give a damn about that bastard! I told ye I’d kill him but ye would not allow it, even when I promised to make the son of a bitch suffer, even when I swore ye would enjoy what I would to do to him ye said wanted him for yourself. That he was yours to save or destroy. What do ye want from me? When do I get something out of this?” Gabriel growled, stomping a path back and forth across the room. He jerked his head and flailed his arms as he shouted into the air.
Nessa glanced about the room while she kept watch on Gabriel out of the corner of her eye. Her heart fell as she discovered the room had just one way out. The walls consisted of rough-hewn blocks. The ancient stones glistened with condensation. As far as she could tell, no windows existed, at least not in her current line of vision. She dare not move much for fear of interrupting Gabriel’s argument with whoever resided in his head. There was the one door, a solid piece of some sort of metal, blackened as though oiled to protect it from rusting. From the size of the hinges holding it in place, the weight of the door had to be immense.
She could tell she was lying upon a raised block of some sort; it appeared altar-like in its position. Stationed between two tall candelabra against the back of the room, Nessa wondered if this was where bodies had once been prepared for burial. From the chill settling into her bones, she was positive the slab consisted of some sort of stone.
She flinched as Gabriel swung his arms in the air. Nessa sent up a silent plea for help. She remembered what Latharn had told her about the connection between their minds. She prayed he would somehow hear her silent cries and come crashing through that door to her rescue.
“Fine! I will keep her from him until the equinox has passed. But ye must promise me something in return. Once ye’ve cast him into the abyss, Nessa only exists for my amusement.” His eyes glittered with total madness. Gabriel shoved the blindfold back down across her eyes.
“Go to sleep,” he barked. “Ye’re going to need your rest for what I’ve got in store for ye once your protector’s gone.”
Then he slammed the groaning door and left her trembling in the darkness of the blindfold. With only the hiss of the burning candles for company, she concentrated on calling out to Latharn for help.
Nessa cried out with every fiber of her being. She visualized Latharn’s face in her mind. He had to be able to hear her call. It was her only hope. She wouldn’t allow herself to believe otherwise.
“He canna hear ye, Nessa. There’s a spell about this room as strong as the protective love aura Latharn’s placed around you.”
Nessa knew that voice. Light and airy, like a Highland breeze when it riffled through the leaves, somehow Aveline had managed to find her. But if there was a spell around the room, how could Aveline’s voice be so clear in her mind?
Her laughter tinkled like chimes in the wind as Aveline sent a breeze to brush across Nessa’s cheek. “The spell is against Latharn, against any mortals who’d dare try to find ye. Gabriel Burns doesn’t realize I exist. I’m an immortal. I’m not so easily stopped by a few magical wards placed at the corners of stone walls.”
Nessa swallowed hard against the bitter gag in her mouth. Her tears soaked into the blindfold covering her eyes. She took a deep breath and struggled to remain calm. She concentrated on projecting her thoughts to Aveline’s consoling image. Nessa formed the words clearly in her head. When is Latharn going to come and get me? No, let me rephrase that. Tell Latharn to come and get me right now. Gabriel is insane.
With a breathless sigh, Aveline’s voice grew soft, more solemn in its tone. “Latharn must pass one final test. He canna come to ye until sunrise on the day of the equinox, and he must use his powers to find ye for himself. I canna save ye nor can I tell
him where ye lie.”
Nessa’s heart pounded as the meaning of Aveline’s words sunk in. She couldn’t mean she was just going to leave? Nessa shook her head, sank her teeth hard into the gag. No! He has to come and get me now. Aveline, you can’t just leave me here alone. I’ll never be able to survive until then. You saw Gabriel. He’s out of his mind. Who knows what he’s going to try to do?
“I’m sorry, Nessa. ’Tis only a little while longer. And ’tis the only way to free Latharn permanently from his past. When all the pieces fall into place, ye will understand. Trust me.” Aveline brushed an ethereal kiss across Nessa’s forehead before her spirit disappeared into the darkness.
Nessa strained to hear something other than the hiss of the burning wax of the candles. She groaned when she realized she was all alone. How could Aveline desert her like this? She didn’t care what pieces Latharn needed to free him from his past. She wanted out of here and she wanted out now. They’d take care of Latharn’s past—later.
I’ll be damned if I lay here and wait to be sacrificed, Nessa fumed. She twisted her wrists until they burned, raw and bloody from the ropes. She wrenched them free of the tortuous knots. She pushed off the blindfold, ripping the gag out of her mouth, then sat up to work on the ropes at her feet. Nessa kept one ear cocked toward the door as she clawed at the stubborn bindings until her fingernails bled. She almost panicked, as the knotwork at her feet tightened with every frustrated yank. Losing what little patience she’d ever had, she scooted to the end of the stone altar and held her ankles up to the candles until the ropes caught fire.
Nessa pulled her feet apart as the ropes burned in two, then slapped out the flames. As she rubbed the tingling, hot skin of her legs, she glanced around the remainder of the room she hadn’t been able to see before.
Adrenaline surged through her veins as the promising spikes of the iron candelabra caught her eye. Her heart rate picked up as she noted the sharpness of the long metal prongs. Her breath came quick, excitement fluttered through her chest; hope tingled like electricity through her body. Testing the sharp tip of one prong with her finger, an escape plan rooted in her mind. When Gabriel decided to return to her room, the iron stand would be the perfect weapon.
Beyond A Highland Whisper Page 19
