Amethyst Destiny

by Pamela Montgomerie

  He turned to her, his tight expression yielding only a fraction. “I dinna ken love, Julia. I have none inside me. And I wouldn’t recognize it if I saw it in you.”

  “So if you wouldn’t recognize it, why are you so sure I can’t feel it?”

  “I didn’t say you couldna feel it. I said only that you do not feel it for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because ye’ve never seen me. Ye see only the Wizard.”

  She blinked with surprise. “I don’t even particularly like the Wizard. He’s a thief and a liar and he only cares about fulfilling his missions. It wasn’t the Wizard who saved me when those thugs came after me, Talon. You said yourself, you didn’t even think about using your ring.”

  His profile remained stony and closed as she studied him. “You really think I only know the Wizard, don’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then tell me who the real Talon is. Show him to me.”

  He ignored her.

  “You can’t, can you? Because you already have. He’s you, Talon, whether you know it or not. You, when you’re not lying or conning someone. He’s the man who risked his life to save me. The man who understands me better than I understand myself.”

  But Talon’s mind was locked against her; she could see it in the stiffness of his back and the hard line of his jaw.

  “Deep down, you’re a good man, Talon MacClure. A strong, brave, good man. You don’t need the ring. You’d be a better man without it”

  But his stony profile didn’t change and she wondered if he even heard her. It was pretty clear he didn’t believe her.

  Over the years, his identity had gotten twisted up with that of the Wizard. She wondered if he even knew who the real Talon was anymore. She suspected he could no longer tell one from the other. But she could. She definitely could, and he was wrong. It was Talon she’d fallen in love with.

  Even though, in two weeks’ time, she’d be back in her own life. And how they felt about each other would no longer matter.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Julia-lass. Wake now.”

  Julia came awake with a start to the sound of Talon’s low voice and the firm hand on her shoulder. She was shaking, sweating, her heart thundering in her ears.

  “What happened?” she asked groggily.

  She sat up, the scents of the forest rich and damp in her nose. There’d been no house to beg a room off of tonight and they’d wound up having to sleep on the ground.

  “Ye had a dream.”

  Images flashed in her mind and she shuddered. Blood. Death. The details eluded her, but the images and the remembered horror remained, chilling her to the depths of her soul.

  “The chalice. I must have touched the chalice.” Though how, she wasn’t sure. They hadn’t made love tonight. They hadn’t slept together at all.

  “Nay. Ye did not. The chalice was not near ye.”

  She shivered again, but this time with that same itchy, crawling sensation that had plagued her since they set out on this misbegotten journey. Only worse. God, how could it be worse? Did she have fleas? Or lice?

  Gross.

  She jumped to her feet and paced away.

  “Julia.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said testily. The moon was out, the forest shadowed, but lit well enough for her to avoid running into a tree or tripping over a bush. She needed to walk, to move. To get away from ...

  From what? Her mind couldn’t finish the thought. Yet as she walked, the itchiness dulled. The crawling sensation began to fall away. She stood in a pool of moonlight letting the scents and sounds of the night sink into her, calm her body and mind.

  She was nearly asleep on her feet when the crawling sensation returned. Slowly at first, then stronger and stronger until it was nearly as bad as before.

  “Dammit.” She’d thought she’d finally gotten rid of it.

  “Julia,” Talon said quietly.

  She hadn’t heard him, but she opened her eyes to find him nearly upon her.

  “Talon.” That overwhelming need to escape slammed into her again. “Stay here.”

  As she hurried back the way she’d come, the discomfort eased again, then began to rise and she knew he was following. She turned to him as he reached her.

  “What is it, lass?”

  “I think I’m allergic to you.” The golden base of the chalice peeked out from beneath his shirt, glinting in the moonlight. “No, not you. The chalice.”

  “I dinna ken ...”

  “It’s bothering me, Talon. Even when I’m not touching it, it’s driving me crazy.” And suddenly everything made sense. “I’d bet money the chalice is the reason I’ve been in such a bad mood.”

  “Even when ye dinna touch it.”

  “Yes. Ever since we set out on this trip I’ve been feeling off. Out of sorts and restless.” She eyed the cup-shaped bump beneath his shirt. “I don’t like that thing.”

  Talon grunted. “Mayhap your necklace is part of the cause.”

  Julia’s hand went to her throat, gripping the gem protectively. “I took it off at Picktillum. I still got the visions when I touched the chalice.”

  “Aye.”

  But she wondered. Both the chalice and the jewel had magic. And more than likely, something to do with Hegarty. With reluctant fingers, she pulled the necklace off and dropped it into Talon’s waiting palm.

  Almost at once, the irritation drained away again.

  “You’re right. The necklace is catching the chalice’s magic. The stone is the problem.” She looked at him questioningly. “You’re not feeling anything? You wear one of Hegarty’s stones, too.”

  “Nothing, but neither do I share your visions. You’re connected to the chalice in a way the rest of us are not.”

  “Great.” She held her hand out for the necklace.

  “Ye dinna wish for me to keep it?”

  “No.” She snatched the necklace from his hand and dropped it into her boot. “It might be my only way home.”

  A strained moment of silence stretched between them.

  “I’ll not steal it from you, Julia, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Her mouth tensed. “I know.” But did she? She trusted Talon. But she had no illusions about the Wizard. He was a liar. A thief. A con man. When it suited him. When he needed to be.

  And though she saw no reason why he might need her necklace, she was taking no chances.

  As if he heard her thoughts, Talon turned his back and walked away.

  They were being followed.

  “Find us a place to hide, ye worthless piece of rock,” Talon muttered to his ring two days later.

  Talon glanced behind him through the rolling glen, seeing no sign of the riders amongst the hills and trees, but they were there. His instincts had picked up the distant sound of horses nearly two hours ago, not long after they’d set out after their midday meal. The sound had not veered away in all that time. It was possible the riders simply traveled the same path, of course, but after the last time, he couldn’t help but expect the worst.

  Especially after what had happened as he’d bought their midday meal.

  In the five days they’d been on the road, the ring had become more and more fickle as if it, too, reacted poorly to the magic of the chalice. Only twice had it provided them with a decent meal. The rest of the time, he’d been forced to spend good coin to buy oatcakes, cheese, or strips of beef from a farmer or farm wife.

  A couple of hours ago, he’d done just that. He’d been watching the farmer as Julia joined him. He’d seen the startled look on the man’s face. And watched the speculative gleam enter his eyes.

  He’d not liked the look at all.

  “That thing is driving me nuts, Talon.” Julia rode closer to him than she had in two days, ever since they’d realized the necklace reacted to the chalice. Ever since she refused to trust him with her stone. Though she’d taken to carrying it in her boot, her mood had not improved overmuch. The stone remained t
oo close to her person. “Just a little more distance?”

  “Nay. There are two riders behind us.”

  “Couldn’t they just be following the same route?”

  Her voice was sharp with annoyance, but he ignored her shrewish tone, knowing now it was caused by the magic.

  “Aye. But I’ll not be surprised again.”

  She met his gaze, the memory of the last time shimmering in her eyes, and sighed. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ve been asking my ring for fresh horses for two hours now without success. It doesna like the chalice any better than you do.”

  “Will you know if they start to gain on us?”

  “Aye, and they’re gaining.”

  Her gaze jerked to his. “Shouldn’t we go faster?”

  He shook his head. “The horses are already tired. And the riders are still a fair distance behind us. As soon as we come upon a likely place, we’ll stop.”

  “A place to hide?”

  “A place to protect ye while I confront them.” They’d not much time. He could feel the riders behind stepping up their pace.

  “Over that rise,” he told Julia. Then he’d have no choice but to face their pursuers. But as they crested the rise, he found not open glen before him, but ten armed and mounted men awaiting them, guns pointed at his chest.

  His blood went cold. Behind him, the sound of hoofbeats grew louder as the two who’d followed them closed the trap, blocking their escape.

  His muscles tensed. If he’d been alone, he’d have made a run for it. But Julia’s skills weren’t enough for such mischief. And he’d never leave her to them.

  He’d die before he let anyone harm her again.

  As one, he and Julia pulled up.

  “This can’t be good,” she said softly.

  One of the men broke away from the group and rode forward, a large man with meaty hands wearing a green plaid and bonnet upon his light-colored hair. “We mean ye no harm,” he began in Gaelic. “But the lass is one of our own.”

  Talon replied in English. “And who would ye be?”

  “Angus Brodie from Loch Laggan,” the man replied in kind. “The lass is ours. She has the Brodie eyes.”

  Julia scowled at him. “How did you know we were coming?”

  “The farmer,” Talon told her. He’d undoubtedly sent word. He addressed Angus. “We are on our way to Loch Laggan. Niall Brodie awaits my arrival.”

  The big man’s gaze narrowed. “And who would ye be, then?”

  Talon hesitated, his grip tightening on his reins. He’d no desire to share his identity with this lot. But his life might well depend upon it. And if he was dead, who would protect Julia?

  “I am called the Wizard.”

  Angus’s eyes widened with surprise. He leaned forward eagerly. “And have ye brought what ye promised him?”

  “I have.”

  A grin split the big man’s face. “Och, aye. Niall will be most pleased. We’ll be accompanying you back to Ythan Castle, we will.”

  The twelve men pressed around them, forming an escort.

  And a threat.

  Why he was so certain they presented a threat, Talon wasn’t sure. But he’d long ago learned to listen to his instincts. And those instincts were shouting with warning.

  The sun had almost set as Ythan Castle came into view, the home of the chieftain of the Brodies of Loch Laggan. It wasn’t much, as castles went, nothing like Picktillum. Instead, it sat on a hill, a single square tower rising four stories among a small village of thatch-roofed stone huts.

  Still, Julia couldn’t help but stare. Goosebumps raced over her skin. As a child, she’d been to this place. Her father used to bring her to Scotland every couple of years to visit his relatives. Her uncle, the chieftain, had lived with his extended family in a mansion house not far from here. On a road that passed right by the ruin of the old castle.

  On a couple of occasions, she’d joined the cousins on an exploration of the old ruin, which in her time was little more than a stone shell open to the sky.

  Ythan Castle, in 1688, was no ruin, but a thriving strong-hold and home.

  “I always imagined wooden towers built around this stone one, but there’s nothing more here,” she murmured to Talon, who rode close beside her.

  “’ Tis a keep, nothing more.”

  Her fingers held fast to the reins. “What’s a keep? I’ve heard the term ...”

  “It’s the last line of defense. The most secure part of a castle. In this case, it’s the only part of the castle. The Brodie chieftain and his family live here, along with their retainers. The other clan members live in the village, or elsewhere, scattered around the heaths and moors. If the Brodies come under attack, those who can will retreat to the keep for protection.”

  “Won’t they starve to death?”

  “In a siege, aye. Few clans have the money to build grand castles. But if an enemy comes a-warring, he’ll not kill the laird without a battle.”

  She’d been asking Talon questions for the past couple of days and he didn’t seem to mind. As they’d reached the lower Highlands, he’d explained that the Highland line was one demarcated less by topography than culture. The Highlanders were the last of the Gaelic-speakers and the poorest, least educated, and least civilized of the Scots.

  Future generations might turn the rough and often violent Highlanders into the stuff of legend, but from what she’d seen so far, being one in the seventeenth century meant living in the dark ages.

  It had occurred to her a few miles back that, although about half the Brodies accompanying them wore plaids, not a one wore the black-and-red plaid she’d always been taught was the true Brodie plaid, nor anything like it. Instead, most of their plaids were dull shades of green and brown and gray, few alike. And not one wore a kilt. These plaids weren’t neat little pleated skirts, but looked more like blankets belted haphazardly around their waists with one thick end draped over their shirts, across their shoulders.

  “Why don’t they wear the Brodie plaid?” Julia murmured when her curiosity finally got the better of her.

  Talon glanced at her. “And what is the Brodie plaid?”

  Her eyebrow lifted. “I thought ...” She sighed. Had nothing of history been recorded right? “I was always taught that each of the clans has their own distinctive plaid.”

  Talon’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “Everyone wearing the same? ’Twould be muckle boring, would it not?”

  She made a wry twist with her mouth. “I guess it would.” She glared at him, but there was no heat in her pique this time. “This trip is really killing the fantasy.”

  As they entered the village, people stopped what they were doing to look up. Their gazes skimmed the riders with little interest until they landed on her. One after another, she watched as interested eyes fixed on hers and widened. As hands flew to faces to make the sign of the cross.

  “Why are they doing that?” she hissed at Talon.

  “I dinna ken. ’Tis possible they think ye Catriona returned from the grave.”

  “Not likely. Other than the eyes, we look nothing alike.”

  Even at thirteen, Cat had been tall, and her hair dark as night. No, they were reacting to her mismatched eyes. The Brodies were making the sign of the cross because of her Brodie eyes. How much sense did that make?

  “How certain are you that you didn’t come from here, too?”

  “Positive.” Her earliest memory went all the way back to four or five, seeing the Eiffel Tower with her father, as they took a taxi through Paris after picking up her latest nanny.

  “You canna remember all the way back, Julia. None of us remembers our infancy.”

  Her frustrated gaze snapped to his, but he was looking elsewhere. She hadn’t come from this time. She knew it.

  Didn’t she?

  How could she be 100 percent certain? Talon was right—she didn’t remember anything before the age of four or five.

  A cool perspiration began to dampen
the back of her neck. A cold fear worming its way into her heart.

  Fear that she wasn’t who she thought.

  Fear that she should never have come here.

  Her hands tightened on the reins. She didn’t like this one bit. But as her gaze once more scanned the hard, closed faces of their escort, she knew there would be no escape.

  As they reached the castle, the massive oak-and-iron doors swung wide. Half of their escort dismounted, then swung the muzzles of their guns at them, motioning them to do the same.

  Talon dismounted with his natural, fluid strength, then reached for her, gripping her around the waist as he lifted her down.

  “If this is the way they greet family,” she muttered, “I’d hate to imagine how they welcome unknown strangers into their midst.”

  “Mind your tongue,” Talon said quietly, sharp warning in his tone.

  They were ushered up the stairs and into a great hall that looked like a medieval castle should. The air inside was far cooler than that outside, and smelled of smoke and garbage. Torches hung in sconces on walls that appeared to have been whitewashed at some time in the distant past, but were now stained with smoke and God knew what else.

  No grand hearth warmed the room. No fire at all, which was probably a good thing, since the only place she could see where they might have lit one was an open fire basket sitting in the middle of the hall. No wonder the walls appeared smoke-stained. There was nowhere for the smoke to go. It would fill the room.

  The furniture—what little there was—appeared rustic and rough-hewn. A long trestle table ran the entire length of one wall; a second, much smaller one sat in the middle of a slightly raised platform. The dais? Crude wooden chairs accompanied the smaller table, while only benches had been paired with the longer one.

  Ythan might technically be called a castle, but it was a long way from being anyone’s fairy tale.

  On the walls, out of reach of the torches, were a couple of tapestries. Her stomach clenched as she recognized one—a battle scene from a long ago Brodie victory. In her time, the tapestry had hung, ancient and fraying, beneath glass in the living room of her uncle’s manor house.