Eternity's Mark

by Maeve Greyson

  Hannah inhaled the warmth of Isla’s spell; she closed her eyes against the confusing myriad of sparkling colors. Her mind swirled and her heartbeat roared in her ears as she felt a sudden lurching shift beneath her feet.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hannah regained consciousness on the edge of the ocean just as a wave crashed into the ledge. “Ugh!” Spitting out seawater, Hannah wiped her eyes and checked to make sure Taggart’s urn hadn’t taken on any water. “Thanks a lot, Isla.”

  The wind lashed her wet hair across her face and threatened to douse her again with more salty spray. She had to move now, before she had a chance to figure out where she’d landed, or the waves would souse her again. If she paused to gather her bearings on this ocean-drenched shelf, she’d end up either soaked or drowned. Picking her way up the steep embankment, Hannah vaguely remembered the rock-strewn hillside. As she reached the top, she glanced around. The tension knotted in her chest loosened a bit. She was back. She’d arrived home. This steep cliffside stood just to the north of Taroc Na Mor.

  She remembered this to be the embankment she’d wandered down the day Taggart had revealed himself as a hybrid. Hannah squinted against the eye-watering wind as it whipped her hair into her eyes. They’d made love that night. The heat of the memory flooded need through her body. Her nipples tightened and she ached deep with wetness. He’d never touched her again. Pride and circumstance had kept them apart and now her wondrous lover was gone.

  She hugged his urn against her chest and rubbed her cheek against the carvings. Maybe Taroc Na Mor wasn’t such a great idea after all. His ghost walked here as well. The pain of the memories ached even stronger.

  Scuffing her feet in the scattered clumps of grass, Hannah made her way back to the keep. Hannah cringed as she glanced about at the deserted grounds. Had they been gone that long? Taggart would be horrified. The bushes and shrubs had sprouted and overgrown into masses of leafy monstrosities. Additional masonry had chipped away, leaving the foundation eroded and exposed. A part of the roofing had shifted in one spot and looked in danger of sliding off to the balcony on the second floor.

  “Wow.” Hannah spun on one heel as she circled around to the inner courtyard. “This place is worse than it was before we left. Look!” Holding up Taggart’s urn as if it were perfectly natural, she pointed it at the building.

  Realizing what she was doing, Hannah tucked the box back under her arm. “I have lost my mind,” she muttered aloud as she made her way up the broken steps.

  She shoved against the door, bouncing twice with her shoulder until the sticking wood gave way, then stumbled her way into the dingy hallway. Glancing around at the cobwebs curtained down from the rafters, she wrinkled her nose at the smell. Just as she remembered, except maybe quite a bit mustier and covered in a thick layer of dust.

  Home. Hannah settled Taggart on the hallway table. “We’re home, Taggart.” She laid her hand atop the box. With a frown, she leaned closer and placed her other hand on top of the cover as well. It seemed extremely warm. It must’ve been the passage back to Taroc Na Mor. Isla’s spell must’ve heated up the urn. Hannah shrugged and caressed the box. That had to be what had warmed it. That and the fact, she’d been hugging it to her chest ever since she’d crossed back to Taroc Na Mor.

  Rubbing her arms, she glanced around the room. The urn might be warm, but the keep certainly wasn’t. She had to find out if the gas was still on or at least light a fire in some of the hearths. It was almost dark. Her clothes were soaked from the welcoming wave and the damp chill had seeped into her bones.

  If she remembered correctly, the kitchen was the warmest room in the keep. Hannah paused as she turned to pick up Taggart’s urn. That room held even more memories. Gritting her teeth, Hannah took a deep breath. She couldn’t very well avoid the kitchen forever.

  Tucking his box under her arm, she made her way down the dingy hall. Her footsteps pinged on the tiles as though her shoes were made of iron. The sound reverberated down the passageways. Hannah had never realized an empty house could carry so much sound. Halfway to the kitchen, she slipped off her shoes. She couldn’t handle any more castle acoustics. The echoes traveled for days.

  Hannah settled the ivory box in the center of the kitchen table and swallowed her misgivings as she scanned the room. Her gaze fell first on the spa in the corner. Biting her lip, she forced herself to turn away and move to the icebox squatting in the corner.

  Opening the door, Hannah stuck her head inside and just as quickly jumped back. “Ugh!” That was a mistake. She covered her mouth and tried not to gag as she quickly bounced the door shut with her behind. Whew. She’d have to clean that thing out tomorrow or haul it outside and burn it.

  She opened the cupboard doors and found a tin of sardines and a slightly gnawed box of crackers. “Well, we have breakfast.” Drumming her fingers on the countertop, she spotted an unopened bottle of wine.

  Now there’s what she needed. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and risked another look at the spa. She’d find some candles. Take a long hot bath and drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine. Two times a widow, she deserved a one-night pity party, and what better place than where she and Taggart had first made love?

  Rummaging through the cabinets, she loaded her arms with thick, pillared candles, a bar of soap, and several towels to prop behind her head. As she turned to pile them on the kitchen table, she frowned as she noticed Taggart’s urn had slid to the very edge of the table toward the spa.

  “I never noticed this table being unlevel,” Hannah muttered as she slid the box back to the center of the table. A chill teased its way up her spine as she noticed one of the pillared candles lying on its side beside the box in the middle of the table. With a narrow-eyed glare at the candle as if it was pulling some sort of trick, Hannah picked it up and turned it so it could roll to the edge of the table. It didn’t. She turned it again and nudged it just a bit. The candle stayed in place.

  Snatching up the candle, Hannah picked up the rest of the items she’d scattered across the table. “I’m just tired,” she announced to the room as she hurried over to the spa.

  She set up the candles on the end of the tub, lit the wicks, and exhaled as the peaceful glow flickered about the room. She started the water flowing into the tub and piled the towels on the other end. As she turned to gather her glass and her bottle of wine, Taggart’s urn careened to the edge of the table again.

  “Will you stop it!” Hannah slid the box back to the center of the table and held on to it for a moment with both hands. It was warmer this time than it had been in the hallway. Glancing up at the ceiling, Hannah laughed at herself. No wonder. She’d placed the urn directly under the light.

  A whooshing sound caused her to turn. Every fire pit around the spa roared to life with a crackling blaze. Hannah forced herself to take a slow deep breath as she stared at the dancing flames. Gas logs. They had to be gas logs on some kind of thermostat. That had to be it. Edging closer to the tub, she refused to acknowledge the ash and debris from the popping wood at the base of the yellow flames.

  “I’m just going to drink my wine, take my bath, and I’ll worry about everything tomorrow.” She looked around the room as she spoke, as though daring the entities to spoil her evening.

  Hannah stripped down and slid into the tub. The scalding water soaked pure tonic to her bones. As she closed her eyes and leaned back against the towels, the healing spring water eased some of the agony from her heart. She sipped her wine and watched the flames dance on top of the water spanning across her body. The more she drank, the sleepier she got. It would be so easy just to slip her face beneath the surface and let all her worries and heartaches be over.

  “Hannah!”

  As Hannah jumped awake, her arm knocked Taggart’s urn into the tub, scattering his ashes across the water. “Oh my god! What have I done? How did you get over here? No! No! Now, I don’t have anything left of you at all. Oh, Taggart, no.”

  Hannah sobbed into
the spring water, her tears splashing into her hands as she filled them with Taggart’s muddied remains where they floated atop the water. As her teardrops fell, the water effervesced and the spa bubbled into a glowing energy froth. Hannah backed up into the farthest corner, as the reaction in the spring grew more frenzied. She gasped as a form rose up out of the glowing chaos and smiled into her eyes.

  “Ye brought me back, my love. I’ve been waiting for ye to figure it out.”

  Hannah didn’t move. It couldn’t be real. It had to be the wine or she had drowned and gone to heaven. She took her fingernail and dug it into the flesh of her inner arm, wincing when it hurt like hell. “Please tell me this is real. Please don’t let it be a lie,” she whispered.

  Taggart stroked the curve of her cheek with his thumb. “I promise, Hannah. ’Tis real. Your magic brought me back. I am verra much alive.”

  Hannah dove into his arms and cradled his face between her hands. Searching his eyes, she touched his cheeks, his lips, and stroked his hair, while he chuckled and stroked her back. “How, Taggart? I don’t understand.” She kissed him hard before he could answer, then finally came up for air. “How? I don’t have any magic.”

  With a carefree shrug, he smoothed her hair out of her eyes while he shook his head. “The magic of Scotland? Our love? Our immortal union? All I know is I’ve returned because you and I have much unfinished business. I felt the pull once Isla sent us back. But, Hannah, I never truly left ye.”

  With a delighted sigh, Hannah wriggled on Taggart’s lap and pressed against his chest. “I don’t care as long as it’s real. I’m just glad we’re right back where we started and I’m never going to let you out of my sight again.”

  “We’ve an eternity to watch over one another. Now stop talking and kiss me, woman.”

  BRAVA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2012 Maeve Greyson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-7796-1