by Ann Gimpel
Vreis made a forked sign against evil. “Let us hope vampires doona read it as a prime invitation to add us to their ranks. We can deal with two or three, but more than that will slow us down and drain our power.”
“Better not to borrow trouble,” Cadr said. “How about if ye get some gold for us both and mayhap a wee bit of those food stocks Stewart found, but we never had time to prepare.”
Vreis nodded and vaulted across the deck.
“I’m not certain I understand why vampires would be a problem in daylight,” Yara said.
“They’re worse at night”—Meara’s nostrils flared—“but they’re plenty strong during the day as well. Those tales about them going to ground because sunlight burns them aren’t true.”
“Aye, like as not vampires themselves perpetrated those myths to enhance their odds of luring the unsuspecting.” Stewart turned toward Yara. He longed to sweep her up and carry her back to his bed. Tell her how much their time together had meant to him, but such things would have to wait. Maybe for a long time.
He attempted to infuse some of what he was feeling into the way he looked at her as he asked, “Do ye need help? Ye’re the only one of us with aught to put together.”
She shook her head. “I’ll go take care of everything right now. I’ve parceled out enough of the clothing I brought, it won’t take me long to arrange things.” She sent a shy smile skittering his way and ran lightly toward the stairs.
Meara glanced from Yara’s retreating form to Stewart and back again. She waited until Yara had disappeared from sight and angled her head to one side. The scents of rosemary and clay baked hard under an Egyptian sun rose, and Stewart understood she’d wound a ward around them.
“We dinna need privacy,” he protested. “Cadr knows everything I do.”
“My decision, not yours,” Meara retorted. “This isn’t the best of times to launch an affair of the heart. Or was it only sex?”
Stewart winced, pursing his mouth into a hard line. “’Tisn’t any of your business from where I sit.”
She marched directly in front of him and thumped his chest with an extended index finger. “Of course, it’s my affair. I need every single one of us a thousand percent behind getting off this ship and into the Highlands. You may have forgotten”—she thumped again for good measure—“but you’re a key element in securing aid from the magical elements here. I can call shifters to our side, but we need the Fae and the Celts. If you’re mooning over a new love interest, you might not—”
Stewart’s temper flared as anger rushed through him in a steamy tide. He slapped Meara’s hand aside. “I doona need someone prescribing what I should and shouldna do. That approach may work for your shifters, but I doona report to you. If we are to work together effectively, ye’d do well to remember that.”
She narrowed her eyes. “That serious, eh?”
“I am not discussing Yara with you.”
“Fine,” Meara countered. “Don’t, but have you thought how the Celts will react to your pleas for assistance if you’re no longer Stewart, the Druid priest who eschewed everything to serve them?”
“That wasna how ’twas at all,” he protested.
“Really?” she quirked a gray brow. “Did you never think it odd no woman ever materialized who appealed to you?”
He bit back a harsh rush of words. Maybe the first shifter was onto something. The Celts had kept him exactly where they wanted him, able to spring to their beck and call at a moment’s notice. A wife would have interfered. His choice to keep to himself once he left Scotland had been of his own making. He was no longer so certain about the hundreds of years before that.
He shook his head and exhaled briskly. “No reason for them to know.”
Breath hissed from between Meara’s teeth. “They’re gods. They know everything, plus Rhiannon is bound to show up. She said as much, and Yara carries her blood. For all we know, she might have her daughter’s future planned out.”
“I doubt it. She hung about the sidelines for years. If she had any stake in Yara’s choices, she’d have made her presence known long afore now.”
“Not necessarily.” Meara frowned. “I haven’t had much truck with the Celts, but from what little I know, they’re an odd lot. Quick to cast blame and squabble among themselves, but equally quick to defend one of their own if an outsider has the temerity to criticize them—or seeks to bond with them.”
“’Tis a fair encapsulation.” He shrugged. “Naught I can do about how they react. I learned that long ago.”
Meara focused her gimlet gaze on him. “You could lay this new love interest of yours aside until after the next spate of events unfolds.”
“Nay. I willna do that.” He leaned close. “Yara is mine. Mine. Do ye ken that?”
“All too well. The question is if she understands it the same way you do, and whether your lack of attention to our mission will doom us all. Each of us has only so much energy and magic. You may not agree with my assessment, but the amount you squander on Yara won’t be available for the task at hand.” Turning on her heel, Meara stalked away and her spell splintered around him.
Stewart stared after her. Fury vied with an almost profane need to possess Yara. He’d already branded her, but he wanted to deepen his marks, make certain the world knew she was his woman.
His and his alone.
He sucked in a breath and blew it out. Then he did it again. Damn if Meara’s observations weren’t too accurate for comfort. His focus—his total focus—had to be shepherding them across Scotland and persuading every magical creature he could locate to join their effort.
Anything less than his best effort might, indeed, doom them all. Cadr and Vreis could help, but it would take all three of them to convince magical creatures, who’d steered clear of anything that smacked of interference in human affairs, to do anything other than burrow deeper into the hills and barrows of the Highlands.
If they became really annoyed, it wasn’t beyond them to retreat to the Dreaming and remain there to wait out mankind’s latest disaster.
Vreis loped back to the helm and dropped a handful of coins into Cadr’s pocket. He patted his own. “We’re set. Do ye wish a break from the wheel?”
“Sure.” Cadr strode to Stewart. “What the bloody hell was all that about? I saw Meara’s spell.”
Stewart shook his head. “Nothing. Naught to be concerned with.” Before Cadr could question him further, he hurried away. Not being totally truthful with his companion went against the grain, but he couldn’t very well admit he’d been about to make a huge mistake by placing his infatuation with Yara above his responsibilities to them all.
That had almost come back to bite them when the magical maelstrom jumped its bounds, and the only thing that saved them from ruin was Yara screaming at him to release the rebellious clump of enchantment.
He clacked his jaws together. They’d vanquish the demons and vampires and send them packing. Their absence would weaken the Nazis and pave the way for the Allied Forces to conquer them. Perhaps there’d even be a way to encourage the States to jump into the fray and lend their considerable military power.
Feeling a little better, he hustled to the ship’s bottom deck intent on making certain they didn’t leave anything behind that might come in useful.
He wasn’t giving up on sharing his life with Yara, merely putting it off until after the heavy lifting was done. Surely, she’d understand.
Aye, but will she agree to keep our attraction under wraps until afterward?
The certainty that all would be well deserted him. He could stumble through an explanation about being the Celts’ lackey and them preferring him unattached to better serve their needs, but it made him look like little better than a trained lapdog. Scarcely the image he wanted to project for the woman he was falling in love with.
Since no easy answers rose, he turned his thoughts to the task at hand and pulled open cabinets and drawers. Soon a respectable pile of moth-eaten cloaks and fo
odstuffs lay at his feet. Stacking the items, he summoned magic to transport them to the main deck.
He’d figure out a way to square things with Yara. He had to. Nothing could get between them…
A sinking feeling left a bitter taste in his mouth. Something had already driven a wedge in the closeness he yearned for. He hoped to hell it wasn’t the leading edge of such a long laundry list Yara gave up in disgust.
Chapter 16
Yara whistled a cheery folk tune as she sorted and stuffed items into sacks. True to her prediction, two sacks held everything this time. The book’s magic pulsed, which meant it wanted her attention, but she dropped it into a bag with promises she’d attend to it later.
The worn, leather binding heated beneath her fingertips before she let go of it. Clearly, the tome didn’t agree with her decision. It was used to commanding her attention, and it demanded it now.
She glanced around the cabin, making certain she hadn’t missed anything. She needed to run down to the hold and gather a few coins. Once that was done, she could let the book’s latest gambit unfold. Telling it as much, she fled out the door with magic prickling from her feet to the crown of her head.
She smothered a snort. Ever since the book had come into her possession, she’d figured it was a tool, something for her to leverage to maximize her power.
Yeah, I had no idea it actually ran the show and was just waiting for an opportunity to turn into a taskmaster. For all I know, it’s how Mother keeps an eye on me.
That last thought was disquieting enough she squelched it. Rhiannon’s presence was plenty daunting, without envisioning her skulking somewhere behind the book to follow Yara’s every move.
The distinctive feel of Stewart’s magic enveloped her long before she reached the bottom of the ladder. She hastened her footsteps, thrilled by the prospect of another hug and perhaps a kiss or two.
“Hi! What a lovely surprise,” she called when he came into view. After she reached him, she extended a hand. “What are you doing?”
A look she couldn’t decipher washed over his face, and the power that had shimmered about him faded. “Taking inventory and moving a few things to the main deck. We can split up who carries them. Not much point in leaving anything aboard that might help us.”
His words held a formality that surprised her. He’d never sounded this distant, not even the day they’d first met. She dropped her hand—a hand he hadn’t grasped—and asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Nay, lass. What could be wrong? Odds are excellent we’ll reach port. From there, ’tis anyone’s guess, but our luck should hold.” The stilted aspect to his words deepened, almost as if he’d understood her question well enough, but was choosing not to answer it.
Her happiness at seeing him faded, replaced by a sodden certainty he saw her as a slut. Men were like that. They pushed for sex, but once you gave in, you joined the ranks of fallen women. She puffed out a ragged breath. She would not make a fool of herself.
I will not cry.
I will not flatten him with magic—even if I could.
I will leave this hold with my dignity intact.
A tall order, but she’d pull it off. Part of her wanted to dissolve into inane laughter. Talk about the quintessential shipboard romance gone bad.
“Yara. Are ye all right?”
Yeah, sure, fine. You slimy bastard. You led me to believe you cared about me.
She smiled brightly, wondering if her face would break. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m just down here for a few coins. See you when it’s time to disembark.” Spinning, she ran to the room that held the gold.
Unbelievably, he followed her. Jesus! Wasn’t it enough he’d just given her the brushoff? She bent and stuffed two handfuls of coins into her pockets. When she turned to leave, he blocked the doorway.
“Ye doona understand, lass.”
“Oh I understand plenty,” she sputtered. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Nor was I a maid, so I know how these things work.” She bit off a string of words about thinking he was different, pushed past him, and pelted down the corridor. The sooner she got back to her cabin and found out what the book wanted, the better.
Tears pricked behind her eyelids, but she blinked them away.
He ran after her, reaching her before she could escape up the steep stairs. “Ye doona understand,” he repeated.
Yara spun and faced him, hands extended in front of her. “Oh I don’t, do I? Let me be abundantly clear. I won’t bother you. No tears. No recriminations. Let’s just forget we ever had sex, okay? It wasn’t that great anyway.”
She winced internally at the lie, but hoped he’d be too wrapped up in guilt—or whatever he was feeling—not to notice.
The pained expression on his face hardened. Apparently, her jibe about his lack of bedroom skills had sunk in. Men all fancied themselves Lotharios. To suggest otherwise was the worst disparagement imaginable.
“Ye doona really mean that, lass—” he began.
She leveled her gaze at him and broke in. “Oh yes, I do.” Without waiting for what tripe he’d come up with next, she pulled herself hand over hand up the ladder-like stairs.
This time, he didn’t follow her.
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or devastated. Tears were far too close to the surface, but she made it into her cabin and sealed the door with magic before they leaked from both eyes. Yara scrubbed at her cheeks. Why the hell should she be so upset? She’d had one-shot lovers before. In truth, it was all she’d had.
She sank onto the end of the lower bunk and wrapped her arms around herself. The answer to her question was obvious. She was upset because he’d promised more.
“And I believed him. Fool that I was,” she muttered.
Yara inhaled deeply, blew it out, and did it again. At least it kept the tears from turning into a full-blown crying jag. She wasn’t the first woman to be taken in by a smooth-talking man intent on taking his cock out for some exercise. And she wouldn’t be the last. When Ian had first begun courting her sister, she’d been certain he was only in it for Ilse’s body.
“I was wrong about him. And wrong about Stewart too, it appears.” She went on talking out loud to steady herself. “Perfect track record. Guess I should give up trying to predict what anything with a dick between its legs will do.”
A muted squeal from the sack containing the book reminded her she’d made it a promise. It had never made any noise before, so this must be truly important. Relieved to have something to do beyond stewing about a love affair that had never existed except in her imagination, she plucked the book from its sack and let it flop open across her lap.
As she expected, the pages rustled, driven by magic she didn’t control. When they stopped, she studied the indicated section. It was devoted to the Celtic pantheon and outlined the various gods and goddesses in excruciating detail.
Yara thumped the open page with her fingertips. “What? You expect me to memorize who all these deities are right now? It’s not going to happen.”
Light pulsed and glowed, and the book moved to another section. Yara’s eyes widened. This part was about Stewart. It had a likeness and his name. She flipped through over a dozen closely-written pages before anger got the better of her and she slammed the book shut.
“I am not going to waste my time reading about him.” She slapped the flat of her hand against the book’s binding for emphasis. “What I don’t comprehend is why you’d even want me to. Don’t you understand? He lied to me.”
Yara bolted to her feet and dropped the book back into its sack. “Leave me alone for a while. I’m done with you and Stewart.”
The golden light that had shimmered around the tome faded until it looked like it had most of the time it had been in her possession: a very old grimoire that contained spells.
Yara stared at it, waiting for it to do something, but it lay inert at the top of the sack. Maybe it was done with her.
If it was fueled by Rhiannon’s magic, did that mean
her mother was done with her as well? Yara cinched up the sack. It didn’t matter. How could she lose anything that had never been hers in the first place?
“Excellent question,” she muttered and snatched up both sacks intent on carting them to the main deck so she’d be ready when the boat pulled up to a dock. She made her way up the stairs in two trips since she needed one hand to hang onto the railing.
Almost everyone was milling about the deck. Stewart was there handing out goods. Avoiding him, she walked to where Tairin, Elliott, and Michael sat with their backs against a bulkhead.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Michael.
He shrugged. “Better, but still weak. I’m doing my best to consolidate my magic so I won’t be dependent on the rest of you to hide me.”
Elliott patted the older man’s arm. “I already told you, I’ll take care of you.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to have to,” Michael grumbled.
Tairin got to her feet and moved next to Yara. “How’s it going?” she asked in telepathy and slanted her gaze Stewart’s way.
Yara rounded on her, but clamped her jaws shut before something harsh escaped. Tairin cared. It was why she’d asked. Yara just shook her head. Anything she said would come out wrong, so silence was her best bet. She was still raw from Stewart’s abrupt dismissal cloaked in some higher purpose she “wouldn’t understand.”
Mercifully, Tairin didn’t say anything else. She only nodded sympathetically.
“How long before we reach port?” Yara asked. “It’s too dark to see much, but I smell land.”
“Soon,” Elliott replied. “I just asked Vreis much the same. He and Cadr have some kind of shrouding about the ship. It means others can’t see us, but it keeps us from seeing much as well.”
Yara frowned, not familiar with a ward that was opaque. She remained with her small group in silence, waiting. The scrape of wood against wood was followed by a jolt, and she shot forward along with Tairin, straining to see through the murk. Elliott helped Michael upright. Soon was one thing, but she hadn’t been ready for landfall quite that quickly.
