The Highlander Series 7-Book Bundle

by Karen Marie Moning

  Dageus, you can tell me anything, Drustan had said.

  There’s naught to tell. ’Twas all a myth. Lie upon lie.

  Then had begun the regular calls from Drustan, asking when he’d be home. He’d stopped picking up the phone months ago.

  “So this is a reunion?”

  “Of sorts.” If Drustan turned him away, he’d take Chloe to the museums. He’d find another way. He was fair certain his brother wouldn’t attack him. If he’d not come home, if he’d made Drustan hunt him, that might well have happened. But he hoped Drustan would understand his return for what it was: a request for aid.

  She eyed him intently. He could feel her gaze, though he kept his profile to her.

  “Did you and your brother have a falling out?” she said gently.

  “Of sorts.” He released the brake and resumed their journey, giving her a chilly look so she’d drop it.

  A few moments later, she slipped her wee hand into his.

  He tensed, startled by the gesture. He was accustomed to women reaching for many parts of him, none of them his hand.

  He glanced at her, but she was staring straight ahead. Yet her hand was in his.

  He closed his fingers around hers before she might snatch it away. Her wee hand was nearly swallowed by his. It meant more to him than kisses. More even than bedplay. When women sought him for sex, it was for their pleasure.

  But Chloe’s small hand had been given without taking.

  Adam Black watched the automobile wind up the roads into the Keltar mountains. Though his queen had long ago passed an edict forbidding any Tuatha Dé Danaan to go within a thousand leagues of a Keltar, Adam had decided that since The Compact had been violated on the Keltar side, old edicts didn’t apply.

  He knew why she’d passed the edict. The Keltar, having pledged their lives and all their future generations to upholding The Compact, were to be free of any Tuatha Dé Danaan interference, because his queen had known, even then, that there were those among their race that didn’t like The Compact. Who’d not wanted to leave the mortal realm. Who’d argued to conquer the human race. Who might have tried to goad a Keltar into breaking it.

  So since the day The Compact had been sealed, not one Keltar had so much as glimpsed one of their ancient benefactors.

  Adam suspected that might have been a mistake. For, although the Keltar had faithfully performed their duties, over four thousand years they’d forgotten their purpose. They no longer even believed in the Tuatha Dé Danaan, nor did they recall the details of the fateful battle that had set them on their course. Their ancient history had become nothing more than vague myths to them.

  While on Yule, Beltane, Samhain, and Lughnassadh, the Keltar still enacted the rites that kept the walls solid between their worlds, they no longer recalled that such was the purpose of those rites. Perhaps one generation had neglected to pass down the oral tradition in full to the next. Perhaps the elder had died before he’d been able to impart all the secrets. Perhaps old texts had not been faithfully recopied before time had disintegrated them, who knew? One thing Adam did know was that mortals ever seemed to forget their history. Those days that were so sacred to The Compact were now seen as feast days, little more.

  He snorted, watching the car crest the hill. Humans couldn’t even get their own religious history sorted out, from a mere two millennia past. It was no wonder that their history with his race had become so obscured by time’s passage.

  So, he thought, watching from his perch upon a high tor, the darkest Druid has come home, bringing with him all the resurrected evil of the Draghar. Fascinating. He wondered what his queen would make of it.

  He had no plans to tell her.

  After all, in Adam’s opinion, it was her fault they’d been there to be resurrected in the first place.

  Even now, she was ensconced with her council, where they were busy determining the mortal’s fate.

  Four thousand and some odd years ago, his people had withdrawn to their hidden places so that mortal and Fae would not destroy each other. Shortly thereafter, the Draghar, with their black arts, had nearly destroyed both their worlds.

  His queen would never permit such a thing to happen.

  He sighed. The mortal’s time was finite.

  • 12 •

  Gwen MacKeltar, former pre-eminent theoretical physicist, now wife and expectant mother, sighed dreamily, leaning back in the bathtub against her husband’s hard chest. She was between his muscular thighs, with his strong arms around her, soaking in warm bubbly water and deliriously content.

  Poor man, she thought, smiling. In her second trimester, she’d nearly punched him if he’d tried to touch her. Now, in her third, she was inclined to punch him if he didn’t touch her. Frequently and exactly how she wanted. Her hormones were all over the place and the darned things just wouldn’t function according to any equation she’d been able to compute.

  But Drustan appeared to have forgiven her for the last few months, after the marathon sessions they’d been having. And not only didn’t he seem to care that she was hopelessly fat, he’d happily devoted himself to finding new and unusual ways to make love that compensated for her physical changes. The tub was one of Gwen’s favorites.

  Hence, there she was at seven o’clock in the evening, with dozens of candles scattered about the bathroom, and her husband’s strong arms around her, when the doorbell chimed downstairs.

  Drustan dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck. “Are we expecting someone?” he asked, the small kiss turning into delicious nibbles.

  “Mmm. Not that I know of.”

  Farley would get the door. Farley, properly christened Ian Llewelyn McFarley, was their butler and every time Gwen thought of him her heart went all soft. The man had to be eighty if a day, with bristly white hair and a tall, bowed frame. He lied about his age, and everything else, and she adored him.

  What made her heart go really soft was that Drustan also had a tender spot for the old geezer. He had endless patience and invited his tall tales in the evening before a fire, as butler and laird shared a wee dram.

  She knew that, regardless of how well her husband had adapted to her century, part of him would always be a sixteenth-century feudal laird. When they’d first moved into their new home—instead of doing what a normal twenty-first century person would have done, and taken an ad out in the paper for staff or contacted an employment agency—Drustan had gone to Alborath and dropped word in the local grocery and barber shop.

  Within two hours, Farley had appeared on their doorstep claiming to have “buttled in some of the finest homes in England” (the man had never been out of Scotland), and further claimed he could arrange the entire staffing of their castle.

  They’d since been overrun by McFarleys. There were McFarleys in the kitchen, McFarleys in the stables, McFarleys doing the ironing and the laundry and the dusting. As near as Gwen had been able to count, they’d employed the man’s entire clan of nine children (and spouses), fourteen grandchildren, and she suspected there were a few “greats” floating about.

  And though it had soon become clear that none of them had any experience in their respective positions, Drustan had pronounced them all satisfactory because he’d heard in the village that positions were hard to find.

  In modern terms, the economy in Alborath was not good. Work was hard to find. And the feudal lord had surfaced, taking responsibility for the McFarleys.

  She adored that about her husband.

  A sharp knock at the bathroom door jarred her from her thoughts.

  “Milord?” Farley inquired cautiously.

  Gwen giggled and Drustan sighed. Farley refused to address him by any other title, no matter how persistently Drustan corrected him.

  “Mister MacKeltar,” Drustan muttered. “Why is that so difficult for him?” He was determined to adopt twenty-first century customs. Unfortunately, Farley was just as determined to preserve the old ones and had decided that since Drustan was the apparent heir of the castl
e, he was a lord. Period, the end.

  “Aye?” Drustan replied more loudly.

  “Sorry to be disturbing you and the lady, but there’s a man here to see you, and I ken ’tis no’ of my business, but I’m thinking I should have you know that he seems a bit the dangerous type, though he’s polite enough as it is. Now the lass with him, och, in my opinion she’s a sweet wee and proper lass, but him, well, ’tis more of an air about him, you ken? I’m thinking you mightn’t hold well with me saying so, being as he looks so much like you, though no’ like you at all. Ahem.”

  Farley cleared his throat, and Gwen felt Drustan go rigid behind her. She’d gone rather tense herself.

  “Milord, he’s saying he’s your brother, but being as you’ve no’ mentioned a brother, despite the resemblance . . .”

  Gwen didn’t hear another word because Drustan shot from the bath so fast that she got a thorough dunking and her ears were filled with water. By the time she surfaced, Drustan was gone.

  Dageus had neglected to mention that his brother lived in a castle. Sheesh, Chloe thought, shaking her head, I should have expected it. Where else would such a man have come from? Old World, indeed.

  It was an elegant castle, with a great stone wall and authentic barbican, with round turrets and square towers and probably a hundred rooms or more.

  Chloe pivoted, trying to look everywhere at once. She’d not uttered a word since they’d entered the tree-canopied drive and begun their approach. She’d been too stunned. She was in Scotland, and they were going to be staying in a castle!

  The interior of the great hall was enormous, with corridors shooting off in all directions. An intricately carved balustrade encircled the hall on the second floor, and an elegant double staircase swept down from opposing sides, met in the middle, and descended in one wide train of steps. A lovely stained-glass window was inset above the double entry doors. Brilliant tapestries adorned the walls, and the floors were scattered with rugs. There were two fireplaces in the hall, both tall enough for people to walk around in, bigger than the bathroom in her efficiency had been! Her fingers curled as she wondered how many artifacts she might get to examine.

  “Do you like it, lass?” Dageus asked, watching her intently.

  “It’s magnificent! It’s—it’s—” she broke off, sputtering. “Oh, thank you,” she exclaimed. “Do you have any idea how thrilling it is to me to be standing in an authentic medieval castle? I’ve dreamed of this moment.”

  He smiled faintly. “Aye, the castle is magnificent, isn’t it?”

  He couldn’t have sounded more proud if he’d built it himself, Chloe thought. “Did you grow up here?”

  “Sort of.”

  “I could get tired of that answer in a hurry,” she said, eyes narrowing. “I’m not exactly hard to talk to. You should try it.” Since he’d told her that he and his brother had had some kind of falling out, she was better able to understand his withdrawn attitude. But if he thought it would keep her from asking questions, he was wrong.

  “Ever the curious lass, aren’t you?”

  “If I waited for you to offer information, I’d never find out anything. Speaking of which, we need to talk about this curse-thing soon too. I can’t help you if I don’t know exactly what we’re looking for.”

  Wariness flickered through his eyes. “Aye, I know. Anon, lass. For the now, let’s see if I survive the wrath of my bro—”

  He broke off abruptly, his gaze flying to the stairs.

  Chloe’s gaze followed, and she sucked in a sharp breath. A man who looked exactly like Dageus was standing there, halfway down the stairs, looking down at Dageus. She looked between them rapidly, disbelievingly.

  “Oh, God, you’re twins,” she said faintly. Faintly, because the man at the top of the stairs wore only a towel around his waist.

  “Stay right there!” the man on the stairs thundered. “I’ll but get my trews. My apologies, lass. I had to see him with my own eyes.” He turned around and loped up the stairs, three at a time.

  Dageus mumbled something that sounded almost like, if he drops his towel I’ll kill him, but Chloe decided she was imagining things.

  The man skidded to a halt at the top and cast a sharp glance directly at Chloe. “Doona let him leave, lass,” he roared at her.

  “Wow,” was all she could manage.

  Beside her, she felt Dageus stiffen. For a moment, it seemed the hall grew markedly cooler.

  “The lasses have oft said I am more handsome,” he said icily. “And a better lover.”

  Chloe blinked up at him.

  “So doona be ogling him. He’s married, lass.”

  “I wasn’t ogling,” she protested, knowing full well she’d been ogling. “And if I was, it’s only because you didn’t warn me that you were twins.”

  He gave her a dark look.

  “Besides, he only had a towel on,” she justified.

  “I doona care if he had naught but his skin on. ’Tisn’t polite to ogle another woman’s husband.”

  Chloe caught her breath. His expression was furious and he looked … jealous. About her? For looking at his brother? She peered at him, hardly daring to credit it.

  Abruptly, his gaze was gone again, fixed at the top of the stairs, and hers followed. She glanced from Drustan to Dageus and back again.

  And she wondered how Dageus might have worried for even a moment that Drustan wouldn’t welcome him home. The expression on his brother’s face took her breath away. Love blazed in his eyes and, though she couldn’t tell from this distance, it looked as if they glistened with tears.

  “Drustan,” Dageus said with a cool nod.

  Drustan’s eyes dimmed and his mouth tightened.

  “Drustan?” Drustan snapped. “That’s it? A mere Drustan? No ‘Good morrow, brother, ’tis sorry I am that I’ve been such an ass and no’ come home’?” His voice was rising with each word and he began stalking down the stairs.

  God, they even moved the same way, Chloe marveled, like great sinuous cats, all sleek strength and smoothly sculpted muscles. Though Drustan had pulled on “trews,” he’d not bothered with a shirt and his hair was wet, dripping down his chest. The muscles in his glistening torso rippled with every movement. He must have been in the shower, she realized.

  “. . . is that how you’ll greet me?” Drustan was still talking, but she’d missed part of his verbal barrage, apparently temporarily deafened by visual overload. “Get over here and greet me properly,” he thundered.

  Chloe tore her gaze away from Drustan and looked at Dageus. And stared. Though he looked as remote and impassive as ever, his eyes positively burned with emotion. He was as still as one of the many standing stones they’d passed, seeming every bit as ancient and obdurate. If one didn’t notice the hands fisted at his sides. And those eyes.

  Oh, there was more to Dageus MacKeltar than he let on! And her hypothesis was right. When he felt most deeply was when he exhibited the greatest reserve.

  So that was how such a man wore love, she realized. Quietly. Not an expressive man. Not a man to laugh or cry or dance. A man who had hair to his waist, but never wore it down. Did he ever let himself go?

  I’ll bet he does in bed. She was utterly rattled by the thought of all that disciplined muscle coming undone in bed. God, she could just taste it. …

  She shivered, studying the two men.

  They were twins, but they weren’t completely identical, she realized. There were minute differences. Drustan’s hair wasn’t as long, a bit past his shoulders, his eyes silvery. Taller, and he probably weighed more. Drustan was packed with muscle, Dageus’s body was leaner, more ripped. Same beautiful, chiseled features though. Even the same dark shadow beard on similar jaws. She peered intently. Dageus’s mouth was more … full and sulky. The mouth of a born seducer.

  She was so engrossed that she didn’t even notice the woman’s approach until she spoke softly.

  “Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

  Chloe turned, startled. The wom
an who’d spoken was as short as she was, and extremely pregnant, with silvery-blond hair and wispy fringed bangs. Her hair was twisted up in a knot and slightly damp, and Chloe blushed a little, realizing they’d obviously both been in the shower, and she found it highly doubtful that they’d been in separate ones. She was beautiful, glowing with the unique radiance of a pregnant woman who was utterly thrilled by impending motherhood, or … the radiance of a woman who’d just been treated to a MacKeltar’s special seductive talents in the shower, Chloe thought wistfully. The mere thought of taking a shower with Dageus made Chloe feel rather glowy herself.

  “Very. I had no idea they were twins. Dageus didn’t tell me.”

  “Drustan didn’t tell me either. He regretted that later, when I kissed Dageus because I thought he was Drustan. Drustan didn’t care for it one bit. They’re possessive about their women, but I’m sure you know that. I’m Gwen, by the way, Drustan’s wife.”

  “Hi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Chloe Zanders.” Chloe nibbled her lip uncertainly, then felt it necessary to clarify, “But I’m not his … er, woman. We met only recently and I’m just here to help him with translations.”

  Gwen looked highly amused. “If you say so. How did the two of you meet?”

  If you say so? Now just what did that mean? And how to answer the question about how they’d met? Chloe opened her mouth and shut it again. Surely not, I snooped through his penthouse and he tied me to his bed. And then I started turning into a person I hardly recognize anymore. “That’s a long story,” she said warily.

  “Those are the best kind—I can’t wait to hear it! I have a few of my own.” Gwen looped her arm through Chloe’s and steered her toward the staircase. “Farley,” she called over her shoulder to the white-haired butler, “would you have tea and coffee sent up to the solar? And some snacks. I’m starving.”