“What is it?” he said.
“Just...” Jackie again hesitated. “It sounds like Eoghan has been ‘courting’ me for at least four months.”
“That long then,” he murmured.
“Why, how long have Gwendolyn and Devlin had a thing going?”
He frowned. “Longer.”
“Well, not anymore if what Chiomara says is correct,” Jackie said. “Because Eoghan doesn’t sound like a real nice guy.”
“Then why are you…I mean why is Gwendolyn marrying him?”
It was odd talking about another woman who had apparently looked identical to Jackie.
“Sounds like it’s pre-arranged,” Jackie said. “Gwendolyn marries a druid from the south and Chiomara will eventually marry a druid from the north. That’s how their father wants it to be. To seal in the power around his land.”
“Interesting,” Darach said.
“But it gets even more interesting,” Jackie said. “It seems Chiomara has had her eye on another for a long time. Someone she can’t have.”
“Who?”
“Erc Breac, King of Dalriada,” she said. “The guy who rules over all these lands.”
“King Erc. He who fathered Adlin.”
“Exactly.”
Darach narrowed his eyes. “’Tis perplexing, all of this. Aye, lass?”
“Better than any novel I’ve ever read, romance or otherwise.”
“I dinnae like it much.” He wished she was here, that he could see her. “Please stay safe. Dinnae do or say anything that might…”
When he trailed off, she continued. “Shift the air against my favor?” He was never more grateful to still hear a smile in her voice. “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything that’ll lead to a mug of ale upturned on anyone’s head…figuratively speaking.”
“Aye, lass.” While tempted to tell her he loved her because it felt right, he refrained and nodded thanks to Taggart when he returned and poured more warm water into his bath. “Listen to everything Chiomara tells you. Every detail matters.”
“I know,” she said. “If it makes you feel any better, what you’re asking of me isn’t all that different than what I’ve been doing my whole life.”
He rubbed a bar of soap between his hands. “No?”
“No.” There was an octave of resolution in her voice. “Heidrek knows. And I started talking to you a little bit about it. I dealt with this sort of thing a lot. Listening to my elders. Watching the power games they played. I’m better than most at paying attention to my surroundings and the way people manipulate each other.”
Power games? Manipulation?
And Heidrek understood.
Darach scowled, fighting back jealousy when he recalled that she'd kissed the Viking. He shouldn’t be dwelling on such trivial things but focusing on protecting her from Eoghan. Irritated with himself, he set aside emotion and focused. On her. On what mattered most.
Before he could respond, she said, “Chiomara’s back. I need to go.”
“Aye,” he whispered. “I will see you soon enough.”
And he better. Frowning, he finished bathing and dried off. When young Taggart stepped forward to assist him, he shook his head. “Thank ye, lad. I can manage. Please leave me.”
Within minutes, he was dressed in wool trousers, a finely spun deep blue tunic and boots. Darach was no fool. The clothing meant Devlin was not only first-in-command but considered family. Blue dye cost money. Only those in high favor would be afforded clothing with such color. Even his boots were a rich, supple leather.
Once fully dressed, he tucked Gwendolyn's handkerchief in his pocket, wrapped a leather belt for weapons, pleased with what had been shined and provided. Only then did he realize the blade meant to kill Eoghan was long gone into the future. A life separate from this.
But Darach—like his kin—was nothing if not a survivor. And a ruthless killer if given half a chance. A chance he could only pray he got with Eoghan.
Even if it meant it could change their entire future.
Despite his dark thoughts, he truly appreciated the weaponry. Four daggers. All of which he strapped to his body. A double-edged axe. He managed a smile as he imagined what he could do with that. His smile broadened as he strapped it to his back alongside a gleaming broadsword that someone not only polished but sharpened to perfection.
That only left one thing. The dark brown cloak. Clearly Devlin’s signature piece of clothing. That which proclaimed him first-in-command. Darach swung it over his shoulders and left the cottage.
“This way, sir,” Úistean said, coming to rapt attention before he led Darach forward.
“Ye dinnae go far, aye lad?”
“I never have,” Úistean informed.
The closer they got to the castle the scarcer people became. While some might speculate they were respecting the man marrying one of their grand mistresses, he knew better.
This village was frightened.
Though a fraction of the size of Hamilton Castle, it was by no means small with a single moat and drawbridge. The only difference was wear. It was in need of repair. Finances. That became clear as he took in the run down stables and cookery. The horses wandering about were ill-shod and the people’s clothing while not threadbare were barely thick enough considering the cool, moist climate.
Darach worked to keep a frown off his face as he eyed the castle’s stonework while climbing the stairs. Like his, this castle was close to the sea. That meant never-ending vigilance when it came to updating the masonry. Stone wore more so beneath the wind and sea. It was man’s job to see to its survival.
Thoughts of castles and their upkeep faded when he walked into the great hall and laid eyes on Jackie. Perched on a dais beside a dour-faced man and Chiomara, she had never looked more beautiful. Her hair was braided with ribbons and tiny beads. Her dress was long, flowing, satiny white, and tied at the waist with a silver rope.
“Bloody hell,” he whispered, astounded.
When their eyes met, his pure awe seemed to magnify. Her gaze filled him with a mixture of emotions. Immense love. Great misery. Untouchable longing.
Change.
So much change his throat closed and it was hard to keep walking.
Then he knew…somehow knew. They were living out a moment Gwendolyn and Devlin had lived. A moment that would change their lives forever.
No sooner did he think it than someone came in behind him.
Walking with a swift, crisp gait, a reed-thin man stopped in front of the dais. With a quick flourish of his hand and worship in his eyes, he announced the arrival of the man who had just entered. “I present my Lord, Eoghan Dubhdiadh, Druid of the South.”
Chapter Eleven
JACKIE FROZE THE second she saw him. The man from the Celtic Otherworld just walked into the hall. Living. Breathing. Alive.
Eoghan Dubhdiadh.
She had never felt such terror. Such absolute fear.
“Jackie, ‘tis all right,” Darach said into her mind. “He cannae hurt you as long as I’m here.”
She tried to respond, say something, but it was impossible.
Eoghan was real.
And clearly arrogant as he approached the dais and looked down his nose at the man who was her father. “Lord Sithchean of Ulster,” he declared. “Will ye give your daughter, Gwendolyn of Ulster, to me so that ye might have the power of the South behind ye?”
Though shivers raked her at the dead look in his eyes, she didn’t go numb with anxiety. No, she felt the bite of her nails as she dug them into her palms. In fact, she felt everything here regardless how off the charts her emotions were.
Eventually, she managed a whispered response to Darach. Short and to the point. How she felt about him going anywhere near Eoghan. “Please don’t. Stay away.”
And she meant it. This guy was pure evil. The idea of him going after Darach made her throat clench and mouth go dry.
“I gave ye my word, Eoghan Dubhdiadh,” the man by her side said. “And s
o it will be.”
Not only Chiomara but many others lowered their heads and murmured, “So it will be.”
Eoghan eyed her ‘father’ for a long moment before his gaze settled on her. It felt like every bad thing she had ever experienced dwindled down to this single moment.
One that was going to change everything.
“Please.” Lord Sithchean gestured at the tables laid with food. “Might we feast first?”
Eoghan eyed her and her father for several long moments before he offered a brief nod and headed their way.
“Ye will be fine,” Chiomara whispered with reassurance.
If there was one thing she’d learned, it was that her ‘sister’ was in her corner. It was clear based on their time alone that they loved each other a great deal.
“I only want the best for you,” Chiomara had murmured as she knelt beside Jackie’s tub earlier. “Ye need to survive, sister.”
“What does that mean?” Though Jackie already pretty much got the gist of it. “I should marry Eoghan without complaint?”
“Yes.” Chiomara squeezed her hand and met her eyes. “Forget these feelings ye have for Devlin. Father will never allow it. And if Eoghan finds out, ‘twill make his evil wrath so much more vengeful.” Her eyes pled. “’Tis evil, sister. That which can cause harm we cannot comprehend.”
Jackie meant to say it would be okay, that she would never put them in harm’s way, but something else came from her mouth. Something she imagined Gwendolyn once said.
“What sort of life are any of us to lead if we give into Eoghan Dubhdiadh? If we give in to evil so that it might save our people for one more day? Because trust me, a bargain struck like this will see no satisfying end. ‘Twill want more, again and again through the centuries.”
She was torn from thought when Eoghan sat beside her. Teeth clenched, she focused on remaining calm. And only one person could do that for her here.
Darach.
Or Devlin.
Jackie sipped her mead and watched him. As befit his station, he sat at the head of the table closest to the dais. He wore no armor now. God knows, he didn’t look any less intimidating with his wide shoulders and tall, muscled body. She couldn’t help but notice his various weapons. They almost seemed part of him. As if he was born knowing how to wield each and every one
When his eyes met hers, she knew he would protect her at all cost.
“Eat and act as normal as you can,” he murmured.
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Do. I’m right here, and dinnae intend to go anywhere.”
She had never heard the particular octave he used in her mind. A new sternness. But she wasn’t fighting it. Darach was all she had here. All that made sense. Outside of her ‘sister’ Chiomara. A woman who would apparently mark the beginning of so much when she conceived Adlin MacLomain.
Eoghan leaned close and murmured in Jackie's ear, “Ye look very becoming, lassie. But ‘twill be good to finally get ye out of those clothes…to make ye mine at last.”
Jackie offered him a tight smile. When their eyes connected, she saw three distinct things. Possessiveness. Lust. Obsession.
It was that last one that sent shivers up her spine.
This man would stop at nothing to have her. Actually, Gwendolyn.
A terrible sense of foreboding rushed through her when her eyes returned to Darach. One way or another, he would end up in Eoghan’s direct line of fire. She just knew it. Almost as if magic warned her.
That’s when she realized.
She felt what Gwendolyn once did. It was easy to forget that all of these moments had already been lived. That she and Darach were simply passengers on a ride that had already run its course…that somehow led to the future.
Chiomara and King Erc.
Eoghan’s eventual desire for Chiomara.
It was all so strange considering their current circumstances.
When Eoghan pulled her hand onto his lap, dangerously close to his groin, bile rose in her throat. Food untouched, Darach’s eyes narrowed on them. Not something he would normally do considering how dangerous things were. No, like her, he was partially a puppet to his other half. Devlin. And both, it seemed, were acting out a play they couldn’t control.
“A toast,” Chiomara declared and held up her cup. “To a marriage that might see all flourish.”
Though Jackie knew Chiomara did it to distract Darach, it didn’t work. Instead, he and Eoghan’s eyes narrowed on each other. People raised their mugs, but Eoghan interrupted them before anyone could respond.
“I can think of no better way to toast my upcoming betrothal than to see a good battle.” Eoghan’s pinky finger slowly twirled around the rim of his goblet as he eyed Darach. “Lord Sithchean, your first-in-command against mine. After we eat. Before I’m married. I know just the spot.”
“Of course,” Lord Sithchean said.
“A fight to the death.”
“But you can no’ mean that, good Druid.” Her father shook his head. “Not on such a blessed day.”
“Blessed indeed.” A sly smile came to Eoghan’s face as his eyes narrowed further on Darach. “We shall call this a sacrifice to the gods so they might show favor to our union.”
“But surely death is not such a way to mark our,” Jackie began before she was cut off.
“There is no better way to begin our life together than to spill the blood of he who looks at ye with such desire,” Eoghan hissed.
Her stomach flipped and though tempted to look, she kept her eyes from Darach.
“He wants you dead,” she said into his mind. “He knows about Gwendolyn and Devlin.”
“That doesnae overly surprise me,” he responded.
“No.” Jackie sighed. “It sounds like Gwendolyn was very opposed to this marriage. That she had strong feelings for Devlin long before they started sneaking off together.”
“How long?” Darach said, an edge of surprise to his voice, likely because she hadn’t shared this yet. She had learned about it after their last conversation.
“Probably early teenage years by the sound of it,” she murmured. “According to Chiomara, Gwendolyn never loved another.”
“Och, my dreams,” he murmured and rested his forehead against his palm. To most it appeared he might be upset over the upcoming battle, but she knew better. Images started to flicker through her mind. Dreams that finally made sense. More so to her because she knew what she looked like when she was younger…the same way Gwendolyn had.
Maybe around the age of twelve, they laughed as they jumped into a river, hand in hand. Then they were a little older. Maybe fourteen. This time, they raced through the woods. She tripped. He was on the ground seconds later, cradling her head, worried she was hurt. At that moment, looking into each other’s eyes, something more than friendship sparked. They didn’t kiss. Not yet. But soon enough other dreams filtered through her mind.
Far more intimate ones.
But none were so intense as the one where she wore a wreath of flowers on her head. A dress of white. Vows were made beneath a lush green oak tree. They were in a glade surrounded by mountains cut through by a bubbling brook that led to a cliff overlooking a wide expanse of ocean. That’s when she gave him the handkerchief.
Darach and Jackie’s eyes shot to each other.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Gwendolyn and Devlin got married without anyone knowing.”
“Aye,” he said. “And it happened in an area that we now call the Celtic Otherworld.”
“I tire of tasteless food,” Eoghan declared and stood abruptly, yanking her after him. “I wish to see a quick defeat in battle then marry my bride.”
All Jackie could think about as Eoghan pulled her after him was what he had said when they’d been in the Otherworld. How he’d implied it was their spot. Her terrible sense of foreboding only grew stronger as he led her out of the castle. His warriors suited him well. They were just as dark and ominous as they fell into step behind them.
>
She suppressed renewed fear when she saw who led them. The man who could only be Eoghan’s first-in-command. Bald and rugged, he was as tall as Darach and ferocious looking. His boulder-like shoulders were broad, and veins bulged over heavy muscles. The bear of a man wore a never-ending snarl.
“Dinnae fret,” Darach reassured. “I’ve fought larger and meaner than the likes of him.”
Somehow that didn’t make her feel any better. Nor did the way everyone lowered their heads and backed away as Eoghan led her through the village. Fear permeated the air. It had mothers tucking their children behind their skirts and dogs tucking their tails between their legs as they crouched and whined.
“I don’t like this, Darach,” she said as Eoghan pulled her after him. “I’ve got a really bad feeling.”
“Worry naught, lass. ’Tis just your surroundings making you feel that way,” he said. “All will be well.”
She frowned as Eoghan led her past the gates and up a hill. “Remember what I said about telling me what I want to hear?”
“Aye, that you dinnae like it.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, you’ve little choice, lass,” he murmured. “Because I’m telling you what needs to be said…for both our sakes.”
Jackie pressed her lips together. While frustrated, she understood. He was as honest as he could be under the circumstances. Something he might not have done even a day ago if it spared her from worrying. Oh yes, she understood his reasoning. More than that, she had begun to realize that it was genuinely difficult for him to be anything but a nice guy. He saw no reason for her to be upset when he could take the weight on himself.
She tried to remain focused on Darach as Eoghan and his entourage led her through the forest toward a special destination. Thankfully, though she was terrified, it wasn’t all that hard to keep her mind on Darach. On the glimpses of his dreams. The life they had shared here. One that gave her a deeper understanding of how close they had been. Maybe that didn’t count toward what they shared now, but it was…something.
Something she couldn’t ignore or pretend didn’t happen.
Jackie was so caught up in thought that it took several moments before she realized where they eventually ended up. How far had they walked? The hills were more mountainous and the landscape so familiar that she froze.
Passion of a Scottish Warrior (The MacLomain Series: Later Years Book 4) Page 15
