Midnight's Warrior

by Donna Grant

  She didn’t understand. Back at MacLeod Castle in the few moments she was there she had seen Phelan heal everyone, including Charon, with just a few drops of his blood. Phelan had given Ramsey much more than that, but Ramsey hadn’t moved.

  “Maybe it’s because of his mix of Druid and Warrior,” Arran said into the silence.

  Phelan gave a shake of his head. “It shouldna matter what he is. My blood heals everything.”

  “Does it bring them back from the dead?” Fallon asked.

  “No.”

  That one word seemed to extinguish whatever hope Tara had held in her heart. She laid her hand over Ramsey’s heart where the bullet had nearly struck.

  The ribbons of magic still wound around him, growing thicker the longer she touched him. From what she knew of magic, she was sure that it would help him, not harm him, or she wouldn’t still be touching him.

  “He was so sure of winning against Declan. He even convinced me,” Tara said to no one in particular.

  “I felt some of his mix of power and magic,” Arran said. “He should have been able to best Declan.”

  Fallon ran a hand through his hair. “Then what happened? How did Declan know to bring so many men?”

  Tara lifted a handful of snow. “Because of this.”

  “Ah,” Larena said with a sigh.

  Phelan flattened his lips. “Someone care to fill me in?”

  “I caused the snow,” Arran said. “It was Ramsey’s idea to help keep Declan away and give us more time with Tara to convince her she could trust us.”

  Tara glanced at Arran. “Except Declan used his magic to slow the snow. Ramsey’s mistake was having Arran create another, stronger storm.”

  “And Declan realized a Warrior was here,” Phelan finished with a nod.

  Larena put her hand on Fallon’s shoulder. “We cannot stay here. We need to bring Ramsey home.”

  Everyone stood but Tara. She wasn’t yet ready to give up on Ramsey, but neither could she keep him in the snow. Tara took Ramsey’s hand in hers as Phelan put a hand on one of her shoulders and Arran took the other.

  The cold instantly melted away to the warmth that was MacLeod Castle. As soon as they appeared, everyone surrounded them, the silence deafening as they stared at Ramsey.

  “Nay,” the blond giant, Hayden, said in a disbelieving whisper.

  Phelan spoke to the group, but he caught Tara’s gaze as he said, “Ramsey isna dead yet. He lives, but hangs on by a thread.”

  “What the hell is that winding around him?” someone asked.

  Arran squeezed Tara’s shoulder as he said, “It’s Tara. Whenever she and Ramsey touch, those ribbons of magic appear around him.”

  “And only him,” Charon added.

  Charon helped Tara to her feet as several Warriors lifted Ramsey and walked with him up the stairs. Tara watched them, silently praying that Ramsey would wake.

  She looked down at her hands and coat covered in Ramsey’s blood. Every instinct cried out for her to go to him, but it was Fallon’s gaze that kept her in the hall.

  When the group disappeared Phelan sank onto a bench and propped his elbow atop the table. “I did all I could.”

  “We know,” Arran said. “I saw how many of those drough bullets he had in him. He shouldna have remained standing.”

  Tara looked at the floor, unsure of what to do or say. Then, there was a soft hand on her arm. She looked up to find herself surrounded by women.

  “You are welcome here. Please make yourself at home,” Larena said.

  A woman with chestnut hair that came to her shoulders and framed her face with curls told Larena, “Go change.” When Larena walked away, the woman turned her mahogany gaze to Tara. “I’m Cara, Lucan’s wife. I’m sure you haven’t met everyone yet, and we’re a large brood so it’ll probably take time to learn everyone’s name.”

  “Come,” said another woman as she pulled Tara to the roaring fire in the huge hearth. “I’m Marcail, Quinn’s wife.”

  Tara had never seen such lovely turquoise eyes before, and on the crown of Marcail’s head was an array of small braids banded with gold.

  “I’m Isla,” said the petite black-haired woman she’d noticed earlier. “The giant is my husband, Hayden.”

  Tara’s head began to swim with all the faces so far. Reaghan, who was Galen’s wife, took her jacket, and the redhead she’d seen trying to heal Charon was Sonya, who was married to Broc—the one with wings.

  Then there was Gwynn, an American from Texas by her drawl, who was married to Logan, Dani who had the most stunning silver-blond hair and was married to Ian, and Saffron, the Seer, who was married to Camdyn.

  Tara put her hand to her head that was now pounding. She’d met all the Druids, but remembering each of them was going to take some time.

  “And that’s not all of us,” Dani said.

  Cara laughed. “That’s right. Fiona is gone with Braden and Aiden into town.”

  “Aiden is mine and Quinn’s son,” Marcail said proudly.

  Reaghan nodded. “And Fiona is Braden’s mother. They traveled with me from Loch Awe when I first came here.”

  “Which was when?” Tara asked.

  They acted as if all of them had been together for decades and not years.

  Gwynn was the one who laid a comforting hand on Tara’s knees. “There is much you need to be caught up on. Suffice it to say most have been living in this castle for over four centuries.”

  “What?” Tara asked with a choked laugh. “But only the Warriors are immortal, not Druids.”

  Isla with her ice-blue eyes smiled knowingly. “You’re correct, of course. That is, unless you have a Druid who is powerful enough to not only hide the castle from view, but also make it so that mortals who stay within my shield aren’t touched by the passing of time.”

  “So you’re the one Ramsey spoke about. The one Deirdre forced to become drough.”

  “That’s me,” Isla said with only a hint of sadness. “I survived five hundred years with Deirdre as my captor. It was being brought to MacLeod Castle that helped me become strong enough to break from her.”

  “I hope it was more than that,” said a deep voice at the top of the stairs.

  Tara turned to see Hayden descend the steps and walk to Isla. He placed a kiss atop her head and nodded to Tara.

  “We didna get an introduction earlier, though we’ve heard a lot about you, Tara Kincaid. In case my beautiful wife didna tell you, I’m Hayden Campbell.”

  Isla elbowed him in the ribs. “Where was Ramsey put?”

  “In the south tower.”

  Sonya rose. “I better see if any of my healing magic can help.”

  Tara wanted to go with her. It was nice to meet everyone, but she felt useless in the hall. Not that she would be of any help in the tower. But at least she’d be with Ramsey.

  Charon was suddenly beside her. “Come. I’ll take you to him.”

  Tara smiled gratefully and jumped up to follow him. She reached the second-floor landing before she realized she’d not said anything to the others. Charon’s strides were long, and Tara had to practically jog to keep up with him.

  They climbed numerous other stairs before they reached the tower and ascended the curving steps to the top.

  “I doona know what else to do,” she heard someone say.

  “He should have woken by now,” said another.

  Tara heard something behind her and looked over her shoulder to see Phelan there. He gave her a small shrug at her questioning look.

  By the time they reached the top of the tower, a chill had settled deep within Tara. No one said a word as they watched her walk to the bed. They parted so she could see Ramsey.

  The wisps of magic were still around him, but they were beginning to fade. She wanted to touch him again, but she hesitated. What if she were making things worse?

  “I never asked what it was that Declan did to you at Dunnoth,” Fallon said.

  Tara glanced at him and shrugged
. “I don’t really know. With just a wave of his hand my entire body hurt. I couldn’t take a breath. The pain came from everywhere, so I don’t know where it derived from.”

  “He’s a soulless monster, so it doesn’t really matter,” Saffron said as she went to stand next to Sonya on the other side of the bed. “I spent over three years with Declan locked in his prison and tortured. He doesn’t have to have a reason for anything. He just does it.”

  Tara shuddered. “He said his magic had grown.”

  “As much as I want to get that bastard, right now I’m more concerned with Ramsey,” said a man with light brown hair and hazel eyes. He looked at Tara and gave an apologetic half grin. “Forgive me. I’m Logan Hamilton.”

  One by one the Warriors came forward and introduced themselves. Tara was able to put a couple of them together with their wives. She easily recognized the MacLeod brothers not only by their similar dark hair and green eyes, but also by the torcs around their necks.

  “What now?” Ian asked.

  Lucan MacLeod shrugged. “We see what Sonya can do, and we wait.”

  “My blood has never failed to heal,” Phelan said, his gaze locked on Ramsey.

  “It’s no’ failed yet,” Camdyn said. “Give it time.”

  “Let’s give Sonya room to use her healing magic,” Quinn MacLeod said.

  Tara began to turn to leave with the others when Saffron caught her hand.

  “Stay,” Saffron urged.

  Sonya smiled and nodded. “Yes, please. We could use your magic to help.”

  “No,” Tara said hastily, then cleared her throat when they looked at her strangely. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is that my magic isn’t … well, I can’t control it. Sometimes none comes at all, and at other times it’s so powerful I can’t contain it.”

  “Interesting,” Saffron said. “I never saw any of that in my visions of you.”

  Sonya held her hands palm down over Ramsey and closed her eyes. “With Phelan’s blood in him, it shouldn’t take much of my magic to heal Ramsey.”

  A few minutes later Tara felt an odd pulse in the room, and realized it was Sonya’s magic. She’d never felt any magic before. Odd that she would feel it with mies and not the more powerful droughs of her family.

  Sonya stayed as she was for over fifteen minutes before she released a breath and lowered her hands. “He’s not resisting my healing, but he’s not accepting it either.”

  Tara couldn’t stand it anymore. She placed her hand over Ramsey’s and felt a jolt run through her.

  “What was that?” Saffron asked breathlessly.

  Tara could only stare in shock as Ramsey’s chest rose sharply and slowly lowered as he began to breathe normally. The ribbons of magic that were all but gone a few moments before strengthened.

  “How very odd,” Sonya said.

  Saffron shrugged slightly. “That I didn’t see coming.”

  “What just happened?” Tara asked.

  Sonya lifted her hands in front of her in a gesture of confusion. “I have no idea. All I do know is that Ramsey is breathing regularly now, and that’s good enough for me.”

  “Maybe Phelan’s blood finally kicked in,” Saffron said.

  Tara watched one of the tendrils of magic wind around her wrist before swirling around Ramsey’s. Something had occurred between her and Ramsey when she’d touched him. She didn’t know what or how, but it had.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Declan reached for the glass of whisky on the coffee table and raised it to his lips with a shaky hand. He looked at his left hand, unable to believe the black marks that ran across his skin like lightning.

  He’d never seen anything like it before, but there was no mistaking it was magic. Somehow, some way, the Warrior had used magic on him.

  Declan downed the whisky in one swallow and set the glass aside with a thud. He shook his head at the absurdity of his thoughts. Warriors couldn’t do magic. There had to have been a Druid nearby that was helping the Warrior.

  It certainly hadn’t been Tara. She’d not even put up half a fight against him. That thought helped to ease the pain in his arm, but not by much.

  “How is it?” Robbie asked as he strode into Declan’s office, another bottle of whisky in his hand.

  “It bloody well hurts, you imbecile.”

  Robbie lowered the whisky near Declan’s glass and looked anywhere but at Declan’s injured arm.

  Anger spiked in Declan. “Are you afraid to look at it?”

  “No,” Robbie replied quickly. Too quickly.

  “Do you think I’m no’ capable anymore?”

  This time Robbie’s eyes shifted to meet his. “Never, cousin.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Robbie shrugged and glanced down at his feet. “You were almost killed. That Warrior, a single Warrior, nearly killed you.”

  “He had help. There was a Druid nearby. It’s the only explanation. You know as well as I that no Warrior could have magic.”

  “How do we know that?”

  Declan unscrewed the whisky bottle and poured a double shot into his glass. “It’s the way it is. Besides, whoever that Warrior was, he’s dead now. The X90 I put in him went into his heart.”

  “You missed,” Robbie muttered.

  With his glass halfway to his mouth Declan narrowed his eyes on his cousin. “What did you say?”

  Robbie cleared his throat, but held his stance. “You missed his heart. It was just to the left.”

  “Regardless, the bastard is dead. No Warrior can survive an X90 bullet.” He once more tilted the glass to his lips and drained the contents.

  Soon, with the help of the whisky, the pain in his arm would numb so he could think straight again. At the moment he couldn’t even move the fingers of his left hand. The blast of magic had hit him in the upper arm, and the agony had been instantaneous.

  Though Robbie could only see what Declan’s rolled-up sleeve revealed, the truth was that the black spiderlike vines began at his shoulder and spread down his arm to the tips of his fingers and were working their way across his chest.

  A wave of anguish slammed into Declan as the vines spread even more. The glass dropped from his fingers, saved by the rug from shattering.

  Robbie hastened to him, but Declan lifted his head and glared at his cousin. “Get out. Now.”

  “Declan—”

  “Now! And close the door. I’m no’ to be disturbed. No matter what you hear, doona come in here!”

  The room began to spin around Declan, and at first he didn’t think Robbie would do as he’d asked. Then, with a grim set of his features, Robbie turned on his heel and stalked to the door. With one final look at Declan Robbie firmly shut the door behind him.

  Declan slumped over, his throat dry and his body covered in sweat. The whisky was having no effect whatsoever. And the pain was doubling with each beat of his heart.

  He pushed to his feet with his right hand and the arm of the couch, only to have his legs give out. It took three more tries before Declan could remain on his feet.

  If it wasn’t for the couch which he leaned upon, Declan would never have made it to the fire. His legs gave out and he crumpled before the hearth. With sweat running into his eyes, Declan made himself focus on the flames.

  There was no doubt that whatever had been done to him was slowly eating away at him. He was dying. And there was only one entity that could save him.

  The chant began to fall from his lips. Softly at first, but with each recitation it grew stronger as desperation set in. If the Devil didn’t respond, Declan knew he wouldn’t last the night.

  Then, finally, the flames of the fire jumped and sparks flew.

  “Why do you call me?” demanded the deep, sinister voice.

  “I’ve been injured.”

  There was a pregnant pause before the voice asked, “How?”

  “I found Tara. When I went to get her, there were Warriors.”

  The voice chuckled dryl
y. “Your special bullets should have taken care of them.”

  “They did. To an extent. But there was one that the bullets didna seem to bother.”

  “How so?”

  Declan swallowed and pushed past the pain. He wouldn’t receive any help until the Devil had all his information. “He barely flinched when they impacted his body.”

  Black smoke suddenly filled Declan’s office from the flames. He held still as it surrounded him, fencing him in and touching every inch of him.

  “Magic was used,” the voice said near Declan’s ear.

  “Aye.”

  “Strong magic.”

  Declan bit the side of his mouth to keep his cry of pain silent as the vines worked farther down his chest to his stomach.

  “You are in much pain,” the Devil said.

  “I’ve never heard of any kind of magic that could do this.”

  The Devil laughed again. “Ah, but then I’ve taught you spells that have never been known before. Yet, this isn’t black magic upon you. If it was, you’d already be dead.”

  Nothing Declan was being told made him feel any better. So, he tried again. “Is there a cure? Point me in the right direction, Master, so that I may heal myself.”

  “You don’t want me to do it for you?”

  There was nothing Declan wanted more, but he had learned early on not to ask for something like that. “If that is your wish.”

  “With Deirdre gone, I’ve put all my faith in you, Declan. Don’t let me down.”

  “Never.”

  The smoke began to swirl about him. “I will stop the progress of this magic, but in order for you to heal this yourself, you will have to learn who did this to you.”

  “Do you know?” Declan hurried to ask.

  There was no answer as the smoke returned to the fireplace and disappeared.

  Declan fisted his right hand on his leg. He’d hoped for more aid than just stopping the magic. The pain had yet to lessen, and he began to suspect that it wouldn’t.

  This was his punishment for not besting the Warrior and capturing Tara. He still couldn’t believe after all the work, all the time, he’d had Tara in his grasp.

  Only to be outwitted by a damned Warrior.

  It had never occurred to Declan that a Warrior would replace one of his men, but with the masks the mercenaries wore, it had been an easy switch.