by Donna Grant
But who had it wound around? It was a man, Tara was sure. But who?
She was jerked back to the present when the loud click of the door unlocking sounded in the silence. Tara swung the door open and cocked her head at Fiona.
“I told you I was leaving.”
Fiona’s mouth was hanging open, her eyes huge. “You … there’s no way you should have been able to open the door. There was magic preventing it.”
“Ineffective magic,” she replied. But she recalled the single ribbon of magic and wondered.
Tara turned and started for the stairs. The quicker she was out of the castle, the easier she could breathe. But she had only taken two steps when Fiona grabbed her from behind.
They fell forward, Tara taking the impact of the fall. All the fear she’d been keeping inside erupted in that moment. She lashed out with her hands—and her magic—as she struggled to get away.
Her magic flew from her hands with a force that caused her heart to skip a beat, but she didn’t think about it. Not even when she heard a strangled cry or when Fiona’s body went limp did Tara stop to question it.
She shoved Fiona off her and ran up the stairs to the great hall. Tara stumbled as she pushed open the door and looked around the huge expanse of the hall.
Then she saw her coat hanging near the door and she rushed to it. She jerked it on and ran outside. Only to slide to a halt as she looked at the cars before her.
She smiled and rushed to the Land Rover. The Warriors never locked the vehicles, and always left the keys inside. Because who would dare to steal what they all shared?
Tara didn’t care why they did what they did, only that she now had transportation to get away from MacLeod Castle. She slid into the seat and shut the door. The keys were in the ignition, and she wasted no time in starting the SUV.
She put the vehicle in reverse and pressed the gas as she buckled her seat belt. The SUV took a moment to move through the snow, and then she had it in gear and gunned it with both hands on the wheel.
The huge wooden gate was closed, and Tara thought she might have to ram through it, then she glanced up and saw a little remote hooked to the visor. She pushed the button. And to her delight, the gate began to open.
It wasn’t until Tara was through Isla’s barrier hiding the castle and on the main road that she felt relatively safe. She had no idea where she was going, only that she was putting more and more distance between her and the evil that had taken her.
A tear slid down her cheek, and then another and another.
She sniffed and wiped at the hated moisture. How could she have been so foolish as to believe they were the ones who would help her? How could she have been so naïve as to tell them all that she knew?
How could she have been so stupid as to fall in love with a monster?
That’s what hurt the worst. Not that they had tricked her, but that she had believed Ramsey’s words and his sweet caresses. She had thought he was someone special. The one.
The man she had been hoping to find for years.
Tara shook her head. “No. No more will I think of him. His memory and everything that happened between us was a lie. He’s wiped from my mind.”
If only that were the truth. But Tara knew better than anyone that if you told yourself something enough times, you’d eventually believe it.
She turned up the radio, blaring Godsmack as she drove. It wasn’t until she pulled over to grab something to eat that she realized where she was headed.
“Declan,” she whispered.
* * *
Malcolm tossed the remainder of his food in the trash. How he missed the taste of the food at MacLeod Castle. He was sure most of the food he ate in this modern world wasn’t real. Processed. Everything was processed.
He rolled his eyes and stepped out into the clear night sky. After weeks of snow, the sky had finally cleared.
Malcolm glared at the café behind him, wishing he’d eaten at the restaurant he’d seen up the block, but he hadn’t wanted to sit in a restaurant and have everyone stare at him because of his scars.
Now he wished he had, because at least then his stomach would be full.
Malcolm stepped off the curb and began to walk when Druid magic slammed into him, the force of it making him take a step back.
He looked around and spotted a black Land Rover drive past him. As soon as his gaze connected with the woman driving, he knew she was a Druid.
With just a second’s hesitation, Malcolm turned around and watched the SUV pull into the same café he’d just left. He hid behind a car and watched the woman get out and walk into the café.
There was no doubt she was a Druid, but her magic was a curious mix of mie and drough, as if she didn’t know what she was.
By the time the woman returned, Malcolm had climbed atop the Land Rover.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Declan poured another glass of single-malt whisky into his glass. It didn’t seem to matter how much he drank, nothing helped to dull the agony inside him.
The magic had slowed considerably, but still the black marks worked their way up and over his face, as well as his body.
His entire left arm and shoulder were covered with long, jagged black marks that reminded him of lightning that forked across a sky.
Declan held the glass up to his forehead and closed his eyes. He sighed wearily. The pain was manageable, and even if his looks were never restored properly, he could fix it with his magic.
Everything would be righted once he had Tara.
He opened his eyes with a smile as he caressed the small leather-bound book that had given him the spell he needed to access Tara’s mind. Of all his spell books, this was the one he would treasure most.
Declan laid his hand flat over the book. A hiding spell fell from his lips that would keep the book hidden from his enemies.
Because no matter how many wards and spells he put around his home, or how many mercenaries Robbie hired, Declan knew the Warriors would come for him.
And he wanted them to.
Their interference would end as soon as they attacked. And Declan knew it wouldn’t be long. Not after what he’d done to Tara.
He chuckled, marveling at his own cleverness. To make Tara think her friends were her enemies, and her enemies her friends. It was priceless, and she’d never know the difference.
There was no need to convince her to come to him. Not now at least. She thought he was her savior, so she would come on her own. And once at the mansion she would willingly become drough—thinking all the while she was doing good magic.
How different things would be had he done this ten years ago. The Warriors of MacLeod Castle would have been the first thing Declan got rid of.
“Soon,” he murmured, and rose to replace the spell book behind two larger ones on the bookshelf.
Declan resumed his seat and reclined back in his chair with his ankles crossed and resting on his desk. This room was one that no one was allowed into except Robbie. This was his room where he did nearly all his spells.
The room where he had honed his magic over the years.
And the room where he had first encountered the Devil.
That day had forever changed his life. Because of it, this small room, sparsely furnished with only the bare minimum, was the place he came to dwell upon his magic.
Unlike his office, which was more for show than anything else. His office displayed his power and his wealth, and when he conducted business in it, it proved to his business associates that he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
Declan turned the ruby cuff link and clasped his hands over his stomach while he imagined how he would rule the world.
* * *
Tara slowed and then stopped the Land Rover as she neared Declan’s mansion. Even in the dark and through the trees she could see the tall structure that lit up the night.
She’d left him when he had offered her sanctuary. Had run from him repeatedly, and feared him like no other. Would h
e see her? And more importantly, would he forgive her?
With a long sigh, she eased her foot on the gas pedal and drove into Declan’s drive. The large metal gates blocked her entrance, but before she could lower the window and press the intercom, the gates opened.
Tara leaned forward and looked out the windshield. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered.
She maneuvered the car around the massive fountain situated in the circular drive and parked at the front steps. Tara put the SUV in park and turned it off.
For just a moment she sat there, rehearsing how she would greet Declan. The all-too-familiar pain stabbed into her at the base of her skull.
Tara grabbed her head and gritted her teeth as the agony sliced through her. Images of people flashed in her mind like snapshots, but one repeated over and over.
It was Ramsey.
She slammed her hand against the steering wheel. “No. No!”
Instantly, the pain and the images stopped.
With a shaky breath she lifted her head. It was now or never. Tara opened the door of the Land Rover and stepped into the snow.
And waiting for her on the steps was Declan.
“I didna think you’d ever return to me,” he said with a welcoming smile. “I’m glad to have you home, Tara.”
When he spread his arms, she eagerly walked into them. “I’m so sorry for running from you,” she said.
“Think nothing of it, lass.”
Tara pulled back, and frowned when she saw the black marks over the left side of his face and down his neck. The marks weren’t an elaborate tattoo.
“What happened?”
Declan shrugged. “It’s nothing I can no’ handle. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm. I have your old room waiting. And I did some shopping for you. I think you’ll enjoy the clothes.”
Tara didn’t care about the designer clothes. All she wanted was to find a home, a place where she could feel safe and happy.
An image of MacLeod Castle flashed in her mind, but she pushed it away and smiled at Declan.
* * *
“What the hell?” Fallon murmured.
Phelan shook his head in confusion. “That’s—”
“Tara,” Ramsey finished for him.
Arran said, “I doona understand how she got free. I saw you put those spells on the prison, Ramsey.”
Ramsey couldn’t take his eyes off her. He clenched his hands when he saw Declan wrap his arms around her. A growl sounded deep in Ramsey’s throat, the need for blood—Declan’s blood—was fierce.
“Calm down,” Charon said from beside him. “You willna do her any good if you lose control.”
Ramsey didn’t look away until Tara was inside the mansion and the door closed behind her. Then he raked a hand through his hair and paced behind the trees that blocked them from view.
“She shouldna have been able to get free,” he said.
Fallon stood from beside Larena. “I’m going to return to the castle and see what happened. I’ll be back soon. Doona start without me,” he warned.
“We willna,” Arran said.
Just seconds after Fallon teleported away, all five of them turned at once to the sound of approaching footsteps. And in a blink, they all released their god.
“Easy,” Malcolm whispered when he came into view, his hands held up in front of him.
Larena gasped and tamped down her god. “Malcolm,” she said, and ran to her cousin and hugged him.
Ramsey met Malcolm’s gaze, and knew it hadn’t been coincidence that brought Malcolm to Declan’s estate.
“What are you doing here?” Larena asked him when she stepped back.
Malcolm glanced at Declan’s mansion. “I felt a Druid, but no’ just any Druid. The magic was … off.”
“How so?” Ramsey asked.
Malcolm rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Like her magic couldna decide if it was mie or drough. While she was in the café, I climbed atop the Land Rover to see who she was. Imagine my surprise when we arrived here. And I sensed other Druids.”
“Her name is Tara,” Larena said. “Tara Kincaid. We’ve been sheltering her from Declan.”
One of Malcolm’s brows lifted. “She didna appear afraid of him after what I just saw.”
“That’s because Declan switched her memories,” Ramsey said. “She thinks the people who are her friends are now her enemies and vice versa.”
“Damn,” Malcolm murmured.
Phelan grunted. “That’s putting it mildly, mate.”
Malcolm sent him a flat look before turning back to Ramsey. “I’d have thought precautions would have been taken to ensure she didna leave the castle.”
“They were,” Arran answered.
Fallon appeared beside Larena, his face twisted with grief.
“What is it?” Larena asked. “What happened?”
But Ramsey knew the moment Fallon’s gaze met his.
“Fiona is dead. By magic,” Fallon said.
Larena covered her mouth with her hand and bent over at the waist, her tears as silent as the scream she kept locked within her.
Ramsey knew this because he felt the same way. What was worse was that he knew who was responsible for Fiona’s death.
“This doesna mean Tara did it,” Charon said.
Ramsey shook his head and looked at the mansion. “Declan turned her against us, and in doing so, made sure she would do whatever it took to get free.”
“You think she killed Fiona?” Phelan asked.
Ramsey shrugged. “I’d have to feel the magic used on Fiona to know, but I think she did. No’ on purpose though. Regardless of what Declan did to Tara, its no’ in her to kill.”
“I agree,” Arran said.
Ramsey looked at Fallon to find him comforting Larena, their arms locked around each other. Yet, for all his talk, it wasn’t just Declan who was responsible for Fiona’s death. It was also himself.
He’d been the one to spell the prison. He’d been the one to make sure someone was left behind with Tara.
He’d been the one who was overconfident that Tara wouldn’t be able to leave.
“Carrying the weight of the dead is a heavy burden,” Malcolm whispered.
Ramsey looked into his blue eyes and nodded. “I’ll have to tell Braden.”
“Nay.” Larena finally spoke as she wiped at her tears. “I’ll do it. You feel responsible, Ramsey, but you aren’t to blame.”
Fallon stopped Larena when she started to walk away. “Let’s wait until after the battle. Braden doesna need to be thinking of that when he needs to stay safe.”
Larena nodded in agreement, but her tears didn’t slow.
Malcolm stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and looked at Ramsey. “So. What’s the plan, and how can I help?”
CHAPTER FORTY
The moon was high in the sky when Ramsey stepped out from behind the trees and made his way to the front door of the mansion. Declan’s wards and spells didn’t stop the Warriors from venturing onto his property, just the house.
Once again, Declan’s arrogance was going to cost him. And if Ramsey had any say in it, the cost would be Declan’s life.
Ramsey tried not to think of Tara as she had been at the castle when she tried to kill him or when he locked her in the dungeon. He tried not to think of her in Declan’s arms, or the fact that she’d killed Fiona.
Instead, he remembered Tara as they had been the night before. Her smiles, her sighs. Her body sliding sensuously against him. The way she whispered his name as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms after making love.
He would fight to return Tara to the woman she had been. If it came down to it, Ramsey was willing to die in order to gain her freedom from Declan.
It was then he realized just how deep his feelings went for Tara. Feelings deeper and stronger than he’d ever had for anyone.
Or ever would.
Ramsey paused beside the Land Rover and glanced inside it. To his right his enhanced hearing pic
ked up a grunt that came from one of the mercenaries as his plan went into effect.
He waited as, one by one, the guards were killed.
“Ramsey?” Larena whispered from behind him.
She was already invisible, waiting for him to finish getting through the wards so she could carry out her part.
“Stay behind me,” Ramsey said with a small shift of his head to the side. “You’ll feel when the magic begins to fade. When I start toward the steps, you’ll be able to get in. Doona wait on me. Get inside as quickly as you can.”
“All right,” came her soft reply.
Ramsey knew Larena would be safe. It was the only reason he had bid her to gain entrance. As long as she stayed invisible no one would even know she was there.
Anger that Ramsey had kept at bay rose within him like a tidal wave. It thundered, gaining momentum as it poured through him. And he didn’t stop it.
He welcomed it, urged it. Embraced it.
Ethexia roared inside Ramsey, encouraging him to find Declan and rip his heart out. His god wanted blood and death, and for once Ramsey felt the same.
They had thought Declan wasn’t the adversary Deirdre had been. They had been wrong, so very wrong. But it was time to right things, to mete out justice as only a Warrior and Druid could.
Ramsey called to his magic. His lips tilted up slightly as the magic eagerly answered him. It filled him, diminishing his anger so he could focus properly. A balance had somehow been struck, and it was all Ramsey needed to proceed.
He lifted his hands, palms out, toward the mansion. Because of his gift of being able to determine what kind of magic or spell was used, after just one touch of the wards around the mansion Ramsey knew how to remove them.
The words from the first spell his father had taught him tumbled from his lips. It wasn’t a reversal spell so much as one that—if a Druid had enough magic—could destroy whatever magic stood in the way.
As the last word was spoken, Ramsey’s smile grew when the wards shattered. They couldn’t be seen, but the magic could be felt as it melted away into nothing.
“You did it,” Larena whispered.
