by Donna Grant
The images of hatred in her mind about Ramsey were in stark contrast to the ones that remained of their nights together.
Regardless, Declan was dead. And Ramsey was soon to follow. Could she allow it? Could she live with herself?
Tara silently climbed to her feet and licked her lips. She recalled how much Ramsey hadn’t wanted to use his magic for fear it would harm innocents.
Where that thought had been earlier, she didn’t know. It had just suddenly appeared. The truth of that memory was undeniable.
She felt the gaze of someone and turned her head to find Charon staring at her. His eyes were inscrutable in the dark, but she could feel his anger and resentment.
Tara turned back to the house. Ramsey had yet to come out, and she had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to. If he was the evil Declan claimed him to be, why would that bother her so much?
Was she evil?
One moment she thought she knew who she was and who her friends were, and the next it got jumbled with memories of feelings of security and love while at MacLeod Castle.
Declan had claimed it was their magic convincing her of that, but now Tara didn’t know what to believe.
“Why is Ramsey no’ coming out?” Broc asked, his voice thick with emotion.
Tara looked down at her hands. A memory came to her, distant and so vague that she wasn’t sure if it was a memory or a dream or a fantasy, but there had been white ribbons of magic swirling around her and through her.
That magic had been strong and true. That magic had been incredible.
That magic had come from Ramsey.
She jerked her eyes to the mansion and suddenly knew what she had to do. Tara ran as fast as she could to the front door, plodding through the thick snow. But she didn’t slow. Not when the snow tripped her, and not when the others called for her to come back.
Not even when Gwynn’s voice begged her to return because Ramsey wouldn’t want her hurt.
Tara burst through the front door to find Ramsey still in the foyer but with his back to her. She could see him, but his skin glowed, and the ribbons of magic she had remembered wound around him fast and thick.
“Ramsey,” she said as she neared him.
The force of his magic made her take a step back, but it wasn’t until she stood before him and saw his bronze Warrior eyes glowing that she knew he was lost to her.
She tried to touch him, but his magic burned her it was so fierce. “Ramsey,” she said louder, and tried once more to touch him.
Her skin sizzled from his magic, but she didn’t relent as she pushed through the glow and touched his bronze skin. Blood coated his front, and continued to seep from the four wounds in his chest.
She gasped when she saw one had entered his heart.
“Ramsey? Can you hear me? I need you to hear me.”
Tara swallowed, the pain becoming unbearable. “I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what to believe. I need you to help me, Ramsey. I need you.”
To her horror, Ramsey’s magic continued to grow and spread. It swallowed her, the agony causing her to clench her teeth together to keep from crying out.
No wonder he had been so adamant about everyone staying clear of him. His magic was more than she could have ever imagined or dreamed of.
Tara wrapped her arms around his thick shoulders and buried her head in his neck. His breaths were uneven, ragged, as he struggled to draw in the next breath.
She could feel her skin burning, and knew if she didn’t do something she would die soon. So Tara did the only thing she knew, she called to her magic.
It swarmed her, and instead of pushing against Ramsey’s, it meshed with his. The pain began to ebb soon after. She wasn’t given long to celebrate, however, as Ramsey fell to his knees and then onto his back.
Tara never released him. She braced her hands on the floor and leaned over him as she saw the tendrils of magic slow and move between the two of them.
She knew then, in that instant, that Ramsey wasn’t her enemy. The feeling inside her, the love that had somehow been hidden, burst through at the moment the ribbon of magic touched Ramsey then her.
No amount of tricks or spells could hide what was between them. Everything in her mind began to right itself, but she didn’t care. Her attention was on Ramsey as his life faded before her very eyes.
“Ramsey!” she yelled and touched his cheek. “Hear me. You have to return to me. Please.”
His bronze skin vanished, and with it his claws, fangs, and his metallic bronze eyes. He blinked and his gray gaze focused on her.
“Ramsey?” she asked hopefully.
He lifted a shaky hand to her face and softly stroked her cheek. Then his eyes closed and his hand dropped to the floor.
“Ramsey!”
A large hand touched her shoulder, and she lifted her head to find Phelan.
“Let me,” he said.
Tara looked back at Ramsey.
“You took his magic into yourself,” Dani said from beside her. “You saved him. Now let Phelan do the rest.”
Tara climbed off Ramsey and watched as Phelan cut away Ramsey’s shirt with a claw. After a quick swipe of that same claw of his arm, Phelan let a few drops of his blood enter into each wound.
As soon as Phelan was done, Tara once more leaned over Ramsey. She smoothed Ramsey’s wet hair away from his face and waited for him to open his eyes.
“Please,” she begged Ramsey and God. She rested her forehead against his and did nothing to stop the tears that fell. “Please don’t let me lose him.”
“Why?” said a deep voice she knew all too well.
Tara heard someone gasp as she opened her eyes and looked into gray ones. “Because he said he loved me. Because he didn’t give up on me. And … because I love him with all my heart.”
“Is it really you?” Ramsey asked.
Tara nodded. “I’m back. I don’t know how exactly, but somehow our magic reversed whatever Declan did.”
His arms wrapped around her and held her tight. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never,” she whispered.
Ramsey rolled her onto her back and leaned up to look at her. “I’m no’ going to waste another moment without you. I want you beside me always, Tara Kincaid. Will you marry me?”
Joy so brilliant and bright shone through Tara she thought she would burst from it. In all her dreams she had never thought to be so happy, and like Ramsey, she wasn’t going to let go of it.
“Yes. Of course!”
Amid Ramsey’s laughter and smiles she heard the others cheering, but she only had eyes for her man. Her Warrior.
Her Highlander.
EPILOGUE
March … two months later
MacLeod Castle
Spring had come early to MacLeod Castle. The sun was bright in a clear, blue sky, and the castle was filled with happiness.
Tara smoothed her hand down the front of her Versace silk dress that was decorated with hand-sewn beads and pearls. She stared at a woman she had thought would never be in the full-length mirror.
Not just happy, but confident. And loved.
“Are you sure you’re happy with your hair?” Saffron asked for the third time as she walked into Tara’s room.
Tara laughed and locked eyes with Saffron in the mirror. “You flew one of the premier hairstylists in all of London to the castle blindfolded. Five times. Just so we could get the hairstyle right. It couldn’t be more perfect.”
And that wasn’t all Saffron had done. She and the others had spent the last two months shopping for a wedding dress with her, finding the right makeup, jewelry, and shoes.
All the women had bonded so well, that she knew nothing would ever pull them apart.
Saffron came up behind her and rearranged the long sheer veil that fell to the floor and flowed behind Tara’s white silk gown. “You look radiant. Are you ready?”
“I’ve been ready.”
“Good, because Ramsey is about to come get you
himself,” she said with a laugh.
But Tara knew she wasn’t joking. Ramsey had told Tara she could have whatever kind of wedding she wanted, and when she’d told him a traditional one in a church, he hadn’t batted an eye. He just hadn’t anticipated having to wait two months for the ceremony. But that was the quickest they could have the dress made.
With one last look at herself, Tara followed Saffron out of the chamber and down to the great hall. A small bouquet of pale yellow and lavender roses awaited her. She lifted the flowers to her nose and inhaled their scent.
When she spotted the two white roses she had requested in the middle for Fiona and Braden, she had to blink back tears.
Braden had never known she had been the one to kill his mother, and it was a weight Tara would carry with her until the day she died.
Saffron took her elbow, and together they walked from the castle into the bailey and then to the small chapel where all the Warriors had married.
“Oh,” Tara murmured when she saw all the yellow and lavender roses and tulips decorating not just the outside of the chapel, but inside as well.
Saffron gave her arm a small squeeze before she hurried into the chapel to stand next to Camdyn.
Tara’s gaze was drawn to the front of the chapel where Ramsey stood in a dark green, red, and navy kilt, his gaze locked on hers. She knew her smile was as big as her face, but she didn’t care.
The music began and Tara made herself take slow, measured steps down the small aisle to Ramsey instead of running to his side as she wanted to do.
And when she finally reached him, he took her hand and said, “You look stunning.”
“As do you.” She knew he had been born in a time when they didn’t wear kilts, but a clan’s plaid had still been important. “I think you should wear your kilt all the time.”
The voice of the pastor, who had also been flown in blindfolded, filled the chapel.
“I love you,” Ramsey said.
She smiled. “And I love you.”
* * *
Malcolm stood at the back of the church. Declan was dead, and though he hadn’t been the one to kill him, at least the evil was gone.
But now what was he to do?
It had been the need to end the evil that had kept Malcolm going. Where was he to go now?
He should have known that staying at MacLeod Castle for any length of time would get him caught up somehow with something Fallon wanted him to do.
Just as they left the church for the celebration in the castle Fallon said, “I have need of you, Malcolm.”
“You have others.”
“Aye, but if you doona do this, Larena will.”
Malcolm stopped walking and faced his cousin’s husband. “Doona use Larena.”
“She’s my wife. I want to protect her.”
“She’s a Warrior, Fallon. She can take care of herself.”
“One day, you’ll find a woman who will seep into your heart and soul. Then you’ll understand my position.”
Malcolm ran a hand down his face. “What do you want of me?”
“I need you to go to London. See if you can find anything about articles that were taken from Edinburgh Castle in 1132.”
“You think this spell you are looking for is in London?”
“We doona know. There were three shipments. Two by land, one by water. One by land and the one by water reached London. One went missing. We need to know if the spell is in the one that went missing.”
Malcolm nodded. “I’ll do this.”
“Good.” Fallon clapped him on the back. “Now come and have some cake and whisky.”
Malcolm was slow in following Fallon. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the assignment. Part of him was relieved to have something to do, but another part of him feared that he would become the monster he knew he was if he left MacLeod Castle.
* * *
Jason Wallace shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He’d come at the request of a Mr. MacCray, who was most insistent.
Jason wasn’t the type who stayed out of trouble with the law; the request had been … worrisome. When he hadn’t shown up to two of the meetings, he’d woken this morning to find four men at his flat who had brought him to this posh office.
The door to the office opened, and a man walked in. He wore a dark suit, perfectly tailored. He had a full head of hair that was more silver than black, but his brown eyes were sharp, intelligent, as they landed on him.
“Well, Mr. Wallace, I’m glad to finally have you in my office.”
“Mr. MacCray,” Jason said as he scooted to the edge of his seat.
MacCray held up a hand. “Before you start, let me interrupt you. It seems, Mr. Wallace, that you are the surviving member of the Wallace family. I’m sure you saw the headlines that Declan Wallace was killed in the fire that destroyed his home?”
“Aye.”
“Since you are the next in line to the family’s fortune, I’m pleased to tell you that you’ve inherited everything that was Declan Wallace’s.”
Jason licked his lips, already mentally spending the money on trips and suits. “Everything?”
“That’s right.” MacCray slid a piece of paper across his desk to Jason. “Just sign here, Mr. Wallace, and you’ll be leaving my offices wealthier than most in the UK.”
Jason didn’t hesitate to sign the papers. All he could think about was the money and paying off his gambling debts. Of being an important man so that people couldn’t ignore him anymore.
He set down the pen and slid the paper back to MacCray. “Was the mansion completely destroyed?”
“No’ all of it.”
“Good. I visited there often as a lad. I’m anxious to make it my home. And everything inside is mine?”
“Everything.”
Jason left the office with his head held high. There would be no returning to his roach-infested flat. He was going to his mansion.
Read on for an excerpt from
MIDNIGHT’S KISS
—the next Dark Warriors epic from Donna Grant and St. Martin’s Paperbacks!
Arran parked the Range Rover and looked through the windshield at the chaos before him. A sizzle of magic rushed over him. He was definitely in the right place.
He’d been told by Saffron that the excavation site was run by Dr. Ronnie Reid, who was one of the best archeologists to ever come out of the field.
Arran had also been warned that Dr. Reid ran a tight operation, so he’d have to be careful while he searched for any clues to the missing spell.
Not that Arran was concerned about this Dr. Reid. He would put himself in the good graces of the man, and make sure Reid saw him was a good worker. Once that was established, then Reid would leave him alone.
Thereby giving Arran the time he needed to look around.
He sighed. He’d thought this mission would be a quick one, but as he watched the dozens of people moving back and forth from the dig sites hauling away dirt, while others were prone on the ground dusting possible finds with what looked like paint brushes, Arran realized this was going to be anything but simple.
In all likelihood he’d been here several weeks.
Not that he was upset about it. With no more evil to fight, Arran had been bored. It wasn’t that he wanted evil around, it was just that the god inside him craved battle, yearned for bloodshed.
Demanded death.
What better way to appease his god than by battling evil?
Arran let out a long sigh. There would be no clashes at the dig site, which meant he would have to find another way to work off some of the pent-up energy he felt thrumming through his body.
Exerting his muscles with physical labor was just the thing.
Arran opened the door and got out of the Range Rover. The wind was howling across the land, and a glance at the evening sky showed that rain was on the way.
He closed his door and quickly opened the back passenger door to grab his duffle and backpack. Saffron had assured him that lod
gings would be made available to him. In a way Arran was hoping there wasn’t anything. It had been a very long time since he’d slept under the stars as he’d used to four hundred years ago.
After adjusting the bags on his shoulders, he shut the door and looked at the site once more. The summer sky was still light despite it being past nine in the evening. It wouldn’t get truly dark until well after midnight, yet lights standing tall around the dig had already been turned on.
“Here we go,” Arran said and started toward the site, the feel of magic growing with each step he took.
He’d barely gotten ten steps in before he was dodging people who assumed he’d get out of the way. Since there was a possibility they were carrying magical ancient items, they were right.
But still, a low growl sounded deep within his throat.
He was a Warrior, a man used to being feared. It didn’t set well that he was dismissed as easily as he was.
Arran made his way to a man with thin, windblown white-blond hair and glasses he kept shoving up his nose. The man was bony, his shoulders already hunching forward despite his being as young as the mid-thirties, if Arran guessed right.
“Excuse me,” Arran said as he reached the man.
For several moments Arran was ignored. The man glanced up from the clipboard in his hand as he scribbled something on the papers with his pencil.
Arran raised a brow when the man seemed to look right through him.
Then, a double-take later, the man took a step back, his blue eyes wide. “Dude. How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, his American accent thick.
“Longer than I’d like,” Arran replied, giving just enough inflection in his voice to tell the man his irritation was rising.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry ’bout that. I tend to get involved with my work. I’m Andy Simmons, the site manager.”
“Arran MacCarrick,” he said and held out his hand.
Andy shook it with a grip that was much stronger than he appeared. “You arrived earlier than I expected. I was just told a few hours ago that you’d be helping out.”
“I was eager to get here,” Arran said with a smile.
