John and Lany both moaned. Not out of pleasure.
Maggie looked nervously to the door again before she turned and took a good look at Dallan with Shona.
“Then put her on the couch.” Julia cut in coldly.
Dallan had instantly disliked the woman for some reason the minute she entered the room. He grabbed her brutally with his warrior’s stare, causing her body to jerk slightly in response.
Julia, in turn, did not at all like her reaction. “Put her on the couch and then kindly leave,” she demanded through clenched teeth.
“I’m afraid I canna do that for ye as yet,” Dallan began to stroke the Maiden’s back with a large hand, sending tiny tremors of fulfillment racing through both their bodies. He tightened his hold on her, just as he did the same with his mental hold on Julia.
Julia’s face ignited with pure rage. Her face contorted as if in an attempt to rip her eyes from Dallan’s as she spun on her heel. “We’ll just see about that,” she pushed out and stomped from the room.
Dallan’s eyes narrowed to slits as he watched her retreat
“Julia,” Maggie began apologetically, her face now white as she glanced at the door, “overreacts at times. Please, tell me what happened. Is Shona going to be all right?”
Lany, sensing the woman’s fear, realized he better take control of the situation. Fast. “I’m sorry about this, Mrs. Whittard,” he said with an embarrassed chuckle, hoping to calm the woman. "I assure you, your daughter is all right."
The Maiden smiled contentedly. In fact, it was becoming quite evident to everyone in the room that she was well beyond all right.
“Shona seemed to be feeling faint, and our associate…” Lany tossed a dagger of a glare at Dallan, “… uh, overreacted. Mister MacDonald, I think you’d better go for the moment.”
Dallan’s contented look vanished. He was contemplating the best way to eviscerate Lany when he happened to catch sight of John, who in no shape to caution his assistant to be more subtle, had thrown his face into his hands in pure exasperation. “John?”
John lifted his head noting Dallan’s questioning yet pleading stare. He gave the Scot a compassionate look and a grave nod as he motioned him to let go of the Maiden and turn her over to her mother.
The Weapons Master offered his surrender with a barely perceptible nod, and then drew in a deep breath. He knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant.
He swallowed hard and smiled weakly at Maggie Whittard who had watched him with her daughter the whole while. Her actions made all three men wonder as to her lack of protest. She had not once demanded that Dallan put the Maiden down or let her go.
Dallan reluctantly relaxed his hold on the Maiden, but didn’t have the strength to give her to Maggie. If her mother wanted her, she would have to take her, and she’d best be quick about it lest he change his mind.
Finally he let his arms drop as the telltale twitch in his jaw began to dance out his agony. The Maiden looked confused for a moment, not sure of what to do. Her mother took her by the arm and began to lead her from the room. She turned her body slightly toward Dallan in protest, her mother taking in the action with interest before ushering her to the door.
John and Lany watched as Shona and her mother disappeared from the room, leaving them with a Weapons Master on the verge of falling apart. Dallan’s now raspy breathing and tensed body appeared as if the Call were pounding away at him.
If only it were that; this was worse. It was one thing to crave something you’ve never had, quite another to have had it and suddenly have it taken away. Sometimes a small taste is worse than none at all.
“I dinna think…” Dallan had to stop and take a deep breath. “It hurts, John.” He swallowed hard. “What is she?” He asked on shaky breaths, his body now trembling.
John moved in front of Dallan and looked directly into his pain-filled eyes, hoping to relieve the Scot with his next words. “She’s yours, Dallan.”
Dallan’s eyes slowly brightened as he smiled, his agonized voice barely a whisper. “Och, John. That much I ken.”
“Um, this is all well and good, but we have to get out of here,” Lany interjected carefully, fighting his own personal lump in the throat.
Dallan sent Lany a glare.
“Don’t you look at me like that! Let’s go before anything else happens."
Dallan sighed. “Aye, laddie, yer right. We best be off before temptation has its way wi’ me, if ye ken my meaning.”
He wanted the Maiden and was unconsciously preparing himself for the task. Still, he had the sense to know what could happen if he didn’t get himself out of there quickly. The three men gathered together their effects, namely John’s tablet of questions, and made to depart.
Or so they thought. Julia Dawson glided into the room like a spider chasing its lunch. “You!” She pointed an accusing finger directly at Dallan, who stood and looked at the woman with indifference. She marched up to him as if to slap his face. “Now, you are going to tell me exactly what happened. And don’t leave anything out!”
John and Lany exchanged the same look of panic.
“Mr. MacDonald let’s go get your papers,” John began, “I’m sure you left them downstairs. Miss Dawson, Mr. MacDonald and I came in moments before you did. Mr. Mosgofian was with Shona when she…”
“Began to feel faint,” Lany threw in quickly.
John tried to hide his relief. “Yes. Mr. Mosgofian will be able to tell you what happened much better than we.”
“And how,” Lany muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?” Julia demanded.
“I said, and now… Mr. MacDonald and Mr. Eaton have to be going.”
John nodded his agreement as he grabbed Dallan’s arm and ushered him toward the stairs.
They quickly left the room and descended the stairs to the hall-study below when Dallan wrenched his arm from John and stopped. “Does that woman stay here? Does she live in this house?”
“No, why?”
Dallan’s eyes narrowed as he turned his head toward their recent exit. “I dinna trust her.”
“Neither do I. But there’s not a lot we can do about it at the moment. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
Dallan’s last thought as they left the Whittards’ home was to quietly return and retrieve the fair wee lass. Let all the rest be hanged.
* * *
Julia spun on her newest victim, her face curled into a threat. “Well?”
Lany, thankfully, had had a moment to catch his breath and think up a plausible explanation. He gave her his best pollster’s look. “The interview was going normally, but Mr. Eaton wasn’t feeling well and asked me to take over for a few moments…”
Julia was nothing if not impatient. “And?”
“And… shortly afterward, Shona began feeling drowsy. She said something about the music…”
Julia’s expression turned immediately to fear. “What about the music?”
Lany wasn’t prepared to answer that one, so he didn’t. “Mr. Mac Donald had just stepped in to check on a clerical matter. Shona stood up… to greet him I suppose… and lost her balance. Mr. MacDonald caught her; I would imagine he was worried about her condition, for obvious reasons. I was telling him to set her down when you walked in. Impeccable timing, I might add,” he concluded with an exaggerated wipe of his brow.
Julia raised a contemptuous eye at Lany and studied him for a moment, weighing the truth of his story. “Obviously.”
“Well, well, well. Maggie does seem to have a full house today, doesn’t she? And who might you be?” A smooth, evenly clipped British voice wrapped itself around Lany’s ear, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. He turned to face whomever had just spoken.
The well-dressed man stood poised at the top of the stairs, calmly studying the scene before him. He looked at Lany as if pausing to listen to some petition or scrap of useful gossip.
“Philip, this is Mr., Mr.…” Julia blanched. "I forgot to te
ll you, Philip … about the interviews with Shona. I apologize… and I …"
“My name is Philip Brennan," he cut in. "I’ve just arrived from abroad, and as Miss Dawson seems not to know who comes and goes in this house I must ask who you are and just what went on concerning my… dear friend’s daughter.”
Lany could hear the obvious threat in Brennan’s voice directed at Julia, who stood looking as if she had just swallowed glass. He pushed back his revulsion and introduced himself. “Lany Mosgofian.”
“From?”
“California originally,” Lany began, as he collected the last few pages of the questionnaire. “Well, looks like we’re done for today. Take care.” He headed for the stairs.
Brennan wasn’t about to let that happen. He placed a firm hand on Lany’s arm. “Originally, hmm? How about… now?”
“Now,” Lany said with his best bemused look, “I must be going, Mr. Brinker. You’ll excuse me.” He shrugged off Brennan’s hand as if it were an unwanted pill of lint and moved toward the stairs again.
“That’s Brennan,” Brennan said testily, more out of the mispronunciation than the obtuse way Lany was speaking.
“Ah, yes, Brennan. Take care.” Lany replied as he reached for the stair rail just as John ran back up to get him. That, at least, Lany was ready for. “All finished, sir. Let’s go.”
John arched an eyebrow when Lany said “sir” but figured it wasn’t as important at the moment as leaving was.
Brennan grabbed the nearest arm, John’s. “Not so fast, gentlemen,” he said too calmly. “I want an explanation. Who are you and what were you doing with Miss Whittard?”
John and Lany exchanged a quick look. Could this be Dallan’s competition?
“We represent the Music School of Marseilles,” John began. “Just getting started. We received a letter from Miss Dawson expressing Miss Whittard’s possible interest in attendance, but we have some fairly strict entrance requirements. We’re the American representatives, here to see if Miss Whittard… meets the criteria.”
Brennan’s glare shifted momentarily to the now-shaken Julia, then back to John and Lany. “How very interesting. Forgive my earlier rudeness,” he purred, releasing John’s arm. “My concern for Miss Whittard runs very deep. So tell me more about the criteria of this school.”
Lany was biting his tongue to keep from saying anything that might get them in trouble. Thankfully, John was equally tired of the conversation. “I’m afraid we haven’t the time,” he remarked flatly. “We’d best be going, Lany. We have another interview across town in an hour and a half, and I need to get ready for it.” He was halfway down the stairs, with Lany following, before Brennan could so much as catch his breath.
John was already at the bottom of the stairs. Lany turned and met Brennan’s glare with a courteous but emotionless expression. “Miss Dawson, I’ll call you later. Good day, Mr. Brandon.” He quickly disappeared down the hall, but could still hear the words, “that’s Brennan,” behind him as he walked to catch up with John and Dallan.
* * *
Brennan slowly turned to face Julia, the calm she wore barely hiding her apprehension. He smiled charmingly as he made his way toward her, his face dripping with understanding. She smiled back.
Brennan backhanded her across the face and sent her flying onto the sofa. “Now, you will tell me why you deliberately disobeyed my orders, won’t you?” He cooed seductively.
Julia took her hand from her face and glared at him.
Bad move. He viciously slapped her again, throwing her into the cushions. “Remember Julia, I can punish you without leaving a single mark…” He began to look her up and down appreciatively and licked his lips before a sadistic smile formed on his face.
Julia braced herself for what was surely to come, all the while plotting her own course of action to take in case she needed it.
Julia Dawson didn’t like to lose.
Where has your lover gone,
Most beautiful of women?
Which way did your lover turn,
That we may look for him with you?
Song of Songs 6:2
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Shona sat up with a start and glanced furtively about her room. Once recognition settled, she hurried out of bed to the darkened bathroom across the hall. She stood frozen in front of the shadowed mirror, one hand on the light switch, and swallowed hard, the action hurting her now dry throat.
With trembling fingers, she flipped the switch.
“Oh, no…” Clutching the towel rack next to her for support, Shona took a cautious step toward the mirror, lifting a hand to touch the cold reflection. “How can this be happening?” She whispered.
The face in the mirror was not her own, and much different from what she had seen so often before. Usually it was pale, frightened, lost and lonely. But now…
Shona touched the glass. The reflection remained the same, not fading away as usual. How could this be? And why did she look different now? The hair was brighter, the skin darker with a deep golden tanned color she’d always wanted to have by summer’s end and never succeeded at. And the eyes…
She turned her head slowly side to side to see if the eyes in the mirror would follow. They did. The upward slant was different, alien-looking, but the color was the most intriguing thing. She’d never seen such an unusual green and pondered where it had come from.
She remembered the one other feature that had coexisted along with the rest previously, and forced a swallow. She brought her hands to her shoulders, placed them under her hair, then slowly lifted the curling mass away from her neck, to expose…
“My God.” The ears. Pointed ears. How…? She turned her head to one side then the other, studying the entire picture. And still, it did not fade away.
She let her hair fall as a sudden realization struck, then slowly looked to her arms and hands. They bore the same healthy tan as the face in the mirror. “Oh, no, please…” She held her hands up before her face and saw how much smoother her skin looked. She touched one hand to the other and they felt the same way.
Shona began to shake her head and backed into the wall. “What’s happening?” She whispered. Her gaze returned to the mirror and the face there stared back, frightened, beautiful and totally alien. Yet was it not her own? She shook her head again.
“Shona?”
She quickly looked to the door. The voice had come from the stairwell.
Her mother.
“Shona, are you up?”
Shona fumbled for the light switch and slapped it off, throwing the bathroom back into shadows. She froze and wondered what to do, to say, to think…
"Are you all right?” Her mother now stood in the doorway.
Shona, unable to fine her voice, nodded nervously.
Maggie flipped on the light switch. Shona let out something between a yelp and a scream.
“What’s the matter? What are you doing up anyway? Are you having trouble sleeping again?”
Shona hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she had to practically force one open. She looked horrified at her mother who had a bemused look on her face, not the terrified expression she’d expected.
She slowly turned to the mirror. “I do not understand.” She stepped forward to touch the mirror, surprised by what she saw. The reflection was her own, not the… other one. “I am going crazy.”
“And so am I with these midnight wanderings of yours. If you can’t sleep I’m going to have to call your doctor…”
Shona spun to face her. “No!”
“Well, then get back in that bed and get some sleep. You don‘t look good.”
“I am fine. Really.”
“Not after what happened this afternoon. You’re not as fine as you think!”
Shona looked at her mother confused. “What happened this afternoon?”
Maggie’s eyes widened slightly as if the question had taken her by surprise. “You mean you don’t remember? During the interview?”
&nb
sp; Shona glanced back to the mirror. Pale skin, rounded features and tired eyes stared back, yet she sensed something else just below the surface. “I do not remember much, other than Mr. Eaton not feeling well and talking with his assistant a little.”
Maggie stepped forward and smoothed a long lock of hair from Shona’s face. “You don’t remember anything else?” She sighed. “Never mind. You need to go back to bed and try to get some sleep. Mr. Eaton will be back tomorrow to finish up. You want to be well-rested for the remainder of the interview, don’t you?”
Shona slowly nodded before she caught her mother’s eyes with her own “Something else happened today, but I cannot seem to remember. Someone else was here. I do not know who.” Her confusion deepened and she looked helplessly at her mother.
“You’re just tired.” Maggie said, her face now an expressionless mask as she put an arm around Shona's shoulders and steered her from the bathroom. “Go back to bed. You won’t feel so confused in the morning.”
Shona allowed herself to be led back to the relative safety of her room and crawled into bed.
Maggie turned to leave. “Good night.”
Shona closed her eyes and yawned, “Good night.” She hadn’t realized how tired she was, what with all she had seen in the mirror earlier. This was new, more frightening and she was suddenly exhausted, as if her terror had drained everything from her.
And probably did.
So much so that Shona didn't even notice how Maggie Whittard stared at her, tears in her eyes, before she slipped silently out the door.
* * *
Dallan stood at the window, palms flat against the glass, admiring the lights on the west hills of the city. Who was she, this lass John called the Maiden? And how could she make him feel this way?
He turned from the glass and glanced to the sleeping form sprawled on the couch, not really sure at this point who it was. Seemed they all took turns watching him, but had no set pattern. He never knew one night to the next what sort of company he’d have during his midnight musings.
Time Masters Book One; The Call (An Urban Fantasy, Time Travel Romance) Page 26
