Leaning back against the seat of the SUV, she stretched out her legs. She was feeling tremendously better, buoyed by food, heartened by the discovery that Cian was somewhere safe, and quite frankly delighted that she wasn’t going to have to sleep beneath a bridge somewhere tonight using newspaper for blankets.
“Och, Christ, have I told you how sorry I am?”
“Only about a hundred times now,” she told Dageus dryly.
“ ’Tis but that I feel like such an ass, lass. I’d ne’er have taken the mirror if I’d thought ’twould leave you in any danger. Please believe that.”
“I do,” she assured him. “And it’s all right. Everything turned out okay. I’m here, Cian’s safe, and no one’s the worse for wear.” Although, she appended silently, she wasn’t going to feel a hundred percent okay until she saw Cian with her own eyes.
She glanced over at Dageus. It was full dark outside and the only light in the SUV came from the faint green glow of the dashboard’s electronics. He looked a lot like Cian in the low light; same strong features, long hair, powerful body. His quiet respect and responsibility toward women reminded her of Cian as well.
He’d been searching for her for hours, he’d told her, when they’d finally crossed each other’s path.
At a complete loss for what to do upon discovering the SUV missing, Jessi had commenced methodically searching every street, alley, and parking lot in Inverness, hoping against hope that she would somehow miraculously stumble upon it somewhere. It was a terrible plan, and she knew it, but she’d needed to take some action, any kind of action, to avoid having a meltdown.
The truth was, she’d not really expected to find the stolen vehicle again and, near dusk, when she’d spotted it at the end of the next block, idling by the curb, she’d been flabbergasted.
She sprinted eagerly, stupidly toward it the moment she’d glimpsed it. Belatedly, she’d checked herself and stopped warily, a dozen feet away.
Then Cian’s descendant had stepped from it.
Hey, she’d blurted to his back, without thinking, I know you! What are you doing with our SUV?
The sudden fear that he might be a bad guy, too, had spiked through her then. But he’d turned and looked at her and his expression had been one of such pure relief that her fears vanished. Thank God! There you are, lass. I’ve been looking all over for you! he’d exclaimed.
Exhausted and starving, she’d nearly burst into tears.
She wasn’t all alone and lost in Scotland with nowhere to turn, after all. Someone had been looking for her. Someone was glad to see her.
He’d told her, with the first of his many apologies, that he’d only taken the SUV because he’d seen the Dark Glass in it and been worried about what was being done with the Hallow. He’d been home already when he’d discovered Cian in the mirror, and been sent back by his furious ancestor to find her.
His furious ancestor, he’d said. He knew. And he wasn’t the least bit weirded out by it!
Although Dageus had referred to Cian as “kinsman” in Tiedemann’s, Jessi had decided that Dageus must have believed they were somehow distantly related in current day, that Cian was an illegitimate, distant cousin or something.
Certainly not that he was an ancient ancestor who’d been trapped in a mirror for eleven centuries. Really, what sort of person would readily accept that kind of nonsense? She certainly hadn’t. She’d resisted until the last possible moment, only when she’d been forced to concede that her life was at stake.
But Dageus wasn’t having any problem with it at all. Which pointed to only one logical conclusion.
“So, I guess none of you MacKeltars are normal, huh?” she probed.
He smiled faintly. “Nay, not exactly. I’m fair certain my wife will tell the tale better than I, but I and my twin, whom you’ll meet shortly, are from the sixteenth century.”
Jessi blinked. “Did you turn too? Is that how you got here?”
“Turn?”
“Into a dark sorcerer,” she clarified. “Is that how you and your brother ended up here? Did you guys get stuck in things, too?”
Dageus made a choking sound. “By the sweet saints, is Cian a dark sorcerer, then, lass?”
“Don’t you know anything about your ancestor?”
“His name was stricken from all Keltar annals eleven centuries ago. Verily, until just recently when the underground chamber was reopened, we believed him a legend, naught more. Is he a dark sorcerer, then?”
“He seems to think so. I’m not so sure.”
“How did he end up in the mirror?”
“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it. Yet,” she added firmly. Jessi’d had several epiphanies today while hunting for Cian, terrified that she might never see him again. The day had stretched on and on, and, alone with her thoughts and fears, certain facts had attained a stark clarity in her mind.
One was that she wanted to know everything there was to know about Cian MacKeltar. All of it, good and bad. She knew from the parts of his stories that had penetrated her stupor the night he’d killed the assassin masquerading as Room Service, that he’d had a wonderful childhood in the Highlands. She knew also that, somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. She wanted to know what it was; how he’d ended up in the mirror; how he could think he was a dark sorcerer when every time she looked at him, she saw light.
Oh, not pure sweet blinding light. Not even close. Cian MacKeltar wasn’t that kind of man and would never be. Truth was, she didn’t much like that kind of man anyway. Cian wasn’t one of the bad guys—but he could be if necessary, at the drop of a hat and utterly without remorse.
But “bad guy” wasn’t his primary persona. He was what psychologists and anthropologists would call an Alpha male, men who were defined by an inherent lawlessness. They obeyed only their own code, and if it happed to briefly converge with the laws of society-at-large, it was mere coincidence. One could never be completely certain what an Alpha male would do if he, or those he considered his, were threatened. One could only hope to stay within an Alpha male’s protected circle—or as far out of his line of sight as possible.
Jessi knew where she wanted to be, smack at the center of Cian MacKeltar’s protected circle. And not just because someone was after her, but because he wanted her there under any circumstances. That was the second epiphany she’d had today while frantically hunting for him.
“But you doona think he’s dark, eh, lass?” Dageus jarred her from her thoughts. “You think he’s a good man? Do you believe in him, lass? With your heart?”
She looked at him curiously. There was a note of urgency in his voice, as if the question was very important to him. “You don’t even know me. Would it matter to you if I did?”
“Och, aye, Jessica. A woman’s thoughts and feelings always matter to Keltar men.”
Hmmm. With each passing moment, she was liking Keltar men more and more.
“So? Do you?” he pressed.
“Yes,” Jessi said without reservation. “I do.”
When they got to the castle—Crimeny, she was in a castle!—Dageus guided her through at such breakneck speed that her surroundings whizzed by and she hardly managed to see a thing.
She got a brief, astonished glimpse of a magnificent great hall with a fabulous fairy-tale staircase that descended from both sides of the upper stories, a rapid look at a stunning suit of armor in an alcove, and a much-too-hasty glance into a darkly paneled room adorned by ancient weaponry, with claymores, battle-axes, spears, and broadswords gracing the walls in intriguing geometric patterns. She’d positively itched to grab a chair, pull them down, and begin testing for authenticity. Though she suspected everything she was seeing was the genuine article.
Why wouldn’t the contents of the castle be from centuries long past? The occupants were.
After steering her into a library, he deposited her there, then hurried off to “gather the rest of the clan and bring your man in. My brother and our wives will join you anon.”
The library was a beautiful, spacious, yet cozily inviting retreat, reminding Jessi much of the understated, impeccable elegance of Professor Keene’s office.
Tall bay windows, draped in velvet, overlooked a manicured garden. Cherry bookcases were recessed into paneled walls. An enormous, dusky-rose stone and marble fireplace climbed one wall, the elaborate mantel climbing all the way to the ceiling. There were many richly brocaded, overstuffed chairs and ottomans arranged in various conversation areas, beside lavishly carved, leather-detailed occasional tables. The trey ceiling had ornate embossing and three tiers of elegant moldings. A stately bar was custom-crafted into a section of the bookshelves.
From what she’d seen on her rushed way through, the entire castle was a historian’s dream, liberally scattered with antiques and relics, and the library was no different.
Centuries-old tapestries adorned the walls. The room was illumed by exquisite—and she was willing to bet real—Tiffany table lamps that cast a stained-glass amber and rosy glow about the room. The majority of the books on the shelves were leather-bound and some looked quite old, resting with care on their flats, not their spines. A massive desk with a top inlaid of three gleaming burled panels divided by intricate Celtic knot-work occupied one corner, with a tall leather chair behind it. Library tables perched beneath spotlighted portraits of Keltar ancestors. Muted antique rugs warmed the room, accented by an occasional plush lambskin. A pretty ladder with sides of carved scrollwork slid along the walls of bookcases on padded wheels, atop the gleaming perimeter of wood floor.
She was just moving toward the ladder, to push it to an especially interesting-looking pile of manuscripts, when two pretty blondes burst into the library, followed by a man she initially mistook for Dageus.
“Welcome to Castle Keltar,” one of the blondes said breathlessly. “I’m Gwen and this is my husband, Drustan. This is Dageus’s wife, Chloe.”
“Hi,” Jessi said tentatively. “I’m Jessi St. James.”
“We know. Dageus told us,” Gwen said. “We can’t wait to hear your story. You can start now if you’d like,” she said brightly. “We’ve been waiting all day.”
Dageus walked in then, toting the mirror, holding it by the sides.
She’d half expected to hear furious bellows heralding his approach, and was somewhat surprised that the glass was silent.
He crossed the room and propped the mirror up against the bookcase, near the conversation area where she and the MacKeltars had gathered.
She peered at it. It was flat silver and there was no sign of Cian.
Jessi hurried over to the looking glass, reaching instinctively for it.
At the same moment, Cian’s hand rose within the silver as he stepped forward, making himself visible.
She heard feminine gasps behind her.
“So there he is,” one of the women exclaimed. “Not only did he refuse to answer any of our questions, he wouldn’t even show himself until you got here.”
The world receded around her and narrowed down to nothing but Cian. The expression in his whisky gaze was stark.
“Och, Jessica,” he said, his butter-rum voice rough and low. He was silent a moment, drinking her in. “I’m not much of a man when I can’t even protect my woman. The bloody glass reclaimed me and I couldn’t get to you!”
My woman, he’d called her. She could see in his eyes and hear in his voice that the day of worrying had been hell on him too. She was sorry it had been; and she was glad. Glad it hadn’t been just her going crazy. Glad because it meant his feelings matched hers. “Yes, you are,” she told him fiercely. “You’re more man than any I’ve ever known. You’re more man than any other man could ever hope to be. You’ve saved my life twice! I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. Besides, you couldn’t possibly anticipate that your stupid descendant would steal you. Who could have seen that coming?”
Behind her, someone cleared his throat. She thought it might be Drustan, but he and Dageus were so alike that it was hard to be sure. Then she knew it was Dageus because, with a note of wry amusement in his voice, he said, “His stupid descendant wishes to know how you release him, lass.”
She pressed her other palm to the glass. Cian aligned his to hers. They stared hungrily at each other. After being afraid she’d lost him, she needed to touch him, ached to feel his body against hers, to taste his kisses. To feels his hands claiming her. His woman, he’d called her, and she was pretty sure those weren’t words a ninth-century Highlander ever used lightly.
“Is it okay if I tell him?” she asked Cian.
He shrugged. “Aye, I suppose so.”
She said over her shoulder, “There’s a summoning spell—Lialth bree che bree, Cian MacKeltar, drachme se-sidh—but it won’t work right now because—”
Even as she was about to explain that not enough time had elapsed since that morning when he’d last been out, the runes carved into the ornate frame began to blaze with a brilliant inner light and the parameters of the library felt suddenly skewed. Her jaw dropped.
Cian looked just as startled as she. Then his dark eyes blazed with exultation. “Mayhap because the last two times were so short, lass,” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Who cares the why of it?”
He pushed forward, reaching for her. One moment Jessi had her palms pressed to cool glass, the next it was full black and icy, and then the warm strength of his hands was closing around hers. He separated from the mirror, peeling away from the silvery rippling pool, walking her backwards, his gilt-whisky eyes glittering with passion and lust not-to-be-denied.
She shivered with anticipation.
Distantly, she heard Chloe and Gwen’s startled exclamations, then heard nothing more when he ducked his head and slanted his mouth hungrily over hers. She melted into him, against the hot steel of his big body, threading her fingers into his braids, parting her lips, yielding utterly to him.
Abruptly, he dragged his mouth from hers. “Is this castle warded, kinsmen?” he grated over her shoulder.
One of the twins answered, “Well, aye—”
“Think you two puny Druids can hold this keep for a single night?” Cian cut him off.
“We two puny Druids,” one of the twins spat, “could hold—”
“—this keep for a blethering eternity if we so wished,” the other twin finished.
“Good. Go do it. Get the bloody hell out of here.”
He slanted his mouth over Jessica’s again.
Behind the passionately entwined couple, Drustan’s eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared. “Of all the arrogant—”
“Remember the day I trapped you in the garderobe and you finally remembered who I was, my love?” Gwen interrupted softly.
Drustan swallowed the rest of his words. Did he ever! He’d been nigh crazed with desire for her. Naught in the world could have stopped him from making love to her then and there. In fact, they’d doffed every scrap of clothing the two of them had worn, right there in the great hall, and to this day, he was uncertain if they’d had an audience. And to this day, he still didn’t care.
Which was exactly how it appeared Cian and Jessica were feeling. In fact, there went the man’s shirt soaring over her head, to land on a lamp. The delicate stained-glass shade wobbled a precarious moment, then settled.
Drustan had no desire to see any more of his ancestor than he was currently seeing.
Except, he thought, scrutinizing the man’s sculpted upper torso, blethering hell, what are those tattoos? Had another Keltar fallen from grace? If so, how far? He had wee bairn sleeping abovestairs, a wife and clan to protect, and he’d like to know what to expect. Who and what was this man and what was he doing here? And why did he have an Unseelie Hallow? He wanted explanations, by God, he deserved explanations. This was his castle, his world. He was the senior Keltar male, after all! Or . . . er, och, he had been the senior Keltar male until a few moments ago!
; His scowl deepened. If his ninth-century ancestor thought he was going to usurp lairdly duties of the clan based on birth order, he was sadly mistaken.
He regarded him irritably, but despite his displeasure, his expression softened.
Cian and Jessica were kissing like the world might come crashing to an end at any moment.
And Drustan knew exactly how that felt. Each time he kissed his wife, each time he held their precious twins in his arms, it seemed the world couldn’t possibly grant him time enough to love, even if it spun out to eternity.
He didn’t need to try deep-listening to his ancestor to know the woman Cian was kissing was his mate.
Some things required no explanations.
The matching of a Keltar with his woman was one of them.
He heard the metal groan of a zipper. His or hers, he didn’t know. Nor was he about to stand about and find out.
His questions would have to wait.
Pivoting, he ushered the lot of them from the library.
* * *
21
The moment Jessi heard the snick of the library door as it closed behind the MacKeltars, her body tensed and her pulse began to race nervously.
They were alone, Cian was free of the mirror, and she was touching him. She couldn’t have asked for more, yet all of a sudden she felt weirded out about it.
With the instincts of a natural-born predator, Cian sensed the change in her body. He broke the kiss and drew back, gazing down at her. His sexy mouth was kiss-slicked and half-opened on the hard, fast breathing of lust, and his dark, hooded eyes glinted dangerously.
She moved back a few steps and stood staring up at him, panting as raggedly as he.
He reached out and lightly brushed her jaw with the back of his knuckles. When he spoke his voice was rough, hot, and low. “Is aught amiss, woman?”
She shook her head.
“I doona think I would handle it well if you played games with me, Jessica.”
Beyond the Highland Myst Page 199
