by Lora Andrews
“How so?” There was a hard, curious glint to his eyes that sent a shiver of heat up her spine. Ewen MacLean had the dangerous-guy lure down to a science, and he didn’t even know it. She’d bet the MacLean war chief left trails of swooning medieval women wherever he went.
Holy shit. Was he married? Was there a Mrs. War Chief waiting for him on the other side? Or kids?
“Caitlin?”
“Huh?”
“Explain yourself. What do you mean by inconsistent?”
“Oh, um…” God, could he really be married? Everything inside her clamored a loud “No!”
“What is it?” He stepped closer, lowering himself until he was eye level, his deep blue to her mossy green. “You have nothing to fear from me. The more I know of your abilities, the better prepared I am to fight the evil that will ultimately follow.”
He curled his hands away from her body. She knew why he did so, but a part of her objected, craving the feel of those strong, yet gentle hands on her skin. Or the warmth of that powerful chest pressed against her lonely body.
Oh god, I’m so screwed.
She rubbed the top of her jacket, finding comfort in the feel of the pendant beneath the layers of fabric. “I think there are times I shield myself unintentionally. For example, when I’m distracted or scared, I shut everything out, but I can’t say the same for the visions. They’re unpredictable, and they hit when I least expect it, leaving me—”
“Weak?”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “How did you know?”
“My mother.”
“Is she the reason you distrust seers?”
“One of the reasons.”
“Will you tell me why?”
“Aye.” He looked up to the sky. “We’ve not much light left.”
He was quiet for a bit, and for a second Caitlin thought he’d changed his mind about responding.
“My mother was a healer. People came from all of Scotland for the potions and salves she fashioned from grasses and wild flowers. She died when I was a boy,” he said softly. His eyes clouded. “Strange, I can remember the scent of the herbs hanging from the hearth, but I canna recall the sound of her voice.”
“It was a long time ago, Ewen.” Her heart hurt for the boy who’d lost his mother and the man who lived with the void.
“Perhaps.” He squinted. Light rain dusted the field in a damp coat. “A grave illness gripped the MacLean Chief. Many believed Lachlan, son of the great Red Hector, had been poisoned.”
“Was he?”
Ewen shrugged. “It would seem the most likely conclusion. ’Tis what my father later believed. However, at that time, there was no certainty, and his war chief, my uncle, called upon my mother to attend to the laird in his time of great need.”
“So she healed him?”
“Aye, and a year later, I was born.”
A year later? “Oh.”
“But you see, the laird was married to a Macleod lass who’d born him two sons.” Ewen dug his fingers into his palms. “I was but a bairn when he was imprisoned for his support of Alexander’s war against King James. He was gone for six years.”
“The imprisonment that drove your brother to request aid from the Campbells?” The one that led to his run-in with Swene MacEwen.
Ewen nodded. “Well before his release, my mother was accused—”
Caitlin gasped. “Of witchcraft?” It all made sense now, and she didn’t have to guess who pointed the finger. “I’m so sorry, Ewen.”
“Not witchcraft, but something worse. A claim of witchcraft would not hold. My màthair was well loved in the village, and Fiona, my father’s first wife, could stir no malice for there were none willing to testify against their beloved healer. But to be accused of thievery by the Lady of Duart, well, who would argue the claims false when the evidence, a broach belonging to the lady herself, was discovered in our home by the laird’s war chief?”
“She set your mother up and your father couldn’t do anything to stop it. Oh, my god. That’s terrible.”
“Therein lies the tragedy of this tale. What could he do from the dungeons of Tantallon Castle? He was helpless to thwart the machinations of his wife and brother.”
“Did he love her? Your father?”
“Some say she was his one true love. There are those who claim my mother’s death broke the laird and changed him forever.”
“Are you one of those people?” The question slipped out of her mouth before she could bite her tongue.
“Nay. I know my father for what he is. A selfish bastard who loves only himself. She died alone in that bluidy cell, and he is to blame.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Caitlin’s eyes shifted to the ground, her expression hidden by waves of chestnut hair.
God’s teeth. He hadn’t meant to let his anger lace his words with venom, but the mention of love and his father in the same sentence brought everything inside him to a fevered boil. In the span of a year, his father had forgotten his mother, buried his first wife, and married the sweet Stewart lass he’d met while imprisoned in the bowels of Tantallon Castle. The man wouldn’t know true love if it bit him on the arse.
“Ewen, I’m really sorry about your mother.” She nipped her bottom lip. She was worried. He recognized the act for what it was—one of her tells. The other was the tugging of her dark locks over a shoulder.
“Speak your mind, Caitlin.” His fingers twitched, longing to stroke her cheek and smooth the wrinkle from her brow. But he refrained from both.
She shrugged and swept her hair off her shoulder, twirling the ends in the process. “I’m…I’m just trying to make sense of why you feel the way you do. I’m not a healer and your mother’s situation appears unique and unrelated to magic.”
“Nay, you’re not a healer. But like my mother, you have a special ability, and that ability, the power inside you, attracts darkness. It matters not whether it is the gift of healing or the ability to foresee the past or the future. It is a hardship no man or woman should bear.”
“So you see my gift and your mother’s ability as a curse?” Compassion softened her eyes.
“Look at where you are, lass. Your parents are in peril and your life is in jeopardy. How can it not be a curse?”
She wiped rain from her forehead and pulled her hood over her head. “This is all MacInnes’s doing. It has nothing to do with being cursed or my abilities.”
“And why then is he drawn to you? Why compel you to search for the stone? You may not have spoken of your abilities, but on some deeper level, the man senses it.” The pain of his mother’s loss chafed old wounds. “The magic attracts those seeking its power. It corrupts. It festers. Hear me now, Caitlin, for what I offer you is the truth.”
“Ewen,” she said softly, “from what you’ve told me, your mother’s death was a result of jealousy, not magic.”
He snickered. “Do you know why I was called to investigate the deaths in Ardgour and Mull? Why my father chose me and not another to track this killer?”
Caitlin shook her head. The green of her irises had darkened as her mood grew wary.
“I discovered the first fatality.” The memories resurfaced—his mother’s battered body nailed to the dungeon floor, drained of blood, inside the rings of a bloody circle. Ewen stuck out his hand, palm side up. “See for yourself the horrors magic wrought upon my family.”
She sucked in a breath, and he immediately regretted his decision. The cool tips of her fingers wrapped around his trembling hand, and she forced his arm to rest by the side of his body before releasing his hand.
“You need to let this go. Forgive yourself. You were just a boy, for god’s sake. There wasn’t anything you could have done to save her.”
His heart seized in his chest. Had she seen his failure? His pain?
“Ewen, what happened to your mother wasn’t your fault. And grieving doesn’t make you weak, just human. Maybe fate is giving you a second chance. Maybe that’s why we’re both here. Why it’s you and me. Maybe we’
re meant to rectify our family’s mistakes and set things right.”
How many times had he prayed to the heavens to turn back the clock? To send him back in time to save his mother.
She touched his cheek, the gesture so tender it set his teeth on edge and dredged his guilt to the surface. “Everything is going to be okay.”
“Okay?” Matters were far from okay. “And you’ve seen this in a vision, have you?”
“Nope. All I’ve got are senseless platitudes and a little bit of hope. And you have no idea what the word platitude means, huh?”
He shook his head.
“That’s what I thought. It’s just an overused expression. A cliché like ‘time heals all wounds.’” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course that saying is a big fat lie. Time just prolongs your suffering. Now your ‘bloody hell’ or ‘god’s teeth’ expressions have impact. God’s teeth, it’s cold out. See? Impact. Bloody hell, this was a big waste of time.” She laughed.
A smile hovered over his lips. Christ, the lass was fetching.
“Come on,” she said with a wave. “Let’s get out of the rain before I start rambling. We have a library to find.”
She threw him a wink over her shoulder and charged toward the entrance. One minute she was smiling before him, the next she was… gone.
Ewen ran. A three-foot wide gaping hole, about fifteen feet deep, had sprung where she’d last stood. Caitlin lay at the bottom, motionless.
Daniel raced across the field.
Ewen lowered himself through the opening and jumped to the stone floor below. She had fallen into a cavern of some sort. He reached for her just as she began to stir.
“Caitlin, can you hear me?”
She curled to her side and pushed herself off the ground with a moan. Blood dripped from a cut at her temple. Frowning, she looked up to the opening where Daniel’s alarmed face emerged.
“I have the worst luck,” she said.
Relief surged in his chest. “Can you stand?”
“Yeah, nothing feels broken.”
“Here, let me help you up.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to her feet.
Gingerly, she tested her weight. “My left ankle is sore, but I think it’s okay. I think the boots helped.”
Ewen released her and searched her body for injuries. The heel of her left hand bled. She shook it out with a wince, then brushed dirt from her hip with her right hand.
“We need to stop meeting this way,” she said with a sheepish smile.
Ewen grinned and pulled her into his arms. “Aye, that we do. Thank god, you are unhurt.” To Daniel, he yelled, “She’s fine. Have you rope?”
Daniel shook his head. “No, but hang tight. I’ll be back with supplies to get you both out of there.” He held a shiny object between his fingers. “Catch.”
Rain and loose dirt fell through the hole. Ewen squinted and caught the small object with his right hand. About three inches long, the silver item was cylindrical with a strange hook at the end. “What is this?”
Caitlin stepped out of his embrace. “It’s a flashlight.” She took it from his palm and twisted the top. Light shone into the cavern. “See?” She turned slowly, surveying the area. “What is this place?”
They stood in what appeared to be an underground room with a main corridor extending left and right. “It looks like a collection of shafts built beneath the castle.” But the walls were too fine. Ewen reached out and touched the surface. Smooth, hand-carved stone.
“You mean like a tunnel system?” She shone the light at the opposite wall. The ceiling was arched.
This was no cave or underground cavern. “Nay, I am mistaken. This appears to be a hidden wing of the castle. See the detail in the walls and the ceiling. The stone is hand-carved. There are lantern hooks along the wall.”
Caitlin followed the direction of his hand. Perspiration beaded her forehead. The temperature was significantly warmer below ground than above. She unzipped her coat, and carefully shrugged off the garment, favoring her left hand. She stuck the silver object in her mouth and tied the jacket sleeves around her waist. A pendant hung at her neck—a triskele, the Celtic triple spiral.
“Ewen, look at this.” She moved to stand at the far end of the room, arm raised, shining the light at the wall. “There are symbols etched into the stone. Do you know what they mean? Is it Gaelic?”
The wall appeared to be sectioned into panels spanning the length of the corridor. Elaborate drawings were carved within each section. Some he recognized. He pointed to an image of a woman on a galloping horse holding something in her arms. Two huntsmen stood behind her blowing horns while two male riders rode below. Swirls were etched into the remaining stone, framing the rectangular image.
“I believe this to be the work of the ancient Picts.” He had seen samples of similar artistry in Iona. But what was it doing here?
“Look, the panels extend down the hall. It’s amazing.” Riveted by the changing images, Ewen followed Caitlin down the darkened corridor. The wonder on her face matched his own. The symmetry and beauty of each impression was breathtaking.
Caitlin halted before a section of the wall. “Wow, these are totally different from the others.” She squinted at a section of intersecting lines resembling an ancient alphabet. “Are these runes? I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?”
“Nay, I have not.” The strange symbols marked the stone, almost as if they had been branded into the wall with a hot iron. The effect was severe, distinguishing one panel from the others like night and day. “They cease from this point on.” A blank slate of solid gray stone, free of etchings, extended beyond where the light touched the wall.
“I think they’re petroglyphs, but they weren’t drawn by the same group. These are angular, almost crude in comparison. I’d say they’re older than the Pictish designs, wouldn’t you?”
Ewen’s neck prickled. He swung his head to one end of the corridor and then the other. Something didn’t feel right.
“Caitlin, back away from the wall.”
Paying no heed to his warning, Caitlin scrunched her face and continued to study the pattern. “Some of the same swirly symbols are intermixed with the weird designs. That’s odd. Maybe they’re connected to the other culture somehow.” She put her bloodied palm against the wall. A gasp tore from her chest and she jerked back, the flashlight falling from her grasp.
An orange glow emitted from the panel she’d touched. Light streamed into each figure, delineating the darkened outlines like lava channeled over a dry river bed. The strange symbols flickered a bright red-gold until every pattern was illuminated against the dull gray stone.
“Oh, my god,” Caitlin said. “Tell me this isn’t my imagination.”
Ewen blinked. Cords of light fell from her chest, swirling around her body. She was oblivious to the glowing pendant at her neck. His heart leapt into his throat.
Christ, was this truly magic? Did his eyes deceive him? Was it a play of light in the darkness? He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
“Ewen? What—” She followed his gaze, lowering her chin to her chest. “Oh, god, no.” Her head snapped up. “I, Ewen…it was my grandmother’s.”
The muscles in his throat tightened and his voice croaked when he spoke. “The triskele was hers?”
“Yes.” She stared at the light encircling her palms.
He stumbled back, fear seizing his chest. “God’s teeth. ’Tis magic beaming from your chest.” He turned to the wall. “Magic illuminating the symbols on the stone.”
“I know.” She bent over, clasped her hands to her knees. Ragged breaths expelled from her lungs. “It’s sealed around my neck. I can’t take it off. I tried, but I can’t take it off.”
Sealed?
Ewen’s nape burned as if the skin had been seared. The strange symbols seemed to pulse in time, one after the other, all glowing but one–a circular disk shaped in a triskele carved into the perimeter of the
unblemished wall.
Odd.
Stranger yet, when he moved closer to inspect the symbol, he realized it wasn’t a carving but an indentation, one identical in size to the pendant around her neck.
“It’s a key.” Christ, the pendant is a key.
He moved to the wall and fingered the depression. It stood about four feet from the floor. Low enough for a petite MacEwen lass to stoop and fit the pendant into the groove.
Caitlin stared in disbelief at the spot his finger vacated. “A key to what?”
He stepped back and cleared the path to the wall. “There is only one way to test the theory, lass.”
Magic, be dammed.
TWENTY-SIX
Caitlin’s skin blazed hot. Every instinct pushed her toward the groove in the wall.
“I’m scared.”
“Aye, but you are not alone,” he said with his face set in a mien of unshakeable valor. “I am here.”
“Thanks.” There wasn’t much he or anyone could do if the pendant melded into the stone with her still attached. “God, this is insane.” Hands shaking, she clasped the glowing pendant between sweaty fingers, took a dizzying breath, and stepped in front of the wall. “Here we go.”
She stooped. Angling her head, she pressed her temple and cheek against the stone so she could see, and inserted the pendant into the depression. She waited and watched, her wildly beating heart knocking against her ribcage. But when nothing occurred, she stepped back.
“It didn’t work.” She’d been so sure something would happen. Some sign. A burst of light. Anything. But the impression on the cold, gray stone remained as dark and unaffected by the light circling the other symbols as it had before she’d inserted the pendant into the seal.
Ewen rubbed the back of his neck. “The symbols are illuminated still.”
“It was worth a shot,” she said disappointed. “Maybe Daniel’s back. We should go.”
The hair on her arms stood on edge. Energy filled the narrow corridor, whipping against her body like a cool breeze. The unmarked stone panel shimmered then disappeared.
Caitlin met Ewen’s bewildered eyes. “You were right,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it.” She sucked in a breath and started walking toward the opening without waiting for Ewen.
