Amethyst Destiny (2 page)

But the cry, when it came, was his mum’s.

Talon ran for the house and pushed through the door. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized it was his father lying on the floor, his mother kneeling at his side, her mouth bloodied, her eyes wild.

“He’s dead.”

Talon’s eyes widened. Relief washed through him like a fine summer rain. Was this not what he’d wished for?

His breath caught. His heart stuttered.
The ring.
He’d wished for his father to leave and never return.

He’d done this.

With a rush of horror, he grabbed the ring and yanked it off his finger. His heart began to pound. He’d done this. He’d killed his own father.

His mother began to cry in great sobbing gulps.

Talon stared at his dead sire without grief. Without triumph. He felt nothing. As if his soul had fled.

But he’d not regret his wish.

Understanding washed slowly over him. With the amethyst, he was no longer weak. No longer powerless.

No longer Talon Manure.

His jaw hardened. Slowly, he pushed the ring back onto his finger and curled his hand into a fist around the stone.

ONE

Julia Brodie gripped the handle of her suitcase, the muscles of her arm and back straining as she lugged the heavy piece of luggage down the ancient stairs of the inn deep in the Highlands of Scotland.

“Can I help ye with that, lass?”

Julia grimaced. The question was almost certainly directed at her, since the voice came from directly behind her, but she ignored the question as she ignored the man, whoever he was. At five foot two and a hundred and five pounds, she might look as fragile as a butterfly, but she wasn’t. She could lug her own damned suitcase.

“Aye, lassie,” came a second voice. “Let us be helpin’ you with that. ’Tis too heavy for you.”

Julia growled under her breath and glanced back to find two of the yokels she’d seen at the wedding. “I’ve got it,” she said tersely.

Ignoring her, one of the men closed the space behind her, his hand brushing hers on the handle.

“Let me help ye with that.”

Julia clamped her hand tighter around the handle. Did the moron not understand English? “Back off. I don’t need your help.”

The man made a sound of disapproval deep in his throat, but backed off, as she ordered, muttering about rude Yanks.

As if it were her fault he couldn’t take no for an answer.

But as she neared the bottom of the stairs, she looked up to find her cousin Catriona watching her, soft rebuke in her odd, mismatched eyes—one brown, the other pale green. Eyes the exact colors of Julia’s own.

“Off so soon?” Cat asked as Julia set the suitcase on the worn carpet and pulled up the handle. “I thought your flight wasn’t until tomorrow.”

Though they shared the mismatched Brodie eyes, their similarity in appearance ended there. Catriona was tall and curvy, with a shining mass of long, dark curls. Julia was flat-chested and short, with straight blond hair she’d recently cut into a chin-length bob.

“My flight is at seven in the morning. I’m staying at the Glasgow airport tonight so I can roll out of bed and onto the plane.” Besides, she’d had all the family she could handle. Especially since her aunts had apparently decided she needed to be the next one married and had been pushing
nice Scottish lads
at her for three days straight. Yokels, every one.

She’d made it more than clear she wasn’t interested. Most of them were giving her a wide berth by now. The two on the stairs had been the exception, with
had
being the operative word.

Cat clucked her tongue softly as the men strode off, clearly put out with her. “Ye push them all away, Julia. Someday yer going to have to let one get close.”

“Don’t count on it. I don’t need a man, Cat. I don’t need anyone.”

Catriona cocked her pretty head. “Even your favorite cousin?”

Julia rolled her eyes. “Who says you’re my favorite?”

Cat laughed. “We both know it’s true. Just as you’re
my
favorite.”

Julia looked up at Cat in surprise, but then frowned. “Right.”

“’Tis true, Julie. I ken ye, aye? I understand you better than you think. Better than you do yourself, I’m thinking.”

“Oh, I know myself just fine. I’m a bitch.” Julia grinned. “A happily single bitch.”

But Catriona didn’t smile in return. “Nay, lass. Underneath it all, you’re fine, Julia. Fine and bright and good. But ye hide it from everyone. Mayhap even yourself.”

Julia’s smile died. “Favorite cousin or not, you’re overstepping yourself, Cat.”

“Aye.” Catriona reached for her hand and squeezed it. “But ye’ll remember what I said, Julie. Just remember.”

“Sure, whatever. I’m fine. I always knew that.”

“’Tis not the
fine
I mean.” Cat turned as if to give her a hug and Julia stiffened and pulled back.

She didn’t need this shit. Catriona might be her favorite cousin, but she didn’t need hugs or cousinly advice.

Why had she come to Scotland at all? She’d asked herself that question at least a dozen times since she got here three days ago.

“I have to go, Cat. Good luck with your marriage and all that stuff.”

Catriona’s expression turned serious, her eyes going razor sharp. “Wait, Julia. I need you to do something for me. I need you to take something back to America with you. It’s ... a gift.”

“You don’t have to give me anything, Cat.”

“No, I do. I truly do. Come with me, please? ’Twill not take five minutes.”

Julia stifled her impatience and nodded. Another five minutes with family wouldn’t kill her. After all, she’d flown all the way from New York to attend Cat’s wedding, acting on some odd and errant need for a dose of family. And since her dad’s Scottish relatives were the only ones she had, family meant Scotland.

If he hadn’t died last fall, she’d probably have sent her regrets in response to Catriona’s wedding invitation. But there was something about knowing that she didn’t have anyone else that had spurred her to accept the invitation and book the night.

She doubted she’d come back again. It had been ten years since she’d seen any of them, not since her sophomore year at Princeton, and she hadn’t enjoyed the visit. They all knew one another as if they’d lived together all their lives. Which they practically had.

And she barely knew them at all. Or they her, despite what Cat claimed.

Cat was right, though. The two of them had hit it off that first summer Cat joined the family, the summer Julia was ten and Cat was thirteen. At least they’d hit it off as well as Julia ever hit it off with anyone. Probably because for a short while they’d both been outsiders.

No one knew who Cat was or where she’d come from. Not even Catriona herself. She’d appeared at the gates of the family home one spring, twenty years ago, dirty-faced and lost, remembering little but her name. Her parents had never been located, but there’d been no denying she was a Loch Laggan Brodie with those mismatched eyes, and she’d been swept beneath the collective family wing.

Looking a world away from that lost kid, Catriona led her to the back of the inn where the stylish bride and her new husband had spent their wedding night. The couple would be leaving soon to head north to spend a few days honeymooning on the isle of Orkney in the Hebrides. Julia had heard at least a dozen people wonder why they didn’t fly south to Spain or southern France for a spot of sunshine and warmth. But September would still be hot in the south and Catriona had admitted once that she wanted to see every inch of Scotland someday.

There was something about Cat’s love of her home-land that Julia understood, despite having turned into a jaded city girl. There was something about the wild, rugged land that pulled at her, as if her Scottish blood recognized the place. And maybe even longed for it.

Which was too damn bad. Julia hadn’t always been a New Yorker, but she was a New Yorker now, and no way in hell was she ever moving again.

Cat led her into the room as her husband, Archie, zipped up the suitcase on the bed.

“Have ye the stone?” she asked him.

“Aye.” He looked at Julia with speculation, then reached into the outside pocket of a duffel bag and pulled out a small fabric pouch pulled closed by an attached silk cord. He didn’t hand it to Cat, but instead placed it on the bed beside her.

Catriona glanced at the pouch, then at Julia, but made no move to reach for it. “I want you to have this, cousin. Put it in your purse and don’t touch it until you get home.”

Julia raised a skeptical brow. “What is it?”

“A necklace. It was mine, but I want you to have it, now. Don’t ever bring it back here.”

Cryptic words. “Do you mind explaining why not?”

“I do mind, aye. Why isn’t important. Just do as I say, Julia, please?”

Julia nodded slowly, deciding she was probably taking some unwanted jewelry off their hands. A gift from an old boyfriend or something.

“Okay.” Julia picked up the small pouch and slipped it into her purse. “Thank you.”

Catriona’s gaze met Archie’s and something passed between them, a look of profound ... relief?

Odd.

But when Catriona turned back, the smile that slid across her pretty face was so pure, Julia found her own mouth tilting up into a wry smile.

“Someday you’re going to have to tell me the whole story, Cat. You know that.”

“Aye.” Catriona smiled broader. “Someday when we’re old ladies, I’ll tell ye everything.”

Julia pursed her lips and nodded. “Deal.”

This time when Catriona opened her arms, Julia allowed herself to be swallowed in the hug. With a wave, she said good-bye to Cat and her new husband, one of the decidedly non-yokels, then retrieved her luggage from the foyer and headed for her rental car.

Hours later, as she sat in stalled traffic, waiting to get around an accident on the A9 on her way to Glasgow, she rued not spending the extra money for a flight out of Inverness. Looking for a diversion, she reached for the small pouch Catriona had given her, curious about this necklace that her cousin no longer had any use for. She opened the pouch and dumped the small pendant into her palm. The stone was small, oval, and purple, about the size of her fingernail, in a fine silver filigreed setting. The stone reminded her of a purple garnet she’d once drooled over at the jewelry store. A pretty little necklace, if badly in need of some silver polish.

Julia rubbed her thumb across the face of the stone, watching the sunlight catch in the facets. Very pretty. The delicate chain didn’t have a clasp, but looked to be long enough to fit over her head.

She stared at it for two seconds as she remembered her promise to Catriona to wait until she got home to put it on. As if anyone would know.

With a grunt, she pulled it on over her head, letting it settle between her breasts. It was a little long, but looked good against the moss green turtleneck sweater she’d donned that morning.

Finally, the traffic started moving again. It was dark by the time she pulled into the car rental lot at the Glasgow airport. She turned off the engine and was about to reach for her coat and purse when she realized there was still a light on in the car.

With confusion, she looked down, seeking the source ... and stared. What the hell?

The purple stone was glowing.

“Great. Just great.” The thing was probably radioactive. Either that or Catriona had turned into a practical joker. Either way, she wasn’t wearing a glowing necklace in public like some ten-year-old kid.

Not only was it glowing, but it was starting to heat. She could feel the warmth through her sweater. Yeah, this thing definitely had to go.

But as she reached for it, she was hit by a violent wave of dizziness that made her stomach roll. Around her, the car began to spin. She grabbed for the steering wheel, desperately needing to ground herself. If this didn’t stop soon, she was going to be sick all over the rental car. Which was bound to cost money.

The warmth seeping through her sweater began to turn hot. If she didn’t get the thing off soon, it was going to burn right through the fabric. But she couldn’t bring herself to let go of the steering wheel. An illogical fear gripped her that it was the only thing holding her tethered. If she let go, she’d go spinning off into God-knew-where.

Catriona’s words rang in her ears.
Don’t touch it until you get home.

How was the necklace doing this?

Come on. That’s ridiculous. The dizziness doesn’t have anything to do with the necklace.

But a strange, crawling sensation began to blossom all over her skin. A buzzing sounded in her ears. Ridiculous or not, her instincts told her the dizziness and the stone were related.

Putting on Catriona’s necklace had been a terrible mistake.

Talon strode purposefully down the passage deep within Castle Rayne, his white chaplain’s robes brushing his legs, hiding the knives he had strapped around either calf. In one hand he held a lantern against the darkness. In his other, a carafe of holy water. For a bloody fortnight he’d walked these passages, visiting every room, pretending to bless the castle and cast out the evil spirits residing here.

In truth, he searched for the treasure he’d been sent to find.

Or at least some small clue to its whereabouts.

“Ye worthless piece of metal and rock,” he muttered under his breath to the amethyst ring that had clung to his finger for the last score of years. He pushed open the door of yet another bedchamber that would remain empty until the lord and his retinue returned. “Ye tell me to come to Castle Rayne and here I am. Here I linger. Have ye deserted me, now?”

The sounds of drunken laughter lifted from the Great Hall below and he thought of the dram of whiskey he’d begged from the ring earlier that very eve and moments later found dripping through the floorboards at his feet.

Nay, the ring had not deserted him. The irksome thing toyed with him, as it had always done.

The lost whiskey had been his own fault. He’d long ago learned not to ask the ring for anything directly. Hegarty had warned him as much when he gave him the ring years ago.
It’ll be givin’ye what ye need, lad, but not always in the way ye want, aye?

Never in the way he wanted, was more the truth, though he’d learned to get his way more often than not. If he needed silver, he couldn’t ask for silver. Or money. He had to ask the ring to fill his belly. Nine times out of ten, he found silver in his purse afterward. On occasion, the spiteful stone would send him food. Real food, and he’d feel his sporran fill with oats, or leak with soup.