Amethyst Destiny (22 page)

“And why did ye not tell him the truth?”

She gave a mental groan. The last thing her tangled brain needed right now was to have to follow the logic trails of hers and Talon’s contradictory lies. Lying was a pain in the butt.

She shrugged. “Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

To her relief, Niall nodded as if that response made sense to him. “Who was your father?”

“Duncan. Duncan Brodie.”

A small frown marred his angular features. “But he died?”

“Yes. Last year.”

“I see. I dinna ken any Duncan Brodie who went to the Colonies.” He nodded at her meal. “Eat, lass.”

“I’m not hungry. Tell me why the women bathed me.”

Niall rested his elbows on the chair arms, steepling his fingers as he watched her. “I suppose ye’ll learn the truth soon enough. There’s to be a ceremony this eve. Ye are to be a part of it.”

“What kind of part?”

He shook his head, a shadow passing through his eyes as he rose. “If ye’ve eaten all ye wish, we’re through. Angus!”

As Angus strode into the room, Julia rose. “What ceremony, Niall?” All her fears came rushing back.

He ignored her, speaking only to Angus. “Lock her up below and prepare the others. The summoning takes place at midnight.”

“Aye.”

Something primal inside her screamed at her to run and she listened.

As Angus started for her, she lifted her skirts and ran.

But for all his great size, Angus was too quick. He snagged her around the waist and slung her over his shoulder as if she weighed no more than a bag of laundry.

“Is this why Catriona ran from you?” she cried furiously. “Is this why she escaped you?”

Angus froze. The very air in the room went still. And then she found herself dumped on the floor at Angus’s feet, Niall towering over her.

“How did you know Catriona?”

Ah,
shit.
How was she supposed to answer that? “What were you going to do to her, Niall? What are you going to do to me?”

He grabbed her face. “Tell me how you knew her.”

What the hell. “I met her afterward. After she got away from you.”

His face turned into a mask of fury and she cringed, bracing herself for the blow that was sure to come. But instead, he released her and turned away.

“Lock her up.”

Angus lifted her over his shoulder, then left the room. Twice her head hit the stone wall of the stairwell as they descended not one but two flights.

Finally, mercifully, the awful turning ceased. Angus carted her through a rough, dirty, dimly lit passage cut out of the rock and into a small, bare room.

A prison cell.

The Brodie hadn’t been kidding when he’d told them to lock her up.

Angus dumped her on the ground, slamming her tail-bone into the rock floor and banging her head on the wall behind her. Pain shot through her skull. By the time her sight cleared and she managed to struggle to her feet, Angus had already retreated, pulling the heavy wooden door closed with an ominous click. Only a small barred window in the middle of the door allowed her to see out.

“Wait!” she cried, grabbing the bars and trying to see into the hallway. “Angus!” Panic rushed her, sending her pulse careening as she pulled at the bars. “Dammit, let me go!”

A torch on the wall outside her cell let in the only light and it was minimal. He’d left her in near darkness, alone. Why in the hell had they insisted on bathing her if all they’d intended to do was dump her in the dungeon?

Except this wasn’t the end of it, was it? Niall had said there was a ceremony she was to be part of tonight. A summoning.

Of
what?

Images flashed in her mind, the dark images she’d suffered every time she touched the chalice. The blood.
The foot of a woman.

No, no, no. Her scalp tingled, a cold clamminess rising on her skin. Those images had nothing to do with this. Nothing.

Oh God.
What if they did?

What if she’d seen her fate?
Her death.

Panic tore through her as she leaned back against the door. “Talon,” she whispered into the darkness. “I need you.”

But even if he knew she was in trouble, even if he tried to save her, he’d never be able to. He might have a bit of magic, but he wasn’t Superman. Even with his ring, he couldn’t breach a castle. And even if he did, there were dozens of armed men inside. They’d kill him.

There was nothing he could do this time.

She’d followed her heart by coming with him to Loch Laggan instead of staying with Brenna at Picktillum. But though he’d been happy for the company and the sex, he hadn’t wanted her heart.

Her legs refused to hold her and she sank to the cold stone floor, pulling her knees tight against her. The last time he saved her, he still thought he needed her to help him find the chalice.

He didn’t think he needed her anymore. And she hated him for that. She’d been
fine
on her own. Happy in her independence. In her isolation. Because, dammit, she’d never known anything else.

Until she met Talon. Until he wormed his way into her heart with his charmer’s smile, his gentle insistence, and those eyes of his that saw too much.

He
did
need her. She’d seen the pain inside him. He might think he didn’t, but he did. Like her, he’d been alone. And like her, he thought he’d been fine with it.

But unlike her, he still thought he was.

She hugged her knees, trying to shield herself from the pain of loving a man who couldn’t love her back. And the fear that it wouldn’t matter anymore. That whatever the Brodies had planned for her tonight involved blood. And death.

Her death.

As the shaking tore through her body, her tears began to roll.

NINETEEN

The dull clop, clop of a horse and the squeak of a cart sounded nearby. Talon pulled back on the reins of his mount. He needed a way into the castle and he’d long ago learned to ignore nothing when he’d asked for the assistance of the ring.

On the road below, a cart trundled by, filled with barrels strapped to the boards. Likely ale from the nearest alewife. An old man drove the cart over the uneven hill, his tongue clicking to the equally old horse.

“Get ye on, Fia, m‘dear. ’Tis gettin’ late and the laird will be wantin’ his ale.”

A small rush of exultation lifted Talon’s spirits. This was the boon he’d been looking for. Stifling a groan, he swung out of the saddle and ran over the hill lit only by moonlight to creep behind the cart. Ignoring his aching ribs, he climbed on, hiding between the barrels.

As he’d hoped, the wagon eventually rolled up to the back gate of the castle. His muscles were sore and cramped, but as the ale man and the guards began to lift the barrels off from the right, Talon dropped to the ground on the left and stole through the massive open door.

Keeping to the shadows, he traversed the passageways, hiding from sight whenever anyone approached. An air of tense excitement enveloped the castle this eve. He heard it in the voices, felt it in the tension of the inhabitants.

This was not simple joy, but something more. Something with a dark edge to it. Which surprised him little, having already seen the dark magic in that chalice.

But what had any of this to do with Julia?
Did
it have aught to do with her or was his concern for her clouding his judgment? Were his feelings blocking his reason?

He couldn’t be certain and it no longer mattered. He was here now. He’d not leave without her again.

Voices and footsteps approached and he dove into a dimly lit passage, pressing back into the dark.

“For nigh on a year the laird’s had men scouring the land for a by-blow with the Brodie eyes with no success.” The speaker was female. “’ Tis God’s hand that delivered the very lass and the chalice as one. We prayed for a miracle to spare wee Isobel and God has provided.”

A second voice, a man‘s, replied. “Isobel isna spared, ye ken that, lass. Those marked by Veskin will become Veskin’s. But the laird’s wee daughter will at least get her thirteen years now. The lass delivered to us this day has seen far more than thirteen. ’Tis right for her to die in Isobel’s stead.”

Die?
Talon’s pulse began to pound. It was all he could do not to fly from his hiding place and pound the truth out of the pair, but he would do Julia no good were he caught a second time.

Jesu. They meant to kill her. Why?
Because of her eyes?

“Niall,” the man called. “A word, if ye please.”

Talon crept as close to the edge of the shadows as he dared, straining to hear.

“The men wish to bleed themselves here, in the castle. They fear the devil’s cave.”

Niall grunted. “The ritual will be performed in the cave as it has always been done. Just before midnight. Twenty men, myself included. No more, no less.”

“Aye, Niall.”

The voices moved off. Talon remained with his back pressed to the cool stone of the wall as disbelief swirled about his head. Ritual and blood. Devils and sacrifices.

Julia.

Nay.
Nay.
They’d not have her. They’d as soon rip the heart from his chest. For that was precisely what the lass had become.

“Help me find my heart,” he quietly demanded of the ring. “Help me save her. You sent her to me. You’ll not let her die!”

The ring had sent her.
Why?
He’d asked ... what had he finally asked for that had brought her to him? A chill slid down his spine as he remembered. He’d asked the ring to send him that which Niall Brodie sought.

And Niall Brodie had sought, in addition to the chalice, a lass with the Brodie eyes. To sacrifice. To spill her blood in the place of wee Isobel. His daughter.

Why the need for the sacrifice he didn’t know, nor did he care.

A sudden thought jolted through him. Was this the reason Hegarty had sent Catriona into the future?
At thirteen.
Had he saved her the night
her
blood was to have been spilled?

Now Julia was here in her place, another Brodie with those same eyes. Doomed to fulfill the destiny Catriona had avoided.

He’d not allow it to happen.

He’d not allow them to destroy the woman he’d come to love.

Huddled on the damp stone floor, Julia heard the soft scurry of a rodent and shivered, a deep pulsing shudder that wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t ease. She shouldn’t even be here! Anger flared inside her. Anger at Catriona for giving her the necklace without any true understanding of the danger of the thing. Why had she given it to her? She should have dropped it into Loch Laggan, where no one would ever find it again.

“Julia.”

Her heart gave a leap and she caught her breath, uncertain if that low, urgent sound had been real, or only in her imagination. But her pulse began to skitter and race as she froze, listening.

“Julia.”

She heard it again, this time right outside her door, and she leaped to her feet.

“Talon?”

“Shh,” he said softly.

Something slid into the lock and the door swung open. Talon stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, like a knight of old.

Julia flew into his arms, burying her face against his chest as he held her against him, his arms like steel bands.

“Are you hurt?”

“No. Just scared. Oh God, Talon, I didn’t think you’d come.”

His chin rubbed the top of her head. “D’ye still think so little of me?”

She laughed, a small, low sound of disbelief. “I thought you were mortal. I didn’t know you’d turned into Superman.”

She pressed her cheek to his chest. The truth was, she was never quite sure about him. But it no longer mattered. He was here.
Thank God,
he was here.

“How in the world did you break into a castle filled with armed Highlanders?”

He pulled back, dipped his head, and kissed her hard, then released her to grab her hand. “I’ll tell ye once we’re away. They’ll be here for you soon.”

“They mean to kill me, don’t they?”

The squeeze of his hand and his silence were all the answers she needed. “They’ll not touch you.”

But the knowledge that they meant to kill her echoed through her head like the music of some horror flick. The soundtrack to those scenes of the firelit cave and the blood. The severed foot. Whether those visions had been of other deaths, or premonitions of her own, no longer mattered. She was destined for the same if they didn’t make good this escape. She knew it. She
felt
it.

Talon led her through a dank and shadowed underground passage. They hadn’t gone far when he stilled and pressed back against the wall, telling her silently to do the same. Ahead, she heard a single set of footsteps. A guard? Or Angus on his way to fetch her for whatever they had planned for her?

Perspiration rolled between her breasts.

Beside her, Talon murmured low and she knew him well enough by now to know he was talking to his ring. If they ever needed help, it was now. A diversion.

Holding her breath, she waited, her heart thudding in her ears. And then she heard it. The soft sound of beating wings. Dozens of beating wings.

“Bats,” Talon murmured against her ear. “’ Tis a favorite of the ring’s.”

Julia shuddered. But she supposed bats were better than fire. Especially with them trapped in the dungeon.

Talon’s grip on her hand tightened. The sound of the bats grew louder, coming from the same direction as the footsteps.

A man’s yell of alarm echoed through the tunnels, shout after shout, as if he were being attacked.

“Bollocks,” Talon muttered. “Just our luck to get a lad who’s afraid of bats. Come.” He tugged her hard and fast and they ran down the damp passage, directly toward the commotion.

“Shouldn’t we go the other way?” she cried softly.

“’ Tis the only way out. And his shouting has likely alerted the entire castle by now.”

Talon’s words were all too prophetic. They’d barely rushed past the frantic guard when half a dozen armed Brodies barreled into the passage.

“Get back,” Talon told her, releasing her hand.

“The ring?” Julia whispered.

“Can only do so much.” Talon pulled his sword and launched himself at the guards.

A cloud of bats flew straight through the skirmish, but none of the other guards seemed to notice or care.

Julia felt a hard arm go around her neck, hauling her back from the fray, and knew the bat-phobic guard was back on duty. He shoved her into another prison cell and slammed the door against her.

She lunged for the door and yanked, but she was locked in tight. All she could do was press her face to the high, barred window and watch.

Talon was fighting two Brodies at once, stepping over the prone form of one man who was either dead or injured. The passage was too tight for the others to be able to surround him. But behind him, the guard who’d captured her pulled a wicked-looking knife.

“Talon!” Julia gripped the bars. “Behind you!”

Talon whirled, but not even her Superman could fight three men at once when they came at him from opposite directions. One blade sliced through his sword arm, leaving a bright ribbon of red blossoming on his sleeve.

As she watched, the guard behind him lunged, blocking her view. But she heard a groan and a hard thud. Then nothing but the heavy breathing of active men.

The fight was over. Talon had lost.

Her skin turned to ice, an ill sweat popping out on her brow.

No. Dear God, no.

She heard the grunts and groans of men lifting a heavy burden, then the sound of footsteps moving away, leaving her in a heartrending silence.

Had they killed him? Would she ever know?

When she died herself in a blood-strewn cave, would he be waiting for her, ready to walk with her into the light?

She slid down onto the floor, buried her face in her hands, and shook.

Julia didn’t know how much time had passed when the cell door bumped her in the back and she scrambled to her feet. She’d been so lost in her misery, she hadn’t heard the sound of the lock. One of the armed Highlanders grabbed her by the arm and pulled her from the cell, then led her past the blood-soaked stone where she’d seen Talon fall.

Her stomach cramped, a quaking misery shuddering through her as she fought tears. And terror. She would face her death with courage. Because, God knew, it was all she had left.

The man said nothing as he led her up the endless spiral of stairs Angus had taken her down, and back to the room where Niall Brodie had fed her.

He stood, pacing, as the guard led her in.

“Leave her.”

Julia watched the Brodie chieftain, her fists clenched at her side, hating him.

He watched her with hard, enigmatic eyes. “Ye’ll tell me how you knew Catriona.”

“Go to hell.” She swiped angrily at the tears trying to cloud her vision. “Why should I tell you anything? You’re already going to kill me.”

Niall’s mouth tightened. “Do ye think I
wish
to kill you?”

Julia stared at him, uncomprehending. “I think you’re evil and insane.”

She expected him to come after her, to slam her in the face with his fist. She didn’t expect him to sink onto his chair and bury his face in his hands.

“Aye. ’Tis evil, true enough.” He lowered his hands and looked up at her, a weariness and grief in his eyes that almost,
almost,
made her feel sorry for him. “But I dinna have a choice.”

“You have a choice.”

He shook his head. “Nay. I thought I did. I tried to end this once. I tried to save my wee sister Catriona. But I failed. And my clan and my kin have paid for my arrogance ever since.”

His words throbbed with anguish and she found herself unable to add to his pain.

“Catriona isn’t dead, Niall. You did save her.”

He stared at her. “I saw the devil take her.” He pushed to his feet, his expression desperate. “How do you ken Catriona?”

“I’ll tell you. After you tell me what in the hell is going on, why you had to save her, why you have to kill me.”

A razor-sharp gleam entered his eyes and for a moment, she feared he would try to shake the truth from her. Instead, he turned away and began to pace.

“’ Tis an old tale.” The words were laced with gravel. “Centuries ago, during the time of the black plague, the Brodies of Loch Laggan were struck down at a terrible rate. The chieftain’s wife was dead, his three sons all buried. Only his wee lassie of a daughter had been left untouched. Seven, she was, and she was his heart. Then she, too, developed the buboes, the swellings, that heralded the black death and he knew he would lose her, too. ’Twas too much for him. He railed at God and the fates, offering his soul in exchange for his wee daughter’s life.”

Niall turned to her, the look in his eyes not that of a man telling a tale, but of a man recounting a horror he knew all too well. “The devil appeared in the darkest hour of that terrible night, a wee devil with hair as wild as the winds and as black as night. His name was Veskin and he offered to save the lass, but at a price.”