Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (11 page)

“Don’t think I don’t know that you’ve just played me, but I won’t come unless you need me. I wouldn’t want to blacken the Dark Lord’s eye before I have to, since
I
like him. Here’s Taryn.”

There were some shuffling noises, more laughter, this time Jesse’s, and then her sister was on the phone. “Hey, how’s it going? Have you choked out Magnus yet?”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “For the love of Pete, not you too.”

Taryn laughed. “Okay, I’ll drop it.” Taryn’s tone turned serious. “Right before you left, I met with Lauren. He wanted to know what I could tell him about the Druid’s Scroll. I haven’t figured it out, but I think he saw something in one of the charms. He didn’t say anything, it’s just a feeling I got. I think he knows something about it. I think that’s why you’re there, Daisy.”

“Are you sure?”

“No, I’m not sure. He saw something, though, some sort of clue I didn’t. I’m not sure the Scroll is a scroll at all. I think it may be a series of symbols connected by the female Druid who created them. I think you need to find a stone circle. I know there are lots of them in that area, but this one has a dolmen close by. If I’m reading the charm correctly, it’s not far from the glen, because I can see what may be piles of stones. I think that’s a reference to the line of cairns in the glen, right where Lauren decided to begin shooting his documentary. What are the odds? Anyway, I’m seeing a sword and a Viking dragon boat. I’ve got a feeling there’s more going on here. Be careful.”

When Taryn got feelings, Daisy listened. Her sister was the key to deciphering the charm bracelet map that led to many of the artifacts Daisy had already found. “Okay. I guess I’ll start searching for stone circles. How is a sword connected to the Scroll?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s a Viking sword, if that helps.”

It didn’t, unless it was the Ulfberht Magnus told her about the night he walked back into her life, so Daisy focused instead on the Druid’s Scroll. That was a prize she’d been looking for since Taryn first told her that the written secrets of the Druids might be real.

“Thanks, Taryn. Let me know if you find anything else. Finding the Druid’s Scroll would make it awfully hard for the Arm-Righ to turn down Lauren’s petition to make me a Finder. He’s been looking for it or any part of it for decades.”

“The King is dangerous, Daisy. He’s not to be trusted. If you find anything, don’t go to him. Go to Lauren.”

“You just said Lauren’s hiding something.”

“I think he is. Even so, he’s more trustworthy than the Arm-Righ. He also loves you like a daughter. He won’t let anyone hurt you. That I am sure of.”

Daisy said her goodbyes and disconnected. She needed to get out of the house without anyone seeing her leave. She also needed to sleep for about fourteen straight hours. She’d make arrangements to leave in the morning. Alone.

She had artifacts to find.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Magnus needed some good local intelligence if he was going to find anything that might lead to the Druid’s Scroll. The information he’d gathered from historical writings was limited. What Taryn was able to share about what the Scroll may contain and where to start looking from her sources, including the charm-bracelet map her father left her after his death, was frustrating in the extreme. It led nowhere. Conjecture and guesswork was the best anyone in the field was able to come up with to describe the Scroll and the secrets it may hold. A female Druid, afraid that Christianity would wipe out her earth-based religion, wrote down in words and symbols the secrets of her ancient order. That was the legend. Precious little, but no one said chasing myth was going to be easy.

Taryn’s father, the noted Celtic historian James Campbell, believed the Druid’s Scroll was real. Most recognized experts did not. The prevailing theory was that the Scroll was a metaphor symbolizing the quest for ultimate knowledge; sort of pagan’s take on the search scientists have been seeking—an ultimate unifying theory of everything in the universe.

Magnus had been firmly in the metaphor camp when he first learned of the Scroll. Then the letters started coming.

First the letters contained bits of Druidic lore sent anonymously from someone he assumed was a fan of his jewelry designs. He took the information and incorporated most of it into new lines of jewelry. Then, Daisy left Potters Woods and he eagerly pursued every bit of knowledge he could about everything even tangentially related to Celtic myth, legend, history or culture. If Daisy was interested in Celtic lore, he learned all he could about it. Even the fringe theories. If he was dispensable, as far as Daisy was concerned, then he’d do his level best to ensure that his knowledge wasn’t.

The letters kept coming, each more detailed and more…theoretical than the last. Before he knew what was happening, he’d absorbed a way of looking at life and the world around him that was more inclusive, interrelated, and magical than he could explain. He became part of his world, influencing it, rather than merely observing and reacting to pressures exerted on him.

He’d been searching for something without consciously knowing it, and that something had found him.

Somewhere along the line, the science and the magic of it became his passion. The more he learned, the more important he became to Lauren, and, by extension, to Daisy. But that wasn’t his only purpose now. Now, his expertise in Celtic nature-inspired spirituality kept him in Daisy’s world. More importantly than that, Magnus now found himself on his own spiritual journey that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with finding his center.

Magnus opened the door to the coffee shop and sat in the booth closest to the kitchen. There were no other customers in the shop, just a family of four winding their way through the hands-on exhibits in the glass and steel building across from the museum’s gift shop. Merry came through the swinging kitchen door with her hands full. She set a large slice of chocolate cake in front of him along with a small jar of double cream, a pot of steaming tea, and a blue stoneware mug. Magnus didn’t ask how she knew he was there. He had more important questions to ask right after he finished his tea and cake.

Magnus spooned every last bit of double cream he could from the jar onto the chocolate cake. American heavy cream was good, but it didn’t come close to double cream’s sweet taste and thickness. The best meals he remembered from childhood involved double cream. An image of Daisy, hair pinned up, as he drizzled double cream down her neck flashed through his mind. Magnus groaned with pleasure as he finished his last bite of cake.

“You must have been truly hungry to make that sound.” Merry slid into the booth opposite him and tossed a hand towel she’d used to wipe down the other tables over one shoulder.

Pushing his now-empty cake plate away, Magnus sat back in the booth. “You have no idea.”

Merry’s accent, so like his own when he arrived in the States, had him sliding back into rounded sounds and rumbling lilt. Wisconsinites spoke like many Midwesterners, with a crisp precision and quick, yet fully enunciated vowels and consonants. His native speech patterns suffered from immersion into that newscaster-esque speaking environment.

Now, with Merry, he let his brogue come out to play. “Ach, Merry, that was as fine a cake as I’ve had. A wee bit o’ heaven that was, to be sure.”

Merry chuckled at him, then tsked in that way mothers all over the world have for flattering sons. “Something tells me ye didna’ come for my bakin’.” The chuckle was gone when she continued. So was most of her brogue. “What do you seek, Highlander?”

Interesting question.

Magnus didn’t correct Merry. In actuality, he was an Islander, not a Highlander. But since his island was far enough north to attribute as much of its history and culture to the Norse invaders as to the Scottish mainland, he guessed that technically Merry’s term fit. She didn’t use it disparagingly, like Daisy did when she was angry with him.

Magnus made himself a promise that before they left Scotland—he’d have Daisy dipped in double cream and saying “Highlander” with a completely different intonation. The thought made him smile.

Merry looked at him with the same look his school mistress got when he’d stared at one of the girls too long. A mixture of exasperation and understanding topped with
get back to the subject at hand before I’m tempted to wash your mind out with soap.

Magnus didn’t think about it, he just answered. “I’m seeking the Druid’s Scroll and any other artifact that can heal injury and illness, show me how to move and manipulate mass, and change the world with my thoughts.
And
I’m seeking a way back into Daisy’s heart, mind and life. Permanently. I’d also like to learn how to disappear and the meaning of life if it’s not too much trouble.”

Merry got even more still. Magnus couldn’t read her expression, because she’d turned into someone who received intelligence, analyzed it, and gave nothing back to the person being interrogated. In this case, him. It was disconcerting to say the least. Magnus resisted the urge to squirm as the seconds ticked by. He could actually hear them clicking past on the wall clock. Funny, he hadn’t heard them until he gave Merry his unfiltered, very real, smart-arsed response. He should have chosen his words a bit more carefully. Something about Merry made him lower his internal shield and say what he was thinking. Magnus was growing hot. Perspiration was beginning to bead on his skin. He was about to apologize when Merry spoke with no lilt and only the barest of Argyll bending her words.

“What if I could help with three of the items on your list?”

She wasn’t joking. A shot of
this-may-never-come-again
energy jolted through Magnus and he
knew.
He didn’t question how he knew any more than he questioned where his art came from. When the spirits gave gifts, it was best to be thankful. Magnus knew with absolute certainty what he said and did next would change his world.

“You are the one who sent me the letters.” As soon as he said it, he was certain it was true.

“You’ve been my student for some time now, Magnus Alexander. If you commit to becoming my apprentice, your path will not be easy, nor will it come without sacrifice. In return, you will gain knowledge and abilities that you only have the potential to manifest now. It will be your obligation to protect that knowledge, just as it is mine, with your life. Silence is one of our rules.”

Life was an uncertain prospect in the best of times, and although Magnus valued his as highly as any, he was born a protector. There was also the fact that what he’d already found, with the assistance of the letters, left him with an insatiable yearning to learn more about the ancients and their nature-inspired spirituality.

Magic
. The word echoed through him, becoming real for the first time.

“Will I be allowed to share some of what I learn?” Magnus shared his life through his art. It was how he drew meaning from his livelihood. It was important to him, and he didn’t know if he could keep what he learned from seeping into his art, even if he tried.

Merry smiled at him and his shoulders dropped in response. He didn’t realize he’d been holding himself so rigidly until some of the built-up tension left his body. When she read his mind, Magnus wasn’t surprised, nor was he worried. She wasn’t intruding. Not really. She was trying to allay his fears, or so he thought. She was testing him too, that much was clear.

“Art that manifests emotion is magical. The artist puts his spirit into it, and if the viewer is receptive, she or he absorbs some of the artist’s gift. That’s knowledge. That’s also magic. You couldn’t possibly keep that out of your art, and I’d never ask you to.” Merry’s eyes narrowed slightly and her words became quiet. “That’s not the kind of thing that needs protecting. There may come a time when you must keep information from Daisy and from the MacBain to keep it out of the hands of others who would use it for their own gain without caring who they hurt in the process. Can you do that?”

Could he? From MacBain, certainly.
If
keeping what he learned to himself was the right thing to do. “Aye. If it’s right and necessary. When it comes to Lauren, I have an obligation to tell him what he needs to know. I’ll only hold back if, at the time, he doesn’t need to know.”

Merry nodded, but Magnus couldn’t tell by the gesture whether his answer was good enough.

“What about Daisy? How will you know if keeping from her the magic I share with you is the right thing? If it is, will you keep what I share with you secret?”

Magnus let himself smile, knowing he looked as sardonic and self-deprecating as he felt. “I always know what the right thing to do is at the time. Knowing what’s right isn’t my problem with Daisy. Acting on what’s right? Well, that I haven’t been so good at so far. I honestly can’t tell you that I’ll always do what’s right when it involves Daisy.”

Merry looked into his eyes for longer than was comfortable or comforting. Then she leaned into the table, resting her weight on surprisingly muscled forearms. “Lesson number one: A true practitioner of magic knows himself, both his strengths and his weaknesses. He keeps both in mind when deciding how to use his power.”

Merry looked into him a second longer, then patted his hand. He’d passed some kind of test. “You’ll be meeting with an old friend soon. You’ll need his help to create the tool Daisy will need to keep her safe. She needs you more now than she ever has.”

Merry winked at him and got out of the booth. The teacher was gone. The coffee shop owner had taken her place. “It’s up to you to make her want you again. You’re shite outta luck, though, if you’re thinkn’ any amount of magic will help you with that one, apprentice.”

Merry cleared the table and was gone before Magnus could think of a reply. Maybe that was the point. A student needed to learn when to ask questions and when to shut the bloody hell up.

Two steps out the door, his “old friend” Rowan MacDonald found him and told him what they needed to do.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Renting the BMW motorcycle was easy. It took just a few minutes on the phone and a short trip with Gerry to pick up the bike. Daisy purchased a full set of leathers from a shop in Glasgow—black with bright yellow sunbursts, which appealed to her sense of femininity. She owned a lot of black because it was practical and she looked good in it, but it did nothing to make her soul dance. Bright colors did that. That was just one of the reasons she wore bright paint on her toenails every chance she got. Most of the time she painted each nail a different color. No one really saw her bare feet. It was something she did for herself. A small thing to be sure, but one that made her feel free. Like riding made her feel free, powerful and slightly naughty.

Yeah, Rebel Yell, that’s me.

Magnus rode when they were home. Wisconsin’s countryside was perfect for bikers. Riding with him and with Jesse, who favored the overly large Triumph Rocket Three, was wonderful and freeing. She felt so close to her two favorite men then simply by sharing the road with them. She hadn’t ridden with either of them in years, but she kept up her skills on two wheels riding solo. Daisy learned to love riding alone. She found she did a lot of praying and meditating on a bike. It was Zen for her; attuned to every aspect of the road before her, living in the moment, letting only those thoughts in that, at their core,
mattered
.