Eternity's Mark (12 page)

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Authors: Maeve Greyson

BOOK: Eternity's Mark
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This was madness! Taggart tore himself away, stomped to the edge of the clearing and grabbed more wood for the fire. “Gearlach!” he bellowed into the silent darkness. “Where the hell are ye, ye oversized lizard?”
“I am right here. Must ye bellow? We Draecna do not have the weak hearing of ye half-deaf hybrids, ye know.” Gearlach emerged from behind a pile of boulders, scrubbing his fangs with a branch ripped from a nearby pine.
“Watch over her!” Taggart barked through gritted teeth with a jerk of his head in Hannah's direction.
Gearlach shrugged a half-spread wing, then continued picking at his teeth as he settled down beside the fire. “I can watch over the lass if ye like. But where are ye going to be?”
“Just watch over her.” Taggart snapped as he stomped down the narrow trail leading to the secluded springs. He didn't bother stripping off his jeans before diving into the deepest end of the icy pool.
 
Something poked her in the middle of her side just below her ribs. Hannah shifted atop the thin padding of the pallet covering the cold, hard ground. That felt worse—now it stabbed her even higher. Either a sharp rock or a clump of dirt dug into her back right above the kidney. The chilled night breeze ruffled her hair across her face and invaded the folds of the plaid gathered loosely about her neck. She shivered, pulled the woolen blanket higher, and scooted over again. She opened one eye, searching for a source of heat, and scowled as she spotted the dwindling flames of the dying fire. This was ridiculous. An involuntary shudder rattled her teeth until she almost bit her tongue as another chill stole across her flesh. That fire needed stoking with a lot more wood. Time to build the inferno. Hannah yanked the blanket tighter around her shoulders and rolled to scan the clearing.
“Taggart?” Her voice echoed off the sheer wall of the cliff and faded out into the darkness.
The nocturnal woods stood murky and silent except for the shushing of the wind through the swaying tops of the pines. Hannah swallowed hard against a passing moment of homesickness. She missed the sweet night songs of her mountain back home, the chirp of the crickets, the
ching ching
of the katydids tucked away in the trees. Why had she left her safe little sanctuary and wandered halfway across the globe?
“Taggart!” Hannah hissed again. Still no response. Taggart appeared to be missing in action. Apparently, he'd left her alone. Well, maybe he'd needed to pee. Hannah rubbed her nose with an irritated shiver. That didn't change the fact that the ground radiated the cold and the fire burned as low as a birthday candle. She'd just have to get her own firewood.
Worming her way to her feet, she hitched the blanket higher around her shoulders, then paused as the material scratched against her bare skin. Bare skin? Wait a minute. As she peeped down between the folds of the rough woolen blanket, Hannah gasped at the sight of her ruined blouse baring her chest and hanging from her shoulders in shreds. The buttons were gone, popped from the threads; the holes were tattered as though they'd held the buttons just a bit too long.
Hannah stepped closer to the circle of firelight and spread the blanket wide. Branded between her creamy breasts appeared a bright red imprint of a very large hand.
“Taggart!” Her enraged cry echoed across the mountain as she kicked a nearby log into the fire. Embers crackled and popped up into the darkness, sending a beacon of sparks spiraling into the night. What the hell had he done while she slept—branded her as if she were some sort of cow?
Taggart stormed out of the shadows, his claymore fisted between his hands and swinging in a menacing arc above his head. His icy eyes flashed as he burst into the clearing, his body poised for the attack. Bare-chested, hair loose and dripping rivulets down tensed muscles of his body, he looked like a wild barbarian in the half-light of the fire. “What is it, Hannah? What threatens ye?”
“Nothing threatens me!” Hannah whirled upon him, opening the blanket and exposing his handprint, as well as a clear view of her breasts. “Would you care to explain to me how this got here?”
Taggart coughed; his hands tightened to a white-knuckled grip on his blade as he lowered his arms to his sides. “Ye were sick with a fever.” Taggart cleared his throat again, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes and trying to look anywhere but at Hannah's chest. “Ye had to be healed. Ye were delirious, out of your mind. Trust me. Dammit, woman, there was just no other way.”
Snapping the blanket back around her body, Hannah fixed Taggart with her best I-don't-think-so looks. Did he really think she was that gullible? “So I was delirious with a fever? You really expect me to believe that?” How stupid did he think she was? She might've been sick, but what could she have done that would've been so bad? Babbled a little bit of nonsense maybe?
“Yes, Hannah. Ye were delirious.” Taggart raked his wet hair away from his face, then sheathed his claymore at his side.
Stomping over to her bag to rummage around for another shirt, Hannah stumbled and tripped over the folds of the blanket. She silently cursed the rock that had just jammed her big toe. As she hopped and yanked the blanket out of the way, Hannah snapped, “Well, if I was so delirious with a fever, what did I try to do?”
His jawline rippling with his clenched teeth, Taggart folded his arms across his chest. “Ye don't believe me? Ye don't think ye were delirious? Be careful what ye wish for, my little Guardian, because with just one word and a wave of my hand, I can return every memory to your stubborn little head.”
After she fished a shirt out of her bag, Hannah moved back closer to the fire. She should've never come to Scotland, especially not with such an infuriating smart-ass. “I haven't known
you
all that long, but I know
I'm
not a bad person. What could I have possibly done that was so bad in this dreadful state of delirium?” Pulling the fresh shirt underneath the blanket, she returned his narrow-eyed glare. She wished he'd just spit it out. She was freezing to death and still jet-lagged. She wasn't in the mood for twenty questions. “And you're the one who'd better be coming up with some explanations, Taggart. As soon as I finish getting dressed and get this fire built up, we're going to discuss this little chronological announcement you made down at the spring that started my little roller-coaster blackout.”
With a muttered curse, Taggart strode across the clearing in a ground-eating stride, clapping his hands in her face. “
Esromer!
”
Hannah tasted Taggart on her tongue as though he'd just lifted his mouth from hers. She rubbed her fingertips across her lips; the fresh rasp of his stubbled jaw throbbed anew across her flesh. Her body flushed hot. Her nipples tightened; her breasts ached for the return of his touch. She remembered. She'd kissed him, reached out to him; she'd wanted more but ... no. It hadn't been him. Oh good gawd, she had called out to Jake. “Well, it wasn't like I was really kissing you. You know I thought it was Jake.”
Taggart whirled away from her, stomping his way back across the clearing, where he shot her an angry glare across the fire. “That explanation makes it so much better. Thank ye very much, Hannah.”
Hannah fumbled out of her ripped blouse, yanked on the fresh shirt underneath the cover of the blanket, and then wadded it up into a ball. She kicked it over beside her pack. She had no trouble maintaining her body temperature now. Taggart's attitude kept her plenty warm. There wasn't any reason for him to be a jerk. He still owed her many explanations. “Well, apparently, you weren't all that wild about kissing me anyway. I don't remember anything about you pushing the advantage.”
Taggart rolled his eyes and held up a warning hand. “Oh no! I am
not
taking that bait. Many a man down through the centuries has met his downfall by following that line of conversation with a woman.” He circled around the edge of the clearing, gathered a few sticks of wood, and tossed them on the fire. “Have ye seen Gearlach? He was supposed to be watching over ye while I took a swim in the spring.”
Hannah frowned and shook her head. “No. I was alone when I woke up, and why would I need someone to watch over me? I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Believe it or not I've lived this long without you watching my every move.”
Worrying his hands through his still-dripping hair, Taggart eyed Hannah as though she'd lost her mind. “I've just finished healing ye from a delirious fever. And need I remind ye of the attack on your life but a few days ago?”
“Oh—well. I guess you have a point there.” Hannah picked up a stick and stirred the coals of the fire, grudgingly mesmerized by the glowing embers. She'd tried to put the memory of the felled trees from the attack at Jasper Mills to the back of her mind. “Which reminds me, you said you'd tended to Gearlach since he was a hatchling and he's now five hundred years old. So exactly how old does that make you?” Hannah raised her stick from the depths of the coals and watched the flame dance about on the tip. Not a sound could be heard except for the
hiss
of the fire and the distant
hoot-hooting
of an owl serenading the stars.
Hannah turned from the fire, the flaming brand in her hand, her temper simmering hotter than the tip of the stick. “Taggart, I'm waiting. How old are you? I know you've got to be older than five hundred years if you've been babysitting Gearlach all that time.”
His face drawn, Taggart approached Hannah as though he trudged to the gallows. “Why does my age shock ye so, Hannah? Ye didna bat an eye at the sight of an eighteen-foot Draecna, but ye fainted when ye learned I was over five centuries old.”
He's not human. Hannah tossed the stick and hugged the gooseflesh of her arms as she peered deeper into the iciness of his gaze. She'd seen his smile. No fangs that she'd noticed. Then what exactly was he? Hannah swallowed hard at the knot lodged in her throat. Her voice rasped around her uncertainty. “Answer the question. How old
are
you, Taggart? And more importantly, what are you?”
His lips tightened as he lifted his chin, fierce blue eyes filled with challenge. The chiseled planes of his body tensed as he stalked around the dancing flames of the fire. “I am Taggart de Gaelson, eldest son of the Royal House of Cair Orlandis. I am seven hundred and seventy-seven years old and I come from another reality. I come from Erastaed, from the world on the other side of the portal of Taroc Na Mor, ancestral home to the race of the sacred Draecna. I am chosen protector from the Guild of Barac'-Nairn, watchers over the blessed guardian.”
“Blessed guardian?” Hannah swallowed hard before licking her lips. That movement proved futile; her mouth had gone drier than the sands of the Sahara.
Taggart nodded once in her direction. “Aye, that would be you.”
Hannah sank to a fallen log and leaned back against a tree. Digging her fingers into the sponge of the rotted bark, she gulped a ragged breath of the dank, loam-scented wood. Hannah ground her palms against the log until it splintered between her fingers. She plunged her nails deep into the damp crumbling bark; maybe if she clenched something tight enough the reality of Taggart's words might somehow make more sense.
“Seven hundred and seventy-seven years old.” Hannah repeated the words as though mumbling a spell. “A world called Erastaed.” Maybe if she said it aloud it might make it easier to accept. No, this couldn't be real. She must still be delirious from that fever. She pressed the back of her hands to check the heat of her forehead as she choked out a whisper, “I've never heard of that place ... that Erastaed, and nobody can live to be over seven hundred years old. At least I've never heard of anyone living that long. I just don't see how what you're saying could be true. There's got to be a more logical explanation.” She closed her mind against the nagging inner voice. The voice whispering that if Taggart's words weren't true, then how could she explain Gearlach?
With a bitter laugh, Taggart turned away and tossed another log into the middle of the fire. A shower of sparks exploded into the night and the flames licked higher into the air. “Do ye no' think it a bit conceited to believe this world ye're standin' in is the only reality in existence?”
Hannah covered her face with shaking hands as an icy shiver of recognition tickled teasing fingers up her spine. Grandma had repeated wondrous folk tales to her when she was a little girl. The eerie bedtime stories often portrayed Hannah as the heroine and never failed to lull her to sleep. But surely, that's all they had been—stories to entertain a lonely child. Weren't they? She couldn't wrap her mind around this. Jet lag. Strange country. A freakin' creature that looked like he'd stepped out of one of her mythology books, and now an annoying, sexy guide who turned out to be from some other reality.
Not bothering to open her eyes, Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, you know how self-centered we earthlings can be. But why don't you humor me and just tell me the name of your world again. I'm afraid I'm in information overload right now and I didn't quite catch it earlier. Could you please repeat it so I'll know exactly where you're from?”

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