Authors: Maeve Greyson
Eternity's Mark (6 page)
“The what?” Hannah repeated as she took a step back to avoid the ranting Scot. She couldn't help but notice how dark his eyes flashed now that he'd grown so aggravated. If not for the fact that the man was obviously obsessed, she'd fix him up with Millie. Millie had a thing for sexy Highlanders and Taggart definitely had that roll-mein-the-heather kind of look.
“Hannah, is this guy bothering you?” Sheriff Matt appeared at Hannah's side, his hand resting on the sidearm belted at his hip.
Hannah glanced at Matt; then her gaze swept back over to Taggart. Yep. Matt would definitely have to use his gun. Sheriff Matt stood dwarfed by the angry Scot. Hannah hadn't missed how Taggart had ducked his head whenever he'd walked through the door. She'd also noted he'd had to turn somewhat sideways because the span of his shoulders nearly filled them as well.
His biceps bulged as big around as her head; the man loomed the size of a mountain. She hadn't seen men built like him since she'd flipped through the satellite channels the other night and accidently landed on some weight-lifting program.
“It's all right, Matt.” Hannah shook her head. “We're just having a little discussion about some land I didn't know I owned. Taggart is filling me in on Scottish laws of ownership and he's just a little passionate about some points I don't understand.”
“Are you sure?” Matt tapped his holster with a tense finger as he fixed Taggart with a warning glare.
“I am absolutely positive.” Hannah smiled and patted Matt's arm. A twinge of guilt nipped at her conscience for pushing him off on Lily. Lily could be such a whiny little twit when she didn't get her way. Oh well, Matt was a big boy. Hopefully, he could take care of himself.
Hannah turned back to the table, scooped up the envelope, then beckoned to the glowering Scot with a nod of her head. “Come on. Let's go for a walk and you can explain to me about this Guild of Barac'Nairn without danger of being shot.”
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His plan had failed miserably so far. This coming to Jasper Mills to sweep the hardheaded Hannah MacPherson off her feet and cart her back to Scotland was proving more difficult than he'd imagined. And he couldn't believe the photos hadn't worked. Taggart worried a hand through his hair. The photos had failed to draw her to Taroc Na Mor. She should've been entranced with the very sight of the land. Perhaps the papers had sat too long and the magic inside the images had fallen dormant. He'd performed the incantation himself, double-checked it before he'd sealed the packets. What had gone wrong? The yearning flowed in Hannah MacPherson's blood; he'd seen it flash in her eyes. Records had verified the Sullivan line on both sides of the threshold. Hannah MacPherson was the last true heir both in this world and in Erastaed.
Gracie Sullivan had been the first of Hannah's gifted lineage. The Guild had sorely fallen short in their protection of their very first charge of the Sullivan line. They'd also failed when they'd lost the thread of the family's heritage to Hannah's grandmother and her mother. Taggart had sorted through centuries of false leads before he'd found Hannah. But he'd finally homed in on her like a bee to nectar. With a sidling glance, he appraised her as she walked along beside him. Such fire! Born to be a guardian, she was. Septamus would dearly love her. All the Draecna of Taroc Na Mor would be thrilled with the lass.
“Taggart!” Hannah whistled and clapped her hands.
“Beg pardon.” Taggart bowed his head. “Forgive me. I became lost in my thoughts. What did ye say?”
“This Guild of Barac'Nairn you spoke of? Would you care to elaborate on this elite group you belong to now that we're out of earshot of half the population of Jasper Mills?” Hannah led the way toward the acre of neatly mown grass centered in the middle of town. Inviting white benches dotted the circumference of a black, asphalt jogging path, but Hannah headed for a set of abandoned benches shaded by a gnarled old oak off to the side.
“As I told ye.” Taggart cleared his throat. “We have kept up all the taxes on the estate. Ye have no worries when it comes to money and the lands of Taroc Na Mor.” If the money was all that troubled the woman, perhaps he could ease her mind and they'd be on their way to Scotland by tomorrow.
As Hannah settled on the bench, three squirrels circled down the trunk of the sprawling oak and scampered to an adoring heap beside her.
“Friends of yours?” Taggart asked with a nod toward the chittering threesome. Relief washed over his body, loosening the uneasy tightness in his chest. The attentive squirrels affirmed part of Hannah's heritage. True guardians of Taroc Na Mor shared a special affinity with creatures on every level of the realities.
Hannah smiled and held out her hand to the chubbiest of the group. “I rescued these three out of the storm drain a year ago last spring. They seem to have a penchant for living on the edge. They've caused a few minor fender benders when they cross Main Street during the busiest part of the day. There's an oak tree on the courthouse lawn that's got acorns they can't seem to resist. Everyone does their best to dodge them since the whole town watched me raise them until they were old enough to release back into the wild.”
Either the woman deluded herself or feared he'd think her strange if he discovered her special abilities. A nearby movement in the brush caught his eye and Taggart stifled a smile as his heart warmed with satisfaction. Aye. The heritage flowed strong in her veins. All the beasts loved her. “Another of your friends is coming to see ye. Did ye save that one's life as well?” Taggart pointed toward the edge of the park, where a deer nosed its way out of the dense hedging surrounding the well-clipped lawn.
“Oh, not again.” Hannah groaned and jumped off the table. Waiving her arms, she jogged across the park toward the deer, shooing it back into the safety of the woods.
Taggart chuckled under his breath. Apparently, he needed to convince her it was only natural the animals be drawn to her. She was a guardian; that's what she did. Hannah must visit Taroc Na Mor. If he could at least get her to the land, get her in the presence of one of the older Draecna, he knew she would change her mind about everything.
“Okay.” Hannah returned to the table. The deer had relented and retreated to the edge of the clearing, nosing its way between a few bowed branches of forsythia bushes until it disappeared into the deeper shelter of the woods.
“Where's your friend?” Taggart smiled as he spotted the flick of the deer's white tail between the greens and browns of the sheltering trees.
Hannah stuffed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, pacing back and forth across the path. She ignored his question and gave a jerking shrug toward the woods, staring at the ground as she spoke. “Look. I know it might seem a little strange. But animals are sort of, I guess you could say ...” Hannah paused, then finally blurted, “They're just attracted to me sometimes. It's kind of hard to explain. Now, could we just concentrate on why you're here please?”
Taggart perched on top of the picnic table, elbows propped on his knees. “I probably understand more about ye than ye think, Ms. MacPherson. Ye have to realize, I know a great deal about your family's history. I'm somewhat of an expert about your past.”
Hannah's eyes narrowed as she lifted her head. “I see.” She stopped pacing. “Why don't you start by telling me about this Guild of Barac'Nairn since I already know my own family's history.”
“I would like to start by callin' ye Hannah, if ye dinna mind,” Taggart tersely replied. She'd thrown up her hackles when he'd mentioned her family history. There'd be no telling her the truth about Taroc Na Mor or her destiny until he had her on the blessed soil of the sacred ground. Taggart ground his teeth as his frustration mounted. The woman wasn't going to make this easy. He'd just have to get her there and let the magic in her blood open up her soul to her calling. The Draecna race needed Hannah MacPherson, and whether she realized it or not, Hannah MacPherson needed them.
Hanna inhaled a deep breath through her nose and huffed it out her mouth as though she were about to vomit. With a shrug, she folded her arms across her chest and cleared her throat. “I don't care if you call me Hannah.”
Taggart hid his smile behind his hand as he scratched the day's stubble on his face. God's teeth, ye'd have thought he'd asked if it was okay if he could beat the woman. The uneasy snarl in her voice sounded like a mistreated animal. So, perhaps Miss Sass was a bit unsure of herself? Good. By far, Hannah McPherson was the most hardheaded woman he'd ever met. And the greatest challenge he'd faced in quite a while. Damn, if he didna love it.
“Then, Hannahâ” Taggart eased her name off his tongue like a lover calling to his mate. He wanted her to hear the music of Scotland, the magic of its sound. “Walk with me and I shall tell ye of the Guild of Barac'Nairn and how we have taken care of Taroc Na Mor down through the ages.”
They followed the path winding along the tree line and paused on the tiny bridge spanning a gurgling creek. Rays of sunlight trickled down through the canopy of branches to dance on moss-covered stones below.
“I'm the protector named by the Guild of Barac'Nairn,” Taggart began, leaning against the weathered, split-wood railing running across the bridge. “Our group has watched over Taroc Na Mor for more centuries than have been recorded by mortal man.”
Hannah twitched her fingers along the gray, wooden beam. She picked off bits of wood and tossed them into the water tumbling over the multicolored rocks lining the bed of the creek. “That doesn't make sense,” she interrupted with a shake of her head.
Taggart froze; his body tensed with every muscle thrumming as he scanned the tree line around them. He sensed a change in the air, a tightening in the energies. Danger neared, and it loomed too close too fast. The wind carried the warning to him more surely then a blaring alarm sounding from the town square. Straightening from the rail to search the area, he laid a hand on Hannah's arm and edged closer to her side.
“What doesna make sense?” Taggart mumbled, scanning the uppermost branches of the treetops and dropping his gaze to the darkest shadows beneath the bushes. He did his best to keep his voice low. He must keep her calm. Something neared, something meaning them both ill will. Had a minion followed them? Where the hell was it?
Hannah frowned down at Taggart's hand on her arm, then huffed as she slid out from under his grasp. “If the Guild of Barac'Nairn has watched over Taroc Na Mor for untold centuries and you've known all about my family, then why didn't my grandmother or mother hear anything about this wondrous Scottish Disneyland and inherit Taroc Na Mor before either of them died? That's the part about your little story that doesn't make any sense.”
With a warning growl exploding from his chest, Taggart lunged, grabbed Hannah by the shoulders, and dove over the railing of the bridge. He folded Hannah up against his chest and rolled with her underneath the structure. He cradled her head just above the water as she spit and sputtered against his chest.
“What the hell are you doing? Are you out of your fucâare you insane?” Hannah clawed and kicked against him as the water rushed between their bodies.
“Shut up, woman, so I can hear them!” Taggart jerked her hard against his chest, pressing his back tight against the base of the bridge. He reached out with his senses and listened across the dimensions, strained to hear the slightest sound. They had disappeared into the wind. Attack and leave, like they always did. A quick strike and then fade into the wind or the rain to ensure no one detected the destruction laced with their magic. They couldn't risk those on this side of the threshold discovering their existence.
Taggart hauled Hannah out from under the bridge and unrolled her from his embrace. He patted her arms, felt the top of her head, then finally tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up for a closer look. “Are ye hurt? Did I scrape ye when I yanked ye over the railing?”
Blinking the water out of her eyes, Hannah hissed from between gritted teeth. “Bend down here.”
“What?” Taggart asked, bending closer to peer into her dripping face.
Hannah balled up her fist and punched him right in the mouth, giving a satisfied huff as blood spurted from his lower lip.
With a yelp of surprise, Taggart clapped his thumb to his mouth and backed a few wary steps away. “Now what did I do to deserve that, ye wicked little beast?”
“What did you do to deserve that?” Hannah's chin dropped to her chest as she paused from wringing out her ponytail. “You drag me off the bridge, yank me into the creek, tell me to shut up, and then you ask me what you did to deserve a punch in the mouth? Are you kidding me? You're lucky that's all I did. And then you call me a wicked little beast?”
“Look over there!” Taggart pointed beyond the bridge to the stand of trees just even with the height of her throat. Several good-sized oaks stood twisted off as though they'd been snapped like toothpicks and now their splintered trunks lay scattered across the path like oversized stalks of harvested broccoli.
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