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Authors: Maeve Greyson

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BOOK: Eternity's Mark
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“I came here to protect ye, Hannah. If I hadna' come here, ye would have met the same fate as your mother. Or perhaps something even worse.” Taggart blew out a heavy breath, dropped his hand, and eased a half step away.
Hannah whirled and stared at him. Her mother? “What do you mean
or something even worse
? Do you know how she died?”
His pained expression spoke more than any words, and the way his eyes dropped when she asked that question reminded her of the guilty look on Sophie's face every time she escaped from her kennel. Hannah took another step forward. “Tell me, Taggart. If the Guild of Barac'Nairn has been around for so long taking care of the Sullivans of Taroc Na Mor, then where were they for my grandmother and my mother? Why is this the first time your so-called Guild of Barac'Nairn has appeared in my life? Where were they when my mother needed them? Where were they when I was left with no one to raise me but my grandmother?”
“We failed them.” Taggart's voice cracked with remorse as he clasped his hands together and bowed his head. “I can make no excuses. We lost track of the Sullivan lineage and through our carelessness, we allowed them both to die.”
“And now you expect me to uproot my life and go traipsing off to Scotland like a good little girl without any argument?” The sting of the Guild's failure soured in her stomach, the bile burned in the back of her throat. “You stand there and tell me your Guild screwed up and yet now you expect me to trust you with my own life?”
“Yes,” Taggart replied with a tired sigh. “Because if ye do not, ye will die, as well.”
“You don't know that for sure, and how many times do I have to tell you that my life is here?” Hannah shouted. “Why can't you understand that?”
“I understand more about ye than ye realize, ye stubborn, single-minded woman.” Taggart took a step forward with hands fisted as though he wished he could shake her. “It doesna appear that ye've bothered to live since the day your husband died. All ye do is tend to your animals and weep o'er his grave. If ye don't come with me to Taroc Na Mor, the town will soon bury ye beside him up on that infernal mountain of yours. Is that what ye want? Is that what ye sit here and wait for, Hannah?” Taggart's eyes flashed as he came closer. “It's time, Hannah. It is time to live. Jake has moved on. Now that I've come, ye can move on too.”
“Jake has not moved on. Jake is just dead. I know. I watched them put him in the ground. Don't you ever speak of him again! You have no right.” Hannah choked back the tears closing off her throat. The old blade twisted in her chest; her festering wound cracked open and burned.
Taggart grabbed her wrist. “Enough of this foolish bantering, woman. It's time ye spoke to your husband's spirit and settled this once and for all.”
 
“Ye must do exactly as I say and
do not argue with my instructions
.” Taggart glared at Hannah with an arched brow, awaiting her response.
“I can follow instructions,” Hannah snapped with a defiant toss of her head. He didn't have to speak to her like she was an idiot. Who did this Taggart de Gaelson think he was? “Let's just get this over with so you can scoot back to Scotland and I can get on with my life. How 'bout it?” She'd show him. She had put all the males in Jasper Mills in their place. By golly, she'd put this Scot in his peg hole with no problem.
Taggart chuckled as he extended both hands and rested them atop Jake's tombstone. “I guess then we shall see just how well your first lesson in necromancy goes.”
Hannah rolled her eyes and slid her hands into the depths of Taggart's grasp. She swallowed hard when her hands disappeared as he curled his massive fingers over hers. She hated to admit the intense heat of his calloused touch disturbed her. She stole a glance into his face and immediately wished she hadn't. A surge of emotional energy caught her breath. The floodgates opened, sending a flush of excited heat through her body as his mesmerizing thumbs stroked the backs of her hands. She shook her head. It had to be nerves. What else could it be?
“Close your eyes, Hannah, and dinna speak until I tell ye it is safe for ye to do so.”
Taggart's voice echoed rich and mellow through the silence of the woods.
Hannah closed her eyes; the purr of his deep Scot's burr rippled across her senses. An involuntary shiver raced up her spine as the vibrant tones of his voice stroked her mind.
“When I speak the words to lift the veil, Jake's spirit will cross the void from the other side.”
Hannah bit her lip. She wanted to ask questions, but Taggart had told her not to speak. She stood and waited, eyes squeezed shut; her heartbeat echoed in her ears. What did he wait for? She wished he'd get on with it. Was he trying to build the suspense or what?
“Taruamis aranu visri!”
Hannah's mind flooded with golden light as though someone had taken a pitcher filled with golden dust and scattered it to the winds. The iridescent beam swam with a distinct purpose across the darkness of her mind. The particles danced and swirled. The energy vibrated with laughter and warmth. Jake's essence filled her mind with light.
“Do not speak aloud to him, Hannah. Ye must only communicate with your thoughts. Ye must not speak aloud.” Taggart's deep whisper echoed close to her ear. The touch of his lips brushed against her cheek.
The golden light swirled and twisted through her mind. Its warmth flushed through her body.
“Jake? Is it really you? Can you finally communicate to me?”
“It's me, baby. Thanks to your new friend here, you're finally able to hear me instead of me just listening to you rant and rave at my gravesite. By the way, now that you can actually hear me, thanks for the headstone. I really like it. All the way from a keep in Scotland? Nice job, hon.”
“Do you mean you've really heard me all these years when I've been scolding you about leaving me alone?”
The heat of her blush flooded its way up her body. Hannah remembered all the times she'd blessed out her husband for volunteering to go to the war. In part, she'd felt guilty about wanting to keep him to herself; but she'd also resented the sacrifice she'd been forced to make when Jake had left her alone at Jasper Mills.
“Trust me, Hannah. I've heard each and every word, repeatedly and quite clearly across the realities. Now it's time you listened to me and gave us both some well-earned peace and quiet. After all, this is an eternity, you know.”
Hannah stiffened. Taggart squeezed her hands as she tried to pull them away.
“I don't think I like the sound of that, Jake.”
“It's time, Hannah, and you know it. It's time for you to move on to something and someone else. I guess you could say I've moved on to my next assignment, and now it's time for you to finish yours.”
“I can't finish my assignment without you. You promised me children. We were supposed to grow old together. What about that assignment, Jake?”
The tears burned out from under her closed eyelids, etching a wet trail down her cheeks as her body started to shake.
“We were wrong about that assignment, baby. You know how much I loved you, Hannah, but we had our good times and our paths turned out to go a different way. I've seen the future, Hannah. You have a bigger destiny and it's time for you to move on, baby.
“I hate you, Jake. You never really needed me.”
“No, you don't hate me, Hannah. You're just a little hardheaded. Now get on with it and move on to the next chapter in your adventure. You know there's nothing like the rush of a great adventure. Love can't even measure up to that. You know for me, it never could. Be honest with yourself, Hannah.”
“Go back to the hell you came from, Jake. That's where you belong!” Hannah sobbed and tried yanking her hands out of Taggart's grasp.
Taggart pulled her across the headstone and cradled her against his chest. “Hush now, Hannah. 'Twill be all right. Jake has returned to whence he came. His spirit can trouble ye no more.” He stroked her hair and curled her into his arms. “Hush now, lass. Dry your tears. 'Twill be all right.”
Hannah tucked her face into the curve of his neck and rubbed her tear-stained cheeks against the warmth of his throat. “I don't think he ever loved me as much as I loved him. I can't believe I wasted all those years on him.” Hannah hiccupped and choked on a sob as she whispered against Taggart's chest. “Now I know for sure he never needed me like I needed him.”
She closed her eyes and sank into the comfort of Taggart's touch. Inhaling another shaking breath, his scent pervaded through her misery, the barest blend of some sort of spice. Hannah leaned closer, breathing in again—oil of clove maybe? Then she shook her head as the fragrance changed. No, Taggart's skin held the barest hint of a fresh sea breeze. She forced her eyes open. Whatever the scent, it lodged in her senses and she found it deeply troubling. Men meant nothing but pain. Look what the last one had done.
Taggart tightened his embrace, stroking her hair as a heavy sigh rumbled from his chest. “Some never love as deeply as we love them, either because they canna do so or because they simply refuse. Come with me to Scotland, Hannah. I promise I will protect ye and help ye forget and heal from your wounds of the past. Taroc Na Mor will make all the difference. I promise. It will make your life better.”
Hannah sniffed, risking a glance up into his eyes, then wiped her face with the back of her hand. Maybe she could at least
look
at the land and then return to her mountain. At least, then, Taggart couldn't say she hadn't given it a chance. “Fine. I'll come to Scotland, Taggart, for just a little while anyway. I'll at least have a look at Taroc Na Mor.” Twisting in his arms, she peered down at the ground, then turned back and patted his chest. “And you can put me down now. I'm going to be just fine.”
C
HAPTER
T
HREE
T
he flames danced behind the grid of the gilt-edged hearth, their golden flickers the only light to pierce the darkness of the room. Mesmerized, he stared unblinking at the glowing coals undulating at the base of the blaze. He traced his forefinger back and forth across his bottom lip, imagining the terror of her screams. He inhaled a deep breath, closed his eyes, and brought to mind the delightful scent of acrid burning flesh as he shoved her face deeper into the flames. His edict had been simple: Destroy the Sullivan line. And yet the woman still lived and breathed. Not only did she live, the protector walked by her side and guided her to the Draecna holy birthplace.
Sloan pushed himself up from the depths of the sumptuous cushions layered in the velvet chair and stalked across the lush carpeting of his private chambers. What good did it do to surround himself with exquisite possessions when all could be lost in the blink of an eye? Sloan selected a gold-inlaid vase off a waist-high marble pedestal and smashed it against a mirrored wall. He'd surrounded himself with more incompetent fools than priceless possessions. Frustration pounded with every footstep as he circled his silver-encrusted desk. With muscles tensed, Sloan rested his hand on an octagonal jeweled box positioned in the center of the green velvet blotter. With gritted teeth, he hefted aside the domed lid and stared down into the depths of the gem-encrusted tomb.
Sloan held his breath as his hands slid inside the satin interior, surrounding a glowing orb within. A thrilling shudder stole over his body; the tip of his tongue wet his lips as his fingertips stroked the oversized egg. The warm pebbled surface hummed with life; the inner stirrings of the incubating creature vibrated against his palms. A Draecna egg. The final cornerstone needed to assure his complete control of the realm portals. He'd ordered it stolen from the Taroc Na Mor nursery. He needed but one of the precious beasts, newly hatched and well on its way to maturity. The magically infused flesh and blood of a young Draecna was all he lacked to fertilize his clutch of synthetic eggs housed in the bowels of the keep. He was one creature short of propagating an entire race. A race that would bow to him. But the beast would never hatch at Tiersa Deun of Erastaed unless Hannah MacPherson breathed life into the egg or he poured her blood upon it.
Between the Guild of Barac'Nairn and the guardians of Taroc Na Mor, the Draecna race had survived for untold millennia. Sloan scowled, his mood darkening as he hefted the egg, cradling it against his chest. The slow, steady heartbeat of the incubating beast thudded steadily against his sternum. The hatchling lay patiently within the egg, waiting for Hannah's touch.
The sacred beasts powered the Portals of the Dimensions. Anyone allied with the powerful Draecna could travel across the webs of time, passing between alternate worlds. Who knew what treasures awaited him beyond the portals? In the past, many Draecna allies had returned with the rare and precious finds from the different universes discovered on their travels.
As ancestral home of the sacred Draecna, Taroc Na Mor also stood as one of the gateways between the realms. Hannah MacPherson survived as the last of the Draecna guardians and the newest mistress of Taroc Na Mor. While she lived, the beasts' eggs waited in stasis. They paused in this early phase of their life, waiting for her touch. While Hannah MacPherson lived and breathed, Sloan couldn't gain control of the beasts.
Sloan cradled the egg in his arms as if it were a babe as he meandered about the room. Oblong in shape, the diameter of a good-sized melon, the egg felt as if it weighed a solid fifteen pounds. It glowed from within, sparking a red-orange hue as though a sunrise battled for freedom within its shell.
“No mere woman will keep me from this power.” Sloan muttered to the shelled beast he stroked within his arms. He tapped a blackened fingernail upon the flashing surface as he circled through the shadows of the room. The beast stirred within its orb, its sliding vibration rubbing impatiently against Sloan's arms. “I know, my little treasure. We must bide our time. Trust me. I shall find the means to set ye free.”
“Tor!” he bellowed. “Where is that fool when I need him?” Sloan walked to the window, staring out across blackened cliffs jutting about the stronghold of Tiersa Deun.
“Aye, m'lord?” A bent old man trembled at the torchlit archway, eyes downcast as he wrung his hands in front of him.
Sloan caressed the egg, giving him a wicked smile as he turned from the starless window. “Tell Mia to prepare herself. Taggart returns to Taroc Na Mor with the guardian and I am certain I will have need of her services.”
 
Taggart stared at the length of her lashes resting on her pale, smooth skin. He'd not noticed how amazingly long they were when they framed those sparkling green eyes. His gaze lingered on the delicate curve of Hannah's cheek while she was unaware. The flight to Scotland took several hours and Hannah had lost her battle against exhaustion. She seemed so vulnerable while she slept. But Taggart knew the woman housed the heart of a warrior and the temper of a wildcat.
Taggart shifted in his seat, glancing around the darkened plane. He couldn't help it. The close confines of the aircraft left him little choice. His gaze returned to Hannah, to her full moist lips and softly twitching eyelids. The steady whisper of her breathing matched the gentle rhythm of the rise and fall of her chest. He eased his hand over and traced the pads of his fingers along the delicate inside skin of her arm. Soft, cool temptation whispered against the tips of his fingers as he smoothed them down to her wrist.
Sheer madness. Taggart adjusted his pants at the crotch and balled his hands into fists on his knees. He was her protector. Hannah was off-limits. And besides, he'd sworn a vow of celibacy since the Mia debacle.
The rustle of clothing as she moved forced him to stare straight ahead.
Son of a bitch
. He didn't have to look. The scent of her assaulted his senses. She smelled of wildflowers after a rain and of woman. A very desirable woman. Taggart shifted in his seat again.
Damn
. Did they think men had arses the size of children's? A man couldn't even spread his legs to give his cock room to breathe.
The silk of her hair brushed against his arm and he risked another glance. She'd curled to her side and now faced him, blouse agape, treating him to an unhindered view of the creamy temptation of her throat and the swell of one luscious breast.
“God's teeth,” Taggart groaned, covering his face with his hands.
“Are you airsick or something?”
Taggart jerked straight in the seat, scrubbed his face, and shifted a bit as he turned slightly away from Hannah. “I guess ye could say I am feeling a bit under the weather. But I shall be just fine. I'm truly sorry if I woke ye. Try and go back to sleep.”
Hannah yawned and stretched like a cat, plucking at the blanket pooled around her waist. “The roar of the engines always knocks me out. I'm sorry I'm such lousy company.”
Taggart stared at the blanket jealously. He'd give anything to be that bit of wool. A swim in the icy loch was what he needed, as soon as they arrived at Taroc Na Mor. “Sleep, Hannah. That way ye will be well rested when we arrive and we can explore the land with your full attention.”
Hannah yawned again, tucked the pillow tighter under her neck, and snuggled deeper into the first-class seat. “Well, I appreciate your understanding, Taggart. Especially since you paid for such great seats.” She rubbed her nose, and her voice trailed off as she added, “You really are a nice guy.”
“Aye, Hannah, I truly am a nice guy.” Taggart readjusted his pants with a muffled groan.
 
“This is as far as we can go by car. The rest of the way, we must travel by horseback.” Taggart swerved the tiny rental car into the lot beside the stable and turned to Hannah with an expectant smile.
Hannah blinked at the view from the square little window, then swiveled in the cramped seat. He couldn't be serious. They'd already driven for what seemed like forever in this tiny matchbox car. They weren't there
yet?
“I thought you said we entered onto the estate an hour ago. How big is Taroc Na Mor?”
“Aye, it fair steals your breath from your chest, doesn't it?” Taggart nodded, heaving a contented sigh.
Hannah climbed out of the car into the Highland wilderness and immediately understood what Taggart meant. The ancient pines whispered overhead, their feathered tops swaying in the late-summer breeze. The tang of the pinesap wafted through the air as the needles cushioned every step she took. The scent carried her straight back to Christmas and every Christmas tree she'd ever decorated as a child.
A weathered stone stable squatted against the base of the mountainside. Hannah blinked and peered closer since the structure appeared hewn from the side of the cliff. What trees hadn't been cleared away to form the well-trodden center of the paddock area were connected with graying split rails to form the enclosing fence. As the trees grew and the rails shifted too high, Hannah saw the scars on the trees where workers had stripped and lowered the rails to prevent the horses from escaping.
The surrounding woodlands teemed with the voices of all the Highland creatures. Hannah's mind and ears echoed with them all. She shielded her eyes, craning her neck to search the brilliant, blue sky for the golden eagle screaming overhead. She spotted a red squirrel studying her from beyond a cluster of bright yellow Scottish primrose at the edge of the clearing. Following her senses, Hannah turned and found the doe behind the scrub of fir saplings to her left. Apparently, her ability to understand animals spanned continents. Their thoughts came to her as clearly as the ones did back home.
Hannah pulled her jacket closer, trying to keep from trembling, whether from excitement or nervousness, she couldn't quite tell. A strange electricity crackled in the air; she raised her head and sniffed the breeze. She wasn't sure if it was a specific scent she picked up or just a different sort of density to the wind. What was it? The air was different here. Excitement rippled gooseflesh across her skin. She risked a glance at Taggart and rubbed the tip of her nose. Was it the land or the close proximity to the man? Battling with the mess of emotions wreaking havoc with her ability to reason, Hannah struggled not to scream. She didn't need all this confusion in her life. What she needed was the humdrum comfort and safety of good old Jasper Mills.
Pulling herself from the mesmerizing magic of the land, Hannah shivered and rubbed her arms. “So, the stables are part of the estate as well? Even though they're so far from the keep itself?” Hannah nodded toward the structure wedged into the side of the mountain and the horses wandering inside the corral.
With a grin, Taggart motioned for her to follow. “Aye, Hannah, we've been on Taroc Na Mor land for the past two hours. Weren't you listening to me while I was driving and pointing out the sights?”
“
Two hours?
I thought you said one hour.” Hannah glared at the back of Taggart's head, willing him to turn around. And he ignored her. Again. He'd been doing that a lot. A fresh horse chip in the middle of the path was almost more temptation than she could resist. She glanced at the steaming patty and gauged the distance to Taggart's back as he sauntered off toward the stable. From here, she could peg him right between the shoulders. Biting her lip, she stepped around the dung pile. She guessed she'd behave and let him off the hook.
This
time.
“I didn't realize I owned the entire tip of Scotland.” Hannah kicked a stone out of her path, but it didn't improve her mood. Rubbing her neck, she rolled her shoulders while following Taggart toward the stable. At least they were finally out of that tiny car. The way Taggart had folded up his massive frame to drive, she didn't see how he still managed to walk.
“ 'Tis about time ye arrived!” A gnome of a man with an unruly shock of white hair atop his head and a stained leather apron strapped around his barrel waist burst through the weathered stable doors. He held a horseshoe in one hand and a hammer in the other, but neither prevented him from shaking a stubby finger in Taggart's face. “I've had the horses packed for nigh' on thirty minutes and they've grown quite restless with the waiting. Ye need to reach Gearlach's Pass before the sun sets or ye willna have a proper place to make camp for the evening. How many times do I have to tell ye of the importance of maintaining a proper schedule, Taggart?”
“Gothgar!” Taggart brought the man up short with a quick jerk of his head in Hannah's direction.
“Oh, beg pardon.” Gothgar shot Taggart an irritated glance and turned to Hannah with a respectful squatting bow. “Gothgar McWinders, chief of your stables, ma'am. Welcome to the glorious Taroc Na Mor.”
“It's good to meet you, Mr. McWinders—”
“Oh lordy, no, ma'am. Call me, Gothgar. Don't be a callin' out to a Mr. McWinders. I'll be a thinkin' ye're a talkin' about me father and round these parts, ye just might bring back his contrary ghost.” Gothgar wheezed and snorted while he slapped his leg at what he obviously considered his very humorous joke.
BOOK: Eternity's Mark
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