The Dark Highlander (29 page)

So
, she thought dismally,
here I am. Ready or not
.

She trudged past the security desk, numbly waving the keys at them. They shrugged—they really
should
be fired—she thought as she keyed the elevator to the forty-third floor.

When she stepped into the anteroom, her legs got shaky and, in her mind, she was reliving it all over again. The first day she’d stood at his door, clutching the third Book of Manannán, calling the man she was to deliver it to every nasty name she could think of. Worrying that some bimbo might damage the tome. Scoffing over the gold hinges. Entering his home and seeing the claymore hanging above the fireplace—the artifact that had lured her to her destiny.

Getting caught beneath his bed. Pretending to be a French maid.

Being kissed by him that first time.

Oh, what she wouldn’t give to be able to go back in time and live it all over again! She’d settle for any
one
of those days. And if she had it to do all over again, she’d never resist his seduction. She’d drink greedily of each moment.

But such a wish was futile. Neither she nor anyone else was ever going back in time again.

Drustan had told her that the night Dageus had disappeared, he’d felt the bridge in the circle of stones go dead. He’d said it was as if an energy he’d sensed all his life was simply gone. The next day, he and Christopher had discovered that the tablets that held the sacred formulas were also gone, as was their recall of the ones they’d committed to memory as part of their training.

Whatever Dageus had done that night, he’d accomplished one thing he’d wanted. The Keltar no longer bore the duty of guarding the secret of time travel. They were finally free of the immense responsibility and the temptation. Able, at last, to live simpler lives.

How Dageus would have loved that, she thought with a sad smile. He’d wanted nothing more than to be a simple man. To wear his clan colors again. And though he’d never said it, she known he’d wanted children. Wanted his own family as much as she had.

How could life have cheated me like this?
she wanted to scream.

Steeling herself for the onslaught of yet more painful memories, she unlocked the door (wonder of wonders, he’d actually locked it when they’d left) and pushed it open. She went straight to the fireplace and ran her fingers over the cool metal of the claymore.

She had no idea how long she stood there in the dark, bathed only by the faint light of the full moon spilling in the wall of windows, but eventually, she tossed her purse to the floor, and dropped down on the sofa.

Later, she would brave the rest of his penthouse. Later, she would drag herself up to his magnificent bed and fall asleep, wrapped up in the scent of him.

Chloe-lass: If I’m not here with you now, I’m beyond this life, for ’tis the only way I’ll ever let you go.

And there it was. He’d said it himself in the letter he’d left her.

Chloe made a small, helpless choking sound.

And finally the tears came in a hot rush. He was dead. He was really, truly gone.

She curled into a tight knot on the sofa and wept.

28

Chloe was awakened some time later by an unfamiliar,
persistent noise. It
took her several moments to pinpoint the source, to understand that the scrabbling sound was coming from the door of the penthouse.

Rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself into a sitting position on the sofa. She’d cried herself to sleep and her eyes were swollen, her face crusty with tears. She peered into the darkness toward the door and listened intently.

Oh, God, she thought, horrified, it sounded like someone was trying to break in!

She listened a few more moments. Yes, that
was
it. She could hear the metallic grating as someone tried to pick the lock. She counted her blessings that she’d bestirred herself from grief enough to flip the inner lock when she’d come in.

Oh, for heaven’s sake,
she thought, suddenly exasperated,
what is this? My year of misery? Is every bad thing that could possibly happen to me, going to?

She was not going to be victimized again. Period. Chloe Zanders had had entirely enough. There was only so much a girl could tolerate. She was suddenly dangerously furious at whoever was outside that door, daring to mess up her life even further.

How dare anyone give her more grief?

Dimly aware that she might not be acting quite rationally, but beyond caring, she slipped from the sofa, snatched the claymore from the prongs above the hearth and crept toward the door.

She briefly contemplated pounding on it, in hopes of scaring the intruder away, but swiftly decided that as isolated as the penthouse level was, the intruder might break in anyway and she would have sacrificed her advantage of surprise.

So she stood quietly behind the door and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard clicks as the tumblers slipped and the lock turned. Sucking in a shallow breath, she balanced on the balls of her feet, crouching low for a solid stance, and raised the heavy sword with both hands.

The door opened slowly and a dark shape slipped in.

Swiftly, and perhaps harder than she’d intended, Chloe whipped the blade of the sword to his throat. She heard a swift intake of air, and suspected, as sharp as the blade was, she’d cut him.

Good
, she thought.

“Och, Chloe-lass, please put the blade down,” Dageus said softly.

Chloe screamed.

Keltar mates ne’er come easily to their men. Some travel distances too vast and strange to fathom, others travel but a short path, though a far distance in their hearts. Most resist every step of the way, yet for each Keltar, one woman will make that journey. ’Tis up to the Keltar to claim her.

Silvan lay the tiny tome he’d found in the chamber library upon his lap. It was the only tome he’d risked removing from the chamber before sealing it. Now, ensconced in what had once been his bedchamber and private sanctuary—the tower library one hundred and three steps above the castle proper—he’d finished reading it. The book did not name its scribe, as did most in a request for a blessing upon he who’d scribed the words therein, and was comprised of only a few dozen tiny sheets of parchment. Yet those few sheets, a compendium on the mating of the Keltar males, had been fascinating.

And why haven’t you claimed your mate, old man?

The answer to that was complicated, he brooded, glancing about the tower chamber.

Fat pillars of candles scattered across several small tables burned brightly, flickering in the warm night breeze, and he smiled, looking around his peaceful haven. As a lad, he’d delighted in everything about the tower, the spiraling stairs, the stones walls with their myriad cracks and crevices covered with thick tapestries, the breathtaking beauty of the view from the tall window in the spacious circular room. As an old man, he found it no less enchanting.

He’d sat in this same deep chair gazing out into the night as a man of a mere score of years, then two, and now three plus a few odd ones. He knew every wrinkle and rise of the land beyond his window. As much as he loved it, however, the solitude he’d sought as his salvation had in time become his prison, and he’d been more than ready to leave it a few years ago when he’d wed Nell and moved down into the castle proper.

Still, there were evenings, like this one, when he craved the lofty heights and a quiet place to think. Dageus and Chloe had left nearly a moon before, and he wondered how much time would have to pass before he finally accepted that he would ne’er know what had become of his son. Though he believed Dageus would do aught that must be done, not knowing the final outcome would plague him to the end of his days.

And Nellie too. The atmosphere in the castle had been somber indeed since they’d gone.

Nellie
. How she’d blessed his life. Without her, he’d have lost both his sons and been living alone high atop the Keltar mountain.

Anon, he would blow out the candles and make his way down the winding stairs. He would go first to the nursery where their sons would be slumbering by now. He would sit beside them as he did every eve, and marvel over them. Marvel over the second chance at life he’d gotten when he’d least expected it.

He flipped open the tome to the page where his finger held the place.

The exchange of the binding vows will seal their hearts together for all eternity, and once mated, they can never love another.

And that was the crux of his problem. He’d not fully claimed his mate because of the age difference betwixt them. He knew he would die before her. Possibly long before her.

And then what? She wouldn’t remarry because he was gone? She would spend the next score or two of years alone? The thought of her lying with another man made him nigh crazed, yet the thought of her lying alone in bed for so many years made him equally crazed. Nellie should be loved, cherished, petted, and caressed. She should be savored and . . . and . . . and—och! ’Twas an impossible conundrum!

It should be her choice
, his conscience prodded.

“I’ll think on it,” he grumbled.

And if you die before you finish thinking on it?

Scowling, he slipped the tome into one of the clever pouches Nellie had stitched for him inside the blue robes he favored and was about to rise when he became aware of a presence in the room, standing just behind his shoulder.

He went motionless, reaching out with his Druid senses to identify the intruder, but whoever or whatever it was that stood behind him, defied his comprehension.

“Sit, Keltar,” a silvery, lilting voice said.

He sat. He wasn’t certain if he’d chosen to comply, or if her voice had robbed him of will.

As he sat tensely waiting, a woman stepped forward from the shadows behind him. Nay, a . . . och, a being. Wonderingly, he cocked his head, staring up at her. The creature was so brilliant, so lovely that he could scarce gaze upon her. She had eyes of iridescent hues, colors impossible to name. Hair of spun silver, a delicate, elfin, inhumanly beautiful face. He suddenly wondered if he’d gotten a bit of bad beef for dinner and was suffering some instability of the mind induced by poisoned digestion. Then a worse fear gripped him, one that made his head feel alarmingly light and his blood pound too fast inside his chest: mayhap ’twas his time, and this was Death, for she was certainly beautiful enough to lure any man to that great unknown that lay beyond. He could hear his own breath coming too fast and harsh, could feel his hands going curiously tingly, as if they were about to go numb. A cold sweat broke out on his skin.

I canna die now
, he thought dimly.
I haven’t claimed Nellie
. He wouldn’t be able to bear it, he thought, blinking enormously heavy eyelids. They might never find each other again. He might be forced to suffer a hundred lives without her. ’Twould be the purest hell!

“Aoibheal, queen of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, bids you greeting, Keltar.”

His vision blurred alarmingly, and his last thought before . . . er, before the stress of the moment temporarily leeched him of his wits, was relief that he wasn’t dying, and fury at himself for missing even a second of what was surely the most thrilling event in his entire life.

The legendary Tuatha Dé Danaan had come! And what did the grand Keltar laird do?

Fainted like a willy-nilly peahen.

A few minutes later, Chloe was sitting on the sofa with her head between her knees, trying desperately to breathe.

Dageus was at her feet, his hands wrapped around her calves. “Lass, let me get a paper bag, you’re hyperventilating.”

“Don’t you”—
pant-pant
—“DARE”—
pant-pant
—“leave me!” She clutched at his shoulders.

“I doona plan to leave you ever again, love,” he said soothingly, stroking her hair. “I’m but going to the kitchen for a bag. Try to relax, sweet.”

Chloe nearly screamed again out of sheer frustration. Relax.
As if
. She needed to hold him, to kiss him, to demand to be told what in the world was going on, but she couldn’t get a deep enough breath to manage anything.

Standing there at the door, when she’d heard his voice slicing through the darkness, she’d nearly fainted. The sword had clattered from her suddenly lifeless hands, her knees had turned to butter, and her lungs had simply stopped functioning properly. She’d thought hiccups were awful, but she’d take them over hyperventilating
any
day.

And she’d cut him! There was a thin line of blood on his neck. She tried to dab at it, but he caught both her hands in one of his, pressed them gently to her lap, then began moving toward the kitchen. She craned her head sideways and watched him go. How could this be? How was he alive? Oh, God, he was
alive
!

She couldn’t take her eyes off him, and twisted around, following his progress, not letting him out of her sight for a minute. He was here. He was really here. He was real. She’d touched him.

She knew, from how ashen his face was, that her inability to get a deep breath was scaring him. It was scaring her too, so she forced herself to concentrate on unknotting inside.

By the time he returned with the paper bag, although she was still trembling visibly, she was managing complete breaths. She stared up at him, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks.

“How? How is this possible?” she cried, flinging herself into his arms.

“Och, lass,” he purred, catching her in his embrace. He ducked his head and brushed his lips to hers. Once, twice, a dozen times. “I thought I’d lost you forever, Chloe,” he groaned.

“
You
? So did I!”

More frantic kisses, deep and hungry. She locked her hands behind his neck, savoring the solidity of him, the warm press of his body against hers—a thing she’d thought she would never get to feel again.

Finally, Dageus murmured against her lips, “How did you get here, lass? How did you get back from Scotland so quickly?”

“Quickly?” Chloe drew back and gaped at him. “Dageus, it’s been three and a half
weeks
since you disappeared.” Just thinking about those awful weeks was enough to make her start crying again.

He gazed down at her, stunned. “Three and a half—ah! So that’s what the queen meant,” he exclaimed.

“The queen? What queen? What happened? Where have you been? And why were you picking the lock? Why didn’t you just—oh!” She broke off and gazed deep into his exotic, sensual golden eyes.

Golden.

“Oh, Dageus,” she breathed. “They’re gone, aren’t they? You’re not just alive—you’re
free
, aren’t you?”

He flashed her a dazzling smile and laughed exultantly. “Aye, lass. They’re gone. Forever. And as for picking the lock, since they’re gone, I no longer know their spells. I’m afraid my thieving days are over, lass. Will you still be having me as little more than a man? A simple Keltar Druid, naught more?”

“Oh, I’ll have you, Dageus MacKeltar,” Chloe said fervently. “I’ll have you any way I can get you.”

It took dozens of kisses before she was finally calm enough—and convinced enough that he was real—that she let him pull her down onto his lap on the sofa and tell her what had happened.

When Silvan regained consciousness and stirred in his chair, the queen was sitting across from him, watching him intently.

“You’re real,” he managed to say.

She looked mildly amused. “It was recently drawn to my attention that perhaps we should not have left you so completely unguided. That perhaps you’d begun to think we weren’t real. I wasn’t convinced. I am now.”

“What are you, precisely?” Silvan asked, abjectly fascinated.

“That would be difficult to explain in your language. I could show you, but you didn’t fare so well with this form, so I think not.”

Silvan stared at her, trying to commit every detail of her to memory.

“Your son is free, Keltar.”

Silvan’s heart leapt. “Dageus triumphed over the Draghar? Did he succeed in reimprisoning them?”

“In a manner of speaking. Suffice to say, he proved himself.”

“And he lives?” Silvan pressed. “Is he with Chloe?”

“I gave him back to the woman who chose him as her consort. He can never return to this century. Already time has been altered more than is wise.”

Silvan’s mouth opened and closed several times as he tried to decide what to say. Nothing remotely intelligent occurred to him, so finally he settled for a simple, “Thank you for coming to tell me this.” He was utterly flummoxed that the queen of the legendary race had bothered to come tell him.

“I didn’t come to tell you this. You appeared weak upon awakening. I thought to increase your strength with glad tidings. We have work to do.”

“We do?” His eyes widened.

“There is the small matter of a broken Compact. Broken in this century on the Keltar side. It must be resealed, here and now.”

“Ah,” he said.

“So you
did
take the knife from my neck,” Chloe said, sniffling and wiping her eyes with a tissue. He’d told her everything: how the sect of the Draghar had drugged him with a potion that had made it impossible for him to control the use of magic, how he’d realized when they’d brought her in that he had only one choice left.