Jessi’s breath caught in her throat. How does a Keltar Druid recognize his mate? Am I yours? she wanted desperately to ask. But there was no way she was asking, because if he said no, it might just kill her. Then his last comment penetrated. “Wait a minute—do you mean that if only one of them takes the vow, that person’s heart is forever bound to another person who might never love them back, not just in this life but through all eternity?”
“Aye,” he said softly.
“But that would be awful,” she exclaimed.
He shrugged. “‘Twould depend on the circumstances. Mayhap, one might think it a gift.” He resumed his tale briskly. “I agreed to the bargain. I taught him Voice, and we rode out one morning for a village in Ireland where the Dark Glass was being guarded in the center of a veritable fortress by a dozen holy men and a band of warriors a thousand strong.
“Trevayne had given me an ancient sleep spell to employ upon our approach. Our plan was to render the guards unconscious, ride in and take the mirror, then ride out again. I saw no reason to distrust him. He’d demonstrated the spell several times himself, and it had merely made the subject slip into a deep slumber. He’d deferred the task to me because he wasn’t strong enough to affect the entire village, and I was. I’d done my best to teach him, but he simply wasn’t good enough at Voice to compel more than a handful of people in the same room with him. Though the art of it can be taught, the power that infuses it is something a man is either born with—or not. His power lay in other areas.”
“Oh, God,” Jessi breathed. “Tell me this isn’t going where I think it is.”
He nodded, his gaze distant, far away and long ago, in ninth-century Ireland. “It caused only slumber when Lucan used it, only because he lacked the power to invoke the Spell of Death. I didn’t. Though I didn’t know it, along with all the other ‘talents’ with which I’d been born was a horrific one that appeared so rarely in our bloodline that I’d never given it any thought. I believed ’twas a sleep spell I’d worked right up until that final moment I knelt in the inner chamber beside the Dark Glass and touched the holy man who lay sprawled on the floor. I think he’d tried to break the glass rather than let it be taken, but my spell had been too potent, too quick.
“He was dead. And as I sat there, even then not fully comprehending that I’d been betrayed, not able to fathom what Lucan might be after, he wove the dark binding spell around me. He had the chant, the gold, the man to ensorcel, and I’d just spilled the blood of innocents for him.
“The next thing I knew, I was looking out at Lucan from inside the Dark Glass.
“As we left the village, he gave me a view, to ensure I saw what I’d done. With one spell, I’d killed not only those guarding the glass but the entire village of Capscorth. Men, women, and children, all dead where they’d been standing; hundreds upon hundreds of them, lying in the streets, as if a plague had ripped through their world. I was that plague.” He closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out the terrible vision he’d seen that day.
“But you didn’t mean to,” Jessi defended. Damn Lucan! She knew Cian—somewhere inside him he bore the weight of each and every life he’d taken so long ago. “It’s not like you rode in there intending to kill anyone!”
He opened his eyes and smiled faintly. “I ken it, lass,” he said, “and in truth, I no longer hate myself for what transpired that day. There are things a man can change, and there are things a man lives with. I live with it.”
He cupped her face and gazed into her eyes. “But what I cannot live with is putting into Lucan Trevayne’s hands the kind of power that would make him unstoppable. ’Twas a village then. With the Dark Book, he could destroy entire cities, even a world. Only my death can prevent that.” He paused. “Sweet Jessica, you must cry peace with this, as must I. I have no choice.”
“I can’t,” she cried, shaking her head, blinking back tears. “You can’t expect me to.”
“Lass, you must promise me something,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “I’ve been thinking much on this. I doona want you there when the time comes.”
Jessi felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She’d deliberately refused to let herself think that far ahead, to let her mind linger over the details of the night it would actually happen. To the night she would stand before a mirror and watch her Highlander age more than a thousand years in a single moment.
And disintegrate into a pile of dust.
“We’ll spend what time I can be free together that day, then you will go elsewhere with the others. Promise me this,” he pushed. “Drustan has pledged to break the mirror once it’s done, so none can ever be taken captive again.”
“That’s not fair, Cian, you can’t—”
“I can, and am. ’Tis a dying man’s last request,” he said roughly. “I want you to remember me as a man, lass, as your man. Not as a prisoner of Dark Magycks. I doona want you to watch me die. Promise me you won’t, Jessica. Promise me and mean it.”
Jessi was no longer able to hold the tears at bay. Hot and wet, they scalded her cheeks.
As she stared at him through the tears, a lifetime of hopes and dreams, of wishes and desires, of love and family and children she would never get to have, flashed before her mind’s eye.
It was too much.
When she spoke again, her voice was low and fervent. “I promise you, Cian MacKeltar, that I will not watch you die.”
When he drew her into his arms to kiss her, she closed her eyes and counted her blessings for the privacy of a steel-plated mind.
For, though she’d pledged him the promise he’d sought, she’d not meant what he’d meant by it at all.
27
SAMHAIN
TWENTY-NINE MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT
“That’s it, Jessica. The wards are down. You ken what that means?”
Taking a slow, deep breath, Jessi nodded. “Yes,” she replied softly. “Lucan will be able to enter the castle now, but he won’t be able to use sorcery.”
“Doona make the mistake of thinking you’re safe from him, lass. He can still harm you in the way of any man. I want you to wear this.”
He fastened a sheath snugly to her forearm, then slipped a plain-handled dirk into it, tip to her elbow, handle at her wrist. “Don your sweater over it.”
She obeyed tensely.
“Do this.” He made a twisting motion with his hand. “Drop it down.”
She mimicked his movement, surprised by how well it worked, smoothly guiding the handle into her palm.
He helped her resheathe it. “He’s desperate, Jessica. ’Tis the only reason he’s agreed to this. Doona think he’s truly agreed to it. Expect deceit. Expect last-minute treachery. It will come.”
She glanced up at him sharply. There’d been a strange certainty in his voice when he’d said the last: It will come. As if he knew something she didn’t.
“But you said yesterday that you thought he would pass the tithe through the glass and go away,” she protested anxiously. “You said you thought he’d focus on finding the Dark Book before he would come back and try to take the mirror from the Keltar. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? To buy a little more time. Right?”
He stared down at her a long, pensive moment. “I’m but advising you to be on constant guard, lass. Constant,” he repeated. “Watch yourself. Doona let your defenses down for even a second. You’ve no way of knowing what might happen from one moment to the next. Remember that. Be prepared for anything. Anything.”
“You’re starting to worry me. What do you think—”
“Hush, lass,” he cut her off. “I must go. Time is short and we doona wish him to see me. He believes you act alone. He must continue to believe that. But doona fear, I will be watching over you.”
Halfway down the corridor, he turned back. “Constant guard, lass,” he hissed.
Jessi swallowed. She tensed her wrist, feeling the weight of the blade. “Constant guard, Dageus,” sh
e echoed. “I promise.”
Twenty minutes to midnight.
Jessi shivered as she hurried down the corridor. Five days ago, when she’d promised Cian that she wouldn’t watch him die, she’d possessed great determination but little hope.
Later that night, however, her circumstances had changed drastically.
After the mirror had reclaimed Cian, she’d left the Silver Chamber and hastened to the library to open communications with Lucan. She’d been sitting at the computer, her inbox open, about to click on one of his E-mails, when Dageus had stepped from behind the drapes, catching her in the act. He’d told her he’d been in the library a few nights ago, and knew she’d been receiving E-mails from Trevayne.
As she’d gaped up at him, half expecting to be dragged off to some medieval dungeon for punishment, he’d further shocked her by saying, How bad do you want him to live, lass?
Figuring she had nothing left to lose at that point, she’d told him, in no uncertain terms. I’d do anything. Even make him hate me.
He won’t hate you, lass, Dageus had assured her. If aught, he’ll hate me.
She was counting on that. Not that he would hate Dageus, but that he would eventually forgive her for helping his enemy pass the tithe through to keep him alive.
I thought you said you didn’t know of any way to free him. Why would you do this?
Why would you? he’d countered.
Because I believe there has to be a way to get him out of there, that we just need a little more time to find it.
I believe there’s a way to get him out of there, too, lass, he’d replied after a brief pause.
Really? Her heart had soared at those words.
It was one thing for her to believe it; she was desperate enough to cling to any hope and she knew it. But if a Keltar Druid believed it, it was more than just possible, it was probable. No, it was an eventual certainty. There was no way Dageus and Drustan would run the risk of Trevayne ever getting the Dark Book, which meant they had to be convinced they could ultimately free Cian, and reasonably quickly after the tithe was paid.
It had been nearly impossible to conceal her change in spirits from Cian. Especially today—on what he’d thought was their last day together—but she’d managed. Dageus had been insistent she discuss their plans with no one, even going so far as to say he wouldn’t help her at all if she failed to convince Cian that she believed tonight was his last night alive. He believes ’tis the only way, lass, Dageus had warned, I fear he will become difficult if he suspects we plan to stop him.
Though acting the part had nearly killed her—thank God, she’d not had to actually live it!—she’d been convincing, unwilling to jeopardize her only chance to save him.
E-mail Trevayne, Dageus had instructed her that night. Tell him you’ll help him get in the castle to pass the tithe through. But the Keltar keep the mirror.
She’d done it. At first Trevayne had refused, offering myriad alternatives, all of which she’d rejected at Dageus’s behest.
But late last night, twenty-four hours from the zero-hour to the minute, Trevayne had finally agreed.
And now—Jessi paused at the back door, inhaling sharply—he was here. Making her skin crawl. She could feel him through the wood of the door, cold, dark, rotten, and much, much too close for comfort.
And about to get closer.
He’d accepted her deal only when she’d pledged herself as his hostage.
You must let me use you to get in and out of the castle.
Eyes wide, she’d stared up at Dageus. Nostrils flaring, he’d shaken his head curtly. But the dark sorcerer had refused to come onto Keltar-warded land any other way, and Dageus had finally nodded.
How do I know this isn’t a trap? Trevayne had typed.
How do I? she’d countered.
There’d not been much to say after that. It had been the bottom line, really. They were both risking all. And they knew it.
She glanced at her watch.
It was eighteen minutes to midnight.
Dageus had been adamant they give Trevayne barely enough time to get to the mirror and pass the tithe through. I doona want him to have a single moment with you during which he doesn’t have to keep moving. Once it’s over, I’ll show myself and we’ll get him out of the castle.
It was now or never.
She braced herself for Trevayne’s hideous appearance.
Whatever happened from this moment forth, she would betray no fear, no weakness. She was Jessica MacKeltar, wife of Cian, and she would do him proud.
The bastard she was about to let in Castle Keltar had held her husband imprisoned for eleven hundred and thirty-three years and, though she’d never thought herself a violent person, she’d plunge her concealed dagger into Trevayne’s heart in an instant if she thought she had a snowball’s chance in hell of killing him.
She slid the deadbolt back and turned the doorknob.
“Lucan,” she said coolly, inclining her head.
“Good evening, Jessica,” Trevayne replied with a cordial smile. Sort of.
When he took her arm, Jessi barely suppressed her revulsion.
Dageus stood in the shadows of the corridor off the balustrade that overlooked the great hall, listening intently. Upon leaving Jessica, he’d loped up the back stairs, taking turn after turn, wending a circuitous route to his current position, all to avoid passing Cian’s mirror.
His brother, Gwen, and Chloe were safely ensconced in a chamber two corridors down. Until a few hours ago, he’d had to conceal his plans from even them so none could inadvertently betray it to Cian by thinking about it in their powerful ancestor’s presence.
’Tis too dangerous, Drustan had growled.
’Tis the only way, brother, he’d replied.
The Draghar knew this for a certainty?
Aye.
Too many things could go awry, Dageus. You have no way of controlling what happens.
Dageus hadn’t bothered arguing. It was a long shot and he knew it. He was doing little more than setting the stage, and hoping his instincts about the actors involved would prove true.
Drustan had been reluctant to agree, until Dageus had assured him that no matter what happened, Trevayne would not pass the tithe through. That he would stop him himself if necessary. But not until the last possible second, he’d added in the privacy of his mind.
A few dozen yards away, mounted on the wall of the landing, high above the great hall hung the Unseelie Dark Glass.
It was flat silver.
He imagined his ancestor inside it. Was Cian stretched out on his stone floor, arms behind his head, staring up at the stone ceiling, waiting for death?
If so, he knew the mere waiting was killing his ancestor a thousand times over. ’Twasn’t in a Keltar’s blood to accept death. Especially not once he’d found his mate and given the binding vows. Dageus knew. He’d been in far too similar a position himself.
Indeed, it was the similarity in their positions that had given him this idea to begin with.
He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes to midnight.
Expect deceit, he’d told Jessica. Expect last-minute treachery. It will come.
What he’d not told her was that ’twould come not from Lucan but from him.
Cian had been listening to the clock in the great hall below him chime the passing hours all evening.
’Twas now but mere minutes to midnight, and he was as prepared as he would ever be to draw his final breaths. He’d conjured a perfect mental vision of Jessica’s face in his mind hours ago, and he intended to die holding it there.
It was jarred slightly by the sound of approaching footsteps. She’d promised not to watch, he’d thought, stiffening.
Then he jerked ramrod straight and pushed up from the floor as another sound reached his disbelieving ears.
The hated sound of Lucan Trevayne’s laughter.
Nay! ’Twas not possible! There was no way the bastard could get inside Castle Keltar! Not w
ithout someone helping—
“Och, Christ, nay, lass,” he whispered. “Tell me you wouldn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”
But he didn’t need to seek visual confirmation of what he’d just heard to know she had. And the truth was, he couldn’t blame her. He’d not have let her die, either. He’d have moved mountains. He’d have battled God or Devil for his wife’s life.
She’d betrayed him.
He smiled faintly.
And in so doing, she’d honored him beyond measure. His Jessica loved him enough to break all the rules for him, enough to damn the whole world just to save him.
He’d have done no less for her. He’d have kept her alive by any means possible.
“Highlander,” Trevayne’s voice rang out triumphantly in the great hall, “you’re mine for another century.”
His smile faded. Unfortunately, her actions changed nothing. “Over my dead body,” he murmured. Which, as he’d always known, was the only way.
Jessi gazed up at the landing, high above the hall where, for the past two weeks, she’d slept every night unless Cian had been free to sleep in a bed with her.
Framed in the mirror, he stared down at her as she stood arm in arm with his enemy. He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to cleanse the image from his vision. Then he said softly, “Call me out, lass. You doona wish to do this. You must let me stop him.”
Jessi glanced at the tall grandfather clock in the alcove to the left of the staircase. Five minutes to midnight.
Biting her lip, she shook her head.
“Jessica, you’re not just keeping me alive, you’re letting him live. We’ve been through this. You must summon me out.”
Spine straight with resolve, she shook her head again.
When the mirror blazed brilliantly and the hall was suddenly skewed by that odd sense of spatial distortion, for a moment Jessi simply couldn’t make sense of it.