Spell of the Highlander
Page 106

“I hardly saw a thing,” Gwen assured Drustan. “It’s not like I held the door open and stared or anything, even though he is a MacKeltar.” She blinked. “And he certainly was every inch a MacK—” She broke off hastily, looking abashed, and feigned a sudden fascination with her cuticles. “What I meant was just that you MacKeltars are a fine-looking lot of men, Drustan, and he is related to you, actually, he precedes you in the gene pool, which might explain . . . Oh, dear, I should probably just shut up now, shouldn’t I?” She pressed her lips together.
“That seals it,” Drustan said calmly. “I’m going to have to kill the man.”
It was Dageus who put things back into perspective. “You doona mean that, Drustan, nor could you if you did. So long as he’s bound to the mirror he can’t be killed. But doona fash yourself. The poor bastard will be dead in a fortnight anyway and he’ll ne’er toop his mate in our corridor again.”
Drustan winced and a bleak expression entered his eyes. He stared down at Gwen a moment, then gathered her gently in his arms and held her.
Dageus pulled his wife close, as well, remembering a time when he’d not believed he had much more time with his mate himself.
Half an hour later, it was a somber foursome that peeped cautiously out into the corridor before attempting to go to dinner again.
Jessi awoke late at night, alone, in a bedchamber.
She and Cian had eventually become cognizant of where they were—and just how public it was—and had stumbled from the corridor into a nearby bedchamber.
She stirred in the great big, down-filled, canopied bed, nestled in a warm mound of velvety blankets. She pushed a hand through her wrecked curls; she didn’t need to see a mirror to know she had major bed-head. At the edges of her consciousness a terrible reality knocked, seeking entrance to her thoughts, but she refused to grant it an audience. Now was now. Later would come soon enough.
She smiled. She’d fallen asleep in bed with her Highlander’s strong arms wrapped around her, spooning her backside to his front side, with one of his powerful legs draped over hers.
A perfect memory, she committed it to a special corner of her mind where each moment she had with him would be immortalized. These memories she would make with him now would have to last her a lifetime.
She pushed herself up and slipped from the bed, dropping barefoot onto the floor. She dressed swiftly and hurried for the door, wanting to be with him every possible moment.
But when she ducked her head into the dimly-lit library—the castle had been put to bed along with its occupants hours ago—the mirror wasn’t where she’d last seen it, and a stab of blind panic made her chest feel dangerously tight.
“We moved it, lass,” a soft voice cut through the darkness.
She jumped, peering into the dim room. By the soft red glow of the embers of a dying fire, she could make out a man’s shape in an armchair near the hearth. Stacks of books surrounded him on both sides and he was paging through another.
“Drustan? Dageus?” By voice alone she couldn’t tell them apart.
“‘Tis Dageus, lass. Why can’t I deep-read you, Jessica?”
Jessi shrugged. “I think it’s because I was injured when I was young and I have a metal plate in my head. When Cian uses his Voice-spell on other people, it feels itchy inside my skull.”
He was silent a moment, then snorted with laughter. “Och, ’tis too perfect. ’Tis also exactly what it feels like—a smooth, cold, hard barrier. It must shield you from magyck somehow. You said ‘other people.’ Has he ever tried to use Voice on you?”
“Yes,” she said. “It doesn’t work.”
Dageus gave another soft laugh. “Despite how bloody powerful he is, Cian can’t deep-listen to you, either, can he?”
“I don’t think so. He told me none of his magyck works on me.”
“Good,” he said slowly. “That’s very good.”
She thought that an odd thing to say and began to press, but he spoke again swiftly. “Are you all right, Jessica?”
She shrugged again. What could she possibly say? I’m both happier and more alive than I’ve ever been and I feel like I’m dying, too? And I suspect before this is over, I’ll wish I was. She said instead, “Where is the mirror?”
“We moved it to the great hall at his request. When I built this castle I buried four wardstones beneath the entry: east, west, north, and south. They are massive stones and I spelled them myself. He sensed their potency and asked that the mirror be hung on the landing of the stairs. ’Twill grant him the greatest protection. He is determined Lucan not be able to reach the Dark Glass.” He paused, and she had the sense Dageus was not pleased with his ancestor. “He will have his vengeance, lass, no matter the cost.”