Beyond A Highland Whisper (18 page)

Trish’s eyes narrowed into plotting slits as she leaned back into her chair. “The way I figure it, a curse is like a contract. All we have to do is find the loophole. I handle all the contracts for our digs. The contract lawyers hate me. I have a knack for seeing loopholes.” She offered a saucy smirk.

“This is no contract, Trish. It’s a complicated curse spelled by a powerful dark
bana-buidhseach
.” Fiona handed each of them a cup of tea from the tray she balanced on one hip.

Tea. Latharn cringed. They should drink ale or at the very least mulled wine when they plotted a battle. Now, what had Trish said about contracts and curses?

“You’ve obviously never been around many contract lawyers,” Trish retorted with a grin. “So, have you got this journal here or what? Is there any way I could get a look at it or is it locked away in someone’s library?”

With a shrug of agreement from Fiona, Brodie ceased his restless pacing and headed to the built-in bookshelves lining the opposite wall of the room. He pushed aside several trinkets and baubles to reveal the combination lock of a safe. Brodie unlocked the safe and swung the door aside. He lifted a leather-bound book from the box.

Latharn stared at the journal from across the room and drew a ragged breath. The sight of the book nearly knocked the wind from his chest. It had been one of his mother’s last grimoires. They had spoken every day until the morning before she’d leapt to her death. He’d pleaded with her not to take her life. Latharn choked against the painful memory of her final words. She had told him she couldn’t bear life without Caelan. Latharn had never understood the depths of her pain until he’d found his Nessa.

Brodie set the book on the table in front of Trish. “This is the last journal of Rachel MacKay. The faded purple ribbon marks the passage about Latharn’s curse.”

Trish held her hands over the well-worn book. As she opened the journal to the designated spot, Latharn watched her mouth drop open in surprise. “This is in English. Modern English. Is this supposed to be some kind of hoax? I thought you said this came from the 1400s.”

Brodie MacKay hissed as he turned from the window. “Rachel MacKay was not from the past. She was a time traveler from the year 2008.”

Trish’s hands dropped into her lap as she leaned back in her chair. “What you’re saying can’t possibly be true. This MacKay history just keeps getting wilder. How could a woman from the year 2008 be the mother of a man from 1410? You cannot be serious.”

“I can and I am,” Brodie challenged, his chin jutting into the air.

“He speaks the truth,” Latharn added from his globe shimmering on the shelf.

Fiona stepped between them shaking her head, holding up her hands for silence. “It’s a long story, Trish, that of Rachel and Caelan and how they came to be joined. Suffice it to say, they were meant to be together and nothing, not even time or space, could ever keep them apart.”

“Trish,” Latharn said. “Sometimes knowing in your heart is all the matters. There are many things in this world and beyond that are yet to be explained.”

Her eyes widened in amazement. Trish looked up from the journal, disbelief written on her face. “This story just keeps getting better. Time travelers, witches, and cursed Highlanders in a ball. Is there anything else I need to know?”

Fiona pointed at the faded words upon the page. “That should just about cover it. Now can ye read Rachel’s inscriptions? The dark outline, there. That surrounds the part about the curse.”

Trish leaned closer to study the faded pages. She ran her finger back and forth just above the words, keeping space between herself and the yellowed page. “Okay. Here’s the part about Latharn not being allowed to speak to Nessa so that he can’t tell her how to break the curse.”

Latharn watched impatiently as her lips moved while she read.

“And here’s the part about no one of MacKay descent being allowed to tell her how to break the curse.” Her mouth fell open. Trish lifted her head. “I can tell her.”

“No.” Brodie’s hands clenched into fists. “Ye will shatter the crystal and Latharn will be lost. Ye must not break the terms.”

For the first time in centuries, hope surged through Latharn’s body at the excitement in Trish’s voice.

“Don’t you see, Brodie? I am not of MacKay descent. Therefore, it doesn’t apply to me.” Trish eased the book closed as she hastened to explain, “Only those of the MacKay line are forbidden to reveal the way to Nessa’s true love. I’m a mutt. I traced my family tree once and trust me, there’s not a drop of Scottish blood flowing in these veins.”

“It canna be that simple.” Fiona dropped into a chair. “Then we wasted our chance. I could’ve told the lass yesterday when she was so close to calling him out.”

Trish shook her head, in disagreement. “No. You did the right thing by keeping the pact and holding your tongue. When you married Brodie, technically, you became a MacKay. If you had said any more to Nessa then what I understood you to say, the crystal would’ve disintegrated along with his soul.”

Latharn shouted, “Then go get her! What the hell are ye waiting for?” He beat on the glass, rattling the globe across the length of the mantel. Could it be this simple? Could Nessa’s friend tell her what she needed to do?

Brodie grabbed Trish by the arm, pulling her out of the chair. “Do as he says. Go to her then. Tell the woman. Let this damnable curse be at an end.”

Trish shook her head and remained in her seat. She picked up her tea and took a sip as she studied the sphere upon the shelf. She set the delicate china cup back in its saucer and ran one finger around the rim of the cup. “No. We still have to play this out just right. If we spook Nessa, she’ll never break the curse. She’ll be especially leery after Latharn’s visitation at the car wreck and the nightmares she had afterward. She’s just now beginning to calm down again. He must’ve smoothed things over in another dream. He’s been trapped in there for almost six hundred years; a few more days will just have to do.”

“Are ye insane? Have ye any idea how long six hundred years can be?” Latharn roared and pelted the room with energy blasts until they dove beneath the table. “Just explain it to her and she will be fine. Just tell her. Once I’m out, I will soothe things over.”

“Don’t you remember how spooked she was after the car wreck and the nightmare she had that night? Remember how nervous she got when she thought the orb
was
you…she almost ran out of the shop yesterday just from the light show you put on. We have to take this slow,” Trish shouted at him from underneath her chair. “Nessa has trouble accepting the supernatural. Think about it, Latharn.”

The room fell silent. Latharn scowled from his prison and glared at Trish as she opened one eye.

“Is it safe to come out?”

“Aye. Ye can come out. I will not blast ye,” Latharn grumbled. “Perhaps I can bear this hell a few more days.”

Crawling out from under the furniture, Trish dusted off her knees. “By the way, I haven’t seen Nessa this morning. But I noticed the jeep is gone. Did she say where she was going? It’s Sunday. I figured we’d just laze around here today.”

Fiona straightened her skirts as she crawled out from under the table, retying the strings of her apron. “She didna say. She was just out the door with a smile and a wave. But come to think of it, she was dressed as though she was going someplace nice.”

Brodie nodded in agreement as he dusted off his trousers. “Perhaps she was going to church?”

Trish shook her head as she closed the journal and pushed her chair under the table. “I doubt that. Nessa views religion as a cultural enigma. I really don’t think she follows any specific faith herself.”

“Someone needs to find where she went. I’m trusting ye all to take care of my Nessa.” Latharn bounced warning lights around the room. They needn’t stand around gaggling like a bunch of geese.

Trish paused, tapping her fingers on the back of the chair, ignoring Latharn’s display as she mused aloud. “Gabriel seemed unusually disappointed yesterday and very determined to meet with Nessa sometime soon. It’s strange. I’m not saying he shouldn’t be interested in her but he’s just a hair shy of being completely obsessed.”

Brodie straightened the chairs around the table. “It would be unwise for the fool to try to get too close to Nessa. Latharn may not be able to speak to his love but there’s not a power on earth that will keep him from protecting her.”

“I will kill the bastard if he so much as stirs the air in which my Nessa breathes,” Latharn stated.

With a look on her face that said she was clearly fed up, Trish squared off between Fiona and Brodie. “Okay. Out with it. What’s the story on Gabriel Burns? I have the distinct impression here that there’s something I need to know. If he’s a serial killer, I think I have the right to know. After all, Latharn has officially inducted me into the MacKay Mystery Club.”

Latharn couldn’t resist a chuckle at Trish’s comment but he dreaded hearing the story that was about to ensue. If he hadn’t been trapped in this accursed globe, he would’ve rendered justice himself.

Fiona bit at her lower lip and rubbed at an invisible spot on the table. “Before I became Brodie’s wife, Gabriel and I were engaged to be married.” With a trembling voice, Fiona swallowed hard before she could continue. “Gabriel seems kind and wonderful at first, until he’s positive that he has ye in his snare. Then he can become quite controlling…even cruel, some might say.”

Latharn itched to clench his hands around Gabriel’s throat as Fiona’s hands trembled at her side.

“Are you saying he’s physically abusive?” Trish leaned closer, her hands tightening around the back of the chair.

Latharn’s heart went out to Fiona. That was another reason he’d chosen her for Brodie. The lass had suffered so.

That was also why the bastard deserved to die. Latharn still didn’t understand this twenty-first century justice.

Fiona nodded. “I think, given enough time, he might even become truly dangerous. Thankfully, Brodie came along before I found out just how much damage he was willing to do.” She wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist and buried her face in his chest.

As he clutched Fiona to him, Brodie sneered, “She’s saying that the night I found him in the alley, he had his hands around her throat. I almost beat the bastard to death until she begged me to stop. To keep him from pressing charges against me, Fiona promised not to tell anyone of his abusing her over something as minor as running thirty minutes late. His pub wouldna do too well in Durness if people found out he enjoyed beating women.”

“Thirty minutes late?” Trish repeated, “Just being thirty minutes late was enough to throw him into a rage where he thought it was okay to strangle you?”

Fiona sniffed and pulled a tissue from her sleeve to dab at the corner of her eyes. “Aye, my car had a flat tire. I was thirty minutes late to our wedding rehearsal. He felt as though I had shamed him in front of all our friends. Gabriel Burns is verra concerned about the perceptions of others. He not only demands to be respected, he prefers to be revered.”

Trish stormed about the room. “The man seems so nice. Everyone seems to like him. He can’t go around abusing women! Why in the hell isn’t he in jail? Latharn, did you know about this?”

Latharn remained silent. His fury raged too strong right now. The energy blast would destroy the entire building.

He would have killed the bastard a long time ago if they had consulted him. He missed the days where the laird settled such things.

Justice had gone to hell.

Brodie pulled his wife back against his side and dropped a tender kiss to the top of her head. “The man is careful, and that was over six years ago. He pretty much keeps to himself. Cordelia says he’s been seeing a professional counselor. Perhaps he’s been able to change.”

Trish whirled and shook her hand in his face as she yanked up her shirt to reveal a jagged scar running up her side. “Bullshit! Men like that never change. The only cure for their disease is a slow and painful death.”