Beyond A Highland Whisper (27 page)

Latharn steadied Fiona’s shoulders as she shifted a box filled with jars labeled in an ancient script higher on her hip. Her dazed look deepened as she recalled Gabriel’s dark habits aloud. “As far as I knew, Gabriel was only capable of physical evil against women. Not once did any of his curses come to pass. I once found the journal he kept where he tried to discover what he did wrong. I just assumed he didna have the gift.”

Brodie growled and fisted his hands. “This time he will die if he’s the one to blame for this evil. We will send him to meet his master of darkness in the very pits of hell.”

Taking the box from Fiona and settling it in the back of the jeep, Latharn turned to find Trish glaring at all their faces. “
If
he’s the one to blame? You mean you’re not even sure Gabriel’s the one we’re after? If not, Gabriel, then who? Or what could be to blame for Nessa being zapped out of existence into thin air? Latharn, what’s going on? You promised me Nessa would be safe!”

His rage drummed the call to battle; his body tensed, ready to attack. Latharn jerked his head in Trish’s direction. He didn’t have time to explain, especially not to a novice such as Trish. Growling, he yanked open the back of the jeep. All this chatter solved nothing. They must get organized, plan their attack. They had to move. “Enough. There is no time for this banter. We must get to the castle. A hidden library is there that will aid us in our search. If we are unable to find her before the full moon, she may be lost to us forever. The autumnal equinox could realign the stars and hide her away from this reality for an untold number of years.”

Spurred into action by Latharn’s words, Fiona set the dusty carton down and held out her hand to Trish. “Come help me, Trish. We must gather the rest of the bottles and books that we’ve kept hidden here over the years.” Fiona pulled Trish by the arm and led the way to a hidden room behind the storeroom walls.

Latharn directed the two women as they filled every box until nothing remained in the room. He selected vials and bottles of morbid-looking objects, wrapping them to ensure they survived the journey. He packed ancient texts that would make any archeologist tremble in excitement. Latharn double-checked everything they packed, nodding his approval before each box was sealed.

He turned one last time to scan the now bare room, to ensure they’d left nothing behind. Latharn wouldn’t entertain the thought that they’d not get to Nessa in time.

They reached the castle just as the edge of the fiery orange sun had dipped below the horizon and the glowing white moon had begun to rise. The promising light shimmered upon the rippling waves of the ocean, oblivious to the malevolence in the air.

Latharn’s gaze settled on the home of his birth for the first time in hundreds of years. His chest tightened as memories of his childhood flooded his mind.

Shadows of children at play, of women as they bustled about the castle grounds danced before his eyes. Images of ancestors laughed, slapping each other on their backs as they walked their horses in from the courtyard gate. His emotions squeezed the wind from his chest as he watched three brothers laugh and wrestle in the mud.

Latharn shook himself free of the ghosts of the past and made his way into the great hall. Once Nessa was safely back at his side, the memories could surface then. He led the others to the northernmost tower and up the spiral steps. Yanking down on the iron sconce on the farthest wall, he waited for the timeworn stones to obey the forgotten command. An eternity passed before the answering grind of the stone gears rumbled from far beneath the floor.

At a snail’s pace, the dingy passage appeared. Within it was a small landing bearing two sets of stairs. One staircase descended into the musty darkness, the other rose in the direction of a shaft of shimmering moonlight. At Latharn’s nod, they took the staircase leading to the stars. Latharn held the torch high over their heads, its flickering light doing little to beat back the shadows of the narrow stone hall.

His heart drummed harder the higher he climbed. This was mother’s tower. A gifted witch from the twenty-first century, she’d traveled back in time to join with his father. The portals of time had strengthened her powers; her mystical abilities had grown with the energy within the veil. Inhaling a great breath, Latharn held the torch higher. He didn’t fear the unknown the darkness held; he feared the emotions of the past.

Mother had combined her knowledge with that of the chief druid of the clan and the two of them had recorded everything they had ever learned. Usually, rituals were committed to memory by repetition and practice. Ancient druidry wasn’t recorded on parchment or stone. But neither Latharn’s mother nor the wise druid of the clan wanted to risk the knowledge ever being lost. Death was an ever-threatening thief of knowledge. It could strike down a gifted teacher at any moment.

With a shudder, Latharn recalled the day his mother had told him of her plans to hide the gathered knowledge after his father’s murder. She’d seen to the concealment of the library of the mysteries before she’d jumped to her death. Although it had been several centuries ago, the memory still pained him, as though the wound was still fresh. It was a dark time for the clan MacKay; several members had been falsely accused of spell craft by rival families. The avaricious witch hunters had gone so far as to torture one poor woman to death. This death had sparked a bloody clan war. A war that had sent his father’s lifeless body home, his shield laid upon his cold, still chest. His mother had then ordered all the clan records of the mysteries hidden within the castle walls.

Defending magic and his people had killed her husband. Never again would she allow magic practiced among the clan. Then she’d gone to the cliffs overlooking the ocean to fling her body down upon the jagged rocks below.

Latharn shook himself back to the present as they arrived at a heavy door with a single iron circlet hung in its center. Handing the torch to Brodie, he gritted his teeth, set his shoulder against the barrier and shoved. Dust and dirt sifted out of the crevices that hadn’t been disturbed in hundreds of years. The ancient portal groaned its way open and revealed a suffocating darkness within.

Brodie raised the torch, the glowing circle of light struggling against the shadows of the room. Latharn instructed him to light the additional sconces hammered along the wall. Lights blazed about the room, revealing a high-ceilinged chamber. Mouths agape in amazement, Trish, Brodie, and Fiona all spun around to gaze at the sheer number of books lining the walls.

Trish groaned as she wandered around the room, staring at all the shelves. “We’ll never find the answer in three days’ time. This place is as big as the Library of Congress!”

Snapping around, Latharn grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her an irritated shake. “Never speak such negativity again! Ye attract whatever ye send out. I willna listen to words of defeat. In three days’ time, my Nessa will be back at my side.”

Trish fended him off, twisting out of his grasp as she backed her way across the room. “I’m sorry, Latharn. It’s just there are so many books, so many scrolls, so much…stuff. Tell me where to start and I’ll help any way I can. Just tell me what I’m looking for.”

So many shelves. So many books. How had mother managed them all?
Damn, Mother. Did ye have to write down every thought?
Scrubbing his jaw, Latharn turned and eyed the croweded shelves covering the walls. “I wish the mirrors of time hadna been destroyed. I could’ve traced her soul across all of the planes with one simple incantation.”

“Mirrors of time?” Trish arched a brow as she turned the pages of a dusty tome she’d pulled from one of the shelves.

“Aye, the mirrors of time. I remember reading about them.” Brodie nodded in complete agreement. “There were three of them. Past, present, and future portals. Ye could scry with them, ask them to find ye anything, and if ye had the gift, they would tell ye the answer ye sought.”

Trish emitted a low whistle of admiration. “Well, that would’ve definitely made our search a lot easier. What happened to them?” She turned to Latharn after she replaced the book she’d been studying back on the shelf. “You said they were destroyed? Who would do such a thing to something so rare?”

“My mother.” Latharn heaved a heavy sigh as he remembered the incident as though it happened yesterday. Rachel had thrown a fit of uncontrollable rage when Caelan’s body had returned lifeless and cold. “She cursed them with a shattering spell for not warning her of the danger to my father’s life.”

Her mouth formed into a silent
O
. Trish cringed and turned back to search the shelves. “So what subject
am
I supposed to be searching for? Curses? Autumnal equinox? Full moon? Disappearing into thin air? What?”

“Scrying,” Brodie shouted from across the room where he pawed through the lowest shelf in the corner. “What about scrying? I know ye don’t have the mirrors, but there are other tools that can be used to see into the mists.”

With a wave of his hand, Latharn lit the thick stubs of the many candles scattered across the table and motioned for Brodie to bring the book he’d found. Brodie grunted, pulling the three-foot-wide wedge from the shelf and wrestled it to the table. Worn leather sandwiched yellowed parchment. The ancient tome was huge.

Reverently, Latharn opened the weathered cover. The leather crackled in protest at being disturbed. With a ginger touch, Latharn turned one page at a time, his fingers spread as they traced the text he scanned. The mustiness of the pages smelled of time forever lost and the faintest hint of his mother’s favorite scent, heather. His mother must have pressed a flower somewhere in the book’s pages. Latharn frowned and tried to shake free of the fragrance and concentrate on the spell. Since his parents’ funeral, he hated that smell. It had even permeated into his crystal prison. His lips moved with a whisper as he absorbed the words. “Do ye know if the chapel is still intact?” Latharn asked without looking up from the ancient grimoire.

Emerging from a set of bookshelves across the room, Fiona nodded, paging carefully through a book she held in her hand. “Aye, I visited it myself a few months ago to lay some heather upon the altar. The stonework is worn but it still stands whole and has survived the tests of man and time. Why do ye ask, Latharn?”

Latharn eased the delicate parchment over to the next page to finish reading the passage. This gave him his answer. This spell would guide him to Nessa. He stroked his chin, leaning closer as he peered at an elaborate equation scribbled off in one of the margins. “I need holy water that’s been charged by the waxing moon to have the most power o’er seeing into the mists.”

Trish pushed up her sleeves and stepped up to the table. “Give me a bucket and point me toward the chapel. I’ll tote all the holy water you need. I have
got
to do something besides just stand here.”

Latharn moved to the farthest wall and spread his fingers across the stones. Scowling, he searched his hands over the rocks, closing his eyes as though listening to the wall’s silent instruction. Arms widespread, he placed his right hand high, the left lowered to his knees. Latharn leaned hard against the wall and pushed into it with all his might. He gripped and clutched the oddly carved stones, twisting and turning to shove them deeper into an unseen passage. As the stones receded, the wall ground its way out and revealed a breathtaking vista of the sea. Moonlight flooded the room, illuminating it with an ethereal blue-white glow.

Latharn gazed into the sky and drew a shuddering breath. He sent up a silent plea to the goddess and every mystically blessed ancestor in his past. He bowed his head and turned from his supplication to the moon. The eerie glow of the beacon of the night energized him for his task ahead.

“Fiona, you and Trish must find the divining bowl. It should be somewhere amidst these many shelves. It must be filled with holy water from the baptistery, then set upon this pedestal to absorb the power of the moon. At daybreak, we will bring it back into the darkness. There must be no other light in the room. Then through the power of the mists, we will find our way to Nessa and how to bring her back.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Her head pounded. Blood roared in her ears. Nessa swallowed hard at the bile burning in the back of her throat. Whatever she did, she couldn’t allow herself to vomit. The gag in her mouth would cause her to choke to death if she did. Her shoulders ached from the odd positioning of her bound hands, feet throbbing from the over-tight ropes at the ankles. A blindfold covered her eyes, the material thin and pulled tight as though made of a silk scarf.