Dark Victory (30 page)

He was thoughtful. “But what if her deamhan ghost was born another time?”

Tabby nodded. “I think it likely her ghost is a part of history. One was destroyed, the other created, on June first. And if Criosaidh’s ghost was just born, I believe it will still go to early December 2008, seeking revenge on me there, before you take me into the past.”

“So she’ll hunt you in New York an’ then follow ye to Blayde, till ye go to 1550 to destroy both the ghost an’ the witch, a few days later.” He smiled, satisfied.

“I think the ghost is trapped in that triangle of time,” Tabby whispered, chilled. “She is created in June of 1550, she goes to December 2008 and follows me to June of 1298. Then I go to An Tùir-Tara and the cycle starts all over again. The dates might change a little, but it’s all really the same—it’s the history the Ancients wrote.”

“Good.” He was fierce. “Let the puny ghost suffer eternally in that triangle of time! I am proud of ye, Tabitha.”

She was surprised. “Really?”

His smile revealed one small dimple. “Ye dinna ken how much I admire ye—even with yer independent nature?”

Tabby bit her lip, but she was thrilled. “It’s mutual, Macleod. I admire you, too, more than you can possibly know!”

“But I’m medieval…barbarian…a savage,” he murmured, pulling her back into his arms.

She laughed. “You are so medieval, and you know what? I think I like it.”

He was pressing with some urgency against her now, and he said softly, his eyes gleaming, “Ye
think
ye like it?”

Desire reared up and hollowed her. “It’s been too long,” Tabby whispered.

His hands slid low. “I may be mortal now,” he said softly, “but ye’ll never notice.”

She inhaled. “I have no doubt.”

“Let me prove it,” he said. His mouth tightened, and he turned her around.

“Prove it,” Tabby ordered as her backside hit the edge of the trestle table.

His mouth curved. “Shrew,” he whispered.

Tabby felt her own mouth turn upward, while her body exploded with feverish excitement. “Barbarian,” she managed to say.

He reached for her leg and hooked it around his hip. He slid her gown up her calf, her knee, her thigh…her hip. “I’d cross a thousand Highlands fer ye, Tabitha,” he said. “A thousand more times.”

And she realized he would fight his way back to her time and again if he had to. “I love you, Guy.”

He started—she’d never called him by his name before. His gaze unwavering and fierce on her face, he slid his massive length into her, and a moment later they were joined. Tabby held on to him, crying. Nothing could ever feel as right as being in his arms, except for becoming one.

“I’m home now,” he said. “’Tis our home, Tabitha.”

She somehow nodded. She would never leave him. She’d figure out how to be a modern woman in medieval times, with a medieval Highlander as her soul mate. He made love to her on the table, and although mortal now, Tabby broke into more ecstasy than ever before, maybe because she loved him more than ever and finally understood him. When they were both breathing hard and almost sated, the light coming inside from the open doors was the soft faded hues of an approaching dusk.

He kissed her neck and moved off her, helping her up as she rearranged her clothes. Then he held out his arm and Tabby went to stand against his side. “Will ye stay with me?”

He couldn’t read her mind anymore. “Of course I will. But I need to see my sister—and I need to get the Book of Roses, too.”

“Ruari can help us.” He suddenly tensed. Tabby was confused, as well. She sensed so much white power, rapidly growing, and it was familiar—but that was impossible!

“Guy?”

“Tabitha,” he whispered, his blue eyes wide. “I can hear yer every thought.” He stopped. He flexed his hand. He gave her a look and pointed at the bench. Silver blazed; the bench exploded into tiny shards and pieces.

Tabby cried out. “You have your power back!”

Macleod stared in disbelief. Then he breathed hard and said, “I can leap if I wish to—I can feel it!”

Tabby seized his hand. “They’re giving you back your power!”

But Macleod jerked toward the hearth—as did Tabby. MacNeil materialized in a cloud of shimmering golden air, his majesty unmistakable.

Tabby thought about what he’d done to Macleod and she was so angry she inhaled, clenching her fists.

Fully present, he smiled a little at her, as if expecting her
wrath and dreading it. “I dinna have any choice. The gods were done with him.”

“There is always a choice!” she cried. “You tortured him!”

Macleod took her hand, silencing her. Tabby blinked, realizing she’d been the one to lose her temper, not him. She realized he wasn’t angry. “Let’s hear what he has come to say.”

MacNeil smiled, approaching, and to Tabby’s amazement, he pulled Macleod into a bearlike embrace. “I’m proud of ye, lad,” he then said, releasing him. “The gods decided yer punishment. ’Twas harsh, I agree, but they gave ye one last chance to redeem yerself. Ye have triumphed over every deamhan sent to stop ye. Ye forgave the gods, even though ye thought Tabitha dead. An’ ye learned the truth about yer life—that yer reason to live is to defend God’s creatures, all o’ them, as long as they are Innocent.”

Macleod was flushed, probably from MacNeil’s warm hug. Tabby was amazed. “You forgave the gods?”

He nodded grimly. “An’ I am sorry, verra much so, that it has taken me so long to learn the truth.”

MacNeil clasped his shoulder, and Tabby saw that he was overjoyed and close to tears. “I saw Lady Tabitha in yer Destiny, Guy. The gods decided long ago she would be yer better half, an’ that she would guide ye to the truth. I will admit I became afraid she would fail. Ye can be the most stubborn of men! But I can see now that I shouldna have ever feared fer ye.” He turned to Tabby. “Thank ye, Lady Tabitha, fer all ye have done.”

Tabby nodded, tearing up. “You’re welcome. He’s sort of hard to resist.”

MacNeil grinned. “They like to make a man mad with desire, when it helps their cause.”

Tabby realized it was all Fate, and that was fine with her.

“Ye’ll come to Iona tomorrow.” MacNeil smiled and vanished.

Tabby rushed over to Macleod. “You are redeemed,” she whispered unsteadily, taking his hands. “You are forgiven. Tomorrow you take your vows!”

He inhaled, clearly shaken. “Tabitha,” he whispered. “Those vows mean everythin’ to me now.”

T
HE BEACHES WERE
the color of pearls. The morning sunlight was bright and warm, the sky azure, without a single cloud, and the sea was the color of lapis. Not a bird chirped, not a leaf stirred—the morning was absolutely silent. Macleod stood before Iona’s holiest shrine, making his vows upon the ancient Book of Wisdom, which MacNeil held. The Abbot was cloaked in red and gold robes, while Macleod wore a leine so richly dyed that it was gold. The neckline and hem were lavishly embroidered, and his red-and-black brat was pinned across his right shoulder with his father’s lion brooch. The huge, gilded and bejeweled ceremonial sword he held dated back to the first days of the Brotherhood—two centuries before Christ was born. As he spoke, his voice resonated powerfully in the otherwise silent morning.

Tabby was overcome.

They were not alone. Fifty or so Masters were present, most of them bare-legged Highlanders in leines and brats. But a few of them were Lowlanders, Englishmen and Norsemen. Tabby was the only woman there.

The monastery, which was a sanctuary for the Brotherhood, reeked of warrior power and testosterone—it was highly charged and solidly male.

But there was more. Behind the brethren, she could almost see the Ancients in their robes and gowns, shimmering in the morning light, fiercely pleased now. Clearly they would celebrate later, too. Their splendor and majesty was inspiring, and she had never felt so small, so insignificant and so humble.

Macleod went down on one knee.

She knew he felt it all, too.

Because this was his Destiny—serving the gods, keeping Faith and protecting the Innocent. And he was her Destiny. Tabby thrilled.

MacNeil laid both his hands on his shoulders, speaking softly now.

Tabby’s heart turned over, bursting with pride. If only Sam were present.

Then she felt a caress upon her shoulder.

She turned and Grandma Sara smiled at her.

For one impossible moment, Tabby saw her grandmother standing there, but not as a wrinkled old woman. She saw a young, beautiful woman, in ancient robes. Then the morning sunlight washed over Sara, and she was gone.

Tabby trembled, even more undone. She had not a doubt her grandmother had just come to join her in the most important moment of her new life. And if her suspicions were correct, Grandma was no stranger to the world of the Masters—just the opposite was true.

Tabby pinched herself. She was incredibly proud of Macleod, deliriously happy as never before, and wildly in love. Macleod was her Destiny and she was his. She had been meant to go back in time to set him free from his past, so he could take his vows. And while Criosaidh was her arch enemy, and they would war for a few centuries more until she was vanquished, so what? Her powers were growing and so were Macleod’s. She already knew the kind of Master he would become, and she was confident about her own powers, too. There would be other forces of evil to battle and fight—it was the law of the universe.

They were about to embark on a lifetime that would encompass centuries. They would fight evil, protect Innocence, make
love, argue a bit—and make babies. Eventually she would have at least three strapping sons, not to mention a few magically talented daughters—or so she hoped. And while she missed Sam, she would see her again. Of that, she had no doubt.

She felt her smile widen. Macleod hadn’t asked her to marry him yet, but she knew he would—she’d heard him thinking about it that dawn.

She laughed silently to herself. She could read his mind now and she loved it! He was still terribly macho and he’d probably be medieval until the Renaissance, but she could manage him, oh, yes. After all, she was a Rose.

The ceremony was over. Macleod had risen and MacNeil was shaking his hand, when suddenly the brethren erupted into a single, shockingly powerful roar. Tabby looked at Macleod as their cry of acceptance and triumph echoed over and over again and he looked directly at her.

She inhaled. He had already changed. His power, his confidence and dependability were increasing in leaps and bounds. The man she’d met in the sixteenth century was starting to emerge before her very eyes. And she had to admit it was such a turn-on….

It took him a while to reach her. Every Master reached out to grab his hand or clasp his shoulder and pummel his back. Tabby didn’t move, breathlessly happy now and already thinking of a few ways to celebrate. She couldn’t help it. He’d awoken her as no other man ever had, or ever could. She hadn’t lost the best parts of the old Tabby, but the new Tabby was sexually voracious and not going anywhere, ever.

He finally slipped free of his brothers and reached her. “Have ye ogled enough Masters today?” But he was amused as he pulled her close.

“I’m trying to find Sam her match.” That was actually the truth and she knew he was teasing her, anyway.

He wasn’t jealous—how could he be? Last night she’d given him far more than her body—she’d given him her heart and her soul. He undoubtedly knew it, as he still lurked without compunction. “Yer warrior sister would drive a man to madness.”

“There’s someone for everyone. I am so proud of you,” Tabby said.

His eyes darkened as he held her. “I dinna ken why I was so angry, so guilty, why I refused to serve the gods and the good men, women an’ children o’ the world fer so long.”

“I am glad the past has been laid to rest,” she whispered.

“Aye, me, too, because now we have the present to live in an’ the future to plan.” He pulled her against him and murmured, “An’ how will we celebrate tonight?”

She wet her lips. “I think I can come up with an idea or two.”

His grin was quick, wicked and it revealed that slight dimple. “Have I taught ye
too
well?”

“Tonight you can find out…when I teach you a thing or two.” Tabby grinned and gave him her hand.

He grinned back at her. “So ye’ll teach me?”

“If you can handle it.”

He laughed. The sound was warm and deep. And they walked back to the other Masters, hand in hand. The celebration beginning was one that would last a lifetime—or two.

New York City
A few days later

“W
HY THE URGE
to suddenly go back to the exhibit on An Tùir-Tara?” Sam asked, feeling a bit cross and restless. But she was jet-lagged from the two-day trip to Scotland, and Nick had laid into her when she’d gone to work that morning.

No more personal anything, he’d ordered. Who the hell did he think he was?

And he damn well hadn’t been reading her mind, because then he’d know that there hadn’t been anything personal going on with Ian Maclean. And there never would be.

“Because I came across a reference to An Tùir-Tara when I was going over my file before closing it,” Kit said, hurrying up the stairs. They were at the Met, and because it was so close to closing, it wasn’t very crowded. “It was bothersome. A usually good historian got some dates wrong.”

Sam didn’t care. Nick had told her that Tabby was fine and at Blayde in 1298—and apparently, head over heels in love with her medieval Highlander. Hadn’t Sam predicted that? But he didn’t think she could have survived An Tùir-Tara. He’d been there, he’d said, and it had been an inferno. The good news was that he was certain Criosaidh hadn’t made it out alive, either.

Sam refused to believe that Tabby would go back in time to
the thirteenth century, find a nearly immortal soul mate with superpowers, and then die while battling evil a few centuries later. She still disliked Macleod for taking Tabby away from her, but she knew he’d move mountains—and Fate—to keep Tabby alive until she died from really old age. By now, Tabby probably knew that the Rose women kept a lot of secrets.

Sam still missed her, enough that it hurt.

Kit’s rapid steps finally slowed. Her gaze was soft, sad. “Hey. I know what it’s like to lose your best friend ever.”

Sam tensed. “Tabby’s where she’s meant to be.” Then she felt like a total heel. “Hey, I’m sorry.” Kit never talked about her dead twin sister, but everyone knew about Kelly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You and Tabby were as close as sisters can be. I get it. It hurts that she’s gone, even if it’s her Destiny. And it will take a long, long time to adjust.”

Sam felt like pointing out that Kit had never adjusted to her loss, and her sister had been murdered when they were eighteen—almost ten years earlier.

“Oh, and I forgot,” Kit said. “Nick thinks Maclean is bad news.”

“Wow,” Sam mocked, trying not to spit in anger as she thought of Ian, “for once we are in absolute agreement on something!”

“I guess he pissed you off,” Kit muttered, and she hurried ahead of Sam to the big glass case displaying the Wisdom of the Celts exhibit. “Sam!”

Sam hurried over, and instantly, she understood why Kit was shocked. Because winking at them from the inside of the case was the gold palm amulet, with its bright moonstone center.

“What does that mean?” Kit gasped. “Macleod stole it a few days ago!”

Sam elbowed past her, not meaning to be rude. Even the facts had changed. “Listen to this,” she said hoarsely. “On June first,
1550, a terrible fire destroyed the central tower of Melvaig Castle. While most historians cannot agree on the cause of the fire, the most common hypothesis is that the fire was a result of the kind of treachery so often seen in the ongoing clan war between the MacDougalls of Skye and the Macleods of Loch Gairloch. But that bloody feud ended with the demise of the Lady of Melvaig, a victim of the fires. To this day, locals claim that An Tùir-Tara was the last battle in a great war of two Highland witches.” Sam reeled in shock as she spoke.

“That’s the date I found in my files, and I thought I’d missed it the first go-round!” Kit exclaimed. “Sam, the facts—the date of An Tùir-Tara, even the text—have changed! And the amulet is back!”

“You didn’t miss it and it wasn’t a mistake,” Sam whispered, staring at the pendant. It glowed magically now. “History has changed.”

Kit was silent, but only for a moment. “Okay, so what on earth does it mean?”

Sam began to smile. “It means Tabby was meant to lose the pendant at An Tùir-Tara, and apparently, she did.”

“Sam?”

“It means she got a bit impatient to do battle, don’t you think?” Sam turned to Kit and uncharacteristically put her hand on her shoulder. “It means Tabby won.” Then she sighed, groaning inwardly. “And it means she’s living happily ever after with Macleod.”

The two women exchanged glances, smiled, and Kit said, “Pizza?”

“Why not?” But as they left, Sam looked back at the glowing pendant and silently cheered for her sister and her soul mate.

The moonstone kept winking.