Dark Victory (20 page)

For one moment he stared, aware of her beauty, her power and her grace. In that moment, he thought about how she had wanted to offer him comfort, which he’d refused. Her desire to somehow heal him and erase the past had annoyed him dangerously. Now, he would dearly love to have her harping on him that way. Then he glanced into the bailey. Rob had stripped the boy of the wool.

Macleod noted the pail. Tabitha had brought him water. His displeasure increased. So did his resolve. “Tabitha.”

She did not hear him.

“Tabitha.”

She started, her eyes flying open and, when lucidity appeared in her gaze, she paled.

“Will ye come inside an’ dine?” he asked flatly.

She was breathing hard, trembling, and the fine gown he’d given her clung to her lush curves. Even as angry as he was, his body stirred. She did not answer, starting to rise. He reached
to help her, but she flinched at his touch and jerked away. “Don’t.”

He truly tried to check his anger. “Ye begged fer my touch this dawn.”

A flush appeared. “Yes, I did.”

He hadn’t expected such an answer. “I can make ye beg again—right now—right here.” She would not be his enemy when she was weeping in pleasure and release.

“No, you can’t,” she warned.

He was tempted to show her that the attraction which raged between them, the desire which made him insatiable, remained.

She breathed hard and said, as if reading his mind, “No, Macleod. Don’t think it. It’s over now.”

“’Tisna over, Tabitha. ’Tis only ended when I say so.” And he meant it.

“I cannot allow you to abuse Coinneach, and I will not let you execute him.”

Didn’t she know how provocative those words were? “Yer courage amazes me. Ye dinna give the commands here.”

“What you are doing is wrong,” she said. “In my time, there are rules which govern the treatment of prisoners. Do you want to hear them?”

He was actually interested, but he shook his head. “I willna war with ye, and I willna allow ye to war with me.”

“The reason there are rules is not to protect the enemy’s soldiers as much as to protect your own soldiers. Of course, in my time, we value all human life.”

He stared at her. Coinneach’s mother was a witch, but he was certain that Coinneach was not evil or inhuman.

“Has it ever occurred to you that if you showed mercy to a MacDougall, they would show mercy to a Macleod?”

“O’ course,” he said, suddenly angry. “But there wasna mercy in 1201. I dinna start this feud.”

She inhaled. “I know. It was awful. I am so sorry!”

He was stunned. She still wanted to help him! She thought to free Coinneach and help him with his pain. He softened his tone. “Come down and dine before ye get sickened. We can converse about yer rules—an’ about the massacre.”

Her eyes widened. It took her a moment, but she said, “Are you trying to distract me? Because it won’t work.”

“So ye refuse to come to the hall with me?”

She hesitated and, grimly, she nodded.

“I canna free him,” he exclaimed, all patience gone. “He will return, an’ next time, mayhap he’ll put his dagger in my back while I sleep! Do ye wish me dead?”

“Of course not. But someone has to take the high road and stop this insane war.”

His tension soared. “This war will go on forever.” It was actually a dismal thought. “I’ll war until I die. I owe my father that much. Why canna ye comprehend my world?”

“I do comprehend your world. It is a world of violence, where might makes right—only the strong survive. It is a jungle, with no value for human life! What will it take to end this bloody feud? How many boys and men must die first? Isn’t it enough that evil claims so many innocent lives?”

“My father made peace with the MacDougall, an’ it was a great mistake. While he slept, while we all slept, they came inside Blayde an’ murdered everyone except for me. Children died in their beds that day, Tabitha, Macleod children.”

“You have suffered terribly, Macleod. I wish you had been spared all that you have lived through. And your father was a great man, to attempt to make peace. Whatever you think you owe him, you’ve paid—overpaid! I have no doubt he would want you to be happy.”

He jerked. “Happy? What kind of word is that?”

“He’d want you to be at peace!”

“My duty is revenge.”

She shook her head, her color high now. “What happened here in 1201 was evil. Many innocent men, women and children died. But you’re not evil, and Coinneach is Innocent.”

“An’ now ye’ll harp on me?”

She nodded, her face strained. “I refuse to believe that you are not destined to be a Master. You were born to protect Innocence, not destroy it. I know that massacre made you hard and vengeful. I know you think it your duty to war on your mortal enemies. But you have a much higher calling in life. Why won’t you consider that?”

“Ye sound like MacNeil!” he exclaimed.

She suddenly touched his arm and he felt her compassion flowing from her. “Have you ever considered forgiving the MacDougalls and starting over with them?”

He was disbelieving. “Ye ken naught o’ this world!”

“Others will suffer as you have, both Macleods and MacDougalls, if this does not end. Do you want your son to spend his lifetime beheading MacDougalls to avenge you?”

He trembled with absolute rage. The ramparts shuddered beneath them, around them. “Cease! I willna have a son!”

Her eyes widened. “Of course you won’t. You’re too smart. You would never wish this life on your child.”

He could not allow her to continue this way. He seized her shoulders. He ignored her stiff, resistant body and pulled her closer; she gasped when his manhood brushed her. “Ferget the MacDougall boy,” he snapped. She was very still in his arms, while he pressed fully up against her. “Come with me now, to my chamber. I want this war over…an’ I will win.”

She pushed against him, but she was breathless. “No, stop. I will not be seduced—this is too important!”

He ignored her and wrapped her in his arms. “This is much better, Tabitha, dinna ye agree?”

She trembled violently and it was a surge of desire. He felt a moment’s pure triumph, looked down, and their gazes locked.

Hers was clouded with tears, pride, passion and fierce determination. “Even if I give you my body, I will come back here and free Coinneach.” A tear fell. “Then, even if you beat me, starve me, abuse me, I will stay and help you find a way to get past the massacre.”

He released her. “Even in yer defiance, ye’re the most annoyin’ shrew!”

She hugged herself, rocking on her heels, another tear falling down her cheek. But she didn’t back up or try to flee. “There is something strong and powerful between us,” she whispered. “I saw you across time and you felt and saw me. Not just once but for a century. And the desire, well, it’s obviously still there.” She wiped the tear away. “I’m a Rose. I am proud to be a Rose. Fighting to protect, defend and to help others, is what we do. I am fighting for Coinneach, and I am fighting for you.”

He almost told her he could fight for himself. Instead, he was silent. He was certain he had never encountered such conviction before.

“Macleod, please, let the boy go. His
great-grandfather
caused the deaths of your family. He is an
Innocent.
”

He tensed, almost tempted to surrender to her. But the moment he realized that, he knew he had become dangerously weakened. This woman had weakened him. He had to fight her powerful allure. He spoke without passion. “Will ye come down to dine?”

“Can you really watch him die, day by day? Can you?”

Not only could he do so, he would do so. “Come down to dine,” he said again. “This matter is closed.” And if she tried to raise it later, when they were alone, he would change the subject and use his powers of sexual persuasion if he must.

She shook her head. “We won’t be alone later, Macleod. I thought I made that clear.”

His hard body told him otherwise. He crossed his arms and stared. He never spent the night alone and he had no intention of starting now.

“I can’t ignore what you are doing. I will help you, but I can’t share your bed again, and that is that.” She trembled.

He was almost amused. “I never sleep alone,” he finally said. “If ye refuse me, I will send for another woman.” He was merely stating a fact.

She cried out.

He was surprised that his use of another woman would be so hurtful to her, but he did not dwell on that. It was hardly important. Instead, he said, “I suggest ye think long an’ hard on whether ye choose the boy over me.”

He turned to go but she stopped him in his tracks. She said, very softly, “If you sleep with another woman, you will never have me again.”

He faltered, incredulous. As he faced her, he knew she meant it. His next words were a warning. “Tabitha, ye must choose to ignore my affairs.”

“I can’t,” she said simply.

His heart lurched, hard. “Then we are at an impasse.”

“Yes, we are,” she said.

K
RISTIN
L
AFARGE’S SENSES
told her her roommate was out as she unlocked and entered their small apartment. She was pleased, because the woman was getting on her nerves.

Her mother wasn’t there, either.

Kristin was alarmed. She hadn’t seen her mother for almost twenty-four hours. Where was she? “Mother? Can you hear me? I need to speak with you.”

Kristin took off her coat, crossing the living room, which was sparsely furnished. She’d left the front door unlocked—she did not fear evil, and why should she? When she heard the
door open, she turned, thinking it her mother. Then she sensed her roommate, Liz.

Liz smiled at her, then ducked her head and rushed into the kitchen. Kristin smiled. Her roommate was afraid of her. Liz was starting to speculate—and pretty soon, she might even figure things out.

Kristin laughed. She wasn’t worried, not at all.

“Mother, would you please get back here?”

There was no response, and Kristin sat down on the couch, taking her small laptop out of her briefcase.

Liz poked her head out of the kitchen. “Are you talking to me?”

“No, I’m not.” Kristin smiled sweetly. Liz paled and returned to the kitchen. She went online. “Well, if you’re listening, she went to Blayde in 1298,” she continued. “And guess what? I am going to get the powers I need to follow her there. Don’t worry. This will be over very, very soon.”

Liz came out of the kitchen, staring at her in alarm.

“Looking at me that way is not a good idea.”

Liz flushed. “Look, Kristin, this isn’t working out. I think you should find a new place.” She shifted uneasily.

Kristin sighed. If only the bitch had minded her own business. She simply stared at her, forming her black power into a noose. She slipped the noose around Liz’s throat. Liz touched her neck, obviously feeling something. Kristin smiled, pleasure beginning. Her mother had told her that one of her ancestors had been Satan’s grandson, centuries ago. It would explain why she could take so much pleasure in torture and pain.

She murmured, “Tighten, noose.”

Liz gasped, her hands flying to her neck as the invisible rope began to strangle her.

“Tighten, noose,” Kristin said, now breathing hard.

Liz reeled, trying to pull the invisible noose from her neck.
She staggered across the room, choking. Her eyes were wide with panic and terror, and they begged Kristin to stop. Kristin wet her lips. “Tighten, noose,” she cried.

Liz fell to the floor, her face turning blue.

Kristin stood, panting. “Tighten!”

And she heard Liz’s neck snap.

She closed her eyes and let the pleasure wash over her, moaning softly. Then she imagined that it was Tabitha Rose, the bitch, who lay on that floor, broken and dead. Her pleasure renewed itself.

It took her a moment to calm. And then she sat down at the laptop and booked the presidential suite at the Carlisle Hotel.

T
HE SUN WAS SETTING
.
The occupants of the castle had finished dining some time ago. Tabby had been able to hear the dinner conversation from her new bedchamber. Macleod had been angry when she insisted on a separate room, but he hadn’t taken a stand and tried to force her into sharing his room. She had decided not to go downstairs to eat, not because she had no appetite but because she did not want to sit with Macleod—it was far too tense between them now. A small girl had brought her meal up to her, although she hadn’t had to ask for it. Unfortunately, she knew Macleod had sent it.

She wished he hadn’t done that. She did not want to see him as thoughtful, but the gesture had been exactly that. Of course, she’d been given a full meal—while Coinneach starved outside in the stocks.

Tabby hugged her knees to her chest. She was seated on the pallet she would sleep on. The chamber she’d found was in Blayde’s south tower, directly across the hall from the north tower where Macleod slept. It was the size of a prison cell, but it had a window, which Tabby thought was a plus. There was no furniture, just a small stool and the pallet.

Downstairs, a silence had fallen, as everyone settled down for the night.

God, she was feeling so sad now. She felt sorry for Coinneach, who was physically suffering, and she felt sorry for
Macleod, who was a prisoner of his duty, his anger, his grief and, apparently, even his guilt. She was starting to realize why he wanted that boy dead. She was suspecting he wished he had died in the massacre, too. Instead, he had survived, and now he lived for revenge.

It made her feel even sadder. He was so courageous and so powerful. If he would walk away from that revenge and take his vows, he would be a hero. Wanting to help them both made her feel as if she was walking a very precarious tightrope, with no net below to break her fall.

Tabby was acutely aware that she could not stop thinking about Macleod. It was almost funny. She’d become obsessed from the first time she’d seen him at the Met, when he was hurt and burned from An Tùir-Tara—when it was obvious that he needed her. But when she’d seen him at school, she’d been so certain that the dark, dangerous warrior didn’t need her or anybody. She had been completely wrong. But the real irony was that from the moment they’d met, she’d wanted to avoid getting close to him, yet every encounter had deepened their intimacy. Their moral conflict was keeping them apart, but it was also making her see him and understand him as never before.

Why will ye nay comprehend my world?

Do ye wish to see me dead?

Ye said ye willna judge me.

She laid her face on her knees. She had to free him from his past. She felt certain he would become a changed man if she could accomplish that feat. If he gave up his revenge, he might even take his vows.

Think long an’ hard on whether ye choose the boy over me.

She had promised Coinneach she would free him that night. To do so, she would have to use her magic against Macleod. The only way she could get those keys was if she put a sleeping spell on him—and if it worked.

She was wondering if her spell to block him from reading her mind had worked. He hadn’t mentioned anything, but she had cast her spell with care. Hopefully any thoughts she had about Coinneach were now impossible for him to hear.

Tabby glanced at the chamber’s sole window. It was dusk now, the sky a dark shade of lavender, a few stars emerging in the purple sky. Right now, if they weren’t in this terrible predicament, she’d be in his bed, in his arms. She did not want to let her mind go there, but being in his embrace had felt incredibly right.

She flushed. She had ended their physical relationship, but a part of her knew it wasn’t over. How could it be, when she was so determined to help free him from his bondage? When she was so damn attracted to him? When he was the only man who had ever thoroughly and completely aroused her?

She stared at the darkening sky, sick with dread.
Was he alone?

She couldn’t imagine him refraining from sex, now that she knew how virile he was. But if he had taken another woman to his bed now, she would never forgive him, not if she went home and not even if she saw him again at An Tùir-Tara after two-hundred-and-fifty years had passed.

Her heart hurt, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had to stop thinking about him. She had to mentally shut down and forget about what he was doing, and with whom. Coinneach was outside in the bailey, shackled and in stocks. It was too early to try to steal Macleod’s keys, so she had to wait.

Resolved, Tabby got up, putting one of his red-and-black brats over her shoulders. She’d eaten exactly a third of her meal, saving the rest for Coinneach. She picked up the trencher.

Think long an’ hard on whether ye choose the boy over me.

She went downstairs. Most of his men were asleep on their pallets, but a handful of men were at the table, gaming. They
turned to stare at her, seemingly disapproving and suspicious. Macleod was not present; he had retired for the night.

Do not think about it.

She straightened her spine, ignoring them all while mentally daring any man to try to stop her. No one did. She crossed the hall. But at the front door, she heard someone behind her. Tabby turned to face Rob.

He shook his head. “No good will come o’ this battle, lady. Ye canna win. Ye dinna wish to turn him against ye.”

“If I win, Rob, he wins, too.” Tabby pushed her shoulder against the door, slipping outside.

It was a purple night, still cloudy, and only a few stars were illuminating it. She crossed the bailey swiftly, being as careful as she could be not to spill the ale. Coinneach had been sleeping, his position an awkward one, and Tabby realized he must be exhausted. Her heart went out to him. As she knelt, he heard her and awoke. He looked up and relief filled his eyes. Then he started.

Tabby felt Macleod’s huge, powerful presence looming behind her. Her heart skidded and she glanced up over her shoulder at him.

He reached down and hauled her to her feet, the ale spilling. Without releasing her, he took the trencher from her and flung it to the ground.

She had thought him preoccupied with another woman. She had been caught red-handed trying to succor his prisoner. “He is starving.”

His gaze was searing. “Aye, he is.”

She didn’t bother to try to pull away. His grip felt like a brand. She trembled. “He needs to eat. He needs water.”

“Ye’ve defied me again.”

Tabby tensed. Why did his power have to be so consuming? “Are you surprised? You know where I stand. I cannot compromise my values or my beliefs.”

His mouth curled mirthlessly. “Nor can I.”

They were at an impasse.

“Come,” he said.

Before she could answer, he was pulling her with him back toward the hall, his strides long. She had to run to keep up with him. “Where are we going?” she cried, alarmed.

He didn’t answer.

When he started toward the north tower, she realized where they were going. She dug in her heels; he did not stop and he pulled her with him. “I am not going upstairs to your chamber with you!”

He didn’t look at her, but his grasp tightened. “I’ve had enough o’ this war. ’Tis madness.”

“I cannot stand by and watch you torture and execute that boy while sharing your bed. I can’t do it, Macleod,” she cried as he dragged her up the stairs with him.

He did not answer her.

“Macleod!” she cried, as he shoved open his bedchamber door. “Are you going to force me against my will?”

He finally let her go. Tabby turned to run past him, out the door and into the corridor, but he slammed the door closed in her face, caught her arm and whirled her back around closer to the bed.

She paused in the center of the room, shocked.

He folded his arms. “There will never be force.”

He meant to seduce her.
Tabby was already acutely aware of him—she was always acutely aware of him. His words made her stiffen and vibrate. It made all those newly discovered pulse points come to life.

He slowly smiled.

She shook her head, her heart thundering now, her mouth dry. “Don’t do this. I will be furious in the morning.”

He stripped off his tunic, revealing his hard, scarred, aroused body, and flung it aside.

Tabby meant to look anywhere but at him, but her gaze had a will of its own. “I will not forgive you,” she warned. Her tone was unyielding.

“Ye’ll forgive me. If ye insist on war, we’ll war in the day. But not in the night.”

She was disbelieving, but she couldn’t stop her treacherous body from responding to the mere idea of a nightly truce and all that it entailed. Her skin was burning and tight.

“Or would ye rather I seek comfort elsewhere?” he murmured, and he was finally amused.

Tabby looked down. She tried to breathe and failed. He slowly walked over and she lifted her eyes. “I
hate
the idea of you with somebody else.”

“Then offer me comfort, Tabitha.”

They could argue tomorrow.
Her hand strayed and found his rock-hard hip where his hip bone protruded. He went still, except for that huge, quivering length. Tabby slid her fingers lower.

When she touched him, the desire was acute, blinding.

He laughed and pushed her down onto the bed.

Tabby cried out, seizing his hair, pulling his face forward. As she kissed him, he drove deep.

T
HE CHILD’S CHOKED SOBBING
awoke her.

Tabby jerked upright. The sun was high and bright, pouring through the closed shutters of the windows. For one moment, she didn’t move, recalling every impossible, frenzied detail of last night.

She had surrendered to Macleod with more than her body last night. She flushed. She’d been the insatiable one. And it had been wilder and more intense than ever—perhaps because of their differences, their war. He’d been so triumphant and he’d let her know, repeatedly, who was in control and who had won. But she hadn’t minded, oh, no.

In fact, she’d been so insatiable that she’d forgotten to steal his keys when they’d finally calmed. She’d fallen asleep, not even thinking about Coinneach.

She had missed the perfect opportunity to steal those keys, and she didn’t know how she felt about that—just as she wasn’t at all certain how she felt about giving in to him last night. It was late in the morning, a new day. She probably shouldn’t have succumbed to him last night, but she had. Had their truce only applied to last night? She wouldn’t mind a rational debate in the broad light of day. Maybe making love last night could be turned into an opportunity to discuss their differences.

Tabby slowly got up, opening the shutters. Outside, it was a magnificent day, the skies azure and cloudless. The ridges to the southeast were thick with forests, and glittered as bright as emeralds in the sun. Now what? she wondered. Last night, he had wanted sex and he’d gotten it. The problem was, she had no regrets, not on that score. But what she did regret was his ignoring her express wishes and refusing to discuss Coinneach and his Fate.

And then she heard the soft childish crying, again.

Alarmed, Tabby went to the door and flung it open, expecting to find a small child there. But the hall was empty.

Tabby hesitated, uncertain. Was her mind playing tricks on her? First she had dreamed about a crying child, and now, she’d heard him. Except no child was nearby.

Or was she sensing a child who was somewhere else, the way she’d sensed Macleod as a boy on the beach? Suddenly she heard the child crying again.

Very concerned, she lifted her skirts and started down the hall. The sound seemed to increase slightly in volume, as if she’d find that small girl or boy weeping on the stairs. But when she reached the narrow staircase, it was empty.

She tensed. Last night, the spirit had not made an appearance. Tabby did not know what that meant, but she was certain it was the lull before a huge storm.

And her mind was playing tricks on her now. She was certain that someone—or something—was behind those tricks. Was it Criosaidh, Coinneach’s mother? What about that spirit from An Tùir-Tara? Was it involved in this mischief?

Tabby started downstairs. Peigi was cleaning up the hall with two other women. “Did you hear a child crying?”

Peigi shrugged. “Maybe ’twas young Seonaidh. He was here a moment ago.”

Tabby did not know who Seonaidh was, and she found herself going to the front doors of the hall, which she pushed open. There were several little children playing in the bailey, but no one was crying and they were too far away for her to have heard any one of them. As she watched them tossing stones at a stake, she heard the child again.

And he or she was closer.

Tabby stepped outside, wide-eyed, scanning the bailey, the crying louder now. She saw two toddlers with their mothers, the women leading a pair of milk cows, but she did not espy a crying child.
I am being enchanted,
she thought uneasily.

But the sound shifted, and her concern escalated. She glanced up at the ramparts, starting for the stairs leading to them. Then she realized that the child was in the arched gateway, leading to the drawbridge. The drawbridge was down, but that did not seem unusual so early in the day. She hurried to the gated entrance of the stronghold.

Tabby paused inside the dark, cold tunnel, searching the shadows there. No child was present, but he or she was crying harder now. Suddenly she worried that the child was in the cellars below.

“Lady?”

She turned. It was the handsome young Highlander who had been on watch yesterday. “Do you hear that?”

“I dinna ken…I dinna speak…English,” he said haltingly.

The crying had stopped. Tabby strained to hear. As she did, the child began to cry again, but this time, most definitely from outside the keep. Over the drawbridge and past the moat, she saw the rutted road she and Macleod had climbed up to the stronghold the other day. Beyond the road, the forests seemed thick and impenetrable, the kind of wilderness that did not exist in her time. Between the forests and where she stood, no child was in sight.