Dark Victory (27 page)

He jerked. “What did ye say?”

“Let me help you,” she implored. “I love you, Macleod. You have never failed me and you never will! You did not fail your father, your mother, your family. You did your best to defend them—you were only a boy. And you defended me. I am alive because of you!”

“I would die fer ye…I will die fer ye, Tabitha.”

Was he telling her that he loved her? Or was he telling her something else?

“The boy failed them…I willna fail ye.”

“He didn’t fail.”

“I hate that boy!” Macleod raged, twisting away from her.

Tabby started to cry for him. “I love him,” she said.

He whirled. “Ye love me!”

“I love that lost little boy and I always have and I always will. He is a hero—my hero—just as you are!” She went to him and took his face in her hands. “Macleod, I know you would die to save me, if you had to, but dying won’t bring them back. And I won’t let you die—no one is dying here!” Tabby realized his eyes were moist.

A long moment passed as he breathed hard, trembling. “Criosaidh’s ghost must be stopped.”

Tabby tensed. It was almost as if she could read his mind, she thought, because she knew he was also thinking about failing to destroy Criosaidh that day. He wanted her destroyed still. “We can’t change what is meant to be. She’s not meant to die now. She will be at An Tùir-Tara…with me.”

His face hardened.

Tabby cried out, “Haven’t you learned your lesson? They took your powers from you when you needed them most!”

“I canna stand by an’ wait fer evil to destroy ye.”

“Stop!” She touched his mouth. “I can accept Fate. You have to, too. Macleod, even if it takes me a hundred years, I am going to convince you that the massacre is not your fault—and that this is not your fault, either.”

His eyes softened fractionally and his mouth shifted just as much. “We are at an impasse, Tabitha.”

In that moment, she loved him so much that it hurt. “We really don’t know what happens at An Tùir-Tara. It’s a long time from now. Let’s just take this one day at a time. We’ve been through hell. We need a respite. And…I need you, Macleod.”

He unwrapped the cloth and the gold pendant glowed brightly in his palm. “Ye’ll take this now. Ye’ll wear it an’ it will keep ye safe.”

Tabby stared at the bright gold palm, feeling its powerful
magic more strongly than ever before. More tears came, filling her vision. Of course she would accept it now—but at what cost? “Whatever you are planning, please don’t do it.”

He walked behind her and lifted her hair, settling the necklace around her throat, the pendant warm on her skin in the neckline of her dress. He dropped her hair and clasped her shoulders from behind and spoke against her ear. “It suits ye, Tabitha.”

Tabby felt how hot and hard he was, and how desperate. He wanted her, but his urgency meant something terrible. She turned to face him and found herself in the circle of his arms. “Tell me what you intend, damn it!”

He pulled her close and murmured, “To make love to ye.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” she cried, afraid. “You’re giving me the pendant as if this is goodbye.”

“If ye keep the pendant,” he said hoarsely, “I will always be able to find ye.”

He abruptly lowered his face, claiming her mouth frantically with his. Tabby was so afraid for him, but as their mouths fused, it felt as if it had been so long. She seized his shoulders, kissing him back desperately, so hard their teeth grated and she tasted his blood.

He bent her backward, over the bed, lifting up her gown. Tabby raised her leg high, hooking her calf over his waist, the movement familiar and natural now. He grunted, the sound harsh and sexual, triumphant. Tabby couldn’t stand the anticipation. He knew. As her back hit the mattress he smiled and plunged into her. Their union was so intense, so powerful and so right that Tabby cried out, instantly overwhelmed with the power of their love. And so much pleasure began.

He gasped her name and somehow Tabby opened her eyes, reeling in the blinding rapture. Their gazes met. She clasped his face. “I love you.”

His eyes blazed. And he gasped and she felt his seed, hot and burning, as he joined her. He murmured her name, and then he held her, hard, as they soared wildly through the stars together.

But it didn’t last. They were barely over the precipice when he stilled, only his mouth moving as he kissed her cheek and ear. It was never over so quickly. It took her one heartbeat to become sane and know this was some kind of ending—a goodbye. “Why are you giving me the pendant now? Why do you think that, with it, you won’t lose me? Damn it!” She hit his shoulders repeatedly.

He stroked her hair, once, and got up from the bed. “I must do what I must do, Tabitha. I plan to come back to ye. If I dinna, summon MacNeil to take ye home.”

“No!” She rose to her feet.

“I’m going to An Tùir-Tara to finish this once an’ fer all.”

A
LTHOUGH HE HAD
only just been given the power to leap, he was confident that he had mastered it—as long as the gods did not interfere with him now. The landing dazed him but he was prepared for that. As he opened his eyes, the light was blinding. He was in Melvaig’s large central courtyard but the sky above was on fire.

And even though stone could not burn, chunks of the gray stone slabs were falling from the sky, and the rocks were ablaze, sizzling as they slammed down, only to burn holes into the bailey ground. Men, women and children were running for the castle’s front gates, screaming in terror and trying to escape the inferno. Macleod pushed himself to his feet, searching Melvaig with his senses for Tabitha. He felt her above him, where there was so much hatred and evil. She was in the central tower.

Tabitha screamed, the sound bloodcurdling.

Criosaidh roared in answering rage, the sound triumphant.

And the tower swayed in the fiery night and more blazing stone blocks sheared from it, crashing to the earth below.

He was afraid he was too late. Macleod ran for the tower and pounded up the narrow stairs. As he reached the uppermost landing, the heat from the fire inside the tower chamber intensified, but that was not why he faltered. A fire wall blazed, dividing the tower chamber in half. Tabitha was on one side, Criosaidh on the other. A man stood on the threshold, blocking him from entering the room.

Macleod breathed hard, shocked as the man shouted Tabitha’s name. He wanted to rush forward and help Tabitha, but he didn’t dare, for he recognized the man.

He had just encountered himself.

And suddenly he did not think he could breathe.

Suddenly his knees felt weak, as did his entire body.

Was this what happened to a person if he encountered himself in another time? Was this why it was forbidden?

He reached out to steady himself as his older self screamed Tabitha’s name, as Criosaidh taunted them. And Tabitha was trapped against the far wall by the fire, the flames dangerously close to her velvet skirts.

He was terrified for her and he knew without attempting to help her that he was suddenly powerless. No one had seen him and he had the sudden certainty that they could not see him, even though he was there. As he held the wall with one hand, he was determined to find his power, and he tried to blast Criosaidh. But he had been right, he had no power; in fact, he couldn’t even stand up. It became harder and harder to breathe, but not because of the smoke. And he could barely decipher their words as they fought.

But just before he collapsed, Tabitha looked right at him.

He didn’t know if she saw him or sensed him, but he thought he heard her whisper, “No.”

And as he finally crumbled to the floor, he saw the fire wall shifting from Tabitha to Criosaidh, and he felt his older self
using his mind to help her with her magic. But Criosaidh was casting her spell and Tabitha was starting to helplessly cry, tears slipping down her face. He was terrified of what this signified.

But he felt the terror in the other man, too, shockingly—sickeningly. And as his fear grew, so did Macleod’s, and their feelings of horror became one. He felt himself slipping away, as if dying, the entire grotesque tragedy becoming more and more distant, yet he was in Macleod’s mind now, in his heart and his soul. He felt his every thought, all of his fear, and the power of his love.

Was he dying? Was he dead? Was he now disembodied, and a part of his future self?

“Fire be hungry, fire be quick, get the Macleod bitch,”
Criosaidh said harshly.

Even as she spoke, he knew, and he roared “No!” while blasting the black witch again. This time, taken unawares, she gasped in pain and was driven back into the untouched wall, but it didn’t matter.

Tabitha went still, as the flames circled her.

He seized Criosaidh. “Stop the fire or die!”

She sneered at him and vanished.

Tabitha screamed.

In horror, he turned and saw her lavender velvet gown on fire. And then his wife was engulfed in the flames, only a portion of her pale, frightened face visible to him.

I love you…

He knew these were her last, dying words.

But she did not finish speaking. Instead, the fire erupted, reaching the tower roof, consuming her completely.

“Tabitha!” he screamed.

Then the fire was gone, and there was only the charred ruin of the tower room.

He could not breathe. He could not move. In shock, he stared.

And across the room, upon the floor, he saw the gold necklace she had worn for two-and-a-half centuries, the amulet he had given her. The talisman was an open palm, a pale moonstone glittering in its center.

It had survived the fire, untouched and unscarred; his wife, who had powerful magic, had not.

“Tabitha,” he moaned. And it struck him then, in the most shattering moment of his life, that she was gone.

“No!” He leaped into time, vanishing.

On the floor, Macleod lay still, sensation returning to his body, his limbs. The smoke was so thick now he choked, and his mind returned to life. The sensation of becoming separate from his future self hurt, as if he was physically being ripped in two. Slowly, he sat up.

And then he began to tremble.

He had leaped through time to finish Criosaidh and save Tabitha. Instead, he had watched her die.

T
ABBY RAN INTO THE HALL
. “Good,” she cried, the moment she saw Nick and Jan. “You haven’t left!”

“Where’s the hubby?” Nick asked quietly, now clad in fatigues and a vest. A pair of packs was on the table.

“He’s gone to 1550 to get rid of Criosaidh, once and for all!”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. “He went to An Tùir-Tara?”

Tabby seized his sleeve. “What do you know about the fire?”

“Your sister seems to think you might wind up there eventually.”

Tabby went still. Leave it to Sam to be hot on the trail of the exact same lead that she was chasing. Nick probably knew exactly what happened during the fire. “Nick, I don’t know how you time-travel, but Macleod is defying the universe with his
actions and I have to stop him before he winds up in the kind of trouble he can’t get out of. I need to get to An Tùir-Tara.”

Nick smiled at her. “What do I look like, a yellow cab with a supersonic engine?”

“Please,” Tabby said.

Jan came forward. Tabby had only met her once or twice, and didn’t know her at all, but she said to Tabby, “Do you know how dangerous it is to run around in history, out of your time? You shouldn’t even think about it. People go back and are never heard from again. And there are worse things than getting lost in time—like dying in another time! You’re lucky you’re here and okay. Apparently, this is your Fate. I wouldn’t press my luck if I were you.”

“You’re not me,” Tabby said sharply. “And I know this—Macleod isn’t supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be fighting the war on evil here in 1298. Nothing good can come of his leap. Nick?”

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “Jan and I are going back to Melvaig, on the off chance that Kristin is still there. If she’s not, our time has run out and we’re going back to the Big Apple. Now, if you want a lift in that direction, I’ll help you out.”

Tabby was so upset she didn’t respond. Nick hefted a pack and handed it to Jan, who said, “Thank God these damned missions are limited to twenty-four-hour runs. I am ready for a hot bath and some really good wine.”

Tabby was enraged that they would not lift a finger to help her out.

“I have a feeling he’ll be back,” Nick said, by way of consolation.

When they were gone, she walked over to the table and sank down there. No good was going to come of Macleod trying to interfere with history and she was terrified for him. What if he encountered his sixteenth-century self? Would he
implode? That would change history, all right! And she was stuck at Blayde in 1298. That was unacceptable.

She would have to try to use magic to get to him, she thought. Maybe she’d be lucky, because her magic seemed to be getting stronger by the day.

A noise from the staircase made Tabby turn.

“You don’t need to use magic,” Kristin said. “I’ll take you to An Tùir-Tara.”

Very slowly, Tabby stood up. “And what do you get out of it?”

She smiled. “Your death.”

Melvaig, Scotland
June 19, 1550

H
E REMINDED HIMSELF
that he would go home to the thirteenth century, where Tabitha was alive. But instead of doing that, he sank down on the stairs, shocked.
Tabitha would die at An Tùir-Tara.

He could not move and he could barely think. He was consumed with grief. But all he had to do was return to Blayde in the thirteenth century and she would be there, waiting for him. A sense of confusion began. He could not live without her. Nothing had ever been as clear. He loved this woman. But he hadn’t had the power to prevent her death—not now, and not as an older, even more powerful man.

He breathed hard and realized he was crying.

Watching Tabitha die was something he would never forget.

Even if they spent two-and-a-half centuries together, he could not watch her die again. An Tùir-Tara had to change! But how could he possibly accomplish that?

He began to tremble, rage joining the grief and the guilt. Was her death written? If so, he would never forgive the gods!

A shadow fell across the dark stairwell. Macleod took another breath and somehow looked down the stairs. MacNeil stood there. His fury knew no bounds now. But the walls didn’t
shake, the stairwell did not move and no stones fell from the ceiling.

He hadn’t felt the Abbot’s power, either.

Beginning to realize what had happened to him, Macleod slowly stood. “I willna allow her to die here.”

MacNeil’s face was as hard as stone, but the light in his eyes was pitying. “Ye dinna learn.”

“Ye cold, heartless bastard! Tabitha is kind an’ good. She deserves immortality. I will find a way to save her!”

MacNeil’s face never changed, but his gaze flickered. “Ye’ll never trust in Fate. Ye’ll never trust the gods.”

He wanted to murder MacNeil with his bare hands. He wanted to curse the gods loudly enough so that they knew he was through with them, so that his curses came true. “Never,” he snarled.

MacNeil stared, pity still in his eyes. “Yer temper doesna serve ye well, lad.”

“What do ye want o’ me now?”

“Ye should know by now that yer temper only causes ye more grief.”

“What do ye want?” he shouted. “Tell me or be gone an’ get out of my way!”

“We want nothin’ from ye.”

An inkling began, but he dismissed it. MacNeil had hounded him for most of a century, demanding he give up his vengeance and take his vows. The gods would never really disown him. Of course, he could never take those vows. How could he? Fate would claim Tabitha, taking her from him. Her Destiny was written by the Ancients. He would never serve them now and that was his revenge against them.

But Tabitha was waiting for him in 1298—and his decision to take his vows had pleased her more than anything else he could ever do.

He could not think clearly, he realized. He was too upset, too sick, too shocked. But maybe he could bargain for her life. “Tell them to change An Tùir-Tara. Let Tabitha live. Let her die a natural death. An’ then I will serve them.”

MacNeil made a dismissive sound. “Ye’re done, Guy. The gods dinna want ye to serve them. Yer own grandfather has disowned ye.”

He did not care—did he? Tabitha would care. Somehow, he would explain it to her. But to do that, he had to get back to Blayde in 1298, and once there, he would find a way to change Fate. He faced the fact that he was empty inside now. “Where are my powers? Did they take them, or is this the reason no Master should go back or forward in time and see himself?”

“When ye encounter yerself in another time, one of ye will lose power.” MacNeil stared. “But ye’ll never lose the power to leap, otherwise, how will ye get back to the time where ye belong?”

Macleod tensed. “I dinna have the power to leap. ’Tis gone.”

MacNeil’s face twisted in anguish. “I am sorry, lad. When I told ye they’ve disowned ye, I meant it. They’ve taken yer powers. Ye’re mortal now.”

If he was mortal, he would not be able to leap back to 1298.
He began to breathe hard. “I have to get back to Blayde. I have to get back to Tabitha.”

“Did ye think to defy us fer ninety-seven years and walk away unscathed?” MacNeil turned away.

“Send me back,” Macleod shouted, rushing down the stairs. And he tripped, falling.
He was a mortal now.

MacNeil ignored him, walking outside into Melvaig’s central courtyard, which was still in embers.

Macleod picked himself up and ran after him. “We’re friends.”

MacNeil looked at him sadly. “I canna help ye, Guy. ’Tis forbidden.”

It began to sink in. He had no power. He was trapped in the sixteenth century with no way to return to Blayde and his time—with no way to return to Tabitha and no way to ever help her survive the Melvaig fires. “I have to get back!”

“I am sorry,” MacNeil said softly. “I had such hope fer ye.”

“MacNeil! Send me back!” he begged.

“Welcome to hell.” Grimly, MacNeil blasted him with his power.

And Macleod was flung backward in time—by a mere hour.

T
ABBY MOANED
. But the world stopped spinning and she realized she clutched a rough stone floor. Breathing hard, she looked up and realized she was in a circular tower room. She tensed with dread, recalling everything.
Kristin had hurled her through time.

“Yes, Tabitha, you are in Melvaig’s tower.” Kristin laughed softly.

Tabby became aware of the amulet, pulsing and warm against her cleavage. She touched it, finding comfort, and got warily to her feet. Kristin stood there, appearing terribly amused. Her heart sank. “Is it June nineteenth, 1550?”

Kristin’s smile widened. “Actually, my darling, it is June first, 1550.” She walked past her and paused in the doorway. “Don’t bother trying to escape. The guards have been ordered to stop you by beheading you if need be. Although I much prefer being allowed to torture you to death myself. And I won’t be long. I want to tell my mother that you’re here.”

Tabby ran to the doorway as Kristin walked out onto the landing, where two soldiers stood. “Let me guess. Your mother is Criosaidh?”

“How clever you are!” Kristin laughed softly.

As a guard started to close the door in her face, Tabby put her body between it and the wall. “Wait! Why are you doing
this? Why do you want me to die? What have I done to you…to her?”

Kristin’s smile vanished. “In eighteen more days, my mother dies here in the fires because of you.”

Had Allie been right?

“I win?”

Kristin’s face filled with fury. “No, you don’t win. I won’t let you win!”

Tabby decided that now was not the time to try to decipher what would happen—and the fact was that she had seen herself die in the fire.

“I was five years old the day you and my mother had your last battle here,” Kristin snarled. “She died in my brother’s arms, horrifically burned, while I begged her to live. I am not a powerful witch, Tabitha, not like my mother. Unfortunately, my father was just your average mortal. I have waited
hundreds
of years to find the power to gain my revenge on you. But I have that power now.”

Suddenly Tabby thought she felt her sister, across time. “How did you find that power, Kristin?”

Kristin laughed. “I have my source! He is all-powerful and answers only to Satan!”

Tabby sensed the enormity of that evil and it sickened her.

“He gave me the ability to leap. He gave me the longevity I needed. I decided to hunt you while you were weak and innocent, naive and unsuspecting, in the twenty-first century, before you became as powerful as you’ll be in the sixteenth century.”

Tabby wished she did not believe her, but she did. A terrible source of evil was out there, and Kristin was hunting her to avenge her mother. Now, she understood the ghost’s burning hatred and malevolence.

This had to end soon.

Tabby trembled. “You’ve brought me here to murder me. You can’t change history, Kristin, not if it is written correctly. History can only be changed if it went awry, if it has veered from Destiny.”

Kristin started to laugh. “Oh, dear Tabitha, we live to change history.”

“What are you talking about?” Tabby cried.

“Days before the very first time the Japanese attacked the United States at Pearl Harbor, their plans were discovered and the bulk of the Japanese air force was destroyed before ever reaching your airspace. Only two of your ships sank and only a few dozen sailors died.”

Tabby gaped.

“But we worked long and hard to change history—and we succeeded! The Japanese victory is Satan’s work. Don’t you know that right now, on September 11, 2001, hundreds of demons are trying to make certain the Pentagon is destroyed along with the Twin Towers? Sooner or later we will rewrite the history of that day! You are so naive. Right now, we are making sure that the allies drown off Normandy—that D-day fails, that Hitler survives to rule Europe, that every Jew dies, that no Gypsies survive! We do not have rules. We live to change Fate! Anarchy is our bible.”

Tabby backed into the chamber. “Of course. Stupid me.” She wet her lips, and silently began casting a spell on Kristin to bend her mind to Tabby’s will. She had never tried to exercise mind control over anyone before, but her life was at stake. History was at stake—even if it was only the history of Melvaig and Blayde, of her and Macleod. Their future was at stake.

And she wanted that future with him. She wanted it as much as she had ever wanted anything. She would fight for it now.

She stared at Kristin impassively while silently chanting a mind spell. The amulet warmed impossibly against her skin but didn’t burn her.

Kristin looked puzzled. “Why are we talking about history?”

There is one will here and it is mine. Kristin’s will, bend to mine.

“Tell me more,” Tabby said softly. She was wondering if the amulet’s magic was helping her powers. She was acutely aware of the talisman.

Kristin looked at her, clearly bewildered. Tabby thought she was about to step into the chamber, and she prepared to assault her. But before she did so, a big, dark-haired man filled the doorway. He smiled slowly at her.

Tabby’s pulse skipped and raced. She instantly recognized a much older Coinneach. He had turned into a handsome Highlander. He had to be well over two hundred years old, but he looked about forty. “Coinneach,” she breathed. Surely he would save the day!

“Hello, Tabitha,” he said softly. “Are you trying to enchant my sister?”

Tabby froze. She’d forgotten that they were siblings. He was Criosaidh’s son—and obviously not exactly mortal.

Kristin started and her expression changed and hardened. “I almost fell under her spell.”

“I can see that.” He continued to smile, but it did not reach his eyes.

He hadn’t been evil when he was a boy, and he didn’t feel evil now. She would bet he did not have any demonic DNA. But his eyes were ice-cold and the look in them reminded her of Macleod at his most ruthless. She was afraid that he was burning with the need for Highland revenge. “Coinneach!” She needed him as an ally. Surely he would help her—he owed her. “I have to find Macleod. I helped you once, surely you remember? Please, help me now.”

His cold smile vanished. “Ye brought me bread an’ water. Ye cared. But that was long ago, Tabitha. I have been fighting Macleod for two hundred years.”

She realized he wasn’t going to help her.

“That’s right, Lady Tabitha. An eye for an eye. He murdered my father and I will bring your head to him now.”

She backed up. “You would never murder me.”

His eyes blazed. “Think as ye wish, as if it comforts ye!” He turned to Kristin. “If ye torture her, make sure ye silence her. I dinna wish to be annoyed with her screams.”

“Hmm, torture. How did you know I intend to enjoy myself fully?” Kristin laughed.

Coinneach looked at her with distaste and hurried down the stairs. Before he was even gone, Tabby put a protective spell around herself. He wasn’t into sadism, but she couldn’t count on him, either.

Where was Macleod? Wasn’t he ten or fifteen miles to the north at Blayde, centuries older and, maybe, centuries wiser?

“Is it getting stuffy in here, or is it my imagination?” Kristin murmured.

“I can breathe well enough.”

“Really?
Noose, tighten.
” Kristin smirked. “I murdered my roomie this way.”

Tabby tensed, briefly sickened by the snide remark, which she was certain was the truth. But she did not feel any pressure around her throat, which meant her protective spell was rock solid—for now.

“And I almost got your sister. Did you know that? I’ll bet my spell felt like a butcher knife going through her stomach.”

This was the second time that Kristin had mentioned hurting Sam. “I am not vindictive, but you will pay for hurting Sam.”

Kristin sneered. “Oh, I let the bitch live.”

Tabby was so angry she had to close her eyes for an instant. Anger would only interfere with her magic, and she needed her power now. She needed it as never before. It had to work.

Because as much as she did not want to fight Kristin—especially if Kristin really had the source of evil she claimed—there might never be as opportune a time. Once Criosaidh arrived, it would be two against one. And Kristin had hurt Sam.

She wished Macleod would sense her distress and help her out. She didn’t care if it was her Macleod from 1298, or the older man who was currently a few miles away.

But she couldn’t count on him, or anyone.

She could do this.
Tabby looked coldly at Kristin.
“Fire await my very command. Fire be my weapon and my plan,”
she murmured. And heat seemed to tickle her fingertips, the way it might spark from the tip of a matchstick. She glanced down at her chest. The moonstone on the gold palm was as brilliant as a laser-cut diamond now.

Kristin’s eyes widened.
“Noose, obey me. Noose, tighten!”
she cried.

There was no effect. Relieved, Tabby ordered,
“Fire arise.”

Fire blazed between them.

Kristin cried out.