Spell of the Highlander

Page 73

“What’s with all these ’tis’s? I didn’t think Scottish people still talked like that,” Jessica said, sounding puzzled, as she stood looking from one to the other. Suddenly, she sucked in a breath and cocked her head, staring back and forth again.
“You have my name. Give me yours,” Cian said sharply.
“Dageus.”
Cian looked down at Jessica. “Did this ‘Dageus’ say aught untoward to you, lass?”
She shook herself, as if jarred from thought. “How could he? This is the first I’ve seen of him. Do you know—”
“He was standing at the counter where I left you. You were gone when next I looked for you, and he was there.”
She shrugged. “He must have gotten there after I’d already left. Cian, do you know that the two of you—”
Cian turned his attention back to Dageus. “You may go. But doona cross paths with me again, Highlander. ’Twill result in bloodshed. I doona care for you.”
“I doona care for you, either,” the man replied coolly. “But I’m not going anywhere until you release that salesman from your spell.” He nodded past Cian, where the salesman waited. Where he would wait dazedly until Cian was through with him.
“What ken you of spells?” Cian asked softly.
“More than you, I’d wager.”
“Not a chance. Stay out of my affairs.”
Jessica tried to interject, “Do either of you see the slightest re—”
“This village and all in it is my affair. This is my world, stranger,” Dageus retorted flatly.
“‘Twas my world long before it was yours, Highlander.” Cian’s smile showed teeth, but no amusement.
Dageus went motionless but for that intense golden gaze, scrutinizing Cian thoroughly. Again Cian felt a push at his mind, more subtle than the last, yet much more forceful.
He shoved back, much more forcefully, as well, and this time the man’s unusual eyes flickered the tiniest bit.
“You doona mean what I think you mean by that,” said Dageus.
“Thinking implies sentience. I see little of that in you.”
“Look in a mirror, you’ll see even less. I’ll have your clan name, Highlander. What is it?”
Jessica piped up, “Speaking of looking in a mirror—”
“You’ll have my clan name and a battle. ’Tis Keltar,” Cian spat. “And yours?”
“Keltar,” Dageus spat back.
Cian stared at him, stunned.
Beside him, Jessica exclaimed, “I knew it, I knew it! That’s what I was trying to tell you, Cian. That the two of you look alike!”
18
“Get back here. You can’t be finding out that you’re my kinsman and then just go stomping off,” Dageus snapped at Cian’s broad retreating back.
“Watch me,” the towering barbarian flung over his shoulder. To the dazed salesman, he ordered, “Pack it all up and load in the black SUV outside the door. Here are the keys. Lock it when you’ve finished. I’ll return for it anon. You will not speak of me or my woman to anyone.” Banding an arm around the curvaceous, raven-haired woman’s shoulder, he steered her toward the door. “We have much yet to do. Come, lass.”
Dageus watched in disbelief as his ancestor, Cian MacKeltar—he was assuming it had to be the ninth-century Cian MacKeltar standing before him, for he’d ne’er heard of any other Keltar with that name—prepared to stalk off into the Highland morn without so much as a “fare-thee-well.” Without even having offered a “good-morrow, kinsman,” for that matter.
Without so much as a blethering word of clanly tidings.
Without a single explanation for this incomprehensible happenstance!
Furthermore, the man was indiscriminately using Voice, left and right, as if no rules applied to him whatsoever.
“I assume you’ll be paying for those goods,” Dageus said pointedly.
“You assume wrong.”
With that, the massive, wild-looking, tattooed Highlander guided the woman out the door, the salesman close on their heels.
Dageus glowered at the closing door. Christ, his ancestor was a savage! No wonder he’d gotten such a bad name. He looked uncontrollable, and he behaved like a barbarian. And by Danu, the power he sensed in him! Raw, rich, potent magic flowed through the man’s veins, not blood. If the Draghar had gotten their claws into Cian rather than him . . .
He blew out a long, deep breath. ’Twas a damn good thing they hadn’t. Though he couldn’t fathom for a moment what might have prevented such a primitive, egotistical beast from breaking any rule he damn well pleased, including using the standing stones of Ban Drochaid for his own purposes.