Spell of the Highlander

Page 83

She glanced over at Dageus. It was full dark outside and the only light in the SUV came from the faint green glow of the dashboard’s electronics. He looked a lot like Cian in the low light; same strong features, long hair, powerful body. His quiet respect and responsibility toward women reminded her of Cian as well.
He’d been searching for her for hours, he’d told her, when they’d finally crossed each other’s path.
At a complete loss for what to do upon discovering the SUV missing, Jessi had commenced methodically searching every street, alley, and parking lot in Inverness, hoping against hope that she would somehow miraculously stumble upon it somewhere. It was a terrible plan, and she knew it, but she’d needed to take some action, any kind of action, to avoid having a meltdown.
The truth was, she’d not really expected to find the stolen vehicle again and, near dusk, when she’d spotted it at the end of the next block, idling by the curb, she’d been flabbergasted.
She sprinted eagerly, stupidly toward it the moment she’d glimpsed it. Belatedly, she’d checked herself and stopped warily, a dozen feet away.
Then Cian’s descendant had stepped from it.
Hey, she’d blurted to his back, without thinking, I know you! What are you doing with our SUV?
The sudden fear that he might be a bad guy, too, had spiked through her then. But he’d turned and looked at her and his expression had been one of such pure relief that her fears vanished. Thank God! There you are, lass. I’ve been looking all over for you! he’d exclaimed.
Exhausted and starving, she’d nearly burst into tears.
She wasn’t all alone and lost in Scotland with nowhere to turn, after all. Someone had been looking for her. Someone was glad to see her.
He’d told her, with the first of his many apologies, that he’d only taken the SUV because he’d seen the Dark Glass in it and been worried about what was being done with the Hallow. He’d been home already when he’d discovered Cian in the mirror, and been sent back by his furious ancestor to find her.
His furious ancestor, he’d said. He knew. And he wasn’t the least bit weirded out by it!
Although Dageus had referred to Cian as “kinsman” in Tiedemann’s, Jessi had decided that Dageus must have believed they were somehow distantly related in current day, that Cian was an illegitimate, distant cousin or something.
Certainly not that he was an ancient ancestor who’d been trapped in a mirror for eleven centuries. Really, what sort of person would readily accept that kind of nonsense? She certainly hadn’t. She’d resisted until the last possible moment, only when she’d been forced to concede that her life was at stake.
But Dageus wasn’t having any problem with it at all. Which pointed to only one logical conclusion.
“So, I guess none of you MacKeltars are normal, huh?” she probed.
He smiled faintly. “Nay, not exactly. I’m fair certain my wife will tell the tale better than I, but I and my twin, whom you’ll meet shortly, are from the sixteenth century.”
Jessi blinked. “Did you turn too? Is that how you got here?”
“Turn?”
“Into a dark sorcerer,” she clarified. “Is that how you and your brother ended up here? Did you guys get stuck in things, too?”
Dageus made a choking sound. “By the sweet saints, is Cian a dark sorcerer, then, lass?”
“Don’t you know anything about your ancestor?”
“His name was stricken from all Keltar annals eleven centuries ago. Verily, until just recently when the underground chamber was reopened, we believed him a legend, naught more. Is he a dark sorcerer, then?”
“He seems to think so. I’m not so sure.”
“How did he end up in the mirror?”
“I don’t know. He won’t talk about it. Yet,” she added firmly. Jessi’d had several epiphanies today while hunting for Cian, terrified that she might never see him again. The day had stretched on and on, and, alone with her thoughts and fears, certain facts had attained a stark clarity in her mind.
One was that she wanted to know everything there was to know about Cian MacKeltar. All of it, good and bad. She knew from the parts of his stories that had penetrated her stupor the night he’d killed the assassin masquerading as Room Service, that he’d had a wonderful childhood in the Highlands. She knew also that, somewhere, something had gone terribly wrong. She wanted to know what it was; how he’d ended up in the mirror; how he could think he was a dark sorcerer when every time she looked at him, she saw light.