The Dark Highlander

Page 115

Whatever Dageus had done that night, he’d accomplished one thing he’d wanted. The Keltar no longer bore the duty of guarding the secret of time travel. They were finally free of the immense responsibility and the temptation. Able, at last, to live simpler lives.
How Dageus would have loved that, she thought with a sad smile. He’d wanted nothing more than to be a simple man. To wear his clan colors again. And though he’d never said it, she known he’d wanted children. Wanted his own family as much as she had.
How could life have cheated me like this? she wanted to scream.
Steeling herself for the onslaught of yet more painful memories, she unlocked the door (wonder of wonders, he’d actually locked it when they’d left) and pushed it open. She went straight to the fireplace and ran her fingers over the cool metal of the claymore.
She had no idea how long she stood there in the dark, bathed only by the faint light of the full moon spilling in the wall of windows, but eventually, she tossed her purse to the floor, and dropped down on the sofa.
Later, she would brave the rest of his penthouse. Later, she would drag herself up to his magnificent bed and fall asleep, wrapped up in the scent of him.
Chloe-lass: If I’m not here with you now, I’m beyond this life, for ’tis the only way I’ll ever let you go.
And there it was. He’d said it himself in the letter he’d left her.
Chloe made a small, helpless choking sound.
And finally the tears came in a hot rush. He was dead. He was really, truly gone.
She curled into a tight knot on the sofa and wept.
• 28 •
Chloe was awakened some time later by an unfamiliar, persistent noise. It took her several moments to pinpoint the source, to understand that the scrabbling sound was coming from the door of the penthouse.
Rubbing her eyes, she pushed herself into a sitting position on the sofa. She’d cried herself to sleep and her eyes were swollen, her face crusty with tears. She peered into the darkness toward the door and listened intently.
Oh, God, she thought, horrified, it sounded like someone was trying to break in!
She listened a few more moments. Yes, that was it. She could hear the metallic grating as someone tried to pick the lock. She counted her blessings that she’d bestirred herself from grief enough to flip the inner lock when she’d come in.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought, suddenly exasperated, what is this? My year of misery? Is every bad thing that could possibly happen to me, going to?
She was not going to be victimized again. Period. Chloe Zanders had had entirely enough. There was only so much a girl could tolerate. She was suddenly dangerously furious at whoever was outside that door, daring to mess up her life even further.
How dare anyone give her more grief?
Dimly aware that she might not be acting quite rationally, but beyond caring, she slipped from the sofa, snatched the claymore from the prongs above the hearth and crept toward the door.
She briefly contemplated pounding on it, in hopes of scaring the intruder away, but swiftly decided that as isolated as the penthouse level was, the intruder might break in anyway and she would have sacrificed her advantage of surprise.
So she stood quietly behind the door and waited. It wasn’t long before she heard clicks as the tumblers slipped and the lock turned. Sucking in a shallow breath, she balanced on the balls of her feet, crouching low for a solid stance, and raised the heavy sword with both hands.
The door opened slowly and a dark shape slipped in.
Swiftly, and perhaps harder than she’d intended, Chloe whipped the blade of the sword to his throat. She heard a swift intake of air, and suspected, as sharp as the blade was, she’d cut him.
Good, she thought.
“Och, Chloe-lass, please put the blade down,” Dageus said softly.
Chloe screamed.
Keltar mates ne’er come easily to their men. Some travel distances too vast and strange to fathom, others travel but a short path, though a far distance in their hearts. Most resist every step of the way, yet for each Keltar, one woman will make that journey. ’Tis up to the Keltar to claim her.
Silvan lay the tiny tome he’d found in the chamber library upon his lap. It was the only tome he’d risked removing from the chamber before sealing it. Now, ensconced in what had once been his bedchamber and private sanctuary—the tower library one hundred and three steps above the castle proper—he’d finished reading it. The book did not name its scribe, as did most in a request for a blessing upon he who’d scribed the words therein, and was comprised of only a few dozen tiny sheets of parchment. Yet those few sheets, a compendium on the mating of the Keltar males, had been fascinating.