“Dammit, Faolan!” Maxwell whirled from the hypnotic blaze, putting his back to the fire. “I dinna have need of a wife.”
“Auntie Trish doesna want a husband either. ’Specially not one like you.” Ramsay stomped into the hall; his little hands fisted against the sides of his kilt. The boy’s lower lip barely quivered, matching the telltale tremble of his voice.” She got here by accident ’cause I screwed up a spell. But Keagan’s gonna help me find the way back so the doctors there can help Auntie Trish and make sure she gets better.”
“Calm down, boy.” Faolan rose from the bench, leaning forward with both hands atop the table. “And did your father never teach ye ’tis rude to listen in on other’s conversations?”
Maxwell raised a hand, frowning at Faolan as he moved to Ramsay’s side. “Let the boy alone, Faolan. He’s just defending his aunt.” He gave Ramsay’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “A fine quality, boy. Always protect your women.”
“Ramsay.”
Maxwell turned and faced the archway leading to the stairs. Something was wrong. He sensed a darkness in Ciara’s tone. Brow furrowed; Ciara stood twisting a towel between her hands.
Stepping out of the shadow of the stone arch, Ciara’s knuckles whitened as she tightened her hold on the towel. “Ramsay. Ian has saddled the horses so the two of you can take them out for a bit of exercise. Dress warm. I’ve put some of Keagan’s winter woolens on the peg in the bathing room. You can change your clothes there.”
“Sweet!” Ramsay bolted from the room, his excited war whoops echoing to the rafters.
Maxwell waited until Ramsay’s joyous cries faded to uncomfortable silence. Turning back to Ciara, he braced himself. He didn’t know what news she was about to share but from the shadow of worry darkening her face, it couldn’t be good.
“If we don’t find a way to heal Trish”—Ciara paused, bowed her head, and drew in a slow deep breath. Lifting her chin, she swallowed hard and barely shook her head—“Ramsay will not have anyone to protect.”
A sick feeling turned to lead in the pit of Maxwell’s stomach. He knew Trish’s color hadn’t been good for the past few days but he’d hoped against all that he knew about battle wounds that his instincts were wrong this time. For once in his long, adventurous life, he hated being right. “Is there nothing we can do to save the lass? The boy will be devastated if she dies.”
Ciara glanced at Faolan, then turned a thoughtful gaze to Maxwell. “Keagan has a theory.”
“God’s teeth, here it comes,” Faolan mumbled, raking both hands through his hair.
Ciara pursed her lips and turned her back to Faolan but not before fixing him with an irritated look. “Keagan feels the reason Trish has done so poorly is because her natural magic is latent and the strength of her soul remains anchored in her original strand of time rather than staying with her physical presence in this reality. He thinks her spirit has been stretched too thin…” Ciara’s voice trailed off, leaving them all to draw their own conclusions as to what would happen if Trish’s spirit snapped.
“Latent magic? A soul’s anchor?” Maxwell frowned and moved closer to the hearth. Ciara’s disheartening announcement lent a chill to the room. “What the hell do ye mean by latent magic?”
“Are ye sure, Ciara?” Faolan asked. “This is a cruel joke if ye’ve chosen to stage Trish’s impending death just to lure Maxwell to the altar.”
“I will deal with you later for such an accusation, husband.” Ciara’s tone took on a dangerous pitch as she scowled at Faolan. Turning back to Maxwell, her face softened as she took a deep breath. “Those who fully embrace their mystical heritage survive time travel much better than those who do not.” Ciara paused, shook out the twisted cloth in her hands, and folded it neatly into a small square. “Look how well young Ramsay did. The boy was up and around within minutes.”
Suspicion tingled across the back of Maxwell’s neck. Although it might be cruel, Faolan made a valid point. When Ciara made up her mind about something, she’d doanythingto see it done. Maxwell pursed his lips and stroked his mustache as he searched her face for the truth.Dammit.The woman knew how to mask her emotions. God help Faolan with his wife. Maxwell nodded as he continued stroking his beard. Perhaps ’twould be safest for now to play along. How else could he gather information? “Aye. Ramsay was alert and running around with Keagan before Trish ever came to. What’s yer point, Ciara?”
Ciara hugged the folded cloth to her chest and meandered slowly across the room. “Keagan feels if we can meld Trish’s latent magic and her soul to another strong soul already anchored in this time, her natural powers will come to the surface and her strength will return. Her spirit needs a comforting refuge in this time.”
Faolan snorted, then turned the sound into a hacking cough when Ciara shot him a warning glare.
“Ye know I have no magic, Ciara. How could my spirit be a comforting refuge?” Maxwell backed against the stones of the hearth and crossed his arms like a shield over his chest.
“You do have a bit of magic, Maxwell, and a heart big enough to shelter another.” Ciara took a step closer, wringing the cloth between her hands as she walked across the room. “Do you not recall blocking my magic when I tried to pull the wool of suggestion across your mind?”
“’Twas a reflex, woman!” Maxwell waved a hand in Faolan’s direction. “Your husband nettled me with that infernal nonsense the entire time we were young lads. I finally learned to close my mind to any magical suggestion because I grew tired of stepping off cliffs and plunging me arse into the deepest parts of an icy loch.”
Faolan shook with a low rumbling chuckle. “It did take him quite a while to learn to block the magic. I doused him at least every other day.”
Ciara rolled her eyes and turned her back to her husband, facing Maxwell instead. “But the point is you did learn how to block the energy. You havesomemystical powers, Maxwell. Most people do. They just don’t know how to tap into it.”
Maxwell scrubbed both hands over his face. So this was her plan. She knew if Trish’s life was on the line, he’d have no choice but to do whatever she said. Honor demanded it. Damn, the stubborn woman and her conniving ways. How the hell did Faolan survive her? Blowing out a defeated breath, Maxwell dropped his hands to his sides. “What do ye propose we do? What does Keagan suggest?”
“Nothing as unpleasant as jumping into an icy loch,” Ciara assured with a smile. “My talented son said all we must do is a simple intertwining of your souls.”
“An intertwining of souls,” Maxwell repeated. “May the goddess Brid protect us all,” he added under his breath.
ChapterSix
Searing pain stabbed through her right side every time she sucked in a breath. Shallow breathing eased the misery until her lungs ached for more air. Trish steeled herself against the imminent pain.Crap…this is gonna hurt.She inhaled deeper, flinching at the now familiar agony of jagged bone tearing into tender flesh. Rolling her head to one side on the sweat-drenched pillow, Trish continued breathing in short erratic puffs.Dammit.Who the hell set off that jackhammer ratcheting inside her skull? The dull pound pulsed in sync with every beat of her heart. The nauseating ache drummed from the base of her neck all the way up the back of her skull and burned into the back of her eye sockets. Hot tears squeezed out from under her closed eyelids.Son of a bitch!Even tears hurt.
