“No. It is not time. I warned ye there would be a cleansing.” The harshness of her voice sliced through the emptiness like a frigid cutting breeze.
Frustration overcame the sense of uneasiness already pounding in his chest. He had to protect his clan from Arach’s destruction. By the time the beast grew bored with torturing his people, they would long for the blessed escape of death. “My people will suffer much before they die. We have served ye well for eons, mightyCailleach. I canna believe ye would condemn them to such a cruel end. Return me so I might close the portal before the beast breaches the last of the stones.”
A heavy sigh whispered through the stillness, stirring the barest movement of air into the inky darkness. “Your clan must pay for the path it chose long ago. I can stomach them no longer. But you, my chieftain, you, I will not destroy. I have decided to set ye upon another path, a path of hope that joins with another gifted one of my choosing. The two of ye shall redeemthe bloodline of the guardians. The clan of the mystics will be reborn. The world shall change much before I allow ye to walk upon it again, my fine chieftain. The stagnant reality ye left long ago shall benefit from this cleansing. Return to your slumber, mighty Torin, for ye willna see your land again until the proper time.”
She dared threaten to destroy his clan and in the same breath, avow to join him with another? The crone dared breed him like a favored stallion? “I need no other to survive this existence, nor will my clan need to be rebuilt if ye allow me to stop Arach’s destruction. I have walked the path of foolish matchmaking once before. I willna walk it again.” Torin stood taller and lifted his chin. TheCailleachwould heed his words this time. “I canna believe my clan has erred so much as to deserve the punishment of one such as Arach. Return me now so I might save my people. They have served ye well, old woman. Dinna condemn them to such a cruel fate.” Torin’s jaw cracked as he ground out the words through gritted teeth. Surely, theCailleachjust tested him. Surely, she would never condemn every member of his clan to such a horrible fate.
“No. The time of your clan is over, my chieftain, but I havena forgotten what few good things they did. The truest ones who didna stray from my path shan’t go tortured or unrewarded. I shall gather the best of your people to my breast and shelter them in the next realm. There will I keep them till the time comes for me to summon the choicest of my followers to walk the land again. Return to your dreams until I call ye. The next time ye awake from my spell, I swear to ye, I will set ye firmly upon the path of your true destiny.”
“No,” Torin growled. His head sagged forward against his chest as theCailleach’sspell settled across him like a weighted cloak. He flexed his arms and strained against theconstricting pressure folding around his body. The crushing force methodically closed down his senses as he fell to his knees.
“No!” He roared, teetering off balance. Helpless frustration hammered through him as he crashed to his side. A scream of refusal caught in his throat as the spell increased in strength. He strained forward, forcing his heavy eyelids open against the power of the dark cloud closing in around him. He spread his hands through the powdery softness of the cool, dank loam swallowing him into its depths. A numbing coldness brushed across his awareness. He shuddered at the familiar tingle stinging across his flesh. His outstretched hands passed through the soil, not marring the smoothness of the ground. Rolling to his back, he reached out for the cold stiff form of his body lying stretched across the bleak darkness, arms crossed over the chest. If he could connect with his flesh, perhaps he could conquer the darkness. He battled to keep his eyes open, thrashing as the pull of the magic sealed his awareness. Blinding whiteness forced his eyes shut, and a deafening roar closed his mind.
Chapter
Four
When her feet touched solid ground again, her lips would follow to kiss it. Emma inhaled a shallow breath between clenched teeth. She swallowed hard against another wave of nausea steamrolling across her body. A cold sweat peppered across her upper lip as she pressed a trembling hand to the clammy skin of her forehead. She had never gotten this airsick before. Would this flight from hell never end?
Thank goodness she had a window seat. She slumped against the curved wall of the vibrating plane, squishing her sweat-soaked travel pillow into a less annoying wad beneath the crook of her jaw. More turbulence. If the plane jarred like that one more time, she would need a thirty-gallon garbage bag to hold the contents of her stomach. Screw that dainty airsick bag the flight attendant had shoved into her hands.
Stornoway. Emma opened her eyes as the announcement blurted from the crackling intercom.Hallelujah and hell yes! Please tell me we are touching down.The drone of the engines pitched into a higher whine and the change in altitude forced aquick swallow to pop the pressure in her ears. Thank goodness they were landing—or at least headed in a downward direction. At this point, she didn’t care which way this misery ended. She just needed relief. One way or another.
The jarring bump against the tarmac eased the suffocating clench of airsick tension around her chest. The skidding wheels and roaring reversal of engines slowing the plane sang to her churning innards. She just might get through the final leg of this trip without vomiting her dignity.
Emma held her breath until the plane lurched to a complete stop. Eyes closed and head pressed back against the cushioned seat, she vaguely listened to everyone else milling around in the aisle. Saliva returned to a manageable level in her mouth. The nausea faded to a bearable ache now that the motion had stopped. Pulling her eyes open, she straightened and peered through the cloudy window. So, this was it. Her new home for the next year or so. Her tender stomach gurgled an anxious response and added an acidic splash of anxiety up into the back of her throat.
The troubled haze of a stormy horizon stretched across the tiny window at her shoulder. Rock-strewn hillsides, stark and mottled in muted tones of greens and browns, cowered beneath a fierce blue-white sky. A plume of smoke, black and twisting, rose from an indiscernible point off to the right of the plane. The roiling column of angry clouds appeared to spill from between the base of two faded blue hillsides. Was that how they cleared the hillsides here?Emma squirmed to a better position, trying to locate the origin of the blaze shooting tongues of orange flames through the pockets of blackened smoke. From the look of the spiraling clouds rolling ever higher, the inferno appeared to be raging out of control.
Emma studied the smoke-filled horizon, then glanced down at the Isle of Lewis brochure poking out from the rear pocketof the seat in front of her. The fire looked to be in the direction of the circles of prehistoric stones. Pulling out the pamphlet, she spread it across her lap. Emma had scoured the internet, gathering all the information she could find about the island. She found the place fascinating, especially the part about the ancient stone circles of Callanish. She brought the colorful brochure closer to her face, squinting at the small print beneath the pictures of the mysterious landmarks.
There had been an odd familiarity about those silent monoliths. Quite puzzling, since she’d never seen them before. She promised herself that before she hunkered down and immersed herself in the start-up of the clinic; she was going to explore those ancient gardens of stone circles and see if standing inside the eerie memorials created the same weird sense ofdéjà vuas the photos.
clinic;“Excuse me, miss. Will ye be leaving us now or not?”
“Oh sorry. Guess I got lost in my thoughts while I was waiting for everyone else to do what they needed to do.” Emma scooted out from the seat, yanked her carry-on down from the overhead compartment, then sidled her way up the aisle. As soon as she stepped outside the plane, a whirling gust of wind slammed against her with the nose-tingling ocean scents of the island.
She filled her lungs with the cool crisp air, then shivered with disgust.Ugh.The unmistakable, fishy-briny tang of seawater swirled around her like a suffocating scarf. Emma snorted against the undeniable scent of a large body of water. Familiar talons of fear clamped down on her and squeezed until she nearly gasped.Damn.She hated water. Tightening her jaw and her grip on her bag, she white-knuckled her way down the rubber-coated aluminum steps leading to the tarmac.
She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to suck in another deep breath.Get a grip, chick. What did you think surrounded the freakin’ island—blueberry Jell-O?It had beenten years since the accident; she had to get over this thing about water.
Emma hurried into the airport and slogged through all the security checkpoints. Pulling out her itinerary, she scrolled through her notes, searching for the names of her assigned greeters. What were those names? The Seacrest Foundation had arranged her grant and lodging, tending to everything involved in her stay on the Isle of Lewis. Where in all this chaotic mass of information had she read the names of her sponsors?
“Would ye happen to be Dr. Emma Maxwell?” a lilting voice chirped behind her.
“Of course, she’s Dr. Emma Maxwell. How many other people do ye see standing in this godforsaken waiting area that could be a young lady doctor from the States? Have ye finally gone off your gourd, woman?” a gravelly voice sputtered and grumbled from the same general direction as the first cheerful question before Emma had a chance to turn.
The sudden vision of a pair of fussing magpies triggered an involuntary grin. Emma turned. She couldn’t wait to see the pair of bodies attached to the bantering voices.
“Mind your manners, ye old fool.” A rosy-cheeked woman of mature years hissed at a pot-bellied old man. He fidgeted just out of her reach, making his frame of mind clearly known with skulking looks from beneath the bill of a worn cap. After darting a glance in Emma’s direction, the woman edged sideways, then popped the grumpy man across his stooped shoulders with the clenched loop of her purse strap. Turning to Emma, she bobbed her head until the tight gray curls twisted around her plump face trembled with an excited frenzy. “Never mind my husband, Alfred.” She paused and fixed a warning glare in Alfred’s direction over the tops of the pearlized glasses perched on the end of her nose. “He’s just a bit off his feed today because he’s missing his favorite program on the telly. We’re the Duncans.I’m Moira, and it is our utmost pleasure to meet ye and welcome ye to Lewis.”
Emma grinned wider while extending a conciliatory hand in Alfred’s direction. Poor old guy. Yanked away from his easy chair and condemned to community service. “It’s good to meet you both. I’m sorry I caused you to miss your program, Alfred. I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule to meet me. You really shouldn’t have bothered. I’m going to have to get a rental, anyway. I’m sure I could’ve found my way to my lodgings if you and Moira weren’t able to pick me up. It really wouldn’t have been a big deal for me to settle myself in.” Alfred reminded Emma a great deal of her long-dead grandfather. The frowning man was short and squat with bushy gray eyebrows shadowing a pair of watery blue eyes that didn’t miss a thing.
Alfred brushed the tip of her extended hand with the calloused fingers of his gnarled, shaking fist. “Aye, well. We couldna verra well have a doctor who’s coming to help our children arrive and no’ be greeted, now, could we? The Christian thing to do and all, ye understand.” Alfred cleared his throat, snatched his hand away, and clasped it behind his back. He rolled back and forth from the balls of his feet to the worn heels of his scuffed boots with a fidgety rhythm. With a disgruntled clearing of his throat, he tucked his chin to his chest.
Moira beamed at her husband with a proud smile and stepped forward to pull Emma’s carry-on bag out of the crook of her arm. “Let me take that for ye, Dr. Emma. Ye dinna mind if I call ye Dr. Emma?” Moira rushed on without taking a breath or waiting for Emma’s assenting nod. “We’ll get your things loaded up into our lorry and have ye settled into your croft in no time at all. I’m sure ye’ll love the beachfront home we’ve fixed for ye. The view of the water will fair make your heart sing.” Moira fluttered a hand as she talked, greatly resembling a plump, broken-winged bird flapping against the wind.
Emma swallowed a groan and gritted her teeth, forcing a smile until her cheeks ached. A waterfront cottage?Ugh.Please say it ain’t so.Would it be rude to ask for different accommodations? The proud twinkle shining from Moira’s eyes immediately squelched that idea. How could Emma rob this sweet old lady of her obvious pride in providing such lovely accommodations to a visiting doctor from across the pond?
