1
Taroc Na Mor
Nursery of the sacred Draecna
Northernmost tip of Scotland
Still no wordfrom the stubborn woman. She must be oblivious to her worth. Taggart fisted his hands on the desk, glaring at the calendar. How long had it been? How many letters had she ignored? Precious time was running out. With her continued silence, she forced his hand. She left him no choice but to demand her attention.
“Thaetus, how long since we sent the last missive?”
Thaetus tossed a bundle on the table. Thethwackof the twined mail packet echoed to the vaulted ceiling. “Long enough for the signed receipt to return, stating she received it and disregarded it. Again.”
Taggart shoved his rolling chair back from the large mahogany desk. “How can she not reply? Not even a negative response. What in bloody Hades is wrong with her? Shouldn’t she be curious? Are mortals not known to be nosy wee beasties?”
Thaetus shrugged while peering down his beak-like nose over apair of dilapidated wire-rimmed spectacles. “If not nosy, I thought Americans were at least a greedy bunch. One would think she would thrill at discovering she had inherited a piece of land as fine as Taroc Na Mor.”
Taggart shoved up from the chair and strode across the lush carpet to the window. Hand splayed on the damp, cold pane; he stared down into the bleak courtyard below. Instead of lovingly, well-tended roses stood a thorny hedge shot full of weeds. Moss-covered flagstones broken and heaved out of place by invading roots of nearby oaks. Shrubbery in dire need of a trim was laced with marauding ivy that climbed higher, searching for a hold in the keep’s damaged masonry. A mournful howl filtered up from the secret caverns running deep beneath the castle. The estate appeared forgotten; the buildings abandoned and battered by the ravages of time.
He exhaled a ragged breath. His Taroc Na Mor, his precious sanctuary. In ruin. The stark vista tore at his heart. Very few individuals on this side of the sacred threshold realized the true importance of this acreage in the remote Highlands. Taroc Na Mor symbolized so much more than a bit of forgotten land. It was his race's beloved holy ground, and he had failed it in his duty as protector and lord. His helpless charges patiently waited in the depths below. It made him grind his teeth until his jaw nearly cracked. He slammed a fist into the wall. No more waiting. He would get the woman’s attention.
“Hannah MacPherson leaves me no choice. Enough of these certified packets and the blasted receipts she signs and tosses aside!” He turned from the dingy, frost-covered window. “I will go to this place, thisJasper Mills, and track her down. I will speak with her. Face to face.”
“When ye say ye will go to this place . . .” Thaetus paused. With his thin hand resting on the brass handle of the door, his wispy brows hiked to an expectant angle.
“I must use this world’s backwards conveyance. Get me an airline ticket, aye? I shall blend in with the general population as much as possible. We must ease Ms. MacPherson into the ways of Taroc NaMor. If we are to convince her to stay and become a part of our lives, we must not to frighten her away.”
“As ye wish.” Thaetus closed the door softly behind him.
Taggart turned back to the window. “Ye will come here Hannah MacPherson. One way or another.”
With a feather-light touch,Hannah adjusted the zoom on the camera one more time and double-checked the focus. There. Now, the car framed inside the glowing red dots had the sharp crisp edges she sought. All she needed now was to wait for her prey to show. When the joker who kept moving her vehicle did it again, she would have undeniable proof. Then she could show that hardheaded sheriff his parking tickets were a waste of time.
She settled herself more comfortably on the seat of her all-terrain vehicle. The knot in her chest relaxed as she allowed her gaze to wander around the peaceful clearing. She loved this little hilltop. The steady wind of early summer shuffled through the trees, sending the leaves fluttering. The pin oaks, maples, and birches swayed in the playful breeze.
With a tap of her watch, she checked for messages. Good. None so far. She had left her cell phone back at the house. Somehow, she always managed to lose them when she visited the woods. If anyone needed her, Millie would text her. Closing her eyes, she ticked off her list of patients. Morning rounds of all the farms were complete and everyone was in great condition. Farmer Donovan’s mare wouldn’t foal for another few days. She had stopped by the infirmary and checked on Mabry’s pups. The runt worried her a little, but with bottle-feeding and liquid vitamins, he should thrive.
She stretched her arms overhead and filled her lungs with fresh, clean air. Nothing relaxed her more than the exhilarating scent of the forest. Maybe after she nabbed a picture of her prankster, she would sneak a nap on that tempting bed of moss over there. It was a niceslow day. Just what she needed. And the perfect time to trap a determined jokester.
It had to be a couple of local kids one of the town busybodies paid off to pester her. She could hear them now. Plotting. They would all snicker while they planned where to push her car, so the sheriff would write one of his lame go-out-with-me tickets. A by-the-book transplant from New York City, Sheriff Matt Mulroney never wrote a ticket without reason. But a flagrant parking violation in front of one of the town’s few fireplugs, well, he would consider that grounds for a ticket for sure. And a perfect opportunity to ask her out. Again.
Fighting a yawn, she rubbed her eyes. The warm, balmy day worked its magic, making her drowsy. If not for the fact they were meddling with her, she would find these little stunts quite amusing. She was quite fond of the citizens of Jasper Mills. Except for the fact that every last one of them thrived on the smallest bit of gossip. The biweekly ticketing of her personal vehicle had almost become headline news on the local morning radio show. Apparently, she missed the memo, but it appeared the entire town had held a private ballot and decided she and Sheriff Matt needed to date.
She shifted on the seat and scanned the area through the viewfinder. Nothing yet, but she had all day. There was no way they could resist the bait of her unlocked vehicle sitting unattended on the square. They would show. She still hadn’t figured out which of them suckered poor Matt into the plot. Evidently, the town had notified him of the results of their find-Hannah-a-man poll, and he had willingly joined them.
“Not happening.” She snapped a twig in two and pointed it at an inquisitive gray squirrel peeping down from a nearby limb. “A man is the last thing I need. I can take care of myself just fine.” After all, she had done it for a while now. What did it take for them to get the hint? A sudden gust shoved against her back, pulling her from her thoughts. An old familiar ache filled her; the stab of loneliness had been her constant companion for the past four years. She turned to face the wind and closed her eyes to the breeze.
Jake. Every time she wandered through this part of the hollow, the wind nettled her like a nudging spirit. Jake must be sending her a message from the other side. This neck of the woods had been their playground as kids. She swallowed hard and pulled in a deep breath. At least she could tick off the years now without bursting into tears. Over four now, since Jake had made her a widow and forced her to swear she would spend the rest of her life alone on their mountain.
She shuddered and opened her eyes. The year and half they had been married seemed like forever ago. Curse Jake’s need to volunteer to patch up soldiers in Iraq. She blinked back the threat of tears. He had been a brilliant doctor. As an orthopedic surgeon, he had wanted to do what he could to support the brave soldiers fighting for his freedom. But Iraq returned him in a box draped with a flag, and she laid him to rest on their mountain. Now here she sat over four years later, trying to catch some little jackass hell-bent on making life difficult. She pulled in another cleansing breath. Enough wallowing. Time to focus on the task at hand.
She propped her chin in her hand and glanced around the hillside while idly watching the people milling around in the square below. Even though they went through her mail, eavesdropped on all her calls, and even placed and answered personal ads for her in other county papers, she loved every nosy one of the tiny population of seven hundred and nine, if you still counted Mrs. McCreedy’s nephew who just left for college in Chicago.
Her quiet little town sat trapped in a time warp, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Jasper Mills nestled deep in a valley of the Great Ridge Line Mountains, like a wild mushroom at the base of a tree.
“That’s it. Step into my trap.” She rechecked the camera’s focus as three figures sidled toward her car on the square below. Her mouth fell open. She shifted positions while following the slow roll of the car with the lever of the tripod and reminding herself to breathe. “You know better, Millie.”
Hannah snapped the pictures as fast as the camera allowed. Themore she took, the more satisfied she became. Her pile of ammunition mounted with every click of the shutter. “Determined little meddlers.”
