Taggart caught hold of her and cradled her to his chest. “Hush now, lass. ’Twill be all right. He has gone back to his place. His spirit will trouble ye no more.” He stroked her hair and held her closer. “Shh, dear one. Dry yer tears, aye? ’Twill be all right. I promise.”
She tucked her face into the curve of his neck and rubbed her closed eyes against his warm throat. “I don’t think he ever loved me as much as I loved him. I can’t believe I wasted all those years.” She hiccupped and choked on a sob. “Now I know for sure he never needed me like I needed him.”
For the first time in too many years, she allowed herself to sink into the comfort of another’s touch. She drew in a shaking breath, his scent fought away her misery. Some sort of spice. She pressed closer, breathing in again—oil of clove? Or maybe not. But it was pleasant. And soothing. Then it changed. She picked up the barest hint of a fresh sea breeze. She fought the comforting nearness, forcing her eyes open and pushing away. Men meant nothing but pain. Look what the last one had done.
He caught her up into his arms like a babe, stroking her hair as his heavy sigh rumbled between them. “Some never love as deeply as we love them, either because they canna do so or because they simply refuse. Come with me to Scotland, Hannah. I promise to protect ye and help ye forget. Scotland will heal yer wounds. TarocNa Mor will make all the difference. I promise. It will make yer life better.”
She sniffed and risked a glance up at him. Maybe she could at least visit the land and then return to her mountain. At least he couldn’t say she hadn’t given it a chance. “I will come to Scotland. For a little while anyway.” She twisted and peered down at the ground, then patted his chest. “And you can put me down now.”
8
The flames danced behind the grid of the gilt-edged hearth, their golden flickers the only light piercing the darkness of the room. Mesmerized, he stared unblinking at the glowing coals undulating at the base of the blaze. He traced his forefinger back and forth across his bottom lip, imagining the terror of her screams. He closed his eyes and brought to mind the delightful scent of acrid burning flesh while envisioning himself shoving her face deeper into the flames. His edict had been simple: Destroy the Sullivan line. And yet the woman still lived and breathed. Not only did she live, the Protector walked by her side and guided her to the holy Draecna birthplace.
Sloan pushed up from the depths of the sumptuous cushions of the velvet chair and stalked across the lush carpeting of his private chambers. What good did it do to surround himself with exquisite possessions when he could lose it all in the blink of an eye? He selected a gold-inlaid vase off a waist-high marble pedestal and smashed it against a mirrored wall. It appeared he had surrounded himself with more incompetent fools than priceless possessions. Frustration pounded with every footstep as he circled his silver-encrusted desk. Muscles tensed, he rested his hand on an octagonaljeweled box positioned in the center of the green velvet blotter. Teeth clenched, he hefted aside the domed lid and stared down into the depths of the gem-encrusted tomb.
Breath held, he slid his hands inside the satin interior and touched the glowing orb within. A thrilling shudder stole through him. He licked his lips as he stroked the oversized egg. The warm pebbled surface hummed with life; the inner stirrings of the incubating creature vibrated against his palms. A Draecna egg. The final cornerstone needed to assure his complete control of the realm portals. Stolen from the Taroc Na Mor nursery, he needed but one of the precious beasts, newly hatched and well on its way to maturity. The magically infused flesh and blood of a young Draecna was all he lacked to fertilize his clutch of synthetic eggs housed in the bowels of his keep. He was one creature short of propagating an entire race. A race that would bow to him. But the beast would never hatch at Tiersa Deun of Erastaed unless Hannah MacPherson breathed life into the egg or he poured her blood over it.
Between the Guild of Barac’Nairn and the Guardians of Taroc Na Mor, the Draecna race had survived for untold millennia. Sloan scowled, his mood darkening as he hefted the egg and cradled it in his arms like a babe. The slow, steady heartbeat of the incubating beast thudded steadily against his sternum. The hatchling lay patiently inside, waiting for the Guardian’s summons.
The sacred beasts powered the Portals of the Dimensions. Anyone allied with the powerful Draecna could travel across the webs of time and pass between alternate worlds. Who knew what treasures awaited him? In the past, many Draecna allies had returned with rare and precious finds from the different universes discovered on their travels.
As an ancestral home of the sacred Draecna, Taroc Na Mor also stood as the gateway between the realms. Hannah MacPherson survived as the last of the Draecna Guardians and the newest mistress of Taroc Na Mor. While she lived, the beasts’ eggs waited in stasis. They paused in this early phase of their development, waitingfor either her touch or her blood. While Hannah MacPherson lived and breathed, he could not gain control of the beasts.
Sloan carried the egg as he meandered around the room. Oblong, the diameter of a good-sized melon, the hatchling probably weighed a solid fifteen pounds. It glowed from within, sparking a red-orange hue as though a sunrise battled for freedom from the shell.
“No mere woman will keep me from this power,” he muttered to the embryo while stroking the egg. He tapped a blackened fingernail upon the flashing surface and continued his circling of the room. The creature stirred, its sliding vibration rubbing impatiently in Sloan’s arms. “I know, my little treasure. But we must bide our time. Trust me. I shall find the means to set ye free.”
“Tor!” he bellowed. “Where is that fool when I need him?” He walked to the window and glared out across the blackened cliffs surrounding the stronghold of Tiersa Deun.
“Aye, m’lord?” A bent old man trembled at the torchlit archway, eyes downcast as he wrung his hands in front of him.
Sloan caressed the egg and gave the servant a wicked smile as he turned from the starless window. “Tell Mia to prepare herself. Taggart returns to Taroc Na Mor with the Guardian and I am certain I shall have need of her services.”
Taggart staredat her dark lashes resting on her pale, smooth cheeks. He had failed to notice how amazingly long they were when they framed those fiery green eyes. His gaze lingered on the delicate curve of her jaw while she slept. The flight to Scotland took several hours, and Hannah had lost her battle against exhaustion. She seemed so vulnerable like this. But he knew this woman housed the heart of a warrior and the temper of a feral feline.
He shifted in his seat, glancing around the darkened plane. The close confines of the aircraft left him little choice. His gaze returned to her. To her full moist lips. Her softly twitching eyelids. It made him smile as he wondered what she dreamed. The steady whisper of herbreathing matched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. He eased over and traced along the delicate inside skin of her arm. Soft, cool temptation whispered against his fingertips as he smoothed them down to her wrist.
Sheer madness. He yanked at the crotch of his pants and balled his hands into fists. He was her Protector. Hannah was off-limits. And besides, he had sworn a vow of celibacy since the Mia debacle.
The rustle of clothing as she moved forced him to stare straight ahead. He didn’t have to look. The scent of her assaulted his senses. She smelled of wildflowers after a rain and of woman. A very desirable woman. He shifted in his seat again. Damnation, did they think men had an arse the size of a child’s? He couldn’t even spread his legs to give his cock room to breathe.
The silk of her hair brushed against his arm, and he risked another glance. She had curled to her side and now faced him, blouse agape, treating him to an unhindered view of the creamy temptation of her throat and the swell of one luscious breast.
“By the holy fires of Erastaed.” A groan escaped him as he covered his face with his hands.
“Are you airsick or something?”
He jerked upright, scrubbed his face, and shifted a bit, turning slightly away from her. “I guess ye could say I am feeling under the weather. But I shall be just fine. Forgive me for waking ye. Go back to sleep, aye?”
She yawned and stretched like a cat, plucking at the blanket pooled around her waist. “The roar of the engines always knock me out. I’m sorry I’m such lousy company.”
He stared at the blanket with jealousy. He would give anything to be that bit of wool. A swim in an icy loch was what he needed as soon as they landed. “Sleep, Hannah. That way ye will be well rested when we arrive and we can explore the land with yer full attention.”
She yawned again, tucked the pillow tighter under her neck, and snuggled deeper into the first-class seat. “Well, I appreciate your understanding. Especially since you paid for such great seats.” Sherubbed her nose, and her voice trailed off as she added, “You really are a nice guy.”
“Aye, Hannah, I really am.” He readjusted his pants and stifled another groan.
“This is as faras we go by car. The rest of the way, we must travel by horseback.” Taggart steered the tiny rental car into the lot beside the stable and turned to Hannah with an expectant smile.
