“I know, Septamus. This long lifespan will just take some getting used to. Now I will finally have time to read all those books.” She hugged the stodgy old Draecna, smiling as he grudgingly patted her on the shoulder.
“William, you know how proud I am of you and how very much I love you.” She wrapped her arms around William’s neck and squeezed, breaking her promise that she would shed no more tears.
“I love ye, Mother,” he whispered as he clutched her to his chest. “I am going to miss ye with all my heart, but I promise I will do ye proud so I can tell ye about it when next I see ye.”
“I know you will.” She sniffed and wiped a hand across her eyes.
“It is time, daughter. We must cast it now or I cannot assure that you will land at Taroc Na Mor.” Isla waved a claw toward the sky, where the sun and the moon shared the horizon.
“Tell Esme not to be angry with me. Someday, I hope she will understand,” Hannah reminded Septamus as she stepped into the center of the octagonal ceremonial stone. Esme refused to understand why she had chosen to leave. She had been quite adamant that Hannah’s duty to the people outweighed anything as foolish as heartache or pain. Esme had a great deal to learn about emotions. Hannah hoped someday she would see her again and that the young female would find the path to her feelings.
“I will tell her,” Septamus said. “For what good it will do.”
“Goodbye, daughter. Long life and peace be with you until we meet again.” Isla blew a cloud of shimmering flames around Hannah. The circle swirled and gradually tightened until it completely enveloped her body.
Hannah embraced the warmth of the spell, closing her eyes against the myriad of sparkling colors dancing in the fire. Her head spun and her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she felt a sudden lurching. She was headed back to Taroc Na Mor.
Hannah regainedconsciousness standing on a ledge overlooking the ocean just as a wave crashed over it. “Ugh!” With her back to the sea, she blinked away the burning brine, coughing and choking as she frantically ran her fingers around the lid of Taggart’s urn to ensure the seal remained intact. Isla had said she had no control over where Hannah would hit Taroc Na Mor. Thank goodness she had landed on dry land.
The wind lashed her wet hair across her face and doused her with more salty spray. She had to move. Now. At this rate, with wind and waves, the urn would end up taking on water. With her bags and the urn securely strapped to her, she made her way up the steep embankment and looked around. The rocky hillside seemed familiar. The tension in her muscles relaxed a bit. Yes. This was it. She had made it back. She spotted Taroc Na Mor a little to the south.
This was the cliff she had explored the day Taggart revealed his Draecna form. She turned, facing the sea as she squinted against the wind. It was hard to say if her eyes were watering or she was crying, but she had a pretty good idea which. That night, the night he had shown hisotherself, they had made love. The heat of that coming together flooded through her, making her ache for his touch again. That would never happen. Circumstances had kept them apart, even after the mating ceremony, and now her precious lover was gone.
She pulled the bag holding his urn up to her chest and rubbed her cheek against the carvings. Perhaps Taroc Na Mor wasn’t such a great idea after all. His ghost walked here as well. If anything, the painful memories were even stronger. “This is so hard,” she whispered, shoving the bag back under her arm. A glance upward told her rain was coming. Hard or not, it was time to get inside the keep.
Clumps of grass tried to trip her as she walked the short distance from the shore to the main garden at the back of the castle. A glance around the deserted grounds made her cringe. It looked as though the place had been abandoned for years. Taggart would be aghast. The bushes and shrubs had overgrown into uncontrolled masses of leafy monstrosities. More masonry had fallen away, exposing the eroding foundation. A part of the roofing had shiftedin one spot and looked ready to slide off onto the balcony on the second floor.
She rounded the main building to the inner courtyard. “This place is worse than it was before we left. Look!” She opened the sack holding Taggert’s urn, as if it was perfectly natural to talk to her husband’s ashes, and pointed it at the building.
When she realized how she looked, she tucked the box back under her arm. “I have lost my mind,” she informed the ivy trailing up the wall. The stone steps, once impressive and regal, had cracked and now sat at odd angles. Testing each one as she climbed, she made her way to the door.
The latch moved and clicked when she squeezed the handle, but the right side of the double doors didn’t move. Neither did the left. She set her shoulder against it and shoved as hard as she could. The wood gave way, sending her tumbling into the dingy hallway. Cobwebs hung like curtains from every rafter and bannister. She wriggled her nose, then sneezed. Musty and dusty. She had a lot of work to do to make this place a bearable home.
Home. She huffed a silent, bitter laugh as she placed the urn on a hallway table that appeared to be relatively stable. “We are home.” She rested her hand on top of the box. Heat? She eyed the ivory container, leaning closer and placing her other hand on the cover as well. It seemed extremely warm. Must have been the energy that sent them back to Taroc Na Mor. Isla’s spell must have heated the urn. She gave a hopeless shrug and caressed the box. That was it. Well, that and the fact, she had hugged it close since crossing back to Taroc Na Mor.
She frowned while glancing around the room. The urn might be warm, but the keep wasn’t. She had to find out if the gas was still on or at least light a fire in some of the hearths. It was almost dark. Her clothes were soaked and the damp chill had already seeped into her bones.
If she remembered correctly, the kitchen was the warmest room in the keep. She paused after picking up the urn. That room held even more memories. Intimate memories. She clenched her teethand took a deep breath. “I can do this.” She shook her head, knowing she didn’t have a choice.
With the box and her bags, she made her way down the dingy hallway. Her footsteps pinged on the tiles. The sound echoed down the passageways. She had never realized an empty house could carry so much sound. Halfway to the kitchen, she slipped off her shoes. She couldn’t handle any more castle acoustics. The echoes traveled for days.
With the ivory box placed in the center of the kitchen table, she tried to swallow her misgivings as she scanned the room. The spa in the corner almost jumped out at her, bringing all the memories with it. She bit her lip and forced herself to move on to the icebox squatting in the corner.
She yanked open the door to it and just as quickly slammed it shut. That was a mistake. Mouth covered, she tried not to gag. Scrubbing for hours might not get rid of that odor. It might have to be hauled off and replaced.
The cupboard gave up a tin of sardines and a slightly gnawed box of crackers. “Breakfast,” she announced to the room at large. As she drummed her fingers on the countertop, she spotted an unopened bottle of wine.
That’s what she needed. After a steadying breath, she steeled herself and risked another look at the spa. She would find some candles. Take a long hot bath and drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine. Two times a widow, she deserved a one-night pity party, and what better place than where she and Taggart had first made love?
She rummaged through the storage pantry with brilliant success. Fat pillar candles. A bar of soap. And loads of not too dusty towels to prop behind her head and dry off with when she finished. As she piled her bounty on the kitchen table, she noticed Taggart’s urn had slid to the very edge toward the spa.
“This table isn’t wonky.” She tested its solidness just to be sure then slid the box back to the center. An eerie chill tickled her spine as she noted the candle on its side beside the box. “You should roll to the edge,” she told it. Could be that the side of the candle was flat ordented or something. She picked it up and turned it so it could roll across the table. It didn’t. She turned it again and nudged it a bit. It still stayed in place.
“I’m just tired,” she said out loud, hoping to convince herself.
She set all the candles on the end of the tub, lit them, and tried to relax as the warm yellow glow filled the room. With a few minutes of beating on the pipes and the handles, she got the water flowing into the tub and piled the towels on the other end. As she turned to get a glass and the bottle of wine, the urn careened back to the edge of the table and almost toppled off.
“Stop it!” Hannah slammed her hand down on the box and kept it from falling. It was warmer than it had been in the hallway. After a glance at the ceiling, she laughed at herself. No wonder. She had placed the urn directly under the light. Those old bulbs gave out tons of heat. She sat the ivory box on the floor just to be safe. “At least there you won’t fall.”
