Page 115 of Dark Embrace

Brie ran after him, catching his sleeve. “Your father…the Wolf of Awe?” she managed, praying desperately.

His eyes blazed, and they were Aidan’s. “Ah, now ye play a dangerous game! The Wolf was hanged centuries ago. The truth is right there in that pamphlet ye hold and in the tomb at Castle Awe.”

Brie began shaking her head. Her heart was screaming at her that this was Aidan’s son. Hadn’t Ian begged to go home? Hadn’t Tabby’s guides told her he was alive? Hadn’t Moray said so? She tried to think calmly and rationally—this was probably Aidan’s great-great-great-grandson—but she said, “Take me back. We have to stop it. I won’t let him hang!”

His eyes widened. He leaned close and said angrily, “Are ye mad?”

“I have to go back! He can’t die. And don’t tell me it’s written!”

He caught her, eyes wide with disbelief, as she began to weep. “I remember ye now. I remember ye from all those years ago when I was a small child being held prisoner, tryin’ to tell my father that I was alive so he could rescue me!”

She clung to strong, powerful arms. “Is it you? Ian?” She touched his face.

“But he never came, not for sixty-six endless years,” Ian said harshly. “He never came.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Urquhart, 1502

HE WAS CAREFUL TO STAY back in the crowd, for it was dangerous to step forth in his own corporeal identity, especially when he was expecting the Brotherhood to appear. A huge crowd had gathered for the Wolf’s hanging, mostly Highlanders. He had held and attended hundreds of executions over the centuries. Even in this kind of death, there was so much pleasure and satisfaction to be had. And while hangings were his least favorite form of execution—so little pain was inflicted—the crowd that gathered to cheer and jeer was always festive and bloodthirsty. This crowd was oddly subdued, and he could not understand it. He needed their sadism; he relished it.

Centuries flashed before his eyes. There had been so much power, so much destruction, so much death. But this past century, one single son had defied him. He hated his son with a vengeance.

It was too soon for Aidan to die.

He hadn’t suffered enough. Now his son wished for death, in order to protect the woman and find peace. He must change this day, use the woman as he’d intended. There would be little satisfaction in doing so if Aidan were not alive to know of it. He must never allow Aidan peace.

Thoughtful, Moray stared. Aidan had yet to be brought forth from the dungeons. When he appeared, he would be expecting death, but he would be stoic. There would not be any pleasure in those first few moments. His gaze sharpened. Frasier stood with some of his men by the scaffold, grim and severe, intent upon doing his duty. He was merely obeying his king. There was no pleasure to be had in feeling him, either. Then Moray saw the Masters approaching.

He saw Malcolm of Dunroch first—the Master whom he had almost turned, the Master who had almost vanquished him—and Malcolm was near tears.

Moray’s anger vanished. His lust thickened. He instantly fed off his fear and grief, swelling with delight.

Then Moray saw the woman by his side, a warrior for whom he had once had great plans. She was pale and in tears, too, clinging to Malcolm’s hand. He had considered having his revenge on Malcolm, but he was leery, because the woman made the Master eerily strong. Her power, while not as apparent, ran so deep that he feared it. More importantly, he feared their love.

Other Masters close to Aidan had come, as well. Black Royce and a small, beautiful woman with a shocking white power were with them. The golden Master was resigned and his grief was buried deep, making it far less pleasing, but the woman’s helpless rage amused him. She thought to heal Aidan; she had no intention of letting him die. He had heard many stories about the Healer, and he would enjoy bringing her to her knees, too—but not today.

The crowd shifted and murmured. Excitement began.

Moray saw armed soldiers bringing Aidan toward the gallows, his hands manacled behind his back. He began to feel amused. Did Aidan really think to protect Brianna by dying for her? Little did he know his suffering was only just beginning.

Aidan was staring blindly ahead, looking at no one. Then he jerked and looked right at Moray, as if sensing his thoughts. Hatred blazed in his son’s eyes.

Moray laughed at him. As Aidan was led up the stairs of the scaffold, Moray left the midward and hurried inside a tower chamber, bolting the door. He lay down on the small bed and willed his power to Frasier, so he could stop the hanging. He would do so only at the last possible moment, when Aidan was a breath away from death.

Nothing happened.

It was impossible. He tried again. He had been blocked. Someone had shielded Frasier from his power.

It was too soon for Aidan to die. He hadn’t paid for his defiance!

Moray sent his energy into the closest passing human, a husky knight.

Outside, he heard the crowd roar.

“CLAIRE, I CANNA STAY AN’ WATCH him die,” Malcolm gasped. His heart had been broken since he’d left his brother in the dungeons yesterday, swearing not to intervene. His brother, whom he’d spent the first twenty-five years of his life hating and whom he’d then come to love. He’d spent almost seven decades clinging to faith and hope, refusing to believe the rumors about Aidan. And he knew, in this last hour, that he had been right.

Aidan wasn’t evil. He was on his way back to the Brotherhood.