Defending Destiny (The Warrior Chronicles) (31 page)

He didn’t laugh or sound surprised by her wholly inappropriate subject matter, but there was amusement in his tone when he asked, “What’s number one on your list?”

She flushed, but answered honestly. It had been that kind of day. “‘I still owe you a blowjob.’”

Rowan stopped in the middle of the road, threw his head back, and laughed fully. He was bent over wiping tears from his eyes a minute later. Daisy refused to say anything more until he stopped laughing.

Rowan straightened, whacked her on the back, making her stumble forward, and said, “Trust me, little warrior. You won’t need to get to reason number two.”

He then started laughing again. She left him there in the middle of the road. The house was in sight and she had no doubt Rowan could find his own way. She was a few feet away when she heard him say something about luck and dogs and days, but she was too tired to take offense.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Gerry Butler wrapped up shooting Lauren’s documentary in the glen. He needed to take some stills of the dolmens and the stone circles of Temple Wood. One more day and his work there would be done, at least his work on
Mystical Scotland.
Someone else had been hired to do the editing, which was a good thing. The pain he experienced was almost constant and the long days were taking their toll.

Cell-killing illness did that to a man.

It also changed a man’s priorities. He’d learned that firsthand.

Gerry hit the send button on his computer and sent the rough draft of his cocktail book filled with photos of dilapidated barns and other decaying buildings, most in country settings
, to his publisher. Some of them were from his hometown, a tiny place in Iowa he’d only been back to a handful of times since his mother died during his first shoot in Chechnya. That war took a piece of his soul. The photos he’d taken still haunted him with their imagery of life and death and so much senseless devastation. Losing his mother while he was in that hellhole, not being there to bury her—well, that crushed his heart.

He’d been thinking a lot about death and decay lately. Hence the title of his book:
Going, Going, Gone.
It was a compilation of barns slowly falling apart, barns lying on the ground, nothing but fodder for the fire. In some ways, it was a compilation of the saddest photos he’d taken outside of war zones.

After tomorrow, his straddling of two worlds would come to an end. His choice had already been made. His true alliance solidified. All that was left for him to do was to deliver Daisy to the Arm-Righ. He got up from the computer desk, shut his Apple, and checked his weapons. Locked and loaded. No one else there was armed the way he was. The Arm-Righ’s Second had provided two semi-automatics and a shotgun
. Everyone else would be bringing blades to a gunfight.

He knew that he wouldn’t be able to bring the firearms into the castle—they weren’t permitted there—but that wouldn’t stop him from using them to get Daisy there. He secured the weapons and went down for breakfast.

One more day and this farce he’d been forced to live would end.

Tomorrow he would die.

… 

As tired as she was, Daisy didn’t sleep long. It was dawn by the time she crawled into bed. The second she did, Magnus pulled her to him without a word, curled his big frame around her, and kissed the top of her head. She had enough time to realize how comforted and safe she felt before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As angry as Magnus could make her, there was nowhere she’d rather be than by his side.

When she awoke, it was almost noon and Magnus’ side of the bed was cold. She quickly showered and shook her head after looking at the bruises on her arms and legs and lower ribs. She was tender, but she didn’t ache as badly as she had when she fell into bed. Why, she didn’t know, but she sent a quick prayer of thanks skyward. She really wasn’t that into pain. Not more than the occasional nip in bed, anyway. They weren’t filming that day so she skipped the makeup. Because she wanted to look good for Magnus, and he liked her eyes, she curled her eyelashes.
Good enough
. She tousled her curls and headed downstairs to eat. Warrior women ate. A lot.

She stopped short of the kitchen when she heard Lauren and Gerry’s voices, hushed and intense. Gerry sounded anxious, something she’d never heard from him. Gerry was usually flirtatious, outrageously so, teasing and light. Daisy didn’t think Gerry worried about anything. Why should he? He traveled the world doing what he loved. He was young, attractive, talented, and while not filthy stinking rich, he was more than well off. What he wasn’t was serious settling-down material.

“I was nineteen, Lauren. Give me a break. Things were crazy in Chechnya in 1995. I knew I couldn’t change it, the senselessness, the brutality…” Gerry’s voice trailed off and he sounded like he may have been crying. “I couldn’t leave her there, Lauren. I just couldn’t.”

“Did you have to go to the Arm-Righ?” Lauren asked without sounding judgmental.

Daisy had no idea that Gerry had known the King for almost two decades, or that he had any kind of relationship with the man.

“He was the only one I knew at the time who had enough pull to get forged birth records for Bella. She’s a US citizen now and has been on paper since I got her out of that deathtrap. I thought the King was a decent man then. He may have been, but he’s not now. He knows where she is, Lauren. I need her safe.”

Who was Bella? In all the years she’d worked with Gerry, Daisy never once heard him mention Bella. Then again, he didn’t talk much at all about his life. Daisy didn’t even know where he grew up.

“Bella is safe, Gerry. The Arm-Righ cannot reach her.”

“Where is she?”

There was a long pause before Lauren asked, “Are you sure you want to know?”

Daisy didn’t hear Gerry’s response, and could only assume he nodded because Lauren answered. “I asked Shay, Magnus’ father, to get her and take her and your uncle to Potters Woods. The Arm-Righ cannot reach into Jordon Bennett’s private domain. Just to be sure, I’ve arranged a new identity for her if you think she needs it.”

“After tomorrow it won’t matter,” Gerry said, sounding tired, grateful, and inextricably sad.

Daisy turned and as quietly as she could went down the hall, avoiding the kitchen. She’d eat at the museum instead. Besides, she wanted to see Magnus, and he was probably studying the grave slabs again with Merry. She hoped to run into Merlin too, since she hadn’t seen him in days. Lauren said he’d gone to visit an arboretum near Dunoon. Merlin had this thing about trees lately, particularly oak groves. He even planted one on Taryn and Jesse’s property. He’d turn up when he would. She’d learned to trust that if she needed him, he’d be there.

From the sound of Gerry’s voice, he was the one who needed help. She wondered not only why, but what she could do to help. Two things she was certain of: Gerry loved this Bella person, and everyone at Potters Woods would make sure she was protected.

Curious by nature, Daisy would find the answers, but not until after she found Magnus and had her wicked way with him.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

He’d learned a lot in his short time under Merry’s tutelage. It was more than he expected and twice as much as he deserved, but he’d come to love being a part of the life she opened up to him. He wouldn’t be like her, he’d always be a warrior, but he was an artist too. She taught him how to heal, how to move mass, which he’d yet to master, and how to read energy, which he’d always had a gift for and now was even stronger at.

She brought him into the back room of the museum that she used as an office. Two of the walls were filled with books, most of them bound in leather, all old. When he commented on that, she smiled and said, “I read what I can on my reader or on the computer. These are the ones that aren’t available electronically.
”

So much for old-fashioned witchcraft. It was a new world and Merry embraced both the old and the new.

Merry moved to the computer on her desk and opened it. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with speed and ease. In no time she pulled up the site she was looking for, spun the computer around, and said, “Tell me what you see.”

He adjusted the screen as he took a seat opposite her at her desk. An illuminated manuscript page lit the screen. It was old and Celtic. Without testing the paint and what it was painted on, he couldn’t be exactly sure of its age, but something told him that wasn’t what Merry expected of him. Magnus took his time and examined the rich blending of color and texture. The lines of the first letter curved into birds and hounds, greenery…and then he saw it, captured in the art. His gaze shot to Merry’s. He was afraid to say what he thought. Could it be that easy?

Merry smiled at him with the kind of smile a primary school teacher has for a particularly bright student. “You see it, don’t you? From one side to the other, you see that it tells a way to channel energy.” Merry pointed to the screen. “See how the apple moves from left to right.” Magnus looked again and it finally clicked. Mass was energy and energy moved itself in the form of light and waves and
thought.

“What is this?” Magnus asked.

“It’s a facsimile of a sheet from an illuminated manuscript believed to have been written in approximately 1150. Although it can’t be proven to be by Geoffery of Monmouth, I believe it is. It’s a document on Merlin and his list of ten wonders. Hit the button to turn the page, Magnus.”

Magnus hit the “next” arrow and the screen changed to a series of grave markers in what looked to be a very old church. There were many pagan symbols he recognized carved in stone. The one that called out to him most was the repeated hourglass motif. The longer he stared the more he saw the ability to impact the space-time continuum. If that wasn’t magic, Magnus didn’t know what was. Without being prompted, Magnus hit the arrow and another screen popped up. That one showed various carvings on standing stones and what looked to be the exterior masonry of a large cathedral. Green
Men of every sort spotted the arched entrance, as did other pagan symbols. Magnus saw holly and oak and medicinal plants in the carvings. Cures, he wondered? Restorative plants? Some he knew were poisonous, some deeply restorative.

“Those are all part of the Scroll, aren’t they?” Magnus asked, knowing that on some level he was right.

Merry beamed at him. “Yes, those and many others that you will see and recognize in time. They are right there in plain sight for anyone who pays attention. The Druid’s Scroll is real. The Arm-Righ would do just about anything to get it. He never will, though, because although he looks, he doesn’t
see.
There are clues and symbols everywhere. Most people simply look right past them without absorbing their importance. The woman who is responsible for most of what’s known of the Scroll had the foresight to hide small bits of knowledge where they would endure, in plain sight, yet hidden beautifully in art and in stories. There are more symbols on the grave slabs in the churchyard and on the stones in many of the stone circles and standing stones. Stone endures. So do our epic stories and myths. So does magic.”

Magnus didn’t know what to say. It all made perfect sense in its simple genius. He’d been to Roslin. He’d seen the chapel. There were all kinds of secrets hidden in the masonry of that place, and no one could doubt the spiritual energy to be found there. Dan Brown made a small fortune when he brought some of its secrets to the masses.

Merry seemed to read his thoughts. “This knowledge is for you, Magnus, as it is for anyone with an open mind and eyes to see. It is not for the Arm-Righ or anyone else who would profit from the abuse of its power.”

“Have you shared any of this with Lauren?”

“No. My husband will be Arm-Righ some day. With position comes power. That can’t be helped, no matter how good a man he is. I will use what I know to advise him, but I will not put the lessons of the ancients up for sale. Nor will our order be responsible for allowing any King to misuse the knowledge. Knowledge, once obtained, has a power of its own, and Kings, no matter how idealistic when they take the throne, are likely to misuse their power.”

Magnus was shocked. “You married Lauren? You’ve known him what, five minutes?”

Merry didn’t take offense. If anything, she looked pleased with herself and almost peaceful. “My soul has known his my whole life. There was no reason not to marry him. We are stronger together. Just like you and Daisy are stronger as a unit.”

Magnus ignored the second part of what Merry said and focused on the part about Lauren. What would make a rational woman agree to marry a man she’d just met, especially when she didn’t want to share her magic with him? “But you don’t trust him?”

Merry shut the computer and got up. She walked around the desk and leaned against it in front of him. She was short, much shorter than her personality would suggest. Leaning as she did, he didn’t have to look up very far at all to see her eyes. It amazed him that she was so self-possessed. He’d never met anyone like her. Merry brought out his protective instincts even though she could probably have turned him into a toad if she wanted to.