Heart of the Druid Laird (19 page)

Sidney’s diatribe was cut short. She reached for her throat, her eyes bulging. The last thread binding him slipped away. Had she ranted to buy him time? Dermot gathered his energy and built an image in his mind. He couldn’t kill Áine, nor could she kill him, but he would try his damnedest to protect Sidney. He conjured a thick veil of ice to encapsulate Áine, projecting the image into physical form using all the power Sidney had lent him.

The moment Áine was trapped, Sidney gasped for breath. Dermot grabbed her hand and started running. He wouldn’t last. Already the edges of his physical form were unraveling. They had to get to the border before he gave out altogether.

Then what?

Somehow he’d find a way to blast through. “Quiet now, lass,” he cautioned as he led the way. “I’ll throw an invisibility spell over us, but I canna hide us for long. The weaker I get, the faster Àine will break free.”

“How can I help?” Sidney gripped his hand with both of hers.

“You already have. Did you no’ feel the power you sent me back there? I could no’ have trapped Áine as I did without it. Hush now, love.” They moved quietly. Dermot sent his senses before them as the mist came rolling back. Sidney’s ribbon trail had faded. It was barely discernible now.

A shattering explosion behind them sent the fog swirling. Dermot kept going, towing Sidney along behind him. He didn’t sense it coming and had no time to react. A burst of magic laid him out flat on the ground. Áine loomed above him. Her eyes had turned an iridescent blue, and her skin glowed and crackled with power.

“Your magic is no match for mine, Druid. Your pathetic attempt to rescue the mortal will do you no good.”

Spent, Dermot could no longer hold the illusion of his physical form. He faded in and out of being. Desperation clawed at him. He didn’t have the energy left to fight, and Áine’s magic pressed in around him from all sides.

“Dermot.” Sidney fell to her knees beside him. “What’s wrong? What is she doing to you?”

“I’m all right.” He shook his head. “Get away, Sidney. Áine can’t…” He faded. Only a faint outline of his body remained. Sidney’s distress became a beacon, drawing him back. With a Herculean effort, he forced himself into form and turned to his nemesis. “What will it take to keep Sidney safe?”

Áine loomed over him. “I want everything to remain as it is. I’ll wipe Sidney’s memory clean and send her back to her home once the anniversary has passed. If you interfere, she dies.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “Either way, I’m satisfied.”

He nodded, and tried to keep from looking at Sidney. If Áine guessed how he felt…

“Wait a minute.” Sidney stood to face Áine. “I have a say. I carry Mairéad’s soul. I’m the one who was murdered in that lifetime.”

Sidney turned to Dermot. He tried to look away—and failed. Weak as he was, he couldn’t prevent all he felt for her from rising to the surface. Powerless to hide his need to keep her safe he begged her, “Please, love, be still. This is the only way I have to protect you.”

“I won’t agree to this.” Sidney’s eyes filled with tears. “We can’t let her dictate what happens. We can’t.” She reached for his hand, and grasped only mist as he faded from her. Dermot looked on, helpless to act as his body dissipated.

Áine’s eyes narrowed, and her expression grew pensive. “No,” she shouted and stomped her foot. She glared at the two of them and paced in agitation. “This cannot be. I will not allow this to continue.”

Dread and fear erupted inside him. Áine had seen his heart. He’d placed Sidney right back into peril. “I swear I’ll stay away from her,” he rasped.

“I won’t have it. Swear all you will, Druid. It will not help you—or her.” The mist darkened and danced wildly around them. “I can see now there is only one solution. I must set my daughter’s spirit free.” Àine turned her glare toward Sidney and raised her palms, directing her deadly intent full force.

Sidney fell to the ground beside him, writhing in agony. “Dermot, help…me. Please!”

He tried to throw off the force binding him, but he couldn’t move. Gods, he couldn’t bear to see Sidney suffer. Her agony was his. “Stop. Let her go. I’ll do anything you want, anything.” He turned to Áine. “Kill me instead.” Áine’s twisted laughter shredded his heart.

The ribbon of energy Sidney had laid for him flashed through his mind. She possessed magic. He turned toward her prostate form, pulling all of his resources together for one last desperate effort. The high king would not come for him, but he might respond to Sidney.

“Look at me,” he demanded. “Sidney,
look at me.
” Dermot poured every ounce of compulsion he could muster into the command. She turned to him, her eyes glazed with pain and terror. “Call for help. Reach out for Dagda Mór.”

“No!” Áine shrieked.

“Don’t…know…how.” Sidney’s eyes remained fused to his.

“You do, lass. Concentrate on his name. Do this for me. Dagda Mór is soul kin to you. Dagda Mór. Say it, Sidney.”

Sidney’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and her body slackened. Dermot went out of his mind with rage and grief, helpless to act on either emotion. He lost all illusion of corporeal form, and could no longer call it back. He sent a call for help, fearing it would be disregarded—certain it was too late.

Áine came to stand over him, a look of triumph on her face. “I win.”

The temple, Áine, and Sidney’s lifeless body disappeared, leaving Dermot adrift in an endless gray cloud. He no longer cared. Maybe if he merged with the mist and let himself spread over the expanse of Avalon, he’d lose the ability to think or feel. Perhaps this was as close to a cure for immortality as he’d ever get.

A litany began in his fractured mind, an enumeration of all those he’d disappointed during his pathetic life. It all began with his father—hadn’t it?—Dermot had let his father down by killing his mother while she gave him life. Next came Mairéad, whom he could not love, and whose dying request he’d failed to honor. His men—he’d given them his word, sworn to end their cursed existence.

Sidney’s image seared his conscience. Her life had been cut short because of him. Gods, the pain was too great to contain. Dermot envisioned his essence dispersing, joining the eddies and currents buoying him. He let himself go and waited for oblivion.

It didn’t come.

Instead, a powerful force exerted control over him, drawing him into a black, swirling vortex.

Zoe slammed the door of her rental car and stared openmouthed at the medieval view before her. Thomas hadn’t been joking. They did live in a castle. With a shake of her head, she dragged her suitcase up the stairs, rang the doorbell and waited. No one answered. Several moments passed before she rang again.

When no one arrived to open the door the second time, Zoe’s heart gave a painful wrench.
No. I can’t be too late. I can’t.
This was
the
day. She couldn’t bear the thought of not being with Thomas when the curse ended. Turning to survey the grounds, she hoped to see someone who might help her find him. Had they all deserted the place? A lump formed in her throat, and her eyes filled with tears.

God, don’t let me be too late.

She hadn’t traveled all this way to give up now. Zoe tried the door. It wasn’t locked, and she let herself into a large foyer. Angry voices echoed down the corridor from the right. Relieved and puzzled, she left her things and followed the sound.

Zoe’s eyes widened. About a dozen men filled a large dining hall, some paced, a few pounded the table—all were red-faced and shouting.

“What the hell is going on here?” She spoke quietly, but the effect was instantaneous. A hush fell over the room as they turned to stare at her in unison. Zoe cleared her throat. “I’m looking for Thomas.” Niall and Donald moved toward her, their expressions grim.

“What are you doing here, lass?” Niall frowned.

“You have to ask? Really?” Zoe narrowed her eyes at them. “I know what day this is. Where is he?”

Donald glanced at the other men. “This is Zoe LeBlanc,” he announced, “Thomas’s
fiancée.
” Several mouths fell open. Donald turned back to her. “Thomas is in Dermot’s stillroom. He left orders no’ to be disturbed.”

“What’s a stillroom, and why is Thomas there?”

“It’s where Dermot practices his Druidic arts.” Donald’s eyes wouldn’t meet hers. “And, um, Thomas is in there to give himself a crash course in magic.”

“Magic? Why on earth would he do that?” The shouting and arguing resumed with a vengeance, and everyone gave her their opinions at once.

“Dermot and Sidney are lost in the Mists of Avalon,” Niall told her. “Thomas is looking through Dermot’s books to see if anything can be done.”

“Mists of Avalon?” Zoe frowned, her head spinning. “Sidney is
lost?
”

“Aye, in the realm of the fae.” Donald nodded.

“Can you point me toward this
stillroom?
”

“I can do better than that, lass. I’ll take you there.” Niall gestured toward the staircase. “This way.”

“Thanks.” She followed Niall up an old stone staircase beyond the dining room and down a long corridor.

“This is it.” He stopped at a large door made of oak and knocked. “Oy, Thomas, someone’s here to see you.” Bowing slightly, Niall started to back away. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs where you found us.”

“Who is it?” Thomas bellowed from inside.

She swallowed hard and opened the door. Thomas sat at a table amidst several piles of ancient-looking books. He needed a shave and his hair stood on end. Lord, even in this state he looked too gorgeous for words.

He lifted bloodshot eyes to her, his expression dazed. “Zoe?”

It broke her heart to see him so haggard. All her worries and fears came back in a rush, and she burst into tears.

“
Leannan,
what are you doing here?” Thomas rushed to take her into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re asking me what’s wrong? Niall just told me Sidney and Dermot are lost.” She sobbed into his shirt and struggled to get hold of herself. “I haven’t heard from you in three days, and I’ve been worried sick. I…I’ve missed you so much.” She sniffed. “Oh, babe, you really need a shower.”

Thomas rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. Things have gone all to hell.”

“What’s this about the Mists of Avalon?”

“I’m no’ sure where to start.”

“From the beginning.” Zoe disentangled herself and wiped her eyes with her hands. She took a seat on one of the stools set by the table.

Thomas raked his fingers through his hair, making it stand up even more. “Áine stole Sidney. We figure she’s keeping her in the faerie realm until the anniversary of Mairéad’s murder has passed, and we have no hope of ending the curse.”

She sucked in a huge breath. “She won’t hurt Sidney, will she?”

Thomas shook his head. “I wouldn’t guarantee her safety.”

“Oh, God! What’re we going to do?”

“I haven’t a clue.” He gestured toward the table. “That’s why I’ve been searching for answers in these books. Dermot and I spent a whole day going through them to find Áine’s personal domain. We found it. Lachlan and I took him to an old cairn on the top of a hill about an hour’s drive up the coast from here. Dermot did his trance thing, left his body behind and entered the faerie realm to get Sidney back.” He stopped before her, his brow furrowed. “It’s a chilling sight to behold when a man’s spirit leaves his body, lass.”

“No doubt.” A shiver sluiced through her.

“We waited all night on that bloody hill in the bitter cold, hoping Dermot would return with Sidney.” He shook his head. “Early this morning his body disappeared right before our eyes. One minute he was there, and the next he wasn’t.” He turned his anguished gaze to her. “We wasted hours waiting for him to reappear. He didn’t, so we came back home. I’ve been in this room ever since. Lachlan took the truck back to the spot where Dermot vanished. If something changes, he’ll call.”

“So, what are you doing in here?” Zoe surveyed the room. Drying herbs hung from a rack above the granite table where they sat. Shelves full of books lined the walls, and great art hung on the walls. “How are dried herbs and fine art going to help?”

“I was hoping to find something that would at least point me in the right direction.”

“Donald said you’re trying to give yourself a crash course in magic.”

He nodded.

“Is that even possible?” She shook her head. “You’re on the verge of collapse. When’s the last time you ate?”

“I do no’ recall.”

“Shower, have something to eat, then sleep. Maybe something will come to you once you’re rested.” She hopped off the stool. “The men are downstairs shouting at each other. Not very productive if you ask me.” She took his hand. “Why not tell them to carry on as if Dermot were still here? At least they’d keep busy.”

“Nay, lass. I’m no’ leaving this room until I find something useful.” Thomas strode back to the table and flipped open one of the books.

“Can you even think straight right now?”

He scrubbed his face with both hands. “Dermot wouldn’t quit. He’d keep looking, for days if he had to, without food or sleep.”

Zoe put her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his back. “You need a break. I know you’ll be able to figure something out once you’ve had some rest.”

“Dermot has sacrificed so much for us. He never wanted to be laird. I never realized it until…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “He and I came to blows a few days ago.” Thomas turned to draw her into his arms.

“Why?”

“Old resentments. I would no’ have made a good laird. I know that now.”

“Oh, Thomas, don’t you realize how much Dermot needs you? He wouldn’t be a good laird either if it weren’t for you. You keep him grounded.”

“Woman, you’ve no idea how glad I am you’re here.” He rocked her back and forth. “And angry at the same time. It’s no’ safe. If Áine is desperate enough to take Sidney and Dermot, what will she do if she finds out about you and me? She hates all of us, no’ just Dermot, otherwise he’d be the only one cursed.”

“I couldn’t stay away. I need to be with you.” Zoe stared into his eyes. “Won’t you please take a few hours off? For me? I promise to help. We’ll figure something out together.”

“Nay, lass.”

“Fine.” Zoe walked over to the opposite side of the table and took a seat. “Tell me what we’re looking for”

“Zoe…”

“Don’t even
think
about arguing with me.” She drew one of the books toward her and slammed it open. “Shit.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “This…isn’t…
English,
” she sobbed. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“It’s old Gaelic.” Thomas walked over and pulled her off the stool into his arms. “If you want to help, go sort out the lads. And if you wouldn’t mind, find me something to eat and brew a pot of coffee. God, I’ve missed you.”

Dermot’s head throbbed, and with each beat of his heart the agony increased. Shutting his eyes against the bright glare of the sun, he fought the nausea twisting his insides. Soft grass cushioned the ground beneath his aching body. The scents of an evergreen forest permeated the warm air. Where was he?

“Though it is long since last we laid eyes upon you in my court, Diarmad Macaoidth, I do not regret your absence. Every time you visit, trouble follows.”

He forced his eyes open and stared up into Dagda Mór’s iridescent blue gaze. “Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I canna be held responsible for Áine’s actions.” Dermot tried without success to rise. “Forgive me if I do no’ show you proper obeisance. I’ve no’ the energy left to move my body, nor the will.”

“You will be tended to.” The king glided away from him to sit upon a throne of intricately carved oak.

Grief sliced through Dermot’s heart. “Sidney…”

“Is recovering,” Dagda Mór said. “I have seen to her myself. The mortal will rest, as will you, and then the three of us shall talk.”

“She lives?” Dermot’s throat tightened, and his eyes stung with relief and hope.

“Think you I would let her perish?” Dagda Mór glared at Dermot. “Though the vessel is altered, the essence is the same. She is my granddaughter still and spirit kin. It is she who cried out to me for help.”

Gods, she’d done it. Tears of relief filled his eyes. “Áine—”

“My daughter is confined for the time being. You need not concern yourself.”

“How long have I been out? What day is it? The curse…the anniversary of Mairéad’s murder…” Dermot struggled to sit up, surveying the area as he did. They were in a clearing surrounded by thick forest. Though he sensed the presence of others nearby, he and the king were alone. “My men are depending upon me to end the curse.”

“Do you forget who set the conditions for your release?” Dagda Mór’s eyebrows rose. “Time bends to my will, Druid, as do you.” He gave a slight wave of his hand. “Sleep.”

A heaviness crept over Dermot’s body, and he fought to remain awake. He’d given his word to his men. The need to see Sidney for himself overwhelmed him. “Please, Your Majesty, let me see Sidney first…I need to…”

“In time, Druid.”

He lost the battle and fell headlong into an enchanted slumber.

Dermot awoke in a bed, aware that someone moved about inside the chamber with him.
Sidney?
It took a few seconds to remember where he was. Disappointment crushed him. He needed to see her before he could believe she was alive and well.

“I’ve prepared a bath for you, my lord, and I’ve brought fresh garments.” A young man wearing the garb of a servant came to stand by him. He gestured toward a chair where the clothing had been draped. “There is to be a feast. You must ready yourself. I am called Rhyn. If you need anything, I shall attend you.”

“How long have I been sleeping?” Dermot stretched, testing his muscles. He couldn’t deny feeling refreshed. His stomach rumbled with hunger, and instantly a tray with cheese, bread and fruit appeared on the nightstand.

Rhyn smiled. “Your notion of time has no relevance here. I know not how to measure its passing in human terms. A year perhaps—” he shrugged, “—or a few moments. I will leave you to your ablutions. When you are finished, I shall escort you to the feast.” He bowed and disappeared.

“Bloody fae,” Dermot muttered under his breath and reached for a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese. He threw the covers off and rose, shoving the food into his mouth. Who had removed his clothing? Best not think on it overmuch. He moved through the sparsely furnished chamber toward the door Rhyn had pointed out. There he found the bath and everything he needed to make himself presentable by
Tuatha
standards. Dermot bathed, shaved and dressed. Rhyn appeared the second he’d finished.

“Has it occurred to you to knock and wait for an answer
before
entering?”

“That is not our custom. We do not receive guests of your ilk here, and I apologize if I’ve offended or upset you.” With a wry smile, Rhyn indicated the door. “Please, follow me.”

The door opened into a cloister facing a paved courtyard. Long tables had been set in the center. Well-dressed
Tuatha Dé Danann
milled about, visiting in groups and sipping from silver goblets. Dermot heard familiar laughter. His heart skipped a beat. Searching through the crowd, he found her. Sidney stood in a circle of men paying her far too much attention for Dermot’s comfort. Dressed in a long flowing gown belted at the waist, she looked like a goddess. Relief and joy washed through him so fiercely he couldn’t breathe.