Midnight's Warrior (18 page)

“It’s no’ failed yet,” Camdyn said. “Give it time.”

“Let’s give Sonya room to use her healing magic,” Quinn MacLeod said.

Tara began to turn to leave with the others when Saffron caught her hand.

“Stay,” Saffron urged.

Sonya smiled and nodded. “Yes, please. We could use your magic to help.”

“No,” Tara said hastily, then cleared her throat when they looked at her strangely. “That didn’t come out right. What I meant to say is that my magic isn’t … well, I can’t control it. Sometimes none comes at all, and at other times it’s so powerful I can’t contain it.”

“Interesting,” Saffron said. “I never saw any of that in my visions of you.”

Sonya held her hands palm down over Ramsey and closed her eyes. “With Phelan’s blood in him, it shouldn’t take much of my magic to heal Ramsey.”

A few minutes later Tara felt an odd pulse in the room, and realized it was Sonya’s magic. She’d never felt any magic before. Odd that she would feel it with
mies
and not the more powerful
droughs
of her family.

Sonya stayed as she was for over fifteen minutes before she released a breath and lowered her hands. “He’s not resisting my healing, but he’s not accepting it either.”

Tara couldn’t stand it anymore. She placed her hand over Ramsey’s and felt a jolt run through her.

“What was that?” Saffron asked breathlessly.

Tara could only stare in shock as Ramsey’s chest rose sharply and slowly lowered as he began to breathe normally. The ribbons of magic that were all but gone a few moments before strengthened.

“How very odd,” Sonya said.

Saffron shrugged slightly. “That I didn’t see coming.”

“What just happened?” Tara asked.

Sonya lifted her hands in front of her in a gesture of confusion. “I have no idea. All I do know is that Ramsey is breathing regularly now, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Maybe Phelan’s blood finally kicked in,” Saffron said.

Tara watched one of the tendrils of magic wind around her wrist before swirling around Ramsey’s. Something had occurred between her and Ramsey when she’d touched him. She didn’t know what or how, but it had.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Declan reached for the glass of whisky on the coffee table and raised it to his lips with a shaky hand. He looked at his left hand, unable to believe the black marks that ran across his skin like lightning.

He’d never seen anything like it before, but there was no mistaking it was magic. Somehow, some way, the Warrior had used magic on him.

Declan downed the whisky in one swallow and set the glass aside with a thud. He shook his head at the absurdity of his thoughts. Warriors couldn’t do magic. There had to have been a Druid nearby that was helping the Warrior.

It certainly hadn’t been Tara. She’d not even put up half a fight against him. That thought helped to ease the pain in his arm, but not by much.

“How is it?” Robbie asked as he strode into Declan’s office, another bottle of whisky in his hand.

“It bloody well hurts, you imbecile.”

Robbie lowered the whisky near Declan’s glass and looked anywhere but at Declan’s injured arm.

Anger spiked in Declan. “Are you afraid to look at it?”

“No,” Robbie replied quickly. Too quickly.

“Do you think I’m no’ capable anymore?”

This time Robbie’s eyes shifted to meet his. “Never, cousin.”

“Then what is it?”

Robbie shrugged and glanced down at his feet. “You were almost killed. That Warrior, a single Warrior, nearly killed you.”

“He had help. There was a Druid nearby. It’s the only explanation. You know as well as I that no Warrior could have magic.”

“How do we know that?”

Declan unscrewed the whisky bottle and poured a double shot into his glass. “It’s the way it is. Besides, whoever that Warrior was, he’s dead now. The X90 I put in him went into his heart.”

“You missed,” Robbie muttered.

With his glass halfway to his mouth Declan narrowed his eyes on his cousin. “What did you say?”

Robbie cleared his throat, but held his stance. “You missed his heart. It was just to the left.”

“Regardless, the bastard is dead. No Warrior can survive an X90 bullet.” He once more tilted the glass to his lips and drained the contents.

Soon, with the help of the whisky, the pain in his arm would numb so he could think straight again. At the moment he couldn’t even move the fingers of his left hand. The blast of magic had hit him in the upper arm, and the agony had been instantaneous.

Though Robbie could only see what Declan’s rolled-up sleeve revealed, the truth was that the black spiderlike vines began at his shoulder and spread down his arm to the tips of his fingers and were working their way across his chest.

A wave of anguish slammed into Declan as the vines spread even more. The glass dropped from his fingers, saved by the rug from shattering.

Robbie hastened to him, but Declan lifted his head and glared at his cousin. “Get out. Now.”

“Declan—”

“Now! And close the door. I’m no’ to be disturbed. No matter what you hear, doona come in here!”

The room began to spin around Declan, and at first he didn’t think Robbie would do as he’d asked. Then, with a grim set of his features, Robbie turned on his heel and stalked to the door. With one final look at Declan Robbie firmly shut the door behind him.

Declan slumped over, his throat dry and his body covered in sweat. The whisky was having no effect whatsoever. And the pain was doubling with each beat of his heart.

He pushed to his feet with his right hand and the arm of the couch, only to have his legs give out. It took three more tries before Declan could remain on his feet.

If it wasn’t for the couch which he leaned upon, Declan would never have made it to the fire. His legs gave out and he crumpled before the hearth. With sweat running into his eyes, Declan made himself focus on the flames.

There was no doubt that whatever had been done to him was slowly eating away at him. He was dying. And there was only one entity that could save him.

The chant began to fall from his lips. Softly at first, but with each recitation it grew stronger as desperation set in. If the Devil didn’t respond, Declan knew he wouldn’t last the night.

Then, finally, the flames of the fire jumped and sparks flew.

“Why do you call me?” demanded the deep, sinister voice.

“I’ve been injured.”

There was a pregnant pause before the voice asked, “How?”

“I found Tara. When I went to get her, there were Warriors.”

The voice chuckled dryly. “Your special bullets should have taken care of them.”

“They did. To an extent. But there was one that the bullets didna seem to bother.”

“How so?”

Declan swallowed and pushed past the pain. He wouldn’t receive any help until the Devil had all his information. “He barely flinched when they impacted his body.”

Black smoke suddenly filled Declan’s office from the flames. He held still as it surrounded him, fencing him in and touching every inch of him.

“Magic was used,” the voice said near Declan’s ear.

“Aye.”

“Strong magic.”

Declan bit the side of his mouth to keep his cry of pain silent as the vines worked farther down his chest to his stomach.

“You are in much pain,” the Devil said.

“I’ve never heard of any kind of magic that could do this.”

The Devil laughed again. “Ah, but then I’ve taught you spells that have never been known before. Yet, this isn’t black magic upon you. If it was, you’d already be dead.”

Nothing Declan was being told made him feel any better. So, he tried again. “Is there a cure? Point me in the right direction, Master, so that I may heal myself.”

“You don’t want me to do it for you?”

There was nothing Declan wanted more, but he had learned early on not to ask for something like that. “If that is your wish.”

“With Deirdre gone, I’ve put all my faith in you, Declan. Don’t let me down.”

“Never.”

The smoke began to swirl about him. “I will stop the progress of this magic, but in order for you to heal this yourself, you will have to learn who did this to you.”

“Do you know?” Declan hurried to ask.

There was no answer as the smoke returned to the fireplace and disappeared.

Declan fisted his right hand on his leg. He’d hoped for more aid than just stopping the magic. The pain had yet to lessen, and he began to suspect that it wouldn’t.

This was his punishment for not besting the Warrior and capturing Tara. He still couldn’t believe after all the work, all the time, he’d had Tara in his grasp.

Only to be outwitted by a damned Warrior.

It had never occurred to Declan that a Warrior would replace one of his men, but with the masks the mercenaries wore, it had been an easy switch.

And a lesson learned the hard way.

Declan half crawled, half dragged himself to the coffee table where he poured more whisky and drank it in one gulp.

“Robbie!” he bellowed.

Instantly his cousin was beside him. “What is it?”

“I need you to help me into the library. We’ve work to do.”

*   *   *

Ramsey opened his eyes gradually. It took a full minute for him to realize where he was and to take stock of his body.

“It’s about bloody time,” Phelan’s deep voice said quietly as he leaned against the foot of the bed.

Ramsey lifted his head and looked around the tower. Light flooded in through the windows. Tara slept awkwardly in the chair while Phelan continued to glare at him.

“What did I do to you?” Ramsey asked.

Phelan rolled his eyes. “You nearly died.”

Ramsey slowly sat up and swung his legs over the bed as he held the sheet around his middle. He was naked, which meant they had brought him back to the castle to be healed.

Healed? Near death? He pushed through his jumbled thoughts to determine what was going on.

Then it all came back to him in a rush. His jaw clenched as his gaze swung back to Phelan. “Is Declan dead?”

“Nay.”

So Ramsey had failed. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Two days. Tara hasna left your side, and the entire castle is worried.”

Ramsey scrubbed a hand down his face, feeling the thick whiskers, and leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his thighs. He turned to Phelan and asked, “Why are you here?”

“I was brought here to heal Charon and the others that were wounded. Then we went to find you. You didna respond to my blood.”

Ramsey had seen what Phelan’s blood could do, so it made little sense to him that he hadn’t healed like the others. “I’m as baffled as you are about the reasons why.”

He looked at Tara and drank in her beauty. Her hair was tangled and her clothes rumpled, proving that she had indeed stayed by his side.

“Is she all right? The last time I saw her Declan had done some spell or something.”

Phelan nodded. “She’s fine. She’s a stubborn one though.”

“I know,” he said with a small smile.

“The others are going to want to talk to you.”

“And I them.” Ramsey rose and gently lifted Tara in his arms before he turned and placed her in the bed. After removing her shoes, he covered her with the blankets.

She didn’t awaken as she snuggled beneath the covers and sighed contentedly.

Ramsey straightened. “Where are my clothes?”

“They were ruined, but Galen brought more for you,” Phelan said, and pointed to another chair sitting off to the side.

Ramsey hurried to put the clothes on, his gaze going again and again to Tara.

“If you doona wake her, she’s going to be angry,” Phelan said.

Ramsey took a deep breath and looked at his hands that once more held the white ribbons of magic. “She’s been running too long. She needs to rest.”

“Yeah. Tell her that when she comes looking for you later.”

Ramsey knew Phelan was right, but he wanted to talk to the others without Tara first.

“By the way, what does that feel like?” Phelan asked, and jerked his chin to Ramsey’s hands.

He lifted his hands before him. “It feels incredible.”

“We’ve all touched her. You’re the only one who has that reaction to her.”

Ramsey sighed as he dropped his arms. “I know. It must have something to do with my own magic.”

“Yet none of the Druids are affected either.”

This Ramsey hadn’t anticipated.

“Whatever this is, it’s between you and her,” Phelan said. “I have to admit, I’m more than curious. That magic has been swirling about you since we brought you back to the castle.”

Ramsey frowned as he recalled the sound of the drums and chanting of the ancients deep in his mind. He’d thought it a dream because it had been centuries since he’d heard them. But maybe it hadn’t been a dream. Maybe they had been there.

What did it mean though? Ramsey hadn’t sought out the ancients, and the ancients didna come to a Druid unless they wanted to.

Ramsey frowned and glanced down at his hands. The white ribbons of magic were quickly becoming something he wanted to see.

And needed to feel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ramsey flinched inwardly when he descended the stairs and the conversation in the great hall ground to a halt. He’d tried to fool himself into thinking he was the same as the other Warriors sitting around the long table, but he knew differently now.

And so did they.

Ramsey didn’t look at anyone as he started to make his way to his seat. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Fallon, followed by his brothers, Lucan and Quinn, rose from their seats at the head of the table and blocked his way.

“You gave us all quite a scare, most especially Tara,” Fallon said.

Ramsey stared at the leader of their group, a man he considered a close friend. “It wasna my intention.”

“Nothing has changed, you know,” Lucan said. “You are still part of our family. You are still my brother, by fate if no’ by blood.”

Ramsey swallowed to dislodge the lump of emotion forming in his throat.

Quinn raised a dark brow. “No more secrets, Ramsey. We’ve all had something to hide over the years, but as Lucan said, we are family. We are here for you.”