My Cursed Highlander (43 page)

"Holy mither!" She cupped her hands over Lily's eyes. "Dadi, why are ye naked?"

"Taveon!" Viviana's padded footfalls only increased his pace.

Red dominated his vision as he climbed the steps of the east tower. He knew what he had to do and prepared himself mentally. He imagined the slide of the blade sinking between Marea's ribs. He envisioned blood seeping down the steel and filling the arcs of his nails. Acid burned the back of his throat. His grip on the hilt tightened to the point he was certain his knuckles would split the skin.

"Ye gods, mon! Where is your plaid?" Remi jumped up from a cuttie stool unblinking, but quickly moved aside when Taveon raised his foot and kicked the door off its hinges.

A burst of frigid air stung his hot skin as he entered the chamber.

Marea bolted upright in the bed. "What is it?"

Taveon stared at her through the swirling clouds of his ragged breath. Her skin was pale and marked with rows of scratches. Bruises tinted her forearms, her cheeks, her neck. Gillian tortured her from within.

Marea was suffering.

The part of his conscience that remained in tact needed to justify what he was about to do.

"M'laird, what's amiss?" Remi questioned from behind.

"She has to die. She has to die to save Viviana," Taveon repeated and raised the dirk above his head.

"No!" Marea held shaking arms out in defense and her gaze slipped to the doorway. Blood dripped from her nose and into her pale tunic. "Please. Not in front of Lily."

"Ye have to die to end the curse." He inhaled and demanded the warrior inside him to act, to kill.

"Taveon, no!" Viviana screamed.

"Mama." A tiny voice cried out in unison, then Lily rushed passed him.

Marea gathered Lily into her arms and sobbed into the child's hair. She kissed her face and whispered words meant to comfort. Words of hope. Words that promised a better life.

Lies.

Their reunion drew on his sympathy. He knew all too well how a memory would forever haunt a child. And Lily had already been through so much. He lowered the blade and cocked his head over his shoulder. Viviana held Makayla tight against her hip, both gaped at him as if he were the Devil's reaper.

"I showed them your missives to God." Lily hugged her mum around the waist. "They said they would save you."

Marea met Taveon's glare. "Then you know Gillian is only half of it. You know Elise must be freed as well."

Taveon's eyes bulged and dried. A haze of confusion rendered him nigh speechless. "How?"

"Through the amulet," she rushed on. "Elise must transfer into a host who possesses the blood of Kael Kraig. It is the only way to end the curse. If you kill me, your women will continue to die and their souls will never rise up for their day of judgment."

"Are ye telling me I'm to take this woman into my body and then take my life?"

A menacing laugh scraped up Taveon's spine—the same laugh that had filled the chamber just after Marea broke Father Cambry's neck.

"No!" Marea jerked upright, pushing Lily to the floor. "You will never have her. You are not going to win this time."

An invisible force raised Marea off the edge of the bed and slammed her into the stone wall. Her body crumpled into a pile of unmoving limbs onto the floor.

"Mama," Lily screamed and scrambled on her hands and knees to reach her mum, but Remi slipped in and grabbed her around the waist.

"Come, lassie." Remi hugged the girl with one arm and took Makayla by the hand. "'Tis no place for bairns. I'll take them to Meghan."

Taveon's sanity slipped a little further from his grasp. He felt less human with each breath he drew. Shock numbed his body and mind for long moments while he stared at Marea's unconscious form and tried to comprehend her words. "My God, what has she done to us?" he mumbled and clutched his head in an effort to ease the pain stabbing the backs of his eyeballs.

"It does not have to be you," Viviana offered in a soft voice that enraged him all the more.

He whirled. "Who then? Keegan? Cora-Rose? Makayla or Lily?" He paused. His gaze dropped to her belly. "You?"

He had to die.

He had to die to save her. To save his son.

The tears spiking her lashes and covering her cheeks tore a hole in his heart. He wanted to go to her, to hold her, and kiss her, and tell her all would be better come the morrow, but it would be a lie. He knew what he had to do and hoped he was brave enough to accomplish the feat.

Stepping forward, he raised his hand to her wet cheek, but took care not to touch her. "I cannae choose." He fled the chamber.

"Taveon, please," she cried, but he didn't turn back.

Feeling like a rabid beast, he stalked through a maze of corridors and burst out of the keep into a night as black as his own soul. Icy rain stung his bare flesh. He welcomed the tiny beating fists as he strode over the hillock. Wet grasses clung to his legs like leather straps trying to slow his pace. He ripped through their clutches until he stood in the center of the burial ground. The waves beat against the shore over the cliff's edge, taunting him, testing his fears, but he possessed only one fear this night... failure.

"Damn you!" In a clenched hand, he raised the amulet above his head and aimed his fury toward God. "End this!" The stone heated in his palm, and purple light glowed between his fingers. Indistinct whispers buzzed in his ears like a swarm of insects.

It was
them
. It was
her
. Elise.

"Where are ye?" He searched the silver flecks for an entity, but nothing materialized. "Show yourself, Elise! I am here. With the amulet." His muscles tightened and trembled as he shook his burning fist. "I've come to set ye free."

Another memory erupted in his mind. A woman, he now accepted was Elise, sprinkled dried bits of saffron throughout his bedchamber. She was garbed in a simple yellow gown—her wedding gown. A bashful smile lifted the corners of her rose-colored lips as Kael draped a gold chain around her neck.

"This is a symbol of my love for ye."
Kael kissed the amulet, then tucked it safely between Elise's breasts.

"Kael."

Taveon heard the name. 'Twas a whisper that penetrated the rain. His heart tripped over itself with its rapid beating, and the hairs at his nape shot straight out.

Damn-it-to-Hell! He was afraid. The same as he'd always been afraid as a boy.

Heat warmed his back.

He spun, but nothing was there aside from the huge boulder. Frustrated, he raised his dirk and drove it into rock. Sparks ignited. He howled and battled the rock until his blade snapped from the hilt, then he fell to his knees and succumbed to convulsions. He wept for himself, for Da, for Viviana, and for the life he had to leave behind. He damned his very existence and wished he'd never known the kiss of an Italian beauty.

Oh, God, he loved her, and this was the greatest curse of all.

Seconds turned to minutes and with every painful breath he took, he felt himself separate from reality. Then a warm hand caressed his cheek. The scent of saffron filled his senses.

Taveon blinked and raised his lids. Salty rain burned his eyes, but he didn't dare close them. Elise was there. He could feel her warmth swirling around him, soothing his temper.

He was powerless to stop the images. He didn't want Elise in his head, but she was there, vibrant with color and running toward him. Her pale hair floated behind her as she raced through a meadow filled with flowers. Arms splayed wide, he caught her in his vision.

She was both beautiful and wretched.

Green eyes sparkling like emeralds locked with his.
"Do you remember?"

"I remember," Taveon seethed aloud. "I remember that I hate ye." He ignored the sounds of sobbing and fought the emotions clawing at his heart. The amulet cooled. The light faded.

"Taveon," Viviana's voice drew him away from the illusion.

Purple dissolved the vision in his head, then all went black. Pitch black. For a brief, terrifying moment he was blind, unable to see Elise, unable to see Viviana, then a flash of white light blinked and hues of gray formed into retreating shadows. One by one the spirits of his kin slipped into the wood toward the kirk.

A wool draped over his cold body. "Please, come back to the keep."

Defeated, he shook his head side to side. He failed his kin. He failed her. "Forgive me." He turned away. "I wish I'd never brought ye here."

"Taveon—"

"Leave me!" he shouted in a cold, callous voice that sent her scrambling to her feet, but there was one heart he needed to protect beside his own. "Viviana." Her steps stilled. "Keep a distance from Makayla. 'Tis best she not grow any fonder of ye."

"Damn you! Damn you and your coward's heart!"

Her retreat turned his heart to stone and stole the last of his sanity.

Chapter 33

Freezing, Viviana clutched the bundle of foxtails and slowly climbed the steps of the east tower alone and in darkness, which is exactly how she'd spent the past three days at Ravenhurst—cold, alone, and in darkness.

After Taveon's attempts to free Elise failed, he took to the woods with the hunters, hiding from Viviana and his curse during the day, only to return to the burial ground throughout the dark hours of night.

He was a coward.

"Food must be prepared for the winter months,"
Keegan had said to soothe her wounded pride, but she'd gained naught from his sympathetic words save for a growing resentment. She'd been prepared for Taveon's anger. Part of her even expected him to lash out violently, but what caught her unguarded was his rejection. She'd been a fool to profess her love. She should have known he wasn't brave enough to love her in return.

Her palm slid over the coarse stone and a pitch-pine torch warmed the left side of her face, but didn't free her skin of gooseflesh.

Searching to find her way reminded her of the first time she'd stumbled about the Medici Palace, memorizing the edge of the carpets, feeling her way passed chairs and wall ornamentations. She'd been determined to retain the same pace, and her stubbornness nearly gained her a broken toe when an alabaster bust of Lorenzo's ancestor fell away from its stand.

She'd cried in the corridor that day, cursing the assassins for what they'd done to her. Those same feelings flooded her now anew—the fear, the uncertainty, but worst of all... the abandonment.

Damn him! She squeezed the stems of the foxtails until she feared they might snap in two.

An uneven board in the flooring set her off-kilter, but she caught herself and continued forward. She'd promised Lily she would deliver the willy weeds to Sister De Rosa and see about her well-being. Viviana held her chin high, refusing to be the poltroon her husband had proven to be, regardless of the fear twisting in her gut.

"M'lady, ye shouldnae be here." Remi was at her side, cupping her elbow before she reached the end of the corridor.

"Where is it I should be, Remi?" She jerked her arm away from him. "Do tell, for I know not my place here."

Remi pat her hand, consoling her, pitying her.

She didn't want his sympathy and searched for the bolt barring Sister De Rosa's newly hung door. The wood smelled green and was still damp where the grain knotted.

"I cannae let ye in there. I have orders to guard this chamber." Remi leaned close and held the iron bar in its catch. "'Tisnae safe, m'lady."

Pish! Safe?
"My safety was compromised when your laird took me to his bed." She waited for Remi to back away, and was further angered when he wedged himself between her and the door. She poked him in his breastbone. "I have need to speak with Sister De Rosa. If you seek permission to grant me access, then go to the burial ground." She stabbed a finger in the direction of the stairwell. "You will undoubtedly find your laird there waiting for the opportunity to kill himself and save us all."

Remi exhaled. "If I go to the burial ground, then ye will go in."

Viviana's chin rose with each passing second, waiting for Remi to concede until finally the bolt clicked.

"Ye will leave the door open and not cross the chamber."

"
Sì. Grazie.
"

"She murdered the vicar, m'lady. I beg ye to practice caution."

The instant the chamber door scraped opened, the distinct odor of rotted meat rushed into Viviana's nostrils. She swallowed and cupped her mouth in an effort to guard her stomach from the putrid odor. "
Mannaggia
! Is the vicar still in there?"

"Nay. Laird MacKaskill returned Father Cambry's body back to St. Machar."

"Then what is that wretched smell?"

"'Tis
her
scent," Remi whispered beside her ear and assisted her onto a cuttie stool just inside the chamber. "I'll be outside the door should ye need me."

She nodded and took short draws of air between her fingers to protect her ailing stomach, trying to gain familiarity with the odor.

A chain rattled and the bed squeaked. "The foxtails are Lily's favorite. She is forever bringing the weeds into the cot-house."

"She wanted me to give them to you." Viviana rose from the cuttie stool, anxious to deliver Lily's gift.