The Tempted (2 page)

When Guaril finished his carving, he handed it to Stefan to inspect. Stefan was impressed with the skill displayed. Guaril had perfectly captured the likeness of a red deer from the hooves to the eyes to the antlers.

“This is fine craftsmanship, Guaril.”

Luca smiled. “My grandfather is a master. We sell many of his carvings.”

“I keep trying to teach Luca as I did Yanko,” Guaril said with a grin directed at his grandson. “But he lacks the dedication.”

Yanko slapped his son on the back. “I was the same. He’ll grasp it soon enough.”

“Here,” Guaril said and tossed the small dagger to Luca.

Surprised, Luca caught it and then held it up over his head causing even Stefan to smile as the three laughed.

The night was suddenly shattered by an anguished scream, a soul-deep, fathomless cry that was dredged from the depths of someone’s soul.
 

Stefan was immediately on guard. He searched the camp and saw Ronan first. He stood outside of Ana’s wagon, shirtless with his hand on the hilt of his sword, looking at an old woman who was staring at something in the grass.

The next instant, Morcant hurriedly exited a wagon still fastening his kilt. Stefan slowly stood and glanced behind him to find Daman standing outside the circle of wagons with a resigned expression.

“Who is that?” Luca asked in a strangled whisper.

Stefan turned his gaze back to Ronan and the old woman. That’s when he saw the bright pink and blue skirts of the body in the grass. It was Ana, a dagger still sticking out of her stomach. Their night of fun and revelry was over.

By the looks exchanged amongst the gypsies, there was no way Stefan and his friends were going to be able to leave without a fight. The smiles from the gypsies turned to glares of hatred and disgust.

Stefan noticed Morcant’s gaze. He gave Morcant a nod to say he was ready for battle because that’s exactly what was about to happen.

The gypsies in the camp stood still, almost afraid to move. Ronan’s face was twisted with denial and sorrow while Morcant slowly began to pull his sword from his scabbard.

“Ronan,” Stefan said urgently, trying to snap his friend to attention. It was going to take all of them to get out alive. Stefan palmed the hilt of his sword and waited.
 

There was a moment of utter silence, as if the world were holding its breath. Then the old woman let loose a shriek and pointed her gnarled finger at Ronan. Ronan’s eyes widened in confusion and anger.

“Ilinca will make him pay,” Luca whispered.

Yanko cut his gaze to his son and said, “Enough.”

But Stefan didn’t need to hear more. He looked at the old woman again. Her grief shone plainly, clearly. So did her anger.

Words, hurried and unfamiliar, fell from Ilinca’s lips. The language was Romany, and Stefan didn’t need to understand them to know that nothing good could come from whatever she was saying.
 

The longer Stefan stared, the more he realized Ronan was being held against his will. His pale green eyes were wide with confusion. The same time Stefan drew his sword, Morcant rushed Ilinca.

The next thing Stefan saw was Ilinca shifting her gaze to Morcant. Instantly, he was frozen in place, no more able to move than Ronan. With Morcant taken care of, Ilinca returned her gaze to Ronan and continued speaking in the strange language.

Stefan couldn’t believe that Morcant and Ronan had been halted with merely a look from the old woman. He let loose his rage, let it fill him until he shook with it. He released a battle cry and leapt over the fire toward Ilinca. Stefan hadn’t gotten two steps before the old gypsy pinned him with a look that instantly jerked him to a halt.

Stefan was momentarily flabbergasted at the feeling rushing over him, the force controlling his body. He tried to move his arm, his head, anything. But she had complete control. He couldn’t even get his lips or voice to work.
 

The only thing he could move was his eyes, and he wished to God he wasn’t able to see what was going on. He hated the helplessness, the utter powerlessness he felt. When he got free – and, he would get free – he was going to take Ilinca’s head.

Ronan had no more killed Ana than he had. Ilinca had no right to blame any of them for Ana’s weakness. The longer the old gypsy held Stefan in place, the more his fury grew, consuming him with a blind rage that blocked out everything but the gypsy.

Ilinca’s gaze held his for a moment, seemingly undeterred by his wrath. She looked behind him.

Daman.

Stefan tried to shout for Daman to get away before she got him, as well. Stefan knew Daman wouldn’t leave, and when a satisfied smile crossed the old gypsy’s face, Stefan knew Daman had walked into the camp.

Stefan didn’t have time to think about that as Ronan suddenly squeezed his eyes shut while his body shook with pain. In the next instant, he vanished.

Naaaayyyyyy!

The bellow welled up in Stefan’s mind but it never passed his lips. No sooner had the old woman looked at Morcant than he disappeared, as well.

Then Ilinca returned her gaze to Stefan.

I’m going to kill you!

She smiled coldly, as if she could read his mind. The pain started slowly but built quickly. It seeped into every nerve, every crevice of his body.

It burned, it bit. It slashed, it gutted.

It ravaged.

Stefan held Ilinca’s gaze, daring her to give him all that she had. Had he not been held up by her magic, Stefan would’ve been on his knees, doubled over from the piercing, searing pain that went on and on.

His vision began to fade until there was nothing but blackness. Stefan fought against Ilinca’s hold, against his vision loss and his inability to help his friends.

The pain grew to such a degree, he could feel his heartbeat begin to slow. Stefan’s wrath doubled, his rage expanded until it exploded within him.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on a floor of stones. Stefan rose up on his arm and looked around for Ilinca so he could kill the gypsy witch.

Except there was nothing but darkness and silence.

The silence was eerie and the dark was cold, malicious.

He managed to get to his knees before he grew dizzy. He fell forward onto his hands and took huge gulps of breath.

“You’re here, Stefan Kennedy, because you are empty inside,” said a female voice all around him, crackling with age. “For that I curse you. You will be locked in this place until you get the chance to control your rage. If you fail, you’ll spend eternity here.”

Stefan sat back on his haunches with his hands on his thighs. It looked like he would never get out of whatever hell the old gypsy had put him in.
 

That thought only made his fury grow.

He got to his feet and felt…nothing. There wasn’t even a stirring of air. No cold, no heat, no sound, and definitely no light. He wasn’t thirsty or hungry or tired.

What he was, however, was totally and completely alone.

Stefan knew that feeling well. It hadn’t been around in a decade, but it was familiar nonetheless. It had remained his constant companion after his mother had died, right up until Ronan, Morcant, and Daman befriended him.

Where were his friends? Ronan and Morcant had disappeared in front of him. Did that mean Ilinca cursed them, as well? Could they be in this same prison?

Stefan grunted. “No’ likely.”

Ilinca wouldn’t be so kind as to put all four of them in the same place, not where they might find each other.
 
As for Daman, Stefan knew his friend was most likely cursed, as well.

Something snapped inside Stefan. It was the part of him that his friends kept in check, the part that fell away after his mother had died.

This time he knew it was gone for good, and he welcomed the anger as he began to plan how he would kill Ilinca.
 

CHAPTER ONE

Highlands, 1609

Morvan exited her home and looked to the morning sky as she stretched. There was a nip in the air, a hint that autumn would soon arrive. She surveyed the wooded landscape around her and sighed with pleasure. There was nowhere else she would rather live. The trees helped to cut the wind during the harsh winters, but that’s not why she preferred the forest.

Some called her magical.
 

Others called her cursed.

All Morvan knew, was that the forest was her home. She understood the plants and animals. If that made her cursed, then she would gladly accept the mantle.

She combed her fingers through her hair to push the heavy length out of her face, then quickly plaited it and tied it off with a strip of leather.

“What is in store for me today?” she asked, her steps light and eager as she walked the short distance to the loch.

The mountain was steep in places and the rocks many as she made her way down to the water. She stopped just before she left the trees when she saw a herd of red deer drinking on the opposite bank of the narrow strip of water.

Morvan waited, taking in the sight of the impressive herd. They knew her scent, but she didn’t want to intrude. It wasn’t until the last of them had had their fill and trotted away that she continued to the loch.

She sat against a grouping of rocks and pulled an oatcake out of her pocket. It was rare for her not to be at the loch first thing in the morning. As she ate her breakfast, Morvan contemplated the day.
 

Normally, there was a set area she would walk looking for animals that were in need of healing. Though the village thought her touched, there were those who didn’t hesitate to ask for her skills if one of their animals were sick.

The day before had been spent at the miller’s tending to the injured hoof of one of his sheep. Perhaps it was that she had been kept from the woods by helping the miller that she felt the need to just wander the forest and see what she could find.

With the oatcake finished, Morvan dusted off her hands and got to her feet. She turned to the right and began walking. As soon as she stepped back into the woods, a shiver ran down her spine. She halted instantly. The forest had been her home all her life, and not once had she ever felt such…foreboding. As if fate were warning her that something was coming.

Or was already there.

Morvan touched the nearest tree, a tall evergreen. The bark scraped her palm and pine needles crunched beneath her feet. The smell of pine permeated the air.

“What is it?” she asked the tree.

She didn’t expect an answer, but since she lived alone, she found it better to talk to the plants and animals rather than not talk at all.

Morvan took a deep breath as the music of the forest assaulted her. The wind whistling through the leaves, the creak of the limbs, the sweet songs of birds. Every animal, every plant contributed to the beautiful music.

When Morvan was just a child, she’d discovered that she was the only one who could hear the melody. She let her hand trail down the trunk of the tree as she lifted her foot and took a step. Then another, and another.

There wasn’t another chill, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen. It didn’t make her turn around though. Morvan didn’t turn away from anything or anyone. She slowly walked through the forest, stopping every now and again to admire a bird or flower.

It didn’t take long for her to relax as the tranquility of the woods seeped into her. She lost herself in the forest. She was spellbound by the serenity, enthralled by the peacefulness.
 

Morvan suddenly stopped and looked around. She knew every inch of the woods – especially the boundary between the MacKay’s lands and those of clan Sinclair that she was never to cross.

How then had she crossed the border?
 

With her heart pounding, Morvan hastily glanced around to make sure no one was hiding in the foliage. She took a tentative step back, appalled to realize she was much farther onto Sinclair land than she’d first thought.

Morvan swallowed nervously. Tensions between the Sinclairs and her clan, the MacKays, were high, especially after a recent skirmish. The last time she was in the village near the keep, she’d heard that there was trouble within the castle. The new laird, Alistair, was bent on peace while his younger brother Donald, still upset over not becoming laird, wanted war.

She didn’t want to be responsible for starting the war simply because she’d crossed the boundary by accident. It was so stupid of her. She knew better. No matter how many times she gave herself up to the woods, she had never ventured off her clan’s land. Ever.

From the moment she’d woken that morning, she’d felt as if there were something particularly different about the day, something not quite normal. Morvan hadn’t questioned it further though, and that’s apparently where she went wrong. She should’ve remained in her cottage.

Morvan spun around and walked back toward her clan’s land as fast and quietly as she could. She didn’t know this side of the forest like she did her own, and it complicated things. Twice, she had to retrace her steps and take a different route. Sweat beaded her forehead as she lifted her skirts to free her legs in an attempt to move faster.