Chapter Sixteen

“This is what you get for running off without any thought, you know.”

Beth rolled her eyes as her mother’s voice grated through her cellular phone. “I didn’t run off without thought, Mom. I had the time in my schedule. If I could control the weather, I wouldn’t need to work. I’d be rich.” She frowned as the overhead speaker droned on in a brittle nasally tone, announcing another outgoing flight had been moved from delayed to cancelled.

“Yes, well, it is winter. You should have anticipated this might happen.”

Whatever. Her mother was always right. And when she was in a snit like she was presently, nothing Beth could say would make her see the errors in her logic. The best thing she could do would be to end the conversation before it tail-spun into disaster. “I have to go, Mom. I’m sorry about dinner. We’ll get together when I get out of here.”

“Okay, dear. Be careful, Bethany Anne. Love you.”

“Yes, Mom. Love you too.”

She snapped her phone shut and blew out a sigh. Another night in Scotland, pissed off clients, and one in-a-snit mother. She ought to be concerned. At the least, she ought to be a little stressed out about what Judge Matthews’ reaction to her last-minute cancellation would be. Matthews detested having his caseload upended. He made it a point to retaliate in one fashion or another.

Strangely, Beth couldn’t bring herself to care. The whole day had left her numb. And her odd dream preoccupied her thoughts more than she cared to admit. What in the world could it possibly mean?

She bit back a groan, catching herself once again deliberating over the nightmare as if it were something more than a product of her over-taxed subconscious. If she had any sense at all, she’d stretch out on the chairs like the rest of her flight companions who’d been stuck at the airport for the last eight hours. They weren’t going anywhere either. Despite the cleared runways that allowed sparse incoming traffic, the airport couldn’t seem to de-ice their planes. All aircraft that began the day on the ground, were still sitting on the ground.

Hotels weren’t an option either. Though they’d all been offered complimentary boarding, finding a cabbie had become as rare as panning for gold. The airport was dead, security dozed at their posts, and the counter personnel seemed to be the only people actually doing something. Maybe they made the continual updates, passing along information everyone already knew would come, just to keep from falling asleep at their computer terminals.

Beth stretched her legs out wishing she’d had the foresight to rise earlier. If she’d set an alarm, she’d be getting home right about now. Settling in for a long winter night…alone.

She tipped her head back to gaze at the hulking shadows on the horizon and allowed her thoughts to drift to Fintan once more. I love you.

Even now, despite having replayed his whispered sentiment a hundred times or more, the confession warmed her. How she’d wanted to run back inside, throw her arms around him, and hold on forever. How she still longed to do just that.

It was the why that wouldn’t let her rest. Why she could no longer claim he was insane and why she didn’t care if he was.

“How’d it go?” The faint scent of cigarette smoke and cold winter air accompanied the warm voice.

Beth opened her eyes to give her temporary travel companion a grin as he dropped into the seat next to her. “As expected.”

“Gotta love family, huh?” He let out a low rumbling laugh that animated the curious tattoo across his cheekbones and nose. “Always know just where to hit you to make it count.”

Beth squinted, eyeing those intricate designs more closely. They bore a striking resemblance to Fintan’s. The same twining Celtic scrollwork that reminded her of intertwined tree branches. Two very similar swirls at the crest of his regal cheekbones. She hadn’t observed the likeness when he’d joined her several hours ago. But then again, several hours ago she’d still been absorbing the weight of Fintan’s confession.

“Yeah,” she answered suddenly melancholy. She missed him. Missed the warm light in his eyes, the firm grip of his hand. The unique comfort he provided. And the man beside her, though charming in his own way, only made her wish Fintan was the one stuck at the airport with her.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that all outgoing flights have been cancelled until further notice. Due to increasingly icy conditions on the runways, all aircraft has been grounded. All arrivals have been either rerouted or cancelled as well.”

“Damn,” her companion muttered.

“So I guess that means your friend isn’t coming?”

He raked a hand through shoulder-length auburn hair and frowned. “Doesn’t look like it.” Flexing his hips forward, he tucked a hand into his pocket and withdrew his cell. “Excuse me a minute. My turn to make one of those calls.”

Beth leaned back in her chair once more, closing her eyes. She didn’t know her companion’s name, hadn’t asked. Really didn’t know much about him at all, only that he’d made the last several hours relatively bearable. He’d mentioned flying in on a private jet from New York, and that shared point of origin somehow bonded them. She’d hate to see his plans ruined because his friend couldn’t get into the airport.

“Hey, it’s me.” His voice rumbled, and though she could clearly hear his east coast accent, the slight hint of a native burr fringed his words.

A Scot? That would certainly explain his auburn hair and the tribal tattoo.

“I’m still at the airport, man. She’s not coming. They just grounded all air traffic.” He paused, then said more emphatically, “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t control this any more than you can. The roads are shit, it’s still snowing—what more do you want me to do?” Throwing her an apologetic look, he rose to his feet and moved out of earshot.

Beth winced. Evidently he had family as touchy as her mother.

She twisted her head to gaze out the window again, feeling the pull of longing stretch her in two. What she’d give to be able to tell her mother and her clients where they could go and stay here, where her heart knew peace. For as long as Beth could remember, she’d been bending over backward to appease her mother.

With a blink, she sat up. Where had that thought come from? Her mother was testy, touchy on so many levels, but for the most part, they got along well.

Beth’s stomach did a slow roll. No. They got along well when she catered to her mother’s wishes and left her spine locked in the closet. Her mother had wanted her to go to law school, wanted her to marry Dan. Wanted her to divorce Dan before scandal somehow ignited. Wanted her to give up painting because she could never really go anywhere by making pretty pictures.

For so long now she’d been trying to please her mother, she hadn’t even realized her mantra to live her own life was in fact designed to appease her mother’s ideas about what was best.

She was Baptist because her Mother said she should be. Ate pork well done so she wouldn’t have to hear the lecture. Lamented being stuck in Scotland because her mother expected her to lament.

All she wanted to do was stay. And paint. And love Fintan McClaine. He and his crazy, wholly plausible explanations of her past. She didn’t need logic to believe in the impossible. Didn’t need permission to deviate from the norm. Good heavens, she was grown, self-sufficient…and by God, she wanted to paint! In that little brick-front shop they’d stumbled across while shopping.

I love you.

Her pulse kick-started, and Beth bolted to the edge of her chair. He really loved her. All along he’d been trying to lead her to accept what she’d been schooled to deny. He believed in her—not what she could be, not what she might be, but what she was.

Her companion returned, his grin as aloof as ever. He thrust a hand out to shake hers. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m going to head out and call it a night. I hope you make it out of here tomorrow.”

Beth’s focus zeroed in on his departure. “Head out? You found a cabbie?”

Azure eyes sparkled with silent laughter. “No taxi will come out in this weather. I brought four-wheel drive.”

“You have a car.”

“Yeah.” His slow lazy grin lifted first one corner of his mouth then the next. “You want a lift?”

She nearly jumped to her feet squealing. Back to Fintan—snowed-in didn’t sound so bad at all. Yet caution warred. She didn’t even know this man’s name. He was nice enough, but what if he were psychotic? Chewing on her lower lip, she looked to the mountains once more and wrung her hands.

A flash of memory accompanied the beat of her heart. The woman from her dream—Ealasaid—crouching behind the enormous monolith. Afraid. Determined to kill Drandar with that tiny pick she clutched in her right hand. A man who doubled her in size.

The insignificant glimpse gave Beth strength. She’d been doing the right thing for way too many years. She was Celt at heart, and her ancestor hadn’t let fear steer her away from her goal.

“There’s a decent little inn just past my brother’s place,” her companion encouraged. “I’ll drop you off there. Fifteen minutes. Well…” He gestured at the window with a chuckle. “Depending on the roads.”

“Okay. I think I should know your name first.” Beth grinned as she slid her palm into his.

“Dáire McClaine.” He gave her hand a firm pump. “And you are?”

McClaine? No way. It couldn’t be…

Beth blinked at him, seeing his tattoo in a whole new light. “Did you say McClaine? You’re visiting your brother?”

Puzzlement crinkled his brow. “Yes, and yes. He’s…ill. I was supposed to meet a woman who was going to help…care for him…for a short time. He’s just thirty miles west of here. We’ll go right past the old family castle—quite a view.”

Castle. Beth’s stomach dropped to her toes. As far as she knew Fintan wasn’t ill, but the matching surnames, the castle that was too close to the airport to be any other castle but the one she wanted to get back to. Half-afraid to hear Dáire’s answer, she asked, “Is your brother Fintan McClaine?”

All traces of humor drained from Dáire’s face. He cocked his head and squinted at Beth, studying her. After several uncomfortable seconds, he exhaled, “Son of a bitch…you’re Beth.”

As everything clanged together in Beth’s head, her knees threatened to give way. All the implausible claims she’d been trying to ignore rose to the surface and swamped over her. She didn’t believe in coincidence. Fintan’s brother had flown in from New York on the very day she was leaving. Now, when no other cabbie could be found, he was standing before her, offering to give her a ride.

The same tattoo, the same not-quite-Scottish burr that clung to his speech. Her head filled with the words Ealasaid recited, the sound of ancient people chanting a language she didn’t recognize before the chaos erupted. Identical to the underlying melody of both Dáire’s and Fintan’s speech.

Panic hit her. “Fintan’s sick?”

“I thought he told you…” Dáire’s hand fisted around her wrist. “Never mind. We’ve got to go.”

“He wasn’t sick this morning.” She stumbled along behind him, struggling to keep up with his long, determined strides.

“Yes he was.” As he pushed open the exit doors, he glanced over his shoulder and shot her a frown. “We’re cursed, Beth. He fell in love with you…and it made him…sick. Are you coming or not?” He shook his head, picked up her suitcase, and tugged on her hand, near-dragging her into the cold. “No, scratch that. You’re coming. You’re the only one who can save him, whether you want to or not.”

Like the lightning that had illuminated the long-ago ring of standing stones, understanding flashed. My sire is a demon…Whatever was wrong with Fintan, he’d been telling her the truth all along. It didn’t matter how it could possibly occur, didn’t matter how impossible it sounded. It was true. Every last word of his fantastic, zany stories.

Chills raced down her spine as she jogged along behind Dáire, but not from the snowflakes that pelted her face or the bitter wind that whipped through her coat. Like a voice whispered to her from the grave, goose bumps broke over her skin. Fintan was in danger. She didn’t know how she knew…but she couldn’t shake the instinctual awareness.