TEN

Maggie watched from the front porch as Cailean headed back into town, where she had reluctantly booked a room at the only motel, which was owned by Deputy Branson’s sister. They had argued about it almost the entire drive back from Griffith, but Maggie had held firm, saying she would take full responsibility for whatever happened to her while alone with Duncan. “The MacKinnon” as her cousin called him.

On the way to Griffith, Maggie had told Cailean about what she’d read in Lachlan’s journals so far about the Legend MacKinnon. Cailean agreed that she needed to read the journals. Her sense of dread and foreboding had increased, not diminished, since their confrontation with Duncan. Maggie’s mention of the legend only seemed to cement this.

She’d tried to get Cailean to talk more about what she’d seen in her vision but she was as adamant about not discussing it until she’d read the journal entries, as she was about Maggie not staying in the cabin. That was when the arguing began. It ended abruptly when Maggie blurted out that Duncan did indeed believe his brother died three hundred years ago. It was true. He had died with them. He was a ghost. Cailean had gone dead silent and just as pale. When Maggie refused to return with her to town, Cailean had taken the trunk and the journals and left, angry and upset.

While in Griffith, Maggie had other, more important worries at the moment. She had called directory assistance in Manhattan and asked for the number of any detective agencies close to Judd’s office address. The first one was less than a block away, but very posh and way out of her ballpark. The man she’d spoken to had been nice enough to refer her to another smaller agency. Relieved, she’d been about to hang up when he’d asked her to repeat her name, there had been a pause, then he’d politely put her on hold. A sick ball of dread had formed in her stomach. She’d been about to hang up when another man came on the phone, all smooth voice and placating talk. He’d apologized for his partner and said he’d be more than willing to help her for a reduced fee, gave her some song and dance about his sister getting knocked around once and how he’d made it a personal pledge to help women like her.

Problem was, she’d never gotten far enough with his partner to explain she’d been abused. She’d made some garbled response and slammed the phone down. Had Judd hired someone to track her down? Very possible. Just as possible he’d pick the priciest agency closest to where he spent most of his time. His office. Abused sister my ass. She could only hope he’d be unable to trace that call.

Maggie stared sightlessly at the road leading down the mountain, the dust long since settled after Cailean’s departure. For half a second, she wanted to run to her car and follow Cailean to town. A useless move as her new-found cousin was all caught up in the past and visions of murdering Scots. Maggie had a real violent man to deal with. Her clan ancestors would have to wait in line.

It was getting dark and the air was decidedly cold. Maggie let herself into the cabin. It was as dark as it had been when she and Cailean had come in to get the trunk. The Jeep ride had been drafty and she’d looked forward to one of Duncan’s roaring fires. But there wasn’t a roaring fire. Nor was there any Duncan. Would he come back now that Cailean was gone? He’d given his word.

The furniture was still there. The wood he’d chopped earlier was still stacked on the hearth. The poker he’d angrily driven into the burning log what seemed like a lifetime ago, was now laying flat on the hearth, the pointed end laying useless amidst the ashes.

She shivered and rubbed at her arms. She needed to talk this out with someone. She wanted that someone to be Duncan.

First things first, however. She’d used up the stash of matches she’d found earlier in the week repeatedly lighting the finicky pilot light on the old propane stove. She’d meant to get more in town, but she’d completely forgotten. A quick search didn’t turn up any more of them. “There’s never a good ghost around when you need one.”

Swearing loudly, disparaging Duncan’s entire lineage in the course of it, half-hoping it would make an effective ghost-call, she climbed the ladder to the loft and pulled on another sweater and grabbed the duvet off the bed. She heaved it over the railing, then descended to the kitchen, still grumbling. She grabbed a package of cinnamon crackers, looked longingly at the tea kettle, and made a nest on the small couch.

Munching her way through one cracker after another, heedless of the crumbs or the encroaching shadows, her thoughts turned back to her phone call. Even if the detective managed to trace her call, all he’d find out was that she’d been in the Sip N’ Suds in Griffith, North Carolina. He wouldn’t be able to track her from there. Would he? Just having Judd narrow her down to the state she was in, much less the county, was much too close for comfort. “Think, Maggie, think,” she said, wiping cinnamon crumbs from her hands.

She couldn’t go to the police. Hiring a detective agency wasn’t against the law and she wasn’t sure what good it would do if it did violate some restriction. Judd had grown to omnipotent proportions in her mind, but the reality wasn’t so farfetched from that vision.

Whom could she trust? She thought of deputy Branson in town, but shook her head. Branson was a nice guy, in a Gomer Pyle sort of way. Well meaning and loyal, but not exactly hardened to the ways of the big bad world. Judd would make a light snack of him. Where did that leave her?

Dead. That’s where it left her.

Just then Duncan pushed the front door open and let himself quietly into the cabin. It was the quiet that caught her immediate attention. She was used to screeching door hinges, warped wood dragging across the floor and the thundering footsteps that usually announced his arrival.

He walked right past her toward the hearth. It was darker than she’d realized and she’d turned on no lamps, but she didn’t think he’d miss noticing her sitting there.

He didn’t bend down to lay fresh wood on the ashes. Instead he stood and stared into the cold hearth in silent contemplation, as if the flames still danced and beckoned his attention.

“Duncan?”

Maggie watched him for a moment. He didn’t move so much as a muscle. She was tempted to ignore him as well, Lord knew she had enough to deal with at the moment, but something about the way he stood there, so still, so contained, held her attention until she finally gave into it. She shifted the comforter off her lap and stood, shivering almost immediately as the chill night air hit her skin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get the fire going,” she said. “It was out when I got back and there were no matches.”

Still nothing.

She stepped to the end of the couch. Something was wrong. Very wrong. She took a step closer. “Are you okay?”

When another eternal minute passed she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Well, I can’t keep up with your scintillating conversation, so I’ll turn in.” She walked toward the ladder. “If you could get a fire going, I’d appreciate it.”

She clutched the ladder with one hand, the duvet gathered in an awkward bundle in her other hand. She was halfway up when he finally spoke.

“I didna mean tae upset you.”

She started at his voice and gripped the ladder hard, then balanced herself and the duvet before looking back at him. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it.”

There was a pause, then, “Good night, Maggie.”

His tone was more vacant than dismissive, like something else was so dominating his attention he could barely focus enough to form words.

Go on up to bed, she told herself. He’s got problems, so what. You’ve got problems of your own. And he’s already dead. You’re not. Yet.

Still, she couldn’t help staring at him. “Do you want to talk about it?” The words just came out. Maybe if she could get him to talk, she could get him to listen to her as well. It still surprised her how badly she wanted to talk to him about her situation.

He didn’t answer. He was lost once again in his inner world. She only hoped he surfaced enough to make a fire before she froze to death.

“Well, good night then.”

She climbed the rest of the way to the loft then took off her boots, pulled on another pair of wool socks and crawled into bed fully dressed. She tried to get her mind back to her problems, but found her thoughts drifting relentlessly back to the man standing downstairs in the dark. What had happened while she was gone? Why had he let his fire go out?

Sleep claimed her as she wrestled with worry. As she drifted off, she saw a glow spring to life down below and smiled as the heat slowly invaded her limbs.

She woke up in the middle of the night, sweating profusely. More asleep than not, she kicked grumpily at the heavy covers and sat up, already tugging at her sweater and shirts. The jeans took a bit longer, but she dumped them on the floor in a heap along with the rest, and sighed in relief, her eyes already shut as she curled blissfully naked back beneath the covers.

When she woke for the second time, she was sweating again, but this time it was cold and clammy. Her heart was racing and her head ached from the nightmare. She blinked hard and rubbed her eyes as she sat up, working hard to focus on reality and escape the last vestiges of the dream. She frowned as she woke the rest of the way up … and was forced to accept that the nightmare was real.

“Judd will kill me,” she whispered. Saying it out loud only made it more real. “No matter where I go Judd will find me.” She wondered if the torture she’d suffered would hurt as badly in real life as it had in the dream. Could the subconscious really know?

“Yer right, lass. He will kill you.”

Maggie let out a small scream as she clutched at the covers. Duncan was standing on the other side of the bed, looking out the small window above the headboard. His face was devoid of expression.

Then he turned to look at her and whatever words had been on her lips slid down her throat in a solid mass. His gaze was so pointed it all but pinned her to the bed. “And ye will suffer.”

She struggled to breathe, to get her bearings. “Shouldn’t—” The word came out on a gargle of air. She had to pause to clear her throat. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a black robe and be carrying a scythe or something?” Her attempt at humor didn’t help either one of them.

“I am no’ the angel o’ death.”

She tucked the covers more firmly under her arms and scooted back. “You’re not exactly the life of the party either.”

Duncan moved closer, towering over her. “Maggie, you will die.”

She could hear the finality in his voice. He knew. But she knew it on a deeper level than that, had known before he’d spoken, before she’d dreamed her own imminent death, before she’d made that phone call. She could stay here in Madden County, North Carolina or run to the ends of the earth.

“I can’t live my life running.” She looked up at him. “Maybe I can avoid him for a while. But he’ll catch me, won’t he?”

Duncan merely nodded, watching her.

Maggie began to shake. Terror and tears fought violently for the upper hand. “I don’t want to die like that, Duncan,” she whispered roughly. Tears burned past her eyes, terror took over her body, rattling it hard. “I don’t want to die.” She held the edge of the duvet in two fists beneath her chin and fell apart. “There should be a way for me to do this, but there isn’t, is there? Oh God, there isn’t, is there?”

Duncan moved around the bed and sat next to her. He took her chin in a firm grip and forced her to look at him. “There is a way.”

“How? Find him first? I can’t kill someone. Not even Judd. I don’t think I could. Duncan—”

He stopped her with a kiss.

He’d humbled himself far more than he’d ever thought possible by going to Them in the first place. They’d called his appearance before them proof of his strength of soul. He knew it had only proved his ultimate weakness. A Claren woman would send him to hell. It was his fate.

Yet he had gone forward, had asked for help and guidance. They had given it.

But he had not planned on touching her.

He took her mouth, swallowed her plea, tasted her tears, hoping to drown his own anger, to find an end to this need he had of her. It wasn’t a soft claiming, but a fierce declaration that he could take and not give in to her. He was already prepared to sacrifice for her. But it was a sacrifice of the mind, a saving of his choosing. He would not surrender his will. And he would certainly not surrender his heart.

And yet simply by bending to his need to taste her, to have her, he knew the destruction of his will had begun. Telling himself it was a selfish act he committed for his own pleasure was a lie even he could not dwell on for as long as it took to think it. This was not about pleasure.

This was about need. Basic, fundamental need.

Even knowing that, feeling his will begin to erode, to crumble as Stonelachen had against the battering rams of the Claren warriors, he continued to feed his needs, plundering her mouth for the spoils of war. But where it had taken centuries of time and thousands of Clarens to defeat the MacKinnons, it would take only one week and this one Claren woman to destroy him.

He made to pull away then, but she lifted her hand to his cheek and opened her mouth under his. He stiffened further, experiencing something close to terror at the feelings a simple touch of her fingers could wring from him. She slid her hand to the back of his neck and with needy, urgent fingertips, held him close.

He told himself there was resistance in him still, that the battle might be compromised, but the victory of wills was still his to claim. But she chose that moment to release him, and will it or not, there was no denying the instant and absolute abandonment he felt at that sudden disconnection. He could not devise a lie clever enough to make himself believe that his will would ever again be solely his to control.

She stared at him, her skin flushed, her lips wet, her soft eyes filled with emotion. The confusion was understandable. It was the rekindling of hope that tore at him. “You said there was a way,” she said finally.

“Aye, there is.” He stood. His long discussion with Them had yielded many disturbing things, but only two solutions. “I can give you two choices. Only one is certain tae keep ye safe from the death Judd has planned.”

“And that is?”

“I have less than three weeks left on this mountain. When that time is up I return to purgatory.” He shifted his weight, still disturbed by this next bit. “They will allow you to ascend with me.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

Duncan straightened further. Trust a Claren to make a difficult situation even more so. “I said, ye can join me in the afterlife. Ye’ll be safe there.”

Maggie tucked the sheet under her arms and scooted into a cross-legged position, a look of disbelief on her face. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “In order to keep Judd from killing me, I’m to kill myself now.”

He scowled. He should have known better. Why had he felt compelled to intervene on her behalf? Her lips were indescribably sweet, but her tongue certainly wasn’t. “Ye would be wise tae heed this offer.”

He watched her struggle to regain her composure, but there was very real fear behind those blue eyes. Still, she would not give into it. His irritation lessened somewhat. A MacKinnon recognized and admired bravery when he saw it. Even, he supposed, in a Claren.

“There is another way.”

She brightened immediately.

He silently cursed the responsive chord that struck in him. He tried to tell himself that he was only doing this as a means to hopefully be reunited with his clan. With his brothers. They had presented him with an opportunity and he had been wise enough to avail himself of it. He had not offered to save her life to make her happy, nor to settle any debt he had to Mairi or the Clarens.

Liar.

He swallowed the truth and it went down hard. “I could try and see to yer safety here on earth before I go. Because I’ve offered tae do that for ye, They are willin’ tae allow me to have my leave o’ this place to see it done.”

She took a moment to assimilate his words. “You mean, they’ll let you leave the mountain?”

“Aye. I can go where I wish, do wha’ I wish.”

Her eyes all but sparkled with the possibilities. “And you get to keep your … ghostly powers?”

Duncan frowned at her description. “Nothing else changes.”

Maggie clapped her hands together, then made a wild grab for the slipping covers. “That’s wonderful, that’s—” She broke off as suddenly as she’d started, a frown creasing her forehead. “Wait a minute. Why?”

“I told you why, so I could help ye—”

“I know that part. Why would you do this? I can understand dragging me along to the afterlife when your three weeks are up. All you’d have to do is sit here until we’re called. But this … This way you’ll have to physically do something. You’ll actively have to help me.”

“And I warned you there were no guarantees this way. I’ll do wha’ I can, but it may no’ be enough.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question. Why would you do this for me? Just to get off the mountain?” Her eyes widened. “If I don’t agree to just go with you and ask you to help me instead, what happens if you—if we—fail?”

“I am free to spend my time here where I wish no matter. When my time is done, I return to purgatory.”

“So why do it? Why put yourself out for me if offering alone was enough?”

Duncan stared at her sitting there in her downy nest, hair tangled, skin glowing in the firelight from below. There were a hundred answers to her question and not one had anything to do with being reunited with his brothers. “Does it matter as long as I’m willing?” he asked quietly.

She assessed him in silence, her gaze so intent it was as if she thought she could intuit his thoughts, ferret out his secrets, if she but looked long enough and deep enough.

“Yes. Yes, it does,” she said, just as quietly. “If you succeed, do you get out of purgatory?”

“I have no way of knowing that.” He stilled her question with a raised hand. “If I’ve passed some test with Them by doing this, so be it. It was not why I offered.”

She straightened, her gaze turning more challenger than inquisitor. “I swore when I left Judd I’d never let myself get into a situation where I had to rely on someone else ever again. I’d have to be sure I was in control, at least of my own share. Well, I’m still not in control, of anything. I’m still having to rely on someone else to help me. That’s hard enough to deal with. Maybe I should just be grateful for your offer and not care about the motivation behind it. But I’m already trapped by one person’s agenda. I can’t risk getting trapped by yours, too.” She commanded his full attention and a great deal of his respect with nothing more than a look. “Tell me the truth, Duncan MacKinnon. Why do you really want to help me?”