Page 94 of Dark Victory

Macleod sighed, his head hurting—his heart hurting. An Tùir-Tara was two-and-a-half centuries away. But the deamhan ghost was there in the present with them. He should not stay downstairs for too long. Criosaidh’s ghost had breached Tabitha’s protection spell, even if she hadn’t tried to use her black power. The failure of the spell was ominous; it did not sit well with him. He had the instincts of a hunter, but now, he almost felt like the hunted. And to make matters more dire, he sensed that the sands of time were running out.

He heard a sob behind him—or he thought he did. He whirled.

A thin fourteen-year-old boy faced him, standing before the hearth, crying in despair, weeping in rage, wanting to know why. Why?

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look away, incredulous that the boy would dare to make his presence known at such a dangerous time. He wanted the damn boy gone.

It was so clear that the boy was terrified, but not of evil or his enemies. He was afraid of being alone.

Macleod had forgotten that.

The boy fell to his knees, crying. Mixed up in the fear, there was rage. That boy was furious with the world, but instead of ranting and raving, he wept. When he was finally done, he had to take that rage and bury it at sea with all of his loved ones, so he could become a man and do his duty and live a life of soulless revenge.

He had forgotten that, too.

The boy stared at him as if bewildered. Why?

Why? Every man had his duty, his burdens, his responsibilities. Macleod strode to the boy, intending to kill him with his bare hands, because he did not want to recall any of this, ever! But the boy vanished, so he seized the chair and hurled it at the wall with all of his strength. It struck the stone above the hearth, splintering into a thousand tiny pieces.

That boy was pathetic. He pitied him—hated him. How dare he question his life!

And then he heard Tabitha call him.

Too late, he felt the evil and her pain.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Nick asked. He did not bother to lower his voice, as they were in the midst of a thick forest and entirely alone. He glanced upward to locate the sun. Although he saw slivers of blue sky, he gave it up and reached into his pack for his GLD, a palm-size device that would instantly tell him where they were—but not if he’d made it to the right time.

Jan was also clad in camouflage, carrying a small pack with her gear, and she stood, brushing dirt and pine needles from her thighs and seat. She had resisted going back until liftoff, arguing that she was needed at HCU to hold down the fort. But, never one to hold a grudge, she said, “I’m fine. Where are we?”

He smiled. The best thing about Jan, other than the fact that he considered her family, was that she was all business when it counted. He glanced at the LED screen. His smile vanished. “Motherfucker. We’re just north of Loch Gairloch.”

Jan didn’t bat an eye. “You know how hard it is to pinpoint a landing. How far are we from Blayde?”

He tapped the screen and a moment later, an estimate had come up. “About twenty miles. And there’s a few big puddles between us and them. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have an inflatable raft in my pack.”

Jan folded her arms, appearing cross. “Come to think of it, considering the high percentage of water in the Highlands, why didn’t we pack one?”

“Last time I flew by Scottish Air, I landed right on target.” He tapped the screen. “We’re really close to Melvaig.”

“Tabby’s at Blayde. Or that is the most likely scenario. My money says Kristin’s wherever Tabby Rose is.”

“What would I do without you?” He grinned. He liked going back in time, especially to medieval Scotland, even if this was only his third trip back. The air was so damned invigorating. And he loved the fact that he couldn’t predict what the hell they would encounter. Now they’d have to borrow a vessel from Melvaig.

Jan said, “You should have told me about the flashbacks.”

He shrugged as if he didn’t give a damn, even though his gut clenched. There’d been four—when he’d hoped that first one would be the last one. They were getting more intense and closer together.

“You need a psych evaluation. You should not be here, now, damn it,” Jan said, her beautiful green eyes flashing.

She’d been arguing about the mission when he let the information slip. She kept telling him to take Sam or MacGregor or the new Russian guy. She’d had that steely look in her eyes that meant she was never going back in time again, not for anyone, not even for him. And that was when he’d told her he was having flashbacks.

They’d almost killed him once.

They’d killed an agent instead.

He couldn’t do this alone and he couldn’t tell anyone. They’d put him back in psych. And he had HCU to run.