Chapter 5 #2
He chuckled under his breath. Apparently, he needed to convince her it was only natural the animals be drawn to her.
She was a Guardian; that is what she did.
She must visit Taroc Na Mor. If he could at least get her on the land, get her in the presence of one of the older Draecna, he knew she would change her mind about everything.
“Sorry.” She returned. The deer had relented and retreated to the edge of the clearing, nosing its way between a few forsythia bushes until it disappeared into the deeper shelter of the woods.
“Where is yer wee friend?” He smiled as he spotted the flick of the deer’s white tail amid the leafy cover of the trees.
“Uhm…not sure.” She paced back and forth in front of the bench then twitched a shrug at the woods.
“I know it might seem a little strange. But animals are sort of, I guess you could say . . .” She paused, stole another frowning glance at the forest, and shook her head.
“They are attracted to me sometimes. Now, could we just concentrate on why you are here, please?”
He perched on top of the picnic table, elbows propped on his knees. “I probably understand more about ye than ye realize, Ms. MacPherson. I am somewhat of an expert on yer ancestry.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her pacing stopped. “I see. Why don’t you start by telling me about this Guild of Barac’Nairn, since I already know my family’s history?”
“I would like to start by calling ye Hannah, if ye dinna mind.” She had thrown up her hackles when he mentioned her family history.
There would be no telling her the truth about Taroc Na Mor or her destiny until he had her on the blessed soil of the sacred ground.
He clenched his teeth, his frustration mounting.
The woman would not make this easy. He would have to get her there and let the magic in her blood open her mind to her calling.
The Draecna race needed her, and whether or not she realized it, she needed them.
Her nostrils flared, then her lovely mouth pursed as she blew out a disgruntled huff. She granted him a regal dip of her chin. “Fine. Call me Hannah.”
He hid his smile by scratching the day’s stubble along his jaw.
By the fires of Erastaed, ye would have thought he had asked for permission to beat her.
Her uneasy tone reminded of a cornered animal.
Perhaps the fiery Guardian was a bit uncertain of herself?
Interesting. She was, by far, the most hardheaded woman he had ever met.
And the greatest challenge he had faced in quite a while.
And bless his hybrid hide, if he didn’t love it.
“Then, Hannah—” He eased her name off his tongue like a lover calling to his mate. He wanted her to hear the music of Scotland, the magic of its sound. “Walk with me and I shall tell ye of the Guild of Barac’Nairn, and how we have taken care of Taroc Na Mor down through the ages.”
They followed a path that led into the woods and paused on a small wooden bridge spanning a gurgling creek. Sunshine and shadow danced across the rippling water, lending a peacefulness to the gentle breeze soughing through the trees.
“I am the Protector chosen by the Guild of Barac’Nairn.” Taggart leaned against the weathered, split-wood railing of the bridge. “Our council has watched over Taroc Na Mor for more centuries than recorded by mortal man.”
Hannah idly ran her fingers along the gray wooden beam, picking off loose splinters and tossing them into the water. Before he could continue, she lifted a hand and stopped him. “That makes no sense.”
A subtle change, unbidden and carrying the stench of evil set him on edge.
Every muscle tensed; he scanned the area, searching for the source.
The energies had tightened, making the air crackle.
Danger was close, and his senses were never wrong about such things.
He remained watchful while edging closer and resting a hand on her arm.
“What say ye?” He peered into the darkest shadows under the bushes, keeping his voice low and calm. Something wicked drew closer, something meaning her ill will. Had a minion followed them? Where in Hades was it?
She frowned at him then lowered her gaze to his hand on her arm.
After clearing her throat, she slid out from under his grasp.
“If the Guild of Barac’Nairn has watched over Taroc Na Mor for untold centuries and you have known all about my family, then why didn’t my grandmother or mother know anything about this Scottish wonderland and inherit Taroc Na Mor before either of them died?
That is the part of your story that makes little sense. ”
A warning growl exploded from him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and dove over the railing of the bridge. With one arm holding her tight to his chest, he rolled them underneath the structure and clung to the rafters. She spit and sputtered, her head barely above water.
“What are you doing? Are you insane?” She clawed and kicked as the water rushed over them.
“Shut it, woman, so I might hear!” He jerked her harder against him and pressed his back tighter up into the base of the bridge.
With every sense he possessed, he listened across the dimensions, straining to hear the slightest sound.
They had disappeared. Attacked and left, like always.
A quick strike, then fade into the wind or the rain to ensure no one detected the destruction caused by their magic.
They couldn’t risk those on this side of the threshold discovering their existence.
He hauled her out from under the bridge and released her. He patted her arms, felt the top of her head, then finally tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face up for a closer look. “Are ye hurt? Did I scrape ye when I yanked ye over the railing?”
As she blinked water out of her eyes, she growled through clenched teeth, “bend down here.”
“Why?” He bent closer.
She punched him in the mouth then gave a satisfied nod as blood spurted from his lip.
He pressed his thumb to the split and backed away. “What did I do to deserve that, ye wee beast?”
“What did you do?” Her mouth sagged open as she wrung out her ponytail. “You dragged me off the bridge. Yanked me into the creek. Told me to shut up. And you ask what you did to deserve a pop in the mouth? Are you kidding me? You’re lucky that’s all I did.”
“Look over there!” He grabbed her shoulders and turned her toward a stand of trees no taller than the height of her throat. Several thick trunks stood twisted off. Snapped in two like toothpicks. Their splintered tops lay scattered across the path like oversized stalks of harvested broccoli.
She stared at the destruction. Her hand went to her throat as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. With a nervous look all around, she eyed area, searching for the source. “We just walked down that path.”
“Aye. We did. That verra same path.”
She glanced back at the trees again. “Those weren’t like that then.”
“Nay. They were not.”
With a contrite look, she wrapped her hand in the hem of her wet shirt and stretched on tiptoe to blot the blood from his mouth. “Bend down here so I can clean that up. I’m sorry I hit you.”
He bent to accept her reluctant apology but didn’t have the heart to tell her he had stopped bleeding within a few seconds.
She hadn’t hurt him. The lass had just surprised him when she struck him.
He came from Erastaed and healed at a much faster rate.
But he did rather enjoy the sight of her creamy white belly as she dabbed her shirttail to his mouth.
“What could cause that kind of damage? Was it some kind of freak windstorm or something? Do you have any idea? And how did you know?” Still pressing her shirt to his mouth, she cast another glance back at the trees.
He gently set her hand away. If she didn’t cover that midriff of hers, other parts of him would sorely yearn for her attentions. “There are powerful forces in this world. And some are nay so friendly toward us.”
Her mouth tightened into a grim, determined line. “I see. Then thank you for saving my life.” She took a step back. Her eyes narrowed as she walked the line of destruction. “So, that is what your Guild does? Protects the owners of Taroc Na Mor from these powerful forces seeking to harm them?”
“Aye.” Uneasiness stabbed deep in his gut like a demon warning him all was not well.
The quiver in her voice gave away the emotions tainting the hue of her aura.
He braced himself for the worst. A dangerous storm was brewing.
Her scowl went dark and fierce like a storm ready to thunder across the horizon.
With a curt nod, she strode across the bridge. As she exited the wood, she shouted back with a single flip of her hand. “I suggest you catch the next flight back to Scotland. Because first thing tomorrow morning, I will tell my lawyer to put Taroc Na Mor up for sale.”
“Hannah! Come back here!”
She brushed him off with a hard flip of both hands while shaking her head.
“Curse the woman and her hardheaded ways!” With a muttered snarl, he scanned the woods one last time before chasing after her. As he headed up the path, a snorting buck leapt from the brush and blocked the lane with his massive antlered head lowered.
“Ye canna protect her the way I can. Now, see reason and step aside.” Taggart came up short.
He admired the animal’s loyalty and respected the multi-pronged antlers the mighty deer wielded with a jerk of his bulging neck.
But the creature needed to understand the adversary they faced could not be defeated by the physical forces of this world.
The buck snorted again, glanced at Hannah’s retreating form, then turned a stony glare on Taggart.
“I swear to ye upon my birthing shell, I am here to keep her safe.” He cast a glance after her. “Now, let me go. They are still near, and it isna safe for her to travel alone.”
The deer faded into the trees without another sound.
With a flick of his wrist, Taggart erased Sheriff Matt’s memory.
That should make the man forget why he needed to follow him.
The sheriff’s persistent shadowing was a nuisance.
The fool needed to tend to his regular business and get on with escaping from the whiny lass herding all those bairns at the nursery.
He settled back in the seat of his rental car and watched Hannah through the diner’s wide window. Bloody hell, but the woman vexed him. She refused his calls and left any room he entered. Surely, she hadn’t meant what she said about selling Taroc Na Mor.
Drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel, Taggart huffed a troubled snort. Somehow, he had to convince her to come to Scotland. All he needed was to get those pretty feet of hers on what she didn’t realize was her homeland. Then she would be there for life.
He shifted in the seat, remembering how warm and soft she had been while clutching him under that bridge.
A low chuckle escaped him. What fire she possessed.
When she drew back that tiny fist and bloodied his lip, it had shocked him.
A woman with such fire also guaranteed immense passion.
He squirmed again and adjusted the seam of his suddenly too snug pants.
Gads, he needed to think of something else.
The late-evening sun shone through the diner window, highlighting her golden hair.
Reminded him of the finest whisky swirling in the light of a torch.
He loved the way she tossed her head when she laughed, although she didn’t laugh often.
She appeared relaxed now that it was just her and her friend.
Other times, she kept her guard constantly in place.
He sucked in a deep breath, understanding completely. Perhaps he and the Guardian had more in common than either of them knew. Well, suspicious or not, she had to come to Scotland. Taroc Na Mor needed her, and he wasn’t leaving here without her.