CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE #3
As the black power blazed at him, Ian tensed for the blow.
To his shock, it hit an invisible wall and ricocheted away.
Tabby’s protection spell. Power was striking power between the men, and Ian flung everything he had at Moray.
And to his surprise, he saw the silver wave sizzling into his grandfather’s chest.
Moray transformed into Hemmer once again. Ian straightened as Hemmer gasped, seizing himself and looking down at his bloody chest. Aidan and Macleod struck as one.
Hemmer looked up. His eyes remained Moray’s—and they were filled with fury and hatred. “I am immortal,” he rasped.
Ian struck again. Although Moray’s eyes blazed red, Hemmer was eerily pale and slowly collapsing. He struck one more time. Suddenly brown eyes emerged in his face, filled with the shock of the dying before turning sightless. His body sparking red and black, Hemmer hit the floor.
Black power rushed out of him with a physical roar, swirling about the room.
Tabby was on her feet, holding something in her hands. “Eternal evil, come to me. Eternal evil, seek this peace. Eternal evil, find this place. Eternal evil, occupy this space.”
Ian realized she was holding a small glass jar and lid. His eyes widened as the black power swarmed into the jar. Tabby snapped the lid on and screwed it tight, murmuring, “Evil contained in this one place, evil in chains, in this one place.”
Clutching the jar, Tabby turned in alarm. “Sam?”
Then he realized Aidan was tending Sam. He turned and dropped to his knees.
Absolute horror began. “No!”
“She’s gone,” Aidan gasped, meeting his gaze starkly.
It was impossible. Ian pulled her into his arms in shock and disbelief. Aidan clasped his shoulder. Enraged, he flung him off. “She’s not dead!”
Suddenly so much light was pouring into the library, brilliant and unnatural, that he glanced up.
In the shining light he saw shapes and forms, human in outline, but he knew they were the immortals.
He couldn’t breathe. The old gods filled the room, clad in robes and long gowns, both men and women.
One god, taller than the others, approached.
Ian was furious—he hated them all! They’d taken Sam from him and forsaken him to evil!
But as the great god approached, he was bathed in his magnificence and splendor.
The fury and hatred vanished. He could make out the god’s features now and he somehow knew they were related.
Then he turned, because the god’s light was bathing Sam.
As he looked down, her eyelashes fluttered.
“She’s alive,” he breathed. Nothing had ever meant more to him.
But Aidan was already healing her. Ian thought he heard a man say, “’Tis her time to live, not die.”
He glanced back at the god, who hovered over Sam now, a paternal smile on his face. Their eyes met. His mouth never moved, but Ian heard him as clear as day.
We never meant to hurt you, Ian. And we did not forsake you…
The god started to fade before his very eyes, as did the brilliant light in the room. “Wait!” Ian cried.
‘Tis your turn now.
But the light had returned to normal and the apparitions were gone. Ian knelt beside Sam. It was his turn now. And he didn’t need the god to say more. He knew what he meant. It was his turn to live.
His heart swelled. It was unfamiliar, a mingling of anticipation, excitement. Suddenly the past felt distant—where it belonged.
Sam opened her eyes. He looked at her and his heart began a new, different beat. She said, “Moray?”
He slowly smiled. “He’s gone…I think.”
Her gaze was serious and searching. She touched his face. “I heard you,” she said.
IAN CROSSED HIS BEDROOM, clad only in jeans, having just come out of a shower. He froze. His father stood on the bedroom’s threshold.
There was so much he had to say and he didn’t know if he could do it.
“We’re about to leave,” Aidan said. “May I come in?”
Ian tensed, nodding. “Ye saved Sam. I owe ye now.”
“Ye owe me nothing,” Aidan said, pausing by a handsome carved bureau.
Ian didn’t know what to say. His father had come forward to rescue him and now he knew that Aidan would have rescued him if he’d realized he was alive, all those years ago. And suddenly he had a flashback.
The little boy ran shouting with delight across the great room.
The wolfhound pup ran with him, barking in excitement.
His father had returned from battle, victorious!
And Aidan entered with his men, his plaid wet, his boots muddy.
He ignored the maids who waited to take the brat and give him wine.
“Come here, my boy!” he cried, smiling. And Ian barreled into him, only to be swung high in his arms, laughing. And he was so happy…
Tears formed in his eyes as he stared at his father. “Ye truly believed I was dead. I know that now.”
“I saw him kill ye,” Aidan said harshly. “I leapt time over an’ over, trying to prevent yer murder. I spent sixty-six years hunting Moray, years I could have spent looking fer ye. I will die with my regrets.”
“No,” Ian choked. “No one should live with guilt and regret.”
“No one should live with pain,” Aidan said softly.
Ian shrugged. “It’s not as bad now. Fer a long time, the past felt present, but not anymore.”
Aidan nodded. “I am glad.” He hesitated. “I should go.”
“Wait!” Ian said sharply.
And Ian stood there, suddenly wanting to tell his father that he was sorry and that he understood. The day had come where the pain had to end for them both. “I am sorry,” he heard himself say. “I am so sorry to have blamed you for what wasn’t yer fault.”
“Ye really forgive me?” Aidan’s eyes were wide, incredulous. “I’d do anything fer ye. Yer my firstborn, Ian. I love ye as only a father can love a son.”
Ian nodded and his heart erupted in emotion. He loved this man, too. He always had. He’d never stopped. The anger had made it impossible to feel.
Aidan’s face softened. Too late, Ian realized his father was adept at telepathy, which was as natural to him as breathing. Aidan had read his mind.
And he was glad.
The room suddenly tilted oddly. As gold dust filled the space between them, Aidan smiled. Ian became aware of the power he’d felt earlier—majestic, holy. For one moment, he thought that one of the gods had come back to earth.
But a tall, golden Highlander emerged from the mist, smiling paternally at him. “Hallo, a Ihain.”
Ian tensed. He’d met MacNeil several times, when he’d first been released from captivity, in the months he’d been changing so rapidly from boy to man—before he’d forsaken medieval times for the future.
The Abbot of Iona managed the Brotherhood, and some said, had as much wisdom and power as the gods.
“What, no warm welcome?” MacNeil clasped his shoulder. “Ye seem wary, lad.” He faced Aidan. “Hallo.”
Aidan nodded. “Neil.”
His holy power seemed to flow from his hand into Ian’s shoulder and it felt right. “Ye’ve never paid me a visit here, not in twenty-five years.”
“’Twasna time, lad. But ’tis yer time now.” His green eyes twinkled.
He was paraphrasing the god, Ian realized.
“Ye met yer worst enemies, one by one. Ye faced yer worst fears an’ conquered every one. I’m proud of ye, Ian. All the gods are.”
He was shocked. “No one is proud of me,” he said slowly. But his heart thundered. There was hope.
“I’m proud of ye. The Ancients are proud. Yer father, standin’ there before ye, is proud.”
Ian felt tears rise. He turned away so neither man would see. It felt impossible, like a miracle. “Ye mean it.”
“Aye, I do. ’Tis no miracle, either, lad. Ye’ve earned our respect.”
He nodded, incapable of speech.
“Dinna ye wish to ken the cause of my sudden visit?”
He met MacNeil’s amused yet satisfied gaze and his mind raced. “I think I know. Ye mean to lecture me on my having lived out of my time.” Dismay began. He’d made a deal. If the gods wanted him back in 1527, he’d have to go. And he knew Sam wasn’t going to move back in time for him.
His gut clenched. Now was not the time to think of her or the feelings he’d admitted to having that day. But they remained, deep and eternal, a part of him now.
“Ye’ve been granted a dispensation.” MacNeil grinned. “Ye can stay in the future with yer lass.”
Ian was amazed.
“But there’s one condition, of course,” MacNeil said seriously. “I’ve decided it myself.”
Ian couldn’t imagine what strings were attached.
“Ye must take the vows yer father has taken. ’Tis time.”
Ian was certain he’d misheard. He glanced at his father, whose eyes shimmered oddly. “Ye want me…me…to join the Masters?”
“Of course we do,” MacNeil said. “Dinna we protect ye during the time of yer captivity? Any other man, even a near-immortal, would have died. It was written that ye’d live to see this day—and many others.”
Ian was stunned. The gods wanted him after all. An image flashed, of living in New York City, his duty now to the Innocent. And Sam Rose was at his side…
He was so overcome, he could not speak.
HALF-DRESSED, Sam looked at the peanut butter jar her sister was holding. “Are you kidding me?”
“Pretty clichéd, huh?” Tabby grinned.
“That’s where you stashed Moray’s evil?” Sam started to laugh. It seemed funny now.
“It was the only jar I could find on short notice. And besides, this spell was the previous one in reverse, if you remember.”
Sam shook her head. “I do remember, you told me about it—last time you sent him up into the universe. I don’t think a peanut butter jar is going to hold Moray’s power for very long.”
Tabby was smug. “It’s going in a vault at my local Bank of America.”
Sam smiled. “How about we hand that over to CDA? They have secret vaults downstairs that we’re not supposed to know about. I always wondered what was in them. Hey, maybe a hundred peanut butter jars are in there, all filled with the evil left by dead demons.”
Tabby wrinkled her nose. “That’s a disgusting thought.”
It was. Sam sobered. “What’s next, sis?”
Tabby put the jar down on a bureau. “We have to go back. But I have some good news. Macleod read Hemmer’s mind. The page is in a vault at the Bank of New York.”