CHAPTER FIFTEEN #2
Tabby tried to think about Criosaidh being alive and just to the south, with her future spirit, having time-traveled into the past to stalk them.
Macleod had to be onto something. The pendant he’d brought from the twenty-first century had imploded when it came into contact with its thirteenth-century self.
What would happen if that ghost met itself before it had died?
Tabby’s tension escalated. “In the Book, there is a Wisdom that every Rose is taught early on. It’s in Gaelic, but translated it says, ‘Seek it in the sands of time and you will find it in the light of eternity.’”
“That can mean anything.”
“The entire passage is long and convoluted and hard to comprehend, but my grandmother said it means that every moment in time is continuously occurring—that it’s eternal.
Until my friend Allie went back in time, I never really understood it, but I do now.
Or I think I do. Time is a continuum,” Tabby said slowly.
“Every moment exists, for everyone, at every possible point in time, like a sliding ruler. Slide into the future and there we are—at Melvaig, in the Burning Tower in 1550. Slide backward, here we are. Slide forward—we’re dead. Slide back—we haven’t been born.”
His stare was sharp. “But only fer those who can leap. If ye can leap, ye can find anyone at any time.”
“I wonder,” Tabby said thoughtfully, “if the spirit is allowed to move backward?”
“Satan is probably pleased.” He shrugged and Tabby thought about the bottom line—evil wanted chaos and anarchy. Evil followed no rules.
“You told me that the Masters aren’t allowed to go backward or forward in time and encounter their older or younger selves. I think we both have an idea of why that rule exists.”
He confronted her, fists on his hips, reading her mind. “No.”
“I have barely conceived my plan,” she cried. “But maybe we can lure the ghost to Melvaig and get it into contact with Criosaidh.”
“By usin’ ye as bait? Never!”
Tabby stared. If she went to Melvaig, ostensibly to make peace with Criosaidh, maybe the ghost would follow her there and implode. “It can’t hurt to try.”
He was disgusted. “She’ll kill ye then an’ there. There willna be conversation, just yer death at her hands!”
“Because of her vengeance for her husband and her son?”
His expression hardened. “Ye blame me now fer the ghost? Mayhap ye’re right. Mayhap my war started this.”
Tabby hurried to him. She touched his face. “I don’t blame you. I would never blame you. And placing blame right now is pointless.”
He breathed hard. Tabby had the strongest certainty that he was blaming himself.
“This is not your fault. But freeing Coinneach might be a really good idea—and returning him would be the perfect excuse to go to Melvaig.”
“Ye willna be bait.”
In a way, Tabby was relieved, because she wasn’t all that brave. “And Coinneach? Keeping him prisoner can’t be helping.”
Macleod’s expression became hard enough to crack. “She’ll gloat if we return him. ’Twill be seen as a sign o’ weakness. Her revenge against me will continue.”
He was probably right on all three points, Tabby thought. But she suddenly sensed that fourteen-year-old boy somewhere close by. “It can’t hurt to free him. It might appease her, even if for a moment.”
His tension seemed to escalate. “I will think on it.”
Tabby blinked in surprise.
“Maybe it will appease the ghost, too,” she whispered, stunned that he might see reason, after all.
He spoke harshly. “She has to be the woman who dies in that fire, Tabitha. ’Tis when she becomes a ghost. Ye dinna die there—she dies there.”
He was distressed and not trying to hide it.
“She is associated with that fire and that is all I am sure of. If the fire did result from a war of witches, maybe it was me and Kristin.” Tabby didn’t think so.
“Maybe she dies afterward.” Meaning that Tabby had died first. Macleod made a hard sound.
Tabby tried to sound casual. “Maybe she hates me so much that her ghost takes up the war where we left off.” That was a dismal thought.
He stared at her. Tabby felt his mind racing.
“I hate not being able to read your mind!” she cried.
“This needs to end now. I will go to Melvaig.”
She inhaled. “To kill her?”
He smiled coldly. “It’s long overdue.”
“Do you even have the power?” Tabby’s worry escalated wildly.
“And what is that going to accomplish? Her ghost will be born in the thirteenth century, instead of at An Tùir-Tara?” She realized what murdering Criosaidh would do—it would change a future historical event if she died now.
She would not be at An Tùir-Tara in 1550.
“This isn’t a good idea! We can’t mess around with history and you know it. ”
He was thoughtful now.
“Macleod…how powerful is she?”
“I dinna ken.”
That was not the answer she had wanted. “If you go, I am going with you! And what if you fail? What if you can’t destroy her?” Tabby thought that a likely possibility.
“I need the power to leap,” he said softly, more to himself than to her.
And Tabby knew what he meant. “To do what? To leap to Melvaig to go after her? And when that doesn’t work, to go to An Tùir-Tara to protect me? To make certain she dies, in one time or another?”
“Damn the gods,” he said softly, his eyes blazing.
“That will hardly help! And changing the future is as bad an idea as changing history!”
“I willna let ye die! I will get the power, if I have to beg fer it or steal it!”
The gods were already angry with him. They’d be furious if he went to Melvaig now to interfere in their handiwork—and just as furious if he went to 1550 to intervene in An Tùir-Tara. “Changing Fate is not allowed!”
“Do ye think I care?” he raged.
“If I am meant to die there, it’s over, Macleod!”
“I willna let ye die—not now, an’ not at An Tùir-Tara,” he said. “An’ if the gods dinna like that, to hell with them all.”
MACLEOD WAS DOWNSTAIRS in the hall, brooding over wine. Tabby hoped he wasn’t trying to bargain with the gods for the power to leap.
Tabby couldn’t sleep either. They’d just made love again—frantically, as if their time was running out. She lay in his bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. She was going to have to admit it. She was scared.
She was afraid to die in that fire and she was afraid for Macleod, too.
It was so much easier worrying about him. He was so reckless, so arrogant—so defiant! He wanted to change Fate and she had to stop him. She couldn’t imagine what his Fate would be if he dared to make that attempt, either at Melvaig now or at An Tùir-Tara.
Harmless shadows drifted across the ceiling.
Outside, wolves howled and the moon was high and full.
She tossed and turned restlessly. It felt as if they were in over their heads, with no way out.
But Macleod was becoming reasonable. He was considering releasing Coinneach to ease tensions.
Maybe she could convince him to go along with her plan to lure the ghost to Melvaig.
The only problem was that the plan scared her a lot.
But his idea of hunting Criosaidh was even worse.
The shutters scraped the wall. Tabby’s tension soared but it wasn’t Criosaidh, it was the wind.
Either plan would be worth it if they vanquished her damned ghost in the process.
But destroying her ghost wouldn’t necessarily change An Tùir-Tara.
Getting rid of that spirit would buy them some time…
maybe. Macleod’s plan to simply kill Criosaidh and prevent her from ever being at An Tùir-Tara could save Tabby’s life—if she was the witch Tabby would fight there.
And Tabby was certain that she was, although she wished she had doubts.
She closed her eyes and felt hot tears. Tabby realized she wanted time with Macleod.
Wanting two-and-a-half centuries was absurd—she didn’t think she had that kind of life span—but she wanted time to really get to know him, to talk to him, spend time doing all kinds of silly things like ice skating and picnics and pizza while watching John Wayne movies.
She felt like crying now. Macleod wasn’t going to go ice skating at Rockefeller Plaza, but he might like a John Wayne movie and he’d love pizza—except he belonged at Blayde and she did not. Her heart thundered, trying to tell her something. “Not now,” she whispered.
They were in trouble—or, she was in trouble, and a few things were clear.
Getting rid of the ghost was a great idea and freeing Coinneach wasn’t a bad one.
But she had to stop Macleod from going to either Melvaig or An Tùir-Tara.
Not allowing him to interfere in history was the biggest priority of all. Even if it meant she would die.
It can’t be soon, Tabby thought desperately. Just thinking that made her feel selfish. But she was thinking about Macleod. She had so much to do. He needed her so much.
But Fate could be very cruel, and bad things happened to good people all the time.
The chamber’s open door slammed closed.
Tabby sat bolt upright as evil and hatred swarmed into the room.
Criosaidh had come back.
Even as she knew that the witch’s ghost was present, the evil closed in on her like quicksand. Tabby slowly stood up, everything except her adversary forgotten. Just how powerful was the ghost?
Her evil filled the room.
Tabby felt herself slip into a sea of calm. Focused as never before, she said, “Show yourself, Criosaidh.”
Nothing happened. Instead, Tabby felt the hatred growing.