CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #3
And even though stone could not burn, chunks of the gray stone slabs were falling from the sky, and the rocks were ablaze, sizzling as they slammed down, only to burn holes into the bailey ground.
Men, women and children were running for the castle’s front gates, screaming in terror and trying to escape the inferno.
Macleod pushed himself to his feet, searching Melvaig with his senses for Tabitha.
He felt her above him, where there was so much hatred and evil. She was in the central tower.
Tabitha screamed, the sound bloodcurdling.
Criosaidh roared in answering rage, the sound triumphant.
And the tower swayed in the fiery night and more blazing stone blocks sheared from it, crashing to the earth below.
He was afraid he was too late. Macleod ran for the tower and pounded up the narrow stairs.
As he reached the uppermost landing, the heat from the fire inside the tower chamber intensified, but that was not why he faltered.
A fire wall blazed, dividing the tower chamber in half.
Tabitha was on one side, Criosaidh on the other.
A man stood on the threshold, blocking him from entering the room.
Macleod breathed hard, shocked as the man shouted Tabitha’s name. He wanted to rush forward and help Tabitha, but he didn’t dare, for he recognized the man.
He had just encountered himself.
And suddenly he did not think he could breathe.
Suddenly his knees felt weak, as did his entire body.
Was this what happened to a person if he encountered himself in another time? Was this why it was forbidden?
He reached out to steady himself as his older self screamed Tabitha’s name, as Criosaidh taunted them. And Tabitha was trapped against the far wall by the fire, the flames dangerously close to her velvet skirts.
He was terrified for her and he knew without attempting to help her that he was suddenly powerless.
No one had seen him and he had the sudden certainty that they could not see him, even though he was there.
As he held the wall with one hand, he was determined to find his power, and he tried to blast Criosaidh.
But he had been right, he had no power; in fact, he couldn’t even stand up.
It became harder and harder to breathe, but not because of the smoke.
And he could barely decipher their words as they fought.
But just before he collapsed, Tabitha looked right at him.
He didn’t know if she saw him or sensed him, but he thought he heard her whisper, “No.”
And as he finally crumbled to the floor, he saw the fire wall shifting from Tabitha to Criosaidh, and he felt his older self using his mind to help her with her magic.
But Criosaidh was casting her spell and Tabitha was starting to helplessly cry, tears slipping down her face.
He was terrified of what this signified.
But he felt the terror in the other man, too, shockingly—sickeningly.
And as his fear grew, so did Macleod’s, and their feelings of horror became one.
He felt himself slipping away, as if dying, the entire grotesque tragedy becoming more and more distant, yet he was in Macleod’s mind now, in his heart and his soul.
He felt his every thought, all of his fear, and the power of his love.
Was he dying? Was he dead? Was he now disembodied, and a part of his future self?
“Fire be hungry, fire be quick, get the Macleod bitch,” Criosaidh said harshly.
Even as she spoke, he knew, and he roared “No!” while blasting the black witch again. This time, taken unawares, she gasped in pain and was driven back into the untouched wall, but it didn’t matter.
Tabitha went still, as the flames circled her.
He seized Criosaidh. “Stop the fire or die!”
She sneered at him and vanished.
Tabitha screamed.
In horror, he turned and saw her lavender velvet gown on fire. And then his wife was engulfed in the flames, only a portion of her pale, frightened face visible to him.
I love you…
He knew these were her last, dying words.
But she did not finish speaking. Instead, the fire erupted, reaching the tower roof, consuming her completely.
“Tabitha!” he screamed.
Then the fire was gone, and there was only the charred ruin of the tower room.
He could not breathe. He could not move. In shock, he stared.
And across the room, upon the floor, he saw the gold necklace she had worn for two-and-a-half centuries, the amulet he had given her. The talisman was an open palm, a pale moonstone glittering in its center.
It had survived the fire, untouched and unscarred; his wife, who had powerful magic, had not.
“Tabitha,” he moaned. And it struck him then, in the most shattering moment of his life, that she was gone.
“No!” He leaped into time, vanishing.
On the floor, Macleod lay still, sensation returning to his body, his limbs. The smoke was so thick now he choked, and his mind returned to life. The sensation of becoming separate from his future self hurt, as if he was physically being ripped in two. Slowly, he sat up.
And then he began to tremble.
He had leaped through time to finish Criosaidh and save Tabitha. Instead, he had watched her die.
TABBY RAN INTO THE HALL. “Good,” she cried, the moment she saw Nick and Jan. “You haven’t left!”
“Where’s the hubby?” Nick asked quietly, now clad in fatigues and a vest. A pair of packs was on the table.
“He’s gone to 1550 to get rid of Criosaidh, once and for all!”
Nick’s eyes widened slightly. “He went to An Tùir-Tara?”
Tabby seized his sleeve. “What do you know about the fire?”
“Your sister seems to think you might wind up there eventually.”
Tabby went still. Leave it to Sam to be hot on the trail of the exact same lead that she was chasing.
Nick probably knew exactly what happened during the fire.
“Nick, I don’t know how you time-travel, but Macleod is defying the universe with his actions and I have to stop him before he winds up in the kind of trouble he can’t get out of. I need to get to An Tùir-Tara.”
Nick smiled at her. “What do I look like, a yellow cab with a supersonic engine?”
“Please,” Tabby said.
Jan came forward. Tabby had only met her once or twice, and didn’t know her at all, but she said to Tabby, “Do you know how dangerous it is to run around in history, out of your time? You shouldn’t even think about it.
People go back and are never heard from again.
And there are worse things than getting lost in time—like dying in another time!
You’re lucky you’re here and okay. Apparently, this is your Fate.
I wouldn’t press my luck if I were you.”
“You’re not me,” Tabby said sharply. “And I know this—Macleod isn’t supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be fighting the war on evil here in 1298. Nothing good can come of his leap. Nick?”
“Don’t look at me,” he said. “Jan and I are going back to Melvaig, on the off chance that Kristin is still there. If she’s not, our time has run out and we’re going back to the Big Apple. Now, if you want a lift in that direction, I’ll help you out.”
Tabby was so upset she didn’t respond. Nick hefted a pack and handed it to Jan, who said, “Thank God these damned missions are limited to twenty-four-hour runs. I am ready for a hot bath and some really good wine.”
Tabby was enraged that they would not lift a finger to help her out.
“I have a feeling he’ll be back,” Nick said, by way of consolation.
When they were gone, she walked over to the table and sank down there.
No good was going to come of Macleod trying to interfere with history and she was terrified for him.
What if he encountered his sixteenth-century self?
Would he implode? That would change history, all right!
And she was stuck at Blayde in 1298. That was unacceptable.
She would have to try to use magic to get to him, she thought. Maybe she’d be lucky, because her magic seemed to be getting stronger by the day.
A noise from the staircase made Tabby turn.
“You don’t need to use magic,” Kristin said. “I’ll take you to An Tùir-Tara.”
Very slowly, Tabby stood up. “And what do you get out of it?”
She smiled. “Your death.”