CHAPTER NINETEEN
Melvaig, Scotland
HE REMINDED HIMSELF that he would go home to the thirteenth century, where Tabitha was alive. But instead of doing that, he sank down on the stairs, shocked. Tabitha would die at An Tùir-Tara.
He could not move and he could barely think.
He was consumed with grief. But all he had to do was return to Blayde in the thirteenth century and she would be there, waiting for him.
A sense of confusion began. He could not live without her.
Nothing had ever been as clear. He loved this woman.
But he hadn’t had the power to prevent her death—not now, and not as an older, even more powerful man.
He breathed hard and realized he was crying.
Watching Tabitha die was something he would never forget.
Even if they spent two-and-a-half centuries together, he could not watch her die again. An Tùir-Tara had to change! But how could he possibly accomplish that?
He began to tremble, rage joining the grief and the guilt. Was her death written? If so, he would never forgive the gods!
A shadow fell across the dark stairwell. Macleod took another breath and somehow looked down the stairs. MacNeil stood there. His fury knew no bounds now. But the walls didn’t shake, the stairwell did not move and no stones fell from the ceiling.
He hadn’t felt the Abbot’s power, either.
Beginning to realize what had happened to him, Macleod slowly stood. “I willna allow her to die here.”
MacNeil’s face was as hard as stone, but the light in his eyes was pitying. “Ye dinna learn.”
“Ye cold, heartless bastard! Tabitha is kind an’ good. She deserves immortality. I will find a way to save her!”
MacNeil’s face never changed, but his gaze flickered. “Ye’ll never trust in Fate. Ye’ll never trust the gods.”
He wanted to murder MacNeil with his bare hands. He wanted to curse the gods loudly enough so that they knew he was through with them, so that his curses came true. “Never,” he snarled.
MacNeil stared, pity still in his eyes. “Yer temper doesna serve ye well, lad.”
“What do ye want o’ me now?”
“Ye should know by now that yer temper only causes ye more grief.”
“What do ye want?” he shouted. “Tell me or be gone an’ get out of my way!”
“We want nothin’ from ye.”
An inkling began, but he dismissed it. MacNeil had hounded him for most of a century, demanding he give up his vengeance and take his vows.
The gods would never really disown him. Of course, he could never take those vows.
How could he? Fate would claim Tabitha, taking her from him.
Her Destiny was written by the Ancients.
He would never serve them now and that was his revenge against them.
But Tabitha was waiting for him in 1298—and his decision to take his vows had pleased her more than anything else he could ever do.
He could not think clearly, he realized. He was too upset, too sick, too shocked. But maybe he could bargain for her life. “Tell them to change An Tùir-Tara. Let Tabitha live. Let her die a natural death. An’ then I will serve them.”
MacNeil made a dismissive sound. “Ye’re done, Guy. The gods dinna want ye to serve them. Yer own grandfather has disowned ye.”
He did not care—did he? Tabitha would care.
Somehow, he would explain it to her. But to do that, he had to get back to Blayde in 1298, and once there, he would find a way to change Fate.
He faced the fact that he was empty inside now.
“Where are my powers? Did they take them, or is this the reason no Master should go back or forward in time and see himself?”
“When ye encounter yerself in another time, one of ye will lose power.” MacNeil stared. “But ye’ll never lose the power to leap, otherwise, how will ye get back to the time where ye belong?”
Macleod tensed. “I dinna have the power to leap. ’Tis gone.”
MacNeil’s face twisted in anguish. “I am sorry, lad. When I told ye they’ve disowned ye, I meant it. They’ve taken yer powers. Ye’re mortal now.”
If he was mortal, he would not be able to leap back to 1298. He began to breathe hard. “I have to get back to Blayde. I have to get back to Tabitha.”
“Did ye think to defy us fer ninety-seven years and walk away unscathed?” MacNeil turned away.
“Send me back,” Macleod shouted, rushing down the stairs. And he tripped, falling. He was a mortal now.
MacNeil ignored him, walking outside into Melvaig’s central courtyard, which was still in embers.
Macleod picked himself up and ran after him. “We’re friends.”
MacNeil looked at him sadly. “I canna help ye, Guy. ’Tis forbidden.”
It began to sink in. He had no power. He was trapped in the sixteenth century with no way to return to Blayde and his time—with no way to return to Tabitha and no way to ever help her survive the Melvaig fires. “I have to get back!”
“I am sorry,” MacNeil said softly. “I had such hope fer ye.”
“MacNeil! Send me back!” he begged.
“Welcome to hell.” Grimly, MacNeil blasted him with his power.
And Macleod was flung backward in time—by a mere hour.
TABBY MOANED. But the world stopped spinning and she realized she clutched a rough stone floor. Breathing hard, she looked up and realized she was in a circular tower room. She tensed with dread, recalling everything. Kristin had hurled her through time.
“Yes, Tabitha, you are in Melvaig’s tower.” Kristin laughed softly.
Tabby became aware of the amulet, pulsing and warm against her cleavage. She touched it, finding comfort, and got warily to her feet. Kristin stood there, appearing terribly amused. Her heart sank. “Is it June nineteenth, 1550?”
Kristin’s smile widened. “Actually, my darling, it is June first, 1550.” She walked past her and paused in the doorway.
“Don’t bother trying to escape. The guards have been ordered to stop you by beheading you if need be.
Although I much prefer being allowed to torture you to death myself.
And I won’t be long. I want to tell my mother that you’re here. ”
Tabby ran to the doorway as Kristin walked out onto the landing, where two soldiers stood. “Let me guess. Your mother is Criosaidh?”
“How clever you are!” Kristin laughed softly.
As a guard started to close the door in her face, Tabby put her body between it and the wall. “Wait! Why are you doing this? Why do you want me to die? What have I done to you…to her?”
Kristin’s smile vanished. “In eighteen more days, my mother dies here in the fires because of you.”
Had Allie been right?
“I win?”
Kristin’s face filled with fury. “No, you don’t win. I won’t let you win!”
Tabby decided that now was not the time to try to decipher what would happen—and the fact was that she had seen herself die in the fire.
“I was five years old the day you and my mother had your last battle here,” Kristin snarled.
“She died in my brother’s arms, horrifically burned, while I begged her to live.
I am not a powerful witch, Tabitha, not like my mother.
Unfortunately, my father was just your average mortal.
I have waited hundreds of years to find the power to gain my revenge on you. But I have that power now.”
Suddenly Tabby thought she felt her sister, across time. “How did you find that power, Kristin?”
Kristin laughed. “I have my source! He is all-powerful and answers only to Satan!”
Tabby sensed the enormity of that evil and it sickened her.
“He gave me the ability to leap. He gave me the longevity I needed. I decided to hunt you while you were weak and innocent, naive and unsuspecting, in the twenty-first century, before you became as powerful as you’ll be in the sixteenth century.”
Tabby wished she did not believe her, but she did. A terrible source of evil was out there, and Kristin was hunting her to avenge her mother. Now, she understood the ghost’s burning hatred and malevolence.
This had to end soon.
Tabby trembled. “You’ve brought me here to murder me. You can’t change history, Kristin, not if it is written correctly. History can only be changed if it went awry, if it has veered from Destiny.”
Kristin started to laugh. “Oh, dear Tabitha, we live to change history.”
“What are you talking about?” Tabby cried.
“Days before the very first time the Japanese attacked the United States at Pearl Harbor, their plans were discovered and the bulk of the Japanese air force was destroyed before ever reaching your airspace. Only two of your ships sank and only a few dozen sailors died.”
Tabby gaped.
“But we worked long and hard to change history—and we succeeded! The Japanese victory is Satan’s work.
Don’t you know that right now, on September 11, 2001, hundreds of demons are trying to make certain the Pentagon is destroyed along with the Twin Towers?
Sooner or later we will rewrite the history of that day!
You are so naive. Right now, we are making sure that the allies drown off Normandy—that D-day fails, that Hitler survives to rule Europe, that every Jew dies, that no Gypsies survive!
We do not have rules. We live to change Fate! Anarchy is our bible.”
Tabby backed into the chamber. “Of course. Stupid me.” She wet her lips, and silently began casting a spell on Kristin to bend her mind to Tabby’s will.
She had never tried to exercise mind control over anyone before, but her life was at stake.
History was at stake—even if it was only the history of Melvaig and Blayde, of her and Macleod. Their future was at stake.
And she wanted that future with him. She wanted it as much as she had ever wanted anything. She would fight for it now.
She stared at Kristin impassively while silently chanting a mind spell. The amulet warmed impossibly against her skin but didn’t burn her.
Kristin looked puzzled. “Why are we talking about history?”
There is one will here and it is mine. Kristin’s will, bend to mine.
“Tell me more,” Tabby said softly. She was wondering if the amulet’s magic was helping her powers. She was acutely aware of the talisman.