Revenge (Book 3 of Lost Highlander series) Page 16

  Piper couldn’t help but grimace and Daria leaned close to her, her eyes flashing. Piper tried not to recoil or jump and scare Magnus. She held her breath until Daria backed away.

  “Would ye no’, if it were Lachlan?” she said, her voice a sickening purr.

  Hearing Lachlan’s name on her lips made Piper start to shake. Her hands curled into fists and her throat felt raw from the scream she’d been suppressing for so long. Magnus squeaked and she forced her breathing to slow, her muscles to relax.

  Then she realized what Daria was asking. They both had the ability to go to any time they chose. Would she go to a past in which Lachlan was still living, if the worst were to happen? It would mean giving up her sanity, any chance at ever being happy or normal. She prayed she would never have to make such a choice, and feared what she would choose if ever honestly faced with it. For a split second she pitied Daria.

  “Ye’re wise no’ to make a quick answer,” Daria said. “Love can make ye quite mad.”

  Piper nodded, not wanting to disagree with her. “What, then?” she asked. “I’ve read your diary,” she added tentatively.

  She was flat out scared of Daria and anything she said could be the trigger that would send her over the edge. Piper hugged Magnus, who was beginning to wake up and root around. Poor little lamb, she didn’t have anything for him. She tried to gently rock him without Daria noticing, afraid she might do something to him, or put him back in his bed of leaves.

  “The one I put with my bones?” she asked, then laughed at Piper’s expression. “When will ye understand what we can do?” she asked, pounding the ground beside her with her fists.

  “I don’t know,” Piper said truthfully and sadly. For the first time she looked right into Daria’s strangely flashing eyes and tried to see what was behind them. This woman was related to her somehow, no matter how far back, and they had the same abilities. Were they the same?

  What she saw was … nothing. She slowly looked away, cold to her bones, so cold she almost wanted to put the baby down, afraid she would infect him with it. She was brittle and stiff, couldn’t even start to shiver to warm herself up.

  Daria’s head swiveled alarmingly and she laughed under her breath. “The lovely lad is here at last,” she said, smiling at Piper.

  No, no, no. Piper sat frozen, unable to cry, unable to put Magnus down. She was going to have to sit there paralyzed and watch Lachlan be killed. She would be next, and it wouldn’t matter except for Magnus.

  She looked down at his round face, a miniature Sam, and her heart ached for him, that he should have to suffer, that Sam and Evie would never know what happened to their child. The deep cold enveloped her completely. Please let this not be happening, she thought. She couldn’t close her eyes.

  “Over here,” Daria called out in a mocking voice.

  Lachlan crashed into the clearing, his axe drawn and a look on his face that should have made Daria quake. The sight of him, so strong and fierce, made her joints creak to life again and she found she was able to edge away from the tree she was leaning against, able to take a full breath.

  Lachlan glanced away from Daria and she met his eyes, nodding at him that she was all right. His look of relief warmed her and she shakily stood up.

  Daria didn’t like that and made a gurgling sound, focusing her glare back on Piper as she thrust out her hand. An unseen force hurtled through the air at her. Piper felt it, and it hurt. It hurt like holy hell, but it didn’t stick, not like when Daria had ordered her to stop crying and everything in her dried up. She focused everything she had on Lachlan, fighting the razor pain that sliced through her chest, turning away in case Daria’s ill intentions might be aimed next at Magnus.

  With a frustrated screech, she turned to Lachlan, but he was already upon her and with a sharp blow from his large fist, he knocked her neatly to the ground.

  With vicious curses and flailing arms, she scrambled to get up, but he planted his boot in the middle of her back and raised his axe. A calm settled over her and she lay there quietly, disconcerting Lachlan. He paused with his axe poised halfway over his head, ready at any moment to wield the killing blow.

  She turned to Piper and smiled again. Piper felt something tangible pass between them, fluttering over her like a heavy mantle, sinking into her so she could barely stand. She clutched Magnus as she started to go down, fighting the claws that dug into her shoulders, deafened by the flap of wings above her head.

  Daria’s shining eyes bored into her as she fell to her knees. She was mouthing words that Piper couldn’t hear over the rush of wind that swirled around her. Daria held out her hand and it all stopped.

  They were linked somehow. Piper could just feel it at the edges of her consciousness, like a dream slipping away after waking up too fast. She struggled back to her feet, unsure that anything had just happened. Everything was so hazy now.

  She glanced at Lachlan but his eyes never left the witch at his feet. Daria was grinning at her knowingly. But what did she know?

  Lachlan stood with his axe raised, ready to kill her, and she didn’t seem the least bit afraid. She seemed … satisfied, which scared Piper more than anything had. She held Magnus so tightly he began to cry.

  Holding her hand out to stop Lachlan, Piper stepped forward, leaning over Daria, trying not to recoil from her empty eyes.

  “I don’t understand,” she said again. “Just tell me.”

  If Daria wanted to live, she would start answering questions. She laughed instead, which didn’t please Lachlan. Once again he raised his axe. The answer was so close, almost where Piper could grasp it. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, but it was just out of her grasp.

  “Ye canna kill me,” Daria said, her infernal smile unwavering. “Ye can only make me stronger, d’ye see?”

  And at that moment, she thought she did, but Lachlan swung his arm down.

  “No!” she cried, too late.

  Piper heard the axe blade whooshing through the air, the thick, juicy thunk as it severed Daria’s head from her neck. The sharp tang of blood rushed up to fill her nostrils and the leaves rustled as Daria’s body convulsed near her feet. The ground turned red all around her. Still holding onto Magnus, she opened her mouth and screamed.

  Chapter 19

  When the ringing from her scream stopped sounding in her ears she realized Magnus was squalling and squirming in his blankets. She opened her eyes. It was daytime, and she and Mags were alone in the woods. Piper turned in a slow circle. Nothing.

  “Lachlan?” she whispered, resting her forehead against the top of Magnus’s downy head.

  The wet crunch of the axe meeting Daria’s neck echoed in her ears and she choked. Panic was rushing toward her like hounds after a rabbit, about to tear her to pieces. Had she returned? How had she returned? Was Daria really dead? The thick gush of blood she’d seen before she squeezed her eyes shut and been hurled through time assured her that Daria was dead. Lachlan didn’t mess around. A new jolt of pain hit her smack in her heart and a guttural cry escaped her.

  Magnus’s level of agitation was escalating. She bounced him against her shoulder, trying to make soothing noises that didn’t sound like a feral cat. They were probably at least a mile from the castle. She had to get it together.

  Hoisting the baby higher on her shoulder, she resolutely set out in what she hoped was the right direction, carefully keeping her mind blank. With every step, her treacherous thoughts betrayed her and she kept seeing flashes of Lachlan’s face, his hands, hearing snippets of his deep voice.

  The sound of her feet shuffling through the leaves confused her and she kept stopping to see if he was behind her. He’d come through somewhere else, and just had to catch up. Every time she turned, he wasn’t there.

  She had to stop. She was home, the baby was safe. As for Lachlan, she didn’t know. He had found her before. She had to trust he would find her again. As for Daria … Something had passed between her and Daria, she had seen a flicker behind those
vacant eyes. Something had been in there, waiting to get out. Had Lachlan freed it? A tremor started in her arms and she paused to breathe deeply.

  Too slow, she hadn’t been able to stop Lachlan from delivering the killing blow. Her anguished scream was too late. She had every reason to want to see the witch dead, but at that last second, something had made her change her mind. The stone cold belief that it would be better not to kill her.

  Stop, she told herself. Thinking Daria might be more dangerous dead than alive would be an express ticket to a loony bin. So, she wasn’t going to think that.

  She jiggled Magnus, who was getting more upset with every passing minute. He was probably starving.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. She loved him so much it shocked her, having never been too keen on babies before. “We should be home any second now.” She continued to murmur to him as she picked up the pace.

  Thankfully, she had chosen the proper direction and she made it to the edge of the woods. The castle and the stable, the lake off in the distance— all helped her feel more grounded, and she began to walk even faster, wanting to run but afraid to with Magnus in her arms. When she was halfway to the back courtyard, Evie burst out of the kitchen door and ran toward them, Sam a short distance behind her.

  She stopped and waited for them, completely exhausted. Evie stopped short of barreling into her and flung her arms around them, gathering Magnus to her chest and sobbing happily. After she kissed the baby a dozen times and examined him for visible injuries, she looked past Piper and her face fell.

  “Where …?” she asked, eyes scanning in all directions.

  Piper shook her head, wanting to sink to the ground. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in her ears.

  Magnus let out his angriest wail, arching his back and clutching frantically at Evie.

  “Oh, he’s so hungry,” she said, giving Piper an apologetic look.

  “Go,” Piper told her.

  Sam had caught up to them and gave Magnus a kiss before Evie hurried back to the house to feed the baby. Piper stood there, vaguely wanting to follow, but unable to find any motivation to actually move her feet another step. Now that she had accomplished her goal of getting Magnus to safety, she wasn’t sure what she needed to do next. Sam hugged her for a long time.

  “Where’s Lachlan?” he asked tensely when she pulled away.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  He gripped her arm and steered her toward the castle. “What happened?”

  She let him lead her, somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she would be grateful to sit down and get warm. That was something to look forward to, she supposed. She looked at Sam. His face was creased with concern, his green eyes shadowed with worry.

  “I don’t know,” she repeated. “But Daria’s dead.” At least she could put his mind at ease on that point.

  He made a strange sound, satisfaction mixed with disgust and regret. She knew how he felt. None of them had ever wanted to be the sort of person to be glad of another’s death, but there it was.

  “For real, this time?” he asked.

  She laughed sharply, once again seeing the gush of blood, and swayed a little on her feet. Sam gripped her tighter and apologized.

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  They paused in the courtyard and she shook off Sam’s steadying hand. Muttering that she was fine, she shoved him through the door to his family.

  Inside the kitchen she watched Sam grab Evie and Magnus up in a hug. They were all crying and laughing and saying things. Mellie was the next to ask the dreaded question. Where was Lachlan? Where was Lachlan? Where was Lachlan?

  Mellie tried to get her to sit down and have a cup of tea, but she waved her off and left them all behind in the kitchen.

  “Piper?” Evie called after her.

  Piper heard the worry but kept walking until she made it to her bed. It was her intention to fall directly into it, but she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, in her eighteenth century gown.

  More than anything, she wanted it off. She wasn’t going to have it cleaned and packaged away, she was going to get it off and rip it up, toss it in the kitchen fire. Reaching around, she couldn’t get to the laces to untie them. She’d never been able to get out of it on her own before. Lachlan had always helped.

  She sighed and went into the bathroom and found the little scissors she used to snip split ends. Pulling the bodice away from her chest, she ruthlessly began cutting away the fabric until she had cut far enough down to just grab the edges and tear it the rest of the way off. She didn’t realize she was crying until she had to gasp for breath and she stepped out of the ruined heap of fabric before blindly making her way back to her bed.

  For a moment she looked around desperately. Surely he had left something behind, something she could hold next to her skin while she slept. She rummaged through the bedside table drawers, threw open the wardrobe, dropped to her knees to look under the bed.

  He hadn’t had much, and he’d needed to take it all with him on their last journey. With nothing to hold onto, not even a scrap of hope, she got under the blankets and curled into a ball. She pulled the pillow Lachlan had slept on over to her, to be close to his scent, and her hand brushed something hard. She sat up and found a small white box wrapped with a simple red bow.

  Her birthday present. She held the box until the bow blurred into a red blob in her unblinking vision, then pulled it off, slowly removing the lid. Inside was a folded up note with her name written showily across the top fold in thick lines of ink. Somewhere in all her junk he’d found a quill to write with. He loved modern conveniences, except for ballpoint pens. He thought those were just awful. Tears splashed onto the ink, smearing her name and she quickly moved it out of the way.

  Under the note, nestled on a velvet pad, was a wide gold ring inset with a ruby, with lovely delicate scrollwork all around the band. She couldn’t have chosen something more beautiful for herself. A flash of their time together before the party, when he’d complimented her on her red dress, made her throat close up. She closed her eyes as she put on the ring, her heart breaking as she tried to envision his strong hands sliding it on her finger, feel their sturdy warmth as he grasped her hands in his, then leaned down to kiss her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said once again, voice cracking on a sob.

  She lay down, her fist closed tightly to feel the ring. She couldn’t read the note, not yet. The words he wrote were meant to be birthday wishes, but whatever they were would come across as last words and she couldn’t stand that.

  She stared at her tearstained name on the folded piece of paper until she fell asleep, only to be plagued by nightmares.

  ***

  “He’ll come back if he can,” Evie said, her voice too chipper.

  Piper struggled not to roll her eyes. She’d heard the same thing from Sam and Mellie and was getting sick of their pity.

  “I know,” she said. She didn’t know, but she stuffed the pain down and carried on.

  It took her a good week to get over the first crippling bout of grief, in which she barely got out of bed. She tossed and turned from the strange dreams that she fell into every time she slept. There wasn’t anything her subconscious could conjure that was more terrifying than what she’d seen while awake, and the dreams were mostly a nuisance, save one that showed her wandering downstairs and discovering yet another secret wall safe.

  She always woke up before she managed to open it, so never learned its mysterious contents. When she was awake, she didn’t care. If there was another secret wall safe in her batty castle, whatever was inside it could rot. She would be damned if she was going to be bossed around by dreams.

  She’d sat in bed like an invalid, letting Evie bring her food on a silver tray, and hold Magnus up and make him wave his chubby hand at her, and she would at least pretend to laugh and crumble up the food so it looked like she took a few bites.

  When Evie though
t she was asleep she’d coax Hoover into the room and up on the bed with her to keep her company. Piper hugged the shaggy puppy and let him lick her face, trying to fight the emptiness that threatened to swallow her.

  Then she started to feel stupid and ashamed of her moping around and got out of bed, weak from doing nothing and not eating enough. Every morning when she couldn’t think of a reason to get out of bed, she made herself imagine what it would be like if that was the day Lachlan returned, only to find her hiding under the covers.

  It was now the third week of Piper’s return, and they were sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by mountains of books. While she had been wasting away in her bed, Evie and Mel discovered a new stash of boxes while overseeing the repairs on the fifth floor. It was a brand new wealth of information— receipts, ledgers, books, letters— much of it dating back to Lachlan’s time.

  They were especially excited about it since Mellie swore up and down that she’d already looked in that area and there hadn’t been boxes there before. No one wanted to admit out loud that history might have changed due to their constant tampering, but they were ruthlessly poring over every page. Piper knew Evie was being so manic about the renewed love of research to try to keep her from slipping back into despair.

  “We’ll figure it all out, don’t worry,” she said, that damn tone to her voice, like Piper was dying or something. Or like Evie was scared.

  “Yes, I know,” she agreed without glancing up.

  She closed the ledger she was reading, a riveting tale of the grain consumption of the castle livestock in the year 1743. Spoiler alert, she didn’t care anymore. Evie thought it was important to go over everything, in case a detail was tucked away somewhere unexpected, but she’d had enough.

  She rubbed her bleary eyes. Even with the dog keeping her company, it was hard to sleep. When she drifted off, she was haunted by nightmares, by Lachlan’s troubled glance before his arm came down, by the terrible sound of the axe hitting bone.