Beyond A Highland Whisper (2 page)

Drawing a deep breath, Latharn’s muscles tensed as the old crone edged her way toward him. Tangible power emanated from her swirling aura as he studied her twisted form. This seer’s energies rivaled those of his time-traveling mother’s. The battering rush of the crone’s malicious emotional onslaught threatened to slam him against the farthest wall.

His mother’s powers had been refined through several generations to her in the twenty-first century. However, her aura had never emitted such waves of energy, not even after magnification through the portals of time.

Immense anger emanated from deep within the old woman, reaching out toward Latharn like a deadly claw. The crone’s soul overflowed with touchable hatred. Latharn braced himself as a rising sense of dread curled its icy fingers around his spine. He shuddered, swallowing hard against bitter bile as he noticed something else. The
bana-buidhseach’s
aura seethed with an underlying layer of evil his mother could never possess. The witch’s pulsating energy roiled with a menacing thread of darkness he’d never seen the likes of before.

Cocking her head to one side, a malicious glint shone in her eyes. Her mouth curled into a grimace as she croaked, “What say ye, MacKay cur? Do ye deny robbing my laird’s daughter of her precious maidenhead? Do ye deny ruining her for any other man?”

With a single stamp of her crooked staff upon the floor, enraged lightning responded outside, the flash splintering throughout the room. Everyone in the hall cowered against the walls, shielding their faces from the narrow windows high overhead. The acrid tang of sulfur hung heavy in the air from the burn of the splitting energy.

Theatrics to get her point across. This does not bode well.
His hands tensing into clenched fists, Latharn took a deep breath before he spoke. “I fear there has been a grave misunderstanding. I have not been outside the walls of Castle MacKay in the passing of the last five moons.”

“Exactly!” she spat, jabbing her bony finger from deep within her ragged sleeve. The
bana-buidhseach
hitched sideways closer to Latharn and shook a threatening fist in his face. “Ye appeared to the lass while she lay in her bed. Your vile essence washed over her silken body by the light of the swollen moon. As your spirit swirled upon the mist of the bittersweet night, ye violated her ripe nest and filled her with your seed.”

Eyes flashing with a mother’s protective rage, Rachel shoved her way between Latharn and the snarling hag. Resting her hand on Latharn’s chest, Rachel stood nose to nose with the crone. “Surely, you don’t believe in such an outlandish tale? The girl could not possibly find herself pregnant in the way you just described.”

The crone hitched her way even closer to Rachel, her dark eyes narrowed into calculating slits. Hissing her reply, her foul breath nearly colored the air around her as she spit through rotted teeth with every word. “Do ye call me a liar, Lady MacKay? Do ye slur the name of Leanna MacKinnett and the honored MacKinnett clan?”

The hall crackled with the conflicting forces of emotional energy as lightning once again splintered the electrified air. Thunder roared, shaking the walls until debris rained down from the rafters.

Rachel circled the wizened old hag. “I’ve nothing to say about Leanna MacKinnett or the good name of the MacKinnett clan. I defend my son’s honor against your lies. I challenge your slander against an honorable MacKay son!”

With a wave of her hand and a narrowed eye, the hag halted Rachel where she stood. The spell she cast silenced Rachel’s voice and paralyzed her body. Sliding around Rachel, she stabbed a gnarled finger into the middle of Latharn’s chest. A demonic smile curled across her face as she sidled her body closer. With a flourish of one hand, she withdrew a ball of swirling glass from the folds of her tattered robe. Her cackling voice rose to a maniacal shriek as she lifted the ball for all to see. “Do ye deny lying with every maiden whose head ye happened to turn? Do ye deny withholding your heart from every woman in which ye’ve ever planted your cock?”

Latharn’s voice fell to a low, guttural whisper as dread gripped him in his gut. “Who are ye, woman? What is it ye seek from me?” An icy premonition, fear of what was to come, stole the very breath from his lungs. Latharn knew in the very depths of his soul there had never been a Leanna MacKinnett. This wasn’t judgment for ruining some woman or the name of her clan. The stench of something much more sinister hung in the air. It rankled with every breath he took.

With a crazed laugh, the shriveled old woman transformed before his eyes. Her dry, tangled hair lengthened into flowing black tresses. Her sallow, wrinkled skin smoothed into creamy silk. Her bent frame straightened, blossoming into a shapely woman, breasts full, hips round and firm.

Her eyes remained black as the darkest obsidian, and full red lips curled into a seductive, malicious smile. Her voice became a throaty, honey-laced melody, deadly in its hypnotic tone. “Do ye remember me now, my beautiful Highlander? We were together once, you and I. We were lovers, but now I come here as your judge and jailer. And I have found ye guilty of withholding your heart from the only one who truly deserves your love.”

“Deardha?” Latharn recoiled from the seductress bearing down upon him.

As she thrust the deep violet globe into his face, Deardha’s voice echoed across the hall. “Aye, Latharn. Ye remember me now? Listen closely to my words. I condemn ye to this eternal prison. I banish ye to this crystal hell. Ye are far too powerful a charmer of magic to be toying with women’s hearts. No longer will I allow ye to sow your seed with any poor fool who warms your bed. If ye willna pledge your heart to me, then ye shall wish that ye were dead.” As Deardha uttered the spell, blinding white energy swirled from the tips of her long pale fingers. The shimmering tendrils flowed and curled, constricting around Latharn’s body.

With an enraged scream, Rachel broke free of Deardha’s binding spell. Forcing her way between Latharn and the witch, she clawed at Deardha’s face.

“Mother, no!” Latharn roared, fighting against the tightening bands of the curse meshed about his body. “Ye must get away from her. Save yourself!” He couldn’t breathe. His heartbeat slowed and the room darkened around him. This must be what it felt like to die. Latharn struggled to focus his eyes.

The conflicting forces threw Rachel across the room as Deardha’s field of malevolence blasted against the walls. The winds howled and roared as the demonic chaos ripped throughout the castle. Then all fell silent just as swift as the storm had risen and a fog of sorrow settled over the room. Latharn shuddered awake to an icy smoothness pressed against his spine. Finding his arms freed, he flexed his hands, wincing as he rolled his bruised and battered shoulders. Where was he? He lifted his head, staring about in disbelief at the see-through globe enclosed around his body.

Everyone eased their way out from where they’d taken cover: they crawled out from under tables, from behind overturned benches. Eyes wide with fear, they glanced about the room to see if the attack was over.

Latharn spread his hands on the curved, cold glass. What were they doing? Why did they mill around him like he wasn’t there? It was as though he sat among their feet on the floor. What the hell were they doing?

The serving lads rushed to re-light the torches lining the walls. The scattered clansmen and villagers rose from the floor, checking each other for injuries. Tables and benches lay about the room like scattered rushes strewn across the floor. Tapestries and tartans hung in tattered strips, nothing left on the standards but bits of colored shreds.

Laird MacKay shoved his way through the wreckage to his wife. Rachel lay in a crumpled heap beside the hearth, her weakened breath barely moving her chest.

“Mother!” Latharn shouted against the glass. If she was dead it would be no one’s fault but his own. Standing, Latharn stretched to see if Rachel would move.

Laird MacKay cradled her against his chest, pressing his lips to her forehead until she opened her eyes.

Rachel struggled to lift her head, her eyes widening with disbelief as she looked across the room directly toward Latharn. Lifting her hand, her voice cracked with pain as she keened her sorrow to all who remained in the great hall. “My baby!” she sobbed. Waving her trembling hand toward her son, she buried her face in Caelan’s chest.

Latharn closed his eyes against the sight of his mother rocking herself against her pain. As her wails grew louder, he covered his ears and roared to drown out the sound.