Highland Moon Sifter (a Highland Sorcery novel) (12 page)

He had to get to MacTavis Keep.

Stumbling through the corridors, he latched onto the first mercenary he spotted. “Horse. Now!”

Eyes wide at his appearance, the man didn’t stop to question, but ran off toward the entrance. By the time Shaw made it to the stables, a gray gelding was saddled and ready. His journey through the castle had taken too long.

Climbing achingly onto the mount’s back, Shaw spurred it into a gallop, leaning low over the horse’s neck and watching the east toward Crunfathy Hill.

No smoke spiraled into the gray sky. There was no beacon fire. Which meant Toren and Bekah had not yet succeeded in capturing one of the ill-formed monsters. Which meant Charity was in the keep with only a few warriors left behind to protect her.

Shaw kicked the horse’s flanks, feeling muscle coil and roll beneath him as the gelding climbed into the forest, weaving between the age worn oaks and pines.

When they burst into the meadow before MacTavis Keep, a handful of warriors ran toward him. So few, and guarding the outside when the genuine danger was already within.

He had no time to deal with these warriors. Charity did not have time.

The gelding tossed his head as Shaw built his magic around him, pulling strands of moon glow from within his core. He couldn’t build a rift in time, but he had become adept at building them through space.

Concentrating, he allowed the moon glow from within him to release, vibrating through his already throbbing skull, and the horse dropped away between his thighs. All he saw, all he tasted was darkness and ice, streaked in silvery pulsing cobwebs, until at once, the world reappeared and he stood within the keep in the small chamber Toren had first taken him to. He tasted blood in the back of his throat. The constant use of magic over the last day was taking its due.

“Get away from me!” Charity’s scream jerked his attention behind him.

Shaw whirled, coming face to face with a nightmare.

Green and azure light shimmered between the two women. Aldreth’s nails dug into Charity’s arm, while her other hand splayed flat over Charity’s stomach, sparking intense tourmaline flames as she attempted to take the baby within.

Partially bent over, Charity was weakening. How could she hope to fight off the powerful witch where even someone with Shaw’s magical strength failed?

“Stop this, Aldreth, stop.” Shaw was moving forward before he realized it, shoving Aldreth away and inserting himself between them.

Charity stumbled to the floor, catching herself on her hands.

“Run!” Shaw called out.

“Noooo!” Aldreth screamed, enraged, leaping to claw his face, such a human response for a witch with her power. “Noooooo!”

Shaw latched onto her arms, holding her back while Charity scrambled to her feet and fled into the hallway, skirts flying.

“What are you doing?” Aldreth screeched. “That child is mine.”

“No.” Shaw held her firm, knowing she could take his life with the flick of her wrist. Or send him spiraling into unconsciousness.

But she did neither, too intent on getting Toren’s baby. “You willna interfere.” With strength born of demons, lightning pulsed out of her small frame. Shaw flew across the room into the table that broke with the force of it. He fell into a heap. Fire burned in his veins, across every layer of skin.

Shaking his head, disoriented, he realized Aldreth was gone.

Déithe,
nay.

Levering his palm on the floor, he pushed up, aching and burning everywhere. His ribs pulled, bruised, possibly broken, but it couldn’t be helped.

Stumbling, using the wall for support, he loped down the stairway and out into the main yard.

Aldreth stalked toward Charity, backing her into a corner of the high walls. The five warriors left to guard her were scattered across the yard, unconscious or dead, their tunics and kilts smoking as though a fire had been put out upon them.

“Stay back,” Charity warned, her arms outstretched like a shield.

Aldreth’s smile slithered across enraged features. She glided to Charity, her hand glowing and ready to take that which wasn’t hers. Which would never be hers.

Ignoring his ribs, Shaw raced across the yard, but Charity struck first. Screaming, she threw herself at Aldreth, plunging her palms against the witch’s sides.

Aldreth stiffened, glazed eyes wide and latched onto Charity’s wrists. “What are you doing?”

Shaw felt it and knew. He curled over like a man dragged down by chains, Charity’s essence entangling him as well.

Charity’s arms shook, her head lowered in savage determination. She was working magic of her own, healing magic, unraveling his moon glow from the devouring threads of the witch’s. He felt every pluck and pull within him and the pain of it was more agony than all of Aldreth’s tortures together. Surely he would die from it.

Tight barbed vines crawled through his insides, constricting around every organ, digging thorns along the inside of his flesh. Tremors rolled through him. Sweat slickened his skin. Warm blood leaked from his ears. He swallowed around the coppery wetness pushing up into his mouth.

It took every ounce of strength he had left to lift his head enough to see the women.

Aldreth was faring just as poorly, still on her feet, but shaking. A line of blood ran from her nostril.

Charity was succeeding, doing what no other could, destroying the bond by healing, dividing from Aldreth what she had wrongfully gained, cauterizing the weakened strands left exposed between them.

It was killing him, the twists of madness breaking away, but Shaw couldn’t find the energy to care. He wondered if Charity realized that. What it was doing to him. If this rid the world of the witch, so be it. A fair trade.

A red haze clawed at the edge of his vision. He blinked in an attempt to push it away.

The gates slammed open, and Fae love him, Toren and the warriors stormed through, dragging a squealing trussed-up Sift with them.

“Shaw!” he heard Bekah shout. With his fading vision he could not locate her.

~~~

Everything stopped, frozen in a suspended moment of disbelief, and then it shot forward at accelerated speed behind a faded haze.

Aldreth twisted out of Charity’s grip, swung around and grabbed her from behind, bringing their swollen pregnant bellies side by side.

“Stay back,” Aldreth warned when Toren took a step forward. “I’ll break her spine and still take the child.”

Whatever Charity had been doing with her healing between him and Aldreth abruptly stopped, unfinished. The bond was weakened but not entirely gone. Had she done enough to free him from the witch? Or would it take his life? Shaw was able to breathe again, felt the slick insanity of Aldreth’s magic still reaching for him. The temptation to take it, to gain back his strength was tremendous.

Toren dropped his sword and lifted his hands. “Let her be. I will do whatever ye want. I will come with you. Just let her be.” The warriors surrounding him eyed the scene warily.

Aldreth’s hand splayed over Charity’s stomach and Charity gasped. Aldreth’s eyes tracked back and forth across the yard, sanity a brittle bow bending to the snapping point. She could blast them all with her magic, take them off their feet. She had bested them all before three years ago on Crunfathy Hill, and she was so much stronger now, and without their clan and the Fae’s magic, they were so much weaker.

Yet her sole focus was on taking the baby. She would never leave the last sorcerer’s child. She was beyond anything else.

There was only one way to save Charity. The reason they had sought to capture the Sift. That realization slammed into Shaw. He knew what he had to do. For his brother. For Charity. For his nephew or niece, he was prepared to do it.

He saw Bekah edging her way to take on the witch and fear clutched his chest.

Somehow Shaw managed to straighten to his full height and take the few steps—it could as easily be a thousand—to get behind Aldreth. Coming from behind, he grabbed Charity and pulled her away from the witch, guiding her to run.

The blast that came for him was expected and potent. He rolled through the air and then skidded across the ground, jarring weakened ribs. If they weren’t broken before they were now, but hopefully he’d given Toren the distraction he needed while Aldreth advanced on him, streaming bolt after bolt of primitive power through his body.

Shaw arched off the ground, neck and muscles pulled so tight he knew they would split apart, stretched and tethered in whipcords of magical current.

Then he felt it. The sweet strain of a rift opening in the fabric of time, slicing open in the air.

Hair whipping, Toren held onto the captured screeching Sift, drawing from the foul creature’s magic to give him the added reserve to his own magic to open the rift across time.

It swirled in the darkening sky, tearing a hole in the spider web threads of time, vast and endless and uncompromising.

“Charity! Flee. Now!” Toren roared over the noise.

Dragging herself up, legs and knees tangling in her skirts, Charity shook her head. “I won’t leave you.”

Toren’s body shook. His jaw clenched. “I cannot hold it. You go now. Spare our child.”

Aldreth whipped around at that and Shaw sagged, freed from her assault.

Horror-stricken, Charity stared at Toren, then jerked her head to Aldreth coming at her.

The witch stretched out her open palm. “Nay, wee kitten, fear not. I will take care of ye. I will treat ye well,” she placated.

Frozen, Charity stared at the witch until Aldreth’s fingertips brushed her protruding stomach. Toren bellowed and the Sift wailed, barrel chest pushing out against its bindings at the use of its own magic.

Bekah lunged, slashing her blade across Aldreth’s arm. “Go! You have to go. Your baby has to remain safe!” She shoved at Charity, jarring her to action, and she ran, faster than any woman as far along in pregnancy should be able to move.

Holding her bleeding arm, Aldreth shrieked, lunging after her, but once more, Bekah was there, blocking the way, a fierce woman of no magic, standing against the most powerful witch known to any generation.

Shaw’s throat closed, afraid for her and so bluidy amazed at her willingness to stand between death and Charity.

Out of her mind with rage, Aldreth didn’t resort to magic, but ran into Bekah, bearing them both down in a tangle of skirts. For a brief moment, Shaw feared for the fetus within the witch, remembering its poor misshapen twin.

“Nooooo.” Aldreth strained up with Bekah latched onto her, holding her back…as Charity plunged into the rift and disappeared from sight.

The rift winked closed and Toren dropped to his knees from the strain.

Chapter Sixteen

Aldreth slammed the back of Bekah’s head on the ground. White light burst out of the witch, pulsing outward and taking the remaining warriors off their feet. Haddon pressed his hands around his head, groaning, face twisting in agony. The other warriors weren’t faring any better.

Barely able to move, Shaw crawled toward the women, the splintered bones of his ribs rubbing together. “Nay,” he croaked, barely a huff of expelled breath, but Aldreth heard it, or felt it, still bound to him and attuned as they were to each other.

Her rage clawed into him, jagged crystals of ice in his organs, piercing, slicing his insides to shreds. Or mayhap that was the broken splinters of his ribs.

All he knew for certain was that with the closing of the time rift and the loss of Toren’s child, Aldreth’s sanity had fractured, and she was taking it out on Bekah who had gotten in her way.

Beyond reason, beyond control, beyond using her magic on the lass, Aldreth was still physically stronger than any of them, her body honed and supported by unholy magic for the last three hundred years.

Bekah’s hands fell to her sides.

“Aldreth, please,” Shaw cried. ‘Twasna fair to take Bekah’s life, not when she’d already sacrificed everything to come here and set things right. “Please.” Her essence could not be taken from this world. Could not be taken from him.

His plea stopped Aldreth. She twisted to face him, pulling the lass up with her.