Temptation of the Warrior

  Temptation of the Warrior

  Margo Maguire

  This book is dedicated to my husband and three kids,

  always helpful, supportive, and caring.

  I love you guys!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  “Merrick, I doona know how long we can protect Coruain…

  Chapter 2

  “Goddamn it, Bob, you’ve killed ’im! Put that gun away…

  Chapter 3

  A weak and watery stream of daylight filtered through the…

  Chapter 4

  It was no use. With Matthew so completely convinced that…

  Chapter 5

  The wind on the cliffs whipped at Ana Mac Lochlainn…

  Chapter 6

  They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and when Jenny…

  Chapter 7

  They did not escape the sound of the Gypsy music…

  Chapter 8

  A fierce wind suddenly whipped through the camp, lifting cloths…

  Chapter 9

  “Naught, Jenny. He just lost his footing and fell.”

  Chapter 10

  “Thank you, sir,” Matthew said, and guided Jenny down the…

  Chapter 11

  Jenny paced the short length of her small hotel room…

  Chapter 12

  She sighed deeply when he slipped his hands under the…

  Chapter 13

  Ana was able to sit up and take nourishment, but…

  Chapter 14

  Merrick saw that she wore the locket ’round her neck.

  Chapter 15

  “Destroy him before he destroys you!” The words spoken by…

  About the Author

  Other Romances

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter 1

  The Isle of Coruain, 981

  “Merrick, I doona know how long we can protect Coruain with you and Brogan gone,” said Ana, falling into step beside her long-legged cousin, who was newly invested as high chieftain of all the Druzai people. “Allow me to go in your stead while you remain here to guard the isle. I can search for the stone while—”

  “You have taken no warrior’s training, Ana, and my quest in the Tuath lands will likely be dangerous.” His father never would have sent a woman on such an errand, nor would he.

  They hastened from the Chamber of Elders as Merrick peeled off the official blue Robe of the Chamber and tossed it to a nearby servant. There was no time to waste. Even now, Eilinora, the ancient enemy of the Druzai, was gathering her powers and uniting her allies to attack. The witch had escaped her prison and murdered his father, Kieran, taking the high chieftain’s scepter of power. Every Druzai knew there would be no stopping Eilinora without the ancient brìgha-stones, hidden centuries ago in the realm of the Tuath, the nonmagical people of the earth.

  No one, not even Ana, knew how the wicked sorceress and her Odhar followers had escaped the numinous bonds that had held them quiescent for nearly a millennium. Merrick and his brother suspected ’twas through the help of some powerful sorcerer, a force unknown to the Druzai. Somehow, Eilinora and her Odhar had found Coruain, then managed to hide themselves from Kieran’s dragheen guardians and the Druzai warriors. They’d invaded Coruain House…

  Merrick stifled a growl of grief and frustration. His father’s death at Eilinora’s hands weighed heavily upon him. So did his newfound responsibilities.

  “Can you see Eilinora?” he asked Ana.

  Ana gave a quick shake of her head. “She has shielded herself from me, Merrick.”

  “So we can assume she has gone to Tuath to find the brìgha-stones herself.”

  “Or she has sent the Odhar to search, while she remains nearby to mount another assault on Coruain,” said Ana, the sound of worry thick in her voice. “Merrick, the oracle’s prediction at your birth…”

  “Has naught to do with what I must—”

  “But such sights are never to be ignored!”

  There was no time to speak of the events foretold nearly thirty years before. They would come to pass no matter what he did. “Is my ship ready?”

  Taken aback by her cousin’s abrupt manner, Ana nodded. “Aye, it awaits you at the dock.”

  Merrick headed toward the sea, conjuring a leather satchel as he walked. He filled it with the items he would need when he arrived in the Tuath land called England, then cast a spell that would seal it against the waters of the Coruain Sea and the trauma of the time portal.

  “I hope to return in a day or two.”

  When he returned with the stone, the Druzai sorceress whose fate was tied with his own would emerge, as foretold by the oracle. Together they would battle the powers that would destroy the Druzai. There could be no doubt that he would succeed with the beautiful and powerful Sinann at his side.

  “Your brother believed he would be gone only overnight,” Ana countered anxiously, “yet ’tis nearly a full day since he left and—”

  “Aye. There’s no telling what Brogan found.”

  “Nor what you will find, Merrick. But you must hasten. If Eilinora returns wielding your father’s scepter before we have the blood stones and are prepared to deal with her…”

  She did not need to finish the thought. Merrick knew that she and the elders would exert all their energies to protect the isles. He hoped it would be enough until he and his brother returned.

  “What more you can tell me about my quest?” Merrick asked, anxious to leave, to find the stone and return.

  “I can barely see the stone, Merrick,” said Ana, closing her eyes and rubbing her knuckles across her forehead as if it hurt to think. She was the truest oracle Merrick had ever known, but she’d been hard-pressed to locate the brìgha-stones, the only weapons the Druzai could use to vanquish Eilinora and her mentor.

  “Search for Keating,” Ana said suddenly, looking up at him.

  “Keating? What does it look like, cousin? Where will I find it?”

  Ana shook her head. “I know not, Merrick. ’Tis something…” She frowned at the vagueness of her vision. “’Tis so unclear. You must follow the northern road to…to a place called Carlisle. There you will find Keating.”

  Merrick did not know this road, but he had spent time in England under many different guises, and once had visited England’s northern coast. He knew he could find his way. He only hoped Ana’s instructions to his brother had not been so ambiguous. Brogan did not know England as Merrick did, and he had such disdain for the Tuath that Merrick thought ’twas possible he had erred in sending Brogan to find the other stone. Should he have sent Ana or one of the elders?

  He touched the copper bracer on his wrist, the Druzai mark of the high chieftain, bestowed upon him only an hour ago. ’Twas too late to rethink his decision. He had to believe Brogan would find the stone and return quickly.

  Ana went with Merrick to the ship, accompanying him all the way to the Astar Columns, the ancient time portals that had been hidden far beneath the Coruain Sea. A quick displacement would not suffice here. Merrick and Brogan actually had to pass through the magical columns to travel nearly a thousand years into the future.

  He paused, listening to the shrieking calls of the mighty wealrachs as they soared high in the skies above them, then turned to gaze one last time upon his beloved home, at the high cliffs and rich earth of the isle. He felt the weight of his responsibilities and knew this challenge would define his tenure as high chieftain. If he failed, ’twould be a first for the distinguished Mac Lochlainn line.

  The passage through the columns was the most difficult part of his journey, and he’d always had magic to see him through it before. This time, there was a danger of Eilinora or the Odha
r finding him if he brought magic with him. He removed his cloak and the rest of his clothes, collected his satchel, and walked to the prow of the boat. He knew his spells would see him safely to the columns and propel him through them. Everything after that was uncertain.

  “If only there were some other way, Merrick.”

  “I can think of naught, Ana. Even if I were to displace, ’twould only move me a few minutes back or forward.”

  She nodded. “Please take care, cousin. Doona draw Eilinora’s Odhar hunters to you through your magic. You should be all right if you can avoid them.”

  “Aye. I’ll have no reason to conjure. Once I locate Keating, I am sure the stone will become exposed to me.”

  “Then Godspeed, cousin. Take care.”

  Bresland School, Kirtwarren, Northumbria,

  early March 1826

  It was freezing in the tiny room Jenny Keating shared with the newest teacher, Harriet Lambton. She broke the ice in the basin and braced herself for washing with the frigid water underneath. She and Harriet might manage to stay warm through the night if only the school allowed the use of coal past February’s darkest, coldest days. But Reverend Usher’s rules were strictly enforced.

  The children were freezing, too, a fact Jenny knew from experience. She’d come to Bresland School when she was newly orphaned at age ten. Though her father had left enough money to support Jenny, her guardians had wanted nothing to do with her. Her aunt and uncle had sent her off to Bresland on the day of her parents’ funeral, and Jenny doubted they’d given her a moment’s thought in the eleven years since.

  She hurried through her frigid ablutions and spoke to Harriet, but the other young woman, her head and shoulders huddled under her blankets, made no reply. “You’ll lose your post for certain this time,” Jenny warned, but Harriet remained quiet. Reverend Usher expected the teachers to be punctual, arriving in the dining hall ahead of the girls. He’d already spoken harshly to Miss Lambton. Twice that Jenny knew of, maybe even more.

  Jenny had no time to spend trying to coax her up and out of bed. She barely knew the other young woman, and what she’d seen so far had not been impressive. Harriet was lazy, never doing more than what was absolutely required of her. Her language bordered on crude and her academic skills were minimal, but Reverend Usher had employed any number of odd teachers and servants over the years. No one of any distinction wanted employment here, and Jenny herself intended to leave soon. A new position awaited her at an estate called Darbury. She had only to give her notice to the headmaster and leave. The thought of it brought an unfamiliar twinge of peace to Jenny’s breast, and she smiled.

  With no further thought to Harriet and her troubles, Jenny quickly pulled on her clothes—the required black woolen frock with white cuffs and collar. It was worn and had been mended in so many places, Jenny was embarrassed to turn up at Darbury wearing it. She thought perhaps she might spend a few of her precious shillings to buy a replacement in Carlisle when she headed north.

  Carefully rolling her curly, pale yellow hair, Jenny pinned it tightly at her nape before putting on her tattered white lace cap. She’d learned many lessons on her first day at Bresland, one of which was that her unruly locks were offensive to God and to Reverend Usher. More than once, the headmaster had given her a vicious thrashing because of them, calling her a vain and shameless little sinner and holding her up to the derision of all the other girls at school.

  Wrapping herself in a dark shawl, Jenny descended the austere staircase. As was her habit, she felt for the old silver locket that she kept with her at all times, either concealed in a pocket of her gown or on a long chain around her neck. It was easy to hide, for it was only slightly larger than a robin’s egg, and shaped just the same. It was not beautiful, and the latch had been jammed shut ever since Jenny could recall. But it was her only remembrance of her mother.

  And now it was gone.

  An unfamiliar panic overcame her as she stopped on the steps to search her person for the pendant. It had been the only memento she’d managed to hide from her aunt and uncle when they’d sold all her parents’ belongings and sent her away.

  Harriet!

  The girl who shared her room was the only one who might have seen the locket and understood its value. After all Harriet’s grumbling about being cast off to make her own way at Bresland School, Jenny would not put it past her to take the locket and sell it to a jeweler, probably in Carlisle, where she had some family. It would certainly fetch several pounds—enough to keep Harriet housed and fed until she found a position that suited her better than Bresland had done.

  But Jenny needed it herself in case her own plans did not work out. If there was one thing she’d learned since coming to this bleak and hateful place, it was that she could rely only upon herself. She could not expect a rescue, or even a smidgen of help, from anyone else.

  Very little had gone well for her since she’d come to this loathsome school. The headmaster had taken an immediate dislike to her, and the other girls had learned to stay away for the sake of self-preservation. None of them wanted to share in Jenny’s punishments, none but her fearless friend, Norah Martin.

  Jenny tamped down the stab of grief that always came with thoughts of Norah. She quickly headed back up the stairs in search of her locket.

  “Jane Keating!”

  She stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of Reverend Usher’s cold, steely voice. Bracing herself, she turned to face the headmaster, the man who’d been her nemesis for eleven long, cheerless years.

  He was a tall, angular man who never failed to belittle every rounded edge, every frivolous curl, and every pink cheek he discovered in the pupils at Bresland. He berated the girls, warning all his charges that their silly vanity gave offense to God.

  Jenny did not understand why he was harshest with her. Even Norah Martin had said so, but Norah was long dead, the victim of a chill she’d taken while locked inside the privy one cold winter’s night as a punishment. She’d been deathly pale when Reverend Usher had finally let her out, and the fever that killed her had taken hold that very night. The headmaster had called Norah’s death the Lord’s own punishment for prying where she was not wanted.

  Jenny had no doubt it was because Norah had witnessed one of her own humiliating punishments—a bare-bottomed thrashing—and had threatened to tell old Dr. Crandall about it when next he visited.

  But Norah had been dead before Dr. Crandall had even been called. Swallowed by grief, Jenny had only vague recollections of that night, of whispers in the dark. But she remembered the teachers being shocked to learn of Norah’s demise. While the headmaster had remained deadly quiet, the teachers had blamed one another for neglecting to call Dr. Crandall.

  Reverend Usher’s shameful punishments had continued unimpeded after Norah’s death, and with each one, Jenny’s anger and despair had unleashed a strange, uncontrollable force that caused inexplicable, shattering events. Frightened by these incidents, she spoke of them to no one, for she knew they were abnormal. She was abnormal.

  Even so, she had not deserved even half the punishments meted out to her in the past eleven years. She certainly had not deserved to be struck so hard she’d lost the hearing in one ear.

  Standing halfway down the stairway, she looked at Reverend Usher, meeting his gaze eye to eye, despising him with every ounce of her being. His close-cropped hair was white, and encircled his shiny, bald pate. His nose was narrow and slightly hooked at the end. Combined with his long, peaked brows, his features gave him the vague appearance of an owl. A malicious, flesh-tearing predator.

  Jenny tipped up her chin, refusing to be cowed by him. He hadn’t punished her physically since her sixteenth year, but he watched her incessantly with an unholy gleam that made her skin crawl. She reminded herself she would soon leave Bresland, and never have to deal with the hateful man again. “Yes, sir?”

  “You are late.”

  She bit back the retort that warred against her closed lips, and forced
herself to control her temper, to prevent one of those unexplained incidents—a shattered glass, or a bent tin cup. Sometimes she even cracked a plate, with her unbridled emotions.

  “Go down to the dining hall.”

  “No, sir.” She swallowed and somehow managed to refrain from wringing her hands. She kept them at her sides, feigning a calmness she did not feel. “I have something important to attend to. Something that cannot wait.”

  “Do you defy me, Miss Keating?” He came up the steps to face her, to intimidate her.

  Jenny forced herself not to cower, and to put out of her head the memories of her degrading treatment in this institution. She was no longer a child. For the first time in her life, Jenny had options. She did not have to stay at Bresland.

  She spoke firmly. “I do not mean to be insolent, Reverend Usher. But, as I said—”

  “Headstrong, intemperate girl. You have not improved in your years at Bresland, have you?” He took hold of her arm. “Now, Miss Keating. In my office.”

  Jenny held her head high and jerked her arm away from the headmaster, repulsed by his touch. Yet she allowed herself to be led to the stark little office at the end of the hall, promising herself she would not submit to any penalty the man decided to mete out.

  On the contrary, now was the time to inform the headmaster that she would soon be leaving. She had her letter from Darbury tucked into her Bible, confirming her governess position. It was the only offer she’d received after advertising for two years, and she was determined to take it, even though it was her last resort.

  Reverend Usher opened the door and gave Jenny a push into the room. She quickly leashed her temper and stood rooted in place as he crossed the room, watching as he removed his coat. He unbuttoned his cuffs, and when he pushed up his sleeves, Jenny began to tremble.