“She was murdered.”
11
Brydie
It was said so impassively, so finally, that I knew he spoke the truth.
Dread was a cold stone in my chest. Thoughts chased through my mind, and then the dots began to join together.
“You mean you murdered her?” I screamed, lurching forward.
Gage grabbed my forearm with ease and cruelly flicked my wrist. The knife clattered to the ground. Taking my other arm, he jerked me forward, his hands a bruising vice. My body hit his length, and Gage’s face was suddenly inches from my own.
“No,” he bit out. “It was not by my hand.”
I couldn’t breathe. All I could feel was his hard length pressed to mine. My nipples hardened against my dress before he abruptly pushed me away, separating our bodies. I averted my face, mortified at my reaction. I didn’t want him to know that he stirred feelings inside me that no one had before.
“Who killed her?”
He looked tense, his fists clenched at his sides. “His name is Talorgan.”
I could hear the hatred in his tone. Even though I’d asked, I hadn’t expected a name—the name of my grandmother’s killer.
Talorgan. The name sounded unusual, and a shiver coursed down my back.
“Who is he?”
Gage released a breath, gesturing at the kitchen table. “Take a seat.”
I didn’t want to drop my guard and trust him, but it was clear that he could have hurt me already, had that been his motivation. He hadn’t. Nor had I screamed when I found him in my home—or run for help. The knife was also a pretense, a protective barrier that gave me a small vestige of control. I knew he’d allowed me that, and innately I’d known he wasn’t a threat.
So why was my heart racing in his presence? Why did I feel so on edge?
There was no obvious conclusion but to listen to what he had to say. I turned and lowered myself into a seat. Gage sat down opposite and placed the pendant on the table. It twinkled under the lights, vying for my unfocused attention.
“There are others who covet this pendant,” Gage began. “They would do anything to possess it. And Talorgan is one of them.”
The pendant was beautiful, but I had serious doubts it would equate to a small fortune worth stealing.
“What are you saying? That Nora was killed because of it?”
“It’s more complicated than that,” he ground out. “Nora should have told you when she was here.”
“Told me what?”
“About your legacy.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s obvious.” His eyes drifted past mine to land on Rascal, who had padded over to twine around the legs of my chair. “The pendant has been in your family for eons,” he continued. “Longer than you could imagine. The stone was found by your ancestor—your great grandfather of centuries ago. He fashioned it into a token for his lover. She was powerful and had many names. In Scotland, we call her Cailleach.”
The name was familiar. “Just like the Celtic goddess?”
His eyebrows rose. “How did you know that?”
I hesitated. The memories of my parents were sacred. I held them close to my chest like a prized diamond. But he was looking at me expectantly. “My father used to tell me stories when I was a kid,” I shared slowly as the memory of his face brought that familiar ache of loss. “She was the Goddess of Winter, and his favorite story to share was when she would call the season forth. He used to tell me that she would wash her plaid in a whirlpool—a process that would take her three days—and when she was finished, snow would cover the land.”
His gaze was intent, eyes watchful. “Did Andrew ever tell you that Cailleach was more than just a myth?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he ever tell you that she was real?” he pushed softly.
“No.” I was unsure where he was going with all this.
His jaw clenched. “Then, this story is going to be very hard to believe.”
I blinked, then couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “What are you saying? That I’m related to a Celtic goddess?”
His gaze was unwavering. “Yes. You are a Daughter of Winter.”
A Daughter of Winter? It was such an odd thing to say that for a moment, I was at a loss. But there was no mirth in his gaze, or in his voice. Was he serious?
“Okay,” I breathed slowly. “So, I’m related to a winter goddess. What does all this have to do with Nora and this pendant? Are you going to tell me that it’s the very pendant my great grandfather gifted Cailleach centuries ago?”
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped. “But Cailleach’s legend is thousands of years old! If this were the pendant, it wouldn’t have survived that long. It would have crumbled to dust long ago!”
Gage’s fist slammed on the table, and I jumped.
“Forget the logistics of what is and isn’t possible,” he forced out between clenched teeth. “Just listen to what I’m saying.”
I swallowed as I stared at his face. The mask had gone, and the lethal edge to his persona was visible. I understood then that he was a sharp, honed blade; capable of anything. I felt trapped—in a cage of my own making. My eyes darted about the room, reconfirming that I was alone, that there was no one to help me. My cell phone was also down the hallway in my bedroom, too far away. I had no choice but to ride this through and listen to whatever Gage wanted to share. I had no wish to tempt the beast further.
“All right,” I responded softly.
“Look at me,” Gage demanded. I raised my head, and his eyes lanced mine. “Can you feel it?”
I shivered, ignoring the pounding of my heart. I had no idea what he was talking about. “Feel what?”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t have time for games—you’d need to be dead not to feel it!”
I bit my lip, my chest tightening painfully. I understood now that my first instincts about this man had been all wrong. He definitely wasn’t sane; he was dangerous. And this situation was all my fault. I’d been incredibly naïve, believing him when he told me Nora had died.
Why hadn’t I verified what he’d said was true? What if Nora was still alive? And if she was, who was this man? Was he really Gage Campbell? A shiver traced my spine. If he wasn’t who he said he was, why was he here? Following me? With knowledge of where I worked, where I lived?
“STOP IT!”
I jumped, my eyes shooting to his. He reached over and grabbed my forearms, bringing his face right in front of mine. “Stop overanalyzing everything,” he bit out. “If you’re going to survive what’s coming, you need to trust me.”
His grip was bruising. Any trust I held in him was long gone. How could I have trusted him so blindly? Panic clawed up my chest as I understood that he needed to leave—now!
“I think it’s time you left.” The words were short, but I could hear the slight tremor in my voice. So could he.
His eyes flickered as we locked gazes. “That’s not wise. Talorgan’s here, Brydie, and he knows about you. You need me close—I’m your only chance at survival.”
I shivered at the implied threat but reaffirmed the facts. No matter what he said, whoever had killed Nora was most likely still in Scotland. I wasn’t in danger; nothing had happened to me. Nor did anyone appear to be after me. Unless you counted this man.