My free hand hovered above Iain’s chest, over his heart. With a focused determination I’d learned from the hunts, from the meditations, from every soul-searching, self-finding reflection, I aimed the exhilarating energy straight into Iain’s body.
Before I even touched Iain’s skin, a reaction happened. Warm, yellow light emanated from my hand, and Iain’s body jerked. Sunshine shot an arm over Iain’s abdomen, holding him securely.
I lowered my hand onto Iain’s chest. The contact sent the glow deep into his body. Iain’s lungs shot up, his mouth opening on a loud gasp. I clenched my jaw. His face contorted in pain, and I felt his suffering. Beads of sweat trickled into my eyes. I pinched them closed.
The wall’s energy buffered me from feeling the brunt of Iain’s pain as it assaulted me. If Iain could take every blow, every strike, every consequence of protecting people he loved, so could I.
Then it ended abruptly. The pain . . . gone.
I opened my eyes, and Iain’s bright, hazel eyes stared up at me in wonder.
Well, hell. That made two of us.
I quickly scanned his body. His skin was still dirty; his hair still encrusted with blood. But his color was pink and healthy. No more broken limbs. No more bruises. He’d been made whole.
Iain flicked a glance at Sunshine. His gaze returned to me, tearing away from the shocking form of an angel hovering over him.
“Och, lass. I’ve died, haven’t I?”
I laughed, so damn happy. “No, love.” I bent down, brushing trembling lips over his in the gentlest kiss. I pulled back, kneeling over him, staring into the beautiful olive eyes I’d missed. “Iain, you have no idea. The living’s just begun.”
Behind the castle, I walked in the rays of the sun while Sunshine kept to his beloved shadows. Iain bathed upstairs. Rowena insisted on preparing a special meal for the two of us, saving the enormous celebration for tomorrow at my request. Tonight would be a private reunion.
“Thank you for your help, Skorpius.”
He growled. I laughed.
It bothered him that I saw the teddy bear behind the dragon. I wondered if I’d see him again since the adventure had ended.
“You have many adventures still to come. You know how to reach me. My aid will follow.”
“My own genie in a bottle,” I mentally teased.
“Hardly,” he choked out, and I laughed, imagining his eye roll hidden in the darkness.
“What did you mean about the price to be paid?” I asked.
“Ahhh, now she’s curious. The fool acts now . . . questions later.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’m the fool. Tell me the consequence of hastiness—the price of saving a man not yet destined to die.”
He barked out a laugh. “Destiny. A word humans use to explain what they can’t control. How does it feel to be different now?”
I digested the way he phrased his words. Their meaning dawned, even if acceptance did not. “I’m no longer human?”
Rich, deep laughter boomed out. “Ms. MacInnes, with everything you’ve been through, you’ve become more human than most of humanity. Due to your travel through time, not to mention all the power you absorbed from that wall, you’ve also become something more. The babes you carry as well. I’d imagine Iain has also, now that I think about it.”
“And what’s that?” My short-bus mind slammed to a stop. “Wait. Babes?”
The breeze changed direction, and the feeling of power emanating from Sunshine disappeared. A whispered word carried on the wind tickled into my ear.
“Immortal.”
My jaw dropped. Without thought, my hand flew to my belly. It never occurred to me the power flowing through me . . . had changed me . . . on a molecular level. And Iain?
I rushed into the castle, raced up the steps, and burst into our bedchamber. Iain’s broad smile greeted me, his relaxed body soaking in the wooden tub. I’d never seen a more beautiful sight.
A slow smile spread across my face. I unsheathed my sword, pointing it at him, stalking across the room.
“Och, Isa. I’ve been back but an hour and already you’re pickin’ a fight. You doona think I’ve been tortured enough?”
I smirked, propping a hip on the edge of the tub, reaching down, and grasping his hand. “Yes, you’ve suffered enough for a thousand lifetimes. Apparently, I’ve committed you to suffer an eternity.” I aimed my blade toward his open palm.
“Donna stab me!”
He yanked his hand away, but I jerked it back, and the sharp point of my sword pierced the center of his hand.
“Ochhh!”
I pulled the blade away from his skin. A stream of blood trickled across his open palm and into the water. Within seconds, the wound closed and the bleeding stopped. Iain dipped his hand under the water and lifted it. He stared at the unmarred flesh.
“What magick is this?” he asked on a whisper.
“Exactly. And Sunshine, I mean Skorpius . . . you know, the big, black, badass angel? He said not only are you immortal. So am I. And”—I sheathed the blade back into its scabbard and gazed lovingly into Iain’s eyes—“Skorpius also said so are the babes I’m carrying.”
“Bairns? You’re carryin’ my bairns? Two of them?” His eyes widened as he grinned like an idiot.
I laughed lovingly at his instant pride and happiness. “Damn. I hope there’s only two.”
His strong grip seized me, and I toppled into the water on top of him. Waves sloshed out of the tub, splashing everywhere as he kissed me soundly.
I pulled away. “My weapons!”
Iain tossed them out, the metal clattering onto the stone floor. “We’ll forge you new ones.”
He ripped the clothes from my body, holding me down. I struggled, trying to sit upright.
“Hold still, woman. You look—and smell—like you’ve been to hell and back.” He flipped me over, pulling the last torn scrap away. “Let . . . your . . . man . . . take care of you.”
I relaxed in his hold.
What a wonderful idea.
CHAPTER Thirty-six
UCLA Archaeology Department—Twenty-first Century
The letter had been penned on parchment from the thirteenth century . . .
written in ink from the thirteenth century . . .
tied with a silk red ribbon from the thirteenth century . . .
wrapped around a Pict short sword and battle ax . . .
forged twelve hundred years earlier than that.
I exhaled slowly through pursed lips, carefully positioning the time-capsuled package in the center of Professor MacLaren’s desk. Out of nostalgia, or unsolved mystery, MacLaren had left the box exactly where I’d placed it. Good thing too. If MacLaren hadn’t kept my mysterious disappearance that coincided with the box’s appearance a secret, we might’ve ended up in the back forty of a police station’s evidence lockup.
The desk’s immaculate, shining surface showed that MacLaren had been in residence within the last few days. Iain and I had no idea if we’d arrive alone or shock the hell out of my mentor, but the risked chance outweighed the not knowing.
Iain stood behind the desk in his finest plaid. The heirloom brooch fastened to his hip gleamed in the light of the room. He lifted his gaze up to me. We owed everything to that box.