Midnight's Master Read online

  Not only had he not found the artifact, but his friend and fellow Warrior, Duncan, had been killed by Deirdre. Deirdre was a drough, a Druid who had given herself to evil and black magic. She was on a mission to take over the world, and as great as her magic was, Logan feared she might just win.

  It had been Deirdre who had unleashed the gods inside the Warriors. And it would be Warriors who would help end Deirdre once and for all.

  But first, Logan had to find Ian, Duncan’s twin.

  He couldn’t imagine what Ian was going through. Ian and Duncan, as twins, had shared a god, and with Duncan’s death, the full power and rage of their god would overtake Ian. If he couldn’t control his god, his god would control him and he would be ripe for Deirdre to claim. Which is just what she had wanted when she killed Duncan.

  Logan had no idea where Ian had gone, but he knew Deirdre. She had leaped forward in time to 2012 in order to thwart him and the others in their mission to find the artifacts before she did.

  He frowned. Or had she?

  If Deirdre could travel through time whenever she wanted, why hadn’t she done so before now? She could have changed the outcome to anything that hadn’t gone her way, including gaining the artifacts before the MacLeods.

  If Deirdre hadn’t traveled through time on her own, that meant someone had to have helped her.

  But who? And, more importantly, why?

  Logan wasn’t sure he’d have those answers anytime soon. Regardless, in order to defeat Deirdre, the Warriors would still need the artifacts. The one he had been sent to get was on Eigg.

  He paused and looked around him. None of the other three Warriors who had volunteered to look for Ian had landed with Logan. He wasn’t even sure if they had been taken as he had.

  Yet, he knew the Druids at MacLeod Castle. Each one was powerful in her own right, and together, they wielded magic and quite literally took his breath away.

  He had no doubt they had succeeded in tossing the others forward in time along with him. He had no means of communicating with anyone, nor could he take the chance of traveling to MacLeod Castle yet. He had to find Ian before Deirdre did.

  If she didna have him already.

  Logan hated the voice in his head, especially in moments like these.

  He wished he weren’t alone. He wished one of the other Warriors had landed with him. They would help him remember the man he had become.

  Logan had created a new version of himself after he had escaped Deirdre’s mountain, Cairn Toul. It was a mountain full of evil, a mountain Deirdre called her own, where she imprisoned hundreds of men in case they carried a god inside them waiting to be released.

  But she also hunted and captured Druids so she could kill them and steal their magic.

  Logan’s attempt to become someone he wasn’t had been more than successful. No one knew the guilt he carried. No one except Duncan, who was now dead.

  Deirdre had told Duncan Logan’s secret right before she had ended Duncan’s life. Logan could still see the surprise and regret in Duncan’s eyes before the life faded from them.

  If that was any indication of what awaited Logan if he told the others he had gone to Deirdre to have his god unbound, that he had willingly given himself to her—then he would never tell his friends the truth.

  He regretted his decision to go to Deirdre every moment of every day. The only way he could make up for what he had done to his family was to put an end to anyone who dared to side with such an evil bitch.

  It was his mission. That and finding the artifacts that could end Deirdre once and for all.

  Logan stepped into the road and looked first one way, then the other. The storm was passing, but it would most likely rain the rest of the day and into the night. He knew Scottish winters well, and the nip in the air was just the prelude to the snow and ice to come.

  He lifted his eyes to the sky and frowned as he considered Eigg and Ian. Maybe Ian had gone to the place where Duncan had been killed. Maybe that was why Logan was being pulled toward Eigg.

  He could use his enhanced speed and reach Eigg in a matter of moments, but then he wouldn’t be able to search the villages for Ian. He didn’t know how he was going to find his friend, but he had to look.

  If Logan knew Ian, the other Warrior would try to go off on his own while battling his god for control.

  Unless Deirdre had Ian already.

  Logan refused to think of that possibility. He would find Ian and help him. Somehow, someway he would.

  It was too bad Broc hadn’t come with them, Logan mused. The god inside Broc gave him the ability to find anyone, anywhere. They had discovered just how potent a power Broc had when he was able to determine that Deirdre and Ian had traveled four centuries into the future.

  Logan chuckled to himself. He’d been the youngest of the Warriors at MacLeod Castle. He’d barely reached the century mark. Now, he was five centuries old.

  “Five hundred years,” he murmured. “And I doona remember any of it.”

  He had to chuckle. Jesting with himself—things weren’t looking good.

  A loud sound drew his attention. Logan looked to his left and saw a small red car come around the corner. He jumped back as it flew past, and in that moment he saw the profile of a woman.

  A very beautiful woman with black hair.

  It was too bad he didn’t have time to dally. He’d have liked to get a better look at the woman and her beautiful black hair she wore tied behind her.

  Logan squared his shoulders and moved back onto the path as he started toward Eigg. He kept his eyes open for any wyrran. Only a few had been pulled into the future with Deirdre, and Logan didn’t know how much time had passed since she’d arrived in the year 2012.

  It could have been plenty of time to create many more wyrran. He hated the creatures. Deirdre created the small, hairless, pale yellow beasts with her black magic. They had long claws on their hands and feet, and mouths so full of teeth that their thin lips couldn’t close over them. Their yellow eyes were large in their small, round heads.

  Their shrieks could make a person’s blood turn to ice. There was something inherently evil that mortals recognized in the wyrran. It wasn’t just that they were ugly. The evil that created them oozed from their bodies like a plague.

  Logan could never kill enough of the vile beasts. And with every one he killed, two replaced it. Deirdre considered the creatures her pets, and they obeyed only her.

  He came upon a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties and stopped. “Have you seen anything unusual around here?”

  The man chortled. “Here? Are ye daft? Nothing happens around this sleepy town. All me life I couldna wait to leave, and then when I did and saw what was really in the world, I couldna get back here fast enough. So, nay, mister, there’s been nothing odd.”

  “Are you sure? Any sounds? Anyone looking out of place?”

  The man raised his pale brow. “Besides yourself, you mean?”

  Logan glanced down at the man’s pants, thick tunic, and what appeared to be a cloak with sleeves. “Does no one wear kilts anymore?”

  “Och, most certainly. Just no’ quite like you do.”

  Logan didn’t know what to make of his statement. He wasn’t certain he could wear the man’s attire, nor did he think he wanted to.

  “If there was anything out of the ordinary, Mrs. Gibbs would let us know. There’s been nothing.”

  “I see.”

  “Do ye expect something to happen?” the man asked, his brown gaze sharp. “Are ye working with Scotland Yard?”

  Logan didn’t know what Scotland yard was, but he wasn’t working with anyone. “Nay.”

  “I understand. You can no’ tell me.” The man gave a nod and grinned. “Is there a number where I can reach you in case something does happen?”

  “Number?”

  “Aye. Your mobile number.”

  “Mobile?”

  The man frowned. “You act as though ye have no idea what I’m speaking of.�
��

  Logan hadn’t a clue.

  “How can I tell ye anything if there’s no way to contact ye?” the man asked, becoming agitated. “They always want us to help, but they never want to help us.”

  Logan was sure he didn’t want to know who “they” were, but whoever they were, the man certainly didn’t like them.

  “Do ye have a mobile?” the man asked.

  Logan shook his head.

  The man turned on his heel and entered his store without another word. Logan bit back a grin and kept walking. The people in this time were certainly odd. If he was looking for anything unusual, it was all around him.

  * * *

  Ian roared his fury as he opened his eyes to find himself lying atop a boulder. His leg was healing from a broken thighbone, and his back ached as the bones and muscles knitted back together after being severed in half.

  But that wasn’t what caused the turmoil in Ian.

  It was his god. Farmire, the father of battle, demanded blood and death. He demanded Ian do his bidding.

  Ian ignored the pain of his healing body and launched to his feet. The anguish, the soul-shredding agony of losing the link to his twin ripped through his body.

  He fell to his knees, his arms out wide and his face lifted to the sky, as he bellowed his misery and grief. And his rage.

  The full extent of his god’s power ran rampant through his veins. The frenzy was building, the power awesome. Farmire called to him, begging him to give in to the seductive pulse of energy coursing through him.

  It would be so easy to give in. Just a mere thought. Ian tried to hang on to his memories, tried to recall those who had meant something to him.

  Their faces blurred as their names left him like sand in the wind. But one name remained—Duncan.

  Nothing could make him forget his twin. Or how Duncan had been killed.

  “Deirdre,” Ian growled.

  He didn’t try to hide his Warrior form. He gloried in the pale blue that covered his body. He smiled at the blue claws that extended from his fingers and the fangs that filled his mouth.

  Ian would hold off Farmire for as long as it took him to find Deirdre.

  Inside, Ian could hear his god laughing at him. Each moment Farmire batted down his defenses, each breath more evil filled him.

  Blackness encroached on Ian’s vision. He knew his god was taking over.

  But there was nothing he could do.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The rain was falling so fast Gwynn could barely see to drive, and the windshield wipers weren’t helping at all, even at top speed.

  It was all Gwynn could do to see the lines on the road so she didn’t run anyone over. All the while reminding herself she had to drive on the left side of the road, which just felt … wrong.

  She passed a few towns as she followed the road signs to the small fishing port of Mallaig. She was nearly finished with her two hundred mile drive from Edinburgh, and she couldn’t wait to get out of the Fiat.

  Gwynn had to slow the car and squint out the window to see the sign that proclaimed she had reached Mallaig.

  “Just a thousand people,” she murmured. Surely someone would recognize the photo she had brought of her father.

  She rubbed her temples and leaned forward as she looked for the hotel she had found on the internet. It took her longer than she wanted, but finally she pulled up in front of The Marine Hotel.

  Gwynn didn’t even try to avoid getting wet as she climbed out of her rental. She was exhausted, cold, and hungry, and she just wanted a moment to close her eyes and think straight.

  She grabbed her suitcase and yanked up the handle to roll it behind her as she trotted to the door. After four hours in a car and eleven on an airplane, Gwynn was ready to get her bearings and find her father.

  Fortunately, the hotel had a room, and after a short conversation about her Texas accent she had a key and made her way to the bed that awaited.

  She didn’t even look at the room. She let the door close behind her as she released her hold on her suitcase, dropped the key onto a table, and let her purse fall to the floor as she collapsed face-first on the bed.

  She let out a breath and rolled onto her back, not caring that she was getting the bedspread wet from the rain on her jacket. She stared at the ceiling for several moments as she once again went over the last time she’d seen her father.

  He’d been so excited, but he wouldn’t tell her about what. It was some find, she knew. He kept telling her it would give everyone the answers they had been searching for.

  Gwynn snorted and shook her head as she recalled how his light blue eyes would light up when he found something of interest.

  “Everyone has questions about everything,” Gwynn said into the empty room.

  She sat up and removed her jacket before she reached down to unzip her favorite black boots. Once they were off, she rose and wiggled out of her damp jeans.

  Though Gwynn wanted to start looking for her father immediately, she knew she couldn’t string two words together in her present state. She needed to get cleaned up, get some food in her, and then she could begin.

  Gwynn jumped in the shower and stood beneath the steaming water, letting it course down her body. She couldn’t decide if she was angry at her father or worried. A little of both, at the moment.

  “Dammit, Dad,” she said and braced her hands on the shower wall.

  He was all she had, all she had allowed herself to have since her mother had died. She had used the excuse that she needed to care for her father when men asked her on a date.

  But the simple truth was, she didn’t think she could ever get close to anyone again, knowing they would eventually die. Losing her mother had hurt too badly; the wound was still raw even years later.

  Gwynn hurriedly washed her hair and body. After drying off, she wrapped the towel around her and rummaged in her luggage for her comb and mousse.

  Once she’d blow-dried her hair, she looked in the mirror and grimaced at the dark circles under her eyes. She pulled out her makeup bag. She loathed putting on makeup, but she always carried it with her. It didn’t take her long to dab on some concealer and base. A hint of blush, some eyeliner, and a quick stroke of mascara, and she was finished.

  “At least I no longer look like death warmed over,” she said to herself in the mirror.

  Gwynn padded out of the bathroom to her suitcase. She pulled out thick cashmere socks to cover her icy toes. She had been born and raised in Houston, where it never got very cold. Though she had expected chillier weather in Scotland, she hadn’t been prepared for it to be quite so wet and frigid. She had yet to warm up since arriving.

  Next came dry jeans, a long-sleeved shirt she tucked into her jeans, and then her favorite plum angora sweater. It was pretty, but it did little to help keep her warm. With her boots back on, Gwynn found the scarf and beanie she’d brought, along with the matching gloves.

  With her father’s picture in her pocket, she headed to the lobby of the hotel. She asked everyone she ran across, but no one at the hotel had seen her father.

  That didn’t discourage her. There were many B&Bs in Mallaig as well as another hotel. If she had to, she’d stop at every one. Her father had to be in Mallaig. He just had to.

  She’d looked up the GPS tracking on his phone from his last call to her, and the coordinates had led her to Mallaig. She didn’t want to think about what it would mean if he wasn’t still in the area.

  “One problem at a time,” she told herself.

  Gwynn walked out of the hotel, thankful the rain had slowed to a drizzle, and looked up and down the shore. The clouds were still dark and heavy. The air had gotten even cooler than before, and the brisk wind from the sea made Gwynn shudder, the little warmth she’d had gone in a heartbeat.

  After inhaling deeply, she turned and started for the first B&B on her left. When she was finished asking people at the B&Bs and the other hotel about her father, she’d start at the dock.

  Som
eone, somewhere had to have seen her father.

  * * *

  Logan wished he knew what it was about the Isle of Eigg that bade him to answer its call. He’d tried to ignore it, but the isle was insistent. Resolute. Tenacious even.

  So he walked toward the isle. Along the way he questioned what few others he saw. He didn’t travel along the road, preferring to walk across the land instead.

  He didn’t like the poles sticking out of the ground with what looked like thick rope strung between them. They were everywhere, taking away from the wildness and beauty of the land.

  Logan put aside his distaste of what had become of his Scotland and concentrated on Ian, looking for any places where Ian might have hidden if he had landed near the sea.

  It would take Logan decades to check all the caves along the coast, but most of them were near people. If there was any part of Ian left at all, he knew the Warrior would try to distance himself from others as much as he could.

  Yet as he walked closer to Mallaig, he knew something was coming. He didn’t know what, but it was there.

  Maybe it was because that is where he’d been when everything had changed. Deirdre had ambushed the Warriors and killed Duncan. And Logan had learned that Malcolm had been made into a Warrior and was working with Deirdre.

  Then Deirdre and Ian had disappeared right in front of Logan’s eyes. Everything he and the other Warriors had been fighting changed in the blink of an eye.

  What worried Logan most was how much damage Deirdre could inflict in this time.

  There were more people milling about than in 1603. More people in Scotland meant more people around the world, which meant more people bowing down to Deirdre.

  Logan paused when he crested a hill and looked into the valley where Deirdre had killed Duncan. Malcolm and the other Warriors with Deirdre had been pulled into the future with her. Logan was lucky he had gotten away in time, or he might well be imprisoned by Deirdre again.

  He clenched his teeth. “Never,” he vowed.