The Dark Highlander

He’d studied himself in a small mirror this morn, while shaving with a hand that shook more than was safe when a man had an open blade at his own neck. He’d seen eyes a darker shade of brown. He’d been nigh a sennight without a woman. Too long. Far too long.

How long, he wondered almost idly, till his eyes would turn full black? Another day, mayhap two? And what would happen then? he mused, a part of him afraid, another part of him aware that he wasn’t as afraid as he ought to be.

The voices yestreen in the stones had caught him by surprise. ’Twas the first time he’d ever heard the beings inside him speak, the first time he’d ever perceived them as individual entities. And though feeling them so intensely had been horrifying, had made him feel as if he were choking on some dead thing in the back of his throat that he couldn’t scrape out, it had also been … intriguing.

Part of him was curious to know their language, to hear what they might say. He had thirteen ancient beings inside him! What might they tell him of ancient history? Of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, and what the world had been like four thousand years ago? Of what it was like to hold so much power. …

Inviting a dialogue with them would be your first step through the gates of hell, his honor hissed.

Aye, he knew that.

You can’t trust a thing they might say!

Still …

No “still” about it, his honor seethed. I doona care who you fuck today, just do it.

That jarred him a bit.

It would be Chloe. If he went to another woman—even if only out of deference to her, to spare her his brutal need—and she found out, she would never have him. Things could get very bad, very fast, then. He was afraid that if he went to her and she denied him, he might force her. He didn’t want to do that to Chloe. He didn’t want to hurt Chloe.

The antithesis of his honor scoffed: So what? If she doesn’t care for something you do, use the Voice of Power on her. Tell her to forget what she may not like. Tell her she adores you, worships you. You need but tell her she loves you to make it so. ’Tis so easy. The world can be anything you want it—

“Dageus!” Silvan shouted, slamming his fists down on the table in front of him.

Dageus jerked and stared at his father.

“Where were you?” Silvan exclaimed, looking both frightened and furious.

“Right here,” Dageus said, shaking his head. A soft whisper, a rustle stirred inside him. Faint voices murmured.

“I shouted your name three times, and you dinna so much as blink a lash,” Silvan snapped. “What were you doing?”

“I … I was merely thinking.”

Silvan regarded him intensely for a strained moment. “You had the strangest look on your face, son,” he said finally.

Dageus didn’t want to know what kind of look. “I’m fine, Da,” he said, pushing himself from the table. “I doona know how late we’ll be. Doona wait a meal for us.”

Silvan’s piercing gaze followed him as he walked away.

Nell placed two mugs of cocoa (one specially supplemented with herbs for an absent-minded man who too oft forgot to eat) on a tray and went in search of her husband.

Her husband. The words never failed to bring a smile to her lips. When Silvan had found her lying on the road nearly fifteen years ago, on the brink of death, he’d brought her back to Castle Keltar and sat at her bedside, demanding she fight for her life at a time when she’d wanted naught more than to die.

Before Silvan had found her, she’d been mistress to a married laird whom she’d loved unwisely and deeply, incurring the wrath and jealousy of his barren wife. While he’d lived, he’d been there to protect her, but when he’d been killed in a hunting accident, his wife had stolen Nell’s babies, had her driven out, beaten and left for dead.

Upon recovering, for the next twelve years she’d been Silvan’s housekeeper, caring for him and mothering his young sons in lieu of her own. Despite her firm resolve to never again get involved with a laird—wed or no’—she’d fallen in love with the eccentric, gentle, brilliant man. Verily, the day she’d opened her mud- and blood-caked eyes to find him bending over her in the roadway, something inexplicable had quickened inside her. She’d contented herself with loving him from a distance, hiding it behind a caustic demeanor and sparring words. Then three and a half years ago, events with Gwen and Drustan had thrown them together, stirring a passion that she’d been elated to discover Silvan had been hiding as well, and life had been sweeter than aught she’d ever known. Though nothing could replace the babies she’d lost so long ago, fate had blessed her in her late years with a second chance, and their twins were currently sleeping in the nursery under careful watch of their nanny, Maeve.