Eternity's Mark Read online

  Millie sat down the coffee urn, opened the packet, and withdrew the sheaf of papers from within. “Is this for real?” she asked with a glance over the top of the papers.

  “I wouldna be here if it were not.”

  She had loaded down the rack of the ATV with sticky bundles of the fragrant honeysuckle flowers. The hillside rising behind her house crawled with the glossy, green flowering vines.

  Hannah leaned to the side as the ATV lumbered up the winding trail of the mountain. The growling machine wound between the gnarled trunks of towering oaks. The chunky wheels grabbed hold of rocks and roots blocking the path, grumbling over any obstacle Hannah ploughed through. Her heart grew heavier with every curve in the path. She could drive it with her eyes shut. She’d walked it more times then she’d driven it the first year Jake had been gone. The branches overhead blocked the sunlight, creating a green tunnel up the mountainside.

  Hannah loved this mountain with a passionate ache. She and Jake had planned on filling it with generations of MacPhersons when he’d returned from the war. Jake had promised her lots of babies. Jake had been the last one in his family and all of Hannah’s family was gone as well. Now Hannah lived all alone on their mountain, just her and all the animals.

  Hannah swiped her hand across her eyes. She’d promised herself she’d keep the tears to a minimum. She’d just end up with an aching head, a snotty nose, and a case of the hiccups until she puked. Everything happened for a reason in this world. Wasn’t that what Grandma had always told her? At least, she’d had several wonderful years with Jake. She could just hear Granny preach at her to quit whining about her worries now. Granny didn’t believe in dwelling on the negative. The stubborn old woman had promised there was always somebody in this world whose lot in life had to be worse than your own. With a sigh, Hannah revved the ATV over a fallen log downed across the path. Sometimes it was just easier to wallow in a quagmire of self-pity than it was to count your blessings.

  The trail opened out into a sun-dappled clearing, the ground soft and spongy with years of fallen leaves scattered like a quilt waiting to be pieced. A gray block of weathered stone stood centered in the tree-lined circle, looking as though it had fallen out of the side of some ancient castle’s barrier wall. The three squirrels, the doe, and the raccoon nestled together in a contented pile beside an outcropping of elderberry bushes.

  Hannah killed the engine to the ATV, blinking hard as she focused on the stone. It had been a while since she’d last been up here, Jake’s birthday to be exact. Her hands tightened for a moment on the textured grips before she threw her leg over the side and slid off the seat.

  Clenching her teeth, she filled her arms full of the flowers and carried them over to the marker. Jake. With a lover’s touch, she traced her fingertips over the cold, chiseled surface and exhaled with a shuddering sigh. It had taken her a while. But she’d finally found it and had the rough-hewn stone shipped over from a disemboweled castle in Scotland. She’d decided it would be perfect as Jake’s headstone. She knew he’d never want the smooth, contemporary granite or marble found on all the other graves in the average churchyard. Jake’s stone mirrored the man he’d been when he lived: rough around the edges and full of character.

  “I still haven’t forgiven you, Jake.” Her voice echoed around the dogwood-lined clearing of the quiet wood. The pale, heart-shaped leaves rustled and dipped lower from the gnarled stand of trees. Hannah settled cross-legged in front of the stone just as she did every year on this day. “You promised me you’d come back and we’d make babies. You said doctors were safe because everybody knew they were just there to help. You said the press always blew things out of proportion. You lied to me, Jake.”

  The wind rushed through the trees and swirled in a circle around her, stirring the dead leaves into a flurrying mass of browns, oranges, and reds that flew into the air. The sunlight filtered down upon the stone and danced across Jake’s chiseled name and date of his death.

  Hannah yanked at fresh green shoots of grass sprouting up around the edges of the stone. She drew in a deep, shaking breath and let her gaze wander through the trees around her. “Just once, I wish you’d answer me, Jake.” With a glance toward the trees as though they eavesdropped on her conversation, Hannah lowered her voice and leaned closer to the stone. “You know, Jake, Mama was a witch, so was Grandma and all the women before them. They all believed they could talk to loved ones on the other side. But they left me too soon and didn’t show me how. Give me a break, will you? Why won’t you talk to me, Jake?”

  The wind strengthened and pushed at her back. A forceful gust whipped her hair into her face, lifted one of the bundles of honeysuckles off the headstone, and dropped the flowers into her lap.

  Hannah brushed her fingertips across the softness of the yellow petals, closing her eyes against the torrent of emotions threatening to overflow. “Thank you, Jake.” She choked back the tears with a muffled cough. Would this ache never go away?

  A shrill alarm shattered the serenity of the woods, jerking her free of the memories. Hannah crawled across the ground and fished her beeper out of the side bag of the ATV. She blinked hard and wiped at her eyes. Millie hadn’t used their agreed-upon code red, so the beep didn’t signal an emergency. It couldn’t be Farmer Donovan’s mare. That wasn’t his number flashing across the display, nor was it the infirmary code. Uneasiness gnawing in the pit of her stomach, Hannah twirled the beeper in her hand and switched off the irritating buzzer. She couldn’t believe Millie had even beeped her. Millie knew what day this was and Hannah didn’t want to be disturbed. It must be something important.

  Plunging into her side bag, she found her cell phone. A sniff and a swallow against the lump in her throat made her hiccup as she punched in the number to the café.

  “Millie, did you forget what day this is?”

  “No, I know what day this is, but, you really need to come into town right now. There’s someone here to see you and I don’t think you want to miss this.” Millie’s voice sounded strained, as though she needed to say more but couldn’t.

  “Is there an injured animal?”

  “No. Nobody’s injured and he doesn’t have any animals with him that I can see.”

  Hannah pulled the phone away from her ear and glared down into the display. Millie wasn’t making any sense and Hannah wasn’t in the mood for games today. What was that chick up to now? This had better not be another prank, especially not today. “What do you mean he?”

  “Hannah, please just come to the café,” Millie’s voice pleaded in Hannah’s ear. “I told him you were out of pocket today, but he’s from out of town and has traveled quite a ways to see you. He sort of insisted. If you could just come into town for just a bit. I know it’s a rough day for you, but just come into town for thirty minutes tops. Please?”

  Hannah gritted her teeth as she blinked up through the branches laced across the sky. Millie never could stand up to anybody. Her heart melted at the flimsiest of stories.

  “Fine, Millie. But I’m on the mountaintop so, it’ll be about an hour or so before I make it into town. Can you call Mrs. Newell and see if I can reschedule my talk to her class to another day as well? I don’t think I’m up to educating a class full of third graders about pesky raccoons after all.”

  “No problem. I’ll get your raccoon talk rescheduled for next week and I’ll see you here in a bit. Bye!”

  Hannah stuffed the phone back in the leather side bag of the ATV and straddled the seat. Who could be waiting to see her at the café? Whoever he was, he seemed to have Millie flustered. She glared at the pouch holding her cell phone as she tapped her fingers on the handlebars. “What’s going on, Millie? What are you setting me up for now?”

  Hannah pointed the ATV back down the trail and paused to glance back at the weathered stone standing in the clearing.

  “I miss you, Jake.”

  The wind rushed around her body with a swirling hug as she turned the machine and headed down the trail.<
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  His back against the wall, Taggart sipped the lukewarm coffee while propping an elbow against the spotless linoleum-topped table situated in the corner. Perhaps this vantage point proved better after all. For the sake of Millie’s nerves, he couldn’t stay perched close to her at the counter any longer. Poor lass, while he’d leaned against the counter and tried to make polite conversation, she’d spilled nearly every order she pulled from the window. He had her so befuddled she’d toppled his coffee cup across the countertop twice. Besides, he’d discovered from this seat in the corner, he could not only watch every person seated in the diner but also have a clear view of the traffic coming in off the street.

  The high-strung blonde fidgeted behind the counter, fretting with the spring-loaded napkin holders she’d already checked twice before. Taggart studied her more closely as he noticed her glance at him for at least the tenth time in the past half hour and then look to the clock hanging over his head. He knew the woman wasn’t worried about the level of coffee in his cup. She avoided his table as though he had the plague. For some reason, his presence here had Millie stumbling about as though she had two left feet. He’d overheard her conversation with Hannah MacPherson. Why would today be a rough day for the very important individual he’d traveled so far to see?

  He suppressed a smile as he sipped at the dwindling dregs of his coffee. He sensed every thought from every person in the room. Jasper Mills projected the aura of a close-knit community. They shielded Ms. MacPherson, treasuring her as one would a beloved daughter. Good. The guardian of Taroc Na Mor should be pure of both character and soul. If her people loved her, that proved well indeed. The research he’d found about her bloodline and genetics held true.

  The bell on the wire hanging above the door jangled. Taggart knew it was her before he raised his eyes; he sensed it by the way the skin tingled at the base of his neck. Her energy sent a shiver up his spine. The sacred guardian’s aura flooded the room and he was her protector. He would’ve known she entered his presence even if he had been blind.

  Taggart hid his grin behind the white ceramic mug he clasped between his hands. The collective jaws of the Guild of Barac’Nairn would’ve hit the floor had they been sitting at Taggart’s side. Hannah MacPherson, the blessed guardian, was not what they would’ve expected. Taggart chuckled into the depths of his cup. As far as he was concerned, the fiery lass beamed the definition of pure delight itself.

  The tiny, young woman ordained to be guardian of the sacred Draecna sported a ratty St. Louis Cardinals baseball cap pulled low over snapping green eyes. Her auburn ponytail exploded through the tattered hole in the back. The tangled mass of curls tumbled down her back as though a windstorm had tossed her into the cafe. Grass and mud stained the ragged knees of her jeans. Her well-worn T-shirt clung to her curves like tissue wrapped around a tempting gift. Taggart set down his coffee, stretching back in his chair, unable to resist chuckling again. He’d never seen a woman don such boots. Steel-toed work boots laced tight about her tiny ankles. She plodded across the room like a heavy construction worker.

  He held his breath to keep from laughing aloud as she stalked her way over to the counter. He could tell by the way the woman stomped, she was prepared to unleash the hounds of hell if anyone dared cross her. Such a fierce small package, she reminded him of the territorial wood nymphs of Glenoc Mur. She’d barely reach the middle of his chest, yet the woman stood coiled so tight she appeared ready to explode.

  The longer Taggart studied her, the more his amusement faded. Hannah MacPherson was gearing up for a fight. Taggart shifted in his seat as the realization hit; he stood centered in her crosshairs. Taggart peered closer. She also suffered; her face revealed a great deal of emotional pain. Her wound simmered deep. Hannah MacPherson might be small, but her heart swelled with sorrow.

  Taggart sucked in a slow breath, struggling against an uncomfortable stirring deep within his chest. His precious guardian had been deeply hurt; she fluttered as a wounded bird. Taggart watched as Hannah’s head turned with eyes narrowed when Millie whispered and pointed in his direction. He unfolded his frame and stood beside the table as Hannah whirled and barreled his way.

  “Mr. de Gaelson? I believe you wanted to see me? I’m Hannah MacPherson.” Hannah stuck out her hand as though daring him to take it and fixed Taggart with a green-eyed glare.

  Taggart closed his hand around Hannah’s cold, stiff grasp and held it as he leveled with her gaze. “Please, call me Taggart.”

  “What can I do for you, Taggart?” Hannah clipped the words with a jerk of her hand, rubbing her fingers as though his touch disturbed her. She shot Millie a brooding glare, her glance sliding back to Taggart as if blaming Millie for his presence.

  Taggart bit back a smile. The woman wasn’t going to make his life easy. He read the wariness in Hannah’s eyes and the way she’d withdrawn from his touch. Good. She should be wary. It would increase her lifespan and make protecting her somewhat easier, albeit getting close to her and winning her trust could prove even more of a challenge. Taggart nodded toward the table while he motioned for Millie. “Would ye like some coffee while we talk?”

  “Not really, thanks.” Hannah sent Millie scuttling back around the counter with a single shake of her head. “I don’t mean to sound rude, Mr. de Gaelson—”

  “Taggart, Ms. MacPherson. Please, I asked ye to call me Taggart, remember?” Taggart cleared his throat. God’s teeth, the stubborn woman insisted on doing things her own way. Lucky for her, they were on this side of the threshold. If they were in Erastaed, he would have sifted them to someplace quiet and spelled her. He’d seal her lips and open her ears so she’d have no choice but to hear his words. By Isla’s golden beard, she had to see she needed protection. ’Twas time she faced her destiny.

  Hannah snatched off her hat and worried with her tangled curls, grimacing as she yanked the snarls. “Okay. Fine. Taggart, as I started to say, I don’t mean to sound rude, but I have quite a bit going on today. So, what can I do for you? Can we just get on with it?”

  Taggart bit back a rumbling growl simmering just behind his clenched teeth. Protector or no, he’d had just about enough. He’d come all the way from Scotland by uncomfortable, archaic twenty-first-century means. He was in no mood to put up with a surly, hardheaded woman who had no idea of her worth. His gaze wandered from her storming eyes to the disheveled curls amassed about her head; and gads, if his fingers didn’t itch to touch the silk of that brandy-colored hair. She needed to put that ratty hat back on her head. Taggart shook himself and pinched the bridge of his nose. What the hell was wrong with him? She was off-limits. He must concentrate on the matter at hand. It must be the jet lag making him daft. The ones of this side always muttered about that weakness whenever he eavesdropped on their conversations.

  Taggart cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. He could do this. He hadn’t come this far to fail. “Ye wouldna happen to remember receiving several certified packets from Scotland with the legal seal of de Gaelson, Branwen and Septamus, would ye?”

  Hannah frowned, then paled an anxious shade of pink as she worried the brim of the ball cap between her hands. “I paid for the stone, and everything came through customs just fine. Do I still owe some sort of duty or extra taxes to Scotland? Is that what this is about?”

  Millie came over and refilled Taggart’s cup. She edged her way over to Hannah’s side. “Are you okay?”

  Hannah shrugged as she leaned closer to her friend. “There must be a problem with Jake’s headstone. I guess I didn’t file all the paperwork correctly to finalize it through customs with Scotland. You remember all those packets I’ve been kind of ignoring and tossing into the I’ll-look-at-it-later box?” Turning to Taggart, she leaned forward. “Is that what all those packets are about?” Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she shot a guilty look at him before dropping her gaze to her cap. “I never opened them. I just tossed them in a box with the rest of the junk I was going to go through later. I’ve been real
ly busy.”

  “Who is this Jake person?” As Hannah’s aura darkened with grief, Taggart flinched and felt an immediate jab of regret that he had asked. So this was the source of Hannah’s pain. The very mention of the man’s name plunged her into darkness.

  “Jake was my husband. He died in the Iraq War. Are you here about the headstone or not?” Hannah licked her lips and inhaled a slow, shaking breath while she strangled her ball cap on the table in front of her.

  “No, lass.” Taggart threw himself back in the chair and scrubbed his face with his hands. The oracle should’ve provided him with all this information. No wonder she’d ignored all the missives. Hannah MacPherson wasn’t going to be easily convinced to leave this place. “If ye had read the letters, ye would know ye have inherited a fine estate in the Highlands of Scotland. If ye had opened the missives, ye would’ve been be pleased to find ye not only own one small stone but actually an entire castle and quite an expanse of land. The name of your place is Taroc Na Mor and it waits for ye to lay claim to it.”

  Hannah stared at Taggart as though he’d just sprouted a set of golden horns. She worked her ball cap through her fingers while gnawing on the corner of her lip.

  Taggart watched her, thinking if she didn’t take a breath soon she’d surely faint and fall out of the chair.

  Then her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward with a decided shake of her head. “That is impossible. You’ve got the wrong person. Someone has made a terrible mistake.”

  Taggart dared her with a jerk of his chin toward the door. “Go get the papers out of your wee box if ye dinna believe me. They’ll tell ye what ye dinna wish to accept.”

  “I don’t know of any relatives I’ve ever had in Scotland. Who would leave me an estate?” Hannah slapped her hat in the middle of the table as she sat up straighter in the chair.

  “Go get the papers if ye dinna believe me.” Taggart folded his arms across his chest and forced himself not to smile. Today, he was too tired to argue with her and he had yet to win her trust. But he had to admit, it was a temptation to provoke her. He relished a good battle and this one would be easy to win. He loved the way her green eyes snapped when she thought she was right. This woman’s fire warmed his blood more then he dared to admit.