Eternity's Mark Read online

  “Fine!” Hannah hissed, jumping up from the table. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  Taggart allowed himself the pleasure of a victorious grin as he tilted his head in admiration of how well her jeans fit the curve of her hips as she stormed her way out of the diner. “Don’t worry, lass. There’s not a power in either one of our worlds that could tear me away from here now.”

  Hannah burst into her office and tossed her keys across the low countertop dividing the waiting area from the first set of examination rooms. “Sophie, I know you’re not in your kennel. I heard you scurrying around when I unlocked the door. Come on out. I promise I won’t put you back in there. It’s pointless since you’re such an escape artist.”

  A long-nosed dog of questionable breed wormed around the corner. A blond, skinny tail curled between trembling hind legs while pointy ears dripped from a bowed head hanging low to the floor.

  “Come here. You’re not in trouble.” Hannah squatted down, opened her arms wide, and welcomed Sophie’s wet kisses while dodging her lunging paws and wildly thumping tail. “Help me find the mail I never open, Sophie. I don’t remember what I did with all those boxes. Do you remember where I put them?”

  Sophie barked and spun her way out of Hannah’s arms. Her toenails clicked as she pranced her way down the gleaming tiles of the hall.

  “I really need to trim your toenails,” Hannah laughed as she followed the tick, tick, ticking of Sophie’s nails. Sophie barked again and stood wagging her tail in front of a storage closet, pointing her long, narrow nose up at the black steel door.

  “I’m glad your memory is so much better than mine, Sophie. You’re the best office help I’ve ever had.” Hannah hugged the dog as she opened the door and spotted the box of mail bulging from the highest shelf.

  Hannah took it to the exam room and plopped the box on the table. As she unwound the jute string and lifted the lid, she wrinkled her nose as musty air exploded from the contents. Whew! She was going to have to break down and hire some help around the office. Millie’s once-a-month overhaul just wasn’t quite enough. Hannah held her breath until the urge to sneeze passed, her eyes stinging with the itchiness of the dust. She tried to keep everything as straight as Millie got it. But it kind of slid right back to a haphazard mess within a few days’ time.

  She eased out her breath and flipped through the mail crammed inside the box. She should’ve thrown half this stuff away instead of squirreling it away in this crate. Hannah frowned, pawing through the odd-sized envelopes. She paused as her mind drifted back to the man she’d just met, the irritating man waiting back at the diner.

  Taggart de Gaelson nagged at her thoughts, demanded her attention in an increasingly irritating way. When Hannah had seen him, she’d teetered on the verge of remembering something she’d forgotten, a subtle fluttering, a pulling in the center of her chest. She’d known him, but she didn’t. A jolt of energy prickled across her skin, an eerie sensation demanding her immediate attention. She’d shivered with a strange sense of recognition as soon as she’d walked into the diner and locked eyes with the infuriating man.

  Those eyes. Maybe that’s what mesmerized her every time she looked him full in the face. Ice-blue, dark-rimmed around the iris, they bored into the center of her soul and pried into her secret places. Hannah shivered again. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve sworn the man knew every thought that crossed her mind. And those hands. Hannah paused as she remembered how her hand had disappeared in Taggart’s muscled grasp as he’d pulled her a bit closer when he’d greeted her. They’d been so warm and strong and ... Hannah shook herself. She’d sworn there’d been almost an electrical vibration. She’d never felt a connection in a touch like that before. Hannah coughed when she realized she’d forgotten to breathe.

  “Whew. What’s wrong with me, Sophie? You’d think I’d never seen a man before.”

  Sophie barked and wagged her tail, then curled around Hannah’s feet.

  “You’re a big help,” Hannah laughed, returning to the musty carton. Diving deeper into the box, she finally spotted the corner of one the certified packets. With a grunt, she wiggled and worked it loose from where it lay wedged in the bottom of the cardboard box.

  With shaking hands, she tore open the letter and removed the sheaf of heavy vellum paper. She scanned through the documents. Hand to her throat, she swallowed hard against the speeding hammer of her heart. A name jumped out at her: Sullivan. She remembered the name from her mother’s side. In fact, if she remembered the stories Grandma told her, Gracie Sullivan was the first of her line who had discovered she had talent as a witch. Poor Gracie had paid dearly for that discovery. For consorting with the dead, she had received the death sentence. An oak plank loaded with stones had crushed Gracie Sullivan’s life as well as her magical heritage out of her body.

  Hannah’s breath caught as she double-checked the heavy manila envelope. Pictures had also been included, aerial shots of a castle and grounds. Centuries of abuse by the harsh elements of the Highlands had weathered the keep to a charred, somber black. The skirting wall and the corner guardhouse appeared less battered; the huge rough blocks reflected a lighter gray in the lighting of the photo. The castle itself perched atop a remote cliff overlooking an angry sea. From what she could see, a few more centuries of erosion and the forbidding structure would slide into the waves below.

  A tangled, evergreen wood covered the surrounding land, running up to a deep ravine and forming a jagged boundary around the castle. One gated bridge crossed the ravine and led to the skirting wall guarding the keep. Even in the twenty-first century, Taroc Na Mor still appeared an impenetrable stronghold.

  Hannah shivered as cold fingers of recognition tickled the back of her neck. How could she know this place? She traced the outline of the slate roof of the keep, almost feeling the jagged coldness beneath her fingers. She swore she heard the cry of the gulls overhead, felt the bite of the wind blowing in from sea. Hannah licked her lips and peered closer at the glossy photo. She pressed her hand against her mouth and tasted the tang of the ocean in the air.

  “I have lost my mind,” Hannah mumbled, picking up the letter and reading it again. It clearly stated Taroc Na Mor was hers. She was the only living heir.

  Hannah tossed the papers down on the table in front of him and slid into the chair. “Why are you here, Mr. de ... I mean Taggart? What exactly is it you want from me?”

  “Ye’re no’ exactly the trusting sort. Are ye, Ms. MacPherson?” Taggart snorted out a cynical laugh. “Aye, that’s verra wise. Ye’ll live a lot longer that way. But ye need to remember there’s a good bit of difference between caution and bitterness. Ye dinna want to end up a complete solitary, now do ye?”

  Hannah tensed, balling her fists at her sides. Who was this guy who’d shown up to complicate her life? Where did he get off lecturing her on her behavior? He had no idea who she was or what the complications in her life were. With gritted teeth, Hannah took a deep breath. She spread her hands on the table and jerked her head toward the photos of Taroc Na Mor. “Just tell me why you’re here exactly. I realize I ignored your precious certified packets. But you’re here now, so what is it you want from me?”

  Taggart reached across the table and fingered the corner of one of the pictures. With a heavy sigh, he traced his thumb along the border of the photo as though wishing he could step inside. Homesickness etched across Taggart’s face and longing reflected in his eyes. Hannah read Taggart’s love for Taroc Na Mor before he ever uttered a word.

  “When we received no response from ye, it was my duty to find ye and explain to ye all that had come to be yours.”

  “So, what you’re telling me is that you’re the executor of the estate?” Hannah folded her hands on the table. What he was telling her couldn’t possibly be true. This had to be some kind of mistake. She had no kin left in Scotland. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t even have any living relatives in this country. Uneasiness swept across her like a
damp, fetid wind. Something about this whole story just didn’t sound quite right.

  Taggart paused, leaning a bit closer across the table as he turned the photo in his hands. “Actually, I’m a member of a group of individuals who have watched over Taroc Na Mor down through the centuries. I guess ye might say I’m a protector of sorts.”

  Wariness swelled in the pit of Hannah’s stomach as if she’d swallowed a lead weight for lunch. “You sound like you’re in some kind of cult or something.” Hannah inched back a bit from the table. This guy didn’t look like a nut, but sometimes appearances could be deceiving.

  Taggart eased back to his side of the table and returned the photo to the crinkled manila packet. Fixing Hannah with a brilliant smile, he chuckled and shook his head. “I assure ye, Ms. MacPherson, ’tis nothing quite so sinister. We merely tend to the special needs of the estate and when we can find them, we take care of its heirs. Now tell me, what do ye think? Is it not grand? Do ye not think Taroc Na Mor is the most beautiful piece of land on which ye have ever laid your eyes? Are ye not anxious to visit your new property and claim it as your own?”

  Hannah forced a polite smile on her face as she gathered up the remaining photos and stuffed them back in the envelope. She’d be kind and explain things clearly and then maybe he’d go away. She took a deep breath and ignored the incessant churning in the pit of her stomach. With a glance into his intense, waiting gaze, she ignored the disturbing scent of powerful male teasing from the man across the table. The sooner Taggart de Gaelson left Jasper Mills, the better. With those eyes and that body, the man in front of her had to be nothing but trouble. She was alone and intended to stay that way. He needed to get back across that pond to Scotland. “I’ll admit Taroc Na Mor looks beautiful in these pictures, Taggart. But you’ve never seen my mountain. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’ve not only wasted your time. You’ve wasted a lot of money flying all this way to see me. I’m just not interested in coming to Scotland. I’m needed here in Jasper Mills. This is my home.”

  “What?” Taggart splayed both hands across the table as though ready to lunge across the room.

  “My mountain,” Hannah repeated. She slid the packet across the table between Taggart’s outspread hands and lightly tapped on its top. “My home is here, Taggart. This is where my roots are. This is where I buried my husband and this is where I intend to stay.”

  “Are ye insane, woman? Ye have to at least go and see the land! Ye canna just toss it aside like scraps of food ye rake from the table after ye’ve finished with your meal.” Taggart slapped his hand on the envelope and shoved it back in front of her.

  Okay. So looks could be deceiving. Maybe he didn’t have to look the part to be crazy. Hannah stood and planted her hands on either side of the packet. With narrowed eyes, she leaned forward until her nose almost touched his. “If it is my land, I can do anything I want with it, even if it means continuing to ignore it. I’m surprised Scotland hasn’t taken it away from me since I haven’t paid any taxes on it since you people started sending me all those letters. There’s no telling how much money I owe on that land. I’m probably going to have to sell it to pay all the back taxes anyway.”

  “Taroc Na Mor can never be sold! Are ye daft, woman?” With a roar, Taggart stood so fast his chair flew backwards across the floor of the diner. “There are no back taxes due. We pay all the taxes. It is our duty as the Guild of Barac’Nairn!”

  “The what?” Hannah repeated as she took a step back to avoid the ranting Scot. She couldn’t help but notice how dark his eyes flashed now that he’d grown so aggravated. If not for the fact that the man was obviously obsessed, she’d fix him up with Millie. Millie had a thing for sexy Highlanders and Taggart definitely had that roll-mein-the-heather kind of look.

  “Hannah, is this guy bothering you?” Sheriff Matt appeared at Hannah’s side, his hand resting on the sidearm belted at his hip.

  Hannah glanced at Matt; then her gaze swept back over to Taggart. Yep. Matt would definitely have to use his gun. Sheriff Matt stood dwarfed by the angry Scot. Hannah hadn’t missed how Taggart had ducked his head whenever he’d walked through the door. She’d also noted he’d had to turn somewhat sideways because the span of his shoulders nearly filled them as well.

  His biceps bulged as big around as her head; the man loomed the size of a mountain. She hadn’t seen men built like him since she’d flipped through the satellite channels the other night and accidently landed on some weight-lifting program.

  “It’s all right, Matt.” Hannah shook her head. “We’re just having a little discussion about some land I didn’t know I owned. Taggart is filling me in on Scottish laws of ownership and he’s just a little passionate about some points I don’t understand.”

  “Are you sure?” Matt tapped his holster with a tense finger as he fixed Taggart with a warning glare.

  “I am absolutely positive.” Hannah smiled and patted Matt’s arm. A twinge of guilt nipped at her conscience for pushing him off on Lily. Lily could be such a whiny little twit when she didn’t get her way. Oh well, Matt was a big boy. Hopefully, he could take care of himself.

  Hannah turned back to the table, scooped up the envelope, then beckoned to the glowering Scot with a nod of her head. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk and you can explain to me about this Guild of Barac’Nairn without danger of being shot.”

  His plan had failed miserably so far. This coming to Jasper Mills to sweep the hardheaded Hannah MacPherson off her feet and cart her back to Scotland was proving more difficult than he’d imagined. And he couldn’t believe the photos hadn’t worked. Taggart worried a hand through his hair. The photos had failed to draw her to Taroc Na Mor. She should’ve been entranced with the very sight of the land. Perhaps the papers had sat too long and the magic inside the images had fallen dormant. He’d performed the incantation himself, double-checked it before he’d sealed the packets. What had gone wrong? The yearning flowed in Hannah MacPherson’s blood; he’d seen it flash in her eyes. Records had verified the Sullivan line on both sides of the threshold. Hannah MacPherson was the last true heir both in this world and in Erastaed.

  Gracie Sullivan had been the first of Hannah’s gifted lineage. The Guild had sorely fallen short in their protection of their very first charge of the Sullivan line. They’d also failed when they’d lost the thread of the family’s heritage to Hannah’s grandmother and her mother. Taggart had sorted through centuries of false leads before he’d found Hannah. But he’d finally homed in on her like a bee to nectar. With a sidling glance, he appraised her as she walked along beside him. Such fire! Born to be a guardian, she was. Septamus would dearly love her. All the Draecna of Taroc Na Mor would be thrilled with the lass.

  “Taggart!” Hannah whistled and clapped her hands.

  “Beg pardon.” Taggart bowed his head. “Forgive me. I became lost in my thoughts. What did ye say?”

  “This Guild of Barac’Nairn you spoke of? Would you care to elaborate on this elite group you belong to now that we’re out of earshot of half the population of Jasper Mills?” Hannah led the way toward the acre of neatly mown grass centered in the middle of town. Inviting white benches dotted the circumference of a black, asphalt jogging path, but Hannah headed for a set of abandoned benches shaded by a gnarled old oak off to the side.

  “As I told ye.” Taggart cleared his throat. “We have kept up all the taxes on the estate. Ye have no worries when it comes to money and the lands of Taroc Na Mor.” If the money was all that troubled the woman, perhaps he could ease her mind and they’d be on their way to Scotland by tomorrow.

  As Hannah settled on the bench, three squirrels circled down the trunk of the sprawling oak and scampered to an adoring heap beside her.

  “Friends of yours?” Taggart asked with a nod toward the chittering threesome. Relief washed over his body, loosening the uneasy tightness in his chest. The attentive squirrels affirmed part of Hannah’s heritage. True guardians of Taroc Na Mor shared a special affinity with crea
tures on every level of the realities.

  Hannah smiled and held out her hand to the chubbiest of the group. “I rescued these three out of the storm drain a year ago last spring. They seem to have a penchant for living on the edge. They’ve caused a few minor fender benders when they cross Main Street during the busiest part of the day. There’s an oak tree on the courthouse lawn that’s got acorns they can’t seem to resist. Everyone does their best to dodge them since the whole town watched me raise them until they were old enough to release back into the wild.”

  Either the woman deluded herself or feared he’d think her strange if he discovered her special abilities. A nearby movement in the brush caught his eye and Taggart stifled a smile as his heart warmed with satisfaction. Aye. The heritage flowed strong in her veins. All the beasts loved her. “Another of your friends is coming to see ye. Did ye save that one’s life as well?” Taggart pointed toward the edge of the park, where a deer nosed its way out of the dense hedging surrounding the well-clipped lawn.

  “Oh, not again.” Hannah groaned and jumped off the table. Waiving her arms, she jogged across the park toward the deer, shooing it back into the safety of the woods.

  Taggart chuckled under his breath. Apparently, he needed to convince her it was only natural the animals be drawn to her. She was a guardian; that’s what she did. Hannah must visit Taroc Na Mor. If he could at least get her to the land, get her in the presence of one of the older Draecna, he knew she would change her mind about everything.

  “Okay.” Hannah returned to the table. The deer had relented and retreated to the edge of the clearing, nosing its way between a few bowed branches of forsythia bushes until it disappeared into the deeper shelter of the woods.