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How fitting that one of the Tuatha Dé’s own cherished Keltar now held within him the power of the ancient Draghar—the league of thirteen most powerful Druids that had ever lived.
the Tuatha Dé’s very own would finally destroy them. And reclaim the Druids’ rightful place in the world.
They’re drawn to danger, but of no mind to live with it, Drustan had once said with a bitter smile. They like to stroke the beast’s silky pelt, feel his power and wildness, but make no mistake, brother—they’ll never, never trust the beast around children.
Accepting a bribe was one thing, losing herself was another. And she had no doubt that she could get lost in such a man. They simply weren’t in the same league.
When a Druid offered his favored weapon, his Selvar, the one he wore against his skin, to a woman, he offered his protection. His guardianship. Forever.
pledged his life to forever. Smart, the woman spoke four languages that he knew of. Tenacious, determined, logical in a circuitous way. Real, believing in things. Protective of the old ways, that was evident each time she watched him turn a page. Twice she’d handed him a tissue to do it with when he’d forgotten, lest he get the oil of his skin on the precious pages.
What did she have here? Her job at The Cloisters. No social life to speak of. No family. She’d been alone for years now, ever since Grandda had died. In fact, more lonely than she’d cared to admit. A little lost and rootless, which she suspected accounted for her determination to visit Grandda’s village, in hopes that she might find some remnants of roots there.
Devil and Angel: he, seduced by her lightness; she, tempted by his darkness. Each drawn to what they lacked.
The Greeks had a word for such a moment. They called it Kairos—a moment of destiny.
The castle he’d built would be filled with his brother and his family. Aught else was simply unacceptable. And if the legends were true, if the cost was his own chance at life, he’d deemed it worthwhile. He’d little left to lose.
“You should have let me die, Dageus,” Drustan said softly. “Damn you for not letting me die.” Thank you for not letting me die, he added silently, torn by emotion. It was a terrible mixture of grief and guilt and gratefulness. If not for his brother’s sacrifice, he would never have seen his wife again. Gwen would have raised their babies
“Do you plan to tell her?” “How?” Dageus asked flatly. “Och, lass, I’m a Druid from the sixteenth century and I broke an oath and now I’m possessed by the souls of four-thousand-year-old evil Druids and if I doona find a way to get rid of them I will turn into a scourge upon the earth and the only thing that keeps me sane is tooping?”
And yes, she did feel a brush of magic about them, a sense of ancient secrets, and was struck suddenly by how right Dageus looked standing in the middle of them. Like a primitive sorcerer, wild and forbidding, a keeper of secrets,
She chose to come to Scotland with me. Though sometimes she hesitates, she fears nothing. And she’s smart, she speaks many languages, she knows the old myths, and she loves artifacts. I’m about to take her to them. If for naught else, she’ll forgive me for that,” he added, dryly.
Do it, Evan MacGregor’s voice suddenly said in her heart. You may not have nine lives, Chloe-cat, but you mustn’t be afraid to live the one you’ve got.
“An order of Druids in Britain, descendants of those you scattered millennia past, has been awaiting the return of the Draghar; they have plans to force the Keltar’s transformation. If they succeed, do what you wish with him. Let that be his test.” “Are you presenting a formal plea for his life, Amadan?” Aoibheal purred, her iridescent gaze shimmering with sudden intensity.
She wanted him more than was wise, more than was rational, more than was controllable.
the darkness inside him was changing him anyway, in the same manner that wine inevitably soaked into and permeated the cask that held it.
He suddenly wondered if he’d gotten a bit of bad beef for dinner and was suffering some instability of the mind induced by poisoned digestion. Then a worse fear gripped him, one that made his head feel alarmingly light and his blood pound too fast inside his chest: mayhap ’twas his time, and this was Death, for she was certainly beautiful enough to lure any man to that great unknown that lay beyond.
“Aoibheal, queen of the Tuatha Dé Danaan, bids you greeting, Keltar.”
