Page 53 of Dark Side of the Laird
Was it a sign from Fate? Was it my destiny to now pursue that circle of stones?
My gut clenched and I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. No. I couldn’t go back there. The last time I’d run, Logan had chased after me, found me in those stones and punished me with pleasure, right there in the middle. Memories assaulted me from every direction. I could smell him as though he stood not a few feet away. So strong was my sense of him surrounding me, my eyes flew open and I expected to see him there, but he wasn’t. Just as I’d known deep down he wouldn’t be.
Without saying goodbye, I pulled on my cloak and boots and stole through the secret passage that Logan had shown me before, walking down the darkened, cobwebbed and critter-filled stairs into his library. It was dark inside, blessedly empty.
I leaned against his desk for several heartbeats, stilling my rapid breaths, resting my sore limbs. From there I made my way down to the water-gate, planning what I would say to the guards when I arrived there, but they were gone.
I swallowed hard, staring back up at the darkened stairwell and then around at the empty gate. Isabella had made sure this entrance wasn’t guarded. MacDonald’s men would invade at any moment, killing mercilessly.
A twinge of guilt sparked, but I couldn’t stay. Couldn’t die here. I had to go to the stone circle, had to find out what my destiny was. Needed to leave this place to its people.
People I’d grown to love. Walking down the cobbled stairs to the beach, and then running—lungs burning and legs threatening to collapse—was the hardest thing I’d yet done. Hard to leave these people behind. But what good could I have done them? Nothing. I wasn’t skilled with a weapon and I was no use as leverage. I had no power. I was the laird’s lover, nothing more.
The closer I grew to the stone circle, the stronger his scent grew in my mind. I felt him surrounding me, inside me. Was it his spirit guiding me? Did Logan want me to leave this place, too? Was he protecting me?
At last I broke through the trees and saw the stones jutting up into the moonlit sky. They glowed silver against the black of night. As before, I came forward, touching the runes upon the stone archway, which I’d thought before to be the entrance.
A burning sensation came from my hip as I touched it. I looked down, and a shaft of light glowed at the spot through my nightgown. My tattoo. The rune tattoo I’d gotten on a whim. It burned—like it had some sort of magical draw to this place.
But that couldn’t be, could it?
With no one about, I lifted my gown up around my hip and stared at the tattoo. It glowed a silvery blue in the moonlight, and then all the runes upon the stones lit up before my eyes.
It was a sign.
I stepped through, sure that by the time I walked into the center, I’d be back in my own time. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I expected to see the cab driver waiting upon the road.
But I wasn’t back in my own time.
I was in Logan’s torture chamber. Candles glowing an eerie orange against the dark walls. Offensive scents of death reaching me, assaulting.
“Emma.”
Logan was alive. He called faintly to me in his sleep.
17
Emma
The room was frigid, colder than outside. Gooseflesh covered my naked skin, prickling the hairs up on my arms. Puffs of air filled the space before my lips as I breathed, and my toes were nearly frozen to the icy stone floors.
But I didn’t care. Logan was here. Instead of being tossed into that decrepit corridor, I’d been sent through the door.
“Logan!” I rushed forward, relief flooding me, so much so, I was light-heated, and I had to pause a moment to regain my balance.
He rolled his head at the sound of my voice, his eyes, glassy and pain-filled caught mine. I was so used to seeing the burning charcoal of his gaze, that the muted gray stunned me.
“Emma,” he rasped, and his throat bobbed as he tried to swallow. His voice was so scratchy, filled with pain it sent a shudder through me.
“Oh, my God!” I cried, reaching the side of the table and clutching at his face as I pressed my lips to his.
They were cracked and bloody, but I didn’t care. I was so damn thankful that he wasn’t dead. Tears slid over my cheeks, mingling in our kiss. Wet warmth touched my fingertips and I realized that Logan was also crying. I swept his tears away with the pads of my fingers. I kissing him all the more. The man was already so beaten down, I couldn’t bare him thinking that I thought less of him.
But feeling his tears, it made me want to sob. I had to hold myself in check. He needed my strength, not for me to break down. When I finally did pull away a couple of inches to look at him, he said, “How did ye…?”
I shook my head, kissing his cheeks and forehead, still disbelieving that I’d actually landed here, and not outside the door where he seemed so far out of reach.
“I don’t know. I went to the stone circle and—” I bit my lip, refusing to continue.
