Midnight's Temptation

CHAPTER SEVEN

Aisley slowly opened her eyes expecting to feel the dull, residual headache that always followed one of her migraines. Instead, there was nothing.

She felt refreshed and revitalized. No longer did her eyes feel as if sand had been poured in them. A good night’s sleep was all she really needed.

The events of the previous night flashed in her mind as she slowly sat up. Phelan had been there. He had lifted her in his arms. Had he brought her to the hotel? It was the only explanation that made any sense.

“Well, hell,” she muttered.

She already found him occupying her thoughts too much. Now she was not only indebted to him, but he’d done a nice thing. She didn’t want to thank him.

“He’s just messing with my head,” she told herself as she threw off the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

That’s when she saw her duffle and purse. Aisley dropped her head into her hands. How could she continue to try and hate a guy who had taken care of her?

“I’m screwed, that’s what.”

There was a soft knock on her door, which made her jerk her head up. Aisley gathered her magic and padded to the door. She looked through the peephole to see a young man holding a tray full of food.

He knocked again, and this time said, “Room service.”

Aisley opened the door to see a redheaded teenager with bad acne give her a bright smile. “He said to wait until eight and then see if you were awake.”

“Eight? As in eight in the morning?” she asked in disbelief. She should have been on the road hours ago.

“Aye, miss. Where should I put this?”

Aisley stepped aside for him to enter. “The man. Was he tall with long dark hair?”

The boy straightened from setting down the tray and smiled. “That’s him, miss. He’s a formidable one. Wanted me to make sure not to wake you no matter what.”

“Formidable. That describes him all right,” she said with a frown.

Aisley grabbed a few pound notes and gave them to the employee before he left. Then she looked at the tray of food.

“I’d weigh five hundred pounds if I let him feed me,” she said as she looked at all the food on the tray.

The smell and her growling stomach was too much. She grabbed a plate full of sausage, eggs, and toast before pouring a cup of coffee and orange juice.

It had been quite awhile since Aisley had eaten so much at one sitting. Her body demanded more, and before she knew it, she’d eaten almost everything Phelan ordered.

There were two pastries and a croissant left, all of which Aisley wrapped in a napkin and packed in her purse to eat during the drive.

A glance at the clock showed it was a quarter to nine. With a curse, she rushed into the bathroom and quickly showered. When she stepped out and stood in front of the mirror she didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her.

Aisley ran her fingers through her wet hair, pulling the inky strands away from her face. Where was the young girl who laughed at everything and thought the world was hers for the taking?

It was amazing how life could go along at a good pace, and then so easily get off kilter in less than a heartbeat. She might not have been perfect, but she’d been a good person.

She still didn’t know why God had chosen to punish her. Then, she hadn’t cared whether she lived or died. She flaunted herself in front of Death every day after that, hoping her life would end and the torment would cease.

It hadn’t been Death that had found her but Jason.

Aisley ran a finger over the wrinkles fanning out from the corner of her eyes. They were slight, but a year ago they hadn’t been there at all.

At twenty-nine Aisley expected her life to be much different. It was all those wrong choices her mother had cautioned her about.

Aisley turned away from the mirror and dressed in a pair of slim cargo khakis, black shirt, and a pair of black wedges. She then threw her dirty clothes into her duffle. After running a comb through her hair, she grabbed her stuff and walked out of the hotel.

She glanced around the small town looking for Phelan. He was there, she knew it, she just couldn’t see him. Aisley tossed her bag into the back of her Fiat and got in.

“Aiiiisssssleeeeeyyyy!”

She squeezed her eyes closed as her heart pounded in her chest. When seconds ticked by with no other evil voice in her head, Aisley started the car and turned up the radio as loud as she could.

The border into England was just a few hours away. She would make it and leave all of Scotland—and the bad memories—behind forever.

* * *

Phelan’s elation at seeing the pep in Aisley’s step again disappeared when he saw her grip the steering wheel as if her life depended on her hanging onto it.

Just as he was thinking about approaching her, she started the car and drove off.

“Damn woman. If she’d only let me help,” he murmured as he put on his helmet.

He started the Ducati, but he didn’t immediately follow her. During the night he’d made the decision to let her go and search for Wallace.

Yet, he remained just to get a glimpse of her. That was all he was going to do to make sure she was feeling better. That one look hadn’t been enough.

He liked helping her, and he wanted to do it again. If she let him. Which he knew she wouldn’t. That in itself had him pulling out behind her and following her once more.

It didn’t take long for Phelan to realize Aisley was on her way out of Scotland. And fast. She pulled over only once to get petrol.

As they neared Dumfries, Phelan was trying to think of a way to keep her in Scotland. He couldn’t follow her into England no matter how much he wanted to.

His duty was to help his brethren and the Druids in locating Wallace. He had a long time to contemplate his conversation with Malcolm.

There was a chance Wallace could have been tossed through time somewhere, but Phelan wasn’t so sure of it. Time travel didn’t happen by accident. It was done with powerful magic and the right spell.

The last battle had unfolded, leaving Wallace alone and being attacked by the selmyr. Phelan didn’t imagine the bastard had enough time to use the spell to traverse time.

By the time they reached Dumfries, Phelan knew he had to do something. He gunned the Ducati to bypass three cars when the sickening feel of drough magic slammed into him, stealing his breath with its power.

Phelan gagged and steered the motorbike off the road. As he did, he heard the squeal of brakes and the crunch of metal as vehicles plowed into each other.

“Aisley,” he murmured around the cloying feel of the evil magic.

He pulled off his helmet and put the kickstand down simultaneously before he jumped off his bike and ran to Aisley’s car. It was the feel of the drough magic that made him move quickly. That and the worry that Aisley had been injured.

Phelan took note of how it looked as if she lost control of the Fiat and spun the front half of it off the road so that the car that plowed into her hit her from the passenger side. He took in the damage to see it was minimal, considering.

He bent to look inside. “Aisley.”

She had a death grip on the steering wheel, her chest heaving and her eyes wide. But there was no sign of blood.

“Aisley?” he called again.

When she still didn’t respond, he hurried to the driver’s side and opened her door. “Talk to me now or I’m going to kiss you right here.”

“I need to leave.”

“Then we’ll leave, but you’re in no condition to drive.”

She viciously shook her head. “Not with you. You’re here to kill me.”

Phelan clenched his jaw in frustration. “How many times do I have to tell you? If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. Now, there’s a drough near.”

“I know.”

That made him frown. “You know? Only Warriors can sense magic, lass.”

She pushed him out of the way and started running down the road. Phelan could only stare at her, wondering if he had heard her right when she mumbled the words, “He’s come for me,” as she rushed past him.

Phelan watched her run as fast as she could in her shoes. He looked around at the chaos of the wreck and quickly pushed Aisley’s car off the road. He saw her duffle inside the car and made a quick decision. He grabbed the bag and hurried back to his bike. After he tied her duffle onto the back of his motorbike, he put on his helmet and maneuvered his bike through the cars as he chased her down.

He skidded the Ducati to a halt in front of her and yanked off his helmet as he handed it to her. “Put it on. Now.”

“I don’t want your help.”

“Liar.” He kept the helmet outstretched, waiting—hoping—she would take it.

Phelan never allowed a woman in need to go unassisted. He certainly wasn’t going to leave Aisley on the roadside alone. If he had to, he’d strap her to his Ducati and drive away.

She stared at the helmet a second before she did as he ordered.

“You need to trust me, Aisley,” he told her.

“If I was smart, I’d make you leave me.”

“If I was smart, I probably would,” he retorted. “Get on, beauty.”

Another few seconds ticked by before she threw her leg over the bike and wrapped her arms around him. Phelan drove away as the sirens blared behind him.

He drove them to Holywood where he hid his bike in an alley and walked Aisley into a café. They took a table in the back with him facing the door.

By the look on Aisley’s face she was still in shock. And he needed to call Malcolm. “Order me something. I’ll be right back.”

He walked out of the restaurant and around the corner so he could see Aisley through the window. Then he grabbed his mobile and called Malcolm.

“Two calls in less than twelve hours,” Malcolm said as a way of answering. “What’s happened?”

“It’s Wallace. He’s back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye. I felt his magic. It was powerful, Malcolm. Verra powerful.”

There was a string of curses before Malcolm asked, “More powerful than he was before?”

“I believe so.”

“I’ll let the others know.”

“And I’ll call Charon,” Phelan said.

He ended the call and inhaled deeply. Just when he thought Wallace might be gone for good. He should have known better.

Phelan called Charon, who answered on the first ring. “Phelan.”

“He’s back,” Phelan said and briefly closed his eyes.

“Bloody hell. Where are you?”

“A long way from Ferness. I’m near the border with England.”

“What’s Wallace doing there?” Charon asked.

Phelan heard the worry in his voice and knew Charon was already thinking of ways to get Laura to MacLeod Castle without an argument. “I doona know. I didna see him, only felt his magic.”

“Are you going looking for him?”

“Nay. I’ve got a Druid with me.”

“What?” Charon all but yelled. “When did this happen?”

“I’ve known about her for a few months. I’ve been keeping an eye on her.”

“Is Wallace after her?”

Phelan could hear Charon drumming his fingers on his desk through the phone. “Maybe, but I’m no’ sure.”

“Bring her to the castle.”

“I doona think that’ll be easy. She knows I’m a Warrior, and she thinks I’m trying to kill her.”

Charon grunted in response. “Obviously she’s a mie or you’d already have killed her. Perhaps she was led to believe the Warriors are evil.”

“Probably. I’ll do my best to get her to the MacLeods, but right now my concern is keeping her away from Wallace.”

“Good luck with that. Have you called the castle?”

“Malcolm is,” Phelan said. “I called him. He’s letting the others know.”

“Good, good. Call me with regular updates. You doona want me to come looking for your ugly arse.”

Phelan grinned. “You’d never find me.”

“Try me,” Charon said, the smile in his voice.

Despite their teasing, Phelan knew just how worried Charon was. As he disconnected the call, Phelan walked into the café and to Aisley’s table.

“There wasna time to check you for wounds,” Phelan said. “Were you hurt in the accident?”

She shook her head and stared at the glass of water in front of her. “Was anyone else injured?”

“Minor cuts and scrapes, lass. Doona fash yourself over it.”

“How long have you lived?” she asked, raising her fawn-colored gaze to his.

The direct question took him aback for a moment. “I’ve never had anyone ask, although no one outside of my small circle knows.”

“It’s not a difficult question.”

“Nay, it’s no’. I’m a little over five hundred and fifty.”

She let out a long breath. “In all that time you’ve walked the earth, has life ever gotten easier?”

He studied her, wondering if she needed to hear the truth or if he should temper his answer. In her eyes he saw grief, misery, and depression that went soul deep.

Something had happened in her short life, and Phelan found he wanted to comfort her, to lend his shoulder to cry on.

“The truth,” she said as if she knew he was debating his answer.

“There are stretches where things are easy and nice, almost peaceful. Then there are those times where everything goes wrong and everyone turns against you.”

“So, no. Life doesn’t get easier.”

“Nay, beauty. Life is as much a bitch as karma is. Only the strong, those like you, survive.”

She looked down at the table. “I’m not surviving, Phelan. I’m existing. And I’m tired of it.”