{"id":6495,"date":"2026-01-10T10:09:44","date_gmt":"2026-01-10T10:09:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/adept-05-death-of-an-adept-kurtz-katherine\/"},"modified":"2026-01-10T10:09:44","modified_gmt":"2026-01-10T10:09:44","slug":"adept-05-death-of-an-adept-kurtz-katherine","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/adept-05-death-of-an-adept-kurtz-katherine\/","title":{"rendered":"Adept 05 – Death of an Adept – Kurtz, Katherine"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Book Preview<\/h3>\n
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Katherine Kurtz – Adept 05 – Death of an Adept<\/h1>\n

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Mystic and historian, Sir Adam Sinclair is Master of the Hunt, leader of a secret brotherhood at war with the dark and unholy Powers that menace our world. \u00a0<\/span>In his time, he has challenged the forces of evil and been victorious. Now evil is rising once again – an extraordinary evil born of ancient elemental magic and twentieth-century ambition.<\/p>\n

And Adam Sinclair will face the most unthinkable crime against his kind: murder.<\/p>\n

DEATH OF AN ADEPT<\/p>\n

An Ace Book \/ published by arrangement with the author PRINTING HISTORY Ace hardcover edition \/ December 1996 Ace mass-market edition \/ November 1997 AH rights reserved. Copyright \u00a9 1996 by Katherine Kurtz and Deborah Turner Harris Cover art by Joe Burleson.<\/p>\n

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10.014.<\/p>\n

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is <\/p>\n

\nhttp:\/\/www.penguinputnam.com\n<\/p>\n

ISBN: 0-441-00.484-9<\/p>\n

ACE\u00ae Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10.014.\u00a0 <\/span>ACE and the \u201cA\u201d design are trademarks belonging to Charter Communications, Inc.<\/p>\n

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<\/p>\n

To David and Ursala Winder, Just because\u2026<\/p>\n

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS<\/p>\n

Once again, we are indebted to a number of people for their valuable technical advice and assistance, among them:<\/p>\n

Dr. David P. Winder, MD, ChB, FRCA, Consultant Anaesthetist, Hull Royal Infirmary, who graciously allowed himself to be drafted as consultant anaesthetist for this project, and who was not the model for the slimy Dr. \u00a0<\/span>Mallory;<\/p>\n

Inspector Ian MacPherson, Highlands and Islands Police, Stornoway, for guidance on policing procedures on the Isle of Lewis, Outer Hebrides, who hardly batted an eye when informed that we were bringing crime to his island;<\/p>\n

First Officer Bob McLellan, Loganair, for allowing us to pick his brain about island-hopping and civil aviation procedures at Stornoway Aerodrome;<\/p>\n

Sgt. Frank Urban, Strathclyde Police, Motherwell, for telling us where the bodies go;<\/p>\n

Margaret Carter, for sleuthing out the corridors of UCSF-Mount<\/placename>Zion<\/placename>Medical<\/placename>Center<\/placetype> in San Francisco;<\/p>\n

Peter Morwood, for again providing technical background on helicopters and the SAS.<\/p>\n

To these and all the others who assisted our development of the background for this story, our most sincere thanks.<\/p>\n

prologue<\/p>\n

SOMEWHAT unusually for mid-December, Paisley-town lay under a dusting of winter-white. The citified blend of building heat and traffic fumes that kept the snow from lying in the streets of Glasgow, ten miles away, did not prevent a thin layer of powder from settling on the crow-stepped gables of a tall Victorian house that stood in stately seclusion behind a high stone wall at the southern edge of the town. The bells of a nearby church were striking

The dark-haired woman who emerged from the driver\u2019s door in a swirl of silver fox conveyed an immediate impression of expensive cologne and couturier fashions, but the artfully made-up eyes behind the designer sunglasses she removed and tossed onto the dash were hard, the red-painted lips set in an expression of taut annoyance as she stalked up to the gate in a brittle tattoo of high-heeled leather boots.<\/p>\n

The gate swung back with a discordant screech, and she scowled as she continued up the steps to the white-painted door, impatiently tugging off black leather gloves. The ring on the hand she raised to the ornate brass door-knocker flashed blood-red in the grey daylight – a carved carnelian caught in a modernist setting of heavy gold. Adorning the oval stone was the incised design of a lynx\u2019s tufted head, its mouth agape in a feral snarl.<\/p>\n

The dark-eyed Spanish houseboy who answered the door backed off immediately at the sight of the ring, glancing aside with a deferential murmur. Emerging from behind a newspaper, a somewhat older man in olive-drab military sweater and khakis unfolded himself from a wing chair just inside the entry hall, a lazy grin splitting his well-tanned face as he laid the paper aside.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMorning, Miz Fitzgerald,\u201d he said, tugging the bottom of his sweater over his trousers – and the bulge of an automatic pistol in his waistband – as his gaze swept from well-coifed head to leather-booted toe. \u201cMy, my, the newspaper business must be good.\u201d<\/p>\n

Angela Fitzgerald, one of Scotland\u2019s more highly paid gossip columnists, flung a sharp glance over her shoulder at the otherwise empty street and pushed past the houseboy.<\/p>\n

\u201cSave your American sarcasm, Barclay,\u201d she muttered. \u201cYou know I don\u2019t like coming here. And have that gate oiled. Where is he?\u201d \u201cUpstairs in the library. Jorge will show you. My, but we are testy today, aren\u2019t we?\u201d he added under his breath, continuing to smile as she jammed her gloves into a coat pocket and headed up the stairs, shedding her furs to reveal a smart ensemble of emerald-green. The cowed Jorge scurried after her to take the coat, only barely overtaking her to knock at a gothic-arched door at the top of the stair.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d a voice from within demanded.<\/p>\n

\u201cSenora Fitzgerald to see youjefe,\u201d the houseboy ventured.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome in, Angela,\u201d the voice replied.<\/p>\n

The room beyond displayed the flamboyant neo-gothic style made popular by such arbiters of Victorian taste as Pugin and Burges. Above the fireplace, Minton tiles in shades of red and gold depicted a colorful scene from Chaucer\u2019s \u201cNun\u2019s Priest\u2019s Tale,\u201d and the handsome mahogany bookcase gracing the south wall bore the design signature of Philip Webb.<\/p>\n

The dominant presence in the room, however, belonged to the fair-haired man seated behind the desk in the wide bay window, his willowy frame clad in a dark wool suit of impeccable cut.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow good of you to come,\u201d he said, rising gracefully from the leather-upholstered depths of his chair. His smile was slow and lazy, dangerous. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cWelcome to my humble abode.\u201d<\/p>\n

Angela ignored both the irony and the veiled menace in his greeting as she flounced into the room, the houseboy withdrawing with alacrity to close the door behind him.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis had better be important,\u201d she said. \u201cBy your own account, it isn\u2019t safe for any of us to be seen together, here or anywhere else.\u201d Francis Raeburn elevated a blond eyebrow in mild irritation as he waved her to one of the three lyre-backed chairs opposite the desk and resumed his own seat.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWe aren\u2019t exactly going to be seen together,\u201d he answered, settling back to steeple his fingers before him. \u201cAnd the house is of sufficient architectural interest that, as a reporter, you can certainly claim a legitimate reason for being here. Besides that, there are sufficient safeguards in place that I think you need not worry about being discovered in my company.\u201d \u201cYou mean Barclay, with his ridiculous pistol?\u201d she retorted.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou are well aware that Mr. Barclay has other talents at his disposal. The pistol is the least of our defenses, though it and he would serve their purpose, if required. But as long as you are under this roof, I promise that you are in no danger of discovery.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI certainly hope not,\u201d she muttered. \u201cI don\u2019t want to end up like Kavanagh, with a headline for an obituary: \u2018Suspected terrorist found dead in prison: <\/p>\n

Police report no leads.\u2019 \u201c<\/p>\n

Raeburn began idly rearranging some of the items on the desktop before him. \u00a0<\/span>Fluid and precise, his movements called attention to the handsome carnelian lynx ring that he, too, was wearing.<\/p>\n

\u201cKavanagh was a competent operative, but he had a somewhat inflated notion of his own abilities,\u201d he said coolly. \u201cHe was warned that a Hunting Lodge might try to interfere. When they showed up, he should have known better than to try and cross swords with them single-handed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he made an error in judgement. Was that any reason to leave him where Dorje\u2019s operatives would have no trouble finding him?\u201d \u201cAnd what would you have had me do?\u201d Raeburn asked. \u201cStage a jailbreak on his behalf? You know as well as I do, that would have left a trail so conspicuous that even those witless clods who pass for ordinary policemen might have been able to track us down. No, I had the welfare of the rest of us to consider – a fact for which 1 should think you would be grateful!\u201d The Kavanagh to whom they were referring had been arrested the previous spring during an attempt to salvage a Nazi treasure trove from a submarine left hidden in a sea cave on the northwest coast of Ireland. While the trove had included a sizeable cache of diamonds, their immense worth had been negligible compared to the accompanying chest of manuscripts on Tibetan black magic.\u00a0 <\/span>Recovery of the items had been commissioned by a man called Dorje, shadowy superior of an obscure Buddhist monastery tucked deep in the Swiss Alps, whose inner cadre of initiates recognized him as the current incarnation of an infamous black Adept known to Tibetan legend as the Man with Green Gloves. Born Siegfried Hasselkuss, the product of Nazi selective breeding, Dorje\u2019s esoteric resources seemed to support that claim; and recovery of the knowledge contained in the manuscripts, called Terma or \u2018 \u2018treasure texts,\u201d would have redoubled his already formidable powers.<\/p>\n

Raeburn himself was no novice in such matters; but neither was he a match for Dorje. Drafted by Dorje to undertake the salvage operation – and in expiation for a previous venture gone wrong – Raeburn had reluctantly agreed to accept a share in the diamonds as payment for his services, fully intending to appropriate the Terma texts for himself if a suitable opportunity arose.\u00a0 <\/span>But the recovery operation had been thwarted by agents of a secret enforcement organization known as the Hunting Lodge, themselves practitioners of esoteric disciplines no less potent than those of Raeburn or Dorje. Raeburn had narrowly escaped with a share of the diamonds, but only at the expense of betraying his Tibetan handlers, abandoning the manuscripts, and leaving the luckless Kavanagh to be arrested by conventional law enforcement authorities on charges of terrorism.<\/p>\n

Nor had Kavanagh languished long in jail before being found dead in his cell, of causes yet to be explained by medical science but which Raeburn had no doubt could be laid at the feet of the vengeful Dorje. Lacking the occult resources to combat his former employer on equal terms, at least for the present, Raeburn had temporarily dispersed his own followers and gone into hiding, leaving his associates to find what safety they could while he himself went searching for the means to shift the balance of power in his favor.\u00a0 <\/span>Angela\u2019s expression was stormy as she contemplated a well-manicured thumbnail.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cNo doubt I am meant to be reassured by the knowledge that you threw Kavanagh to the wolves,\u201d she said coldly. \u201cAll that tells me is that you wouldn\u2019t hesitate to dispense with me or Barclay or anyone else in this organization, if it suited your purposes at the moment.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen take comfort from the assurance that I value your talents far too much to dispense with them for any trifling reason,\u201d Raeburn said drily. \u201cWhy else do you think 1 forbade you to employ your occult abilities until further notice, if not to ensure that you didn\u2019t betray yourself to our enemies?\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t you mean your enemies?\u201d she said archly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt very much that Dorje would make that distinction,\u201d Raeburn said, \u201cand neither should you, if you want to survive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf survival is all you care about,\u201d said Angela, \u201cperhaps you should think about resigning as Lynx-Master. A change of leadership might do this organization a world of good.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you proposing to replace me? Don\u2019t even think about it,\u201d Raeburn warned with a chilly smile. \u201cNot unless you really believe you\u2019re up to taking on Barclay and Richter as well as me. And even if, by some miracle, you did succeed in bringing me down,\u201d he continued, \u201cdo you suppose for one moment that would pacify Dorje?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou could consider giving him back his diamonds, by way of a peace offering,\u201d she ventured.<\/p>\n

Raeburn dismissed this suggestion with a snort of bitter laughter.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIf I had ten times the value of that chest to give him, Dorje would still consider me in his debt for letting his precious Terma fall into the hands of the Hunting Lodge,\u201d he replied. \u201cBesides that, I earned those diamonds. As it is, I remain Dorje\u2019s principal target. Remove me, and you merely add insult to injury by cheating him out of the chance to wreak his revenge on me. And the only ultimate beneficiaries are Adam Sinclair and his Hunting Lodge.\u201d The mention of Adam Sinclair brought a grimace of malevolent dislike to Angela\u2019s carefully tinted face. In the social circles in which she moved professionally, Sir Adam Sinclair was regarded as one of Scotland\u2019s most eligible bachelors. \u00a0<\/span>Angela herself had been dazzled by his dark good looks, even as she connived at his death a few years before. Titled and accomplished, with a comfortable independent income and a gracious country house just north of Edinburgh, not only was Sinclair a patron of the arts and a much respected amateur antiquarian, but his professional reputation as a psychiatric physician was matched by few others in Great Britain.<\/p>\n

What the world at large never suspected was that he was also a powerful agent of the Law – not as that Law was represented by conventional police authority (though he did work regularly as a police consultant), but in its transcendent expression as the ruling principle of Divine Order, enforced by groups of dedicated individuals formed into Hunting Lodges on the Inner Planes. Scotland\u2019s Hunting Lodge regarded him as their Chief, Master of the Hunt. As adversaries of the Hunting Lodge, ironically, Raeburn and his reluctant guest knew far more about Sinclair\u2019s secret vocation than did the innocent and unsuspecting public he and his so diligently served.<\/p>\n

\u201cSinclair!\u201d Angela hissed under her breath. \u201cDamn him and all the rest of his ilk. What I wouldn\u2019t give for a chance to wipe the smug smiles from their sanctimonious faces!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat opportunity may be closer than you think,\u201d Raeburn said blandly. \u201cI believe I\u2019ve finally found a way to repair our broken fortunes.\u201d Before Angela could demand a fuller explanation, a knock at the door heralded the arrival of Barclay, who ushered in a blue-suited man of similarly compact build, with a dense blond crewcut and square, steel-framed glasses. As Barclay closed the door behind them and continued into the room, the newcomer drew himself up with a snap reminiscent of a military salute.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cGuten Morgen, Herr Raeburn,\u201d he said, reverting then to accented but otherwise flawless English. \u201cI trust I am in good time for this meeting?\u201d \u201cPunctual as always,\u201d Raeburn agreed pleasantly. \u201cI believe you remember Angela?\u201d<\/p>\n

Klaus Richter accorded her a cool nod of his head. Like the other three present, he was wearing a lynx ring. Angela eyed him up and down with no trace of commendation, not stirring from her chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Richter,\u201d she said stiffly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe we\u2019ll have some refreshment before we proceed to the reason for this meeting,\u201d Raeburn said with a faint smile, waving Richter and Barclay to two remaining chairs. \u201cBut I can assure you that what I have to say will be well worth the risk all of you took to come here.\u201d<\/p>\n

A tug at the antique bell pull next to the desk recalled Jorge, this time carrying a china tea service on a heavy silver tray. Setting it on a corner of Raeburn\u2019s desk, the little valet stayed long enough to distribute a round of tea before retiring from the room with timorous alacrity. Raeburn sipped at the delicate Queen Anne blend with the thoughtful appreciation of the connoisseur. \u00a0<\/span>Then, abruptly, he bent his pale, steely gaze upon the expectant faces of his subordinates.<\/p>\n

\u201cI think I need not tell you that these past five months have seen a sad decline in our affairs,\u201d he began dispassionately, setting aside his cup and saucer. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cSuffice it to say that being sought by two enemies at once has left us in an unprecedented state of disarray. With Dorje on the one hand and Sinclair on the other, we\u2019ve been forced to abandon a whole range of promising enterprises and divert all our energies to the necessary but not exactly exalted pursuit of retaining our lives and our liberty. That situation is about to be changed, however – and the instrument of change is in my possession.\u201d With this dramatic announcement, he opened the desk drawer and withdrew a long, narrow bundle wrapped in undyed silk, which he placed before him on the blotter. \u00a0<\/span>As his three associates leaned forward with varying degrees of expectation, he plucked aside the wrappings to expose an ancient-looking dagger.\u00a0 <\/span>It was an ugly thing, forged out of iron, its blade pitted with age and corrosion. The stubby hilt surmounting the blade was overlaid with grotesque zoomorphic traceries reminiscent of the interlocking figures occasionally to be found on Pictish standing stones. Obviously an object of great antiquity, the dagger had about it a subtle aura of crude violence. Its decorative designs, dark and sinuous, drew the eye like a magnet, exerting a fearful fascination.\u00a0 <\/span>Richter licked his lips, his pale face alight with hungry admiration. \u201cIt is herrlich – magnificent,\u201d he breathed. \u201cWhere did you get it?\u201d \u201cIt was a legacy,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cFrom the Head-Master.\u201d The significance of the name was not lost on his three listeners, though only Barclay had been present with Raeburn at the bequeathal. The individual so-named had once been a powerful member of Hitler\u2019s inner circle, before private ambition or perhaps mental instability had impelled him to decamp to Britain. By means known only to himself, the Head-Master had survived the war, secured his freedom, and subsequently contrived to establish a base for himself in the mountains of central Scotland.<\/p>\n

There he had remained until two years ago, quietly working his dark intentions, until the Hunting Lodge led by Adam Sinclair had taken his scent and run him to ground. He had perished amid the ruins of his Highland fortress, but his malign influence was still making itself felt, and would continue to do so for a long time yet to come.<\/p>\n

Angela was among those who retained a clear recollection of the Head-Master himself, though she had not been present at his demise.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHe would have valued such an important artifact,\u201d she said. \u201cHow did you convince him to part with it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn showed his teeth. \u201cArguments from me were superfluous, with the Hunting Lodge threatening to knock down the walls around our ears. Suffice it to say that neither of us saw any virtue in allowing it to fall into the hands of Adam Sinclair.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy haven\u2019t you told me about this before now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere was little of substance to tell,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cOnly now, at the end of two years\u2019 study, do I find myself in a position to expound reliably on the secrets of its origin and its esoteric associations.\u201d<\/p>\n

He steepled his long fingers before him with the air of a university professor about to deliver a lecture.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo digress briefly,\u201d he went on, \u201cand primarily for Mr. Richter\u2019s benefit. \u00a0<\/span>Those of you who had the distinction of serving under the Head-Master will remember that among his most prized possessions was an ancient relic which he referred to as the Soulis tore. As the name implies, the tore had come to be associated with one William Lord Soulis, an infamous Scottish mage of the fourteenth century – though the tore itself was already ancient by the time it passed into his possession. It was a product of Pictish workmanship, embodying its makers\u2019 rapport with the powers of the elements.\u201d \u201cWhy don\u2019t you cut to the chase, Francis?\u201d Angela said sharply. \u201cWe all know that the tore was destroyed, partly thanks to Sinclair. What does it have to do with the dagger?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour impatience begins to wear thin, my dear,\u201d Raeburn replied. \u201cTo continue, I have been able to establish, to my satisfaction, that this dagger belongs to the same period as the tore, and may even be the product of the same craftsman.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThe connection between the two is to be found in various common features of the workmanship and design. Like the tore, the dagger is fashioned of meteoric iron, and shows evidence of having been made by a similar process of smelting and forging. Certain ogham inscriptions on the blade are likewise closely akin to those on the tore, containing idiosyncratic elements I have not encountered anywhere else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich means what?\u201d Richter ventured.<\/p>\n

A faint smile stirred Raeburn\u2019s lips, though his eyes remained cold. \u201cThe Head-Master used the Soulis tore as the focus for invoking Taranis, hailed by the ancient Picts as the lord of air and darkness and, especially, storm. In exchange for promises of service and sacrifice, he received the power to call down lightning from the realm of eternal tempest – which authority he delegated to me, though only as it related to the tore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich was destroyed,\u201d Angela reminded him.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have already conceded that point, Angela dear,\u201d Raeburn said evenly. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cFortunately, I now have every reason to hope that, properly manipulated, this dagger will provide a similar focus for re-establishing contact with the Thunderer. If I am correct in my expectations, we may soon find ourselves in a position to reclaim the power of the storm and direct it toward Dorje, or Sinclair, or anyone else who thinks he has a right to meddle in our affairs.\u201d The silence that briefly fell upon his listeners was pregnant with speculation.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou say \u2018properly manipulated,\u2019 \u201c Richter mused, after a thoughtful silence. \u2018 \u2018Perhaps you would care to instruct us regarding what, specifically, will be required of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn inclined his head in graceful acquiescence.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIt is a basic axiom of esoteric practice that objects intended for ritual use must first be consecrated to that purpose and empowered. The dagger is no exception. If we wish to make it actively responsive, in the same degree and to the same purpose as the Soulis tore, it follows that we must determine what rituals were applied in the first instance, and repeat them in conjunction with the dagger, with whatever modifications can be deemed appropriate in the light of our present circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust where are you planning to get your information?\u201d Angela inquired, much of her former waspishness dissipated in light of the facts Raeburn had just presented. \u201cOur latter-day grasp of Pictish culture is sketchy at best – and I expect that the priests of Taranis would have guarded their mysteries as jealously as any modern occultist. Unless the inscriptions you mentioned a moment ago supply the necessary details.\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn shook his head patiently. \u201cThe inscriptions have some bearing on the case, but they convey a series of cryptic clues rather than a set of explicit instructions. I\u2019ve no doubt that a dedicated scholar might eventually unravel the conundrums, but we can\u2019t afford that kind of time. That\u2019s why I\u2019ve taken the liberty of calling in a specialist whose resources in these matters far exceed my own.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even Barclay looked somewhat askance at this announcement.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhat kind of specialist?\u201d Richter asked, with an uneasy glance toward the windows. \u201cYou said nothing about outsiders.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHis name is Taliere,\u201d Raeburn replied, \u201cand he isn\u2019t exactly an outsider. He was an associate of my father\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

This disclosure silenced Richter and elicited a grave nod from Barclay, for those in Raeburn\u2019s inner circle were well aware that their chief had been born the son of one David Tudor-Jones, a powerful Welsh Adept whose esoteric interests and activities had spanned a wide variety of subjects, many of them decidedly dark in focus. Only Angela seemed unsatisfied by Raeburn\u2019s explanation.<\/p>\n

\u201cAn associate of your father\u2019s? That could mean anything,\u201d she muttered. \u201cI\u2019m a public figure, Francis. Before I agree to make this person privy to any secrets of mine, I\u2019m going to need to know a bit more about him.\u201d \u201cAs you wish.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reaching into the left-hand drawer of his desk, Raeburn produced a black and white snapshot and flipped it across the desk in front of Angela. She captured it and turned it right-side up, tilting it to accommodate Richter as he also leaned closer to inspect it.<\/p>\n

The man in the photograph was elderly and majestic of mien, with luxuriant white hair to his shoulders and a long white walrus moustache. He appeared to be wearing theatrical costume – a fantastic headdress featuring bird\u2019s wings, and a mantle of dark fur clasped over a long white robe. Dependent from a broad leather belt cinching the robe were a drawstring pouch and a small, sickle-bladed knife. His left hand grasped a gnarly staff surmounted by the skull and antlers of a stag.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is he, an actor?\u201d Angela inquired somewhat incredulously.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cA Druid,\u201d Raeburn corrected. \u201cAnd not just a modern pretender, either. Taliere is an ardent and discerning follower of the old ways. You may take it from me that his knowledge of his tradition reaches far into the distant past.\u201d \u201cThat sounds almost like high praise,\u201d Angela said.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI always like to give a man his due,\u201d Raeburn replied. \u201cIn this instance, I believe he is precisely the one to assist us in divining what we need to do.\u201d \u201cWhen do we meet him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAs soon as I can arrange a safe rendezvous – which, with the help of Mr. <\/p>\n

Richter, should be in a few days\u2019 time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am prepared to assist,\u201d Richter said, \u201cbut also I have questions. Why should this Taliere be interested in helping us? What does he have to gain?\u201d \u201cA measure of revenge, among other things,\u201d Raeburn replied. \u201cBesides sharing some of the same aims, we also share at least one common enemy.\u201d \u201cMeaning Adam Sinclair,\u201d Angela declared, more a statement than a question. When Raeburn did not deny it, she added, \u201cHow are we going to prevent our peerless baronet from poking his long nose into this affair?\u201d \u201cBy moving quickly, before he has time to rally his forces,\u201d Raeburn said, wrapping up the dagger again. \u201cThanks to our own recent spate of inactivity, I doubt he suspects I\u2019m in Scotland. I\u2019ve also been careful to stay clear of the Edinburgh area.<\/p>\n

With any luck at all, we\u2019ll be able to achieve our objective before he\u2019s any the wiser.\u201d<\/p>\n

Angela made a face. \u201c1 wouldn\u2019t count on that.\u201d \u201cWouldn\u2019t you?\u201d Raeburn\u2019s solicitude carried a hint of malice. \u201cThen you\u2019ll be pleased to know that I\u2019ve already taken the precaution of having Sinclair watched, along with those members of his organization we\u2019ve been able to identify. If any of them should show signs of becoming a problem, we shall take steps to eliminate the offending party.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter one<\/p>\n

ADAM Sinclair was a regular at the Royal Scots Club in Edinburgh. He never visited its premises in Abercrombie Place without remembering his late father, Sir Iain, who had been a member of the club since his regimental days – and his father, before him. On this frosty afternoon in mid-December, with the early winter dusk crowding in low over the castellated rooftops of the city, the club\u2019s brightly lit windows seemed to beckon with the bidding warmth of a blazing coal fire.<\/p>\n

Bracing himself against a biting wind, Adam hunched deeper into the shelter of topcoat and scarf and dashed the last few yards to the front door to ring the bell, with the easy air of a man paying a call on an old friend. The porter who came in answer was quick to recognize the patrician features of the tall, dark-haired man at the top of the steps, and opened the door with a welcoming smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cSir Adam, come in out of the cold,\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cA very happy Christmas to you and yours!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you, Hamish, and a very happy Christmas to you,\u201d Adam replied, as he came into the foyer and let the porter relieve him of coat and scarf. \u201cInspector McLeod and Mr. Lovat were supposed to be meeting me here. Have they arrived yet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, sir, they have. You\u2019ll find the pair of them waiting for you in the lounge bar.\u201d<\/p>\n

The lounge was a cozy panelled room at the front of the building, redolent of port, pipe smoke, and leather upholstery. Not yet crowded with the evening clientele, it had the comfortably lived-in look of a favorite pair of old slippers. A venerable silver-haired gentleman, who had known Adam\u2019s father, was smoking a pipe in an armchair near the fireplace, placidly poring over the pages of The Scotsman, and raised his pipe in amiable greeting as Adam approached.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cEvening, Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood evening, Colonel. You\u2019re looking very fit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot bad for an old-timer,\u201d the old man allowed. \u201cYour friends are over there.\u201d He gestured with his pipe to where Adam had already spotted two familiar figures at a table in one of the window bays – the elder of the pair clad in a dark tweed jacket with white shirt and knit tie, the bespectacled younger man stylishly informal in grey flannel trousers and a turtleneck pullover of the same shade. Murmuring his thanks, Adam clasped the colonel\u2019s shoulder in affection before moving on toward them.<\/p>\n

Judging by appearances alone, the two might have seemed an unlikely pair. A twenty-year veteran of the Lothian and Borders Police, Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod was craggy and solid as a block of Highland granite, with a thatch of grizzled hair and a bristly military moustache bracketing gold-rimmed aviator spectacles. Youthfully slight by contrast, with hair like cornsilk and candidly observant hazel eyes, Peregrine Lovat was gaining a widespread reputation as a portrait artist and was in increasingly well-paid demand for his talents. Though a casual observer might wonder what the two men could possibly have in common, Adam was in a position to appreciate the complementary nature of their differences.<\/p>\n

McLeod was the first to notice Adam\u2019s arrival, sitting with his back to the wall and a clear view of the room and its entrance, in instinctive adherence to good police procedure. Alerted by the sudden shift in McLeod\u2019s attention, Peregrine half turned in his chair to grin and wave as he, too, spotted Adam.\u00a0 <\/span>Returning the salute, Adam made his way over to join them. The two had whisky glasses on the table in front of them, with an untasted third glass set before the one remaining chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad to see that you two haven\u2019t been shy about making yourselves at home,\u201d Adam remarked. \u2018 \u2018Is that extra measure of the MacAllan spoken for yet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve been keeping an eye on it for you,\u201d Peregrine said.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAye,\u201d McLeod agreed with a twinkle. \u201cBut it won\u2019t go to waste, if you\u2019d prefer an alternative.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all!\u201d Adam said. \u201cNothing else would do justice to the company.\u201d He folded himself gracefully into the vacant seat and appropriated the glass in question, lifting it briefly in salute before tasting. As he rolled the whisky\u2019s peaty savor to the back of his tongue and swallowed, his gaze lighted upon the colorful assemblage of parcels piled on the floor beside Peregrine\u2019s chair. \u00a0<\/span>Protruding from the top of one large carrier bag marked Jenners Department Store was a child\u2019s costume kit that included a horned helmet, a circular shield, and a large plastic battle-axe.<\/p>\n

Amusement tugged at the corners of Adam\u2019s expressive mouth as he set down his glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho\u2019s the aspiring Viking in your life?\u201d he asked.\u00a0 <\/span>The young artist grinned. \u201cAlexandra Houston,\u201d he replied, naming the younger daughter of a clergyman colleague of theirs. \u201cChristopher\u2019s been reading her stories from Norse mythology. She\u2019s decided she wants to become a shield maiden when she grows up. Or failing that, an opera singer.\u201d Adam chuckled. \u201cThere\u2019s a noble ambition for you. I\u2019m sorry I won\u2019t be here to share in the fun on Christmas morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo am I,\u201d Peregrine said, \u201cbut I expect your regrets will evaporate pretty quickly, once you get to the States.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnce he gets past his medical symposium in Houston,\u201d McLeod corrected gruffly.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou make it sound as if I\u2019m going there to fight a dragon, not deliver a paper,\u201d Adam said.<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if you were,\u201d said Peregrine, \u201cit would take more than a titan among all dragons to keep you away from that fair lady of yours. What time is your flight tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeven a.m. Once at Heathrow, I\u2019ve got nearly four hours to kill before the Houston flight – but this time of year, anything less leaves too slender a margin for comfort. And I don\u2019t relish the holiday rush.\u201d This observation was attended by a grimace. Flying visits to the States had become an increasingly frequent occurrence for Adam over the past eighteen months, and more than once his travel arrangements had been disrupted by missed connections.<\/p>\n

The lure that kept drawing him back to the opposite side of the Atlantic was Dr. \u00a0<\/span>Ximena Lockhart, an American surgeon turned trauma specialist, whom he had met two years before whilst undergoing treatment in the otherwise unromantic confines of the emergency room at Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. The mutual interest kindled by that initial encounter had subsequently blossomed into a bright flame.<\/p>\n

That flame had remained constant despite the separation forced upon them when Ximena learned that her father had fallen victim to a terminal illness. Though she had gone home to San Francisco to care for him, the strains of time and distance had failed to dampen the ardor of the relationship still growing between her and Adam. In this instance, an invitation to address a gathering of American medical colleagues was providing Adam with a professional excuse for being absent from his Edinburgh practice in order to spend the Christmas holidays with Ximena.<\/p>\n

\u201cIn some respects, it\u2019s going to be an awkward visit,\u201d he admitted to Peregrine and McLeod. \u201cI\u2019ll finally get to meet Ximena\u2019s family, but her father isn\u2019t doing well at all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is the latest word on his condition?\u201d Peregrine asked quietly.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cNo better than it\u2019s ever likely to be, I\u2019m afraid,\u201d Adam replied. \u201cGiven the original prognosis, it\u2019s nothing short of miraculous that he\u2019s lasted this long.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, and one has to wonder whether that\u2019s really a mercy,\u201d McLeod murmured. <\/p>\n

\u201cThat form of cancer is pretty painful, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid it is,\u201d Adam replied. \u201cAnd he\u2019s already lasted six months beyond what his doctors ever expected. Ximena can\u2019t even talk about it. I can only imagine that he must have some very powerful, private reasons for wanting to cling to life. I\u2019ll be in a better position to form an opinion once we\u2019ve met face to face.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m frankly surprised that Ximena hasn\u2019t introduced the two of you before now,\u201d Peregrine said.<\/p>\n

Adam shrugged. \u201cI expect it\u2019s a reflection of the helplessness she feels as a physician – not being able to help her father when she thinks he needs her most. \u00a0<\/span>If I meet him, she has to deal with that helplessness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that why you\u2019ve always met elsewhere?\u201d McLeod asked.\u00a0 <\/span>Adam nodded. \u201cThis is the first time she\u2019s consented to let me fly all the way out to the West Coast. I\u2019m given to understand,\u201d he added lightly, \u201cthat it would be bad form on her part to let me make all the travel concessions – hence, our metropolitan tour of the East Coast.\u201d<\/p>\n

The list of cities they had visited together in recent months included Atlanta, Boston, and New York. Adam had not disputed the choice of venues, knowing that these were places where Ximena could escape, however briefly, from the cares and responsibilities that burdened her at home. For that very reason, her invitation to meet this time in San Francisco gave him cause for no small concern. If she was now afraid to leave her father\u2019s side – and ready to face her own helplessness – the end must truly be in sight.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat reminds me,\u201d Peregrine said, breaking in upon Adam\u2019s reflections. \u201cI\u2019ve got something here for you – if only I can find the right bag.\u201d With these words, he ducked partially from view below the level of the table. <\/p>\n

The sound of energetic rummaging shortly gave way to an exclamation of triumph. \u00a0<\/span>When Peregrine re-emerged, he was holding a parcel gaily wrapped in Christmas paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour real present will be waiting for you when you get back,\u201d he told Adam with a puckish grin. \u201cThis, on the other hand, is for opening now – sort of a bon voyage present. It may come in handy if you should accidentally get separated from your friendly native guide.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, Peregrine, this feels like a book,\u201d Adam said with a pleased smile, as he began stripping off the paper. \u201cSurely you haven\u2019t forgotten that I already have a book?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have this one!\u201d Peregrine said gleefully as Adam pulled free a copy of Fodor\u2019s pocket-companion to San Francisco.<\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed, I don\u2019t, and I thank you very much,\u201d Adam said with a grin, as he flipped through a few pages. \u201cThe Baedeker I have back at the house must be a quarter century out of date. My mother brought it back from a trip she took when I was in my teens.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I discovered, the last time you left me alone in your library,\u201d Peregrine said drily. \u201cThis one should keep you ait fait with the attractions of the present day. Use it in good health.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I shall,\u201d Adam promised, bending to set it on the floor beside his chair. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cAnd what about your Christmas plans?\u201d he asked, adroitly diverting the conversation from himself. \u2018 \u2018Will you and Julia be getting away at all for the holidays?\u201d<\/p>\n

Peregrine made a wry face and shook his head. \u201cWe can\u2019t go anywhere before Christmas Day. Julia got roped into a concert on Christmas Eve – Hebridean carols. It\u2019s at St. Margaret\u2019s in Dunfermline, where we were married, so when Father Lawrence told her that all proceeds would be earmarked for the church roofing fund, she couldn\u2019t very well say no.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIndeed, not,\u201d Adam agreed. \u201cI\u2019ll be sorry to miss it.\u201d \u201cShe\u2019ll be sorry, too,\u201d Peregrine replied. \u201cAs for me, I\u2019ve still got quite a bit of work to do on that group portrait that Sir Gordon\u2019s Masonic Lodge commissioned for their centenary. If I can at least get all the facial studies finished, I\u2019ll feel justified in taking the week off between Christmas and the new year. In that event, we\u2019ll probably head up to Aviemore to check out the prospects for a few days\u2019 skiing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLucky you,\u201d McLeod grunted. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be business as usual at police headquarters. All too many of our local ne\u2019er-do-wells think of Christmas as the season for taking, rather than giving. Only yesterday, four blokes in workmen\u2019s coveralls hijacked a removal van carrying a baby-grand piano.\u201d \u201cA valuable historical piece, I take it?\u201d Adam said.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo one would think, based on the furor the theft has caused,\u201d McLeod replied sourly. \u201cNo, this one was new. According to the inventory, it was painted pearl-pink, with rhine-stone inlay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Peregrine\u2019s reaction proclaimed a startled mixture of disbelief and artistic affront.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone\u2019s having you on!\u201d he declared. \u201cWhy on earth would anyone even want to make a thing like that, let alone steal it?\u201d<\/p>\n

McLeod shrugged, his blue eyes lighting with the humor of the affair. \u201cI\u2019m afraid the report is legit. The piano was being delivered to a new American-style nightclub that\u2019s just getting ready to open down at the foot of the Grassmarket. The transport company is one that usually specializes in household removals. I expect the thieves thought they were making off with a load of furniture and small appliances. Are they going to be surprised!\u201d At McLeod\u2019s grin, Peregrine\u2019s eyes rolled behind his gold-framed spectacles.<\/p>\n

\u201cTalk about a waste of police resources\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, but believe me, I\u2019m quite content to chase burglars for a change, given what sometimes gets dished up to us. If things stay quiet – as I dearly hope they\u2019ll do, with Adam away – Jane and I might sneak away to a hotel for a few nights, so my daughter can have the house to herself and her university friends over Hogmanay. And I may take a few extra shifts, to give some of the younger lads extra time with their families. Otherwise, I\u2019ll be at home, trying to dissuade the cats from stealing the baubles off the Christmas tree.\u201d \u201cSurrounded by thieves and robbers!\u201d Adam said with a laugh, picking up his glass. \u201cPerhaps it\u2019s time we had a toast. Noel, will you go first?\u201d The inspector knit his brow briefly, rubbing at his moustache, then lifted his glass. \u201cAll right, here\u2019s one my grandfather favored:<\/p>\n

\u201cLang life and happy days,<\/p>\n

Plenty meat and plenty does;<\/p>\n

A haggis and a horn spune,<\/p>\n

And aye a tattle when the ither\u2019s dune.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour grandfather was a practical man!\u201d Peregrine said with a chuckle, when the toast had been duly solemnized.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe certainly knew what was really worth having out of life,\u201d McLeod replied, and cocked an eye at the young artist. \u201cHow about it, laddie? Have you any pearls of wisdom you\u2019d like to contribute on this festive occasion?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI might,\u201d Peregrine said. He thought a moment, then recited:<\/p>\n

\u201cLang o \u2018 purse, <\/p>\n

And licht o \u2018 heart. <\/p>\n

Health tae thee, <\/p>\n

In every part.\u201d<\/p>\n

Once again the three friends lifted glasses to their lips. \u201cI think this makes it your turn, Adam,\u201d Peregrine said, as he set down his glass.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cVery well,\u201d Adam said. \u201cSince I\u2019m off to the West, I have in mind a Gaelic blessing. Somehow it seems appropriate:<\/p>\n

\u201cMay the mad rise to meet you.<\/p>\n

May the wind be always at your back.<\/p>\n

May the sun shine warm upon your face.<\/p>\n

May the rains fall softly upon your fields until we meet again. May God hold you in the hollow of his hand.\u00a0 <\/span>Breaking off, he smiled at his companions. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be up to you to keep the peace while I\u2019m away. But I know you\u2019re equal to the task. Slainte var!\u201d \u201cSlainte var!\u201d the two of them repeated, as they drank the ancient toast.\u00a0 <\/span>It was still dark the following morning when Adam set out for the airport, driven by his faithful valet-butler, Humphrey. An overnight drop in the temperature, with the attendant promise of ice on the roads, made the steel-blue Range Rover, with its four-wheel drive, the only choice of vehicle. As they nosed out of the stable mews, high-performance tires crunching on a white carpet of frost, the windscreen wipers only barely kept at bay a moist ground-fog that was verging on a drizzle. Looking back over his shoulder as they crawled down the drive, Adam could see the turrets and gables of Strathmourne silhouetted against a crystalline backdrop of morning stars. The windows in the kitchen wing showed a scattering of lights where Mrs. Gilchrist, his cook and housekeeper, was clearing up the remains of a frugal breakfast.<\/p>\n

The avenue leading to the gates passed between sentinel ranks of copper beech trees, their branches black and bare against the pre-dawn sky. Off to his left, through the passenger window, Adam glimpsed another cluster of lights marking the location of a stout, stone-built steading held by one of his tenant farmers. \u00a0<\/span>A gentle bend in the road brought them abreast of the gate lodge, its darkened windows confirming that Peregrine and Julia, his bride of seven months, were still asleep.<\/p>\n

Hunching down contentedly in his topcoat, Adam let his thoughts touch fondly on the couple as Humphrey eased the big car quietly past their front door and swung onto the main road. Peregrine had been still a bachelor when he first accepted Adam\u2019s invitation to take up residence in the gate lodge, in exchange for what Adam quaintly termed a \u201cpeppercorn rent.\u201d The fair Julia had come to share her husband\u2019s affection for the little house, and considered Adam to be the most agreeable and charming of landlords, but both Lovats eventually realized that they were going to need more room if they ever intended to have a family.\u00a0 <\/span>Toward that end, with Adam\u2019s help and encouragement, the pair had recently purchased a decommissioned chapel, but a few miles away, and had happily begun working on plans for its conversion into a residence. That alone might take upwards of a year, sandwiched in between Peregrine\u2019s portrait commissions; and Adam guessed that completion of the work might take another year or even two.\u00a0 <\/span>Even so, the Lovats would ultimately be moving – not far, but Adam still would be sorry to see them go. Quite apart from the convenience of having another member of the Hunting Lodge so close at hand, Peregrine had taken on aspects of close friend, star-pupil, favorite nephew, the younger brother Adam had never had, and the son he wished one day to father.<\/p>\n

The wistful notion of a son of his own, a child of his body as well as his heart and soul, turned his thoughts to the woman he hoped could be persuaded to share his life and bear that child. Thus preoccupied, and still lulled by the early hour, he failed to notice a flicker of movement among the shadows clustering under the trees outside the gates – and Humphrey was focused on road conditions. \u00a0<\/span>As the Range Rover carefully picked up speed, its tail-lamps receding in the wet, pre-dawn darkness, a black-clad figure rose from cover behind a stand of broad oak trees and raised a wrist-strapped micro-corn to the mouth-opening of a black ski mask. The wearer\u2019s report was rendered in a clipped undertone, after which he settled back to resume his surveillance of the gates and the lodge beyond.<\/p>\n

Some five miles ahead, at a wooded junction where the narrow country back road to Strathmourne connected with the A-route to Edinburgh, a head-scarfed woman in a dark grey Volvo set aside a similar comlink and sat up straighter, peering through the screen of trees that hid the car from the road. Only when the blue Range Rover had whispered past did she smile a mirthless smile in the darkness, reaching down to start the engine and then pulling quietly onto the road to follow.<\/p>\n

The ground fog had mostly dissipated by the time Humphrey pulled the Range Rover onto the M90. Local traffic was light at first, but increased steadily as they headed south toward Edinburgh. Content to leave the driving to Humphrey, and made somewhat drowsy by the rhythmic hiss of tires on pavement and the hypnotic sweep of the windscreen wipers, Adam leaned back against the headrest and lost himself in fond reflections of the woman he was on his way to see, letting himself drift, searching for Ximena wherever she was to be found amid memories of past joys and parting sorrows.<\/p>\n

With an ease born of habitual longing, his mind\u2019s eye lit upon Ximena as he first had seen her. In that hospital setting, kitted out in surgical green, she had been all brisk, well-scrubbed efficiency, as supple and well-honed as a steel blade, with a wit to match and a keen sense of humor that gently teased but never mocked. It cost him a pang to recall how that bright resilience had later melted under the reverent caress of his hands and lips, revealing a warm responsiveness of flesh vibrant with laughter and desire.\u00a0 <\/span>The memory brought a wistful smile to his lips. With almost painful immediacy he found himself recalling the way her dark, unbound hair spilled like silk through his fingers, the porcelain quality of her skin, smoothly drawn over the finely chiselled bones of her face. Of all the women he had ever known, she alone seemed to have the power to release him from the convoluted toils of his own intellect, to set him free to enjoy the simplicity of the present moment. In exchange for such a gift, he was willing to offer everything he himself had to give. But he was by no means certain that she would find it in herself to take it. And while her father lived, Adam\u2019s conscience would not allow him to argue his own case.<\/p>\n

His mood of introspection did not go unnoticed by Humphrey, though the older man was well accustomed to his employer\u2019s silences and had learned not to let his own vigilance be distracted. Trained in the driving techniques necessary for executive protection, as well as the skills that made him an outstanding butler and valet, Humphrey made automatic note of the dark grey Volvo keeping pace with them along the M90; but any real concern evaporated when the vehicle in question turned off at the exit for Dunfermline and Kincardine.\u00a0 <\/span>Relaxing a little, he concentrated thereafter on minding the traffic along the approach to the Forth Road Bridge. When a black Edinburgh taxi nosed in behind them in the queue for the bridge tollbooth, its appearance was so commonplace that Humphrey hardly spared it a second glance.<\/p>\n

They arrived at the airport just as a big Aer Lingus jet was coming in for a landing. Bypassing the short-term car park, Humphrey made for the terminal building and pulled into a space reserved for limousines outside the main concourse. Adam roused as the car came to a halt, and vouchsafed his faithful valet an apologetic smile as he undid his seat belt and reached behind for the briefcase on the back seat.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry to be such a poor companion, Humphrey. As Mrs. Gilchrist would say, I\u2019m \u2018awa\u2019 wi\u2019 the fairies\u2019 this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI trust nothing is wrong, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not at all. Everything is very right – or as right as it can be, under the circumstances. And I promise to keep my feet firmly on the ground from here on out – at least until my flight is airborne.\u201d<\/p>\n

A faint smile played at the corners of Humphrey\u2019s mouth as he glanced at the steering wheel between his gloved hands, then essayed a glance at his employer.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIf I may say so, sir, I hope that when you reach San Francisco, you\u2019ll not bother too much with keeping your feet on the ground. I – would regard it as a great favor if you were to convey my particular greetings to Dr. Lockhart.\u201d \u201cI shall certainly do that,\u201d Adam said quietly, well aware of Humphrey\u2019s hopes that Ximena might become the next Lady Sinclair. \u201cBut it\u2019s a difficult situation, as you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do, sir,\u201d Humphrey murmured. \u201cAnd she and her father are in my prayers.\u201d \u201cThen they have a powerful advocate. Thank you.\u201d Adam sighed heavily, then glanced at his luggage in the back of the car and reached for the door handle. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cWell, if you\u2019ll see to the luggage and get me checked in, I\u2019ll meet you at the Air UK desk. If the news agents are open yet, I believe I have time to pick up a copy of The Scotsman before boarding.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do, indeed, sir. I\u2019ll take care of the bags.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alighting from the car, Adam shrugged out of his overcoat and slung it across his arm, then headed into the terminal, making for the nearest news kiosk. Five minutes later, as he approached the Air UK check-in, he found Humphrey just turning away from the counter, replacing a handful of travel documents in their paper folder.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere we are, sir,\u201d Humphrey murmured, as they moved a few paces away from the desk and Adam set down his briefcase between his feet. \u201cHere are your tickets, your passport, and your boarding card. The bags are checked through to Houston, and you have a bulkhead seat for this flight, with plenty of leg room. Your seat on the Houston flight is pre-assigned.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHumphrey, you are indispensable,\u201d Adam replied with a smile, tucking the tickets into an inside pocket. \u201cI\u2019ll check back with you from time to time to see how things are going. I\u2019ve left a full itinerary back at the house, if anyone should need to reach me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery good, sir. Have a safe trip.\u201d<\/p>\n

He handed Adam his briefcase and raised a hand in farewell as his employer headed off toward the gate, watching until he had disappeared through the security checkpoint before turning away to return to the car.\u00a0 <\/span>Across the departures hall, a nondescript-looking man in a dark suit gazed after Humphrey from behind a newspaper, then furled it under his arm and strolled casually in the direction of the security checkpoint, glancing at his watch and then at the monitor that announced imminent departures. When the London flight had disappeared from the display and his quarry did not emerge, he turned and headed purposefully toward the Air UK desk, discarding his paper in a convenient refuse barrel and then elbowing past a queue of passengers waiting to check in.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI\u2019m Dr. Travis,\u201d he announced to the pretty ticket agent tagging a bag on the scale beneath her counter. \u201cI do beg your pardon, madam,\u201d he said, turning briefly to address the passenger he had shoved aside. \u201cDid a Dr. Sinclair get on your London flight that just left?\u201d<\/p>\n

A male agent one position down looked over with interest.<\/p>\n

\u201cSir Adam Sinclair? I believe he did, sir. Is there some problem?\u201d Feigning dismay, \u201cDr. Travis\u201d glanced at his watch, then back at both agents in more urgent appeal.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, dear, I\u2019d hoped to catch up with him before he got away. It\u2019s rather an emergency. Do you know if London was his final destination? If so, I might be able to track him down there. His nurse only said he was on his way to the airport. Fortunately, there aren\u2019t too many flights this early.\u201d As the two ticket agents exchanged bewildered glances, their inquisitor lifted both palms in entreaty.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, I need to know where to reach him,\u201d he insisted. \u201cIt may be a matter of life and death.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did you say your name was?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTravis. Dr. Edward Travis. I\u2019m a colleague of Dr. Sinclair.\u201d Won over by his urgency and apparent authority, the male agent quickly called up Adam Sinclair\u2019s flight details on his computer terminal. Ten minutes later, \u201cDr. \u00a0<\/span>Travis\u201d was ringing his employer from a pay phone in another part of the airport terminal.<\/p>\n

A little over a hundred miles away, in a secluded Victorian house in Paisley, Francis Raeburn\u2019s Spanish-born valet took the call, then strode to the dining room.<\/p>\n

\u201cSenor Richter, you are wanted on the telephone,\u201d he announced, as Klaus Richter was just sitting down to an early breakfast. \u201cIt is Mr. Toynbee.\u201d Richter took the call in the seclusion of the adjoining study. Through a burst of background noise, he could hear a voice relaying information over a public address system.<\/p>\n

\u201cRichter here. What is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m at the airport in Edinburgh,\u201d came the voice from the other end of the line. \u201cThere\u2019s been an interesting development.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe chief subject you\u2019re interested in has just boarded a flight to Heathrow,\u201d his informant reported, above the din of another flight announcement. \u201cFrom there he flies on to the United States, with a two-day stopover in Houston and then an onward connection to San Francisco. How long he intends to stay there is anybody\u2019s guess, but he checked two bags. That suggests more than an overnight visit. The return ticket is open-ended.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen-ended, you say? That may be worth knowing. Well done,\u201d Richter acknowledged. \u201cWill you be able to confirm that he makes that Houston flight?\u201d \u201cWe can hack into the system to confirm that he checks in for it, and that his bags are en route. We can also flag the system to alert us when he books his flight back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcellent. As soon you are certain he is on the Houston flight, you will transfer your attentions to the other individuals on your list. In the meantime, an appropriate compensation for your services will be deposited in your account, as usual. Thank you very much, Mr. Toynbee.\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn appeared at the door of the study just as Richter was cradling the phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was one of my men checking in,\u201d Richter announced with a thin smile. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cSinclair is leaving the country. And there is evidence to suggest that he may be planning to be gone for some time.\u201d<\/p>\n

When Richter had recited the particulars he himself had just received, Raeburn gave a satisfied nod.<\/p>\n

\u201cI sense a matter of personal importance,\u201d he observed. \u201cI hope it\u2019s nothing trifling. The longer Sinclair stays away, the better. But in any event, I propose to take full advantage of his absence.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter Two<\/p>\n

\u201cSCHOLARS!\u201d Jasper Taliere said with a derisive snort. \u201cWhat know they? Their reliance on the tools of so-called science has made them deaf and blind to the promptings of their own intuition. They treat the past as if it were naught but a quarry, to be mined without discrimination or respect. Is it any wonder that the greater truths forever elude them?\u201d<\/p>\n

The old man\u2019s deep voice carried across the library with theatrical resonance, reminding Raeburn of the actor Richard Burton at the height of his form.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cNot everyone can boast your particular sense of historical perspective, Taoiseach,\u201d Raeburn said mildly, \u201cespecially with regard to the ancient mysteries of our native isle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn had used the Gaelic title meaning \u201cHead,\u201d an apt honorific. Accepting it as his due, Taliere turned restlessly from the window bay, where he had been gazing out at a flight of snow geese silhouetted against the wintry sky.\u00a0 <\/span>Despite his age, Taliere was a hale figure of a man, broad across the shoulders and gnarled as a mature oak tree, with shaggy, beetling white brows and lush moustaches lending eccentric character to a lean, sharp-nosed face. A receding hairline had endowed him with a natural tonsure approximating those shown in lithographs of ancient Druids, hairless across the top of his head from ear to ear, with the rest of his hair swept back in a silvery mane. Though clad unalarmingly in baggy tweeds and a nondescript pullover, out at the elbows, the overall effect was that of an ageing and unpredictable lion – an aspect that grew more pronounced as he studied his host through yellow-green eyes.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou need not exert yourself to flatter me, Francis,\u201d he growled. \u201cI have already agreed to do what you desire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn terms of your own dictating,\u201d Raeburn pointed out drily. \u201cMind you, I\u2019m not complaining,\u201d he continued when the older man showed signs of bridling. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cKnowledge never comes without a price. But don\u2019t pretend that you\u2019re lending me your assistance purely out of the goodness of your heart. You stand to profit as much from this experiment as I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt that,\u201d Taliere said bluntly. \u201cYou have your father\u2019s propensity for seeing that the scales are weighted in your favor. But I did not come here to quibble. Where is this dagger you wish to show me?\u201d \u201cOne of my initiates is fetching it from the safe,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cHe should be here momentarily.\u201d<\/p>\n

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. At Raeburn\u2019s acknowledgement, Barclay came in with a small wooden casket under one arm. He accorded Taliere an unabashedly curious glance as he crossed to set the casket on the desk before his superior.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere you are, Mr. Raeburn. Do you want me to wait, so I can put it back in the safe, or shall I just leave it here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll call you when I\u2019m ready for it to go back,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cFor now, why don\u2019t you and Mr. Richter make certain the wards are secure?\u201d With a nod, Barclay retired from the room. As the door closed behind him, Taliere pulled a scowl and ensconced himself into one of the chairs opposite Raeburn.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat man of yours is far too inquisitive for one of his degree and station,\u201d he observed disapprovingly. \u201cWhat prompted you to take an American into your service?\u201d<\/p>\n

He pronounced the word \u201cAmerican\u201d as if it were an epithet. Raeburn shrugged.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s an excellent pilot.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you described him as an initiate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe two functions are not mutually exclusive.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taliere\u2019s response was a disgruntled snort.<\/p>\n

\u201cI dislike Colonials,\u201d he informed Raeburn. \u201cThey have too much regard for their own self-worth. That kind of arrogance fosters an unbecomingly cavalier attitude toward authority. I would not recommend you trust this Barclay too far.\u201d \u201cI know just how far he\u2019s to be trusted,\u201d Raeburn said blandly. \u201cHe is equally clear on what to expect from me, should he ever consider violating his articles of service. On that understanding, we contrive to get along quite well. Mr. \u00a0<\/span>Barclay may be a rough diamond, but he has incidental facets to his character that are sufficiently brilliant to outweigh many a shortcoming in his deportment. As you will discover, if matters progress as we both would wish.\u201d With these words he indicated the casket in front of him. \u201cHere is the dagger. <\/p>\n

Will you or will you not examine it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat is not the question,\u201d Taliere said grimly. \u201cThe question is, Are you fit to share any revelations I may encounter?\u201d Raeburn professed shock and reproach. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cHow can you doubt it? Am I not my father\u2019s son?\u201d \u201cIn many respects,\u201d Taliere allowed. \u201cBut not all.\u201d He subjected Raeburn to a penetrating glare. \u201cDo you know what sets Britain apart from her sister-nations on the Continent? It is more – much more – than any intervening body of water. \u00a0<\/span>No, of all the estates of Europe, Britain alone still preserves intact the living spirit of her ancient past, the spirit which has always safeguarded her identity. That spirit was given to her by the old gods in the days before the coming of the White Christ. It has endured patiently over the centuries, sustained by those few of us who still remember the gift and revere the Givers. \u00a0<\/span>But if we should ever fail in our charge, that spirit would wither and die, and the land would be empty again – a body without a soul.\u201d He leaned back in his chair and studied Raeburn down his long nose. \u201cYour father had a proper reverence for the old gods,\u201d he went on. \u201cHad he not, I would never have given him the benefit of my assistance. Before we proceed with this venture, I must know what your position is. What exactly do you want from the old gods, and what are you prepared to give them in return?\u201d \u201cWhat I want,\u201d Raeburn said simply, \u201cis power. As to what I intend to offer\u2026\u201d He let the sentence hang a moment before going on. \u201cI will be frank with you. As matters stand at the moment, 1 am caught between two enemies. One of them is a foreign sorcerer, a scion of the self-proclaimed master race which tried to overrun this island – and, indeed, the world – fifty years ago. The other is native-born, but a traitor to his birthright – an Adept who has forsaken the ancient paths for the sake of the White Christ.<\/p>\n

Each, in his own way, would like to see the old gods driven out of this corner of the world in order to make room for the patron that he serves. In providing me with the means to defend myself, the old gods would be giving me the means to protect their own interests as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have yet to mention where your own service lies pledged,\u201d Taliere said.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAll my former alliances were terminated when the Head-Master\u2019s citadel was destroyed by those who claim to champion the New Light,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cAs of now, any principle of power which aids me will find me appropriately grateful.\u201d \u201cI hope, for your sake, that there is no guile in your words,\u201d Taliere muttered. \u00a0<\/span>\u2018 The old gods are not to be mocked. If you are lying, they will not countenance your profiting from their indulgence. And I warn you now, they have ways of taking revenge against those who abuse their trust.\u201d \u201cThe old gods have already seen my willingness to serve,\u201d Raeburn replied, a trifle sharply. \u201cTwo years ago, when the lord Taranis permitted me to wear his tore and bear his lightnings, I showed my gratitude by giving him many holocausts. I would be prepared to do the same again, in return for a similar loan of power. What I require is a focus for communicating the terms of the bargain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf all of this is true,\u201d Taliere said, \u201cthen I hope that this dagger is all you claim it to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBy all means, see for yourself,\u201d Raeburn replied, opening a hand toward the casket before him.<\/p>\n

Making no secret of his reservations, Taliere rose and approached the casket from his side of the desk. As soon as his fingers touched it, however, his face underwent a marked change of expression. Leaving the casket unopened, he stroked questing fingers over the lid, his touch as perceptive and knowledgeable as that of a blind man reading an inscription in Braille.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is, indeed, considerable power represented here,\u201d he said softly, glancing at Raeburn in wonder. \u201cThe resonance it generates is sensible even at one remove. Whether the blade itself will consent to speak with me regarding its affinities is another matter. But we shall know soon enough.\u201d Gingerly, he opened the box. The dagger lay visible within, pillowed on layers of silk. Taliere drew breath sharply, then let it out again in a gusty sigh.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIf I am to commune with this object, it must be in the spirit of its own time,\u201d he said, not taking his eyes from the dagger. \u201cI can return there by passing through the sacred grove, but may I rely upon you to stand ready as an anchor-line to the present?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn smiled thinly. \u201cHave no fears on that account, Tao-iseach. With so much at stake, I would be foolish to let you lose yourself among the shadows of the past.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taliere signified his acceptance with a nod. After further silent contemplation of the dagger, he struck a formal posture of invocation, feet braced apart and gnarled hands upraised above his head. When he opened his mouth to speak, it was in a long-dead tongue that Raeburn only belatedly recognized from rare encounters with its graven form.<\/p>\n

At once adamant and oddly liquid, the words spilled from the old man\u2019s lips like angry waters rushing down a cataract, an ancient formula to set the stage. At the conclusion of his utterance, he abruptly dropped his arms and brought his hands together in an intricate sign of warding. Only then did he venture to pluck the dagger from its nest of silk, clasping both hands around its hilt and carrying it to his breast, its point toward the ceiling.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI am ready to set out,\u201d he announced, as he closed his eyes in an attitude of stiff composure.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I am ready to guide and guard you,\u201d Raeburn said.\u00a0 <\/span>He rose smoothly and came around to stand next to Taliere, lifting his left hand to rest lightly on the older man\u2019s right shoulder. At once Taliere\u2019s rate of respiration quickened.<\/p>\n

After a moment, the old man drew a deep breath, held it a moment, then released it in an explosive gust of expelled air. With his next deep intake of breath, his face went momentarily blank. Then he began to mutter to himself, stringing words together in a singsong, semi-metrical chant.<\/p>\n

\u201cI have been the blind striving Of a worm turning in the earth.<\/p>\n

I have been the racing of the blood In the heart of the running deer.<\/p>\n

I have been the captive silence Of a trout in the singing brook.<\/p>\n

I have been the rooted strength Of the oak tree in its prime.\u201d The chant trailed off and he began to sway, but Raeburn\u2019s hand on his shoulder steadied him.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me where you are now,\u201d Raeburn murmured, after a long pause.<\/p>\n

Taliere\u2019s face took on a look of fierce exultancy.<\/p>\n

\u201cHome,\u201d he murmured. \u201cAmong the trees, before the Burning Time.\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice lifted again in bardic song.<\/p>\n

\u201cTall and green were the sacred groves, <\/p>\n

when the sky rained fire from heaven. <\/p>\n

Then did we take up our sickles of gold, <\/p>\n

venturing into the fields by night <\/p>\n

to reap a harvest of fallen stars.\u201d<\/p>\n

With these words he broke off, his hands tightening around the dagger\u2019s hilt while he cocked his head, as if listening for some approaching sound.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYes\u2026 Yes\u2026\u201d he murmured.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe iron speaks with a creaking voice. <\/p>\n

It cries aloud in the tumult of the storm. <\/p>\n

I hear its clamor in the hollows of the hills. <\/p>\n

I hear the echoes in the chasms of the sky.<\/p>\n

Raeburn stared more intently at the old man, his eyes pale and bright.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me what the iron is saying,\u201d he instructed softly.<\/p>\n

A look of consternation passed over Taliere\u2019s lined face.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThe speech it employs is not that of the wood,\u201d he breathed. \u201cThe sense is there, but not the words\u2026.\u201d He struggled a moment longer, as if trying to fix an elusive impression.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Thunderer speaks, but only in riddles,\u201d he muttered at last. \u201cOne must be found with the skill to interpret. The storm-wind waits to carry him aloft. Let him harness the tempest and make his ascent – \u201c A sudden seizure gripped Taliere, choking off anything more he might have said. \u00a0<\/span>As the dagger fell from his palsied fingers, a violent shudder sent him caroming against a lyre-backed chair, which overturned despite Raeburn\u2019s attempted intervention. As the old man collapsed twitching to the carpet, a white foam frothing at his mouth, Raeburn was only partially able to break his fall.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cBarclay, get in here!\u201d Raeburn shouted.<\/p>\n

Barclay answered the summons on the run, bursting through the library door to find his employer kneeling over the thrashing Taliere, forcing the spine of a paperback book between his teeth.<\/p>\n

\u201cGive me a hand here, damn it, before he does himself damage!\u201d Raeburn barked.\u00a0 <\/span>Between them they managed to restrain the old Druid until the fit showed signs of subsiding. As the final paroxysms trailed off, Raeburn cautiously eased the tooth-marked paperback from Taliere\u2019s jaws and looked around him. The dagger was lying under the overturned chair. Drawing a deep breath, he retrieved the dagger, set the chair right-side up, and laid the artifact back in its casket. \u00a0<\/span>As he turned back to Barclay and the supine Taliere, he saw that his aide had one hand clasped to the Druid\u2019s scrawny wrist.<\/p>\n

\u2018 \u2018His pulse is hammering like a freight train,\u201d Barclay said. \u201cIs he going to be all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019ll need someplace dark and quiet to rest for a while,\u201d Raeburn replied, \u201cbut I doubt there\u2019s any harm done. The ancients sometimes called this the \u2018divine madness.\u2019 In this case, it\u2019s a sign that he probably made a genuine contact.\u201d \u201cDo you think Dr. Mallory should have a look at him?\u201d Barclay asked.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAye. When Mallory arrives, send him up to check him over. Meanwhile, get Jorge to help you carry him up to one of the spare bedrooms. He can rest there until he feels sufficiently recovered to rejoin us.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taliere was already showing signs of regaining consciousness by the time Jorge arrived. Once the old Druid had been safely installed in his room, Barclay returned to the library to report on his condition. Raeburn was seated behind his desk again, turning the dagger thoughtfully in long fingers.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s looking a bit better, but he still seems disoriented,\u201d Barclay told his employer. \u201cWhen I left him, he was muttering to himself in some strange language of his own. If he doesn\u2019t manage to pull himself together, there won\u2019t be much point in going through with this afternoon\u2019s meeting. Do you think maybe you\u2019d better put it off until tomorrow?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn shook his head. \u201cDon\u2019t underestimate Master Tal-iere\u2019s powers of recovery. I\u2019m quite confident he will be back in full possession of his faculties by the time the rest of the party arrives.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGuess you\u2019ve been acquainted with him long enough to know, Mr. Raeburn,\u201d Barclay said with a philosophic shrug. \u201cHe sure doesn\u2019t waste much time trying to make himself easy to live with, though. Does he really have the authority he claims to have, or is it all just attitude?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn permitted himself a tight smile and replaced the dagger in its casket.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cTaliere is a Druid of the old school,\u201d he told his aide. \u201cHe sees himself as one of the last bastions of Britain\u2019s ancient mysteries, charged with the responsibility of keeping those mysteries alive. If he seems a trifle fanatical, that\u2019s because he is. His inner life is rooted in the soil of Anglesey.\u201d \u201cAnglesey?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe holy island of Druid Britain,\u201d Raeburn explained. \u201cOnly a narrow strait separates it from Wales. It was the nerve center of the Druid religion, in much the same way that the Vatican represents the heart of Catholic Christendom. \u00a0<\/span>Following the Roman occupation, Anglesey became a pocket-of native resistance, and in A.D. 64, Agricola gave orders that the community there should be destroyed.<\/p>\n

\u201cTaliere\u2019s past memories stretch back to the days when the Roman legionnaires invaded the island, slaughtered its priestly inhabitants, and put the sacred groves to the torch. It would be safe to say that a part of him has never left that time and place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow does that make him useful to us?\u201d Barclay asked.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAs a vehicle of knowledge,\u201d Raeburn replied. \u201cThe Druids, like the followers of Taranis, recognized and venerated the cardinal powers of the elements. Although separated geographically, both cults were active in Britain at roughly the same time. Both shared an affinity for the gifts of prophecy. That the two traditions were closely akin to one another is reflected in such artifacts as the famous Gundestrup cauldron, which pictures a figure of Taranis side by side with that of Cernunnos, the horned god of the wood. If anybody can determine what we need to do to recover our link with Taranis,\u201d he concluded, \u201cJasper Taliere is the one.\u201d<\/p>\n

Shortly before three o\u2019clock, Raeburn assembled his chosen lieutenants for the appointed briefing. Of the three people summoned to the previous meeting, Angela Fitzgerald was absent, having already been given a separate assignment to fulfill. Her place for this occasion had been taken by a well-built young man with smoldering eyes and extravagant pretensions toward fashion, whose dark-haired good looks were somewhat marred by early signs of self-indulgence. \u00a0<\/span>With the addition of Taliere, who now seemed fully recovered after his seizure, those present constituted a company of five.<\/p>\n

Directing the others to chairs set around the library table, Raeburn took his place at the table\u2019s head and prefaced his opening remarks with a round of brief introductions for Tali-ere\u2019s benefit.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou and Mr. Barclay have already met. Now let me present Klaus Richter, my chief advisor on matters of security, and Dr. Derek Mallory, one of our most promising associates.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mallory preened slightly at the compliment, already aware of his brief to examine Taliere after the meeting was concluded. Ambitious, and apparently without moral scruples, he had begun his career with the Lodge of the Lynx while still an intern, augmenting his burgeoning medical expertise with impressive psychic ability as his competence in both disciplines progressed. Now a qualified anaesthetist, he had recently secured a residency at the Royal Edinburgh Hospital, which listed Dr. Adam Sinclair among its senior psychiatric consultants. Mallory\u2019s promotion to Raeburn\u2019s inner circle, replacing another physician who had failed in his duties, not only restored that facet of functioning to the Lodge of the Lynx, but Mallory\u2019s particular situation gave him an ideal opportunity to keep an eye on Sinclair\u2019s movements and interests.\u00a0 <\/span>Richter was the first person called upon to report. An attentive silence reigned as he delivered an updated account of what his surveillance agents had observed in the course of the two days since Adam Sinclair\u2019s departure from Scotland.\u00a0 <\/span>\u2018 \u2018My operatives in the States have been able to confirm that Sinclair is in Houston, attending a medical symposium. Of the nine telephone calls that have gone out from his hotel room, five have been directed to a number in San Francisco, which is listed to a Dr. X. Lockhart. A computer search of Dr. \u00a0<\/span>Lock-hart\u2019s personal records identifies her as the physician who attended Sinclair two years ago, and with whom he has since formed a romantic liaison. \u00a0<\/span>All the evidence so far accumulated suggests that he intends to remain in the United States for the duration of the Christmas holidays. This leaves us free to concentrate our attentions on his known associates.\u201d From the black leather briefcase he had brought with him Richter produced a selection of black-and-white photos. The first set of pictures to be circulated showed a head-and-shoulders shot of a grizzle-haired man whose craggy features were offset by a bristling military moustache and a pair of metal-rimmed aviator spectacles.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis man, as most of you will know, is Detective Chief Inspector Noel Gordon McLeod, of the Lothian and Borders Police,\u201d Richter noted coolly. \u201cThough it is never officially acknowledged in police circles, he is the officer always detailed to deal with cases involving any esoteric or occult element. He is particularly adroit at misdirecting the attentions of the press – for which we can be as grateful as our opposite numbers.\u201d<\/p>\n

As Taliere slowly nodded, Richter continued.<\/p>\n

\u201cBesides being a Master Mason, McLeod is also known to be a member of the Hunting Lodge. There is strong evidence to suggest that he ranks as Sinclair\u2019s second-in-command. So far, all his recent movements have been routine and accountable, but my operatives will be alert for any changes. His near dependents – if I may refer you to the other photos you have before you – include his wife, Jane Ellen, and one daughter, Kate Elizabeth, who is in her fourth year of studies at the University of Aberdeen. We are keeping all three of these subjects under surveillance, and will continue to do so until further notice.\u201d<\/p>\n

The next photograph to be circulated was that of a much younger man, also bespectacled, but fair-haired and clean- shaven, with features that might have been chiselled by Delia Robbia.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis man is Peregrine Andrew Lovat, a portrait artist whose reputation has soared since he was first taken under Sinclair\u2019s patronage about two years ago. \u00a0<\/span>The full spectrum of his talents has yet to be determined, but it would seem that his artistic abilities are augmented by some form of extrasensory perception that allows him to see and record resonances of the past. He has been significantly involved in a number of police investigations in which Sinclair and McLeod have likewise been factors. There can be little doubt that he is a Huntsman, and since the visionary nature of his talents makes him a particular danger to us, we shall be watching him very closely, indeed.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHis wife\u2019s involvement is, at present, unknown,\u201d Richter went on, tossing out a fifth set of photos. \u201cThey were only married last spring, but Sinclair seems to have introduced them, or at least encouraged the match. Her name is Julia.\u201d \u201cVery nice,\u201d Mallory murmured, allowing himself a broad grin as he scanned up and down a publicity photo of Julia posed beside one of her harps. \u201cAny time your people get tired of watching her, I\u2019d be delighted to lend a hand.\u201d \u201cSadly for you. Doctor, your talents are likely to be required elsewhere,\u201d Raeburn said, on a crisp note that wiped the smile from the younger man\u2019s face. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cMr. Richter, I think we\u2019ve spent enough time acquainting Master Taliere with the principal opposition players. With Sinclair temporarily out of the picture, I don\u2019t think we need worry overmuch about the others.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThe reason I\u2019ve called you all here,\u201d he went on, \u201cis to hear from Taliere himself regarding our coming operations. Earlier today, he took time to examine the dagger I obtained from the Head-Master. After reflection, he has some recommendations to make regarding its future empowerment. Tao-iseach!\u00a0 <\/span>The old Druid set his fingertips together in a narrow triangle, regarding them with eyes the color of peridots.<\/p>\n

\u201cEach of the Lords Elemental has his own realm and his own tongue,\u201d he began, with ponderous dignity. \u201cAs a servant of the Wood, I have little grasp of the language of fire. Nevertheless, at the behest of your chief, I sought audience with the lord Taranis and was granted it after a fashion. No words passed between us, but I have been given to understand that the Great One is willing to look with favor on the prospect of renewing your former alliance.\u201d This announcement drew murmurs of approval from his listeners.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat must we do to secure this alliance?\u201d Richter asked.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cLord Taranis will dictate his terms directly to those desiring to take part in the bargain,\u201d Taliere declared. \u201cIn so doing, he will set his seal upon them, so that thereafter they may understand and obey his commands. To receive his instructions, the ancient methods of divination must be employed, as prescribed by the Druids in ancient times. The eve of the Winter Solstice shall be the appointed time, some four days hence. Listen closely, for this is what must be done.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter three<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019M taking you back to my apartment first,\u201d Ximena murmured, as she and Adam embraced at the USAir gate in San Francisco after his late-morning arrival. \u201cI want some time for us before I share you with my family.\u201d She did not mention her father as they walked arm-in-arm to the baggage-claim area, chattering a little too single-mindedly about heavy traffic on the way in and the expected ordeal of trying to retrieve Adam\u2019s luggage amid the pre-Christmas crowds. It was only as they made their way out to the airport car park that she even skirted the unspoken question that lay between them.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOh, Adam, if I\u2019ve learned nothing else during these past months, it\u2019s how much I miss your company,\u201d she blurted, as they wheeled his luggage trolley out of one of the car-park elevators. \u201cI\u2019m so glad you\u2019re here.\u201d The glance she directed his way spoke volumes, as did the taut caress of her hand against his, just before she gestured down the next aisle in the car park. \u00a0<\/span>Feeling the tension, and all too aware of his own long-banked yearnings, Adam only smiled and said, \u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her manner turned brisk again as she directed him toward a black Honda Prelude neatly inserted in a space between two larger vehicles.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWell, this is my current bus,\u201d she said, as she opened the trunk to accommodate his bags. \u201cIt isn\u2019t a Morgan, but it\u2019s never let me down.\u201d One of the things Ximena had left behind her in Scotland was a yellow Morgan sports car, presently collecting spider webs under a dust-sheet in one of Adam\u2019s stableyard garages.<\/p>\n

Watching her buckle up, he was obscurely glad she hadn\u2019t had the heart to get rid of it. As they pulled out of the car park and headed northward on the freeway from the airport, it was clear that she had lost nothing of her flair for driving.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks for not asking questions that I\u2019m not ready to answer,\u201d she said over her shoulder, as she overtook a pickup truck pulling a sailboat on a trailer. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll make sure you don\u2019t regret this. Just promise me something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPromise me that for the next few hours you won\u2019t speak of anything that doesn\u2019t apply directly to us. There\u2019s time enough for – the other.\u201d He could not see her eyes behind the sunglasses she had donned before taking to the road, but her grip on the steering wheel was stronger than it needed to be.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI promise,\u201d he agreed, and simply reached across to touch a hand to her knee before subsiding into companionable silence for the duration of the drive to her apartment.<\/p>\n

By common consent, neither of them allowed any shadow of the future to intrude upon their lovemaking. Initially wary of giving full rein to his passions, Adam had been moved beyond words to find himself courted with a fervor equal to his own. Sheer physical delight, long denied by their separation, washed over him in a dazzling torrent. Temporarily bereft of all intellectual reservation, he surrendered blindly to their shared ardor, finding in that union a rare moment of release.<\/p>\n

The intensity of that pleasure left behind a lingering glow of profound well-being, but precious as that sensation was, Adam would willingly have exchanged it for the burden of care he knew Ximena must shortly resume. Time was moving on, and there was nothing he could do about it. But if he could not keep her from the grief that lay ahead, perhaps he could still offer her a prospect of happiness beyond.<\/p>\n

Possibly to hold her own thoughts at bay, Ximena had set some music playing in the next room before she went off to shower. Adam let the music wash over him without particular awareness, fresh from his own shower and a change of clothes as he settled on the couch in her little sitting room and put his feet up, curling his palms contentedly around a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea.\u00a0 <\/span>Her apartment occupied the top floor of a newly renovated town house near San Francisco\u2019s Golden Gate Park. The view of the neighborhood, seen from the living room windows, embraced a vivacious fin-de-siecle collection of gables, cupolas, and widow\u2019s walks decorated in gingerbread woodwork. On a clear day it was possible – so Adam had been told – to catch a fugitive glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge beyond the dark green feathering of trees that marked the intervening presence of the Presidio. Today, however, both the park and the bridge were shrouded under a silvery haze of the dense fog for which the city was famous.<\/p>\n

Relaxed and beginning to feel gently jet-lagged, Adam withdrew his gaze from the neighboring skyline to contemplate the more intimate features of the apartment\u2019s interior, sipping distractedly at his tea.<\/p>\n

Ximena\u2019s rented flat in Edinburgh had been comfortably suited to her needs, especially for a busy ER physician who frankly spent little time there, but it had come already furnished, leaving her little or nothing to say regarding the decor. This place, by contrast, had started off empty, giving her ample scope for indulging a more personalized expression of taste. Adam expected that much of the furniture had been handed down from her parents or bought second-hand during her student days, but most of the appointments seemed to bear what he was beginning to recognize as Ximena\u2019s distinctive style. Left to his own devices while she showered, Adam found it instructive as well as pleasant to contemplate the effects of her self-expression.<\/p>\n

The room was sparely appointed, in keeping with the clean, sunlit expanse of wide windows and stripped woodwork. The variegated tones of wood, tile, and stonework contrasted elegantly with the thick, cream-colored plushness of the fitted carpet. The sofa upon which Adam was sitting was a luxuriously comfortable design piece executed in brick-red Cordovan leather.\u00a0 <\/span>That terra-cotta hue was reflected several times over in the selection of prints by Diego Rivera and Joaquin Torres-Garcia that were scattered across the walls. \u00a0<\/span>Among the original objets d\u2019art in the room were a stained-glass depiction of a smiling Madonna done in rich blues and golds, an art naif oil painting of three jaguars, and a lively bronze casting of two dogs dancing that recalled examples of Calima statuary Adam had once seen in an exhibition of pre-Columbian art. He was touched to see a blue glass votive candle he had given her, set beneath the portrait of the Madonna.<\/p>\n

The overall effect was one of discriminating eclecticism. That effect was all the more commendable since Alan Lock-hart\u2019s progressively worsening condition had left his daughter with little opportunity for shopping – or indeed anything else – in the months since her return.<\/p>\n

Despite Ximena\u2019s earlier protestations that she would not allow her concerns to intrude on their time together, she had finally updated Adam on her father\u2019s condition before sending him off for his shower, huddled miserably in the circle of his arm while she recited the essentials in detached clinical phrasing that left little doubt of her growing sense of helplessness.\u00a0 <\/span>Though Lockhart\u2019s attending physicians initially had been able to arrange his medication to permit relative comfort and alertness during the daylight hours, steadily mounting levels of pain had eaten into that schedule until now he was left with only two narrow windows of lucidity each day: a few hours early in the morning and a similar period late in the afternoon. By structuring their own activities to take advantage of his periods of alertness, Lockhart\u2019s wife and family had managed to achieve a fragile semblance of routine. But there was no hiding the fact that Ximena\u2019s father was rapidly approaching the point where conventional medicine could offer him nothing more than a choice between agony and oblivion.<\/p>\n

Adam had in mind a third alternative – though whether Ximena\u2019s father would be receptive to the idea could only be determined at first hand. Formal introductions were to take place later that afternoon, when Lockhart would be awake and all the other members of Ximena\u2019s family would be present.\u00a0 <\/span>In the meantime, there had been this precious interlude. Adam finished his tea and set aside his mug with a sigh, cocking an ear toward the bedroom as awareness of a different piece of music drew his attention back to more pleasurable contemplations.<\/p>\n

Passionate and precise, the rippling string-notes of a vihuela provided intricate accompaniment to a woman\u2019s clear contralto. From the formal structures of counterpoint, Adam was willing to guess an origin in Renaissance Spain. After a while, Ximena\u2019s own voice floated in from the direction of the bathroom, matching that of the recording artist, note for note:<\/p>\n

\u201cYo me soy la morenica\u2026<\/p>\n

Soy la sin espina rosa<\/p>\n

Que Salomon canta y glosa\u2026<\/p>\n

Yo soy la mata inflamada Ardiendo sin ser quemada\u2026.\u201d I am the dark girl\u2026 I am the rose without thorns, that Solomon sings of. I am the bush in flames, burning without being burnt\u2026.<\/p>\n

Ximena\u2019s accent was virtually flawless. But then, Adam reminded himself, her mother was a native-born Spaniard. Teresa Constanza Morales and Alan David Lockhart had met thirty-six years ago in Granada, where Lockhart, then a student of architecture, had come to study the designs which glorified the memory of the Nasrid empire. They had married the following year, thereby setting in motion the stars of fates other than their own.<\/p>\n

Still humming along with the music, Ximena appeared at the door to the bedroom hallway, wearing a casual suit of forest green. Pausing in the doorway, she cocked her head first one way and then the other as she fitted on a pair of gold-and-jade earrings in the form of Aztec totem frogs. Adam watched her with a smile playing over his lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cMorenica,\u201d he said aloud.<\/p>\n

Ximena looked up. \u201cI beg your pardon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are the dark girl, morenica cuerpo garrida.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ximena wrinkled her forehead at him. \u201c The dark girl with the handsome body\u2019? \u00a0<\/span>Don\u2019t let my parents hear you call me that before they get a chance to know you better.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam chuckled. \u201cI wouldn\u2019t dream of it,\u201d he assured her. \u201cWhat time are we meant to be there?\u201d<\/p>\n

Coming forward, Ximena leaned down and kissed him on the mouth. \u201cIn about as long as it takes to drive from here to there,\u201d she said with a smile. \u201cAre you ready?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will be, as soon as I\u2019ve put on a tie,\u201d Adam said, stretching to retrieve the one he had draped across the back of the couch. \u201cYour parents are expecting a Scottish laird. I\u2019d better look the part.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laughing, she took the tie from him and looped it around his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m content with el sefior de corazon, the lord of my heart,\u201d she told him happily, pulling him to his feet.<\/p>\n

It was another five minutes before they reluctantly left the apartment.\u00a0 <\/span>UCSF-Mount Zion Medical Center lay to the north of Golden Gate Park, between Post and Sutler Streets. With the onset of visiting hours, the hospital car park was crowded, but Ximena swung in through the emergency room entrance and tucked the Honda into one of the spaces reserved for members of the staff.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cLucky for us you have some rank to pull here,\u201d Adam remarked lightly as Ximena turned off the engine and set the handbrake.<\/p>\n

\u201cLucky, indeed!\u201d Ximena agreed with a rueful grimace. \u201cMy old supervisor must have pulled a dozen strings to get me reinstated. I\u2019m going to owe a lot of favors when this is over and done with.\u201d<\/p>\n

They entered the hospital through the door adjoining the ambulance bay. Inside, Ximena paused to trade greetings with admiring members of the nursing staff and several of her colleagues, though she kept moving the two of them in the direction of the elevators. Adam could sense her pleasure in her co-workers\u2019 reaction as she introduced him – he was long accustomed to turning female heads, and not a few male ones – but her manner was brisk as they made their way together into the heart of the hospital complex.<\/p>\n

It was only when they came within sight of the doors leading into the concentrated care unit that her composure showed signs of wavering. The indications were subtle, but Adam was instantly aware of them.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAre you all right?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

Ximena squared her shoulders, not looking at him. \u201cI will be,\u201d she murmured. <\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go in.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam stepped in front of her long enough to open one of the double doors. Once past the threshold, they carried on along a carpeted corridor, Ximena nodding to several nurses as she passed. At the nurses\u2019 station halfway down the corridor, a slim, erect woman in a bright red jacket and black skirt was conversing with one of the nurses.<\/p>\n

The woman was similar in height and build to Ximena, with smooth dark hair, densely threaded with silver, caught up in a chignon at the back of her neck. \u00a0<\/span>When she turned her head, her profile had the attenuated elegance of a study by El Greco. Mentally matching up images, Adam knew that the woman could only be Ximena\u2019s mother.<\/p>\n

His conviction was confirmed a moment later when the sound of their footsteps caused the woman to look around. Her thin, sensitively molded face lit up at the sight of Ximena.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, there you are, mi corazon!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cI was hoping I might catch you as you came in. Your father is having a chat with Mrs. Jenny. It seemed a good time for me to slip out and stretch my legs – and to exercise my maternal curiosity.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before Ximena could speak, her mother\u2019s liquid dark eyes transferred their gaze to Adam, and the smile grew warmer still.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere can be no doubt that you are the dashing Scottish gentleman of whom our daughter has spoken at such length. It is a great pleasure at last to be meeting you, Dr. Sinclair.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her voice was deeper than Ximena\u2019s, her English overlaid with the stately accents of her Andalusian homeland. Taking the slender hand she held out to him, Adam raised it to his lips in courtly salute.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe pleasure is mine, Senora. And no one regrets the delay more than I do.\u201d \u201cAh, I perceive that you have the manners of a grandee, Dr. Sinclair. But I hope that will not prevent you from addressing me as Teresa,\u201d she said with a bit of a twinkle in her eye.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly if you agree to call me Adam,\u201d he replied, releasing her hand.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThat I will do,\u201d she agreed, shitting to draw Ximena into a fond hug, though her twinkle quickly faded as they drew apart. \u201cBut we must not keep your father waiting. He has waited a very long time for this moment.\u201d Alan Lockhart had been installed in a private room not far from the nurses\u2019 station. His visitors arrived to find the door standing partly open. A petite, dark-haired young woman in a neat grey suit and clerical collar was standing just inside the doorway, jotting down entries in the notebook she carried in the crook of one arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad you remembered that one,\u201d Adam heard her say. \u201cIt\u2019s always been one of my favorites. Did you have anyone in mind for a soloist, or will you trust me to find someone? I\u2019ve got more than a few contacts over at the university music school – some lovely voices.\u201d<\/p>\n

An indistinct murmur came from within the room. Adam could make out nothing of the words, but the woman paused to write down something more in her notebook.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll see what I can do,\u201d she promised. \u201cI\u2019ll make some phone calls and get back to you in the next few days. In the meantime, I\u2019d better say goodbye. I\u2019m due over at the Student Mission Center at four, and I\u2019ve got a couple of other people to see before I leave.\u201d<\/p>\n

Turning, she pulled up short as she became aware of Teresa Lockhart and her companions.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mustn\u2019t go just yet, Jenny,\u201d Teresa said with a smile, motioning her to come into the corridor. \u201cHere is Ximena, and a gentleman from Scotland whom we both would very much like you to meet. His name is Dr. Adam Sinclair, and I am told he ranks as an expert consultant in the field of psychiatric medicine. Dr. \u00a0<\/span>Sinclair, allow me to present the Reverend Jenny Carstairs, one of our hospital chaplains.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFor my sins!\u201d Jenny Carstairs directed an ironic glance toward the ceiling, then extended a firm hand and a pixie-like smile. \u201cNice to meet you, Dr. \u00a0<\/span>Sinclair. I understand you just flew in this morning.\u201d \u201cI did,\u201d Adam replied. \u201cI was addressing a medical symposium in Houston, and I was delighted to escape.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019m sure everyone is delighted that you did,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ve heard very nice things about you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cProbably greatly exaggerated,\u201d Adam protested, with an amused glance at both Ximena and her mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cJenny has been a great comfort to all of us,\u201d Teresa said, her smile still in place but shading into sadness. \u201cSometimes I don\u2019t know what we would have done without her, especially these past few months.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, Teresa, that\u2019s giving me far more credit than I deserve,\u201d the chaplain answered robustly. \u201cYou and the rest of your family have been the real workhorses.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSpeaking of which, where\u2019s Austen?\u201d Ximena asked. \u201cI thought he and Laurel were going to hold the fort until I got here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jenny Carstairs gave her hand a pat. \u201cYour father had a few things he wanted to discuss with me in private, so your brother volunteered to make a run down to the cafe in search of coffee. Laurel and Emma have gone down to Mrs. Chang\u2019s room so that Emma can show off her costume for the Christmas play.\u201d \u201cMy granddaughter is a gregarious soul,\u201d Teresa explained wryly. \u201cShe has made friends with several of the other patients here. Mrs. Chang is a particular favorite. She can make animals out of folded paper. As far as Emma is concerned, origami might as well be magic.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe it is,\u201d Adam said with a smile, thinking of Mc-Leod. \u201cI have a friend with a similar interest. I\u2019m not sure there isn\u2019t some magic in the way he gets his results.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I told Laurel I\u2019d let her know as soon as we were finished here,\u201d the chaplain said. \u201cDr. Sinclair, I\u2019m happy to have met you, but I\u2019d better be on my way. Goodbye for now, and I hope I\u2019ll be seeing you again. Teresa, Ximena – I\u2019ll check back with you in the morning.\u201d<\/p>\n

With a farewell wave, she headed off down the hall. As her footsteps receded, Ximena drew herself up and summoned an air of determined calm.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cTime to make our entrance,\u201d she observed aside to Adam. And pushed the door open wide.<\/p>\n

Tall enough to see over her head, Adam found his gaze drawn immediately to the bed that dominated the room. The gaunt figure under the sheets was lying very still, eyes shut, jaw set in an attitude of grim endurance. An image came to Adam\u2019s mind of a cadaverous tomb effigy left behind as a memento mori by a medieval bishop of Aries. It seemed hard to credit that the ravaged frame of Alan Lockhart could still harbor a living spirit.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello, Daddy, I\u2019m back,\u201d Ximena said as she headed toward him. \u201cI\u2019ve brought someone to meet you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lockhart roused himself with visible effort, his face a sunken mask from which all color had long ago fled. Only his eyes were still alive, burning with a preternatural intensity fuelled by the spirit within.<\/p>\n

\u201cBene fa, nina.\u201d He greeted her with the merest flicker of a smile. \u201cHow is your Flying Scotsman?\u201d<\/p>\n

His voice was roughened by suffering. Advancing to the bedside, Ximena reached down and lifted her father\u2019s wasted hand to her lips.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhy don\u2019t I let him tell you himself? Adam, come and be introduced. This is my father, Alan Lockhart.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joining her beside the bed, Adam found himself subjected to searching scrutiny. \u00a0<\/span>Returning that regard, he received a vivid impression of the man Alan Lockhart had been in his prime – tall, vital, and vigorous, as stalwart and individualistic as the buildings he had designed during his working lifetime. To see so much that had once been fine and strong now reduced so spitefully to ruin gave Adam a pang of grief he had experienced all too often in his career as a physician. It was like seeing a noble cathedral wantonly levelled by the ravages of war.<\/p>\n

A war of insurrection. To be a victim of cancer run rampant was to have one\u2019s own body rebel against itself in pitiless self-destruction. Adam still intended to read Alan Lockhart\u2019s case notes when he got a chance, but those notes, he knew, could go only so far in detailing the course of devastation. The human effect was much, much worse.<\/p>\n

Their mutual scrutiny lasted but a few heartbeats. Blinking, Lockhart extended a hand that was nothing but bones and tightly stretched skin. Adam took it with careful firmness, wincing inwardly at the insubstantial fragility of the long fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me if I don\u2019t get up,\u201d said the man in the bed, in a labored display of humor. \u201cI\u2019m very much the prisoner of my condition these days. Jenny Carstairs has been helping me plan my escape. But I\u2019ve one or two pieces of unfinished business yet to attend to, before I can make good on those arrangements.\u201d His words were painfully measured, but the force of the soul behind them reached out to Adam in an almost palpable appeal. Nor did the man seem inclined to release Adam\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes it\u2019s good to let someone else take on some of the burdens of responsibility,\u201d Adam said. \u201cUnder the circumstances, perhaps you ought to consider appointing a deputy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe so,\u201d Lockhart conceded, his eyes never leaving Adam\u2019s. \u201cThe difficulty lies in finding the right man for the job.\u201d<\/p>\n

His transparent lids drooped, and for a moment he seemed to fold in upon himself. Adam waited steadfastly, Lockhart\u2019s hand still in his, until the other man drew a sighing breath and re-opened his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve come a long way to visit my daughter. I\u2019d like to know more about you – in your words, not hers. Pull up a chair and tell me about your house.\u201d Though the request seemed a trifle odd on the surface, Adam sensed that it was not the non sequitur it appeared to be.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat would you like to know?\u201d he asked, releasing Lock-hart\u2019s hand and moving a chair closer to the head of the bed to sit.<\/p>\n

Lockhart\u2019s chest rose and fell. \u201cAnything and everything,\u201d he said with a faint smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be silly, Daddy,\u201d Ximena murmured, interposing uneasily. \u201cThe rules to your game won\u2019t apply here. Strath-mourne has been the Sinclairs\u2019 family residence for several generations. Knowing about the house won\u2019t tell you very much about Adam himself.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me be the judge of that,\u201d Lockhart told her, with a flash of his former strength. Directing his gaze toward Adam, he said, \u201cHumor me.\u201d As Adam scooted his chair closer, prepared to oblige, he felt Ximena\u2019s hand on his shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cAs an architect. Daddy has always maintained that you can tell a great deal about a person\u2019s character from the kind of house he lives in,\u201d she warned.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI see nothing amiss in that,\u201d Adam said, with a reassuring smile. \u201cOn the contrary, I expect an architect would find Strathmourne of great interest.\u201d While Lockhart lay back and listened, and Ximena and her mother drew up chairs on the other side of the bed, Adam began describing the house, from its Palladian fa9ade and gothic windows to the allocation of space in the kitchen wing. More and more, however, he found himself digressing to talk about Templemor, the seventeenth-century tower house elsewhere on the Strathmourne estate. Once a ruin, Templemor had been undergoing extensive renovation during the past two years. Most of the structural repairs were now complete, and Adam was starting to consider plans for the interior refurbish-ments which would eventually make the old tower habitable again.<\/p>\n

Almost without being aware of it, he found himself pouring out his enthusiasm for the project with a fullness he had rarely shared with anyone outside the ranks of the Hunting Lodge. Lost in contemplating the image in his mind\u2019s eye, he only belatedly became aware that Alan Lockhart was smiling up at him with genuine warmth. He stopped himself with a self-deprecating grin.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou\u2019ll have to pardon my misplaced fervor. Restoring Templemor has been an ambition of mine since childhood.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lockhart\u2019s smile remained in place, his voice firm when he spoke, even if weak. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cSounds as if you\u2019re not only a traditionalist, but a romantic as well,\u201d he said softly.<\/p>\n

Adam gave the architect a quizzical look. \u201cIs that good or bad?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEither way,\u201d said Lockhart, \u201cit makes you a man after my own heart.\u201d A sudden commotion from the direction of the hall put an end to any further discussion. An instant later, a small figure came bursting into the room in a diaphanous flutter of white robes, papier-mache wings, and a tinsel halo atop titian curls. This cherubic apparition was closely pursued by a taller figure in royal blue, who scooped up her quarry with maternal single-mindedness.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cEasy, Emma!\u201d she admonished. \u201cThis is a hospital, not a circus tent.\u201d<\/p>\n

Laurel Lockhart had fiery-red hair and the springy fitness of a natural athlete. \u00a0<\/span>Her freckled cheeks were flushed with the chase, and she grinned good-naturedly over her daughter\u2019s somewhat tousled head as she noticed Adam.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cExcuse me if I seem to have my hands too full to offer any other form of greeting, but I\u2019m Laurel Lockhart,\u201d she said. \u201cYou must be Adam. There couldn\u2019t possibly be a second man fitting the descriptions we\u2019ve had from Ximena.\u201d A diversion from Emma spared Adam the necessity of framing a response. Wriggling loose, she darted over to the bed to stretch on tiptoe, flourishing a slightly crumpled construction in silver paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, Grandpa!\u201d she urged. \u201cSee what Mrs. Chang made me!\u201d<\/p>\n

Lockhart retained strength enough to feign ignorance. \u201cIs it a goose?\u201d \u201cNo, silly, it\u2019s an angel!\u201d Emma crowed triumphantly. \u201cMrs. Chang says it\u2019s supposed to be me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was very complimentary of her,\u201d said a joking male voice from the doorway. <\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a good thing Mrs. Chang doesn\u2019t know you like we do, eh, pumpkin?\u201d Emma whirled away from the bedside. \u201cDaddy!\u201d she exclaimed happily, and hurled herself at the newcomer with puppy-like abandon. Clearly Ximena\u2019s brother, he bore a close resemblance to what their father must have looked like in his youth.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Austen,\u201d the man said, staggering under the impact of his daughter\u2019s embrace around his knees. \u201cYou must be Adam. It\u2019s a pity we couldn\u2019t have met sooner. Now that you\u2019re here, I hope you\u2019ll be staying long enough for us to get better acquainted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope so, too,\u201d Adam said, turning a physician\u2019s eye on the elder Lockhart. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cIn the meantime, though, perhaps we\u2019d all better adjourn to the lobby. Your father looks as if he\u2019s needing a rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even as he spoke, a nurse appeared at the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cSorry to interrupt,\u201d she apologized, \u201cbut it\u2019s time for Mr. Lockhart\u2019s medication.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s all right. We were just getting ready to leave,\u201d Austen said. \u201cWe\u2019ll see you tomorrow, Dad. And we\u2019ll take pictures of the angel for you – if monsters disguised as angels register on film!\u201d<\/p>\n

So saying, he scooped up his daughter, being careful not to crush her wings, and carried her giggling into the corridor, followed by Laurel, Ximena, and Adam, leaving Teresa to sit with her husband as he drifted off into drug-induced oblivion. Adam watched briefly from the doorway before turning to join Ximena and her brother, while Laurel attempted to straighten little Emma\u2019s halo.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThis play of Emma\u2019s starts in just over an hour,\u201d Austen was saying to Ximena, \u201cand we still have to grab a bite to eat. I don\u2019t suppose you and Adam would care to join us at McDonald\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat sounds fine to me,\u201d Adam said, before Ximena could decline. \u201cI\u2019m game, if you are,\u201d he told her.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlay and all?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlay and all,\u201d Adam agreed. He cocked an eyebrow at Ximena and added, \u201cYou can regard it as a test of my devotion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMore like a trial of courage,\u201d Ximena murmured, \u201cbut you did volunteer.\u201d \u201cObviously he doesn\u2019t know the difference between courage and foolhardiness,\u201d Austen said with a laugh. \u201cBut never mind, Adam: The experience may one day stand you in good stead.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter four<\/p>\n

EASTWARD across a continent and an ocean, on the northernmost island of the Outer Hebrides, less angelic forces were gathering to enact far darker drama than a play to celebrate the birth of a God of Light. Francis Raeburn had set the night\u2019s agenda, and took particular satisfaction in the knowledge that one of the more troublesome champions of that Light, Adam Sinclair, was at least temporarily occupied many thousand miles away.<\/p>\n

The ancient site selected by Raeburn\u2019s associate, Taliere, was well suited to the night\u2019s work. Sprawled across a wind-scoured flatland beside a sea loch thrusting deep into the western coast of the Isle of Lewis, the standing stones of Callanish loomed stark and ever mysterious under a frosty, moonless sky, in grandeur second only to Stonehenge in all the British Isles.\u00a0 <\/span>The heart of Callanish centered on a ring of thirteen rough-hewn stones, almost all of which were taller than a man. At the foot of a slender, even taller stone in the center of the circle, the remains of a small chambered tomb-cairn lay half-hidden under a frost-scorched mound of peaty grass and a light powdering of snow.<\/p>\n

A broadening avenue of lesser stones stretched northward from the circle for nearly a hundred yards, with shorter single lines of stones radiating east, west, and south. The overall pattern greatly resembled a slightly skewed Celtic cross, though its unknown builders had laid it out nearly three thousand years before the coming of the Child whose birth was about to be celebrated in Christian lands, and whose adherents had appropriated cruciform shapes to symbolize a new faith.<\/p>\n

The stones themselves were known by more than one name amongst the Gaelic-speaking people of the island. Some called the stones an Fir-Bhreige Chalanois – \u201cThe Deceitful Men\u201d – recalling obscure legends of a band of forsworn outlaws changed into stone by an enchanter. Indeed, in Victorian times, clearance of encroaching peat from a height of four to five feet around the bases of the stones had left a bleached effect on the lower halves that inspired one illustrator to depict the color difference as the clothing of the \u201cdeceitful men,\u201d with a skeleton emerging from the newly uncovered tomb-cairn and winged spirit-forms cavorting in the air above the stones.<\/p>\n

That Callanish had long possessed associations with the supernatural was undoubted. Another name for the site was Tur-sachen, betokening a place of pilgrimage and mourning where, in bygone days, it had been customary for courting couples to come and make their marriage vows. Some few would recall how this local tradition was rooted in a far more distant past, when other seekers had come to Callanish to bind themselves with darker oaths in the brooding presence of powers ancient even when the stones themselves were new.\u00a0 <\/span>The folk who lived within sight of the Callanish Ring had long ago come to terms with its presence. By day, especially in sumfner, when the tourists had retreated to accommodations in the island\u2019s main town of Stornoway, some fifteen miles to the east and north, it was not uncommon to find local children playing among the stones. By night, however, all and sundry tended to keep well clear, content to leave the ancient ring to guard its own secrets. This was especially true in the dead of winter, when the northern darkness closed in early and the bone-numbing chill of the near-Arctic dusk drove people indoors by mid-afternoon, there to huddle gratefully around the warmth of their own hearths as the cold winds blew, with no desire to venture out again.\u00a0 <\/span>On the twenty-first of December, the ice-blue clarity of the lowering twilight promised a night of bitter cold. By five o\u2019clock, the temperature had plummeted past the freezing point. By suppertime, the open ground between the houses was aglitter with traces of gathering frost. Shortly after ten, the last of the village lights winked out.<\/p>\n

Not long thereafter, a small black Mini Cooper bearing four men ghosted quietly through Callanish Village from the north, dousing its lights as it entered the unpaved car park far at the south end of the village. Beyond the wire fence at the edge of the car park, the distant stones of Callanish glistened under crystalline starlight bright enough to cast shadows.<\/p>\n

At that same moment, a compact recreational vehicle was backing into a construction site behind the rocky outcropping known as Cnoc an Tursa, several hundred yards to the other side of the stones, where work had been suspended for the winter on what was scheduled to become a National Trust visitor center for the site. The RV\u2019s weathered paint and air of gentle decrepitude suggested nothing of any dark intent on the part of its occupants as its driver doused the headlights and killed the engine.<\/p>\n

In the car park, silent under the winter stars, the passenger door of the Mini Cooper opened to disgorge two male figures kitted out in snow-camouflage coveralls, ski masks, and infrared night-goggles. Though their brief was to prevent any untoward interruption of what their employer had planned, hopefully by ensuring that no one became aware of anything amiss, both carried long-barrelled pistols loaded with anaesthetic darts – and both were prepared to use the silenced Lu-gers they wore bolstered as backup, if lesser force failed.\u00a0 <\/span>As the second man quietly pressed the car door closed and the Mini Cooper moved off silently along a single-track road, quickly disappearing from sight, his partner was already melting into the shadows near the end of the thatched cottage fronting the car park. With a glance in that direction to mark the location, the second man vaulted a closed gate in the fence and positioned himself behind one of the larger stones marking the northern avenue. When he had settled, he whispered briefly into the slender curve of a miniature microphone close beside his mouth.<\/p>\n

Back at the construction site, inside the darkened RV, Klaus Richter pressed a headset to his ear, nodding as he whispered a brief reply, then turned to his employer, who was sitting in the front passenger seat beside Barclay. Like the men he had just spoken to, all of them wore snow-camouflage.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cErich and Gunther are in position at the upper car park,\u201d he said quietly. \u2018 The Mini is taking up position at the bottom of the road to meet the horse-box when it arrives. Otto will drive it in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcellent,\u201d Raeburn replied. \u201cThen we\u2019ll begin securing the site. Barclay, why don\u2019t you give him a hand?\u201d<\/p>\n

As Barclay headed aft between the two front seats and Rich-ter opened the RV\u2019s side door, Derek Mallory swivelled his chair and moved his medical bag aside to let Richter pull out two zippered duffel bags, one of which he handed to Barclay before the two of them disappeared up a path leading around the dark outcropping that was Cnoc an Tursa.<\/p>\n

Behind Mallory, the white-robed Taliere was seated on the long couch that stretched across the back of the RV, head bowed in the shelter of the robe\u2019s hood. He did not stir as Raeburn donned a headset and then came aft to pull on a similar white robe over his heavy winter clothing. When Raeburn had returned to his seat, silently gazing out at the road where the horse-box was expected, Mallory also drew on a white robe, settling less patiently into the growing chill to wait.<\/p>\n

After perhaps five minutes of this, when Taliere stirred enough to smother a slight cough, Mallory glanced at his watch, then back at the old Druid.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIt\u2019s getting late,\u201d he murmured. \u201cIf those rustic colleagues of yours have gotten lost\u2026\u201d Taliere\u2019s expression could not be read in the darkness, but his voice was sharp with disdain.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey know the island,\u201d he muttered. \u201cThey will be here.\u201d Before Mallory could frame a reply, Raeburn held up a hand and hissed for silence, listening intently to his headset.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe horse-box is on its way up,\u201d he whispered, laying the headset aside. \u201cWe\u2019d best be ready to greet our honored guest.\u201d<\/p>\n

He and Taliere were waiting in front of the RV as a battered white Land Rover towing a horse-box slowed and stopped a few yards past the entrance to the construction area, followed by the Mini. After a slight pause, the Rover reversed the dark bulk of the horse-box neatly into the space to the left of the RV, with the noses of the two vehicles lined up. One of Rich-ter\u2019s men was at the wheel, and alighted from the driver\u2019s side as soon as he had killed the engine and set the brake.<\/p>\n

As the Mini tucked in neatly ahead of him, also disgorging its driver, the Rover\u2019s two other occupants disembarked rather more tentatively, though they let themselves be guided to the rear of the horse-box by the Mini\u2019s driver. They were brawny specimens, already attired in the capacious white woollen robes deemed proper for the night\u2019s work, and looked palpably relieved when Taliere appeared from between the two vehicles. Inside, the hotse-hox, something large and heavy shifted restlessly in the confinement of the narrow space, churning straw underfoot.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet us waste no time,\u201d Taliere whispered, touching each man\u2019s arm in reassurance. \u201cYou know what to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stood aside to watch as they folded down the tailgate of the horse-box, bidding one of Richter\u2019s henchmen assist in spreading a quilted rug on the ramp to muffle the sound of hooves. The animal attached to the hooves was a fine black Angus bull, its eyes rolling white in the surrounding darkness as its handlers entered the compartment and backed it down the ramp, clinging to its halter and a ring through its nose.<\/p>\n

While they gentled the bull, its snorting breath pluming in the cold, Taliere fetched a crown woven of holly and mistletoe from the RV. This he fastened around the bull\u2019s horns, attaching it with two twists of wire and then blowing softly into the bull\u2019s nostrils as he crooned a low-voiced charm. The animal immediately became docile.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know the path to the stones,\u201d Taliere said to his men, ignoring Raeburn\u2019s expression of bemusement. \u201cAwait our coming, outside the circle.\u201d As Taliere withdrew to the RV to finish robing, Raeburn signalled Mallory to accompany the men with the bull, himself returning to the RV to fetch the casket containing the Pictish dagger. This he tucked possessively under one arm while he turned to watch Taliere complete his preparations by the light of a single candle.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was a rather impressive trick with the bull,\u201d he said mildly, as Taliere fastened on a silver necklet incised with ogham figures. The old Druid had already bound a cincture of braided horsehair around his waist, from which hung a tooled-leather bottle and a small sickle of burnished bronze, its blade edge honed to no less a sharpness than the gaze he turned to Raeburn\u2019s darkling reflection in the mirror.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was no trick,\u201d he said in a low voice. \u201cAnd you had better have no trick in mind when we enter the sacred circle. I hope you realize what you are doing.\u201d Raeburn lifted an innocent eyebrow. \u201cDoing? Why, my objective is entirely straightforward, dear Taliere: I wish to renew my alliance with the lord Taranis.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do not question your aim,\u201d Taliere replied, sullenly shouldering a cope-like mantle woven with many-colored feathers. \u201c1 do have grave reservations about your methods.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you have told me, repeatedly,\u201d Raeburn coolly acknowledged. \u201cNevertheless, we shall proceed according to my instructions.\u201d<\/p>\n

Snuffling disapproval, the old Druid donned a feathered headdress in the form of a speckled bird with volant wings, scowling at his reflection as he adjusted it to his liking.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you persist in departing from the old ways, you are inviting trouble,\u201d he warned. \u201cThe rituals I have specified were instituted long ago, when men hearkened more closely to the dictates of nature. To permit – even encourage – interference from modern science is to commit a breach of faith. And by doing so, you risk compromising the results.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is a risk I am prepared to take,\u201d Raeburn said softly.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWould that the risk were yours alone!\u201d Taliere retorted, turning to take up a stout staff of peeled ash wood, its height trimmed to match his own. \u201cThe diligence with which a suppliant is prepared to execute his charge reflects the purity of his intentions. As your mediator in this transaction, I am less than eager to see myself implicated in what might well be perceived as a violation of respect.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou take too much upon yourself,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cIn the final analysis, it will be for the lord Taranis to decide whether or not the bargain I offer him is acceptable – and it is I who offer it, not you! Come. We have important work to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

With these words he blew out the candle and stepped outside, the dagger casket still cradled under one arm. Taliere alighted after him, his back stiff with disapproval, but made no further argument, though he moved as if his limbs were weighted with lead as the two of them trudged along the trail that led to the stones of Callanish.<\/p>\n

They saw the stones as they crested Cnoc an Tursa, stretched before them in the windswept moonlight like an inverted cross, with the sleeping village of Callanish silent in the distance. As they drew nearer, a faint shadow as of ground fog seemed to obscure their view of the central circle of the stones.\u00a0 <\/span>The black bulk of the bull waiting just outside the circle was all but invisible behind the white robes of those attending it. Barclay had robed after arriving at the circle, though his weathered face was set and uncharacteristically pale in the starlight. Mallory had his medical bag tucked under one arm. Richter stood between two of the stones with a wand of birch wood in one hand, surmounted by a fragment of rock crystal.<\/p>\n

\u201cLynxmeister, I give you charge of the circle,\u201d he said in a low voice, offering the wand to Raeburn with a brisk dip of his chin. \u201cTaoiseach, the nemeton is prepared.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bowing, Raeburn handed off the casket to Barclay, then took the wand from Richter and stepped aside, back pressed against one of the stones. He could feel familiar power stirring in his hand as he held the birch wand aloft and the others fell into processional order behind Taliere: first the two assistants flanking the still docile bull, then Barclay and Mallory, and finally Richter, bringing up the rear. When all were in position, Taliere thrice struck the ground between the two stones with the butt of his staff, then lifted his eyes toward the icy stars as he clasped the staff with both hands.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThis is the hour appointed,\u201d he whispered, in a tone both hushed and resonant, \u201cthe hour of darkness that belongs neither to the sun nor to the moon. This is the hour of blood and prophecy. Let all who hunger come forth from the darkness and be present at the feast!\u201d<\/p>\n

The light wind seemed to die, giving way to an expectant hush. The winter stars shone out with sudden, fierce brightness, as if the intervening air had been thinned and rarefied by an abrupt shift in altitude. As the hush lengthened, Taliere drew himself up and stepped through the gap into the compass of the ring.<\/p>\n

Those behind him followed, the bull snuffling in mild protest, for where the air outside the circle had been dark and clear, here within the perimeter it was luridly brightened by the glare of oil lamps set at the four quarters. Once all the members of the procession had passed within, Raeburn stepped inside the circle and scribed his wand three times across the gap between the two stones, then laid it across the threshold in final sealing. Content for the moment to let Taliere take center stage, Raeburn positioned himself beside Barclay, standing with his back to one of the stones, and nodded his readiness for Taliere to continue.<\/p>\n

The old Druid moved to the center stone, between it and the darker depression of the ruined cairn, and halted to bend at the waist in profound obeisance. For a moment he remained thus, silent and with head bowed, gnarled hands knotted together around the neck of his staff. Then slowly he straightened and solemnly began to chant.<\/p>\n

The language he used was not Scots Gaelic, but an ancient Celtic dialect called up out of the distant past. Soft at first, his voice accumulated pitch and force, sending dissonant echoes ricocheting eerily around the circle from stone to stone, though Raeburn knew that the sound could no more pass outside than the light of the lanterns could. The chant peaked to a crescendo, then ceased. In the heavy silence that followed, as Taliere turned to regard his fellow celebrants, his gaze took on an otherworldly sharpness, as did his voice.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cKnow ye that this is the place of oath-fasting, sacred to the Lords Elemental. \u00a0<\/span>Know that these stones were erected to honor Them; nor will They abandon this site for so long as the stones themselves retain their memory.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cTo quicken that memory, I invoke Earth in the presence of Cailleach, Mother of All,\u201d he continued, raising his staff, \u201cand Fire in the person of Gruagach. the Long-haired One. Water I invoke in the presence of Shoney, Lord of the Western Seas. But it is to Taranis, the Thunderer, Lord of the Air, that I stand ready to offer sacrifice. May he be pleased to accept our oblation, and look with favor upon the petitions that we bring!\u201d<\/p>\n

On cue. his two assistants led the bull forward into the shadow of the monolith. \u00a0<\/span>Barclay accompanied them at Rae-burn\u2019s signal, opening the ash-wood box to offer it in oblation.<\/p>\n

Laying aside his staff, the old Druid reverently drew out the ancient meteoric dagger, cold and deadly in the starlight. Pivoting to face the standing stone, he elevated the dagger before him in both hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere is the instrument of sacrifice!\u201d he announced. \u201cBe present, Lord Taranis, in this blade, born of a stone which fell from the sky. Taste and savor the blood we offer in token of our devotion.\u201d<\/p>\n

With this invocation, Taliere turned again and advanced on the bull. Hitherto docile, the big animal flung up its crowned head in sudden uneasiness, snorting in wall-eyed alarm, and it took the combined strivings of both handlers to steady the animal until Taliere could again work his charm.\u00a0 <\/span>But then the bull stood unflinching, hooves planted wide as Taliere moved a step sideways and drew back his arm. And as one of the handlers seized the animal by its nose-ring and wrenched its head upward, a darkling glimmer seemed to shiver along the ancient dagger, lending it life of its own.<\/p>\n

\u201cTaranis!\u201d Taliere cried, as a stunning surge of strength drove his arm down and then up in a deadly arc, the blade rending the vulnerable throat and piercing deep into the brain.<\/p>\n

With a hoarse bellow, the bull started back, but it was already dying. \u00a0<\/span>Nonetheless, the violence of its recoil tore the dagger loose – for Taliere would not relinquish it – widening the wound and sending a dark fountain of blood spraying outward from severed arteries.<\/p>\n

But the big animal was already sinking ponderously to its knees, its crowned head weaving. As Taliere stepped clear, his attendants moved in to steady the dying beast. At the same time, the old Druid raised a blood-drenched arm to point the dagger at Mallory in a summons not to be denied.\u00a0 <\/span>Mallory was ready, though he had not expected the compulsion that accompanied the gesture. Almost without volition, he found himself scurrying closer to press a large stainless-steel basin under the bull\u2019s streaming throat, watching it fill as the animal bled out its life.<\/p>\n

He did not remember returning to his place beside Barclay, though the bowl of blood steaming at his feet testified that he had done so. Taliere had shed his feathered mantle and was watching the bull\u2019s final agonies, the handlers drawing back as it slowly rolled onto its side and was still.<\/p>\n

But Taliere was not finished. Bidding the handlers stand back with another imperious gesture of the ancient dagger, he approached the bull again and, in another display of uncommon strength, bent over the bull\u2019s still-twitching carcass to plunge the blade into the belly, ripping open the body cavity with a single stroke.<\/p>\n

A tangle of entrails spilled onto the ground in a noisome effusion of blood and digestive juices, steam softly rising above the body opening. Back at Mallory\u2019s side, Barclay went a little pale, but Raeburn only moved a half step closer to observe.<\/p>\n

Crouching closer beside the bull, Taliere breathed in the reek of blood and bile as he examined the exposed mass of the bull\u2019s internal organs, poking at some of them with the tip of the dagger, muttering under his breath as he lightly shook his head. After a moment, Raeburn moved impatiently closer to crouch beside him.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWell?\u201d he prompted. \u201cWhat do the signs portend?\u201d The old Druid rocked back on his haunches, gazing almost stupidly at the dagger in his hand – suddenly only a dagger – then lifted his gaze to Raeburn\u2019s, his expression one of consternation.<\/p>\n

\u201cI find the auguries less than favorable,\u201d he said uncertainly. \u201cThis bull you have offered, while outwardly unblemished, possesses a number of hidden imperfections. The heart is slightly enlarged and I have observed a scattering of lesions on the liver.<\/p>\n

\u201cSuch anomalies may point to unforeseen complications which have not yet manifested themselves. Or they may indicate that your own motives in making this offering are less pure than you profess. Either way, I would not advise that we continue this night\u2019s work.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn\u2019s voice was calm, but contained a hint of underlying menace. Taliere set his jaw.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo be wholly acceptable as a sacrifice, the animal in question must be completely without flaw,\u201d he replied. \u201cWhatever the implications of the signs I have noted, there is a very real possibility that the lord Taranis will spurn the offering as unworthy. If you persist under these circumstances, I cannot be answerable for the consequences.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d Glancing around the circle, Raeburn considered for a moment, then shook his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am not frightened by your caveats,\u201d he said quietly. \u201cI require information – and suspension of our quest for that information is not an option, having committed ourselves thus far. As you yourself pointed out earlier, you are our mediator. If the lord Taranis is disposed to be overly dainty in his requirements, I rely upon you to smooth over any difficulties.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter five<\/p>\n

DESPITE Taliere\u2019s grave misgivings, Raeburn remained adamant in his determination to carry on. When it became clear that he would not be moved, the old Druid grudgingly agreed to continue. His assistants appeared less than pleased, but dutifully bent to the task of stripping the bull\u2019s hide from its still-warm carcass – a heavy, messy task that left both men mired with gore.\u00a0 <\/span>While they were busy plying their knives, Taliere took the basin of blood that Mallory had collected and began tracing bloody symbols on the inner faces of the stones that circumscribed the circle, chanting a sibilant singsong under his breath as he did so. From there he returned to the base of the central monolith and proceeded to mark out the perimeter of a smaller circle between it and the sunken depression of the tomb-cairn, with bloody 5 runes radiating outward from the center, like the broken spokes of a wheel.<\/p>\n

While Raeburn observed these preliminaries, his three remaining henchmen were making their own preparations. Moving into the lee of one of the larger stones, Barclay cast off his robe to reveal himself stripped to the buff beneath, shivering as he hastily rewrapped himself in the warmth of a goose-down sleeping bag which Richter shook out and draped around his shoulders. At Mallory\u2019s direction, he hunkered down and then sat at the base of the stone, suffering the physician to apply a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope while Richter rolled up the discarded robe and laid it atop the now empty duffel bags. After a moment, Raeburn drifted back to glance questioningly at Mallory.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s ready for you,\u201d Mallory said, pulling off the blood pressure cuff and returning it to his bag, though he left his stethoscope clamped around his neck as he rose and backed off.<\/p>\n

Huddled motionless under the sleeping bag, Barclay sat with forehead bowed on folded arms atop his knees. He lifted his head as he sensed Raeburn taking Mallory\u2019s place beside him, but his eyes had already taken on a glazed, faraway look, and his breathing was shallow and slow.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo last-minute reservations, I hope?\u201d Raeburn asked.<\/p>\n

Barclay bestirred himself enough to shake his head dreamily. \u201cNo, sir.\u201d \u201cI knew you would not disappoint me,\u201d Raeburn murmured. \u201cThis will be your greatest challenge, but also your finest commission. So long as your nerve holds, I foresee no difficulties.\u201d<\/p>\n

Three days of rigid fasting had sharpened the planes of Barclay\u2019s already lean face and drained him of some of his usual vitality, but the flash of wry grin he offered his employer reaffirmed his customary good humor.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cJust promise me I\u2019ll get that big, juicy steak I\u2019ve been dreaming about, Mr. \u00a0<\/span>Raeburn. And a huge baked potato with lots of sour cream and butter. And plenty of cold beer to wash \u2018em down.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI expect that can be arranged,\u201d Raeburn replied softly, smiling as he laid a hand lightly on one of Barclay\u2019s. \u201cSettle yourself now. You\u2019ve important work to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

Barclay put his forehead back on his knees and closed his eyes in passive anticipation, slipping effortlessly into trance at a few further words from Raeburn. Mallory stood by watching, his expression one of cynical attention, and moved a few steps apart with Raeburn when the latter rose.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cA man of rather ordinary appetites,\u201d he observed. \u201cAre you sure he\u2019s the right man for this job?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave no doubts in that regard,\u201d Raeburn returned frostily. \u201cWhatever his social shortcomings, Mr. Barclay\u2019s talents as a medium are second to none.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut to play host to one of the Patrons – \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cWill constitute a laudable triumph,\u201d Raeburn said. \u201cHelp Richter bring him over to Master Taliere. I believe he\u2019s ready for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

The old Druid was standing impassively beside the bloody bull\u2019s hide, now spread hair-side down beside the rune-marked circle he had earlier inscribed. Half a dozen narrow, bloody strips of bull\u2019s hide dangled from his bloody fingers as he bade Mallory and Richter guide the now somnambulant Barclay to a recumbent position in the center of the hide. The discarded sleeping bag Raeburn wadded under his head for a pillow.<\/p>\n

Without speaking, Taliere crouched to bind rawhide ligatures tightly around Barclay\u2019s ankles, wrists, and upper arms – restriction of blood-flow to subtly shift Barclay\u2019s body chemistry and enhance his altered state. Then he passed a longer strip beneath Barclay\u2019s torso to hold in place the dagger, still bloodied from its kill, which he positioned on Barclay\u2019s chest with the point against his throat.<\/p>\n

Finally, at Taliere\u2019s nod, his assistants moved in to wrap the gory sides of the bull hide close around Barclay\u2019s naked form, one stretching the bloody edges to meet while the other began sewing him tightly into the hide with laces of bloody sinew, starting at his neck and working toward his feet. Barclay seemed to take no note of any physical discomfort, even though his rigid body rocked with the force of each stitch through the tough bull hide.<\/p>\n

After a moment, Raeburn knelt at Barclay\u2019s head and bent to whisper in the pilot\u2019s ear, fingertips tracing a symbol on his forehead and then continuing to stroke the weathered brow.<\/p>\n

\u201cHear me, Barclay, and know this for your mission. The dagger at your breast is the key which will unlock the door to the elemental planes. Once past the threshold, you are to seek out the lord Taranis with this message: Your votaries languish for want of your empowerments, O Mighty One. Return to us and renew our strength. Defend us by your lightnings from our enemies, and we will honor you with offerings of blood and sacrifice. Repeat what I have just said.\u201d Barclay repeated the message three times before Raeburn was satisfied. Each recitation added to the tension building within the circle, but by the third recitation, Taliere\u2019s now thoroughly be-gored assistants had finished their grisly work. When Taliere had pronounced himself satisfied, he directed the pair to shift the cocooned Barclay onto the sleeping bag which Richter and Mallory now spread atop the blood-runes beside the central monolith. When they had zipped him into it, Raeburn crouched at his head and administered a further prompting that sent Barclay plunging even deeper into trance.\u00a0 <\/span>Meanwhile, Taliere had instructed his associates to withdraw to the other side of the circle, where the central monolith blocked much of their view. Richter shifted closer to watch them. When the two had settled, side by side with backs against one of the stones, the old Druid donned his feathered mantle again and crouched opposite Raeburn to anoint Barclay\u2019s forehead with bull\u2019s blood, muttering a charm under his breath. But when he removed the leathern bottle from his belt, Raeburn thrust a restraining hand against his wrist.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI told you to save your potions,\u201d he said to Taliere. \u201cWe have more reliable means for liberating the psyche.\u201d<\/p>\n

The old Druid stiffened. \u201cTradition requires that the emissary be given a draught of mistletoe to speed his spirit on its inward journey.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ve no doubt that such herbals once had their uses,\u201d Raeburn replied. \u201cBut it\u2019s been my experience that modern psy-chotropic equivalents act more predictably, and with fewer unexpected side effects. Dr. Mallory?\u201d Moving forward from beside Richter, Mallory blandly displayed a capped hypodermic syringe. With an explosive exclamation, Taliere sprang to his feet and planted himself indignantly between Mallory and their subject.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cThis is entirely unacceptable!\u201d he protested over his shoulder to Raeburn. \u201cLet me remind you once again that the lord Taranis is one of the higher powers of nature. How can you possibly hope to win his favor when you continue to demonstrate this kind of contempt for the natural world?\u201d His face was flushed with barely controlled anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Behind him, watching from the sidelines, Klaus Richter drew himself up, muscles tensing as he prepared to step in. Raeburn, however, signalled with a glance for the German to hold his position.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour objection is not without merit, Taoiseach,\u201d he acknowledged formally. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cVery well. For the sake of tradition, I will agree to a small dose of this mistletoe brew of yours – in addition to my own methods. But make it no more than a sip. I shouldn\u2019t want to risk another chemical interfering with the effects of Dr. Mallory\u2019s drug.\u201d<\/p>\n

Grudgingly Taliere accepted the compromise. Returning to Barclay\u2019s side, he bent to tip a small measure of mistletoe liquor into the pilot\u2019s mouth, then corked the leathern bottle and rose again to lift his arms above his head in a gesture of invitation.<\/p>\n

\u201cMighty Lord Taranis!\u201d he called out in a loud voice. \u201cHere is one who offers himself as a consecrated vessel. Descend, we implore you, upon this, your servant, and speak to us through his mouth.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mallory, meanwhile, had dropped to one knee at Raeburn\u2019s signal and was scrubbing an alcohol swab over an area just below Barclay\u2019s left ear. Pulling the cap from the hypo with his teeth, he held the barrel briefly to the light of the nearest lamp, then injected its contents directly into the jugular. He had finished almost before Taliere realized what was happening, capping the hypo and dropping it into his open bag as he moved back beside Richter.\u00a0 <\/span>The drug worked quickly, given thus. A shuddering sigh escaped Barclay\u2019s slack lips. An instant later, his eyes flew wide, their dilated gaze shifting sightlessly across the starry firmament overhead. He took a hoarse, choking breath. Then all at once he began to tremble.<\/p>\n

\u201cSeize him, Taranis!\u201d Taliere whispered, sinking to his knees to watch avidly.\u00a0 <\/span>The tremors increased in violence and intensity. Mallory glanced anxiously at Raeburn, but the latter\u2019s gaze was glued to Barclay\u2019s face. Within a matter of seconds, the pilot\u2019s whole body was twitching and jerking uncontrollably, as if caught in a surge of electrical current, his visage contorted in an expression of mingled anguish and ecstasy. Only the confinement of the hide wrappings prevented him from rolling out of the circle painted on the ground.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cTake him, Taranis!\u201d Taliere whispered fiercely, fists clenched at his chest.\u00a0 <\/span>Barclay\u2019s eyes bulged in their sockets as an even stronger convulsion seized him. His jaw gaped, tongue protruding from his mouth like that of a hanged man, and strangled noises began to issue from his throat.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHe\u2019s in trouble!\u201d Mallory muttered, starting forward with his medical bag.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe still, you fool!\u201d<\/p>\n

Taliere\u2019s vehement command stopped Mallory in his tracks no less than Raeburn\u2019s urgent gesture to forbear. Before the young doctor could even consider disobeying, a torrent of garbled speech began pouring from Barclay\u2019s writhing lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you make out what he\u2019s saying?\u201d Raeburn whispered to Taliere.\u00a0 <\/span>The old Druid shook his head. Suddenly Barclay gave a rending shriek, then began to rant in a harsh, rolling voice that patently was not his own.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cCowards! Traitors!\u201d he howled. \u201cHow dare you presume to venture here, thinking with mere words and token oblations to win the ear of the lord Taranis? A curse upon you, false son of Thunder, and a curse upon all who aid you! The Prince of Storms is not to be cozened by oath-breakers such as you! So long as I retain a tongue to speak, you will never gain a hearing in his presence!\u201d The tirade degenerated into incoherent ravings, but not before Raeburn began to discern an eerie note of familiarity in the harsh timbre of the voice. \u00a0<\/span>Stiffening, he placed it: the embittered accents of the man he himself had once hailed as the Head-Master.<\/p>\n

Even as the unwelcome implications of that discovery began to dawn on him, the voice renewed its rantings through the foam-flecked lips of its medium.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cVilest of ingrates! Betrayers of Taranis! May his lightnings scourge the flesh from your bones! May the fury of his storms consume your very souls! May your spirits be raked across the plains of desolation on the talons of the wind! May you never more know rest or resolution!\u201d<\/p>\n

With these words, the voice broke off with another anguished howl. A violent convulsion racked Barclay\u2019s bound form from head to foot. For a moment it seemed as if he must surely either burst his bonds or break his limbs. Then all at once the paroxysm ceased and he went limp.<\/p>\n

The silence that suddenly descended was almost physical. Raeburn was the first to recover. Scrambling closer on hands and knees, he set one hand on Barclay\u2019s forehead and thrust the other hard against the side of his neck, searching for a pulse as Mallory also dashed to their patient\u2019s side and thumped to his knees, himself checking Barclay\u2019s pulse and then frantically rummaging in his medical bag for another preloaded syringe. Barclay was still breathing, but his face was ashen and his heartbeat erratic.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s get him out of this!\u201d Raeburn barked, tearing at the sleeping bag\u2019s zipper and at the same time summoning Richter, who was already on his way.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIt can\u2019t have been the drug,\u201d Mallory protested, as he found what he was looking for and injected Barclay in the neck again.<\/p>\n

Richter produced a Swiss Army knife and began cutting Barclay free of his bull bindings, and once the ancient dagger had been freed, Raeburn used it to assist Richter. Meanwhile, Mallory jammed his stethoscope into his ears and thrust its bell into the growing opening over Barclay\u2019s chest, relaxing a little at what he heard; and Taliere at last bestirred himself to take up the sickle at his belt and use its sharpened blade to cut the ligatures binding Barclay\u2019s arms and ankles. By the time they had the pilot completely freed, both Mallory and his patient had begun to breathe more easily.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought for a minute we were going to lose him,\u201d Mallory murmured, as he and Richter lifted Barclay\u2019s limp and blood-smeared body free of the remnants of the bull hide and laid it on the white robe Raeburn had stripped off and spread beside it. \u201cIf we don\u2019t get him warm pretty quick, we may yet lose him.\u201d As they wrapped Barclay in the robe and Mallory stood long enough to strip off his own, adding it to the first, Richter ran to fetch the robe Barclay had discarded earlier. This, too, was bundled around the hapless pilot. As Mallory wound his blood pressure cuff around Barclay\u2019s slack arm and pumped it up, Richter lifted a corner of the bloody sleeping bag.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want this, too?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, it\u2019ll be clammy from all the blood,\u201d Raeburn replied. He snapped his fingers at Taliere\u2019s two assistants, who had scrambled apprehensively to their feet during the crisis. \u201cYou men, give him your robes. Derek, how\u2019s he doing?\u201d Nodding, the physician released the pressure on the cuff and bent briefly to peer under one of his patient\u2019s eyelids, then slipped his stethoscope from his ears and breathed out a cautious sigh.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s still shocky, but I think we\u2019re past the worst of it. We need to get him back to the RV. I want to put him on oxygen.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d Raeburn said, getting to his feet. \u201cYou men, help carry him,\u201d he said to Taliere\u2019s assistants. \u201cRichter, open the circle and go with them, and recall your men. Taliere and I will finish up here and join you shortly.\u201d Richter nodded acknowledgement, his pale eyes unreadable in the lantern-glare as he retrieved the birch wand and cut a doorway between the two nearest stones. \u00a0<\/span>Before stepping outside, he laid the wand on the grass beside the closest lantern, pointing at the opening.<\/p>\n

Taliere\u2019s assistants meanwhile had folded the discarded sleeping bag with the bloodiest surface inside and zipped it shut, forming a narrow, makeshift stretcher onto which they shifted the unconscious Barclay before lifting it by both ends. As they carried him carefully after Richter, Mallory closed his medical bag and followed along at his patient\u2019s side.\u00a0 <\/span>Taliere watched in stony silence as the party receded against the darker mass of Cnoc an Tursa, turning only when Raeburn brushed past him, the dagger in one hand and Taliere\u2019s staff in the other, to lay the staff beside the open gateway that Richter had left. The old Druid said nothing as he watched the younger man replace the dagger in its casket, which he then slipped into one of the duffel bags lying there.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen you proposed sending this servant of yours to seek audience with the lord Taranis,\u201d Taliere said softly, as Raeburn bent to pick up the nearest lantern, \u201cwhy did you neglect to mention that another – an adversary, moreover – would be there ahead of us to dispute the way?\u201d<\/p>\n

Raeburn had been anticipating a question along those lines, and decided that truth would serve as an answer for now.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy? Because before now, I knew nothing about it myself,\u201d he replied, lifting the lantern to blow it out. \u201cI assure you, I was as much surprised as you were to encounter such violent opposition.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taliere glared at him sourly, following as Raeburn picked up a second lantern, extinguished it, and pressed the handles of both into the old man\u2019s hands.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI find that hard to believe,\u201d Taliere retorted, \u201cgiven that our contact\u2019s animosity seemed to be directed principally toward you. Have you any idea who he might be, that he sees reason to heap curses upon your head?\u201d Raeburn picked up the third lantern and favored the Druid with a calculating glance.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat would you say if I told you that it was none other than the Head-Master?\u201d Just before he extinguished the lantern, he was gratified to see that this announcement had reduced Taliere momentarily to stunned silence.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhen the Hunting Lodge overran his stronghold in the Cairngorms,\u201d Raeburn went on, moving to pick up the fourth lantern, \u201cI urged him to flee, but he refused. \u00a0<\/span>The citadel was levelled soon after, and I assumed that he perished in its fall.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI see now that he must have been caught up, body and spirit, into the realm of eternal storm. The translation,\u201d he finished, with a puff of breath to blow out the last light, \u201cdoes not appear to have improved his sanity.\u201d Digesting this information as Raeburn pressed the last two lanterns into his hands, Taliere turned his gaze distractedly in the direction of the bull\u2019s carcass, now discernible only as a glistening mound under the starlight.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI warned you that the auguries in this matter were unfavorable,\u201d he whispered. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cYou ought to have listened to me. As it is, we have squandered valuable time and resources to no good purpose.\u201d<\/p>\n

Behind him, Raeburn bent to pick up the birch wand from where Richter had left it pointing to the circle\u2019s gateway.<\/p>\n

\u201cOn the contrary,\u201d he said, \u201cwe have gained a revelation which will be of considerable value to us the next time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Taliere stiffened, hardly noticing as Raeburn lifted the wand and turned a full circle counterclockwise, murmuring the words to dispel the illusion that had cloaked their work.<\/p>\n

\u201cNext time?\u201d the old Druid repeated blankly. \u201cThere will not be a next time.\u201d \u201cOf course there will be a next time,\u201d Raeburn replied softly, taking Taliere\u2019s arm. \u201cSurely you don\u2019t think I would let this one temporary setback stand in my way. If we cannot contact the lord Taranis by one method, we shall simply have to find another.\u201d<\/p>\n

As he led Taliere from the circle, the two guards who had been stationed at the upper car park were waiting to take the lanterns Taliere still held, hurriedly packing them away in the remaining duffel bag. Each man shouldered one of the bags as they fell in behind Raeburn and Taliere, one of them pausing to retrieve the old Druid\u2019s staff while the other spoke briefly into his microphone. \u00a0<\/span>Speechless, Taliere allowed himself to be escorted nearly back to the waiting vehicles before he found words to express his displeasure.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cFrancis, this cannot continue,\u201d he whispered, as they approached the RV. \u201cYou may do as you like – you always have – but if you intend to persist in this rash course of action, then you will have to do it without my help. I have already been persuaded to compromise my principles, by assisting you thus far. I cannot allow my integrity to be further eroded by continuing this association.\u201d Shaking his head, Raeburn glanced casually back at the men following them, then ahead to where a faint glow spilled from the open side door of the RV, between it and the Land Rover. The darker silhouette of the Mini Cooper was just visible beyond the Rover, positioned to lead out. The driver of the Mini was half-sitting against the RV\u2019s near front bumper, but he came to his feet and moved a little closer as Raeburn and Taliere approached. Of Taliere\u2019s two assistants there was no sign.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry you feel that way, Taoiseach,\u201d Raeburn said softly, as they passed between the horse-box and the rear of the RV. \u201cI suppose you speak for your associates as well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do,\u201d Taliere said stiffly.<\/p>\n

\u201cA pity.\u201d<\/p>\n

Even as Raeburn\u2019s hand tightened on Taliere\u2019s elbow, a soft call from inside the RV summoned the Mini\u2019s driver to the open door to reach in and take the booted feet of a slack, burly form. Taliere gasped as the rest of the form emerged, the head and shoulders of one of Taliere\u2019s assistants supported by Rich-ter, but heavy hands on his own shoulders from behind warned the Druid not to cry out.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cDear God, what have they done to him?\u201d he said, his voice breaking in a muffled sob as he watched Richter and his man drag their dead or unconscious charge toward the front of the Land Rover. He turned his gaze to the face of the man who suddenly had become his captor. Raeburn\u2019s smile was as cold as a shark\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dear Taliere,\u201d Raeburn purred, \u201cI should have thought it would be obvious. \u00a0<\/span>Your associates were always expendable, but tonight\u2019s little setback has sealed their fate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut – \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cThink about it: After what happened tonight, did you really think I could risk having my involvement discovered through some accident of indiscretion? As you cannot have failed to notice, I already have more than my share of powerful enemies looking for me; I don\u2019t need the civil authorities as well. Sometimes, for the greater strategy of the game, a few pawns must be sacrificed.\u201d \u201cAre they dead?\u201d Taliere asked numbly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, but they will have to die,\u201d Raeburn replied, not unkindly, as Richter returned to direct the removal of Taliere\u2019s second associate from the RV. \u201cIf it\u2019s any consolation, Dr. Mallory tells me the preparation will have been relatively painless. It always amazes me what can be done with a couple of bottles of cheap whisky, a funnel, and a few feet of rubber tubing in the hands of someone medically trained – and with a whiff or two of chloroform to ease the inevitable resistance. I believe Mr. Richter has an accident in mind: alas, too much drink before driving an altogether too treacherous road.\u201d While Raeburn spoke, Taliere\u2019s second assistant was carried away, and the men accompanying Raeburn and the Druid had stowed the duffel bags and Taliere\u2019s staff in the RV. As Richter returned to fetch two fresh liquor bottles, lifting them to the old mas in ironic salute before heading back toward the Land Rover, Raeburn gently removed Taliere\u2019s headdress and feathered mantle and handed them off to one of Richter\u2019s men to stow. Taliere did not resist as Raeburn took him by the elbow and guided him to the door of the RV, but he shook off the other\u2019s grip and mounted the step himself.<\/p>\n

Inside, Mallory was adjusting an oxygen mask on the still unconscious Barclay, who was stretched out on the couch across the back of the cabin and wrapped in a bright silver thermal blanket. The physician turned as Raeburn and Taliere entered, picking up a loaded hypodermic syringe while Raeburn pushed his captive into one of the padded swivel chairs toward the front. Outside, the engines of the Mini Cooper and then the Land Rover rumbled to life, the two vehicles pulling out just before Richter and one of his men entered the RV and closed the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cTime to settle in for a long ride, Taoiseach,\u201d Raeburn said softly, as Richter\u2019s man went forward and Richter himself came to hold the old man for Mallory\u2019s ministrations. \u201cDr.<\/p>\n

Mallory is going to give you something to relax you.\u201d Taliere turned his face away as the deed was done, not resisting, his eyes dull with incomprehension. When Mallory had returned to his other patient, turning out the interior lights in favor of a small pocket flashlight, and Richter had retreated to the front passenger seat, Raeburn slid into the chair beside Taliere, carefully buckling the old man\u2019s seat belt.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do you not just kill me and be done with it?\u201d the Druid asked, as the RV\u2019s engine turned over with a muffled purr. \u201cWhy should I be spared, when my associates must die? They trusted me, Francis, and you have betrayed that trust.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do I spare you?\u201d Raeburn said, himself buckling up. \u201cWhy, I entertain the fond notion that you may still prove useful to me. At very least, you have provided me with an abundance of red herrings to confound those who would try to interfere with my plans. Why do you think I didn\u2019t bother cleaning up the physical evidence at the circle? Investigating it will give the police something to occupy their time, but they haven\u2019t the resources to learn much from it. And if, by chance, tonight\u2019s work should come to the attention of some higher investigative authority, the signature of power is yours, not mine.\u201d As the RV pulled quietly onto the road and began its slow progress back toward Stornoway, Taliere turned his face away and closed his eyes, not bothering to fight as Mallory\u2019s sedative dragged him gently into oblivion.<\/p>\n

chapter six <\/p>\n

I can\u2019t claim to be an experienced judge of such matters,\u201d Adam said the next morning, over breakfast with Ximena, \u201cbut in my humble estimation, your niece\u2019s nativity play went extremely well.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it did, didn\u2019t it?\u201d Ximena agreed, pausing to spread wild blackberry jam on a bite of warm croissant. \u201cI hope your memory is in good working order. Dad is going to want a full account.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought that\u2019s why you and Laurel took so many photographs,\u201d Adam said, amused.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe photos are just the starting point,\u201d Ximena replied. \u201cThey don\u2019t cover the backstage details – which, as far as Dad\u2019s concerned, is where the meat of the entertainment lies. More coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease!\u201d Adam said with feeling. \u201cIf only to hone my faculties as a drama critic.\u201d<\/p>\n

They were breakfasting together in the small dining area adjoining Ximena\u2019s kitchen, both wrapped in terry-cloth robes. It was early yet, and the sun was shining diaphanously through tattered mist outside the windows. Watching as Ximena deftly replenished his cup from a glass cafetiere, Adam marvelled anew at the unstudied grace that seemed to invest her every move. Even at rest, she had the lissom poise of a gypsy dancer.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou make me think of scenes from the court paintings of Goya,\u201d he remarked fondly. \u201cIt takes very little effort to imagine you in a lace mantilla.\u201d \u201cEver the romantic!\u201d Ximena laughed. She returned the cafetiere to its place on the starched damask tablecloth, then glanced at her watch.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cGood heavens, is that the time?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, are we late?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet,\u201d she conceded. \u201cBut we can only afford the luxury of lingering over our fancies for another quarter of an hour. After that, I have to start getting ready to cut a professional figure in the eyes of the workaday world.\u201d At nine o\u2019clock Ximena was scheduled to deliver a lecture on triage procedures for the benefit of new trainees on staff. Following the lecture, Teresa Lockhart would be meeting them at the hospital so that they could all be in attendance together during her husband\u2019s morning period of wakefulness. Provisional plans had been made for Ximena and Adam to break away for lunch together out on Fisherman\u2019s Wharf, but Adam was well aware how those plans might have to be rewritten at a moment\u2019s notice.<\/p>\n

While he was finishing his second cup of coffee, Ximena went and fetched the collection of Polaroid photographs from the night before. A whimsical smile played about her lips as she flicked through the stack.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cA penny for your thoughts?\u201d Adam offered, noticing her expression.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI suppose I was just\u2026 remembering,\u201d she said wistfully, jogging the stack of photos into an orderly pile. \u201cChristmas is such a special time for children.\u201d \u201cI know what you mean,\u201d Adam agreed. \u201cYou may remember that my friend Christopher has two young daughters – incorrigible charmers, the pair of them. \u00a0<\/span>I\u2019ve promised myself the pleasure of shopping for something really special to bring back for them. Something out of the ordinary that wouldn\u2019t be available in any of the toy shops back in Scotland.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can recommend a good place for you to start,\u201d Ximena said. \u201cThere\u2019s a little shop in the Mission District that does handcrafted wooden toys. I\u2019ll be sure to take you there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou sound as if you know the place well,\u201d Adam said.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI suppose I do,\u201d Ximena said with a small laugh. \u201cBrowsing in toy shops has always been a favorite pastime of mine. Having a four-year-old niece is a good excuse to indulge in it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam debated with himself a moment, then decided to speak his mind. \u201cHaving children of your own is an even better excuse,\u201d he pointed out softly.\u00a0 <\/span>Ximena avoided meeting his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she agreed. \u201cI seem to recall my dad saying much the same thing.\u201d She stopped and bit her lip. When she found her voice again, it had the air of one determined to change the subject.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was the best Christmas present you ever received as a child?\u201d she asked.\u00a0 <\/span>Adam thought before answering. \u201cI\u2019d have to say it was my first pony,\u201d he told her. \u201cShe was a lovely little dapple-grey who went by the name of Felicity. She was ten years old – twice my age at the time – and my father said she was sensible enough for both of us. The following summer she carried me to my first-ever pony club victory. I still have that rosette somewhere. I suppose it\u2019s one of my most treasured childhood mementoes.\u201d He set his cup aside and smiled. \u201cWhat about you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ximena straightened up in her seat, her gaze reminiscent.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI think it would have to be the doll\u2019s house my father made for me when I was eight. It wasn\u2019t just a house, it was a palace. Dad modelled it on one of the Moorish castles he visited in southern Spain. It had arches, and turrets, and trellises – even a facsimile of a fountain in the central courtyard. Needless to say, I was completely enraptured. It wasn\u2019t until much later, when I grew up, that I came to understand what a labor of love it was.\u201d \u201cWhat became of it?\u201d Adam asked. \u201cIs it still in your parents\u2019 house?\u201d Ximena nodded. \u201cMother\u2019s looking after it until Emma\u2019s old enough to appreciate it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam cocked an eyebrow at her. \u201cYou don\u2019t think you might one day have a daughter of your own to pass it on to?\u201d<\/p>\n

This time Ximena met his gaze squarely. \u201cI won\u2019t deny I haven\u2019t fantasized about it now and then,\u201d she told him. \u201cBut that belongs to a future I can\u2019t begin to plan as long as my father needs me. God knows, he devoted himself to my brothers and me when we were small. The least I can do is be here for him now, doing whatever I can to make what life he has left a blessing, not a curse.\u201d The silence that followed was painfully brittle. Ximena drew a deep breath before continuing, her voice suddenly trembling under the stress of her emotions.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, this may be heresy,\u201d she said quietly, \u201cbut I can\u2019t help asking what my father ever did to deserve a fate like this. He\u2019s always been a good and upright man, a man of principle and integrity. Surely he deserved better than to end his life like this\u2026 suffering so.\u201d<\/p>\n

The slight catch in her voice was like the first crack to appear in a dike. It bespoke a crisis of faith that had been many months in the building. But Adam had seen enough of human grief, in his personal life as well as his professional experience, to recognize the thorny issue that lay at the heart of the matter.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWhat you really want to know,\u201d he amended quietly, \u201cis, \u2018Why do bad things happen to good people?\u2019 Or, if you prefer, \u2018How can any God worthy of the name permit such a blatant miscarriage of Divine justice?\u2019 You\u2019re hardly the first to ask such questions, and you certainly won\u2019t be the last. 1 pondered the problem long and hard myself when my own father passed away.\u201d \u201cAnd what conclusions, if any, did you come to?\u201d<\/p>\n

To answer obliquely, Adam realized, would be tantamount to condescension. <\/p>\n

Nothing less than total honesty would do.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me see if I can articulate this without sounding like a psychiatrist,\u201d he said. \u201cFirst of all, I\u2019ve come to understand that suffering is not to be seen as Divine retribution for some past unatoned sin. On the contrary, it\u2019s simply one of the dangers inherent in being the mortal creatures that we are.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHuman beings appear to be unique amid the whole of creation, for having both a spiritual and a physical aspect to their existence,\u201d he went on. \u201cAs physical creatures, we\u2019re subject to the same natural laws that govern the rest of material creation. Nothing stands still in the material world; everything is caught up in a complex pattern of cause and effect. If these overlapping patterns of change now and then give rise to some destructive natural event in our vicinity – say, an earthquake, or an accident, or the encroachment of some deadly disease – we\u2019re compelled by our physical nature to suffer the consequences.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand that much,\u201d Ximena said. \u201cWhat I don\u2019t understand is, If God is as loving and benevolent as Scripture claims, why doesn\u2019t this God intervene and stop us from becoming victims of these natural disasters?\u201d \u201cBecause such intervention would violate the conditions that enable man to operate according to his own free will.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow does that follow?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cA fair enough question. One of the proofs that we have a spiritual, as well as a physical, side to our makeup is our ability to override natural instincts to control our own behavior. In other words, we are free to make conscious, evaluative choices regarding what we do and how we do it. In order for us to exercise that freedom of choice, however, the surrounding world in which we operate has got to be coherent and consistent. Do away with these governing principles, and you\u2019re left with nothing but chaos – a chaos as devoid of meaning as it is of morality.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re saying that God can\u2019t set aside His own law?\u201d she asked.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cOf course He can,\u201d Adam replied, \u201csince, by definition, God is omnipotent. But He doesn\u2019t; nor should He. If God were to suspend every process that might have destructive consequences, the effect would be to undo creation itself. A world governed by natural laws, therefore, is the only world possible. If, in the process, the physical body falls victim to the operation of those natural laws, that is the price we pay for spiritual immortality – the voluntary ability to seek and find union with God.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI suppose this is meant to give me comfort,\u201d Ximena said miserably.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIt is,\u201d he replied softly. \u201cBecause this much is also true: that when the physical body fails. God is on hand to guide the spirit home.\u201d She gazed at him for a long moment, then said softly, \u201cYou really believe that, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know it,\u201d he corrected.<\/p>\n

Sighing, Ximena set her hand on his.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish I had your faith,\u201d she said. \u201cMaybe you could spare me some.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s been my experience,\u201d Adam said, \u201cthat those who want faith are given it – and from a source that flows far stronger and clearer than my own.\u201d Ximena had little to say while they dressed and made their way to the hospital. \u00a0<\/span>It was plain from her expression that she was deep in thought. What the outcome of her musings would be, Adam could not begin to predict. He could only hope that he had succeeded in pointing her toward some resolution.<\/p>\n

While she was off giving her presentation, he made his way up to the floor where <\/p>\n

her father was in residence. Alan Lock-hart was still asleep – if his <\/p>\n

drug-induced state of temporary oblivion could rightly be called that. After <\/p>\n

re-introducing himself to the nursing staff and acquainting them with his <\/p>\n

credentials, Adam took advantage of Ximena\u2019s absence to read over her father\u2019s medical records in careful detail. He was pondering the results of his reading when Lockhart\u2019s attending physician arrived for morning rounds.\u00a0 <\/span>Dr. Andrew Saloa was a big, hearty man whose smooth, coffee-brown skin and almond eyes proclaimed his Polynesian background. Once Adam had identified himself both as a physician and friend of the family, Saloa proved more than happy to discuss the case. Adam could see from the outset that his colleague had a lively sympathy and liking for his patient – qualities which Adam regarded as essential under the circumstances. He was further encouraged by the fact that Saloa made no secret of the fact that he was at a loss to account for the lengthy duration of Lockhart\u2019s illness.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy do some cancer patients succumb within a few weeks or months, while others manage to hold out long past what anyone might expect?\u201d he observed to Adam with a genial shrug. \u201cIf I could come up with an explanation for that, I\u2019d be well on my way to a Nobel prize. What we do know is that those who have some strong reason to live tend to hold out far longer than those who simply give up. But then, as a psychiatrist, you probably know far more than I do about the power of mind over matter.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam could only agree that Lockhart must have some powerful motivation for hanging on, though he could hazard no guesses, based on so short an acquaintance.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, he\u2019s hanging on, for whatever the reason,\u201d Saloa said. \u201cI can\u2019t but admire his fortitude, but I have to tell you that I\u2019m not at all satisfied with his pain management.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI believe young Austen intends to speak to you about increasing his father\u2019s medication,\u201d Adam offered.<\/p>\n

\u201cBelieve me, I\u2019d love to,\u201d Saloa replied. \u201cUnfortunately, Alan is a very stubborn man. I tried him on patient-controlled analgesia, but he wouldn\u2019t use it often enough. He contends that the level of painkiller he really needs leaves him too muddle- headed to make the most of the time he has left. I respect that decision, but I know it periodically makes his existence a living hell. I wish there were an alternative.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPerhaps there is,\u201d Adam said. \u201cHas anyone suggested trying hypnosis?\u201d \u201cFunny you should ask that,\u201d Saloa replied. \u201cOnly yesterday, I was reading a Lancet article about using hypnosis as an alternative – or at least an adjunct – to drug analgesia. But I\u2019ve no experience with hypno-technique, and don\u2019t know anyone on the staff here who does. Unless you might possibly have some expertise in that area?\u201d he added, with a shrewd glance at Adam.\u00a0 <\/span>Adam smiled. \u201cAs luck would have it, it\u2019s rather a specialty of mine. I\u2019d be more than happy to offer my services, if you think your patient might benefit.\u201d \u201cI\u2019m certainly willing to give it a try,\u201d Saloa said. \u201cBut the deciding vote will have to come from Alan himself, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen, if you have no objection, I\u2019ll put the suggestion to him at the first likely opportunity.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do that,\u201d Saloa replied. \u201cI\u2019ll leave you to choose your moment.\u201d Adam accepted the other doctor\u2019s cordial invitation to be present during his morning visitation. Lockhart was just rousing when they entered his room. A night\u2019s rest had brought the sick man a fragile measure of restoration, but the sunshine streaming in through the window only served to highlight the parchment-like transparency of his skin.<\/p>\n

Lockhart greeted both doctors warmly, though his expression indicated some surprise at seeing Adam in the absence of his family. Saloa conducted his routine examination with relaxed efficiency, his medical inquiries deftly intermingled with bantering small-talk. When he was finished, he bade his patient goodbye and absented himself in a show of breezy good humor. Left alone with Adam, Lockhart quirked an ironic eyebrow.<\/p>\n

\u201cI gather you\u2019ve been powwowing with Saloa,\u201d he observed. \u201cHe\u2019s a good man. \u00a0<\/span>You\u2019ve also managed to give my daughter the slip. What brings you back here all on your own?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam smiled. \u201cShe\u2019s busy teaching just now. Besides that, I got the distinct impression you wanted to speak with me further. I thought you might find the conversation less tiring if there were just the two of us present.\u201d Lockhart\u2019s gaze conveyed full appreciation for what Adam was suggesting. \u201cYou\u2019re very perceptive,\u201d he said. \u201cPull up a chair. Now, where were we, when we were so rudely interrupted by my obstreperous granddaughter?\u201d \u201cI seem to recall being encouraged to go on at length about my pet restoration project,\u201d Adam said, settling into a chair close beside the head of Lockhart\u2019s bed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe tower-house, yes,\u201d Lockhart murmured. \u201cXimena tells me that the property itself has been in your family for many generations. It must be very satisfying to see this monument to your family\u2019s history brought back to life.\u201d \u201cMy workmen and I have met with our share of obstacles along the way,\u201d Adam said, \u201cnot least of which is the problem of how to incorporate such modern-day necessities as electricity, plumbing, and heating, without doing violence to the structural design. But we\u2019re making progress. One day I hope to be able to take up residence there, at least for part of the year. Your daughter has been gracious enough to indulge my bit of whimsy.\u201d<\/p>\n

This observation drew a wan grin from his listener.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHardly whimsy, where my daughter is concerned,\u201d Lock-hart replied. \u201cShe has a lively interest in history. Even as a child, she was fascinated by ruins. When she was twelve, we took her with us on a trip down to Chichen Itza. The expression on her face when we arrived at the city was something I\u2019ve never forgotten.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam listened with complete attention as Lockhart reminisced about this and other trips he had taken with his wife and children. The recollections helped Adam begin to build a comprehensive picture of the relationship the older man shared with his daughter. Lockhart was manifestly proud of Ximena\u2019s personal and professional achievements, but it troubled him that, for all her talents and abilities, she had yet to find a place to anchor her affections.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cShe\u2019s always been in love with a challenge,\u201d Lockhart mused, almost as if he were thinking out loud. \u201cWhen she was little, I thought I was doing the right thing by encouraging her to exercise her intellectual curiosity. Now I begin to wonder if I pushed her too far in that direction. In nurturing her academic development, did I also, unwittingly, encourage her to neglect her emotional growth and satisfaction?<\/p>\n

\u201cYou haven\u2019t been a father – yet,\u201d he continued, \u201cso I\u2019m going to tell you something about parenthood that you may not realize. You\u2019ll want your children to have everything you never had, everything you ever had, and then some. You\u2019ll want them to partake in full measure of all the joys, wonders, and pleasures you\u2019ve ever tasted in this life. And so far, Ximena\u2019s only halfway there.\u201d \u201cWhat do you feel she\u2019s in danger of missing?\u201d Adam asked quietly.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cA family of her own,\u201d Lockhart said bluntly. \u201cWhat my daughter needs now, more than anything else in her life, is a reason to look beyond the day after tomorrow. Having a husband and children would give her that change in perspective. Responsibilities like these would encourage her to shift her sights toward a future greater and more far-ranging than her next career move.\u201d \u201cDo you regret her professional success?\u201d Adam asked.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cGood heavens, no! That\u2019s just the point. She\u2019s woman enough to have it all. I want her to have it all. But she has to find it for herself. And I\u2019m not sure she\u2019s looking in the right places – or if she is, she\u2019s blinding herself to what\u2019s staring her in the face.\u201d<\/p>\n

As the older man paused to gather his strength, Adam wisely said nothing, for he sensed that Lockhart was building up to some point in particular. That suspicion was confirmed when Ximena\u2019s father spoke again.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, I have to tell you something. I\u2019ve always been a man of my word, and I know enough not to give that lightly. Upholding one\u2019s word is, after all, a matter of personal honor. I\u2019ve never made a promise I didn\u2019t mean to keep, and I\u2019ve always done my best to follow through. And that puts me in a very difficult position now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam raised an eyebrow in inquiry but did not speak.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cXimena probably doesn\u2019t remember this,\u201d Lockhart continued, \u201cbut when she was eight she made me promise I would come to her wedding. I gave that promise solemnly, in good faith. And it goes hard with me now that I may not be able to keep it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d An inkling of the reason for Lockhart\u2019s continued survival suddenly became clear to Adam. \u201cDoes that mean you wish you hadn\u2019t made it?\u201d Lockhart gave a gasp of laughter. \u201cGod, no! But that\u2019s one reason why I\u2019ve been looking forward to your visit – wanting to see what kind of man you are. I\u2019ve been hoping you\u2019d be the one my daughter\u2019s been looking for all her life. Are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam did not allow his gaze to waver, for Lockhart deserved an honest answer.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he told the other man truthfully. \u201cFor my own part, I think she\u2019s what I\u2019ve been looking for – and we\u2019ve certainly talked about marriage, if mainly in the abstract. But so far, she hasn\u2019t seemed disposed to commit herself.\u201d<\/p>\n

After an uncomfortable pause, Lockhart whispered, \u201cIt\u2019s because of me, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf so,\u201d Adam said quietly, \u201cyou may be sure it was only out of love.\u201d \u201cDear God,\u201d Lockhart said, almost inaudibly – for, like Adam, he now was forced to consider the ironic possibility that, by postponing all decisions regarding love and marriage, Ximena might unwittingly have made him feel impelled to cling to life long past all reason – and thereby sentenced him to needless suffering.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cAdam,\u201d he said softly, \u201cmaybe it\u2019s time to talk to my daughter again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes this mean I have your official permission to renew my suit?\u201d Adam asked.\u00a0 <\/span>A ghost of a smile touched Lockhart\u2019s ashen lips. \u201cOf course you do – and I won\u2019t ask you to promise me anything. But if you\u2019re even half the man I think you are, and my daughter has even half the sense I give her credit for, the two of you ought to be able to come to some understanding.\u201d \u201cI\u2019ll do my best to justify your faith in me,\u201d Adam said, smiling. \u201cAnd here\u2019s my hand on it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He reached down, enfolding Lockhart\u2019s skeletal fingers in a firm, light hold that was more than a handshake. Recognizing the grip of a Master Mason, Lockhart shot Adam a look suddenly luminous with pleasure and surprise.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cYou\u2026\u201d he breathed.<\/p>\n

Adam nodded, meeting the older man\u2019s gaze with steady reassurance. \u201cYes, I am your brother, sworn in faith. As your brother – and I hope as your friend – I swear that I will do everything in my power to safeguard the welfare and happiness of the daughter you love.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lockhart\u2019s frail hand returned the clasp, tears welling in his eyes, beyond the need to speak. For a long moment, the two men remained thus, in silent affirmation of their common bond.<\/p>\n

Then the sound of the door latch broke the spell. Their hands parted only seconds before Ximena and her mother entered the room. Adam rose easily to his feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, there you are, Adam,\u201d Ximena said, as she and her mother came to greet her father. \u201cGood morning, Dad. Did you have a good night?\u201d \u201cActually, a bit better than most,\u201d he assured her with a smile. \u201cTeresita, did you bring me the pictures from Emma\u2019s play?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did,\u201d Teresa replied, \u201cand I can assure you that our granddaughter performed exactly like an angel!\u201d<\/p>\n

While she sat down at her husband\u2019s bedside to share the photos, Ximena slipped an arm through Adam\u2019s and casually drew him aside.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cIt looks as if you and Dad have been finding plenty to talk about,\u201d she remarked.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe continue to discover how much we have in common,\u201d Adam said. \u201cHe\u2019s a fine man. Tell me, is there someplace we can go, away from here? A chapel, maybe?\u201d Ximena looked at him slightly askance. \u201cThere\u2019s a meditation room downstairs.\u201d \u201cThen let\u2019s excuse ourselves, shall we?\u201d Adam said. \u201cI\u2019d like a few words with you in private.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter seven<\/p>\n

THE meditation room was a tiny, intimate retreat tucked away on the ground floor at the far end of the lobby. Perhaps eight feet by ten, it housed two small pews capable of seating three to four people, a lectern against the far wall, and a stained-glass panel suspended in front of a floor-to-ceiling ivory curtain that filtered the light from a window beyond. The panel, done in blues and rich jewel-tones of gold and crimson, read: The Lord bless thee and keep thee. At the rear of the room, a small shelf held a vase of dried flowers and copies of the Bible and the Torah.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood, there\u2019s no one here,\u201d Ximena said, leading Adam inside and closing the door. \u201cNow, what on earth did my father say to you that made you want to bring me all the way down here to tell me about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Given the tragic ironies of the situation, Adam knew he was going to have to tread delicately. Smiling gently, he drew Ximena to sit beside him in the rear pew.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe said very little on his own account,\u201d he told her. \u201cMostly, we talked about you. It won\u2019t come as any surprise to you to hear that he loves you very much. \u00a0<\/span>What you may not realize is the scope of the many aspirations he cherishes on your behalf.\u201d<\/p>\n

A small, puzzled furrow appeared between Ximena\u2019s winged eyebrows.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI know he\u2019s always wanted me to be happy and successful,\u201d she said. After a moment\u2019s hesitation, she added, \u201cHave I somehow failed to satisfy him on those accounts?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam mentally drew a deep breath. \u201cLet us say that his satisfaction in life won\u2019t be complete until he feels that yours is.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ximena\u2019s perplexity deepened. \u201cI\u2019m not sure I understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let me see if I can help,\u201d Adam said, choosing his words carefully. <\/p>\n

\u201cForgive me if, for a moment, I sound like a psychiatrist again.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cEveryone has some notion of what it would take to make him or her perfectly happy. Happiness is frequently denned as that state of contentment which an individual experiences when he or she has satisfied a significant number of personal goals. It\u2019s a sense that one\u2019s life is in balance – an awareness of personal harmony that comes from living out one\u2019s highest aspirations and promises. In short, it\u2019s the conscious attainment of wholeness which thereafter becomes the rock upon which the rest of life can confidently be founded. \u00a0<\/span>\u2018Fulfillment\u2019 might be an apt one-word descriptor.\u201d<\/p>\n

He broke off, his dark eyes earnestly searching hers, but she turned her gaze away.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you trying to tell me?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you feel your life is already complete as it is, then your father needs to be assured of the fact,\u201d he replied. \u201cIf not, it might set his mind at ease to know that you\u2019re at least aware of what you truly want, and have some notion how to go about getting it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He paused to give Ximena a chance to offer comment. When she remained mute, only lowering her eyes, he forced himself to continue.<\/p>\n

\u201cXimena, yesterday you asked me to promise to think only of the present, and I agreed,\u201d he reminded her. \u201cNow I\u2019d like to ask you to change that perspective. \u00a0<\/span>I\u2019d like you to overleap all thoughts of the present and think about the future.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow far into the future?\u201d Ximena asked. Her face was pale and her voice strained, and she would not meet his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cFar enough to put yourself beyond any of the grief you\u2019re no doubt anticipating,\u201d Adam said. \u201cMaybe five years from now. If you could shape that future any way you wanted, where would you like to be, and what would you like to be doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ximena plucked at a fold of her skirt, still not looking at him. \u201cYou\u2019ll have to give me a minute or two to think about that,\u201d she murmured. \u201cYou\u2019ve got to understand that for over a year I\u2019ve been teaching myself to take things one day at a time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand completely,\u201d Adam said. \u201cTake as long as you want.\u201d He settled down to wait, one arm resting along the back of the pew but not daring to touch her. After a moment, she buried her face in her hands and was motionless for a very long time. When she raised her head at last, she had recovered some measure of her usual composure. She spoke softly, and with great deliberation, as she redirected her attention to Adam\u2019s watchful face.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMy father used to say that building a future for yourself is a bit like designing a house,\u201d she said. \u201cYou draw up the plans to meet your expectations, then start in on the construction. Sometimes there are builders\u2019 strikes or shortages of materials, and sometimes you have to modify the plans, but you go on as and when you can.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe way it looks right now, my future has more than its share of empty rooms,\u201d she said more firmly. \u201cBut I know what I\u2019d like to put in them, if I were allowed to have my way.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease go on,\u201d Adam said softly, as she glanced at him for reassurance.\u00a0 <\/span>She nodded, her gaze shifting unfocused to a point on the back of the pew before them.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy career will always be important to me,\u201d she said, \u201cbut it isn\u2019t everything and it certainly isn\u2019t enough. Above and beyond the satisfactions of being a doctor, I want to love and be loved in return. I want children to cherish and nurture in celebration of that union. I want the joy of growing old in fond companionship. In other words,\u201d she finished on a softer note, looking up at him beseechingly, \u201cI want you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s heart swelled within him, and his hand shifted to her shoulder. But before he could say anything, Ximena laid a silencing finger tenderly across his lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, let me finish, darling. This isn\u2019t easy to say, and I don\u2019t want to lose my nerve. I know I\u2019ve caused you no end of frustration in the last year or so, with all my dithering and indecision. At the same time, I guess the fact that you\u2019re here means you don\u2019t intend to hold that against me. With all you\u2019ve put yourself through on my account, you deserve to hear me say that there isn\u2019t anything I wouldn\u2019t do to redress the balance – that is, if you think you\u2019re still willing to have me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Their eyes met. Ximena\u2019s were bright beyond all shadow of remaining doubt, and answered whatever hesitation Adam himself might have entertained. Only barely containing his joy, he took her hand and turning her palm up, kissed it with a tenderness approaching reverence.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is not the setting I imagined,\u201d he told her gravely. \u201cCertainly not the one this moment deserves – but it will have to do.\u201d<\/p>\n

In a single fluid movement, he left the bench and sank down on one knee before her, keeping her hand in his.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve talked about marriage before, but never come directly to the sticking point,\u201d he continued. \u201cWell, I\u2019m coming to the point now. I would give you the sun, the moon, and the stars thrown in, if that would make you happy. Will you marry me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ximena was wavering between laughter and tears. With her free hand she dashed the wetness from her eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, you dear fool, of course I will!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cJust tell me when and where.\u201d<\/p>\n

Although Dr. Philippa Sinclair was American born and bred, and currently residing in New Hampshire, she had spent more than half of her life in Scotland as the wife of a Scottish laird. Among the British customs she had adopted in the course of her marriage was the time-honored ritual of afternoon tea.\u00a0 <\/span>That custom had been introduced as a regular feature at the private psychiatric clinic at which Philippa was chief consultant. On the twenty-second of December, she was taking tea in the parlor with senior members of staff when one of the secretaries poked her head into the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Sinclair, I have your son on the line. He says he\u2019s ringing from San Francisco.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Adam? Good heavens. Put it through to my office, please, Janine.\u201d She had known, of course, that Adam was stateside. He had rung her from his hotel in Houston, primarily to advise her of his safe arrival, but they had also spent some time discussing the situation he expected to encounter when he joined Ximena on the West Coast. En route to her office, as she calculated the time difference between California and New Hampshire, she concluded that something significant must have occurred to warrant Adam\u2019s phoning in the middle of the day.<\/p>\n

Her first thought – that Adam was calling to report the death of Ximena\u2019s father – was put to flight the moment she heard her son\u2019s voice, buoyed up with a strange note of excitement that conveyed a wide range of emotion.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cPhilippa,\u201d he said, \u201care you sitting down?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d his mother said astringently. \u201cShould I be?\u201d<\/p>\n

She thought she detected the suppression of a chuckle.<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite possibly. I\u2019ve got a fairly important announcement to make.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c1 see,\u201d Philippa said, groping behind her for her chair. \u201cAll right, I\u2019m ready. <\/p>\n

Now, what\u2019s your news?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019ll find it to your liking,\u201d Adam said with a laugh. \u201cWill you mind terribly if I bring a new Lady Sinclair home to Strathmourne?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Do you mean – \u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. Ximena and I are getting married.\u201d<\/p>\n

Philippa restrained an undignified impulse to squeal.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, thank heavens!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cAnd about time, too! Have you set a date?\u201d \u201cAh. That\u2019s partly why I thought I\u2019d better call you as quickly as possible,\u201d Adam replied, on a note of apology. \u201cDo you think you could get out here for Christmas Eve?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis Christmas Eve?\u201d Philippa blurted, then made haste to recover herself. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cProbably not without a minor miracle,\u201d she allowed, \u201cbut this being a good and worthy cause, I daresay I could probably conjure one up.\u201d \u201cI know. I\u2019m sorry. I know this must seem a bit sudden.\u201d He sounded like a guilty schoolboy – which gave Philippa an absurd twinge of delight.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know,\u201d she said airily. \u201cI\u2019ve seen it coming for at least the last year. So far as I can see, the only mystery involved is what took you so long. \u00a0<\/span>That having been said, I hope you\u2019ll forgive me for asking why you\u2019re going ahead so precipitously now?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s voice took on a more serious note.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid the rush isn\u2019t intended for our benefit. It seems that, many years ago, Alan Lockhart promised his daughter that he would attend her wedding – and Ximena and I would like to make that possible. He\u2019s already waited far longer than he should have done.\u201d<\/p>\n

Philippa\u2019s agile mind was quick to seize the unspoken implications of this disclosure, but she made herself move on to practicalities.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI see. Holiday air schedules aside, have you considered other important logistics?\u201d she asked. \u201cBlood tests shouldn\u2019t be a problem for two doctors, but this close to Christmas, the license might be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve already decided not to worry about that for now,\u201d Adam replied. \u201cWe haven\u2019t the time. Alan Lockhart hasn\u2019t the time. We\u2019ll have a second ceremony when we get back to Scotland. Besides, Christopher will be crushed if he doesn\u2019t get to officiate.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite so,\u201d Philippa agreed, somewhat taken aback.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cMeanwhile, we\u2019re making arrangements for a small, very intimate ceremony in Alan\u2019s hospital room,\u201d Adam went on. \u201cThe chaplain who\u2019s been working with the family has agreed to preside, and to offer a Eucharist, and she\u2019s in full agreement with our reasons for rushing things through and waiving the legalities. Even if the wedding isn\u2019t technically legal, it will be sacramentally valid.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery sensible, under the circumstances,\u201d Philippa concurred, \u201cthough that still leaves a great many loose ends to tie up. Professionally speaking, is Ximena quite resigned to giving up her job there in San Francisco?\u201d \u201cIt wasn\u2019t her job that brought her back to San Francisco,\u201d Adam reminded his mother quietly, \u201cthough she wouldn\u2019t be human if she didn\u2019t have a few regrets. \u00a0<\/span>Fortunately, with her qualifications, she\u2019ll never have any shortage of job offers. I was pleased to learn that she\u2019s kept up her contacts with her old colleagues at the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. Apparently most of them would be delighted to have her back, including the head of section. But even if that doesn\u2019t work out, she assures me that she\u2019s still committed to returning to Scotland, once her responsibilities here in San Francisco are discharged.\u201d \u201cYou seem to have the larger issues well in hand,\u201d Philippa said, deciding not to pursue the lingering questions centered around Ximena\u2019s father. \u201cJust to give you more to think about, I wonder if you\u2019ve thought about your own obligations back in Scotland. Social obligations, if nothing else. I know you\u2019ve thought about the others.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSocial obligations\u2019?\u201d Adam said, puzzled.<\/p>\n

Philippa clucked her tongue. \u201cAdam, Adam – getting married ought to be one of life\u2019s most memorable experiences, not only for the bride and groom, but also for those who are closest to them,\u201d she pointed out. \u201cYou needn\u2019t make any decisions just yet, but speaking as the most senior surviving member of the Sinclair family, 1 would like to see you celebrate the event in a style worthy of your station and equal to a mother\u2019s fondest ambitions.\u201d This declaration earned her a chuckle from her son\u2019s end of the line.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI see what you\u2019re getting at,\u201d he said. \u201cDid you think I\u2019d make Ximena settle for a registry office wedding?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, hardly that. You did mention having Christopher preside, and he\u2019ll insist on bells and smells, even if you\u2019d prefer to run away to Gretna Green. Just remember that most little girls dream of a fairy-tale wedding to a handsome prince. If that\u2019s Ximena\u2019s dream, you wouldn\u2019t want to deprive her of it.\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s my fondest wish never to deprive her of anything,\u201d Adam replied with a chuckle, \u201cbut I\u2019m afraid she will have to settle for a baronet rather than a prince. But never fear: Ximena deserves nothing but the best – and whether she knows it or not, I intend to see that our \u2018official\u2019 wedding is no exception. \u00a0<\/span>Since we\u2019ve got to go through the forms a second time in any case, we might as well make the most of the occasion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen, there will be a splendid party! Excellent!\u201d Philippa exclaimed. \u201cI shall look forward to helping the two of you plan the details. Incidentally, have you given any thought to a ring?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet,\u201d Adam admitted.<\/p>\n

\u201cThen don\u2019t,\u201d Philippa said. \u201cUnless, of course, you think Ximena would be averse to wearing the sapphire that belonged to my mother.\u201d \u201cThe Rhodes sapphire?\u201d Adam was obviously taken with the idea. \u201cMother, you have me at a loss for words. Thank you. I\u2019ll ask her, but I imagine she\u2019d be delighted to wear it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ll be sure to bring it with me,\u201d Philippa said crisply. \u201cBeing a surgeon, she\u2019ll probably want a plain gold band to go with it, but we can sort that out later. At least you\u2019ve left me twenty-four hours\u2019 grace to get it out of the safe deposit box.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI gather this means you approve of the match,\u201d Adam said wryly.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cHave you forgotten who you\u2019re talking to?\u201d Philippa countered, and smiled to herself. \u201cIf your stars have been slow on the ascendant, my dear, their impending conjunction presages as bright a future as any two people could ever wish for.\u201d<\/p>\n

chapter eight<\/p>\n

THE Lothian and Borders branch of the Scottish police had its Edinburgh headquarters in a large office block on Fet-tes Avenue. Despite the seasonal garnishes of tinsel and holly scattered throughout the building, Detective Chief Inspector Noel McLeod was not in a particularly festive mood, thanks to an eight-hour shift spent trying to reduce an accumulated backlog of paperwork. He had nearly cleared his desk and was thinking fondly of going home when there was a sudden, unwelcome knock at his office door. Stifling an inward groan of misgiving, he barked, \u201cCome!\u201d<\/p>\n

The door opened, admitting Sergeant Donald Cochrane, one of McLeod\u2019s most promising investigative aides. The younger man was brandishing a piece of fax flimsy in one hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cGlad I caught you before you left, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cYou remember that tarted-up pink piano that went missing last week?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cochrane\u2019s expression indicated that he might just have found it.<\/p>\n

\u201cAye,\u201d McLeod said apprehensively.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I\u2019ve just taken a call from Sergeant McGuinness over in North Berwick. He thinks he\u2019s found it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe thinks\u2019?\u2019 McLeod muttered testily. \u201cHell\u2019s teeth, Donald, there couldn\u2019t be two like that! Where is the damned thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe van turned up in a derelict warehouse,\u201d Cochrane said. \u201cA watchman stumbled on it more or less by accident, and notified the police. When they went to check it out, they found the piano in the back. McGuinness just faxed through the report.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rolling his eyes heavenward, McLeod put out his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know – crime of the century,\u201d Cochrane said, as McLeod skimmed the details. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cBut McGuinness thinks it might tie in with some heavy-duty burglaries in another part of his patch, and he and his lads have locked down the warehouse until the lab can get someone over there to dust for prints. I can handle it, if you want to get on home,\u201d he added, noting his superior\u2019s sour grimace.\u00a0 <\/span>Shaking his head, McLeod rose and retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019ll go. I\u2019ve been cooped up here all day. Besides, you have a pretty young wife at home, and a baby daughter about to experience her first Christmas. You shouldn\u2019t miss that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, off with you. I\u2019ll scare up a print man and get over there as soon as I can – and call Jane to let her know I\u2019ll be late for dinner. Just ring McGuinness before you leave, and tell him he\u2019d better be at the warehouse when we arrive, or I\u2019ll sign it off and he can whistle for his prints. That club owner has been on my back three times a day since the blessed thing was stolen. \u00a0<\/span>With any luck, he may just be able to have it ready for his Christmas Eve opening after all.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWill do, Inspector. Thanks. I\u2019ll see you tomorrow.\u201d It was after eight o\u2019clock by the time McLeod returned from North Berwick. Back in his office, he was just putting the finishing touches on his report when the telephone rang. This time McLeod did not scruple to curse out loud as he reached for the receiver. But his initial irritation soon lost its edge when the caller introduced himself.<\/p>\n

\u201cInspector McLeod? This is Detective Sergeant Hugh Chis-holm, ringing from Stornoway, Isle of Lewis.\u201d Chisholm\u2019s voice held the soft lilt of the Western Isles. \u201cWe\u2019ve not had occasion to speak before, but I believe you\u2019ve worked with my wife\u2019s nephew, Sergeant Callum Kirkpatrick, who works out of Blairgowrie.\u201d McLeod\u2019s stomach did a slow, queasy turn, for Blairgowrie recalled the ritualistic murder of a member of the Hunting Lodge – though that connection had never come to light during the investigation following its discovery. What had emerged was a well-orchestrated campaign to destroy prominent Freemasons, masterminded by a cult of black magicians operating from a secret base in the Cairngorm Mountains. Though Kirk-patrick, himself a Mason, had never learned the full truth behind the murders, he remained high on McLeod\u2019s list of approved contacts. Which meant that Chisholm also was likely to be more than a casual contact.<\/p>\n

\u201cCallum Kirkpatrick,\u201d McLeod repeated slowly. \u201cYes, indeed. I remember him well. \u00a0<\/span>He\u2019s a good man, and a fine police officer. I was impressed with his handling of that Blairgowrie case.\u201d He paused a beat. \u201cI hope you aren\u2019t ringing to tell me you\u2019ve got another one like it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot exactly,\u201d Chisholm allowed. \u201cBut there are some creepy similarities.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre we talking about a murder, Mr. Chisholm?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no – or at least I don\u2019t think so, though we\u2019re still checking on the human angle. But there certainly appears to have been some kind of ritual sacrifice involving a bull.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you\u2019d better give me all the details,\u201d McLeod said, reaching for a pen and notepad.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight. I don\u2019t suppose you know the stone circle at Cal-lanish?\u201d McLeod had never been to Lewis, but he had read about the Callanish Ring and seen photos.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot directly,\u201d he replied, \u201cthough it strikes me as a hell of a place for nasty doings.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, your instincts are dead accurate where that\u2019s concerned.\u201d Quickly Chisholm outlined the case, stressing his own inexperience with such matters.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe figure it must have happened late last night,\u201d he said thoughtfully. \u201cWe can account for at least three vehicles, plus a trailer or horse-box to transport the bull, and maybe six or eight perpetrators. You\u2019d think someone in the village would\u2019ve seen or heard something, but no one\u2019s talking, if they did. You know how local superstition can run in a place like this – and apparently for good reason, in this case. Besides, folk aren\u2019t apt to poke their noses out of doors much past about seven o\u2019clock, this time of year – and the snow and wind would have muffled most sound anyway. The perps sure left an unholy mess, though. There was blood everywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, you mentioned something about a ritual sacrifice,\u201d McLeod said, trying to shake off mental images of another secluded, snow-shrouded location drenched in blood, two years before, and a friend and colleague lying dead in the snow. \u00a0<\/span>\u201cMind telling me exactly what you found?\u201d<\/p>\n

A heavy sigh issued from the receiver. \u201cWell, the bull had had its throat cut and its entrails pulled out, and then someone had flayed off the hide, quite expertly. We also found remnants of what looks like a crown of mistletoe and holly. And like I said, there was blood everywhere: daubed on the stones, painted on the ground – \u201c \u201cSounds like some kind of divination ceremony,\u201d McLeod said, praying that was all it had been. \u201cWhat makes you think there might be a murder involved, as well?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, we found a sleeping bag near the scene, literally saturated with blood,\u201d Chisholm replied. \u201cWhen we examined the bull hide, it showed signs of somebody maybe having been sewn up inside it, so we\u2019re hoping it\u2019s bull\u2019s blood on the sleeping bag, but we just don\u2019t know yet. We had a man fly the bag over to Grampian Labs in Aberdeen this afternoon, but we won\u2019t have the results until sometime tomorrow. It\u2019d be just our luck to find that some wretched camper has been done in.\u201d<\/p>\n

McLeod had been busy jotting down the details as Chisholm relayed them. Now he paused, pen in hand, and scowled at the page before him.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cWe\u2019ll hope it doesn\u2019t come to that,\u201d he observed. \u201cWho made the initial discovery?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA young chap, name of lolo MacFarlane. He\u2019s a bit of an eccentric, but reliable enough. I\u2019ve known him since he was a wee tad. He\u2019s got a New Age sort of group who style themselves latter-day Druids, and they occasionally stage ceremonies up at the circle – all quite harmless, we thought, at least until now.\u201d \u201cAny chance he could have reported the incident to cover his own group\u2019s activities?\u201d McLeod asked.<\/p>\n

\u201clolo? Not a chance. Like I said, I know him; hell, I know most of his lot. They were slated to do a Winter Solstice ceremony at noon today. Needless to say, that had to be cancelled. No, he went up to the site just after sunrise, planning to start setting up, and immediately roused one of the neighboring villagers – who phoned the station officer up at Carloway, who phoned me in Stornoway when he\u2019d had a look. The rest you know.\u201d Chisholm sounded anything but happy about it, and the inspector couldn\u2019t blame him.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow are the press reacting?\u201d McLeod asked. \u201cI assume that\u2019s at least part of the reason you called me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAye, they\u2019ve been sniffing around all day. The Solstice \u2018do\u2019 would\u2019ve brought them out in any case, and this was just an added bonus, where they were concerned. It\u2019s hard to keep something like this under wraps on an island this small. I\u2019ve got a man out at the site tonight, but I didn\u2019t want to dismantle too much until I\u2019d talked to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

McLeod could sense the incipient request to come in person, but he decided to forestall it for as long as possible.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow about your neo-Druids?\u201d he asked. \u201cAre they apt to talk, if some reporter buttonholes one of them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt it,\u201d Chisholm replied. \u201cAny publicity connected with this case is apt to be bad, so they\u2019ll want no part of it. They\u2019ve worked hard to keep up a a good public image. I can\u2019t guarantee their silence, of course, but I expect they\u2019ll have the sense to keep their mouths shut.\u201d<\/p>\n

McLeod shunted aside the question of press curiosity for the moment in order to focus on more practical matters. \u201cHow about the bull?\u201d he asked. \u201cHave you been able to find out where it came from?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet,\u201d Chisholm replied, \u201cthough I\u2019ve got a man checking that angle. We\u2019ve mostly sheep here on the island, but there are a few farmers who raise cattle, mostly for dairy herds. They\u2019d know who has bulls, but someone could easily have brought one in for last night\u2019s piece of work. Horse-boxes come and go all the time, and no one would notice if a bull was in one.\u201d \u201cAnd no one\u2019s reported a stolen bull?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot on the island – though it\u2019s early on. Farmers don\u2019t always check their fields every day. I\u2019d hate to think any of our local men might be mixed up in something like this, but the evidence – or rather the lack of evidence – seems to be pointing that way. Unless you have a better suggestion, I intend to press on with this line of inquiry until I get an answer.\u201d<\/p>\n

The only alternatives McLeod could think of demanded the exercise of talents beyond the scope of an otherwise competent investigator. Chisholm, meanwhile, was worrying out loud.<\/p>\n

\u201cLegally, we\u2019re on uncertain ground here, even if we do find the perps,\u201d he went on. \u201cUnless that turns out to be human blood on the sleeping bag, we\u2019ve only got offenses relating to the defacement of a public monument and violations of various public health statutes. You should have seen the carrion crows flocking around the site by the time we got there.<\/p>\n

\u201cAt the same time, I don\u2019t like to think of some weird cult setting up operations here in my patch. There\u2019s a degree of depravity at the back of this affair that really puts my hackles up. I know it\u2019s a long way from Edinburgh up to the Hebrides,\u201d Chisholm finished, \u201cand I know it\u2019s a terrible time of year to ask this, but I\u2019d really feel easier in my mind if you could manage to fly up here and examine the site for yourself – and maybe help me deal with the press.\u201d It was the appeal McLeod had known would be forthcoming – and if the Stornoway officer\u2019s instincts were correct, then the sooner a full investigation could be implemented – McLeod mentally emphasized \u201cfull\u201d – the better the chances for arresting the evil before it could spread. Chisholm, meanwhile, was still talking.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know you can\u2019t get up here tonight,\u201d he said, \u201cbut how about tomorrow? I feel really out of my depth, Inspector.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll see what I can do,\u201d McLeod told Chisholm. \u201cLeave me a phone number where you can be reached, and I\u2019ll get back to you as soon as I\u2019ve managed to sort out the necessary travel arrangements. I\u2019m going to have to call in a few favors.\u201d \u201cI do appreciate this, Inspector,\u201d Chisholm said, sounding greatly relieved. <\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll wait to hear from you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Stornoway policeman rang off with a promise to fax McLeod a copy of the incident report. Returning his telephone receiver to its cradle, McLeod mentally reviewed his assignments for the following day and decided there was nothing on his agenda so urgent that it couldn\u2019t be either delegated or left to lie fallow for a day or two.<\/p>\n

Chisholm\u2019s report was waiting for him out in the fax room by the time he finished jotting off a note to Cochrane to cover for him the next day. He read it through once, clipped it to Cochrane\u2019s memo, then ran a finger down his address file to check a number. If Harry Nimmo was available, he was the perfect man for the job. And Peregrine Lovat\u2019s talents would be useful, as well.\u00a0 <\/span>The harp notes drifting in from the adjoining room had the light, bell-like clarity of music-box chimes. Pausing to listen, Peregrine recognized the hauntingly beautiful melody of the Hebridean carol known in English as \u201cThe Christ Child\u2019s Cradle Song.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was one of several pieces Julia had been practicing all week in preparation for her Christmas Eve concert, now only two days away. Peregrine was privately of the opinion that his wife could hardly hope to improve her already-perfect performance, but he was always happy to listen whenever she played.\u00a0 <\/span>Shortly after coming to live at the gate lodge, he had converted the smaller of the two upstairs bedrooms into a studio. It was here that he still did most of his painting in the daytime. Whenever he had any additional work to do in the evening, however, especially research, he preferred to do it downstairs in the sitting room, where he could enjoy simultaneously the glowing warmth of an old-fashioned fireplace and the pleasure of his wife\u2019s company.\u00a0 <\/span>Just now he was ensconced in one of the armchairs by the hearth with a notebook on his knee and a stack of art history books on the table at his elbow. The local chapter of the Saltire Society had invited him to give a lecture on the history of Scottish portraiture, and having agreed to do it, he was now reviewing the subject by way of advance preparation. His efforts at note-taking were being somewhat hampered by the latest addition to the household, a roly-poly black and white kitten whom Julia had christened Hero. Having had his pencil knocked twice from his hand, Peregrine was attempting to fend off yet another spirited mock attack when the telephone rang.\u00a0 <\/span>\u201cI\u2019ll get it!\u201d he called through to Julia.<\/p>\n

Surrendering his pencil to Hero, he reached for the receiver. The caller was McLeod.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your schedule like tomorrow?\u201d the inspector wanted to know.\u00a0 <\/span>Peregrine\u2019s intuition went instantly on the alert. \u201cI\u2019ve heard that line before,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething that warrants our attention,\u201d came the gruff response from the other end of the line. \u201cThere\u2019s been an incident up at the Callanish Ring on the Isle of Lewis. A police colleague has paid me the dubious compliment of asking my opinion – at the scene. He\u2019s related by marriage to Callum Kirkpatrick, up at Blairgowrie.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

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Book Preview Katherine Kurtz – Adept 05 – Death of an Adept \u00a0 \u00a0 Mystic and historian, Sir Adam Sinclair is Master of the Hunt, leader of a secret brotherhood at war with the dark and unholy Powers that menace our world. \u00a0In his time, he has challenged the forces of evil and been victorious. … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6494,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[427],"class_list":["post-6495","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-katherine-kurtz"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6495","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6495"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6495\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6494"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6495"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6495"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6495"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}