Donna Grant: Midnight's Temptation

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He bent to look inside. “Aisley.”

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

“Aisley?” he called again.

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

“I need to leave.”

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want your help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Wallace. He’s back.”

“Are you sure?”

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

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

“I believe so.”

“I’ll let the others know.”

“And I’ll call Charon,” Phelan said.

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

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

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

“Bloody hell. Where are you?”

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

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

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

“Are you going looking for him?”

“Nay. I’ve got a Druid with me.”

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

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

“Is Wallace after her?”

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

“Bring her to the castle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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