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Darkscape: Redemption

By: Gray, R. Garland
Published By: LTDBooks

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BOOK 2 OF THE DARKSCAPE SERIES

At the crossway of the stars lies a haunting darkness…

Death.

Redemption.

Peace.

Declan de Douglas wanted them all. Once a rogue warship commander, now dubbed the Douglas Savage, he seeks atonement for past sins by serving the clan he almost destroyed. A sudden attack, a terrible injury, and he is collared and sold into a brothel's slavery.

To strengthen clan ties, Princess Fallon MacKendrick finds herself betrothed to a man she detests. A chance meeting with the enigmatic Douglas Savage and Fallon is determined to find a way out of her betrothal contract and have him for her consort. Except finding him in an offworld brothel--victim of an identity wash--pulls her into a nightmarish plot instead.

Theirs is a dangerous journey across hostile star systems where a sweeping vengeance threatens the tenuous peace. And where battles of the heart and body kindle a hot and forbidden passion. But even true love may not be enough to light the shadows in a warrior's dark soul nor save a princess's lonely heart....

Second in the Darkscape Futuristic Romance series.

Excerpt

MacKendrick Castle, Home of Clan MacKendrick
Planet Forest, Milky Way Galaxy
3211 Fall, the 18th month of peace

Declan de Douglas despised waiting. He had been here ten days negotiating a trade treaty with Clan MacKendrick.

Now he stood alone in the Hall of Entrance of Clan MacKendrick Castle, struggling with impatience and a brutal urge to punch Lord Tomaidh Henderson in his fat, cherubic face. All morning he had listened to Lord Henderson's faultfinding comments about the trade agreement proposed by Clan Douglas.

"Arrogant imbecile," Declan muttered, raking a hand through his hair. To say that he disliked the wealth and snobbery that Lord Henderson reeked of would be an incredible understatement.

Declan walked over to the north end windows, his black-booted heels echoing in the massive hall. Pausing, he gazed out upon the rain-soaked terraces, the familiar feelings of distrust echoing inside him. He trusted only two others beside himself, more than enough for a simple clan warrior turned master trader. Suddenly, he felt wetness in his right ear and swiped a droplet of blood away. It was a wrongness within himself that he would have to deal with at some point--but not now.

He took a deep breath, and memories flooded his mind. At the war's end, he had almost died from a wound to his chest. Dr. William de Douglas had brought him back using the matrix transference process, but it had altered his humanity on a genetic level and intensified volatile character traits. Now, a volcano bubbled beneath his calm exterior, waiting to erupt into a goddamn conflagration. Even the infusion of a piece of his brother Lachlan's DNA during the matrix transference, a decision made when a section of his own DNA had been damaged, did not quell the seething matrix rage brewing just below the surface.

At first, he had not known what to make of the subsequent changes in his body. Everything had felt familiar and yet not familiar, not real. But the heroic lord commander of Clan Douglas, his brother, was part of him now--in his cellular structure, in his blood, in his heart. Though to his own dissatisfaction, he still felt like the moody rebel whom others looked to blame when their own troubles proved overwhelming.

Even Lachlan had thought him guilty of treachery those last fateful months of the clan war.

Declan shook his head at the unpleasant recollections.

The matrix transference had given him a second chance to prove himself and set everything right. That he had vowed to do.

Besides the annoying bloody right ear, he had developed enhanced senses and increased bodily strength along with complete intolerance to alcohol. The instinctual responses swinging toward aggressive dominance and violence rather than quiet restraint were another matter entirely. Nevertheless he managed, by guarding his every thought, his every emotion. What he felt, he kept to himself, an old skill he'd developed during his years of growing up as the outsider.

That was why Lord Henderson did not have a bloodied face.

That was why Declan had come to this hall to wait.

"Idiots," Declan said irritably, glancing around the dignified hall. "Wouldn't recognize an advantageous trade treaty if it were offered to them written in gold ink."

The MacKendrick chieftain had asked Declan to wait. Declan had no choice but to do so. Clan MacKendrick followed the old Scottish ways of Ancient Earth. Declan needed to respect that if he wanted the trade treaty signed.

A gray cat with a strawberry pink nose and a misshapen left front paw limped across the hall. At the sight of the small beast, the anger inside Declan eased. Instead of an ocean of fury churning in frothy waves, he felt only a stream of the rage in his blood, an unending flow just below the surface.

"Meow," he breathed.

The cat paused, twitching his right ear toward the sound.

Declan smiled. "Hello, little gray. Are you a castle orphan?" He'd heard that Princess MacKendrick rescued hurt and unwanted animals and found good homes for them.

The cat glanced at him, beige eyes uncertain.

"I'll not hurt you, kitty."

The animal took a step toward him and then thought better of it. It continued on its way, disappearing around a corner.

"Sense danger, do you?" Declan laughed softly. "Smart kitty." The animal was probably searching for its mistress. During his stay, he had seen glimpses of Princess Fallon MacKendrick from time to time. That flowing mass of flame-colored hair was unmistakable. She looked exactly what she was, a spoiled and aloof young woman.

Turning away, his gaze paused on a crystal pedestal in the far corner of the hall. Atop the pedestal rose a clear protective dome. He knew it covered the 1450 manuscript that cataloged the MacKendrick clan's descent from the Scottish tribe of Loarn.

At his back, tartans of the clans of Henderson, MacHendry, MacNaughton, Gunn, and other close kinships hung like flags on a smooth whitewashed wall. Several feet in front of him, a fire crackled in the exposed rose brick hearth.

Down the length of the room flowed a long wooden table. In the center of the table stood an amazing centerpiece cast in silver and assembled in filigree sections. It looked hand-cut with one large full-lead crystal bowl rising above four smaller ones. The top crystal bowl looked to be a full nine inches in diameter, the smaller crystal bowls about six. He had never seen a centerpiece like it before and thought it might be called an epergne, one of those elaborately designed pieces for holding flowers or fruit. This one didn't need anything to enhance its adornment. His gaze slid to the engraved armchairs on either side of the table and then to the intricate patterns of rose-hued bricks constituting the floor.

A fancy room, Declan thought, and inhaled deeply again, striving for the calm forever out of his reach. He moved under the tartans to the stained glass windows. Outside, golden rain drifted in with the morning winds, drenching a mauve landscape of steep gorges and distant forests.

The sound of the rain did not comfort him.

He had relearned acceptance and tolerance and patience, but they were not among his strong points.

Clan MacKendrick, comprised of multiple clans with similar genealogical origins from Ancient Earth, maintained a single clan loyalty. That was why he had come to this distant planet. Their agreement to trade with Clan Douglas would lead to others.

If they agree, Declan mused darkly. He braced his hands on the window frame and stared outward. The war had severed old alliances, causing a uniform distrust of Clan Douglas. Peace had returned only eighteen months ago. Clan Kinsale and Clan States had been the first to sign trade treaties and had become new allies. He vowed there would be more.

Rain soaked the castle terraces in liquid gold. The sounds of billions upon billions of tiny drums filled the morning silence.

Lord, it is beautiful here, Declan thought, allowing himself a moment to listen to the rain's sound of serenity. Within the Milky Way galaxy were many beautiful planets to start a new life on. Located outside Ancient Earth's solar system, the MacKendrick's planet provided a refuge, an ecosystem of incredible abundance and splendor.

A safe haven.

The old distasteful memories flooded Declan's mind. His hand tightened on the window frame.

He was not ready for a safe haven. He needed time to reclaim Clan Douglas honor and rebuild important trade treaties ruined by the war.

Soft footfalls echoed in the hall, drowning out the dark memories.

Declan pushed off the window frame, but did not turn around. A delicate rose fragrance touched the air that he breathed.

"Dia duit ar maidin," a silky voice spoke softly in welcome.

He glanced over his shoulder at the young woman and instantly recognized her.

Youth. Beauty. Female. But above all, human, as he once had been. The matrix coldness inside him shifted, black mist clinging to blood, body, and soul, a constant awareness of what he was.

Declan clasped his hands behind his back and turned away. He felt her gaze and nodded. "Good morning, Princess."

The father would probably castrate him if he looked at her the wrong way.

"You understand the old Irish?" she asked.

He continued to stare out the window. "Beagán," he replied. A little.

"You pronounce the word correctly for one who only speaks a little of the ancient language."

"I am a quick learner."

"I am not," she said, and he could feel her smile. "My mother had a great fondness for the Old Irish language of her ancestors and taught me. I continue to speak it because it keeps her close to me."

He nodded in understanding. "I am sorry for your loss."

"She died many years ago, but thank you."

Declan felt uncomfortable standing there with her. He had heard rumors of her telekinetic ability, that ability to move objects by psychic force. He inwardly thanked the Private Christian Lord that she was not able to read minds, for what horrors she would find if she ever glimpsed into his.

"My father shall be but a moment. He signs the trade agreement, as do the others."

"They have finally agreed then?"

"Aye."

"I will wait." He made a brief nod, lowered his lids to hide his unusual eyes, and glanced at her again.

Princess Fallon MacKendrick had been born to privilege. Dark auburn brows curved delicately over luminous brown eyes laced with red-tipped lashes. Nary a freckle marred her perfect white skin. Her face was oval, surrounded by a wealth of bright flame-colored hair. A slender nose drew his gaze downward to moist lips, the color of ripe peaches. They were the kind of lips that begged a male--a human male--to taste them. He looked away and focused on the rain outside, listening to the pattering sound of it.

"Have you waited here long?" She studied him as he had her.

"No." Declan knew her clan was Scottish, but her own ancestry blended ancient Irish and Scottish blood. He also knew that she was twenty-four years old. He was thirty-four. A ten-year difference separated them.

"May I offer you something to drink?"

"No, thank you, Princess," he said flatly, his gaze glued to the rain-soaked veranda outside.

"Would you like to sit down," she gestured behind her, "and rest while you wait?"

"No."

She looked out the window and then back at him. "Do you like the rain, Master Trader?"

Yes. "Do you, Princess?"

"Aye, the rain is a wild thing."

"Do you like wild things?" he inquired.

"Aye."

"'In wildness is the preservation of the world,'" Declan quoted. "Henry David Thoreau, 'Walking,' 1862, Ancient Earth."

"You are well read."

"Yes."

"But you are a trader."

"I gather from your inflection that you find traders to be less educated. How many have you met?"

"Not many. The few my father introduced me to seemed rather unrefined."

He chuckled softly. "Some are, some are not."

"You are taller than I expected."

This princess switched subjects rather spontaneously. "I am six foot four. What did you expect?"

"I doona know, but most wear their clan rank when they visit my father, not an unmarked uniform."

Declan glanced down at the black Clan Douglas uniform that he wore. "Very observant, but I am not like most master traders."

"I gathered that."

Princess Fallon MacKendrick was a bold one. Declan looked back to the rain outside and felt slightly ambushed by her directness.

She looked out the window and then once more her gaze returned to him. She was trying to see what secrets lay beneath the unmarked uniform, no doubt. He needed to get out of here.

"The sound of rain, I've been told, is soothing to those with a weary heart."

"I know not, Princess." Declan looked over his shoulder into the empty hall for a chaperone or one of the princess's handmaidens.

"Know not," she repeated quietly.

"Princess, you should not be here."

"You mean I should not be here, alone with you, a handsome off-world clansman who knows more about life than I ever will."

"Princess."

"Are you familiar with Henderson the Rain King, 1959, Ancient Earth?" she inserted quickly.

Declan nodded. "Saul Bellow, Nobel Prize winning writer."

"'There was a disturbance...,'" the princess began.

He finished the quote for he knew it well, "'...in my heart, a voice that spoke there and said, I want, I want, I want!'"

The princess whispered the rest of it. "'It happened every afternoon, and when I tried to suppress it it got even stronger...It never said a thing except I want, I want, I want.'"

"It is dangerous to want, Princess."

"Why is that, sir?"

"It can be your destroyer."

She tilted her head. "Is it yours?"

"It is no longer," Declan answered carefully, feeling the dangerous heat of her interest. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He glanced over his shoulder at the closed doors, behind which the clan leaders where taking their damned sweet time.

The princess took a quick look over her shoulder too. "I apologize for the delay."

"No apology is needed." He turned back and studied the rain.

"May I ask you something?"

"This question is different than the others?"

She blushed, a surprising pink shade that he could see out of the corner of his eye.

"My father says I am too bold sometimes."

A small smile tucked at the corner of his lips. There was no help for it. "Ask your question, Princess."

"I have heard many opinions about the war."

"There are always opinions with war."

"I know this, but from the perspective of Clan Douglas, how did the war start?"

Declan took a moment to craft an impartial response in his mind. "I cannot speak for Clan Douglas," he stated softly. The memories were colliding inside him. Rain beat loudly in his ears.

"I will tell you what I know. Before the war, Clan Douglas discovered an alternate source of power in the deep caverns on their home world--a small mass of energy crystals. The finding created a stir among the Clans of Ancient Earth. Representatives from each clan met aboard the Clan Douglas Starship Edinburgh to discuss how best to share in this significant discovery." Declan shifted on his feet. "Unknown to anyone at the time, Clan Ramayan's representative, Commander Lin Jacob Rama, harbored a personal vendetta against the Clan Douglas lord commander."

"That would be Lord Commander Drum de Douglas?" The princess was obviously trying to keep the players straight in her own mind.

"Yes," Declan replied. "Commander Rama secretly killed the leaders aboard the Edinburgh."

"Clan Douglas was blamed."

He nodded. "A war began, many died."

"And then the war ended," she murmured, "with Clan Douglas exonerated of the sins of one man." She paused. "One man who killed so many. Commander Lin Jacob Rama. Why did he do it?"

"Rama wanted a woman he had no right to want," Declan answered, trying to keep it simple. Like father, like son. He wanted too. Desire consumed him like living flames, but he was no longer human. No longer human.

"Commander Rama wanted a woman?" The princess's voice was beguiling and touched him deep down inside where that human piece of him still lingered.

"Yes."

"They say that he was maddened."

Declan thought she would have asked about the woman. "Yes, that is what they say."

"Did you know him?"

My father. "Yes," he answered easily despite the turmoil inside him.

"What was he like?"

His gaze moved to the veranda outside, to its curved stairs and decorative railings. "Brilliant, driven, and maddened," he answered tonelessly.

"Did you know the woman, the one he wanted but could not have?"

My mother. "I knew of her. Lady Saph-ire de Douglas, Lord Drum's wife." Forbidden, as this princess is to me.

"Thank you for answering my questions."

Declan bowed his head in acknowledgment, hoping this piece of the conversation had ended.

"Mayhap society and culture should be feminized. Women fight less often."

Declan's lips curved in a sly smile. Wise princess to sense his unease and change the subject. "Mayhap." He tried to at least appear optimistic.

She said nothing more and his gaze dropped to the window frame for a moment. He felt peculiar. This inquisitive princess made him feel alive in a way he had not felt in a very long time.

They stood together in silence, looking out the window, watching the rain, listening to the splatter echo on the tile roof of the castle.

The matrix calmed in his blood.

Shadows faded within and he was so very grateful to her for this simple moment of shared peace.

He felt...

"Jamais Arrière," she said into the silence.

The Douglas clan motto splintered his quiet, a reminder of loyalty and vows long ago shattered.

And she so clearly said it seeking a reaction from him--and by god he'd give her one.

"What?" He turned to her, his hard gaze locking with hers.

In that wonderful and terrible instant, Fallon's world abruptly changed forever. "Never Behind is the Clan Douglas motto," she whispered, caught and held in something she had never encountered before in her entire life.

"I know what Jamais Arrière means, Princess."

"You do?" Fallon's voice faltered. She stared up at a warrior of dark beauty and symmetry.

A black devil brow arched at her.

"Of course, you must," she remarked, regaining her composure.

He had unusual eyes.

Eyes that veiled a defiant, untamed soul.

His eyes.

Framed by indecently long black lashes, the irises of his eyes appeared larger than normal. The silvery-blue color rimmed in black reminded her of moonbeams on a winter's night. But they were not cold, nay, not that. Fallon stood spellbound, captured by their burning intensity.

She had heard about the unusually large irises of the first-line chieftain of Clan Douglas, Lord Commander Lachlan de Douglas. She had not heard of another Douglas bearing this infamous trait.

Fallon stared, unable to help herself.

The irises were definitely larger than normal. Which meant he must be a first-line Douglas, a direct descendant from Ancient Earth. First-lines were extremely rare, considered to be ancient royalty in this time.

Fallon examined ruggedly handsome features crafted in masculine glory. A day's worth of beard darkened a strong jaw and corded neck.

A braid of black hair fell down impossibly wide shoulders. The slope and design of him, outlined by the uniform, gave her little cause to doubt his lean rugged power. Her gaze returned to a handsome face set in watchfulness.

"Agreeable, Princess?" he asked in a voice laced with amusement.

A pink blush stained her cheeks.

"You are first-line," Fallon murmured very seriously, "a direct descendent from Ancient Earth. I have never met one before."

His black eyelashes swept low, hiding his thoughts. "A fallacy," he replied in measured softness.

Fallon folded her hands together in front of her. Her heart beat in her ears so loudly she could barely hear him. "Pardon?"

He tilted his head.

Fallon felt an uneasy sensation in the center of her stomach. "Master Trader?" she said, feeling her voice go all shaky.

"Princess," he replied in a voice of velvet darkness.

Behind them, the sounds of heavy footfalls echoed in the great hall and the handsome trader stepped around her to greet her father. Fallon took a recovering breath. Pasting a pleasant smile on her face, she turned to welcome her father.

"I see you've met my daughter."

Declan grasped Lord Dughall MacKendrick's hand in a firm handshake.

"Yes, sir," he replied. The MacKendrick chieftain was a man in his late fifties with shocking red hair and blue eyes. He wore a plain white shirt and black breeches.

They released hands.

In Lord MacKendrick, Declan saw a renowned clan leader despite the simple clothes. Many years before, Lord Dughall MacKendrick had discovered an alien jumpgate bordering Ancient Earth's solar system. Jumpgates allowed ships to teleport to predefined coordinates in space. That jumpgate had opened travel-ways to new worlds that could support life. The MacKendrick's planet was one of them.

"You have your trade treaty." Lord MacKendrick smiled slowly.

Declan nodded. His gaze flickered to the princess. "So your daughter has told me."

She watched him, her head tilted in undisguised interest. Declan needed to get out of here before he deceived himself beyond recovery.

The MacKendrick lord chuckled. "Ah, the lass has stolen my thunder again."

The princess met her father's gaze and rolled her eyes.

"Come here, daughter, and let me introduce you proper."

She glided to her father's side, a beautiful faerie princess.

"Lord Declan de Douglas of Clan Douglas, may I present my daughter, Princess Fallon MacKendrick of Clan MacKendrick."

Declan bowed from the waist. "I am honored, sir. But I am no lord." He looked at the princess. "I am a simple trader for Clan Douglas. You may call me Declan."

"Declan." She pronounced his name like some delectable dessert. "I am honored, sir."

"Thank you. Some would not be." Declan wished she were a plain and unmemorable woman. Her ethereal beauty would haunt his dreams long after he had left this place.

"You are the brother of Lord Lachlan de Douglas then?" she inquired with just the right note of stately interest. But she was definitely snooping, the inquisitive peach.

Declan nodded. Half brother. He did not wish to discuss Lachlan and turned to the father. "Have the treaty and signatures been downloaded to my freighter's onboard computer?"

Lord MacKendrick nodded. "It be done. I expect my first textile shipment within a month."

"Agreed."

"That black ship is a freighter?"

The princess made him want to smile. An insatiable curiosity lit up her brown eyes.

"The Black Ghost is a small armored freighter," Declan answered, letting a little of his pride slip into his voice.

"It looks more like a gigantic black wing to me."

Declan felt his lips curve at her challenging tone. "Stealth and precision produce dominance. I like to own the battlefield."

She arched a delicate brow at him. "And what battlefield is that, sir?"

"Fallon," the father corrected strongly.

"Whatever battlefield there is," he answered. "I do not like to lose, Princess."

"Fallon," her father warned to Declan's annoyance. "You must forgive my daughter, sir. She is often inquisitive about unusual ships."

Declan did not doubt it. He found her open interest refreshing. He did not like people with hidden agendas. "I would enjoy a discussion on agile aerodynamics, innovation avionics, and thrust vectoring."

"Would you offer instead a tour of your ship, Lord de Douglas?" she countered.

Declan met her gaze. He saw confidence and spirit there, mingled with a beguiling sense of humor. "Just Declan, Princess."

"Declan," she echoed. "Would you offer a tour of your ship?"

Though he knew he should not, he found himself responding positively. "Yes, I would be happy to offer you a tour of my ship, if it is agreeable with your father."

The instant he offered, a part of him regretted it. He should leave this place and never return to the temptation of lovely brown eyes that regarded him with dangerous intensity.

"You may give the lass a brief tour," Lord MacKendrick conceded. "Five minutes worth and no more. I need to check on two freighters in the ship bays anyway. I'll have two of my guardsmen escort you the rest of the way."

Declan bowed from the waist. Straightening, he stepped back and gestured before him. "After you, Princess."

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