by Hazel Hunter
The falconer sounded heartless, Jenna thought, but he’d treated her with nothing but kindness.
That’s more about him than me.
“She stays with us,” Domnall said. “I’ll carry her closer to the fire, Mael.”
“What more shall you do with her, Chieftain?” Broden asked, his rasping voice flinty. “For she’s no’ a comfort female, nor a bed slave.”
Jenna inwardly winced. He’s as blunt as a club.
“She’ll choose what she’s willing to give me, and when, Brother,” Domnall said flatly. “Only ken that I shallnae refuse her.”
A short silence fell over the men after that, until Kiaran said, “I let it slip that my kestrels found me in the ash grove.”
“We should tell her all,” Edane said. “Mayhap then she’ll confide the same in us. I’ve seen her looks. She’s quick, so she’s likely guessed much.”
“’Twill wait until we’ve fathomed more of this place,” Domnall said. “Kiaran, stand half-rise watch. Broden next, then wake me for the set watch. Mael, you’ll have charge of the lass. Dinnae permit her enter the ruins again. I found her atop that half-standing tower.”
“Let us talk of the battle,” Broden said, followed by murmurs of assent.
It was the last thing Jenna heard before she lost the fight to stay awake.
Chapter Fourteen
Shadows cloaked Cul as he kept watch from his perch in the north tower. Had the six intruders been mere mortals he would have killed them. Part of him yearned to add their bones to the pile of every other blunderer to trespass on his lands since his possession of the fortress. This time he could not.
These men looked human, but they smelled of the underworld and the sky. Since they could not be as he was, that meant they had been transformed. It also suggested something far more important to Cul: they had escaped those who had changed them. His twisted lips parted, and his sigh wafted out through the jagged labyrinth of his teeth. Even now he knew their masters would be hunting them.
At long last the time had come for his justice.
Immensely pleased by the prospect, Cul regarded the sleeping mortal woman. Unlike the men she had not been improved, and her mortal scent made his blood run hot. He could kill her with but a twitch of his hand, or linger at the work and bathe in her agony. Yet her death would alert her companions to his presence, and that he could not permit.
He also felt a grudging admiration for the plucky little female. Of the six only she had dared to enter the east tower, and climb to the very top of the steps. He’d seen how her face had changed as she gazed upon his home. When she had gone down to speak to the largest of the men, she had spoken of Dun Chaill as if it were a treasure instead of a ruin.
That endeared her to Cul, who felt the same.
After banking their fire three of the men lay beside it to sleep. Another climbed an oak overlooking the encampment, likely to stand sentry. The big one who seemed to be the leader now picked up the slumbering female and put her between the fire and the next-largest male. He went to the opposite side to sleep, but watched the female for a long while before he closed his eyes.
The leader felt strong desire for her, Cul decided, and yet did not know why. Another interesting wrinkle that suggested why the men had come to Dun Chaill. They searched for answers to questions they could not know to ask. Like all their kind they behaved as wayward foundlings, stumbling through the world as if unaware that it held the most appalling dangers. From what he had overheard they had also kept what they did know from the courageous little female.
I could tell them all, Cul thought. See what such fine, brawny males think of the truth behind their transformation, and the nature of the female they so nobly protect. How amusing it would be to see the horror in their eyes before I slaughtered them. To hear her scream as she watched.
Just as his own mother had shrieked the first time she had looked upon her younger son.
Moving through the castle soundlessly by long habit, Cul left the north tower without drawing the intruders’ attention and entered the pantry. Collecting the stores he needed to move below ground required several trips, and the task annoyed him. He’d just brought everything above after the thaw to enjoy the fair weather, and resume his watch from the tower. Now he would have to slink away again to hide in the darkness and attend to his work.
Once he transferred what he would need Cul safeguarded his chamber, but he could not rest.
Beneath the ruins a maze of tunnels ran from all that he had built during his long occupation of the fortress. Now he walked them, his eyes again growing accustomed to his dark world. He stopped at the chamber where he had long ago found his own freedom. Pressing his scarred brow against the door, he rubbed it back and forth as he recalled what the leader of the men had said to the female.
You’re beyond me.
The scent of blood stopped his mindless self-torment, and he stepped back to look upon the wet smear he’d left on the door.
“No longer,” Cul murmured. It had been so long since he’d spoken aloud his voice came out thin and reedy, and the sound of it made a raucous growl spill from his throat. It took him another moment to recognize it as laughter. “You’re no longer beyond me.”
He climbed up one last time to make use of a spy hole to look upon the camp. All but the light-haired sentry now slept. By dawn they would awaken and come into the ruins to look for their answers. The little female would be first to enter, he imagined.
The effort he had spent in perfecting his castle had sometimes felt wasted, but no more. He had not labored in vain. What had begun as a much-needed sanctuary had become his greatest masterpiece. In time the intruders might even discover a few of its many secrets. Inwardly he grinned.
If Dun Chaill allows that.
Chapter Fifteen
At first light Domnall ended his watch by kindling a new fire atop the embers of the old. The work gave him time to look upon Jenna without the watchful eyes of the other hunters. She slept as she did everything: quietly. To see her asleep brought something to rise in his chest that felt almost as keen as a blade wound.
She should be in my arms, that I might feel her breath on my face.
The crackling of the wood quickly roused the other men from their slumber, and Domnall turned his attention to the morning tasks. He sent Edane to check on the horses, and Kiaran to fetch more firewood. Mael heated small stones to add to the largest waterskin, along with a handful of herbs and berries to make up a morning brew. Broden collected the blankets, stopping only when he reached Jenna, who still slept on.
“There’s a tangle,” Mael murmured, nodding at the trapper as he retreated. “He’ll no’ spare the lass a kind word, yet cannae bear to wake her.”
“Dinnae prod him.” Broden’s surly warning last night had made Domnall realize the other man felt protective of Jenna, not that he would ever admit it. He glanced down at the steam drifting from the skin’s spout, and another concern occurred to him. “How much water and food have we left?”
“Twoday’s rations, but we’ve plenty to hunt.” The tracker grimaced. “If we dinnae find water, our skins shall empty by the morrow.”
Riding back to the river would take too long, and put them at risk of being spotted if the Sluath had managed to track them. Whoever had built the first fortress had likely dug at least one well for a secure water supply. That was likely now buried under great layers of forest doss or rubble, or gone dry.
Domnall looked up at the white peaks of the mountains. Where there was snow, there would be meltwater. No one built a castle out of a fortress without water close enough to haul to make mortar, cool their forge and keep their builders’ thirst quenched.
“We’ll search for a river or lochan.”
“I heard sounds of currents from there in the night,” Broden said as he joined them, and pointed toward a thicket. “Walk with me, and we’ll look.”
Domnall accompanied the trapper through the brush and into a broad swath of
old oaks. On the other side of the trees the land spread out, hemmed by a fast-running stream. The sparkling waters snaked around broad, flower-speckled glens and lush green pastures that stretched for leagues in three directions. Sheep and goats grazed across the southern-most corner, suggesting a farm or village lay within droving distance.
The signs of settled people eased some of Domnall’s other concerns. They would need to barter for what they couldn’t hunt or fashion themselves. The mortals might also know who had occupied and enlarged the old fortress, and what had happened for them to leave it to ruin. He also suspected that finding water wasn’t the reason his trapper had asked him to accompany him.
“What weighs on you, Brother?”
“’Tis much changed, Dun Chaill,” Broden said, watching the animals. “Gone strange in some manner I dinnae ken, and no’ just from the vastness added to it. I keep watch over my shoulder, and on my every step. Do you reckon I’m fashed?”
Domnall shook his head. “I’ve felt the same, even as we rode from the pass.”
The trapper crouched down to collect a handful of pebbles. Rising, he began dropping them one by one into the stream. “That fack Galan didnae lie about our prospects. We’ve no tribe left, nor allies outside the Moss Dapple’s lands. We’ve naught but what remains of Dun Chaill. ’Twill aid us to protect ourselves and your wench. But we should first learn what ’twas done to make the fortress into a stronghold, and why.”
“That and who might now hold claim to the place.” He needed to make one thing clear to the trapper. “I didnae speak as I should last night of Jenna. I’ve no claim to the lass, Broden, but I want her, and no’ as my wench.”
The tracker said nothing for a long moment. “She’s no’ like us.”
“Even so.” He’d have a mortal lifetime to share with her, which seemed better than nothing.
“Then forget my counsel to you at the river,” the trapper said, and tossed the remaining stones into the water. “Tell the lass how we’re changed. Why we dinnae hunt unless we must.” He regarded him. “She should ken the man she offers herself to before she declares it.”
Now Domnall understood the trapper’s change of heart. During their mortal lives Broden’s looks had drawn many lasses to him, but only one had managed to catch his eye in return: Eara, the beautiful daughter of the tribe’s war master.
Broden had not encouraged the lass, but he’d often watched her when he thought no one would notice. Although her parents did much to keep Eara from the trapper, the lass decided she wanted no other as her mate. She declared as much to Broden’s sire when he came to trade with the Mag Raith. Unhappily she’d spoken to him openly during an evening gathering of the entire tribe.
“Wed yerself to my son? Be ye daft?” The headman had laughed heartily at Eara before making a contemptuous gesture toward Broden. “He’s my slave’s bastart. He’ll never have lands nor rank. Ye’d do better to mate with a pig herder, lass.”
Eara had fled weeping, Domnall remembered, but Broden had remained. His unfortunate origins finally confirmed, the trapper had borne the tribe’s stares and murmurs without flinching. He’d done the same the next moon, when Eara had been wed to her sire’s choice, the tribe’s dour, hulking stonemason.
“She’ll ken the truth first,” Domnall told the trapper. “And I’ll abide by what Jenna wishes after ’tis made plain.”
“She’ll want you,” Broden predicted, sounding slightly appeased, and then glanced up at the brightening sky. “Only remember what wants her.”
The warmth of sunlight on her face woke Jenna from a deep, dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes to see Mael crouched by the camp fire and pouring the steaming contents from a waterskin into a row of cups. From the pungent and minty smell she guessed he’d made another brew, but how he’d heated it without burning the skin puzzled her. Then she saw the droop at the bottom, as if something heavy had been added to the contents, and the heap of small pebbles on the fire stones. They reminded her of the pile of rubble she’d skirted last night to reach the dirt-glutted stairs inside the tower.
They don’t fit.
Jenna sat up and immediately bit back a groan as every sore, tight part of her body protested. Eyeing Mael, she said, “Good morning.”
“Doesnae feel ’tis, aye?” He added a pinch of herbs to one cup before holding it out to her. “Woundwort for the rider’s bruise, and water mint for your tongue.”
Jenna cautiously took a sip of the fragrant brew and grinned. “Oh, that’s as good as hot chocolate on Christmas morning.”
The tracker squinted at her. “I dinnae ken your words.”
They’d come out of her memory without any associations, except with his brew. A mild throb of discomfort pulsed between her temples.
“It must be something from my people, in America.”
“Aye, ’twould seem so.” He busied himself with filling the other cups. “Our tribe dwelled to the north, in a narrow valley between a loch and high mountains. We called it Cuingealach, the narrow pass. What call you yours?”
“Seattle, Wash– Ow.” Pain shot through her forehead, and her hand shook as she set down the cup. “Okay, every time I remember something, it hurts worse.”
“You’re no’ meant to think on it, lass,” Edane said as he joined them. “’Tis that which took your past that pains you when you try.”
Jenna met his gaze. “Do you know what’s causing it?”
The archer grimaced. “I didnae finish my shaman training. The bow ’twas my only wont. But I reckon ’tis a spell of some sort.” As he glanced all around them and finally over his shoulder, Jenna saw his jaw muscles working. “Aye, the feel of magic, ’tis everywhere.”
A flutter of wings fanned Jenna’s cheek, and one of Kiaran’s kestrels delicately landed in the grass beside her. It held a small, limp rodent by the tail, which it dropped on her blanket before giving her an expectant look.
“Hello,” Jenna said and pretended to admire the bird’s kill for a moment. “If that’s for me, little guy, then you should know that I’m never going to be that hungry.”
The bird puffed up and shook its feathers from its breast to its tail before uttering a series of high-pitched chirps.
“Dive’s a female,” Kiaran said as he came over and bent to offer his leather gauntlet to the bird, who stepped up and clutched it with her black-tipped yellow claws. “Males have gray heads, and are no’ as large.” With his other hand he retrieved the dead rodent. “She’s a keen one for feeding, so she’ll keep bringing you voles until she sees you eat.”
Mael offered her an oatcake, and Jenna made sure that the kestrel saw her take a bite. “Is she like that with everyone?”
“No,” the falconer admitted. “Only the Mag Raith, and now you.”
Something that felt like a hand stroking down the center of her back made Jenna look over her shoulder. From the woods Domnall and Broden emerged, both men talking in low voices until they saw her. Then both fell silent and the trapper avoided her gaze.
Looks like I’m the topic of conversation again, but why?
Another, lighter sensation slid down along her spine, and she saw the overseer in the next moment rub his inked arm. She followed the heavy bulge of his bicep up to his shoulder, and then saw the tic of his pulse just below his jawline. Her breath caught as her gaze shifted up to lock with his, and she lost herself in the golden emerald wildness of his eyes.
We should be naked and alone.
All the sounds around Jenna seemed to grow distant, and the heat of the early morning sun sank into her skin like warm water. She could feel in her throat the heavy thud of a strong, deep pulse. Her own heart sped to a frantic, trapped-moth beat, and all the breath slipped out of her lungs. Somehow Domnall was doing this to her, and he didn’t appear to be aware of it. As he came closer his scent flooded her senses as if he were on top of her instead of a dozen yards away.
If he’d been within reach Jenna would have flung herself at him.
The
strange enchantment ended a moment later when Domnall took his hand from his arm, and Broden called to Edane to help him lead the horses to water. It almost hurt to feel it vanish from her, as if she were losing part of herself. To feel that way about a man she’d known for only a few days should have shamed her, but she didn’t care. Whatever it was, she wanted more.
“I’ve some borage if the woundwort doesnae help,” Mael said to her, breaking the spell.
“No, this is good.” Feeling flushed, Jenna pushed the erotic thoughts out of her head and quickly finished the brew. She stood and went still, looking down at her legs. “More than good. I feel great.”
The tracker frowned at her, and then nodded. “Aye, the brew, ’tis never failed me.”
“Good morning,” Jenna said as Domnall approached her, hoping she wouldn’t end up in another erogenous trance. “Can I help with the horses, or are we going to explore the castle?”
“’Tis signs of a settlement to the south.” He spoke to Mael, not her. “We’ll ride there with the lass to barter for what’s needed. Kiaran, you, Edane and Broden shall guard the camp.”
The falconer lifted his arm, from which Dive flew, and then handed Mael a sack.
Jenna frowned as Domnall walked off toward where they’d hung their saddles last night. “Shouldn’t we have a look around first before we decide to stay here?”
“’Tis decided, lass,” Mael told her as he opened the sack and took out a brace of ptarmigan. “Domnall’s our chieftain now. We abide by his rule.”
“I don’t.” Even as she said that Jenna felt idiotic. “Please understand, I’m grateful for what Domnall and all of you have done for me. I doubt Galan would have let me live. But I’m not Mag Raith. I’m…I’m American.”
The tracker’s brows rose. “You’re no’ in America anymore, lass. You’re here, and Domnall’s our leader. He’s a good and fair man. You’ve naught to fear in accepting his charge.”