by Hazel Hunter
Edane uttered a chuckle, and then grimaced. “Forgive me. ’Tis only I’ve long wondered how you twice escaped the cider house. ’Tis no’ so surprising, I reckon. During the battle with the Sluath we–”
“That ’twill keep, Archer.” Broden leaned forward, his eyes intent on Jenna. “You ken why the facking skeg brought you to the chieftain, dinnae you?”
“I was some kind of twisted gift.” She reached for Domnall’s hand, twining her fingers through his. “I know he’d never force himself on me. What I think we did was find a way to escape them. Somehow in the process we got separated in time.”
“And the rest of the Mag Raith, then?” Kiaran asked, his voice tight. “What became of us?”
“’Twould seem they separated us from Domnall and the lass,” Mael said, frowning at the falconer. “He didnae leave us behind with the demons, or you shouldnae be here to ask.”
Kiaran rose to his feet and came around the fire to crouch beside Jenna, his expression intent. “Ken you anything more of the Mag Raith in the underworld? Why the demons took us? Did the facking prince say?”
“I didn’t remember meeting Domnall. That’s his memory. I just know I would have been safe with him.” She reached out and touched the falconer’s arm. “Has anything come back to you?”
He ducked his head. “No’ a moment of it. I’ve tried to recall it every day since we awoke, but ’tis lost to me.”
Domnall heard the shame in his tone, and reached over to grip his shoulder. “I remembered but a few minutes with Jenna and the demon, yet that proves our memories werenae destroyed. Our past ’twill come back to us.”
Kiaran rubbed a hand over his face before he nodded.
“Aye, and mayhap this place shall unveil more,” Edane said, eyeing the outer wall.
“Tomorrow we should begin a thorough search of the ruins,” Jenna told him. “We’ve already found one intact sublevel–”
“No,” Domnall said. “’Tis too dangerous, as we both ken.” He looked around at his men. “We’ll pack up tonight, and ride out at dawn. They’ll no’ welcome us back at the village, but we can reach the outer midlands in twoday.”
Jenna drew her hand from his. “If we go now, we may never find out what happened to us. I got my life back today. Besides, how dangerous can it be when the five of you…” Her voice trailed off. “Is this because I’m mortal? In case you’ve forgotten, I saved you today.”
No Pritani or dru-wid female would ever have challenged him so openly, especially under threat. That Jenna would now prodded his temper. They might not have formally mated, but she had given herself to him. It was time she understood what that meant.
“For that I’m grateful,” he said softly. “But it doesnae alter the danger here. Someone kicked that wedge aside, and ’twas no’ any of mine.”
“You don’t know that for certain.” Jenna scrambled to her feet. “The door could have been too heavy for the stone. Don’t tell me you believed that old woman’s superstitious nonsense.”
“Kiaran, we should check the mounts,” Edane said, quickly rising. “And see to the saddles.
Mael also stood and avoided Jenna’s gaze. “Broden and I’ll sort out the packs, and fill the skins. All shall be made ready.”
Domnall waited until the men departed . “Lass, I dinnae discuss my orders. I decide such matters for the good of all.”
“Yes, Mael told me all about it, but that’s not how it is in my time,” Jenna said flatly. “I remember my life now. In the future women don’t have to blindly obey men. We’re not treated like livestock or property. We make our own decisions.”
“Aye.” The anger flaring in her eyes made him itch to haul her into his arms and kiss her breathless. “Yet you’re no’ in your time.”
She peered at him. “This isn’t about me at all. You don’t want to know. You think if you leave now that we’ll never remember the rest. What are you so afraid of?” When he didn’t reply her expression turned stubborn. “I have to find out what they did.”
Her fury fed his own. “You vowed you wouldnae go anywhere without me.”
“I’m not going.” Pain flickered across her face before she removed his tartan. She put it in his hands before she turned her back on him. “You’re leaving me.”
Domnall watched her head into the forest, his hands knotting. He should let her walk off her anger, and then speak with her again once he’d regained his calm. The twilight deepened as she disappeared into the trees, and he thought of the last time he’d seen his sire’s face.
The scant light of a single flame had shown Domnall what he had done. He remembered how his fingers had shaken when he’d reached for the hilt of his sire’s dagger, only to have his hand seized by the headman.
Curse ye for a coward. Ye’ve killed the tribe.
Kiaran left Edane with the horses and a lie about seeing to his kestrels. He knew all of his birds now perched high in the trees to keep watch over the camp. Through their eyes he watched Domnall and Jenna argue before the lass stalked off. A moment later the chieftain followed, his expression grim.
You’ve met your match there, Brother.
He felt a pang of sympathy for the big man, for Domnall had answered to no one but Galan for the last twelve centuries. Even in their mortal lives he’d cared little for the females, preferring the hunt above the pursuit of a mate. Kiaran had always admired his staunch indifference to everything, even his duty to the tribe.
The falconer found a spot near one of the old walls where he could conceal himself, and there stood as he thought through all that Domnall and Jenna had revealed. Both had endured horrors, that much seemed clear, yet seemed entirely unshaken by their ordeals. The lass had even concealed from them her ability to change into ghost-form.
Kiaran understood why she had kept silent about her gift. Doubtless Galan would have used it as evidence of her treacherous nature. But the Mag Raith were all the protection she had against the headman in a world of which she knew nothing. To keep them from turning against her she’d have to make them believe that she was as she claimed.
Just as the Mag Raith believed that he alone had survived a Viking attack that had slaughtered his entire tribe.
The past had never sat easily on him. Even before becoming a hunter Kiaran had endlessly entreated the Gods to give him such strength, especially when the nightmares gnawed at him.
Let me be like the kestrels, and care for naught but the sky, the chase, and the kill.
Yet he’d never be like the birds or the other hunters.
Among Domnall’s tribe Kiaran had been tolerated since he had wandered, battered and dazed and starving, into their settlement. It had taken days for the older women to nurse him out of his shocked stupor. After he came back to himself, and began to speak, they took him to see their headman.
Nectan mag Raith had seemed like a tall and terrible giant to Kiaran, and had done nothing to coddle him.
Ye’ll tell me how ye came here, lad, and why. Speak the truth now, or I’ll drive ye out.
Stuttering and weeping, he’d told Nectan mag Raith of raiders that had come in the night. How his mother had run with him into the forest and the Vikings had pursued them. He spoke of the last thing he remembered, the smashing clout of a raider’s fist and waking in darkness. He told the headman what he’d felt when he’d stumbled back to his village, finding it gutted and burned, and every soul there butchered. He’d found his mother’s body, and screaming at what had been done to her, he stumbled away. He ran until he dropped, and then limped when he could no longer run, until he reached the Mag Raith.
It was the truth, of sorts, just not Kiaran’s.
The headman’s expression remained stern throughout Kiaran’s blubbering, and then he slapped him, hard enough to make his ears ring.
Weeping, ’tis for bairns and females. If ye’re to join my tribe ye’ll act a man. Kneel, and pledge yer loyalty to me now, and I’ll see ye made a Mag Raith.
From that night Kiaran had
never wept again.
Nectan kept his word, and the tribe had adopted him. The women shared the work of feeding and clothing him, while the men attended to his training. Yet none of the families wished to take him as a son. Instead, Kiaran was expected to toil for them from dawn to dusk, doing whatever they asked of him. He’d been no better than a slave.
But he did the work without complaint, since he didn’t deserve to be anyone’s son.
Kiaran’s boyhood remained dismal until he was deemed old enough to look after himself and live on his own. Even then he was expected to build his own broch and hunt for himself, for no family owed him anything. But Kiaran soon discovered that he had no skill with a spear, and had to trade work for food to avoid starvation.
All that changed when he found Dive, the first of his kestrels.
Kiaran had been gathering berries when he saw the flutter of feathers in the bramble patch. The kestrel clutched a small vole in her claws, but her wings had become snagged on the sharp thorns. The little bird’s dark eyes had met his, and she’d stilled. He’d freed her as gently as he could, and then placed her on the ground. She’d looked up at him before flying off, only to return a short time later, hovering over him.
Holding out his arm, Kiaran had hardly dared to breathe. When the kestrel landed on his wrist, her claws had stabbed deep into his flesh. But he was so enchanted by her that he hardly felt the wounds.
Dive kept coming to him whenever he gathered berries there, and in time he’d discovered her nest, buried in a hollow tree. He brought voles for her and her four young, and wore a leather gauntlet for her to perch on. Soon Dive began teaching her nestlings how to hunt, and Kiaran began to learn, too.
As his prowess with the birds grew, he knew it would cause trouble for him. Among Pritani tribes falconers were prized and respected but they learned their craft from a sire or a master who chose them. Kiaran had no right to use the kestrels even if he knew how.
Broden had been the first to discover his secret when he’d come upon him using Dive to hunt and sporting a fat brace of hares. Instead of condemning Kiaran, or exposing him to Nectan’s wrath, he’d helped him make his first set of jesses. He’d also shown him the clever talent he had for trapping. They became friends of sorts, two outcasts hiding their skills from the tribe, until at last they joined Domnall and the others.
The four men became the brothers Kiaran had always longed for, but still he kept the truth hidden.
He blinked back into the present and looked up to see Dive seemingly floating in the air over him, as vigilant as ever. He held out his arm for her to perch, and then looked into her eyes, seeing himself through them. His face made a pale smear in the deepening shadows as he heard Nectan’s voice echoing from the past, the night before that last hunt, demanding he do the one thing impossible for him.
Speak the truth and ye’ll die. Hold yer tongue and ye’ll live.
Kiaran sent Dive off to her perch. By now he reckoned Domnall would have caught up with the lass to settle the discord between them. As willful as she was lovely, Jenna wouldn’t cower before the chieftain. She wouldn’t run from him. One of the few advantages to Kiaran being passed around the tribe had been to see many types of mated couples, and how they got along, or didn’t. Domnall and his lady might not yet realize it, but they suited each other perfectly.
Kiaran would never have such a woman, but he had his birds and his secrets. He pushed away from the wall. That would have to be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Drawn from his labors by mortal screams, Cul kept watch from the slopes overlooking Wachvale. The stench of blood and death tainted every breath he took, speaking much of what had caused the villagers to shriek.
More hunters had come but these had wished only sport.
While Cul built Dun Chaill he’d permitted the villagers to dwell in peace. Simple folk interested only in themselves, they had never strayed beyond their wall. Over time they’d also provided the valuable service of cleaning up whatever he scattered in their pastures. Seeing them butchered by the druid’s men displeased him so much he considered taking the druid once the demons left. The only thing that saved the tree-worshipper was his speedy departure, and the sound of moans coming from the burnt cottages.
The dreadful noise told Cul that some of the villagers yet lived.
Mortals such as these had always been as unforgiving as himself. If they survived their wounds, they would burn with hatred for those responsible. Even after seeing that all of the druid’s men lay dead beside their murdered kin, it would not be enough. They would go in search of others to see what the druid had done. They would rally enough to begin searching for him. While they deserved vengeance, a search might lead more of their kind to Dun Chaill.
Cul could not permit that. His castle had to remain inviolate until the day came for the justice he sought.
Once the moon rose and night cloaked the ruined village, Cul slipped down from the slopes. From long habit he kept to the shadows as he approached the charmed gate. The dangling bits of quartz made him sneer with contempt. He tore it open, flinging the crystal-studded barricade into the wall. Stones rumbled as a long gap appeared in the stonework, and the sheep herd it protected bleated and scattered.
“Run away, run away,” he muttered, watching them. “For you shall have to fend for yourselves now.”
He made his way into the village to first inspect the corpses before he entered a cottage. There by a hearth sat an old man covered in blood and rocking back and forth. In his arms he cradled the body of a bairn that had been nearly hacked in two.
As Cul approached the old mortal’s tearful gaze met his, and he stiffened. “Kithan.”
“No need to fear, Grandfather,” he assured him.
As Cul moved behind him, he curled his hands around the wrinkled neck. He caressed his quivering flesh fondly, enjoying the rare contact, until he felt the warmth of blood seeping from the elder’s scalp. The amount, and the too-rapid pulse of the villager’s heart, suggested he’d bleed out before dawn.
The old man went still, and then uttered his last word. “Why?”
“I have to be sure,” Cul said softly, apologetically.
It took only a quick, hard jerk, and the old man slumped back, his hands falling away from the murdered child. Cul looked down on them both for a moment before he nodded and went to the next cottage.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As night crept like shadow cats through the woods, Jenna slowed her pace. The last thing she wanted to do was trip and fall into the stream. Sloshing around in the dark where she couldn’t see the rocks would result in injuries she didn’t need. She was already hurt enough.
Now that she remembered the rest of her life before coming to this time, it shocked her how little she missed the twenty-first century. After school she’d thrown herself into building her career. It had cost her the only two men she’d ever bothered to date. Both had wanted more than an occasional dinner out and casual sex from her. Neither had stirred Jenna’s heart, so she’d broken it off each time. She’d been so focused that she’d had no real friends or interests outside of work.
But the one thing Jenna did miss was being in charge of her life, making her own decisions, and charting her own course. Apparently medieval women didn’t get those options.
Domnall could be forgiven for his thirteenth-century attitudes. He probably did believe he was protecting her by overruling her desire to stay and search the ruins. What she couldn’t stand was her suspicion that behind all that medieval chauvinism he was hiding something else.
He still doesn’t trust me.
The sound of the stream guided her out of the forest, and she made her way carefully down to the soft, short grass that carpeted the bank. Above her the stars had begun buttoning the sky with diamond light. Just above the far ridges she could make out the curved tooth of the rising crescent moon. It made her think of all the nights she’d spent in the office, putting in overtime on some project or
another. All that time and effort to show her boss that she was serious about her work, when she could have been sitting by a stream and watching the stars.
It's nothing personal, Hal Maxwell had said, right before he’d had a building blown up on top of her.
Tingling warmth stroked up her spine, but Jenna ignored it as she went to sit on a large flat-topped rock. There was just enough space for her to tuck her legs to one side and brace herself with a hand. When Domnall came up behind her she could feel him like a caress moving from her waist to her shoulders.
Whatever he said now didn’t matter. If he intended to force her to leave, she’d find her way back again. Everything she needed to know was right here, waiting to be found.
“You asked what I feared, and I shall tell you.” He sat down on the grass beside the rock, and looked out over the slopes. “I didnae plan to return after our last hunt. Before we left the settlement, I killed my sire.”
She frowned and turned her head, flinching when she saw how remote his expression had become. He wasn’t joking. He’d murdered his father.
“Nectan came to me in the night, while I slept. I woke as he made to stab me.” He joined his hands and rested his forearms on his knees. “We struggled, and I turned the blade on him. Before he could stop me, I drove it into his heart.”
“Oh, Domnall, no,” Jenna said and shuddered. “Why did he attack you?”
He shook his head. “With his last breath he cursed me. He said I’d killed the tribe. That I’d be forever damned as a coward for it. Then he died.”
“You’re not a coward.” She scrambled down from the rock, and knelt before him. “You didn’t do anything wrong. My God, he attacked you while you were sleeping.”