Caledonia Destiny

by Lexi Ander

  “I would be remiss if I did not point out that Cerridwen’s visions be what led me to ye, a gift laid at yer feet.” The teasing light in Roi’s gaze dimmed.

  “Then she cannot have you back. I know you must miss your home, and if I were a better man you would be allowed to leave if you so desired. Alas, I be not he. You not by my side be too crippling to think upon.”

  Roi trailed his fingertips lightly down the side of Ewen’s face. “Have no worries. I be yers. For better or worse, I shall remain.”

  Ewen buried his nose in Roi’s hair, feeling a wee bit of shame at his weakness, yet Roi’s calm comfort overwhelmed him and pushed aside those dim, errant feelings. Finally, Ewen rose in search of a cloth and the bucket of water. He tended to Roi, cleaning the seed from him whilst stealing sweet, tender kisses.

  Crawling into bed beside Roi, Ewen drew a fur over them. “Did you ever wonder if the death you thought you would endure meant you were to discard your old life in order to begin anew with me?”

  “Mayhap ye have a point.” Roi chewed upon his lip, his brow furrowed in thought. “I be a seer evermore. Cerridwen has not withdrawn her blessing or power over me, otherwise the light of others would be hidden from me.”

  Caressing the dip at the base of Roi’s neck, goose-flesh formed under his fingertips. “I daresay not, for deities rarely forsake their people unless a grievous trespass forces the break. Can you not serve her from the hearth of my home?”

  “Ye would allow me to…” Roi’s mouth moved yet no other words came forth.

  Frowning, Ewen replied, “I shan’t remove you from her. Your faith be your own, not for me to command.”

  “And if yer kin should ask, what then?”

  Ewen chuckled. “For the last sennight you have been by our side, Roi. We, too, be unlike the rest of our countrymen, for we be neither men nor beasts. We simply be better able to hide.”

  Ewen rolled onto his back, pulling Roi with him, urging Roi to settle against him with his head upon Ewen’s chest. He brushed his lips atop Roi’s golden head as Roi’s hand lightly stroked Ewen’s stomach. If he had not spent his seed a mere few breaths agone, another part of Ewen would have been begging for more of Roi’s stirring touch.

  “Once home, Donn shall tell with much glee to those who be willing to hear about Bear, his chosen marrae, and my courtship of ye. If you accept my proposal, have no doubt that within my demesne you be my equal. My kin shall greet you as my belovèd, my maik-marrae. They shall want to meet you and come for a cèilidh. For many weeks, our home shall be brimming with well-wishers.”

  Ewen grinned at Roi’s startled countenance. “Maik-marrae…” Roi breathed.

  “You must keep in mind that outside the keep, or in the company of guests and callers who do not share a spirit with a mathan, you must be wary.”

  Roi met Ewen gaze. “Belovèd.” This time he said the word with firm surety, as if he finally, truly began to believe.

  “Aye.” And Roi would make a fine maik-marrae.

  XVII

  ROI GRINNED to himself. They had risen early to journey down the river to the next place Ewen would hold an audience. Sitting astride his mount after a night coupling with Ewen would be less than comfortable, but worth every bit of pain.

  The day before, Ewen had sent two men ahead to bear news of his imminent arrival. When Roi followed Ewen out of the cottage, those men already awaited them, accompanied by an escort sent by the mormaer’s steward. The taxes and goods collected at their stop several days afore, along with what would be collected this day, would be handed over to the steward’s guards to traverse the final distance to the mormaer’s castle, leaving Ewen and his kin free to return home.

  With the addition of people not related to Ewen, conversation was kept to the everyday. Roi played the manservant, against Ewen’s wishes, but he was adamant. For though he spoke Gaelic, it was obvious Roi was no Highlander.

  “I be a fresh face amongst a people closely acquainted with their neighbours. Though I speak the language, they shall yet peg me as an outsider,” Roi argued when they returned indoors to gather their belongings. “Better they believe I be yer manservant, for in their eyes I have not the station to be aught else.”

  Ewen tossed his sword belt upon the table. “I would you be an advisor or steward of my house. Not…” He waved his hand in a dismissive manner and gave Roi his back. “You be no manservant of mine.”

  Roi smoothed out the angry lines betwixt Ewen’s shoulders. If he had continued to worry about Ewen’s intentions towards him, this fit of temper would have allayed them posthaste. “Ye and yer kin know who I be to ye. We cannot change the world without in but a day. Later ye can grant me a different status afore the eyes of others. To do so now would be too soon. It mayn’t be understood why ye esteemed a stranger so quickly.”

  Roi grinned at Ewen’s low grunt. “I be rushing along like a headstrong, youthful boy, whilst you speak calming and wise words. I be aware of what can and cannot be done. I have lived all my life hiding away some part of meself, even from my own kin. Yet, of a sudden I chafe under the fetters placed upon me.”

  “Come. Let us be ready.” Roi rubbed Ewen’s back. “I would not argue over what cannot be changed. I am content. I would ye be as well.”

  Ewen had turned into Roi’s touch, pressing warm lips to Roi’s neck. As tempting as Ewen may be, Roi moved away, sending him a silent vow they would continue this tryst but only upon their return to the intimacy of the cottage. Something in Roi’s eyes seemed to give away his thoughts, for Ewen’s gaze raked over him, a sly grin gracing Ewen’s shapely lips.

  Roi held to that visage as they rode past farms and small hamlets in the wee hours of the morn, the heavy woollen cloak his only warmth. They travelled more quickly once the sun had risen sufficiently to provide ample light, traversing the pathway to the easternmost end of Gleann Lìomhann with quickening haste. The mountains withdrew, opening up as the glen widened. Stopping outside one of the more prominent cottages, Ewen was met by an older man who led them to a tent that had been assembled for him to use as the meeting place.

  As Ewen made arrangements, Roi took in the lush meadow overlooked by the forest that adorned the sides of the rising mountains. There was something about—

  “Roi, come,” Ewen barked. Had Ewen called for him more than once, to be so abrupt?

  He dismounted the mare, watching for nipping teeth as he untied the scribe’s box and satchel from behind his saddle. One of Ewen’s kin led the steed away, the beastie’s swish of a tail stinging the back of Roi’s hands as he clutched the bundles to his chest. Foul creature.

  Hastening his step, he met Ewen under the canopy and laid out the ink and quibs he would need. Those seeking an audience milled about until the mormaer’s men took up a position in the forward corners.

  The day passed much the same as the last audience, with Ewen attending to matters and Roi scribing the details. When Ewen broke for mid-morn meal, Roi spoke to a few people, at times slipping small pouches into soiled hands for common ailments, and to others giving instructions if the person was open to the knowledge Roi had to bestow. Unlike the first time, word had travelled ahead. Many spoke of the toisech’s marked man, the new healer Ewen had brought from the Lowlands, and asked if Roi was he. As a result, persuading people to heed his words proved not to be as arduous as afore.

  Eventide crept upon them, making the return to the cottage afore full dark an impossible task. The steward’s men loaded up the day’s gleanings, then were upon their way down the trail whilst they still had light to travel by. As Ewen made arrangements for them to stay in the tent, an occurrence that seemed not unusual for Ewen’s biannual visit, Roi wandered the nigh trails.

  Following the footpath a ways, he came upon what resembled an agèd monastery. Yet the building held his interest not, though the air thrummed with power, old and strong. The uneven yellowed grasses slapped at his legs as he explored, until he came upon a well-tended clearing holding three grou
ps of standing stones. The closer he came, the more pinched his exposed skin felt, familiar yet different from the circle at home, more agèd.

  Roi was fairly certain these standing stones were not the only remnants of a time almost forgotten. He had sensed other stirrings, to the south and west, even afore he passed the monastery, which sat upon or nigh to a wellspring.

  The gloaming descended, hastened by the long shadows cast by the surrounding mountains. Knowing Ewen would be searching for him soon, Roi cast his gaze hastily over the circles one last time. For a moment, a gossamer haze hung in the air above the weathered structures, but his eyes must have been playing tricks on him. Dismissing the unbidden, fanciful thought, Roi pulled himself from the call of the circles to walk the trail back to where the tent had been pitched.

  Coming upon the monastery once again, Roi watched warily for the inhabitants, relieved they seemed to have retreated indoors. His experience with Gillie Ainndreis had made him wary of the followers of the god called Christ. Not all believers of this new religion were bloodthirsty, but the stories from the crusaders and his own first-hand experiences caused a wariness he would likely keep the rest of his life.

  What drew Roi from his dark musings was the massive tree alight with scores of bright needle points floating in the boughs like a swarm of insects. Instead of passing by, his feet trod a path towards the spectacle. The tree was by far the most majestic thing he had ever laid eyes upon. Unknowing of the reason why, he sensed a familiarity to this place he had not felt afore. Roi had never been here, but the sight, the smell, all of it was like an old memory that flirted and skittered away when he attempted to grasp it. Something he knew. Something that, if he but grasped it, would reveal all the mesteries that had plagued him these long years.

  As he grappled to recall the elusive memory from the haze of his mind, Roi walked around the tree, keeping a careful distance, for one never knew how such an old energy would react to one such as him. The shape of the leaves, the bend of the boughs, and the texture of the bark made him believe he looked upon a druid’s yew, potent with great age. Strangely, the tree had been split in two, though whether by accident or design, Roi saw no evidence of either, the space was as wide as two men standing shoulder to shoulder.

  Afore he could draw courage to approach, the space betwixt the trunks flexed as if the heat of a summer sun wavered off stone. Betwixt the split in the yew ambled the largest black mathan Roi had ever witnessed. The beast was larger than both Donn and Arailt together. Would Ewen’s Bear be that size if he were freed?

  The mathan changed to a man, blind to the fact that Roi watched from afar, seemingly unconcerned with his nakedness. Rather, he raised his nose to the air and snuffled, reminiscent of what Ewen’s kind did. His head snapped to the north, a low growl reaching Roi’s ears, though he doubted the man meant to be heard. Changing back to the animal, the mathan moved off into the forest’s edge, following the north-rising hill of the mountainside.

  The sound of displaced pebbles drew Roi’s attention from the shadow whence the mathan had vanished. An elderly cleric approached, a wide, inviting smile upon his lips. “Hail, young man!”

  Roi forced his lips into a grin, glad of the darkness that hid the rest of his visage. The fellow who emerged from the tree, foolhardy in his actions, had changed for all to see. Roi’s utmost concern was to protect Ewen’s kin, and distract the cleric.

  “You be a new face hereabouts. Come to see the yew tree, did you?”

  Standing a bit taller, he nodded. “Methinks there be something in the boughs, and I came for a closer look. It be an arresting sight.”

  The cleric stared at Roi for a moment, the smile upon his countenance never wavering. “You be the healer.”

  Roi quelled the urge to step away as the cleric stared at him with a keen eye, unsure if it was to his benefit to answer the question.

  The man continued as if Roi had confirmed his suspicions. “You mayn’t be able to tell in such poor light, but the tree be very old indeed. Scattered about the glen be the remains of a people long agone, their practices lost with them, but the life imbued in the lands remain. Even the Romans left a small dent with their earthenworks and moats. But people come and go, oft leaving a bit of themselves behind. I fancy if you stood long enough you could almost sense the hum of their passing.”

  The cleric sighed, turning his gaze to the tree. “But the essence they stirred, and created, has stayed behind, attaching itself to the skeletons of old settlements, refusing to die just as the practitioners of those dark arts did.”

  Roi ignored the sly look the cleric bestowed upon him. Dark arts, indeed. No such things echoed in this glen.

  “I imagine a healer such as yourself would be sensitive to such.” The cleric regarded him so closely, Roi dared not look to where the wyrbear had disappeared into the woods. “Though you have the mien of a man familiar with violence, you look as if you be acquainted with deeds of old. I sometimes wonder what knowledge has been lost to time, for a people who could erect such structures without any obvious means must have been greatly learnèd.”

  Roi held his tongue. Surely enough time had lapsed for Ewen’s kin to be away? None gave a cry of alarm. Mayhap it was safe now to withdraw from the cleric.

  Afore Roi could, the man asked, “Would you come and share the eve’s repast with me?”

  Returning his attention to the cleric, he knew not how he should answer. Roi had said but a few words to him, was he beholden to agree? But afore he could form a reply, his name was called. Ewen crossed the span betwixt them and the trail with much haste, worry clear upon his visage as his gaze took in Roi’s form.

  “You said not whence you would go,” Ewen admonished. His hand formed a fist as if he restrained himself from grasping Roi.

  “I beg forgiveness, my lord. I only wished to see what this place held, and was captured by the wonder of this ancient tree. The… cleric was kind enough as to indulge me.” Roi realized the man had never given his name.

  “Lord Frazer, how wonderful to see you again.”

  “Simen, how fare you?”

  “Very well. I offered to share repast with your man in hopes of good conversation and news from the Lowlands. Alas, he be a man of few words.”

  Ewen’s smile touched not his eyes. “An abundant meal has been laid out for us at my camp. We would be overjoyed if you joined us.”

  Simen readily accepted, and walked beside Ewen as they shared news. Roi followed a step or so behind, unsettled for a reason he could not claim.

  The hum in the air lessened as they moved away from the sacred circles and the hallowed tree. Roi wished more time to explore, to inspect the circles and the other points of power to the south and west. Such a place of sacred power he had not come across afore. Not that his travels had taken him afar. Deep in his bones, Roi was sure there would be keepers, priests who could contain that which seeped from the Earth. Unguided, much ill could be fashioned with such power gone unchecked. But the quiet solitude of the night told him it had been a great while since this place laid claim to true caretakers of any kind. Mayhap that was why he felt ill at ease. Too much power at the surface, readily available to those who could use it without reprimand or constraint.

  Glancing at Simen, Roi pondered if he would be open to certain rituals that would help contain the power of this place. He would put the question to the cleric once he was sated with food and honey mead. Mayhap Simen would allow Roi a clipping or two from the yew tree, too. With good fortune, conversation would come easier to him, and the eve be not overly long.

  ~ : § : ~

  “OIDHCHE MHATH.” If Simen felt hastily ushered from Ewen’s tent, he said naught.

  Once Roi had relaxed, he spoke more freely with the vale’s cleric in regards to herbs and salves. Ewen interrupted not, but sat back and watched the exchange, a smile upon his face. When Roi had wandered off earlier, Ewen’s sanity nearly slipped away. And then he caught sight of Roi standing awkwardly with Simen. All Ewen
had wanted to do was put his hands upon Roi. He grinned at the memory of Roi’s visage, plainly showing he wished he had not drawn Simen’s attention. Although Roi had eased somewhat, the rigid lines of his shoulders spoke of his continued wariness.

  After they bid Simen a good eve, Roi collapsed upon the bedding, an arm thrown across his brow. Ewen snuffed out all but one candle, stripping out of his clothing afore laying beside Roi.

  Roi lifted his arm and gazed at Ewen, his brow puckered low. “I meant not to cause ye worry, but I felt a pull, almost a calling. Do ye not feel the hum of his place?” Upon Ewen’s quizzical look, Roi continued. “On a night of storms, when lightning strikes nigh, the air be rife with the sting of its power. No matter where I roamed, I could feel the same here.”

  Ewen thought back. Was he truly that deaf to the mesteries around him?

  Bear stirred. “You be warded,” Bear mumbled.

  Roi levered up on his elbow, listening intently as Ewen told him of Bear’s conviction. His gaze narrowed on the knot over Ewen’s right breast.

  “What thinks you?” Ewen prodded. He quelled the impulse to cover his tattoo.

  “Wherefore did ye come by such markings? If Bear be correct, then it mayn’t be only an adornment. Ye wear no baubles or gems, thus the warding be not a type of amulet.”

  Roi’s words brought to Ewen’s mind the necklaces Cináed and his kin wore. “My people use amulets to shield from magick or malice. Could they also be used to hide one’s nature?”

  “Mayhap,” Roi worried upon his bottom lip. “As in to hide a flawed countenance?”

  “Nay. Say a man wished to conceal that which made him a buildsear?” Bear growled at Ewen’s question, knowing full well of whom he spoke.

  “Why for? Sorcerers display no outward sign of their born talent, usually only recognizable to other sorcerers or those who be sensitive to…” Roi’s gaze met Ewen’s, his visage all too calculating. “Ye can see or smell otherworldly natures upon people?”

  “Those born of my Da’s blood can.”