Upon hearing that, Mrs. MacEachern went perfectly still while Ned gasped and crossed himself. “May the Lord protect us all from such a fate. Ye ’ave my sympathy.”
“Yer sympathy is kind, but what we need is yer help.”
The man studied Xavier, then laughed long and hard. “What power do ye think I might have over fairy folk? I canna help ye with that. No one can help ye.”
Mrs. MacEachern reached for her tea and took a long sip, her shifting eyes betraying her. She had a secret. Xavier kept his eyes on her as he asked, “Is it true ye are the great-great-great-grandson of Neil MacEachern?”
“Aye.”
“We have it on good authority that Alasdair once saved his son Neil from the fairies and that son produced a sword that could be used against the wee folk. Please, we need that sword ta get our wee bairn back.”
Ned scoffed and shook his head. “Ye’ve been told wrong. That myth was the raving story of a madman. Even the family dinna believe it.”
“But you have the sword?” Xavier leaned across the table toward the man, willing him to turn the weapon over.
“Your reliable source shoulda told ye that Alasdair was a blacksmith. He made many swords, and aye, some of them are still around. Some may even be in ma possession. But I’m not of the mind to be handin’ them out to any stranger that comes ta ma door.”
“I will pay ye handsomely for it.”
“I dinna have it, I said, and even if I did, I would not give it to ye.”
Xavier’s fists clenched. Perhaps the man needed more incentive to cooperate. He reached for his dirk.
“Mrs. MacEachern,” Avery said in a voice as sweet as honeycomb and sounding almost as local as he did. “I can see ye are well familiar with whit it’s like to love a bairn.” Avery’s voice cracked, and a tear carved its way down her face. She reached out and held the woman’s hand. “I ken it seems that an old sword will be useless against the evil that ravaged our small family. Gwendolyn was our only bairn after so many years of tryin’.”
Avery’s tone was so bereft a lump formed in Xavier’s throat despite his knowing she was making the entire thing up. Even with his abilities to cloak himself in illusion, he wondered if Avery’s talent at deception might be superior.
Mrs. MacEachern tilted her head in sympathy. “Loss is somethin’ I ken well.”
For some reason, that made Ned irate. He stood from his chair and slapped his wife in a way that shocked Xavier to the core. He rose and placed himself between Ned and his wife, fists raised. The look he gave the man made it clear he did not approve. But before the two could come to blows, Avery’s hand landed on his arm, and all the anger seemed to drain out of him.
“Please, we dinna come here to fight,” she said.
Ned eyed them both with disgust. “I gave ye yer answer. Finish yer tea and get outta ma house.” He gave one last look of warning to his poor wife before leaving the cottage in a huff.
“What was that about?” Avery asked breathlessly.
His wife spoke in a voice as soft as a whisper. “I can get ye the sword.”
Avery leaned toward her. “I promise ye, we will return it once we’ve tried… tried everything there is to try to get my Gwendolyn back.” Her hand squeezed the woman’s. “Please, I beg of ye, just one week. If ye lend me the sword for one week, whatever happens, I will accept it as God’s will and return it to ye here right after. Please. What mother could forgive herself for not tryin’ everythin’?”
The woman lowered her chin and stared at Xavier as if she could see straight into his dragon heart. “I will give ye the sword and ye can keep it for all I care, but ye must do something for me first.”
Xavier frowned. There was something strange about this woman, not the least of which was how little she’d reacted when her husband had slapped her. “Whit is it ye want?”
She pointed a finger toward a ladder near the back of the cottage. “There’s a box upstairs. Bring me what’s inside it, and I will tell ye where the sword is.”
Tentatively, Xavier rose and moved across the room, his eyes darting back to the woman and to Avery, who rose and followed him. He climbed the ladder and peered into a short loft above the main part of the house. He had to crawl into the space, which was just big enough for a child. A mattress on the floor with a mass of blankets seemed to indicate this was in fact where their child slept.
Avery climbed the ladder behind him. “Do you see a box?” she whispered.
“Aye.” He’d found it in plain sight at the back of the room.
“Well?” Avery whispered.
“It’s made of iron.” A tingle ran along his spine.
“So?”
“So why can’t the woman retrieve it herself?” He looked back at Avery. There was only one reason someone would hide something inside an iron box.
Avery shook her head. “Who cares? Give her what she wants so we can get the sword and get out of here before her husband comes back and takes away our only chance.”
Fairies couldn’t touch iron without being burned, and they were close to the fairy hills. Was it possible Ned’s wife was one of the wee folk? He shook his head. She looked human, and they had a child. Perhaps the box was simply locked and the woman needed him to open it. He lifted the lid. Not locked, and what he saw inside made him revisit his earlier hypothesis.
Avery appeared beside him. She must have given up on waiting at the top of the ladder. “What is that? It looks like a fur coat.”
“’Tis a fur coat. She’s a selkie.” Xavier scowled. This was a dilemma. “MacEachern has this in an iron box so she can’t touch it.”
A distinct line appeared between Avery’s eyes. “Selkie… Those are the seal people who shed their skin.” She gasped. “Are you telling me that the woman downstairs is being held here against her will because that asshole who beats her and wouldn’t even consider helping us has her skin in an iron box?”
Xavier raised his eyebrows. “She’s his wife. We can’t give it to her. She’ll leave him and return to the sea!”
“The hell we can’t.” Avery grabbed the skin out of the box and crawled toward the ladder, her skirts bunched around her waist.
“Wait! Ye donna ken the way things are!” Xavier whispered loudly. He tried to catch her, but even disguised as a smaller man, his larger size slowed him in the cramped space.
Avery lowered herself onto the ladder with surprising grace. “All I need to know is that a shifter, just like you, is enslaved here against her will with a domestic abuser. Even if she wasn’t going to give us the location of the sword, I’d give this back to her.” She shook the skin righteously and descended into the room below.
“Damn pigheaded woman,” Xavier murmured and hurried after her.
Avery charged into the main room of the cottage and watched the woman’s dark brown eyes grow to a size befitting her seal form. She lunged for the skin.
Avery dodged to the side and held the pelt over the fire. “First the sword.”
Xavier entered the room with his hands outstretched toward the selkie.
“Keep your promise and I’ll keep mine.”
“Aye, I will. But be warned, Ned is no ordinary fisherman. He’s an expert swordsman from a long line of weaponsmiths. He practices two hours a day, every day. If ye take that blade, ye better run before he gets wind of whit ye done.”
“I understand.” Xavier nodded.
“Move those stones aside.” The selkie gestured toward the wall that surrounded the fireplace.
Xavier followed the woman’s gaze to a spot above the mantel and jiggled the stones. One large piece of masonry came away from the wall with a tooth-vibrating scrape. Avery turned her head for half a second to see what was there, and the pelt was torn from her hands. She turned back to see the woman running for the door with it.
“Fuck!”
“I’m afraid ye not only cost Ned a wife but poor Fergus a mother,” Xavier said sadly.
“How can you say that after the
way he slapped her?” Avery stared at him, absolutely appalled.
He grunted. “There’s what’s right and then what is. The selkie will not come back, not even for her son. Ye’ve saved the selkie but orphaned the boy.”
She frowned and pointed her chin toward the mantel. “Please tell me there is actually a sword behind that stone.”
“Donna worry. It’s here.”
She watched him reach into the hole in the stone and withdraw a dusty length of leather. He drew a sword from the scabbard, an iron blade, black as night and etched with strange symbols. The blade enchanted her, and although she couldn’t actually hear anything, she could have sworn the sword was singing. Its voice seemed to vibrate against her skin.
“Whit’re ye doin’?” Xavier asked when her hand landed above his on the hilt.
“I want to hold it.”
“It’s heavy. I have it.”
“Just once. I… I need to.”
Xavier gave her a strange look. She never had a chance to hold the blade.
The door swung open and Ned MacEachern stormed in, his own sword in hand. “Ye cost me ma wife!”
He lunged at Xavier, who thrust her out of the way and blocked the attack with Fairy Killer. The metal sparked where it connected.
“Run, Avery,” Xavier ordered. “I’m right behind you.”
She ran for the door and toward the place where Tàirn waited. Xavier burst out after her, dueling with Ned, who was clearly a master swordsman. Ned advanced and Xavier retreated toward the shore of the loch.
Everything stopped when a voice, hollow and mournful, rang out from the water. Avery saw the head of a seal bobbing on the waves, and behind her, the wild red hair of a woman with a crown of seashells. The woman embraced the selkie, then opened her mouth and sang. The melody reverberated around her, its sad and mournful tune causing Avery’s heart to ache. She didn’t understand the words, but the power that wrapped around her told its own story. The song, she sensed, was a tale about how her friend had been stolen from her and now returned, and the emotion behind every note brought Avery to tears.
The song’s effect on Ned was far more dramatic. The man abruptly stopped dueling Xavier and dropped his sword. Face blank, he turned on his heel and strode directly toward the water’s edge.
He didn’t stop there. He walked right into the water, knee deep, then waist, then chest.
“Ned!” Avery called. She took a step forward, meaning to stop him.
Suddenly Xavier’s arms were around her, holding her in place.
“He’s going under!” Avery yelled in alarm. “We can’t let him drown.”
Xavier looked confused as she turned in his arms. “You’re not drawn toward her voice?”
She narrowed her eyes on him and scoffed. “No. Why would I be?”
“She’s a siren! Ye canna hear her song?”
“Of course I can hear it. It’s lovely and sad.”
He shook his head.
“Never mind. You’ve got to help Ned. We can’t let him drown!” She pointed her hand at the man whose head bobbed offshore as he tried to swim toward his wife and the siren. “He has a child!”
The boy named Fergus watched in horror from beside the barn, his wide brown eyes reminding her of his mother’s.
“He’s half selkie. Her song willna affect him.”
“He needs his father, Xavier.”
“Hold this.” Xavier handed her Fairy Killer.
Finally! The sensation that traveled up Avery’s arm was one she could only describe as a connection. It was like she’d just been plugged in. She didn’t pay attention as Xavier presumably rushed into the water to rescue Ned. Instead, she circled the sword around her body in a wide figure eight. She’d never held a sword in her life, yet this one seemed to know her, to whisper to her like a lover.
I am yours.
A spluttering noise broke her from the trance she was in. She turned in time to see Mr. MacEachern spew a fountain of dark water from his lungs. After Ned’s fit of coughing, Xavier helped him to his feet.
Avery looked out over the loch to find the seal and the siren gone. Ned’s gaze darted from the boy to the loch to Xavier and finally settled on Avery. He rubbed his chest as if the feeling of waterlogged lungs was fresh on his mind. There was plenty of anger apparent on his face, but Avery could also see how grateful the man was that Xavier had saved him from the siren’s song.
“Keep the sword,” Ned rasped after a long moment. He hobbled off toward the boy.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything about the sword was magical. Avery inspected the hilt as Xavier removed the leather scabbard from around his neck and held out his hand, beckoning it from her. She’d never seen such fine craftsmanship. A Celtic design decorated the grip, and ancient symbols paraded up and down the blade. She wasn’t sure a modern factory could even produce such a fine design. She was blown away by the incredible idea that a blacksmith had made it by hand hundreds of years ago.
“I can carry that for you, lass.” Xavier made a gimme gesture with his fingers. “We should put it away before ye get hurt.”
“I’m fine. I’m looking at it. Give me the scabbard.” She sighed, holding out her hand.
“But it must be heavy,” he drawled. “Allow me ta carry it for ye. It will be too hard for ye on Tàirn.”
“It’s not heavy. Remarkably light actually. Do you think that’s a clue to its authenticity? It’s hard to believe a human made this.” She snatched the scabbard from his hands and slipped the blade inside its sheath, then slung it over her shoulder so it hung down her back. “See? Not heavy at all.”
Xavier raised a finger but seemed at a loss for words. She strode toward Tàirn, mounting the horse before Xavier could protest. He frowned up at her, frustration brewing. “I won’t be able to hold ye in the saddle with it between us. Just give it to me, lass.”
She rearranged the blade so that it crossed her chest in front of her instead. “There. Out of the way.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, but he climbed on behind her and kicked the horse on. After ensuring a distance between them and the cottage, Xavier shed his illusion and changed back into himself. Avery noticed because the hand around her waist grew larger and his widening chest pressed more firmly against her back.
“Odd, ye ken, that ye were immune to the siren’s call.” His lips were very near her ear, and his breath warmed her blood.
She shrugged. “Maybe it only works on men.”
“Nay. I’ve been alive a long time, Avery. Have never seen a human man or woman resist the call of a grown siren. Ye’ve got some kind of magic about ye. Are ye sure ye’re no witch?”
“You know I’m not. I couldn’t have come through the wards if I were,” she said defensively.
“Hmm.”
“Men.”
“Whit about men?”
“You would rather believe I was supernatural than admit I simply have a strong human mind.”
He scoffed. “It takes more than a strong will to resist a siren.”
She shrugged. What did it matter? So she wasn’t susceptible to sirens. She was sure many people here weren’t. “Do you think the selkie was responsible for the siren’s song?”
“Aye. Ned was about to run me through. The man is an exceptional swordsman. I believe she did us a favor by distracting him.”
“Maybe that’s why I wasn’t affected. The siren didn’t want me to be.”
“Maybe.”
“By the way, you can thank me now for finding the sword. If I’d left you to your devices, you’d have fisted Ned’s face before the selkie told us anything.”
His chest rumbled with his laugh behind her. “How do ye know a few punches were not what he needed to turn the blade over?”
She laughed. “You think if you pounded his face, he would have handed over the sword without resistance?”
“At that point I woulda taken it.”
“You had no idea where it was or what it looked lik
e. You would have been SOL, my friend.”
“SOL?”
“Shit out of luck. I guess you don’t use that expression here.”
He laughed. “Nay. But I like it. I suppose it was a tense situation for a lass.”
She scoffed. “No. I have tons of experience with tense situations.”
“Whit now?”
“I’ve spent the past five years bartending and serving in New Orleans. We get all sorts of people in my family’s pub. Doing what I do, you get good at resolving conflict really quickly. There’s always some guy itching for a fight or trying his best to cop a feel. And women aren’t much better, although they tend to be less aggressive. I have to protect women from themselves more often than not.”
He made a low, Scottish sound deep in his throat. “You shouldna do this work.”
His voice was edged in anger. Avery raised an eyebrow. That was interesting. By the tone of his voice, he almost sounded… jealous.
“No. I think I’m done bartending. But I’m very good at defusing tension.”
“Good. I donna like thinking about men grabbin’ you.”
“No?”
“No. Ye should be treated with proper respect. Ye shouldna need these skills ye say ye learned. What type of world is it out there that would allow ye to be treated such?”
His mounting anger made a warm feeling spread in the general vicinity of her heart. He truly wanted to protect her. It was sweet. Avery wasn’t used to being the one protected.
“I bet if you’d been there with me, no one would dare touch me,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Not if they wanted to keep their fingers.”
Avery quieted, suddenly more aware than ever of his nearness. He loomed warm and large behind her, and she closed her eyes and inhaled his smoky, fresh-grass scent. The feel of his powerful, corded arms around her as they rode together was almost too much to bear.
She placed a hand on his thigh beside her, leaned more fully against him, and said, “I would have liked that, to have you with me. Not that I couldn’t defend myself, but it would be nice to have someone in my corner looking out for me.”
Highland Dragon Page 14