by Lora Andrews
Ewen kissed her cheek. “May I escort you wherever you wish to go, my lady?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. “I can’t think when you stand this close to me.”
“You’re sure it’s no’ the mead?” He took her hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow and led her through the great hall.
“Oh, I’m sure the mead amplifies those pheromones of yours.” She glanced over her shoulder to a gawking Isobel. “Are you okay?”
“Aye. For a long time she held my heart prisoner. It feels good to be free.”
Her chest burst with emotion. Hers. His. Probably both since her shields were shit at the moment. “Dyn is taking me back to the abbey. Ewen—”
Someone grabbed her arm, hard enough to pinch her flesh.
Memories tore through her mind.
Mariota on her knees, bent over an unconscious man bleeding from a knife wound to the chest. The bloody knife was grasped in Swene’s hand.
The scene shifted.
Blond Bres’s angry face contorted in anger. “I asked you to do one simple thing. One. Get the stone.” His fist barreled into Swene’s nose. “And now you’ll suffer the consequences of your failure.” He bared his fangs and the acrid taste of bile filled her mouth.
Another flash.
“I carry your child.”
“Get out. I will not marry a whore.”
Naked and with her back to Swene, the woman picked her clothes off the floor with a laugh. “Watch your words, my lord, or one day you’ll rue the offense.” Smirking, she spun around and sauntered out of the room.
Caitlin gasped, snapping out the vision. “Oh, my god. It’s her.” She blinked, her vision blurring. The room slowly came into focus. She found Ewen beside her, looming over the body of a man, shaking out his left hand like he’d crushed a knuckle. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but the greasy hair…
“Is that Swene?” She looked up to stare at Ewen’s horrified expression. He cupped her face with cold hands. “What happ—”
And then it hit her. She’d had the vision while holding Ewen’s arm.
The bond.
“You saw? Oh, my god. Ewen, he knows the Norn. She’s...”
It can’t be. Oh, god. No. No. No. It can’t be.
“Go now, son,” Ewen’s father said, helping Dyn heave the unconscious Swene over the griffin-shifter’s shoulder. “Go, before the others take notice.”
Ewen scooped Caitlin in his arms and hurried out of the Castle. Dyn and Brigid ran ahead, heading past the castle to the sheltered area they’d arrived at yesterday. The outline of Braern’s dragon form was visible with Ian and Deidre atop his back.
A horn sounded.
Brigid and Dyn halted mid-run. Dyn adjusted the sack of potatoes that was Swene’s body over his shoulder, and waited. The eerie trumpet blared again.
“Kära,” Ewen said.
Pivoting left, Dyn and Brigid ran toward a sloped hill leading to the shore. Ewen followed, crushing Caitlin to his chest, his heart racing probably more from their shared vision than the physical exertion. He maneuvered down the craggy landscape.
Waves crashed against the rocky shore.
Kära emerged from the sea, her sister with her. “They have taken our father.”
Ewen’s chest heaved. “Who?”
“The Norn,” Kära said. “And our King.”
TWENTY-NINE
THREE LARGE TOMES sat open upon the table. Brigid hunched over one book, Fionn the other, each former god mirroring identical scowls as they plowed through the lore, searching for the spell to unlock Brigid’s torque.
Kära and her sister eyed the tomes with rapt attention, awed by their colorful displays. Dyn reached for another volume from the tall shelves behind him and plunked the book on the table near the others. Not to be outdone, a determined Rupert scaled the ladder to the second story, vanishing amidst the stacks and bundles of ancient lore refusing to unveil their secrets.
Time was not their friend.
After the cèilidh, they’d stolen a few hours of sleep. Not that Ewen had rested. How could he when Swene’s vile face interrupted his every breath. And now here they sat, bleary eyed and solemn, gathered around the long wooden table centered inside the abbot’s magical library, planning the siege on Castle MacEwen.
He sighed. The glory of battle had long since lost its appeal. He craved peace. Mayhap a small croft to farm by the loch. The fellowship of a good friend. The love of a good woman. His eyes fell on Caitlin, sitting quietly to his left. If he were lucky, a bairn or two. Simple wants for a simple man.
Was it too much to ask?
Ian eyed him warily. “You’re telling us MacEwen is an agent of Bres? He attempted to kill his sister to steal the Tempus Stone?”
“Aye.” Through Caitlin’s bond, Ewen had witnessed MacEwen’s treachery. The man’s anger over losing the stone still burned in his chest. “Duncan Lamont was stabbed defending his betrothed.”
“Mariota MacEwen. My grandmother,” Caitlin offered. “Swene’s memories confirm what I read in Janet’s journal after she died. In nineteen sixty-five, she found my grandmother covered in blood, hunched over his body at the MacEwen ruins. Janet was a nurse so she took them in. Bres later confronted them at a kirk in Kilfinan, but he failed to retrieve the stone.”
“Are you sure it was Laoghaire,” Ian asked for the third time. To his right, Deidre sat with her lips parted and her arms wrapped around her body as if fighting a chill.
Ewen sunk against the back of his chair. “There is no mistaking the lass. Laoghaire MacInnes was one of the Norns weaving her evil magic in Lismore.”
“By the saints,” Ian murmured under his breath.
Aye. Every bluidy one of them.
Ewen twisted his head to the side, the bones in his neck popping as he stretched his stiff muscles. “Before she married the blacksmith, she’d been Swene’s mistress. She bore him the lad he’s using to save the barony. If Swene furnishes the coin to repay his debt to Campbell, he can petition the king to regain his lands. Without an heir, Campbell would have ripped the title from his hands.”
“So he has monetary motive,” Deidre said. “Perhaps the lure of riches drove Laoghaire as well.”
Fionn snorted. “Bres would no sooner stoop to bribe a mortal with the promise of gold than to feed the poor.”
Or kill the innocents standing in his way.
“I agree,” Caitlin said. “It’s not his style.”
Ian clicked his tongue and looked off to the side. “All this time she’s been living a double life, and fools we were to be searching high and low, believing the lass had met with an evil fate.”
“It gets worse,” Caitlin warned. “Their child, a little boy named Simon, grows up to be the man who kidnapped Ewen and me.”
The room went silent, mouths frozen, the reaction no different than Ewen’s the night Caitlin had confessed her “truth.”
“The devil take me,” Ian groaned.
The goddess tensed. Her brother, the assassin, lowered his eyes back to the book, hands balled on the table’s surface. Kära and her sister, both dressed in long tunics belted at the waist, watched the proceedings with a mixture of curiosity and sorrow in their silver eyes. Ewen had offered them his protection in exchange for their loyalty. It was a promise he meant to keep.
“Did Ohravet know he could fall under Balor’s thrall?” he asked the merman’s daughters.
Kära lowered her eyes. “He desire not to cause disappointment, Peloton.”
Ah, Christ. “This is why you ran instead of fighting Balor at Lismore.” It all made sense.
“Yes. Within a reach, he calls. We cannot turn away. There is army of mortal men he commands on land.” A slender gray finger touched her upper cheek. “We see.”
Ewen nodded. The mermaids had lost contact with their father in Loch Fyne.
The loch abutting Castle MacEwen.
All the pieces were falling into place.
Caitlin pushed the heels of h
er palm into her eyes and rubbed. “You know what I don’t understand? Why send a small army to attack Ardgour? Bres and the Norns could have chosen any other village. So why go there and risk the life of your child?” She shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t have a say in the location, I don’t know, but Callum is five years old. He could have been killed.”
Deidre sat forward. “Caitlin, do you remember the strange woman who confronted Mari about the building of the kirk?”
“Yeah, Margaret. Callum’s grandmother.”
“She is the old chief’s daughter.”
“Okay.” Caitlin looked around. “What am I missing?”
“Donald took Ardgour by force,” Ewen said. “The elderly MacMaster chief was blindsided, outnumbered by our warriors. I led the charge. It was a massacre. The chief. His heirs.” To this day, that cursed raid plagued his dreams. “Laoghaire’s first husband died honorably defending his clan.”
“I’d heard theirs was a love match.” Deidre glanced at Ian, then down at the hands clasped in her lap.
“Donald’s choices were limited to either carrying out the attack or finding himself out of favor with MacDonald. Or even dead.” The Lord of the Isles wielded the power of a king, but it didn’t make the guilt easier to bear. “The MacMasters and their MacInnes kin were given the option to stay in Ardgour. But many fled, refusing to bend knee to their new MacLean chieftain.”
“And Laoghaire was one of the many.” Dark rings circled Caitlin’s normally bright eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair. “So maybe her motive is revenge. She hooks up with Swene, hoping he’ll avenge her family. But then she realizes he’s an alcoholic loser who’s gambling away his inheritance and decides to head back to Ardgour. But, Simon? She left him behind. Then she marries Faolan. Gets pregnant and abandons father and child after giving birth to return to Swene? It doesn’t feel right.”
Rupert appeared, embracing two colossal tomes. “Those are questions only Laoghaire herself can answer.” He set the books down and lowered his body into the chair at the head of the table.
“I know. I know,” Caitlin said. “But I feel like I’m missing a piece of the puzzle. Something I should remember, but can’t.” Her chair scraped against the wood floor, the screech echoing into the tall reaches of the high ceiling. She began to pace. “Maybe it’s an effect of Swene’s memories churning in my head. That man has done some awful things I wish I could unsee. But, he has knowledge about the Norns that might help us. If I re-access his mind—”
“No.” The word blasted from Ewen’s mouth coiled in rage. “You will not step one foot near that miserable wretch. Do you understand?”
Caitlin’s mouth opened.
He’d overstepped. He saw it in her face. But there was nothing he could do to stop the words spilling of his mouth. “Doona push me, lass.” Pressure built against his chest.
“I wasn’t going to,” she said softly.
Swene MacEwen was bound, gagged, and spoiling air inside a tent on the abbey’s grounds. God help the bastard if he so much as looked at Caitlin cross-eyed. Ewen would gut the blackguard without remorse.
The warm weight of her hand settled over his left shoulder.
His heart seized.
She knew.
His future self must have recounted their humiliation at Swene’s hands.
Ewen let out a ragged breath, unsure what to make of the knowledge. It didn’t lessen the shame or the darkness wedged into his soul, but it was one less atrocity he’d have to confess to her and, for that, he was grateful.
He reached over and squeezed her hand.
“Okay. So no trolling Swene’s mind, but I’m saving Simon. Caught between Swene and Bres, that boy doesn’t stand a chance.” She looked around the table, her eyes pleading. “Look, I’ll take full responsibility for him, but I won’t stand by and do nothing.”
She would risk her life for the boy who’d destroyed hers. In that moment, Ewen knew he’d do anything for her. Throat tight, he said, “We save the lad.”
Caitlin nodded, then turned her head, a sheen of tears in her eyes.
“Well, before we can save anyone, we need to get inside the castle,” Ian said.
Dyn closed the heavy tome. “I agree. The time to act is now while they still believe they have the advantage. Once they discover MacEwen missing, our chances for a successful raid are diminished.”
The goddess carefully flipped another page of her weathered book.
“Any progress on the spell to counter the torque?” Ewen asked her.
“No,” she replied, tartly.
“And what of the harp?”
The goddess answered with a curt shake of her dark head.
Deirdre frowned. “There’s a problem with the artifact?”
“Problem” was putting it mildly. Ewen scratched his chin. “Dagda’s Harp compels her enemies into a deep slumber, but the magic proved to be problematic in Oban. With wax in our ears, the humans fared well, but the Draconians with their supernatural hearing”—he cleared his throat, trying hard not to laugh at the memory of his Draconian grandfather snoring outside Dunollie Castle—“did not.”
Caitlin slid back into the chair beside him. “So that means we’re down an artifact.”
“Unless we can find a way to better control it, yes,” Ewen said.
Rupert shook his head as he read. “The harp is much too valuable to risk falling into the hands of our enemy.”
Dyn nodded. He’d given up on reading the tomes piled in front of him.
“With a ward around the property, the cloak of invisibility is useless.” Fionn raised an arm over his head to stretch his back. “Once we breach the barrier, they’ll know we’re outside the perimeter whether they see us or not.”
“Great. No artifacts.” Caitlin muttered, dropping her hands in her lap. “So we’re up against an army of spelled zombies with no magic. Is there any good news? I mean, we’ve got to have one good thing going for us.”
“You have me,” Dyn said proudly, spreading his arms wide.
“And faith,” Rupert chimed in. “For there is hope for a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again and its shoots will not cease.”
“Rupert,” Ewen groaned. “’Tis not the time for scripture.”
Caitlin laughed.
The monk guffawed. “Now is the perfect time, lad. We need a wee bit of brevity in this room. Look at you, all of you”—he arched a hand in the air—“faces drawn, shoulders slumped. I know we dinna sleep much, and I know we are weary with worry, but where there is faith, there is hope.”
He turned to Caitlin. “Now, lass, to answer your question. All is not lost. Between the abbot, Brother John, and myself, we will break the ward. Unfortunately, I canna tell you how much time the task will take.”
“Okay.”
Ewen rose and placed his finger on the map he’d drawn of the estate. “Once the monks breech the ward, the Norn’s army will attack. Rupert and our warriors will counter and secure the perimeter.” He dragged his finger to the outline of the main building. “Another group will enter the castle. From there, the plan is fluid. Once in, we may have to split into two groups. It will depend on what we encounter inside the keep.” God willing it wouldn’t come to that. “We’ll plan for the worst-case scenario.” He faced Kära. “Orhavet will be under Balor’s control.”
She nodded.
He softened his voice. “Tell us what to expect.”
“Orhavet not alone. King will call pod.”
“The mermen that attacked us?”
“I do not know if them, but yes, Peloton. Magic, he is dark. Some call winds. Some waters. Ice. Orhavet sound infect mind.”
Bluidy hell. “Like sirens?”
“Yes.”
“How do we fight that?” Caitlin asked.
“We will not,” Brigid said. “The merman’s song will have the same effect as the harp, possibly worse because it is Fomorian. We, along with the Draconians, will be disabled by this magic.”
“Only way, kill.” Kära touched her chest. “Or King.” Her features hardened. “Orhavet die honorable than serve King.”
Ewen saw the unspoken request in her silver eyes. He bowed his head. “You have my word.”
“Thank you, Peloton.”
He massaged the back of his neck. The outcome hinged on too many variables for Ewen to feel good about the plan. He dragged his gaze from the map to Rupert. “How soon can we open a portal?”
The monk shrugged. “Our magic is not infinite. If we open the portal, we may not have enough left to breach the ward.”
Yet another setback.
Ewen sat back, rubbed his eyes, then dragged a hand down his face, stubble tickling his palm. A three, mayhap two, day’s journey by land and sea, but the trek would be the least of their worries. It’d be encountering the bluidy Campbells on their return route to Argyle.
“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” he said after a pause. “We lose too much time without the portal.”
Tense silence beat around the table. They all knew what the delay would cost.
“Sister,” Fionn urged, his voice a low rumble.
Brigid stepped back from the book. “No.”
Glaring at her, Fionn thumped his fist against the table. “Your discretion is no longer befitting the purpose.”
Ewen honed his attention on Brigid. “If you have information that can aid us—”
“I am without my power. There is nothing more I can do.”
Fionn shook his head, then left, knocking over a chair on his way out.
Ewen rotated his shoulder, feeling like the elephant in the room suddenly dropped on his chest. His connection to Fionn burned, upsetting his stomach. He clenched his jaw and forced a breath through his teeth.
Rubbing the same spot on her body that felt like an anchor pressing against Ewen’s flesh, Caitlin jumped out of her chair. “I have to go.”
He grabbed her wrist. “For the love of god, what just happened?”