by Hazel Hunter
“Aye.” Emeline’s gaze dropped to the sobbing woman. “What makes your lady weep so? Has she been injured?”
“We’d beg shelter from yer laird, milady,” another man said before Beathan could answer. “They set the clachan to burn after they murdered our kin.” He stared at the forest. “Could be tracking we even now.”
Emeline dismounted and went to the woman, quickly checking her over before she took hold of her hands. “’Twill be well, Mistress.”
Perrin felt the warm wave of the nurse’s empathic ability spread out through the group, and all of the frightened people calmed. Rona Tadgh, however, seemed immune, and clutched at her husband’s ragged tunic as she begged him to go back. He put his arms around her, but kept looking at the other men.
“We cannae leave the bairns behind, Beathan,” she shrieked, struggling again to free herself. “They dinnae ken the way out the woods, and the cold’ll surely kill them.”
Perrin eyed the trees. “How many are still in there?”
“Two little ones with my oldest lad,” Beathan said. “We saw riders near the boundaries and Rona sent them to hide in the wood. When we came after we couldnae find them.”
“We shouldnae left them so long alone,” his wife wailed.
“Be ye mad, wench?” another man said, his plump face crusty with freezing sweat. “We be half-dead of cold, and them that would kill we be coming.”
Emeline’s mouth flattened. “You saw someone following you from your clachan?”
“Didnae wait to see, milady.” His expression turned sullen, and he made an impatient gesture. “We called to the bairns, over and again. No’ a peep in return.”
“The kids must have been too terrified to come out,” Perrin muttered, and then realized how that could help. With her friend’s gift she could sense the children’s emotions. They could use their fear like GPS. “Emmie, you and I can find them.”
“Aye. We’ll search the woods, Mistress,” Emeline told the woman, but shook her head when the men offered her their torches. “Master Tadgh, hurry your people to the stronghold and bid the sentries send riders to help us. Come, Perrin.”
The darkness of the woods should have been an ominous reminder of the ordeal they’d gone through to escape the mad druids, but all Perrin could think of was the three lost children. She knew only too well what it felt like to be too scared to move.
They located the narrow trail the villagers had used, and reined in their horses to a slow walk as they backtracked the slurry of boot prints in the snow. With the dense growth of trees, the sunlight barely penetrated the canopy, allowing the drifts to swaddle everything in a thick blanket of glittering white. Perrin could feel the temperature dropping, and even the horses’ breaths huffed out in clouds.
“No furrows,” Emeline said, studying the ground. “The famhairean didn’t chase after them. Odd. Ruadri said they never allow any mortals to escape them.”
“Maybe these people just got very lucky.” Perrin felt the back of her head throb just above her nape, and winced as she rubbed the spot. “Ouch.”
Emeline took hold of her horse’s bridle. “Look at me, lass.” When she did she blew out a breath. “Your eyes are still clear.”
“I wasn’t having a vision. Just a headache twinge.” She felt odd, however, as if something she’d seen didn’t seem as it should be. Slowly she checked the trees around them, and saw a pile of snow that appeared much rougher and dirtier than those around it. “Emmie, do you feel anything?”
“Only the cold.” She frowned as Perrin dismounted. “Lass, they’re not here.”
“It’s just…this.” She walked over to the stained, pitted drift and reached down to push her hand into it. Beneath the rough, icy chunks she felt a crude weave of branches and the texture of stiff, woven cloth. “Here. They’re here.”
Emeline jumped down and hurried over to help her dig into the drift. A few inches below the mix of snow and earth they pulled away a layer of pine boughs. Beneath it lay a rough blanket wrapped over two small, unmoving forms.
“Please, God, no,” Perrin muttered as she swatted away the snow and pulled the wool aside. A small boy lay huddled with a tiny girl, and for a terrible moment she thought both were dead. Then the toddler whimpered, and the boy blinked and looked up at her.
“Be ye a fairy?” he croaked.
“Aye, and a canny one at that, my lad,” Emeline said, tearing off her tartan. “Perr, can you tuck the wee lass inside your cloak? I’ll bundle up this one and set him in front–”
“Ye’ll no’ take them,” a young, shaking voice called out, and a skinny figure appeared behind the children. In both hands he held large rocks ready to hurl. “Get ye away, or I’ll break yer heads.”
“Beathan Tadgh sent us to look for you, lad,” Emeline said, her voice as soothing as the comforting emotion she radiated. “You hid the little ones so well your Da couldnae find you when he came. They’re waiting at the McAra’s stronghold for you now.”
Perrin saw the boy’s chin wobble, but he still clutched the stones tightly. He wanted to believe her, but they were still strangers. It was exactly what Rowan would have done, she thought, and then she knew what to say.
“We’re ladies, so we need protection, too. Will you guard us all until we reach the castle?”
The boy’s dark eyes studied her face, and he slowly nodded.
Once Emeline boosted Perrin back on her horse she carefully lifted the little girl into her hands. Quickly Perrin pressed her against her chest, covering her completely with her cloak while shifting back to make room for the smaller boy. The nurse swaddled him in her tartan before handing him up, and Perrin wrapped one arm around him as he clung to her.
“Come, lad,” Emeline said, leading her mount closer to the older boy. “You and I must ride out ahead to watch for trouble.”
Once she had the boy in the saddle Emeline grabbed a branch and swung up behind him, taking hold of the reins. With a glance back at Perrin she started back the way they came.
Keeping her seat while holding two children might have been difficult, but Perrin’s well-trained mount responded to the additional burden by slowly ambling along the trail. By the time they neared the edge of the forest the approaching sound of more riders rumbled through the air. The little girl rested quietly, but the younger boy began to shake and clutch at her.
“It’s all right,” she told them. “They’re men from the castle. Your father sent them to help us.”
Emeline called and waved to the dozen clansmen as she and the older boy emerged from the woods. “We’re here. We’ve found the bairns.”
Perrin joined her, and when they were surrounded by the McAra she smiled down at both children. “We’re safe now, thanks to your parents and your brother.”
The younger boy peeped over the edge of Emeline’s tartan before disappearing like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. As Perrin glanced at all the grim faces around her she silently wished she could do the same.
“Well done, Healer,” a burly, hard-looking McAra said as he rode up and inspected them. “The laird said you’d likely ferret them out before we arrived. What of the cause of their flight?”
“No sign in the woods, Tanist,” Emeline told him. “I dinnae believe they were followed.”
He moved his mount alongside Perrin’s, making her stiffen, but he only gave her a nod before he gazed down at the huddled boy. “You and your brother have done well to look after the females, lad. I shall speak of it to our lord.”
With a little more coaxing the burly man convinced the younger boy to ride with him. At a brisk pace the clansmen escorted them across the wide glen and around another swath of pine and oak to the McAra stronghold. Perrin had seen the ruins of medieval castles before, but to approach the soaring stone walls and take in the enormity of the keepe made her feel a little like a twenty-first century ant.
“How many rooms does it have?” she said to Emeline, who chuckled.
“I’ve never count
ed, but I’ve gotten myself lost five times walking from my chamber to the great hall.” The nurse grinned as her gaze shifted to Rona and Beathan, who came running out of the stronghold. “Here’s your family, lad.”
Unwrapping her cloak to reveal the little girl cradled in her arm, Perrin carefully handed her down to Beathan. He kissed the child’s brow before putting her in her sobbing mother’s arms, and then knelt in front of Perrin.
“I never thought to see my bairns alive again,” Beathan said, and prostrated himself until his head almost touched the frozen ground. “Anything we’ve left to give ye, milady, ’tis yers.”
Perrin felt suddenly, terribly sad for him. “Enough’s been taken from you, Master Tadgh.”
“Well said.”
A man who looked exactly like a male miniature of Emeline joined them.
Although Perrin had heard plenty about the infamous little laird, the reality proved even more fascinating. Maddock McAra wore his clan’s tartan artfully folded over one shoulder and adorned with a white bone pin carved in the form of a stag. Beneath the plaid he sported a dark green velvet jacket so heavily embroidered with gold thread it hardly moved. His leather trousers and boots had been dyed to match the emerald velvet, and a hip-sheath made of gold filigree held a jewel-encrusted longsword.
He returned her measuring gaze before offering her his hand. “Come down from your lofty height, bright goddess, that you may properly greet me.”
Although meeting people usually proved to be torturous for Perrin, for some reason the laird didn’t intimidate her. Although his short stature and fancy outfit did make him resemble a highlander doll, he had an interesting air of dignity that added some oomph to his costume. His strong resemblance to Emeline, Perrin decided, was likely what made her feel less bashful. She took his hand and dismounted. Then, remembering her medieval manners, she bobbed into a low, graceful curtsey.
“I’m Perrin Thomas, my lord. It’s a great honor to meet you.”
“’Tis always. I’m the laird.” Maddock lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “You’re a rare beauty indeed.” The kindness in his blue eyes took on a speculative gleam. “Mayhap you share some kinship with our much beloved Emeline?”
“She already has a sister, my lord, but neither have a single drop of McAra blood,” the nurse said as she joined them, and rolled her eyes at Perrin. “Nor does Perrin seek a husband.”
The clansmen around them cleared their throats, and a few covered chuckles with feigned coughs. The McAra glared at his men before uttering a theatrical sigh.
“Just once, Cousin, you might bring some female to properly tempt McFarlan’s son. I’d adopt her at once, and she needn’t be fetching. The lad’s as short-sighted as a mole.” He stroked his angular jaw as he studied Perrin. “The sister, she’s unwed?”
“That would be Rowan, my lord.” Emeline winked at Perrin.
“Och, the dark lass. Brennus spoke of her, ah, charms.” Maddock shuddered. “Come inside, Mistress Perrin. We must content ourselves with your attentions to my lady, and she’s in sore need of diversion.”
The laird escorted her inside. Two rows of armed guards came to attention with swords drawn in front of their faces. Perrin noticed that most shared the same glossy black hair, light blue eyes, and pale skin as Maddock and Emeline. Her friend had once joked that the clan’s genes were as stubborn and overbearing as the laird. Still, it must have felt amazing to become part of such a huge family.
No one ever guesses that Rowan and I are sisters, Perrin thought, feeling a little depressed. Their adoptive mother, Marion, had always insisted that they had no living relatives. Was that why she made Rowan promise to look after me? Because she knew after she was gone no one else would care? But Rowan couldn’t be bothered with her anymore. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop thinking about Kanyth. Because deep down I’m afraid of being alone.
Inside the great hall the fires from a dozen hearths lining the walls generated welcome heat. Beautiful hand-worked tapestries hung between them, depicting magnificent horses so well executed they looked as if they might jump off the walls and trot around the stronghold.
“Thank the gods you’re safe, Emeline.” A slender, fair-haired woman dressed in a voluminous rose-colored gown hurried out of one of the arches. She took hold of the nurse’s hands and kissed her cheek before regarding Perrin. “You’ve brought company. Forgive my wretched manners, ah…”
“Mistress Thomas,” Emeline told her. “She’s one of the ladies from my time.”
“Please, call me Perrin.” She curtseyed, but when she looked up into the other woman’s eyes she saw the same gentle kindness she often saw in Emeline’s face. Perrin returned the lady’s smile and felt the last of her anxiety vanish. “It’s lovely to meet you, Lady McAra.”
Chapter Four
FROM THE FROST-covered stony bank Hendry Greum stood watching the sun climb. The glare it cast on the frozen surface of the loch between them turned the ice to a muddy gold. He felt no warmth from it, nor did he expect any. The land here remained locked in the perpetual pall of the unfinished magic that had gripped it for more than a millennium.
Nothing would live here again until a terrible wrong had been righted.
By sheer chance Hendry had not been present at the ancient solstice ritual that had caused the poisoning of the land. The Wood Dream, his druid tribe, had gathered to give thanks to the Gods by renewing the spell that protected their settlement. Before they could complete the ritual, Romans came and massacred every last druid. The tribe’s enormous guardian totems, hewn from sacred oak and bespelled to protect the tribe, had taken vengeance by doing the same to the invaders. Yet the slaughtered souls and incomplete ritual’s spell had wreaked havoc over their forms, changing them into the famhairean.
For seeking justice for their murdered tribe Hendry and his lover, Murdina Stroud, had been condemned and imprisoned by their own kind. Spending twelve centuries as immortals trapped in stone had been an inventive, effective torture. Twelve hundred years of listening to the woman he loved go slowly mad had nearly done the same to him. What little compassion that he’d once possessed as a mortal had been snuffed out by her suffering in that endless, airless dark.
It amused him to think that a strange storm in the future, caused by the very sun that now ignored him, had at long last freed them from the Storr. Once he and Murdina had done the same for the famhairean, they’d taken five druidesses from that distant time, and used them to come back to the fourteenth century. Here they had meant to have the reckoning, their final vengeance against druid and mortal kind.
And I the fool that permitted the means to escape.
Hendry’s razing power seethed inside him, feeding on his hatred, eager to be released. It never cared what it destroyed. It had no mind or feeling beyond his own. He breathed in the stagnant air, filling his lungs deeply until the chaotic need receded. He’d indulged his furious gift too liberally of late. As mighty as it made him feel, he would not become as a drunkard with an overflowing keg of whiskey.
“Greetings, Wood Dream,” Aon said from behind him, his voice creaking out the words.
Hendry turned to face the leader of the famhairean, who stood waiting with twenty other giants. Thanks to his many magical refinements to their wooden bodies they appeared more like humans every day. Only this close would a mortal notice the flat eyes, sculpted hair and fine cracks webbing their faces. By that time, however, the unlucky observer would be quite dead.
The only rage that equaled Hendry’s own burned in the pitiless souls of the giants.
Hendry saw how closely they watched him. Dha, the largest of the giants, actually took a step back. All of the famhairean had seemed to be over-cautious around him, Hendry realized, and had been since he had lost his temper with Ochd and Tri. A surge of impatience made him speak sharply.
“You neednae fear me. I punish only those who earn such.” He met Dha’s gaze. “You’ve done naught to displease me, have you?”
The giant knelt and bowed his head. “No permit harm to Wood Dream, Master.”
Master. Of late many of the giants had also taken to calling him that. While Hendry had never demanded such an honorific he found it rather gratifying. After all the mistakes his caraidean had made since coming back to this time, they needed to remember to whom they owed their freedom from eternal imprisonment.
“Your loyalty warms me.” He made a point to touch Dha’s stiff face and watch him flinch before he regarded Aon. “Direct them go to the midlands, to burn that croft I showed you last night on the map scroll. They’re to set fire to their storehouses, slaughter the livestock, and leave no cottage standing.”
The famhair nodded. “Again, permit some mortals flee?”
“Only if they run to the south.” Hendry smiled sourly. “To be sure, they might chase them in that direction. We want more to seek refuge from the cold.” When some of the other giants muttered to each other he inspected their sullen faces. “None shall live to rebuild their wretched villages. This I vow to you.”
“Go make ready,” Aon ordered, and stood watching as the giants departed. Only when they stood alone did he say to Hendry, “I ken what you do, Wood Dream. They dinnae. They desire mortal blood.”
“When the time comes, my friend, they shall bathe in it.” He studied the famhair’s impassive features. “The Skaraven possess only one weakness. In order to recover the young druidess, and put the clan back in the dirt, we must employ it against them.”
Aon said nothing for a long moment. “Yearning for the reckoning gnaws at my brothers.”
“’Tis been doing that for centuries.” Hendry had no qualms about the future. Once they defeated the infernal Skaraven nothing could stand in their way. “We shall prevail. Then this corpse of our past shall awake and bloom, old friend, and the world ’twill belong to us.”
The giant nodded, and plodded off.
Hendry waited until he felt the last of his ire fade before he walked back to the new cottage. Built by the famhairean among the ruins of the old settlement, the crude structure served to provide shelter for him and Murdina during the long, frigid nights. It only vaguely resembled his old cottage, which over the centuries had fallen to dust. He hated it, along with every other reminder of what had been taken from him, but he’d done his best to make it comfortable for his lady.