by Hazel Hunter
Murdina rarely noticed his pampering. Lost in a perpetual dream of what had been, she wandered through the days reliving again and again the beginnings of their affair as mortals. Her damaged mind had her now convinced she’d never aged. To keep the unhappy truth veiled he’d been obliged to bespell them both with a youth illusion.
He would do anything to make her feel happy, even if it meant turning her into a travesty of herself.
Inside Hendry removed his cloak and went to put water to boil for the morning brew. To it he added a special blend of herbs he’d concocted to keep her mood tranquil and ease any pain that yet lingered from her broken jaw. While caring for her his stores had become sorely depleted. He’d intended to ride out this morning until he found a village outside the tribe’s cursed territory to obtain food and other necessities. Now the thought of disguising himself and bartering with mortals disgusted him. He’d likely end up slaughtering them all. He wouldn’t mind the carnage in the slightest, but the Skaraven might hear of it, and track him back here.
Perhaps instead he would send his caraidean on the morrow to raid the Sky Thatch settlement. Every mewling member of that tribe deserved to die for providing succor to Bhaltair Flen. They’d certainly have plenty of herbs stored away for the long, cold season.
“Fair day, beauty mine,” he said as he went into the sleeping chamber to kiss his lover awake.
He stopped when he saw the wad of blankets and linens on the empty bed. Her missing gown, cloak and boots made it plain that she had gone off again, but why hadn’t she come seeking him? Hendry went to the back door, which stood ajar, and stepped outside to see his lady’s small tracks in the crusted snow. They led not to the lake, but into the woods toward the ritual clearing.
Murdina never went there, not since the day they’d found their entire tribe slaughtered by humans.
“She’s gone to dance through the forest again,” he muttered as he followed the trail. “Naught more.”
The sound of an axe being used made Hendry pause before he broke into a run. He should never have left her alone. Since the druidesses from the future had escaped them Murdina had lost all notion of their reality.
Fear raked a thousand blades through him as he reached the edge of the clearing, and saw his lady wielding an axe to shape a wide, bark-stripped log. Beside her Aon worked on another, using a blade to carve a face from the rough wood. The sight astonished him as much as if he’d caught them conspiring against him, and kept him mute as he made his way to them.
“Leave me work,” the giant said to Murdina. “Wood Dream soon return.”
“No, we must finish now.” She straightened to frown at the cuts she had made. “Hendry will be gone until sunset. I’ll persuade him to our aim when he returns tonight.”
“You neednae wait, sweeting mine,” he said as he came up behind her. “Convince me now.”
Aon stepped between them. “Your lady give aid. I ask of her.”
The famhair behaved as if protecting Murdina from Hendry, which was utterly absurd.
“Why should you fashion new forms? All have been restored since…” He glanced at the face Aon had been carving on the head-shaped end of the log. A narrow flat space bisected the features, as if nothing could occupy the area. Dull rage rose like so much poisoned water inside him. “Now I fathom it. You seek to restore Tri and Ochd.”
“Aye, and so we shall,” Murdina said and came around Aon. She pushed his big hand away when he attempted to stop her. “Since you destroyed them and warded the settlement their spirits may but wander aimless. ’Tis little better than the henge prison, Hendry, and twice as hurtful, for they can see us. They ken all that we do, while they can do naught.”
“’Twas their punishment for what they did to you,” he reminded her before he stared up at Aon. “No harm comes to the last of the Wood Dream. ’Twas your sacred vow to us after the Romans slaughtered our tribe. Dinnae you remember?”
Compelled by the reminder that he and the famhairean had broken that promise, Aon dropped to his knees. “Forgive.”
“No, no more of this,” Murdina cried, and tried to pull the famhair to his feet. “You call them our caraidean, our dearest friends, and yet you treat them like mortal scum. I commanded Tri to take me to the McAra stronghold that day. Ochd broke my jaw to keep me from giving away our presence to the Skaraven when they came after. If you truly wish to punish the guilty, use your power on me. Destroy my body.” Tears spilled down her face. “’Twas all my doing.”
“Beloved.” Hendry reached out to take her in his arms, but his lover skittered away. Stunned anew, he said, “Murdina mine, I couldnae ever cause you to suffer. You’re my life.”
She shuddered and bowed her head, wrapping her arms around her waist as her shoulders quaked. Seeing her weeping silently hacked at him with a dull blade of regret. He’d made his lady doubt him, and he knew not how.
“She told you this, of what Tri and Ochd truly did?” he asked Aon, and when the giant nodded, he felt staggered. “Why didnae you speak to me?”
Instead of answering the giant only gave him a sullen look.
Hendry turned away, and stared at the wood chips scattered over the barren soil beneath his feet. The day of the massacre had united him, Murdina and the giants against human kind. Never once had any of them doubted the righteousness of their reckoning. It became the war banner they carried as they sought the justice they had been so long denied. That his lover and Aon had kept secret their intentions meant they no longer trusted him to be part of their cause.
Hendry could not blame anyone but himself for that. He’d allowed his pride to go to his head, and his rage to dictate his actions. In doing so he’d damaged the bond between him and his lady, and the concord he shared with the leader of the famhairean.
Taking a dagger from his belt, Hendry offered it to Aon. “If you believe me worthy no more, I beg you end me now. I shall no’ permit anything to interfere with our sacred quest. Even if ’tis me.”
The giant stood, but made no move to take the blade.
Murdina used her sleeve to dry her tears. “Better to use it on me, Aon, lest I go mad again and endanger us all.”
The famhair regarded both of them for a long moment. “Bring back Tri and Ochd. No more harm to famhairean or Wood Dream. End all druids and mortals. Make the world ours. This you shall do?”
“Aye, forever,” Murdina said, her voice clear and true.
Hendry knelt before the giant, and bowed his head. “I give you my vow for eternity, never again to be broken. I shall do this. I shall serve as do you and my lady and our caraidean, and no’ waver from our cause. Never again shall I give you reason to doubt my worth.”
Aon released a cloud of volatiles that enveloped Hendry, sheening his face and sinking into his flesh. When the soft mist had vanished, the famhair said, “I mark you with oath. All shall ken it.”
As soon as he stood Murdina embraced him, dispelling his wretchedness with her kisses. He held her a moment longer before he drew back and picked up the axe she had been using.
“Permit me do the work now,” Hendry murmured to her, and plied the sharp edge against the log.
It took another hour for him and Aon to finish the two forms, which once possessed by Tri and Ochd would require more spell refinement. Once they propped the carved bodies upright, Hendry ended the enchantment that had kept the two famhairean from reembodying, and looked up to see two shimmering yellow lights approaching the new forms.
One immediately dropped down to envelope the wooden body with the space bisecting the head. The form shook and shrank as Tri’s spirit animated it, and a deep crevice appeared in the blank head space. As soon as he had completely possessed it he threw himself at Hendry’s feet.
“Forgive, Wood Dream,” the giant begged.
“If you shall do the same for me, my friend,” Hendry said as he helped the brain-damaged famhair to his feet. Smiling, he turned to regard the other form, but it remained lifeless.
&nbs
p; Above them the second amber sphere floated, its light becoming almost blinding before it unexpectedly rose higher and flashed across the clearing. Murdina gasped as it winked out of sight.
Aon scowled at Hendry. “Ochd lost to us.”
Putting up another barrier around the settlement would serve no purpose. In spirit form the giants could move as fast as light. By now Ochd was likely on the other side of the country. It wounded Hendry, for he had spent much time preparing the clever famhair for his role in the reckoning. Even more so, he had no one to blame for it but himself.
“Mayhap he’ll return at sunset,” Murdina murmured, her bottom lip trembling. “He doesnae like to be alone in the darkness.”
Hendry put his arm around her. “No one does, beauty mine.”
Chapter Five
PERRIN WANTED TO keep her promise to be useful while at the McAra stronghold, so she accompanied Lady Elspeth and Emeline to check on the refugees. Quartered in one of the McAra’s massive outbuildings, the exhausted villagers sat huddled in blankets and sipping hot pottage. Some maids had brought buckets of hot water and bundles of clean clothing, and were hanging up curtains around wash stands and tubs. The laird’s men worked around them arranging what looked like makeshift beds among the hay bales, adding bulky wads of fleece under the linens.
“Heated stones,” Emeline murmured to Perrin as she nodded at the bulges. “With all this hay they can’t build a fire in here. They’ll bring some furs for them tonight when it grows colder.”
The people of this time dealt with all sorts of hardships, Perrin knew, but she still felt sorry for them. “What I could do with some electric blankets—or just electricity.”
“I’d settle for a lorry filled with vaccines, penicillin, and a great vat of hand sanitizer,” the nurse said.
“No, please, remain at your ease,” Elspeth said as the villagers noticed them and began to collectively rise to their feet. “We come to assure only that you’re well, and want for naught.”
“We’re that, and so grateful, milady.” Beathan touched his brow and glanced around at the others, who murmured their thanks. “We’d no’ outstay yer welcome, but with the snow blocking the roads, and no horses or carts–”
“You’re no’ to travel until the laird can arrange safe passage and proper lodgings for you,” Elspeth said firmly. “With the weather that may take some weeks, I fear. Once you’ve rested, our steward will find work at the castle for all of you.” She smiled down at the youngest girl, now sleeping in her mother’s arms. “While you do your bairns shall stay in the keepe with my own.”
Relief warmed Beathan’s tight features, and he bowed to her. “May the gods bless ye and the laird for yer kindness.” He straightened and winced, touching his back.
Emeline went to him, and asked him to lift his tunic. She inspected what looked to Perrin like a deep, dirty sunburn.
“This wound needs cleaning and covering, lad.”
“I’ll send for salve and bandages,” the laird’s wife told her, and beckoned to one of the maids.
“Have ye a potion for this, milady?” one of the men said, and pulled a rag away from a blackened, badly-blistered hand.
It looked as bad as it smelled, but Perrin noticed Elspeth pale and swallow several times. Quickly she stepped to block the lady’s view of the injured villager.
“My lady,” Perrin said. “I’m feeling a bit queasy. Could you and I step outside?”
“Aye, of course.” The lady accompanied her outside, where Perrin quickly steered her to a more private spot behind some barrels. “I fear I must–”
“I know. It’s all right,” Perrin told her, gathering her veil and hair to hold them out of the way. “Let it out.”
Elspeth shook as she emptied her stomach, and then leaned against the wall behind the barrels. Perrin touched her arm.
“No, lass,” Elspeth said. “I’m well enough. I cannae faint out here in the snow. Maddock shall barricade me with ten maids and send for the druids.” She wrinkled her nose. “’Tis a mother’s burden. Only ’twas never so bad with my other confinements.”
“I wouldn’t know, my lady,” Perrin admitted. She liked children, but had never wanted any of her own. “Have you changed anything you do this time?”
“I’ve long pondered that.” She grimaced as she took a handkerchief from her sleeve and blotted her lips. “We’ve the same cook and foods. I drink the same brews as I’ve ever done. Och.” She pressed her palm against her midriff. “I dinnae mind the boaking so much, but after it I’ve such spasms.”
Perrin put her arm around her waist. “Should I get Emeline?”
The lady shook her head. “’Tis passing. If you’ll help me slip inside and no’ alarm the laird, that’d be grand.”
They went into the stronghold through a back entry that led into the kitchens. The cook and her staff, busy with making what looked like a meal for an army, all stopped, turned and bobbed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work,” Elspeth said.
She asked the cook when she had time to send brew and cakes up for them. From there she steered Perrin toward another doorway that led to a dark, narrow staircase.
“You should light some torches back here,” Perrin said as she helped the pregnant woman up the shadowy stone steps. “It’s so dark someone might take a bad fall.”
“’Tis meant to be lit. We’ve a new chambermaid who should be tending to all the torches.” Elspeth stopped and sighed. “I cannae blame the lass. ’Tis my doing, truly. I’ve no’ been able to keep watch on the household as I should.”
Once they reached the third landing she opened a carved door that led into a wide hall.
The imposing atmosphere of the castle disappeared, and Perrin felt as if she’d stepped into the McAra’s real home. The weathered wooden floor had been polished for so many years that it gleamed like glass beneath the hand-knotted rugs. Lethal fans made of old swords, maces and daggers adorned the walls, but so did charming portraits of Elspeth, the laird and their children. From the warmth of the air every hearth on the floor must have been burning merrily. Large floor urns flanking each threshold held newly-cut evergreen branches, the scent of which freshened the air. She imagined in the spring and summer they’d be filled with flowers.
Perrin walked with Elspeth to one room that had been left open, and grinned as they stepped inside. Sunlight filtered in from sheer-cloth covered window slits to illuminate dozens of lush herbs and greenery planted into pots and urns. Leather chairs, tapestry-covered benches and large pillows on the floor offered many comfortable spots to sit. Baskets of nuts and dried fruits had been set out, along with a plate of currant-studded oat cakes.
She admired a silk-draped chaise near the fire blazing in a river stone hearth as she said, “This is so beautiful, my lady.”
“Call me Elspeth, lass. ’Tis my garden room. ’Twas Lady Althea’s notion, after what she calls a ‘green house,’” Elspeth said as she went to sit down on the chaise, and sighed with relief. “’Tis odd to grow things inside, but it cheers my bairns to tend to the watering and trimming. The cook cannae get enough of the fresh herbs. Now if I could only keep the maids working and the torches lit.”
“I could help with that,” Perrin said on impulse. “I mean, if you wanted someone to help with the villagers, light torches, or whatever you might need done.” As the other woman frowned she added, “I can’t go back to my time without my sister, and she wants to stay at Dun Mor and help the cause.”
“But you dinnae?” Elspeth guessed.
“I do, too, but as a dancer I’m not much use to the Skaraven.” She grimaced. “To be honest, they make me very nervous.”
“I nearly fainted the first time my lord brought the chieftain to the stronghold,” the other woman said, nodding at Perrin’s surprised look. “Oh, aye, for I’d heard the old legends of how large and fierce and menacing the Skaraven were. Dead twelve centuries, too, and then to arrive in the flesh, no’ aged a day. All of them more so
than even told in the stories, and with such savage skinwork as I’ve never seen.”
“It glows in the dark when they’re angry, too,” Perrin said wanly.
“’Twas the most scared I’ve ever felt,” Elspeth told her. “Yet with time I learned they’re all good, kind men, and a true boon to the McAra as our allies.”
She felt a bit foolish now. “I know they are, and I’m grateful to them for rescuing us, and looking after me. But I can’t help them the way the other women can. I don’t have my druid gift anymore.”
“Then you should stay, lass,” Elspeth said, reaching out to touch her hand. “For I’ve villagers who want tending, and torches left unlit. Then there’s the boaking, that never ends.”
Perrin smiled her relief. “Thank you, Elspeth. I’ll do whatever I can to help, and hopefully that lets you get more rest.”
“I happen to need much rest,” Maddock said as he came in, startling them both. “I spend more time hunting my vanishing bride than I do ruling the clan.”
“I’m no’ a wraith, my lord,” his wife chided.
“Yet you will steal about and worry me when I cannae find you.” He strode over to crouch in front of Elspeth, and chafed her thin hands. “You look pale and weary, Wife, and you ken how that annoys me as well. Must I have Cousin Emeline and Mistress Thomas beaten for neglecting you?”
“I’m as pampered as an unwed princess, my lord.” She leaned back against the cushions. “Dinnae frighten the lass with your blustering. Perrin’s cared for me while Emeline tends to the poor Colbokie folk.”
Maddock tugged his tartan from his belt, shook it out and draped it over her. “Then ’tis mine the blame again. I’ve but to look at you, and you swell.”