by Hazel Hunter
She took his tongue and his caresses as she gripped his hair, holding him her willing prisoner again. From her throat came the most delicious sound that moaned against his lips and sank into his heart. Lifting her up gave him more of her lips, her throat, her smooth shoulder. He clamped an arm under her tight, firm buttocks and turned to carry her to the bed.
She took her mouth from his. “Kanyth, we’re going to make love.”
What a pretty name she had for facking. “Aye, now.” He took another kiss and many steps before she denied him her lips again. He drew back, and saw pain in her eyes. “You said you didnae fear my hands.”
“I don’t. They feel amazing on me. I never want you to stop touching me.” She put her fingers on his mouth. “What happens to us if we do this? If we go to bed together?”
“We’ll be made very happy. Then we shall sleep, and wake to love again. I’ll have a maid bring us food and drink. Aye, for all that I want you, we may never leave this chamber.” She’d claimed not to be a virgin, so why did she play coy now? He set her down on her feet but kept her in his arms. “Perrin, you feel as I do. You say you want me, lass. By the Gods, take me.”
“It’s not you.” She reached inside his tunic. “It’s this.”
Her marked palm pressed against his skinwork. The burst of sizzling sensation made him jerk, and abruptly cleared the fog of lust from his head. He didn’t know how he had gone so quickly from being furious with her to seducing her.
“What happens after we make love?” she asked again.
“’Twill all but seal the mating bond,” he admitted. “I’ve but to name you my wife, and so shall you be.”
“That’s it. Okay.” She took in a quick breath. “I want to make love. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as you. But we’ve been together like this less than one day. I’m a mortal, which means I’ll grow old and die. You won’t. I’m from a future that someday I have to go back to, and your clan is here. I can’t stay in this time, and you can’t come with me to mine. How could you possibly name me your wife?” Before he could answer, she did. “You can’t.” Her eyes searched his. “Agreed?”
What Kanyth wanted was her naked, under him, and crying out his name. His hands ached to touch her now, to map her every inch, and stroke that smooth skin. His mouth hungered for her kisses, and his cock pulsed so hard he thought he could hear it now. It tore at him to answer her, but he did.
“Aye.”
“Good,” she said, even though her look didn’t. “It’s the right thing to do.” She moved away from him.
He watched her as she went to the garments she had put to dry by the fire, and pulled a gown over her shift. Something ugly rose inside him to see her so cool and calm while he yet burned for her.
“You reckoned this while I acted the over-eager lad?”
“No, I was busy having my mind blown.” Perrin straightened out her skirts before she showed him her hand. The scarred circle of flames pulsed with red-gold light. “The forge lit up my engagement ring.”
As he cursed under his breath she moved past him and left the chamber.
Perrin made her way to Emeline’s room, and slipped inside expecting to find it empty. Instead her friend sat on the end of her bed and was pulling on some boots.
“Hey, can I borrow another pair of slippers?” She looked at the tidy stack of clothing next to the nurse’s travel keg. “You’re leaving?”
“For a few hours,” Emeline said, nodding. “Ru sent a dove asking me to return and report to Brennus and Cade about the latest attacks. It seems they’re planning to do something about them, but they need details. I’ll be back before nightfall.” She handed Perrin a pair of hand-knitted socks along with the slippers. “Your color is better, but you really should go back to bed. You’ve had a very trying day.”
“I’m not going anywhere near a bed.” She didn’t want to talk about what had happened with Kanyth, so she asked, “How is Wynda doing?”
“She regained consciousness after we moved her back to her room, but she couldn’t remember what happened. I think she might have a concussion.” Emeline grimaced. “I should look in on her before I go.”
“I’ll go with you,” Perrin offered. “I can sit with her until you get back, too.”
The nurse eyed her. “You’re not trying to avoid anyone, are you?”
“I’ve already talked to Kanyth, and we’re good.”
Good and screwed, Rowan would have said. But as much as Perrin had hated pulling away from him, she also knew she’d done the right thing. They had insane chemistry, but everything else would just end up tearing them apart.
“Just let me put on these socks and slippers first,” Perrin said. “My feet are freezing.”
Emeline walked with her to the back of the stronghold, where the household staff had their living quarters. Perrin noticed that all the doors had been left open and peeked in a few. While small, the rooms looked tidy and comfortable, with plain but well-made furnishings, sturdy storage trunks and warm blankets on every bed.
“The laird takes good care of his people,” she said to Emeline as the nurse stopped and looked in one of the last chambers. “He has a heart of gold, doesn’t he?”
“Aye, when you can find it under all that lace and velvet.” The nurse hesitated, and then entered the room. “Wynda, lass, I hate to wake you, but I must leave for a bit. My friend, Mistress Perrin, will stay with you while I’m away.”
The candle on the stool beside the chambermaid’s bed showed a figure curled up under the coverlet, but the maid didn’t move.
Perrin followed her friend inside. “You and I met before, Wynda, at the loch. Believe it or not we fell in the water together.”
“Lass?” Emeline tried again.
She reached over and gently shook the girl’s shoulder, and then tugged back the coverlet. When Wynda still didn’t respond, Emeline eased her over onto her back.
Perrin choked back a cry as she saw the maid’s still face, and the way her eyes stared up at nothing.
The nurse picked up her wrist and quickly pressed two fingertips against it. “No pulse,” she whispered as she stared down. “But when I left her, she was fine.” She gently moved the hair back from Wynda’s gash, bending down to inspect it. “It was only a concussion.” She shook her head. “I don’t–” The nurse went still. “Perrin, hand me that candle.” When she did Emeline held it close to the maid’s face. “She has petechiae in her eyes—burst blood vessels.”
With the light Perrin now saw how swollen and mottled her neck looked. “Could she have choked on something?”
Emeline carefully tilted the maid’s head back to examine her throat. “No. This bruising came from someone’s hands. She’s been strangled.”
Chapter Eighteen
IN THE GREAT hall at Dun Mor that night Brennus studied the scroll Emeline had brought back from the McAra. The news that the number of attacks on the midlands had doubled did not surprise him. Judging by the marked locations of the burned villages and crofts, the evil work had some larger purpose. From what the nurse had told him, Maddock had become hard-pressed to accommodate all the survivors, but the mortal laird had vowed to keep providing sanctuary until the homeless villagers could be safely relocated.
“War Master, counsel,” he said to his second, and gestured to the scroll. “See what my eyes cannae.” He glanced at Emeline, who stood speaking in low tones to her husband. “I’m glad of the map and your news of the latest attacks, my lady, but I didnae ask Ru to summon you back to Dun Mor.”
“Nor did I send the dove,” the shaman said, looking grim. “It would seem someone toys with us, Chieftain.”
“I’ve more bad news to deliver,” Emeline said and described the chambermaid’s near-drowning and subsequent murder. “I first thought the mishap at the loch an accident, but it’s clear now that someone wanted the lass dead.”
“And you gone from the castle,” Brennus said and felt his temper rising, and then the cool, slim hand of his
wife rested on his arm. Somehow, she always knew when he needed her touch. “This stinks of the mad druids, but for what purpose?”
“Siege work,” Cadeyrn said, and used his finger to trace the marks on the scroll to form an irregular circle around the symbol for McAra’s castle. “Any local villagers who might come to the laird’s aid in an attack have been burned out and killed. Winter renders most of the roads impassable, so men and supplies cannae be sent from McFarlan’s lands or afar. Those who came begging sanctuary shall soon deplete the clan’s stores.” He met Brennus’s gaze. “Maddock shallnae surrender when he may call on the Skaraven to give aid. He’s made lure for their trap.”
Brennus nodded his agreement. “Yet why the ruse of the message to send Lady Emeline to Dun Mor?”
“They may have someone working for them inside the stronghold,” Althea said. “Think about it. Hendry certainly has the power to compel a mortal to commit sabotage for him. He could bespell any mortal: a refugee, a servant, or even one of Maddock’s clansmen. That could be why the chambermaid was killed, too. Maybe she stumbled onto what they were doing, and had to be silenced.”
“I long for the days when we fought our enemies on the battlefields,” Brennus said, “no’ from the shadows.” He regarded his clanmasters. “How may we spoil this attack before it happens?”
“We could move the villagers to Aviemore, and the McAra clan to Dun Mor,” Ruadri suggested. “’Twill take all of us, but ’tis a night’s work. The famhairean shall then siege an empty stronghold.”
“By such we risk bringing their creature into our midst,” Taran said quietly. “And mayhap reveal to Hendry and Murdina Dun Mor’s location. I’ve another notion.”
The clan’s horse master often saw what escaped most, Brennus thought. “Tell us.”
“We go before they expect us,” Taran said. “Half the Skaraven put on the clan’s tartan and pose as the laird’s sentries and patrols. The rest of us take up positions hidden from view, where we might ambush the giants when they attack. We become the McAra.”
“Maddock won’t like that,” Althea said wryly. “He’ll want his clan in the fight.”
“No’ if we put the real McAra clansmen inside the stronghold to protect the laird and his family,” Brennus said. “In that they’ll be part of the scheme, but also out of harm’s way. Aye, this may put an end to the druids and their giants.” He nodded to Taran. “A very fine notion, Brother.”
“I can hand-carry a message directly to the laird when I return, Chieftain,” Emeline said. “That way no one else will have a chance to learn your plans.”
“You cannae return, sweetheart,” Ruadri said. “’Tis too dangerous.” He touched a finger to his wife’s lips as she began to protest. “Bren, sending a coded message by dove to Bhaltair Flen would do as well. Only he shall be able to read it.”
“What a great plan,” another voice said. Rowan Thomas came to stand at the end of the map table, and clapped her hands together a few times. “You’ve found a way to save the mortals and defeat the famhairean. Everyone should live happily ever after. Only one problem.” She glared at the nurse. “Emeline left my sister behind at the McAra’s soon-to-be-besieged castle.”
Cade’s mate Lily made a contemptuous sound. “Oh, you’ve finally remembered Perrin’s still alive, then? Smashing of you.”
“Shut up, Queenie,” Rowan snapped. To Cade she said, “And don’t give me the evil owl eye, either, Master of War. Your wife is being a bitch.”
“She’s the expert,” Lily told her husband.
“Enough,” Brennus declared. He never liked dealing with Perrin’s ill-tempered younger sister, but even less so when she was in the right. “I’ll send Manath to collect her, Mistress Thomas.” A thought occurred to him, and he frowned at Emeline. “Why hasnae Kanyth done so? He left yesterday to fetch her.”
The nurse looked pained now. “There have been some complications with Perrin and Kanyth.”
The dark lass planted her hands on the table and leaned forward. “Like what?”
“Perrin’s been marked by Kanyth’s battle spirit.” Emeline briefly recounted the incident in the gallery. “From what I’ve seen this isn’t a good match for either of them. They’re both opposed to it, for the most part because they hardly know each other.”
“And how is that a problem?” Rowan demanded.
“It seems the choice can’t be easily reversed,” the nurse told her. “Bhaltair Flen came to see what he could do, but evidently it’s not in his power. Also, being marked has changed Perrin’s personality. She’s, ah, very candid, and quite fearless now. She’s also having visions again, and she feels the McAra are in danger. She won’t leave the stronghold willingly.”
The dark lass turned away from the table, her shoulders rigid and her hands fisting at her sides. Taran came around the table and went to her side to speak to her in a low voice.
Brennus exchanged a look with Ruadri, who shook his head slightly. Whether Kanyth and Perrin wished to mate or not, a battle spirit mark changed the lass’s status in the eyes of the clan. Whatever her desires, by Pritani custom Kanyth had charge of her. Brennus also knew better than to reveal any of that to Rowan.
“I don’t think Kanyth is all that much opposed,” Althea murmured to him. “Maybe they just need some time to get to know each other.”
He tucked his arm around her slim waist. “’Tis time that we cannae give them, beloved.”
Suddenly the dark lass shoved Taran away from her, and turned on the chieftain.
“All due respect to your randy battle spirits, Chieftain, but your brother doesn’t get to take my sister as a wife or mate or whatever. I don’t care what kind of mark he put on her. You send someone to bring her back here.” When he didn’t reply she struck the table with her fist. “Now.”
Every Skaraven in the great hall fell silent.
“I dinnae serve you, lass.” He said it kindly, for he understood her anger only too well. Even so, he could not permit an outsider to issue orders to him. “I shall consult with Kanyth on the matter.”
Although no one touched it, the long table began to shake, and splinters popped up from the surface to fly high in the air. Brennus felt the tingle of druid magic and tried to push his wife behind him.
“Rowan, stop it,” Althea said sharply.
Taran came up behind the dark lass and put his hands on her shoulders. “’Tis a leaf, my lady. One leaf.”
The strange words made her eyes close briefly, and when she opened them again the table went still. Without another word she let the Horse Master lead her out of the great hall.
Althea stared after them. “How did he do that? And will he teach me?”
“I cannae tell you,” Brennus said. Taran had always been the clan’s keeper of secrets, but for the first time Brennus wondered about what the horse master was hiding. “Ru, send your coded message to Bhaltair Flen, but have him relate the plan to Kanyth. Bid my brother speak with the laird. Cade, summon the first ranks no’ on duty. We’ve our own trap to build.”
Chapter Nineteen
KANYTH JOINED THE McAra clansmen on patrol outside the curtain wall, as it kept him out of the castle and away from Perrin. A distinct gloom had fallen over the stronghold since the chambermaid had been found murdered. Maddock grimly ordered his wife and children be kept under guard in the solar, and doubled his patrols and sentries. He and his tanist spent all of the next day questioning the household staff. That night at the evening meal Maddock’s steward admitted to Kanyth that none provided any clue as to who had strangled the lass.
“Most reckon a villager slipped inside the servants’ wing to thieve, and killed Wynda while stifling her cries for help,” the man told him, and shoved aside his untouched meal. “Yet naught has gone missing, and we’ve kept guards on the poor folk since they arrived. Our chieftains fully accounted for themselves and the men.”
Bhaltair Flen intercepted Kanyth later that evening, and related the alarming message he’d rec
eived from Ruadri.
“Your chieftain wishes you to advise the laird of his plan,” the old druid said as he offered him a scroll. “I’ve written out the details plainly, but I caution you. Dinnae permit any but Maddock McAra to ken of it.”
“Aye,” Kanyth said as he tucked the scroll in his belt. He didn’t want to linger, but he suspected the old man had looked in on Perrin. “What of Mistress Thomas?”
“She’s shaken, but keeps busy looking after the bairns. Lady McAra insisted she stay with her in the family’s chambers for the day.” Bhaltair hesitated. “Clanmaster, earlier she asked me if you had returned to Dun Mor. She seemed relieved to learn you had no’.”
“Dinnae tie our hands with your bonding cord, old man,” Kanyth warned him. “The lady desires protection, no’ a mate.”
He went up to the solar, where he found the entry hall lined with armed clansmen. He greeted the tanist, who personally stood sentinel outside the laird’s study, and asked for a private word with Maddock.
“My lord isnae in a fair mood,” the man warned him as he opened the door.
Inside Kanyth found Maddock writing on a smudged parchment, a bottle of his favorite Skye whiskey at his elbow. He cursed as a blot of ink escaped his quill, and crumpled the page to toss it over his shoulder. It fell onto a pile of others that had been discarded.
“Ah, my Skaraven ally.” With an unsteady movement he rose to his feet, thought better of it, and sat back down. “Come and drink with me. I’ve attempted to write to Wynda’s kin of her death, but somehow, I cannae make polite this news of her throttling. An ugly end for a lass of but sixteen, and under my care.” He took a swallow from the bottle. “Ah, well. Likely as most they cannae read, and I toil in vain.”