Before long, another little group of villagers began trekking across the hillside toward them, torches held high. This group was just women, which Karen smiled a little at — a group of mothers from the village, all wearing identical expressions of grief and determination. They were here for their friend, here to support her in this, the darkest possible hour of her life, and Connor moved away from Rosemary's side automatically when they arrived, sensing that he had been relieved of his duty. The women closed in around her like a comforting blanket, holding her close, offering wordless sympathy and all the comfort they could give her.
Karen was surprised to see Old Maggie among their number, looking stalwart in her usual collection of cardigans with a thick winter cloak over the top that flapped in the wind. She waited until the women had gathered Rosemary up and wrapped the little body of Malcolm in a blanket they'd brought specifically for the purpose — Rosemary still clutched at it, wrapped up in its blanket, and Karen had a suspicion she'd be holding him for quite some time. Once the women had headed away across the hillside, Maggie turned her beady eyes onto Connor and Karen, who were standing by under the torch feeling a little useless.
"Sluagh," she said flatly, gesturing skyward. Karen had been avoiding looking at the clouds, but she followed Maggie's point up into the sky, where she could just make out the shadow-obscured edges of wings, exactly as she'd seen that first night… Connor could see it, too, and he uttered a low sound of disgust and anger, his hand moving to his sling. But Maggie clicked her tongue.
"You start a fight with them, and you won't be leaving it alive," she said in a low voice that stilled Connor's hand immediately. "They'll scoop you up into the sky, drain your life and drop you to the earth like an empty sack."
They stood for a while there under the dark, shadowy sky. Karen cleared her throat. "Are we in danger here, now?"
"They've fed," Maggie said bluntly, sending a chill down Karen's spine and a wince from the usually stalwart Connor. "No more will be taken tonight. But now they've a taste for the hunt, I'd warrant they'll be hunting more regularly."
"What can we do? How do we stop this?" Connor's voice was shaking with feeling, but Maggie just raised her arms.
"Iron, fire, sunlight. Bar the windows, tell everyone to stay indoors after sunset. Kill as many as you can. There's no easy way out of this, Connor Grant. They've been summoned, and they won't leave until they've fed on every last man, woman and child in the village."
Karen blinked; her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by summoned?"
Maggie was silent for a long time before she spoke, her voice almost obscured by the low shrieking of the Sluagh above them and the hot, stinking howling of the west wind. "Sluagh feed on despair," she said softly. "They are called forth by the kind of grief that destroys a person, and they only grow stronger as it spreads and grow. Someone in the village in the depths of despair summoned these creatures to them… and then did the only thing that can stop the Sluagh from stalking their prey, once chosen. They named someone else to die in their place."
Karen felt a chill run down her spine even as her mind worked hard to make sense of this information — she could see Connor doing the same, a frown on his face in the flickering torchlight. Despair summoned the creatures to attack you… did that mean the young men who'd died last week had been in despair? That didn't seem likely… which meant that it was someone else who had drawn the creatures, then named the men to die in their place. But why? Some kind of grudge? She could certainly believe that, given the way they'd conducted themselves at the inn… but would that kind of behavior be enough to warrant their deaths?
"Who would name a child to die?" Connor said softly, his face a mask of grief, and Karen nodded, confused by that element as well. Malcolm was by all accounts a bright, cheerful child — aside from the illness he'd been suffering as a result of the pox he'd caught from his father. But that hardly manifested as despair. And though his mother had been grieving her lost husband, she'd hardly been the picture of despair… even if she had been, why hadn't the Sluagh taken her and not her son?
"Doesn't have to be a name," Maggie said thoughtfully. "A description suits the purpose, too. What do the dead have in common? Come now, Karen. You're a sharp girl."
"Pox," Karen said blankly, remembering the lesions on the dead men she'd examined, remembering that little Malcolm had been suffering the disease too. "They all had the cowpox."
"Aye," Maggie said thoughtfully. "Victims of the pox could have been named. But then why didn't the creatures come for the milkmaids?"
"That's right," Connor said, frowning. "The first attack happened when nobody was bothering barring their windows. There are dozens of these creatures — why didn't they take Rhianne, or Anne, or Mary? Her window faces west," he added. Karen nodded, remembering the house's layout.
"It's just men," she said slowly — and Maggie nodded firmly, her eyes shadowed.
"Aye, it's men with the pox that's the pattern. Someone in the depths of abject despair named every male in the village who's suffering the pox to be killed."
Maggie pulled her cloak around her shoulders as though drawing their meeting to an end. "Now what are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know," Connor said bleakly, staring at her. "I don't know what we can do."
"Well, you'd best figure it out, young man," Maggie said seriously as she began the trek across the hillside toward where her cottage lay. "Because I'd warrant more men are going to come down with the pox before all of this is over."
They stood for a long time, watching Maggie's retreating form vanish into the gloom. Even without a torch, she walked with a surprising confidence, not tripping or stumbling over any hidden rocks or roots on the hillside — Karen found herself wondering if that had something to do with magic, too, her mind clearly wanting to recoil from the awful situation they were in.
"Despair," she said softly, and Connor looked down at her with a troubled frown. "I think we ought to pay Mary another visit."
His eyes widened. "You don't think she has something to do with this?"
Ever since Maggie had spoken the girl's name, Karen's mind had been racing. The depression the girl was clearly lost in, the misery that seemed to emanate from her like a palpable force… she had to have something to do with it, didn't she? Karen was beginning to draw some rather awful conclusions from the evidence they'd assembled before them… but right now, she was utterly exhausted, and she felt herself swaying, hardly able to bring herself to speak out loud what she was thinking.
Connor put his arm around her, his expression set. "We need some sleep," he told her softly. "We'll deal with this in the morning, alright?"
They made their way back across the hillside, their heads bowed. Things would look better in the morning, she tried to tell herself… daylight usually improved things. But somehow, right now, she was finding it very difficult to believe that.
Chapter 42
They all but collapsed into bed when they reached Connor's cottage again, barely stopping to remove their boots and outer garments before they'd fallen into each other's arms. More sex was out of the question… they were both so tense and exhausted that the idea of lovemaking seemed a thousand miles away. As she curled into Connor's arms, she realized she was crying… and with that realization, she found to her alarm that she couldn't stop. The tears shook her body, sobs wrenching at her shoulders, and all she could do was weep as Connor held her close and murmured reassurances in her ear.
"It's just so awful," she said, finally, when the worst of her sobbing had eased. "That poor child had nothing to do with any of this… he was four years old, Connor. No four year old should die so horribly."
"I feel for Rosemary," Connor said heavily. "I don't know how she'll go on. Losing her husband was bad enough… but to lose her child?"
"Her last connection to him," she said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek and curling into Connor's arms more tightly. "We ought to keep a close eye on her. If the S
luagh feed on despair…"
"She's a woman, though. And she doesn't have the pox." He was frowning. "At least, she doesn't yet. She might have… the way she was holding Malcolm's body, I'd imagine…"
Karen shut her eyes at the horror of that image. "It's possible," she said softly. "Though I'd imagine it would be the least of her worries at the moment.
"Aye, that's true enough," Connor said heavily. "We have to stop these things, Karen. I just don't know how."
"We have to focus on keeping everyone safe," Karen said steadily, trying to pull herself together enough to help come up with a plan. "Work on making sure everyone's windows can be shut and barred safely, make sure everyone knows to be inside well before dark… and can these things be killed? I'm not sure how Faerie creatures work, exactly…"
She felt him nod, his hair falling into her face as he did. "Aye, they can be killed. Iron and fire are the usual tools, and from what Maggie said those will do just fine this time. But they're airborne creatures… we'll need our best shots on guard each night. I'll ride to the castle tomorrow and check with Brendan about how many men he can spare."
"Just make sure they don't carry the pox back with them," Karen said quickly. "It's a bad enough disease at the best of times, but now that it's drawing the Sluagh to people…"
"Aye. That does add a new danger to it," Connor said heavily.
Karen frowned to herself. She'd spent so much time reassuring all the villagers that the disease was rarely fatal, that it was an inconvenience and nothing more… and now they'd have to tell them that having the pox meant you might be snatched up and killed by murderous Faerie monsters? Well, she supposed it would motivate them to be stricter about their quarantine guidelines… that was something, at any rate. But it wasn't much comfort.
"Maggie said they're going to hunt more often," Karen said softly.
Connor drew her closer to comfort her. They lay together for a long time, Connor drawing idle circles on the skin of her shoulder, and they were able to drift into a troubled sleep sometime later. It was clear they'd needed the rest — dawn had come and gone by the time they awoke, and Karen felt her body responding almost instinctively to Connor's presence, drawing him close, his hands roaming sleepily across her body even before he was fully awake. They made love in the early morning light, slow, and sleepy, and tender, and by the time they'd fallen back on the pillows, day had well and truly broken. The misery of the night before, the awful tragedy, was still upon them like a shroud… but with Connor's support and affection, she at least felt ready to get up and face the day.
She couldn't stop thinking about Mary. Her mind was finally starting to draw some rather horrible connections between seemingly unrelated events — the lesions she'd found all over the bodies of the dead men, the lesions all over Mary's body, the girl's absolute dejection and refusal to talk… she had an awful feeling that something had happened between Mary and the men, something much, much worse than a fall down some stairs that had served to spread the lesions all over Mary's body instead of just on her hands. It was almost too horrible to think of, and she kept her theory to herself, not wanting to share it with Connor because she prayed she was wrong.
But she knew she had to go to Mary, to speak to her honestly about what had happened those weeks ago. Because she had a suspicion, she knew… and if what she thought was true, the village was in a huge amount of danger.
But that would have to wait. As she got herself dressed, she could hear the unmistakable sounds of a crowd gathering outside of Connor's little cottage, and she frowned, confused by what she was hearing — what did they want from her? She had an appointment with Father Caleb up at the church later that morning — did the villagers want to see her before that? She headed out onto the porch and was met by a small but determined little group, their faces taut.
"What?" she asked blankly, too tired and stressed to try to be more polite than that. A man stepped forward — an older man who she recognized as one of the village leaders who'd been at the meeting the night before. God, that meeting felt like a thousand years ago… could it really only have been last night? Could so little time have passed? It felt farcical, to be going up to the church to be cleared of witchcraft when something so awful had happened… but it was clear from the faces of the assembled villagers that it was all the more important that she do as she'd agreed.
"We're just ensuring you don't miss your appointment," the village leader said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
"I'm on my way up there now," she said, fighting her frustration. Why did they think she needed an armed guard to go up to the church? Hadn't she gone up there willingly the night before?
"In the wake of everything that's happened, it's more important than ever that we prove —"
"Prove what? Do any of you honestly believe I summoned those creatures? What possible good does it do me?" she snapped, losing control of her anger a little. "I'm a doctor. I've dedicated my whole life to helping people get better from diseases that want to kill them. My life's work is helping people. Now, I'm playing along with this frankly insulting witch hunt of yours because I have nothing to hide, and if I can put your minds at rest, I'm willing to do that. But don't you dare treat me like a prisoner when I'm going of my own free will."
The village leader recoiled, clearly a little shocked, and the villagers around him shuffled their feet. She'd spoken calmly and clearly, doing her best not to yell or rage — but it was clearly important to set some boundaries with these people. Sheepishly, the crowd dispersed, and she walked up to the church with Connor on one side and the village leader on the other. But it was a hollow victory, especially in the wake of last night's tragedy. How could anyone bring themselves to care about this silly test they were determined to conduct? Didn't they have more important things to focus on… like a grief-stricken woman? Like the funeral of a child?
Chapter 43
It had been a long time since she'd attended Mass. It was a strange little gathering, with only a dozen or so people present for the sermon and the rituals and to observe that she didn't turn into a pillar of salt or something, presumably, and she sat quietly in the front row, acutely aware that she was being observed and not quite sure what to do with her face. Did she look respectful enough? Or did she look like a witch being forced to sit through a church service? Father Caleb looked as uncomfortable as she felt. It occurred to her, as she revisited the blurry childhood memories of church and communion, that one of the rules was that you couldn't take communion if you'd committed a mortal sin. She was pretty sure she hadn't — but at the same time, she'd been living an agnostic life for a long time. From what she understood, she'd be making her confession after mass — what if Father Caleb were angry with her for not revealing her sins beforehand?
She shook herself internally, a little surprised by how anxious the whole situation was making her… the old Catholic guilt rearing its ugly head again, making her shift nervously in her seat despite her determination to seem calm and serene. She hadn't done anything wrong, she told herself firmly. All she had to do was participate in this ritual… she tried to settle into it, reaching into herself and even offering a little prayer to a God she hadn't had much time for lately. She hoped he was proud of the work she did, at any rate. She was doing her best to do good… even if she felt a little guilty about how long it had been since she'd done anything like this…
Muscle memory drove her out of her seat when Father Caleb called for the gathered group to rise to take communion. She shut her eyes and opened her mouth, accepting the small piece of bread as it was given to her — as a child, she'd always preferred to take communion with her hands, worried about germs, about the priest accidentally touching her mouth with his hands… but right now she was much, much more frightened of the prospect of accidentally dropping the host, or of putting the wrong hand on top — she couldn't remember if it was right over left or left over right, and she didn't want to risk it. Feeling the gimlet gaze of the other parishion
ers on her, she took a sip of the consecrated wine, too, then returned to her seat to kneel and pray, reflecting on Jesus as she'd been instructed to do. It had been a long time since she'd reflected on Jesus. How are you doing, she felt herself asking the Lord — then almost laughed at how ridiculous she felt. There was an odd lightness in her chest. She'd taken communion — nothing had gone wrong, no sudden puff of smoke or calamity. Now all that remained was confession, and an interview.
Father Caleb had a small confession box on the other side of the church, and she felt a familiar pang of anxiety as she stepped inside it, kneeling by the grill through which she knew the priest would be sitting. She'd always hated this part as a child — worried that she wasn't confessing the right sins, or that she was confessing too much, not enough… it had been a great relief that she'd stopped going to church before her turbulent teen years began. Muscle memory stepped in again and she made the sign of the cross before she spoke, her voice oddly loud in the little booth.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned," she murmured, a half-smile on her lips as the memory came back to her. "It has been... twenty-two years since my last confession, maybe more."
She heard Father Caleb's voice murmuring something from the Bible through the screen and she shut her eyes to listen. Though her faith had never been particularly strong, she did like the ritual. She'd even given some thought to what sins she should confess, as she climbed the hill that morning. The rules of Catholicism were so strict that she knew she'd have no shortage of sins to volunteer.
"Firstly," she said, "I have to confess that… that God hasn't been high on my list of priorities for a long time. I've been focused on my work, on learning how to be a good doctor and doing that, but… my faith has taken a back seat."
Troubled By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Forever Book 6) Page 17