by Hazel Hunter
“They are both druid kind,” Bhaltair said, “but it appears that the male caused the magic to flux.” He released Cailean’s hands and the images from the glen vanished. “Why do you look as if I’ve kicked you in your smalls?”
“I think that male is Gavin McShane.” He brought his hand to his brow to wipe away the cold sweat gathered there. “Brother to Jema, Tormod Liefson’s wife.”
“Gavin McShane, the twin brother killed during the battle over Freyja’s Eye?” Bhaltair sounded incredulous
“Aye, Master. I never met the man, but Mistress Liefson gave his description when we searched for his body.” Cailean touched his own shoulder. “The skinwork of the lion and the bars looks to be the same.”
“How does a man dead a year cross a barrier on an island twenty leagues from where he drowned?” Before he could reply the old druid made a dismissive gesture. “We cannae yet assume ’tis McShane. We must travel to Everbay to see the man in person. Before that, we must consult with Lachlan McDonnel on the matter.” He removed the window stone from the stele and replaced it on its shelf. “We shall use the grove to travel to Skye directly and speak with the laird this night. Come, Ovate.”
Cailean knew why his master was taking the matter to the McDonnel laird instead of Jema Liefson. After crossing over from the future, Gavin McShane had been enthralled by the Ninth Legion Prefect, Fenella Ivar. Fenella had then been possessed by Thora the Merciless, who had used Gavin and the undead in an attempt to kill the McDonnels with Freyja’s Eye. Just as Thora’s undead body had been destroyed by the ancient Norse relic, the release of power had hurtled Gavin into the sea. His body had never been found, so it had been assumed that it had been swept out to sea by the currents.
If Jema’s brother hadn’t died during the battle, then why hadn’t he shown himself? Did he, too, possess the gift of invisibility, as his sister did? Twin siblings sometimes did. But why would he be on Everbay chasing after a female? Had he fallen under the sway of the undead again? And who was this druidess? Had she become somehow trapped on the island?
Cailean kept silent as he journeyed with Bhaltair through the sacred oak grove portal near their settlement. Emerging from another grove located near the Black Cuillin mountains on the Isle of Skye, he waited for his master to join him and then began the long walk into the ridges, where Dun Aran, the McDonnel Clan’s stronghold, lay hidden.
The night wind chilled Cailean, but he hardly felt it as every step seemed to add new weight on his shoulders. If he had properly attended to the Moon Wake tribe’s empty village, Gavin McShane would not present such a threat. The very real prospect of an untrained druid having access to the kind of power still contained on Everbay made him feel sick.
Climbing the trail through the ridges left Bhaltair short of breath, and Cailean had to shake off his worry as they approached the castle.
“We have come to speak with the laird on an urgent matter,” he told the guards at the entry to the great hall.
They both nodded, and one whistled, summoning another clansman from a passing patrol. That warrior took up the guard’s position so the other could escort them inside.
Not for the first time did Cailean marvel at how efficiently the McDonnels worked together to defend their stronghold and their clan. Over the centuries the laird’s garrison of warriors had trained for every possibility of attack, even in the guise of two druids arriving after dark.
The guard bid them to wait with him by the hearth in the great hall while another man was sent to the laird’s tower. A smiling maid appeared with mugs of steaming brew to warm them, and after offering them a meal, returned to the kitchens.
“Fair evening Master Flen, Ovate Lusk.” The massive, towering form of Tharaen Aber, the clan’s seneschal, came from the tower archway. The largest man among the McDonnels, the Pritani warrior’s calm nature corresponded with his unique strength-in-battle gift, which made him virtually invincible. “The laird has retired for the night. Might I help?”
Bhaltair shook his head. “Rouse him, Seneschal. This cannae hold until morning.”
Raen nodded, and then smiled past the old druid. “Diana, would you keep our friends company for a moment?”
His wife, a very tall, well-built redhead dressed in a slim gown that matched her fine eyes, nodded and grinned as she came to hug the old druid. “It’s way past your bedtime, Grandpa.”
“Aye, but trouble never respects that,” Bhaltair told her.
Cailean envied the close relationship his master had attained with Raen’s wife, a former police detective who had crossed over some two years past. While she had come from the future, Diana shared Bhaltair’s bloodline. It made him yearn once more to see his own son, Danyel Gordon, who resided with his countess mother at her clan’s stronghold. Since Bethany Gordon was married to the Gordons’ laird, his visits to see the child had to be infrequent and discrete.
Diana chatted with his master about her latest endeavors, but Cailean hardly heard them. In his thoughts he kept seeing the huge, bare-chested man chasing the druidess through the barrier. If he were indeed Gavin McShane, and had not drowned, why would he conceal himself? How had a male from the future even managed to get to the islands? The secrecy had to be connected to his presence on Everbay, and his pursuit of the druidess. Was Quintus Seneca, tribune of the Ninth Legion, behind all of it? If the undead had somehow enthralled the pair, and used them to seek revenge against the clan, it could spell the end for the immortal McDonnels—or worse.
Diana’s husband returned at last to escort them to the laird’s tower. Cailean knew his master would do most of the talking, and for once he was glad. His fears preyed on him so now that he might reveal more than was wise.
Inside the laird’s chamber Lachlan McDonnel stood by the mantle of his huge hearth. Beside him his wife, Kinley, sat swaddled in a dove-colored wrap. Her unbound white-gold hair and bare feet, as well as the laird’s unlaced tunic, made it plain they had been abed. Still they warmly welcomed him and Bhaltair as if they were guests invited to attend them.
“Forgive us for intruding, my lord,” Bhaltair said immediately, and glanced back at Raen. “If we may beg a private word.”
Lachlan nodded to his seneschal, who departed. “You make a habit of this, Master Flen, so ’tis no shock. Mayhap you should consider living at Dun Aran, to avoid the frequent trips.”
Bhaltair chuckled instead of taking offense, proof of how he had mellowed over the last years. “’Twould seem a solution, Laird. But we couldnae wait with this news, of which I am unhappiest to deliver.”
Once he’d related what they had discovered Kinley grinned. “But that’s wonderful, Master Flen. Jema will be over the moon to find out her brother is alive.”
The old druid held up one hand. “We cannae say for certain the man is Gavin McShane. Then, too, we dinnae ken the reason why he would be chasing after a druidess on an island where the undead slaughtered an entire tribe of our kind.”
“The Moon Wake?” Lachlan said, and when Bhaltair nodded he glanced at his wife. “’Tis no’ good news, Kinley. He may yet be under enthrallment.” He regarded the old druid. “You dinnae wish Jema and Tormod to know he yet lives, or you would have summoned them. What more is there to this tale?”
As always, the laird cut to the heart of the matter, and Cailean felt his master eye him. With halting words, the young druid explained what had—and hadn’t—been done with the tribe’s village.
“I mean to travel to Everbay directly,” Cailean said, “to discover who these intruders are, and what they do there. ’Twould be unwise to go without you, Master,” he said to Bhaltair. “I think too we should ask Daimh Haral to join us, as he is the last of the Moon Wake tribe, and this is his natal land.” He regarded the laird, whose expression had gone remote. “If you will allow some clansmen to escort us, that would provide some defense against the male, if ’tis needed.”
“I’ll go,” Kinley said, rising from her chair. When Lachlan scowled at her she gave
him a sweet smile. “I’m the only trained search and rescue professional in the clan. If this guy is Gavin, he’ll respond better to someone from his own time. Stop looking like you want to tie me to the bed again. You know I’m right. Also, remember.” She lifted one slim hand out of her wrap, and blue-white flames flared up from her fingertips as she demonstrated her gift of throwing fire. “I’m your best weapon of mass undead destruction.”
“That doesnae mean I have to like it,” the laird said, his voice gruff. “Very well, Ovate. My lady and I shall accompany you to Everbay. We were planning a trip to the mainland to meet with my allies at week’s end. Once there we shall make briefer our visit, and then travel to your settlement to make the jaunt to Everbay.” Lachlan put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “And pray to the gods we dinnae have to do more than bring back Gavin McShane.”
Chapter Eight
THE DAY HAD passed so painfully slow that Catriona thought she might burst. Though she had gardened, mended, and cleaned house, it seemed the sun would never near the horizon. Now Catriona paced back and forth, absently stepping over Jester as he scurried alongside her. She’d finished drying her hair by the fire, and dressed in the best of her handmade gowns. The pale linen bodice and nut-hull stained wool skirts looked tidy and clean, and when she braided and put up her locks she would be at her best. That she longed for the finer, better-made garments she’d left in her wardrobe at Ennis and Senga’s cottage bedeviled her. She could not ever wear such things on the island, and certainly not in front of the highlander, but she wanted to look pretty for him.
Aye, and she wanted him to kiss her again. Would he? Or had she somehow disappointed in that the first time?
As she paused Jester hopped on her shoe and chirped at her.
“You’re no’ helping,” she told the baby puffin as she plucked him from her clog and held him up to her face. The soft brush of his down against her cheek soothed her enough to smile. “Now for your meal, and then to mine at Gavin’s.”
As she fed the nestling Catriona wondered what Gavin would be making for their dinner. She knew highlanders favored dishes different from islander fare, and included meat from the livestock and game. He’d done well enough with the fish he brought or caught, and she’d told him she would not eat anything feathered or furred. The best she could hope for might be a vegetable pottage and some bread, if he knew how to steam it. She should show him how to manage it in a hearth pot hung over the night’s embers.
If she kept thinking about food, she’d not keep remembering that kiss on the shore, and how Gavin had pressed her against him, and the delicious, demanding way his mouth had felt on hers. Every bone in her body had been trembling when he’d lifted his head, and looked at her with those moonstone eyes, dark and filled with so much hunger. It made her thighs tighten just to recall it, and then he’d left her at the barrier, as if it had never happened.
Jester trilled, drawing her attention to where he’d settled down under her hand for a nap. She gently placed the cage basket over him before washing her hands and attending to her hair.
As she braided the long strands, she saw the eiders waddle in, their beaks clamped over some stalks of tiny, golden-hearted blooms. Since the primroses weren’t something the ducks ate, she caught their thoughts up in hers.
The male showed her a blurry memory of Isela tucking blooms into her braids—something he could not possibly know. Then she understood: the eider had seen her mother in Catriona’s memory.
“My thanks,” she told the ducks as they dropped the blooms on the ground by her feet. They waddled back out of the cottage, satisfied that they had helped.
She had no mirror, so she had to place the flowers while looking at her dim reflection in a bowl of water. The vivid, phlox-violet of the petals made the red in her hair seem brighter, which pleased her. Gavin had favored her hair, judging by the way he’d run his fingers through it.
Would she never cease lusting after his touch, his kisses, his attention, his approval?
The slant of the sunbeams through the front window forced her to stop dithering and wrap herself in her shawl. After she banked the hearth, she gathered her courage, and marched out of the cottage.
The brown hares peeped out of their hedge to inspect her before returning to cuddle with their leverets.
“You make a lass wish to preen,” she muttered as she began to walk for the barrier.
She stayed within the spell wall until she reached the entry to the forest, where she stepped through. The scent of baking bread and roasting vegetables teased her nose, and relieved a little of her apprehension. They also made her intensely curious as to what he was cooking.
She followed the trail through the trees to the clearing, where she expected to see the highlander at work over his campfire. Instead a plume of thin white smoke rose from his stone chimney. It seemed he had finished and was making use of his hearth.
Catriona smiled as she went to the open doorway and looked inside. Gavin had yet to furnish, but a large cloth had been spread over the hard-packed dirt floor. On the cloth he had arranged two plates, two goblets and a flat, round stone in the center. Two more cloths had been folded and arranged like seats. The man himself stood by the hearth, where he peered into a long slot beneath the mantle.
Catriona politely cleared her throat. As he turned around she tried not to stare at the odd mitts on his hands. “You said to come at sunset,” she reminded him.
“So I did. Welcome.” He removed the mitts and came to her, bending down to kiss her cheek. “Are you hungry?”
She’d been too nervous to eat anything since rising, and the appetizing smells were making her belly feel almost painfully hollow. “A little. What do you make there?”
He started to say something, shook his head, and grinned. “I’ve no name for it that you would ken. ’Tis like a savory tart, with wild carrots, herbs, roasted garlic and cheese melted atop it all. There are fresh greens with fruit and berries to go with it, but let me get the tart out.”
Gavin went back to the hearth, and using his mitts removed another flat, round stone with a large, golden-brown tart atop it. He brought it to the stone in the center of the cloth and let it slide from one stone to the other. He beckoned for her to sit, and retrieved a stone jug and two bowls with the greens and fruit.
Catriona inspected the tart, which had a pale, herb-flecked mash beneath the lacings of melted cheese and roasted garlic cloves. Gavin produced a blade and cut a generous wedge from it to put on her plate, and then filled her goblet with a light-colored cider from the jug.
“One of my crewmates presses sand pears and ferments the juice, but I favor it fresh.” He lifted his goblet. “To good neighbors.”
She joined her drink to his for the toast and then sampled the juice, which was sweet and cold. “This tart, ’tis a highland specialty?”
“’Tis a little like something I loved at home,” Gavin said. “I cannae acquire all of the ingredients here, so I made do with what I had.”
Before she tried the greens she surreptitiously inspected them to assure he had picked nothing poisonous or bitter, and was happy to see dandelion leaves, sorrel, sweet red clover and watercress. The blaeberries, junipers and wild cherries provided a sweet balance to the earthy greens.
“You know gathering,” she told him.
“No’ enough. Some mushrooms tempted me, but I didnae recognize them,” Gavin said. “I thought I might try no’ to poison you this first meal.”
“I shall show you which are safe for eating,” she promised.
He seemed anxious for her to try the tart, so she picked up the wedge and took a small bite. The herbed carrot mash provided a sweet note to the piquant cheese and the richness of the browned garlic, the latter of which melted like spicy butter on her tongue.
“Give up fishing,” Catriona finally said. “I shall hire you to cook for me every night.”
He laughed, and the sound moved through her like currents of deep, satisfying joy.<
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As they ate Gavin told her about the work he had done to complete the roof thatching, and his next task of fashioning the furniture he would need. He favored pine, which saved her from warning him against culling any of the oak trees on the far side of the island.
“Pine boughs work well for a bed frame, although with your size you may want them thick and sturdy,” Catriona told him. “For the ticking you’ll need rope to weave the bottom, but treat it first with pine sap, so the cords last longer.”
“I’ll need more hand tools before I start on the furniture, and I’m no’ sure if I want to put in floor planks or settle for rushes. I have such plans, but no’ knowing if they’ll do. Any advice you would offer is welcome.” He drained his goblet and glanced at her empty plate. “Have you left room for a sweet?”
“Aye, but I change my mind. You cannae cook for me,” she told him gravely. “For I shall eat myself into a whale.”
“That would take more than I’ve to offer.” He eyed her narrow waist before he rose and brought a bowl of roasted nuts gleaming with a golden coating. “I cannae promise you these will be as tasty as the rest. They were a gamble.”
Catriona gingerly picked up one of the sticky nuts, and took a bite. He had roasted them and rolled them in honey. She closed her eyes for a moment, licking the golden drops from her fingertips, before she regarded him.
“Then again I might like being a whale.”
Gavin grinned, and leaned forward to brush his mouth against hers. Though his kiss had been unexpected, her lips clung to his as she shared the taste of the honey. But all too soon he drew back.
“I’ve one more day before I must go to Hrossey,” he said. “Will you go gathering with me in the morning?”
Catriona thought of the portrait he’d drawn and burned. Is she still in his heart? Was she the reason he treated a kiss like a blow? “Aye, if you wish.”
She helped him tidy up after their meal, and let him walk her back to the edge of the glen. He’d brought an extra torch, which he lit from his own before handing it to her.