by Hazel Hunter
He growled something and rolled over with her, tucking her under him. “I’ll be a druid proper.”
“And today you’ll be my mate,” she said. The feel of him rooting between her thighs made her bones go liquid. “Mayhap we could go after midday.”
“Oh, aye,” Gavin murmured as he lowered his mouth to hers, and slowly pushed into her.
All the fear and loneliness that had followed her to the island had gone along with her uncle, and now Catriona had Gavin. Being with the man she loved made up for all the long, empty years. When he came into her she could feel the surge of his beast spirit, now much gentler since she had conceived. It moved inside her with Gavin’s thick, hard shaft, stroking her and him with pulses of heat and hunger.
“Yes, Cat, sweet lovely soft woman. You feel so good under me. I want to do this to you every morning. I want to bring you over and over, until you never want to be anything but naked and with me.”
His words made her gush with wetness around him in response, and he pumped deeper.
“That wouldnae be wise, my beast.” She looked up into his eyes as he buried himself deep in her. “We’ve a baby coming. He’ll want more than parents who willnae leave their bed.”
His mouth curved as he slid his hand between them to cover their tiny son. “So he will.”
Without warning he withdrew from her, making Catriona cry out in frustration, and then make a very different sound as he slid down and put his mouth to her damp quim. Gavin stroked her open with his tongue.
Catriona gripped the bed linens as Gavin suckled her, his mouth so hungry she had to muffle another cry with the pillow. Then he pushed his fingers into her, working them in and out of her clenching opening.
“Gavin,” she breathed.
“That’s what I want, oh, aye, my beauty, my lady. Let me have all your pleasure now. Drench me with it.”
They spent the rest of the morning in bed, making love and talking. They rose only to make a brew and have some fruit and morning bannocks, and then to heat water for bathing. That ended with more love-making, as they couldn’t seem to stop touching each other when they were naked. When they finally emerged from the cottage the sun had begun its descent toward the west. Catriona felt glad to see no more dark smoke from the burned black ships tainting the sky. The rain had also washed away much of the signs of battle from the glen. She would always love Everbay, but it no longer felt like her home.
Gavin was that now.
She spotted two figures walking up from the glen, and squinted against the sunlight. One appeared to be a clansman from the McDonnel tartan he wore, but he was fair-haired and carried an axe instead of a sword. The woman beside him had long, gleaming golden hair, and wore trews and a tunic instead of a gown, but even at this distance Catriona could see she wasn’t Kinley.
Beside her Gavin went utterly still, and then Catriona knew who the couple were.
“We could leave for Skye now,” she said quietly, and took his hand in hers. “If you wish.”
He glanced at her. “No, lass, I only thought I wouldnae see her until we went there, if at all.” His mouth hitched. “She couldnae wait to confront me. She never can.”
They walked down to meet the couple, both of whom wore stern expressions. The clansman definitely had the look of a Viking, Catriona thought, as did the woman. She also saw in miniature Gavin’s chin and his brows on Jema Liefson’s face.
They stopped a few yards apart, like opponents on a battlefield, Catriona thought. No one said anything at first, and the silence stretched out so thin and tense that she wondered if either of them could speak to the other. Then she understood. This woman was Gavin’s twin sister. She was so angry with him that she didn’t trust herself to speak.
“Well?” Tormod Liefson said. “You’ve no’ seen each other for almost a year. You cannae have changed so much. You’re twins. Have at it.”
“You bastard,” Jema said, her voice like ice. “You made me think you were dead. You ran away to hide. One message, that’s all I’d have needed.”
“Why? You were glad to be rid of me,” Gavin said, sounding lofty. “You didnae even bother to check that I drowned. I understand, Jema. I ken what you had to do for me when I was sick. It wore you down.”
“Oh, aye, right, you ken. Worn to the bone, I was, loving you and looking after you and trying to keep you alive. And you think I wished you dead so I could be free of you?”
His sister’s eyes narrowed as she stretched out her hand to Tormod, who gave her a silken sack. Still looking at him, she pulled out a piece of clothing that he recognized. It was the jacket he’d worn that day they’d fallen through time.
“Where did you–”
“In the little cottage near the burial mound,” Jema snapped, shaking it at him. “I was so keen to be rid of you that I sought you out even when you were supposed to be dead.” Her eyes began to glisten. “Night after night I dreamt of you.” Her lower lip trembled as she bunched the fabric in her fist. “Then yesterday, I thought you truly had…”
“Jay,” he said, his throat tight. “’Twas bitterness at how Thora had used me. I saw your new life with your Viking and the clan—and it ate at me that you were happy without me.”
“Gee,” she sobbed, “I never stopped thinking of you.”
He held out his arms and she rushed into them. “Forgive me, Jay,” he said into her hair. “It was a madness.”
Gavin felt her nod silently against his shoulder and kept holding her tight, unable to speak past the constriction in his own throat.
“He loved her,” Catriona said. “Twelve months gone, and he still mourned her—and you. ’Tis time for the grieving to be over.”
Jema separated from him and nodded as she wiped her eyes. “We’ve no’ been introduced,” she said to Catriona.
“I am Catriona Haral. You might remember me as Iona Errol in the future.”
“The gardener’s daughter?” Jema looked from Catriona to Gavin and back again.
“’Tis a long story,” he said, bringing Catriona to his side. “But you should know that she carries my son—and your nephew.”
“A child?” Jema exclaimed, sobbing anew as she threw her arms around them both.
Tormod took a step back, and caught Catriona’s eye. “I’m Viking,” he explained gravely. “We dinnae do group hugs.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
QUINTUS DIRECTED THE captain of the black ship to take a convoluted route back to the Isle of Staffa. He would not risk any of the McDonnels’ mortal allies reporting back to the clan about his movements and inviting a direct attack on the lair.
It took four days to return, and by the time they dropped anchor the remaining undead were on half-rations to preserve the last of the living thralls. Quintus himself suffered the new torments of blood hunger, and only just managed to maintain his dignity around the crew.
Strabo’s betrayal had injured him much more seriously than he’d first imagined. On the journey back to the lair Quintus often spent hours pondering every aspect of his relationship with the prefect. He had given him rank, respect, and trusted him with responsibility—this after he had been maimed, no less—and he had responded with treachery, lies and hatred.
Perhaps it was the difference between men and women, that males ever envied their betters, while women wished to nurture them. Fenella would never have tried to kill him. Oh, certainly she had threatened to, but he had always known she would not. After all, she had been his creation. She had loved him as a mortal, and protected him with her life as undead. He would never know the like of her again, no matter how long he lived.
Strabo had been the embodiment of all his failures.
A crescent moon hung over Staffa as the black ship dropped anchor, and Quintus gave the order to lower the spare dories so they might depart immediately.
As his men rowed him across the last stretch of sea, Quintus peered ahead, and smirked a little as he saw Bryn Mulligan, dressed like a queen and waiting with her
ladies. That a whore could think herself so important to him was as ludicrous as Strabo believing he could assassinate his way to becoming tribune.
Quintus waited until the men had dragged the small boat onto the rocky shore before he disembarked, and walked up to where the undead females waited. “Bryn, how kind of you to come to greet me.”
“I’ve thought of nothing else since you left, Tribune.” She dropped into a deep curtsey before she offered him the goblet of blood she held. “You come back much later than I expected. Indeed, I feared you never would. Do we celebrate your victory over the clan?”
“I think you can see such did not happen.” He snatched the goblet and greedily drained it in a few gulps. “I am obliged to make some changes now. Things will have to be a little different, but I’m sure you and your ladies are up to the task. All you must do is what I tell you.” He met her placid gaze. “There shall be but one rule now: obey me or die.”
“’Tis a very good rule,” Bryn said warmly. “Might I borrow it?”
He considered her request. Since she looked after the females with no complaint, he should allow her to keep a little authority. “With your ladies, of course.”
The other whores brought goblets to his starved men, who drank them down with relish. Quintus gestured for Bryn to walk with him into the stronghold, and as they did he told her that Strabo had betrayed and massacred the legion by conspiring with the druid. As he spoke the hot blood in his belly seemed to grow cold and thicken into ice.
“Strabo is dead,” the tribune said, “and the druid vanished, but I yet live. As long as I do, the legion will go on. I am the legion.” He felt an unfamiliar languor coming over him, and then noticed that no sentries had been posted at the front stations. “Where are the guards?”
“’Tis a surprise. You’ll see, just inside.” As Quintus stumbled, Bryn took firm hold of his arm. “I cannae wait for you to see what changes I’ve made.”
Chapter Thirty
AS GAVIN AND Catriona approached Dun Aran, it seemed to him that night had turned to day. Tall, staked torches blazed in opalescent colors all along the path to the great castle. Next to the loch two bonfires sent dazzling sparkles flittering into the air. The torches along the battlements were lit, as were those that ringed the entrance. Everywhere there was activity.
Robed druids were putting the finishing touches to a white wedding arbor between the bonfires. Its graceful, interwoven branches stretched skyward, creating an arched dome. Sprays of gay color dotted its latticework frame, and Gavin recognized some of the flowers that Catriona favored, including lavender.
Highlanders were carrying out tables and chairs, followed by women with platters of food. But what made Gavin smile most was not the preparations. It was the children who ran everywhere, their faces beaming.
“They are so happy,” Catriona whispered beside him as she gripped his hand tighter. “Even now, I can scarce believe they’re here.”
Gavin felt as though he were getting a crash course in the ways of the magic folk. “I ken what you mean.”
Jema and Tormod came down the path from the castle. In their beautiful, matching tartans, he had never seen his sister look more beautiful. Nor would her beauty or youth ever dim. After swearing fealty to the clan, he and Cat had been told of their immortality. They had been shocked—and yet not, given all they’d witnessed.
Jema’s eyes had turned sad. “I’ll outlive you, Gee. I don’t know if I can stand to see it.”
“You were ready when I had ALS,” he’d gently reminded her. “But you’ll only have to wait ’til I reincarnate. I’ll find you, Jay. ’Tis fated.”
As two of the young Moon Wake tribe ran laughing across their path, Tormod snorted. “We’re hip-deep in bairns.” His shrewd blue eyes softened as Isabeau came skipping over to hug Catriona around the waist. “Ah, well, someone has to take charge of them.”
“You two are a sight,” Jema beamed. She leaned in to give them both a peck on the cheek. “Gavin makes for a dashing groom in tartan, and Catriona, you’re lovely in that gown.”
“I am forever in debt to you and your seamstress for it.”
“Did you bring the cord for the handfasting?” Gavin asked Tormod.
“Aye,” the Viking said. He held up a short section of rope but eyed it doubtfully. “’Tis druid custom to take the bride prisoner?”
“’Tis a symbol only,” Catriona assured him, “of being bound one to the other.”
Gavin saw the laird and his lady sitting with Teren and Cailean, and another, older druid wrapped in a thick wool blanket. “Who is the old man?”
“Master Bhaltair Flen,” Jema told him. “The wisest and kindest of the magic folk.”
“He’s the druid my uncle tried to kill before he left for Everbay,” Catriona added in a lower, subdued tone.
“’Twas naught of your doing, Cat,” Isabeau scolded in her piping voice. “Master Flen understands this. Now come, sweetheart. I’ll introduce you.”
Tormod watched the pair go before he said to Gavin, “Hearing a mother’s voice come out of that wee little thing should be troubling, but oddly, ’tis no’.”
“You’ve seen me possessed by a Viking goddess with one eye,” his wife reminded him. “Everything after that should be cake.”
A short, bald man with war hammers tattooed on his arms hailed Tormod and Jema, who excused themselves to go and speak with him. That left Gavin to follow after his wife and her reincarnated mother. Lachlan stood as soon as he saw him and clasped arms with him.
“I’ll send for Cailean and the others,” the laird said before he made introductions.
Gavin went down on one knee before the old druid. “Master Flen.” He bowed his head. “’Tis an honor.”
Despite the obvious signs of his recent brush with death Bhaltair’s dark eyes shone brightly as he surveyed Gavin.
“Well, then, lad. You’re the hero of Everbay Isle now. You saved your lady, the boy, and my ovate. Then, too, you and your lady kept a madman from attaining eternal life at the expense of so many others. No’ what we expected of you a year past.”
Gavin nodded. “I’ll try to keep surprising you, Master Flen.”
“You’ve both done that.” The old man gave Catriona a decidedly fond look, and gazed around them at the happy druid children. “An entire tribe of souls, scattered and then come back like this. ’Tis never happened in any generation. We cannae fathom it. ’Twill be the talk of the conclave for centuries.”
Gavin saw the laird smiling, which seemed like a good omen. “What will happen to the children now?”
“They wish to reform their tribe,” Bhaltair said. “After what they suffered, we cannae think of a reason to deny them.” Bhaltair nodded at Cailean as he arrived. “Nor shall I stand in the way of my ovate choosing his new path.”
“I go to live in the household of the Gordon Clan,” the younger druid explained. “I’m needed there to help protect the Countess and her son.” He nodded to Raen and Diana as they arrived, and also Evander and Rachel. “But such news ’tis not why I awaited your arrival.” He and Bhaltair exchanged a long look but the older druid finally nodded.
“You’re killing me with the suspense, Grandpa,” Diana said.
“What news demands the seneschal, the captain of the guard, and the laird?” Evander asked.
“Your wife has had some glimpse of it,” Cailean replied to him but looked at Rachel. “She saw it in my mind.”
Bhaltair’s eyebrows flew up but Rachel only smiled and looked at the ground.
“Not sharing, are we?” Kinley quipped, but gave Rachel a wink.
Lachlan held up his hand. “Allow the man his say.”
There was silence and all eyes turned to Cailean.
“We have long wished mortal kind to share our path,” Cailean said quietly. “’Twas decided that we would begin our Great Design…” He glanced around the circle. “By secretly siring children with mortal ladies.”
“What say you?”
Raen demanded.
Diana patted his massive arm. “Like me and Bhaltair, big guy. It’s all in the family.”
“Danyel,” Catriona whispered.
“Aye,” Cailean said. “I nearly told you in the cave.” He turned to Kinley. “I thought you would see it when you met Bethany. Your hair and eyes are no’ the same, so I didnae recognize it at first, but your face… I see her now every time I look upon you.”
The laird’s wife caught her breath sharply. “Oh, no.”
“Just as Lady Diana is Bhaltair’s, so you are mine,” Cailean told her. “When my son is grown, he shall sire your bloodline.”
“If Danyel had died,” Kinley said, “I’d never have been born. Diana would never come looking for me. We’d both disappear.”
Cailean nodded but the laird looked skeptical. “What has any of that to do with sharing the druid path?”
“It’s a very primitive form of genetic engineering,” Jema said before Cailean could reply. “They’re trying to change the future.”
“Of mortal kind, aye,” Cailean said. “We hope by this that someday all will be druid kind, and share our path. The time shall come when all may reincarnate, and learn from their past lives, and find true enlightenment. Death would never again hold dominion over any of us.”
A hushed silence followed.
“Giving everyone on the planet a shot at immortality?” Kinley said, her mouth crooking up in a half grin. “That’s a pretty ambitious plan, even for the truly enlightened. How will you know if it worked?”
“You are the proof of it, Wife,” Lachlan told her. “You are druid kind, and yet you have never been reborn. Nor have Diana, Rachel or Jema.”
“I cannae say why you are come back to us,” Cailean admitted. “’Twas no’ part of the Great Design. The gods havenae revealed their purpose. ’Tis baffling.”
“But after the threat to Danyel,” Bhaltair said, “’twas clear that the Great Design could no longer be our secret.” He looked over his shoulder to the preparations still taking place in the distance. “But ’tis not a matter to be shared with more than those here.” He gave Lachlan an appraising look.