Born of Mist and Legend (Highland Legends Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  “Then I’ll abandon the magick.” With a hard exhalation, an invisible percussive wave blew out and down. The sounds of the forest distorted, then flattened. The drop of her magick happened so hard and quick, the energy blast briefly extinguished Skorpius’s magick as well.

  Well, that’s a first, he commented to himself alone. Then he reignited his inner flame, and, for the moment, ignored the paradoxical implications of that unprecedented action. Especially given what he suspected about the origins of her magick.

  “Too late.” No being could fully douse such a powerful flame. “Whoever or whatever’s hunting you has been doing so long enough to find you.”

  “’Tis never too late.” She turned on her heel, then resumed her path along the trail.

  “For this, it is.” Because she’d been marked. Residue of magick remained, even if she never summoned one further molecule of energy again; the unmistakable scent of carrion to a vulture traveled vast distances through space and time.

  No denial came, even though he knew she’d heard him.

  She simply walked on, into the cooling environs of the forest.

  “Besides, don’t you first want to know why you have it?” Skorpius followed, but hung back a few paces, to give her room to process her predicament.

  Because, in order to fight a hidden enemy who hovered on the outskirts of their awareness, they needed to find out why she’d obtained such unimaginable power in the first place. And Brigid remained too dangerous a tool for either of them to let it alone; she could be weaponized in half a heartbeat, without her consent. Even a god couldn’t be omnipotent and omniscient all of the time. Every being had a weakness. Opportunists lay in wait, patient. Ready to exploit.

  Why hadn’t he detected any other magick signature though?

  Had his presence kept the predators at bay? If so, they’d have to remedy that. Bait a trap. Flush the hunter.

  “North, then,” he continued their conversation with all that she’d revealed thus far and increased his strides to catch up with her.

  “Aye.” She initiated a light jog down their trail again as it narrowed into denser forest. Yet even with the treacherous path, darkened by shadow and riddled with gnarled roots, she pushed her pace.

  The breadth of Skorpius’s wings made it impossible for him to follow behind, so he shifted incorporeal again and ghosted through the forest beside her.

  Within minutes, glowing tendrils of energy trailed her like disturbed mist.

  “You’re leaking magick again.”

  And even he, sworn guardian that he was, felt drawn to her seductive rare energy.

  He sighed. Might as well erect a giant neon blinking arrow. Send out engraved invitations. “Permission to speak freely into your mind?”

  The trailing tendrils vanished the moment her soft presence penetrated into his thoughts. Permission granted.

  Their telepathic communication held minimal risk, as the power came from a latent human ability and bore a different kind of undetectable energy.

  Any other clues? Why north? Away from the borderlands with England.

  North, for now. And…I doona know.

  Her horse had apparently known. Maybe Brigid had sent the suggestion to its mind. Maybe she’d bound herself to her mount in the same way Skorpius had been tethered to her as guardian. Because for the distance they’d traveled, she couldn’t be that skilled a tracker.

  He also sensed there was more to the story. A faint undercurrent in her tone led him to believe she kept something important hidden.

  There’s smoke. Her brow furrowed. A horrible pungent scent. She snorted as if clearing her nostrils of the stench. Then she paused, as if searching her memories of a dream, or a vision. There’s ocean, and…

  The forest ahead abruptly ended.

  A well-traveled road crossed their path.

  And by the immediate blur of movement and boisterous sounds, a large group occupied the road at that very moment.

  Brigid darted off-trail, through the screening cover of ferns and vines.

  Skorpius materialized beside her.

  The traveling party caravanned past their hiding spot without detecting their presence. English, by the looks of it. Soldiers on foot and on heavy mounts. But wealthy riders also rode astride finer steeds. And teams of horses led adorned carriages. Behind the apparent nobility, followed their entire retinue, wagons laden with linens and housewares, trains of horses, and servants who ambled alongside.

  They watched in silence from the shadows. The scant layer of foliage was enough to obscure them from sight; no need to waste energy with magick.

  The travelers meandered up the road, heading toward a castle that appeared to float on mist in the near foothills.

  You were saying? Where’s ocean? he wondered toward Brigid, hoping she’d expand on the recent disclosure. The mental exchange also helped pass the time of their forced wait while she exercised her telepathic skills. Nowhere nearby, he added. A good day’s ride on horseback away, if we abandon our northerly course and hook west. They would need to skirt all the activity to go unnoticed. And elucidate the “and…”? For she’d been about to reveal more, before they were interrupted.

  I doona know. She gusted out a frustrated breath. A place where the air tastes of salt. Where waves crash with a thunderin’ roar. And we’ll be needin’ to go into that castle. Tonight.

  Of course, they would. Why? To risk exposure, the reason would have to be great enough.

  ’Tis where the pull leads. And I’ve never been here before—she gave a nod toward the stone towers and battlements floating above the mist—but I’ve seen that castle.

  Well, okay. A great enough reason. And the perfect place to test his theory, since she’d just inadvertently volunteered to bait his trap.

  Then I’ve got a plan.

  The mere mention of it contradicted Skorpius’s counsel-only guardian code.

  But when one wanders into uncharted territory? The wise improvise.

  You wanted no interference? He glanced toward Brigid. You’re about to get your wish.

  Chapter 7

  Gloamin’ dimmed the midsummer’s sky in darkenin’ shades of gray.

  A crisp Highland breeze chilled the air, rustlin’ the leaves of the giant chestnut tree.

  With stealth, and a wee bit of magick, she and Skorpius had snuck unseen through the forest, away from the bustlin’ crowd of travelers that wound toward the castle’s drawbridge. And they’d spirited high above, up into their secret hidin’ spot that overlooked them all.

  “English soldiers have occupied every inch of that place.” Skorpius dipped a nod toward foothills that met an undulatin’ stone curtain wall, then beyond, up toward the forbiddin’ castle that rose from a thin layer of mist.

  Brigid dropped her gaze beyond the curtain wall, scannin’ the castle’s bailey. The open courtyard teemed with the enemy, conquerors to her native lands. A goodly amount were dressed in finery and walked in groups up toward the keep, to join those who’d begun to flow through the main entrance. Some grand celebration was about to transpire.

  “Aye,” Brigid acknowledged his comment, and understood the risks.

  For the angel’s plan? Once she was sighted, she’d be alone.

  Yet, she’d been no fool. The journey itself brought danger. And to see her quest through to the end, she’d no choice but to go forward. Even if it meant bravin’ the insolent invaders.

  Not all were English, though. Between small thatched cottages that speckled the bailey, she spotted others who had to be Scots: men who wore basic tunics and trews and stood taller and broader in the shoulders, the smithy and a few lads from the stables who tended to the incomin’ animals, a handful of hardy women who carried baskets of various foods.

  “And you’re determined to go there.”

  “Aye.”

  “On a hunch.”

  “’Tis greater than a hunch. Some power has developed there.”

  Skorpius arched a dark brow, stared a
t her with those blue-green sparklin’ eyes. His wild black mane of hair ruffled in the breeze. “Some power has developed here.”

  Developin’.

  In truth, she’d only tasted the energy. Had no real knowledge of how to summon it forth. Nor hold on to the magnificence of it for verra long.

  “Only to vanish,” she admitted. She’d lost hold of her magick seconds ago. No longer sensed its cracklin’ energy, her connection with all…seen and unseen.

  Amusement sparked in his fiery gaze. “How do you plan to get down from here?”

  The giant tree they’d landed in. At the edge of the forest, when the magick had coursed through her on solid ground, she’d but saw the high vantage of the ancient tree, wished herself within its heavenly boughs, then appeared within.

  Brigid glanced down. Her breath caught when nothin’ but thick gnarled branches angled together as far as she could see through the moonlit shadows. But she swallowed hard, found her inborn Brodie resolve to quell the flash of fear.

  Ever since she’d toddled as a wee one, she’d secretly trained in all manner of weaponry. In recent weeks, she’d further mastered short swords, become adept at archery. But escapin’ trees had somehow been overlooked.

  “Climb down.” Brodie lads had only their God-given abilities, and those striplings climbed trees. Therefore, so could she. Determined to continue her quest, she grabbed the nearest side branch, then stepped off the one she and the angel both stood upon.

  Once her weight shifted, the upward bounce of the branch jostled Skorpius, and his glorious black wings arched and spread. But all the while, his watchful gaze tracked her every move.

  Shadows and moon glow danced from the tree’s quiverin’ leaves as she tried to get a clear view of the best path below her. With each next step, she placed the toe of her leather boot with care to gain a solid foothold. Then she bent her knees, reached down, and grasped another sturdy branch with both hands.

  “We’re over a hundred feet up,” his low voice purred from above.

  “Doona remind me,” she grumbled, hands chafin’ as she clamped tight fingers around rough bark.

  And yet, as much as the old tree scraped on the surface, its essence embraced Brigid. A part of her connected with the life force of the great chestnut, akin to belongin’ to the same clan. And the giant’s warm radiance engulfed her with a soothin’ sense of peace.

  Without one drop of magick in my grasp.

  Mayhap, ’twas their shared circumstance.

  For within the massive chestnut’s limbs, the gnarled bends and scarred curves bore witness to the years of hardship it had quietly endured. It had persevered in spite of harsh environs.

  And from Brigid’s first gaspin’ breath, through death and heartache, she’d also angled toward the light in her world, coveted the heat of the sun, the nourishment of vibrant plants, the rich land beneath her feet. Yet although she’d shied away from darkness, she’d also stood in the path of cold indifference without complaint, and had grown stronger for endurin’ the pain. Even so, she’d known from the verra start that she existed for a purpose greater than mere survival.

  We are the same, gentle one.

  A male shout echoed from the bailey below.

  Alarmed, Brigid’s attention shot out toward the sound.

  And her foot slipped.

  Cool air whooshed over her skin as the thinner branch in her grasp snapped from the sudden weight. Rough bark abraded her arms and sliced her fingers as she fell while scramblin’ to grasp another handhold.

  In the next heartbeat, warmth enveloped her. Skorpius surrounded her in a cushion of safety—while they hung in midair. Muscular arms flexed outward. Large hands spread wide. Dark wings curved around. And still a hairsbreadth of space existed between them.

  His magick.

  Jesu! Immense power snapped from the angel. Pure raw heat licked at her senses, invitin’. Not at all dangerous. Or dark.

  Yet at the same time, so verra dangerous and dark.

  Brigid swallowed hard. Overcome by sensations, she drew in a steadyin’ breath.

  Till an echoin’ thump reverberated within her chest. The persistent tug that had ruled her thoughts and governed her dreams. A second thumped, then vibrated, distractin’ her attention away from the angel and back toward her course.

  At the same instant, commotion sounded at the drawbridge. A half dozen guardsmen on horseback cantered into the bailey. Two teams of horses followed, drawin’ a grand carriage.

  And all within the castle, English and Scot alike, swung their attention toward the sudden excitement. Then the crowd flowin’ toward the keep picked up their pace, emptyin’ the bailey’s outskirts.

  Urgency quickened Brigid’s pulse. She glanced toward where they needed to be: hidden in the shadows between the thatched cottages. Inside the curtain wall.

  An instant later, solid ground pressed underfoot. The night breeze blew through the wee bit of air space between her and the angel. And they both stood exactly where she’d imagined. Without even a spark of magick. Of her own.

  Skorpius glanced ahead, then arched a dark brow at her. “Well?”

  “We’ll be goin’ in.”

  “Of course, we will.”

  But first, Brigid eyed his attire. Or lack thereof. “You’ll be needin’ to…” Her gaze trailed from his bared chest to land on his enormous velvet wings.

  “Blend?”

  “Aye.”

  “Not a problem.” Skorpius’s appearance shimmered.

  In the span of a blink, a tattered black cloak covered his face and unearthly eyes. Those odd boots he wore, with their longs strings and shiny metal, had disappeared. So had the wings.

  When Brigid focused into the shadowed space under his hood, his hardened expression stared back at her.

  His gaze tracked her from head to toe. “You’ll need to blend too.”

  “Aye…” Her voice drifted as she scanned across the courtyard. Women no longer tarried nearby, all were enterin’ the keep or had already disappeared.

  “Summon your magick,” he prodded.

  Uncertain she’d be able to do so on command, she let her eyes drift shut and stretched her senses down into the earth beneath her feet and out through the sweet night breeze swirlin’ all around. No reply came. Not even a recognizable tingle. She let out a frustrated sigh. “I canna.”

  “Inhale, deeply.” His tone gentled. “Feel the chill of the air drawn into your lungs, become the vibration within each particle.”

  On instinct devoid of any thought, Brigid did as he instructed. And was richly rewarded. Thousands of tiny brushes of warmth flowed into her, like the gentle kiss of a springtime sun. When she reopened her eyes, the darkness around her had illuminated like a dim torch, sparkles shimmerin’ on invisible currents of air.

  The magick had returned. And felt…invigoratin’.

  Skorpius gave her a short nod, expression intense. “Now.”

  An image of a favorite sapphire gown came to mind. In the next instant, her deerskins had been replaced by the fine fabric, her trail-dusted skin glowed with freshness, and her wind-blown hair had tamed alongside one breast in loose shiny spirals. A glance over her shoulder confirmed her satchel, along with her bow and quiver of arrows, had vanished. So had the sheathed daggers at her hips. To where?

  Skorpius inhaled a sudden breath. Under his dark hood, his eyes flashed…with heat?

  Nay. His reaction was but the simplest explanation: surprise at her quick ability.

  Skorpius tilted his head, then gave it a hard shake. Those sparklin’ eyes pinched closed for a moment. When they opened again, the fire within had banked.

  His cooled gaze flicked down over her garb. “Not quite.” He drummed idle fingers once along his side, against the dark material of his cloak. “This suits you more.”

  A ticklin’ warmth brushed over her skin. With a swirl of fabric, the blue dress spun into emerald green. The once-tight bodice flexed with her next inhalation. When cool air traveled
up her leg, she pointed a toe outward in curiosity. The angle revealed a slit in the fabric that rose halfway up her thigh, where one of her daggers was fastened, beneath the silken material. A matching kiss of coolness and slight press of weight suggested her other dagger rode her opposite thigh. A darker green cloak shadowed into place as gradual weight tugged onto her shoulders: her satchel, bow, and quiver of arrows inventively placed. And when she raised an arm, the fabric of the cloak even parted with her movement.

  “Och...” Skorpius’s vision topped her own. “I…”

  His dark brows lifted. “Approve?”

  “Aye.” She could fight in the gown he’d gifted her. Her heart warmed at his thoughtfulness.

  “Good.” He glanced toward the castle, then narrowed his eyes at the dwindlin’ crowd. “You don’t have much time to arrive and still blend. And discover your purpose here.”

  Her purpose. How would she know?

  You’ll know. His voice boomed into her mind again, unbidden.

  “Cease that,” she whispered with a harsh glare. She then strode ahead of him, unsettled by the sensation of his occupyin’ her mind.

  “You need to exercise the ability.” Skorpius appeared by her side as they approached the entrance to the keep.

  “I’ll not be usin’ it.”

  “Perhaps not yet. But you will.”

  She scoffed and shook her head. Nay. I’ll be the one decidin’ what magick I use. You’ll be stayin’ out of it. And my head. At first, she’d directed the firm conviction to herself. With an afterthought, she wondered if she’d aimed the entire rebuke at him.

  But the growin’ number of others within earshot ended the debate.

  A group of English soldiers stood outside the open wooden doors. Before them, men and women alike pressed forward in a slow but steady flow, like a river curvin’ around a bend.

  In more extravagant garb fashioned from stripes of bright silk, a herald barked out the introductions of each person gainin’ entrance. One by one, announcements were made, without exception.