Rosalyn struggled to find the words; she had accepted a life without a father, and now here he stood, a mere breath away. ‘But… how can this be?’ she blurted, clasping a hand over her mouth. ‘You look so…’ Her words trailed, as she tried to justify his youthful appearance.
‘It is a long story—and no fairy-tale—I assure you,’ he responded.
‘I can’t comprehend it,’ she said. ‘’Tis unbelievable! How can I begin to call you—’
‘Reece is your father, Rosalyn,’ Onóir argued. ‘And Eleanor’s grandfather. And, though I, too, have no understanding of it,’ she continued, ‘I give you my word. I know my husband.’
‘Then… how?’ asked Rosalyn, eyeing him as he regarded her son.
Reece drifted from her questions, reluctant to answer. How could he even begin to explain what had happened to him? Then there were the reasons: Why and how he came to arrive where he did, with his unusual friends? Avoiding the question, he returned his focus on Onóir.
‘How did you cope?’
‘With great difficulty,’ she began. ‘I was ignorant to childbirth. If it had not been for the kindness of Marian Drew, I dread to imagine…. It was she who helped bring your daughter into the world. I prayed for your return but… when the days turned into weeks and months, and a year had passed, without a word, I had to accept my new responsibilities. Do you remember the Drews, Reece?’
‘I do, now,’ he said, seeing their faces in his mind. ‘They were good people, and he a fair landlord.’
‘They helped as much as I would allow, but pride won me over. I chose to return here, to Scotland.’
He recalled their conversation. ‘As I had instructed you.’
‘You remember?’ she said.
He nodded, smiling with pride at her bravery.
‘And I shall always be indebted to Mr. Drew, for the kindness he showed us. He took charge of my affairs; I was in no fit state to deal with the selling of what little possessions we had. What money we made, he matched it to pay for our safe journey. Before we parted, he vowed to keep an ear to the ground for any sign of your return, so he could inform you of our location.’
Reece sighed, sparing a thought for the landlord he had once called friend—now long passed.
‘Every day I waited for news,’ she went on. ‘But in my expectations, I failed to notice the swift passing of time. I watched Rosalyn grow from a child into a young woman. I stood alone at her wedding, while she made her vows to a soldier. It grieved me to see them so young and happy in their short time together.’
‘At least Malcom lived to share his daughter’s life in her first six months.’
Onóir glared at her daughter’s sudden bitterness.
‘Well, ’tis true, maw. When Malcom died, at least his death was confirmed by his superiors. I saw his mutilated corpse with my own eyes. It sickened me to the pit of my stomach, plaguing me with nightmares for months in the aftermath of it all. Aye, I’ve had my fair share of death, but I buried my first husband, knowing, in time, I would have closure. I moved on with my life… as you should have done.’
‘How dare you!’ Onóir snapped, in retaliation, sensing the need to defend her husband. ‘You cannot presume to understand how I truly—’
The old woman suddenly keeled over in a spate of coughing, erupting from deep inside her weakening lungs. In an instant, Reece was by his wife’s side again, concerned.
‘You are ill?’ he enquired.
The room became a sudden hive of activity as they shuffled about to assist Onóir—Gill reaching for a jug of water, while Rosalyn, consumed with guilt, joined Reece by her side.
‘What ails you, Onóir?’ Reece insisted, giving her a sideward look.
Pre-empting her daughter’s explanation—given her heightened emotions—Onóir interrupted. ‘Oh, ’tis nothing for you to concern yourself with,’ she replied, dismissing her symptoms. ‘Age has simply caught up with me,’ she added, accepting a drink from Gill. She slowly sipped the soothing contents, letting it ease her pain, while observing him closely. Unlike you, my love, she thought.
As her grandmother spoke, Eleanor stole a fleeting glance towards Asai. Convinced it had gone unnoticed, she swiftly diverted her eyes, before he could return it; it did not go astray.
‘Forgive me,’ Reece begged, taking his wife’s thin hand. He looked at her. ‘You are so cold.’
Rosalyn reached for the thick, blue woollen blanket lying draped behind her mother’s chair.
‘Thank you,’ said Onóir, exchanging the subtle, warning glance with her daughter. Rosalyn understood the plea in her mother’s eyes. The old woman was dying, and only she knew it. The infection in her lungs had spread beyond its limits, her one comfort: the treatment given to her by the village physician, to ease her suffering. She had secretly fought it, determined to stay alive, in the hope that, one day, she and Reece would be re-united.
If not in life—then in death—should fate allow it, she had told herself. ‘You are the cure to my ailments, Reece. It will pass,’ she lied.
‘So, what do I call you?’ Rosalyn blurted, distracting him. It was all she could say to avoid his further enquiries of Onóir’s illness.
Reece considered his wife, with scepticism. He was not convinced.
‘Are you not going to answer your daughter?’ she said, acknowledging Rosalyn, who was looking down at him, wringing her hands together, her nerves beginning to get the better of her.
Rising to his full height he turned to her. ‘Call me—Reece—all of you,’ he replied. ‘Besides, I think it strange you should call me—’
‘Father?’
He hesitated, not wanting to offend her. ‘Because, I am… younger than you.’
‘Which I fail to understand,’ she returned. ‘Yet, here you are.’
‘Indeed,’ he said, struggling, inside, to think of a way to justify it all. He looked around, stalling. As he did so, he cast a quick, suspicious eye towards Gill, drawing on his conclusions: there was no doubting who the young man’s father was. Seeing this, Rosalyn moved to confront him further, but was prevented by Onóir—silently pleading with her daughter to wait!
Reece then let his eyes wander, taking in their surroundings: the kitchen and hearth-room were warm and welcoming—a far cry from what he and his two colleagues had been subjected to, for years. The oak, trestle-table—where the cold, evening meal now sat—had signs of woodworm in its legs. Rave remained huddled beneath it, nosing at the piece of meat Gill had baited in a small mousetrap, in a corner next to it. Above the high, wooden fireplace—decorated with elaborate gouging on the sides—Reece noticed a shelf. Hanging from its tenon pegs, he recognised the pieces of familiar crockery. A faint curl appeared on the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Onóir, her eyes afraid to leave him.
‘I could not bear to part with them,’ she stated, lifting her narrow shoulders.
He then slanted his eyes, noticing another item from their past, sitting alone in a corner. It was a plain, heavy-panelled chair—made of oak—with a box below the seat. Worn from years of use, and darkened by the smoke from the log fire, it was still recognisable. On it, rested a large basket of dried flowers.
‘Aye, that too,’ she added. ‘I remember how you used it—to clean your boots. I was offered a good price for it, but every time I looked at it, I saw you sitting there—from my memories.’
‘There is so much to tell you,’ he began, turning to his wife. ‘And so much I would not dare reveal.’
Onóir felt the rise of her aching lungs, once more, and tried desperately to hide it. Rosalyn reached for a small, brown bottle. From its contents, Reece saw her count the drops as she mixed the solution with Onóir’s drink.
‘It eases her cough,’ Rosalyn casually informed him, keeping her eyes diverted.
‘Then start from the beginning—’
The three colleagues turned abruptly at the sound of Gill’s authoritative voice.
‘—If you please.’
R
eece now surveyed the fine, young man, leaning against the hearth with his arms folded— and his tone full of doubt and suspicion. He disliked it. ‘You have your reservations, Gillis?’
‘Do I not own the right?’ he retorted.
Rosalyn stared at her son, taken back by his scepticism. There was a time she would have intervened, by scolding him for his brashness. But an element of pride stopped her from doing so. Her son had taken it upon himself to protect his family against the intrusion on their home. Just as it should be, she thought.
‘I would not deny you it,’ said Reece, shaking his head. ‘This is your home. You have every right.’
‘Then I urge you to justify your… presence,’ Gill insisted.
Reece shared a hesitant look with his colleagues. Asai tilted his head forward, acknowledging his friend. Taking a deep breath, Reece slowly exhaled, carrying the word he loathed, from his mouth.
‘Dhampir.’
The three women looked at one another, wary; there was a malevolence about the word, when uttered, that filled them with fear.
‘Reece?’ said Onóir, baffled by the unease it gave her.
Aware of her concern, he turned to explain, but was abruptly cut off.
‘It means—he—they are not human!’ Gill blurted, taking it upon himself to disclose their true identity.
All eyes turned on the three Dhampir. The growing uneasiness in the room brought with it a vulnerability that was clearly felt. Rave raised her nose, sensing the tension.
‘Is this true?’ cried Eleanor, edging towards her brother.
‘Do not be frightened,’ Reece begged, his voice calm and assuring.
‘What are you?!’ asked Rosalyn, trying to conceal her nervousness.
‘They are half-human—half…’ Gill’s words trailed off.
‘Half what?’ Eleanor queried, braving a curious step forward.
‘There is a part of them that is’—Gill hesitated, searching for the word— ‘Undead!’
Eleanor paused, recalling the stories her brother used to tell her. Her eyes grew wide as she became aware of his meaning.
‘Undead!’ cried Rosalyn, inching away from Reece. ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘I thought that was just a myth,’ said Eleanor.
A deep, low growl suddenly came from beneath the table. Rave snarled, her fevered eyes focused on Tam. Slowly, the hound crawled forward, her teeth now visibly exposed.
Sensing the restlessness from his dog, Gill wrenched Eleanor back. The young woman stumbled over his feet, giving him a disgruntled look.
‘Look at him!’ Gill shouted, pointing at Tam. ‘Look at his eyes!’
Rosalyn’s mouth gaped when she saw the frenzied look in the young, Dhampir’s face. Asai and Reece had detected the rising agitation in the Highlander’s demeanour, hoping it would subside. Conscious of his colleague’s weakness, Asai swiftly drew his katana, making them jump.
Rave leaped forward.
‘Leave us!’ yelled Reece.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sound of Reece’s bellowing demand sent his defiant colleague from their company, leaving Rave and her family closed-off from the dead of night—and looking for answers.
‘What just happened there?!’ Rosalyn demanded.
Asai cast Reece a cautious glance.
Reece turned, meeting their dismayed faces, while Rave paced back and forth across the door-frame, following Tam’s scent.
‘What is it she sees, that we don’t?’ she added, pointing at the hound. She hung on his silence, waiting for an explanation.
Ignoring her, Reece promptly returned to his wife’s side.
‘A crowded room makes him feel… uncomfortable, at times,’ said Asai, attempting to justify his colleague’s actions.
‘Uncomfortable?!’ Rosalyn persisted. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?! I saw it with my own eyes. He looked as though he wanted to—’ She struggled to say it, let alone, think it.
‘—kill us!’ Gill casually answered, appearing unperturbed by the incident. Aware of Eleanor’s presence behind him, he turned, catching her steal another glance of Asai. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you, Nori,’ he remarked, glaring at the Samurai.
‘This is too much!’ Rosalyn admitted, shaking her head. ‘I will not have my family threatened.’
‘You will soon have all your answers, Rosalyn,’ said Reece, with a trace of sympathy in his voice. ‘I understand and sense your frustration, but ask that you trust us and remain patient. Everything will be clear, but now I must see to Tam.’
‘Do what you will,’ she snapped, turning away from him.
Onóir’s eyes beckoned her husband’s. Patting his hand, she smiled, acknowledging the door. As she watched him make his hasty exit, the candles in the room flickered when the door slammed, sending a deep chill of déja-vu through her.
Reece stepped out into the darkness, pausing, then looked over his shoulder.
Did that just happen? he thought, taken back by those who dwelled in the house—whose threshold he now stood on. Are they truly my family? he asked himself. He looked at his hand, still feeling Onóir’s lingering touch. It was real. They were real.
He looked up at the night sky; it was clear and vivid. He noticed the thick clusters of stars—their light fading as the moon took precedence. He narrowed his eyes, damning its brightness; it was nearly blinding.
Stepping away from the house, and its chattering voices, he looked round the quiet yard.
I warned you, Tam, he thought, as he searched for his colleague.
Several paces away—on the verge of the woods—he saw a small, solitary outhouse, imagining his comrade would be there, nursing his guilt.
Two, tiny windows stared at him on his approach. Inside, it was pitch black. He then circled it, discovering a small door, facing a wall of ghostly trees. He noted the thick, iron lock hanging from its bolt, drawn securely across its front, deterring unwanted visitors. Thinking he saw movement within, he moved towards one of the windows, when the paleness of a familiar face reflected back at him.
‘The moonlight betrays our true form,’ came the strong voice emerging from the woods.
‘We are what we are, Tam,’ said Reece firmly, turning to confront him, his grievance clearly visible in his deathly pallor.
Tam swallowed hard, his throat parched and tight.
‘Look at me, Reece!’ he began, through gritted teeth. ‘I did not ask for this!’
Reece lunged at Tam, forcing him against a tree. Clumps of dry leaves rained down on the two against the force of their impact. Despite his greater size, Tam’s efforts to struggle against his peer’s firm grip failed miserably.
‘Did I not warn you?!’ Reece threatened, glaring into his pale, red eyes, as his hand clamped the base of his throat. ‘I swear it! Should any harm come to them, I will “dispatch” you, myself. I have just found the life I thought lost, and will not lose it again, because of your negligence. Do you hear me?!’
Tam blinked, acknowledging the threat. It was the first time he had seen Reece display his anger, with such persistence, towards his friends. Reece loosened his grip slowly and turned away, knowing the young Dhampir would not retaliate.
‘You must control yourself, Tam. I will not allow any errors on your part, or mine for that matter. You have my final warning.’
‘We Brodies are a proud clan!’ the Highlander retorted, defending his character. ‘I am a son of Alexander Brodie, Chief of Morayshire. We do not threaten those who fight alongside us. My father would curse me if he thought it. I would not harm them.’
Reece regarded his colleague. There was an unwavering strength of purpose in Tam’s eyes, and an honesty in his words, telling him, the Highlander was just in his reasoning.
‘Accept my apology, my friend,’ said Reece, displaying the hand of friendship. ‘I am aware of your loyalty, and should trust you…’ His words drifted.
Tam placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘I know and fe
el your frustrations,’ he said. ‘But I am on your side.’
‘And I yours,’ said Reece. ‘Sometimes, I forget I was once like you.’
‘Then you understand my difficulty, when I try to contain my emotions,’ said Tam. ‘It has been too long since I shared the company of…’ He paused, refusing to use the term others of his kind had no respect for.
“They are nothing more, than mortals—weaklings in our eyes,” Dakkus had once remarked.
“Aye, right—as we once were,” he had reminded the other Dhampir.
“Perhaps,” Dakkus had replied. “But you will forget, soon enough, fair one.”
But Tam never forgot; he reminded himself every day, fighting hard to hold on to the precious human qualities hidden inside. ‘It has simply been too long, Reece.’
‘There is not much for our kind in this, Tam, which is why we must take the journey alone, or guide each other. The latter gives us hope, no matter how little it offers.’
‘I feel my soul is at constant battle,’ Tam admitted, ‘fighting the evil that conspires against its goodness.’
Reece looked up into the shamed face of his friend with understanding. ‘It will always be a battle, until we can rid ourselves of the cause… which is my intention. But, for now, you must keep fighting it. Do not let the evil consume the good I see in you.’
Tam nodded. He had become accustomed to the unwanted company forced upon him, denying him human contact. And now, the suddenness of being thrown among “mortals” again, was proving to be an arduous task. And so many, at one time! he thought. It was overwhelming. The small, confined space of the house had overpowered his senses into a frenzy of uncertainty.
Despite it, he knew he would not have harmed them.
‘I shall do my best, Reece.’
‘And while I do my best to trust in you,’ said Reece, ‘I think, for now, you remain in open spaces—by my side, or in the company of—’
Beyond the Darkness Page 31