by Hazel Hunter
“Maybe she would if the two of you would stop squabbling long enough to really talk about it,” the nurse advised her.
“Marion’s dead, so it doesn’t matter anymore.” Rowan regarded the nurse and saw the worry in her eyes. “What?”
“It matters to you, or you wouldn’t be having these nightmares,” Emeline said, and sighed. “I wish we had a trained psychotherapist to help you, but I’m afraid Ru and I are all you’ve got. Although we might consult with Bhaltair Flen, too.”
The thought of talking to the big shaman about her personal drama made Rowan cringe. And no way was she spilling her guts to that old druid.
“What would you do about this stuff?”
“I think if you’re having some kind of repressed memories instead of nightmares, then you shouldn’t resist them. Let yourself recall what truly happened in your childhood. They can’t hurt you now.” Emeline touched her arm. “Once you have, you’ll probably know why Marion tried to erase them from your mind.”
“You really think she could do that?” Before she replied Rowan groaned. “She hexed me to play Perr’s bodyguard after she died. Of course, she could have wiped my brain.”
“I’ll tell you something that my husband and I have always suspected,” the nurse said. “You and Perrin are nothing alike in personality. Physically you don’t share any resemblance at all. In fact, looking at you both, no one would ever guess that you were related.”
“Everyone said that while we were growing up,” Rowan said. “Marion told people that I took after my dad, not my mom. Evidently, he had the dark coloring and all the muscles, and he was a carpenter, too.” She frowned. “Perrin must have taken after our mother. She and Marion were sisters, and Perr looks exactly like the old hag when she’s angry. I wasn’t being a bitch when I said that.”
“I expect you do look like your father,” Emeline said, her tone careful. “But why would Marion beat you while insisting you call Perrin your sister, to the point of breaking your arm? Why would a terrified, battered child still refuse to say it?”
Rowan made the connection, and nearly dropped her mug. “Because I was telling the truth. Perrin’s not my sister.”
“Who does she think she is?” Perrin demanded as she marched back and forth the full length of Kanyth’s workroom. “Talking about our mother that way, like she was some kind of horrible monster. That’s not who she was.” She stopped and glared at her husband. “Besides, Mom would never hurt Rowan. She wasn’t capable of it. She didn’t even spank us when we were little.”
Kanyth set aside the sword he had been finishing and came around to tug her into his arms. He cradled her against his chest and tucked her head under his chin.
“’Tis likely Rowan mistakes dreams for truth.”
It made her feel a little better to be close to him, but she still couldn’t let go of her anger.
“Maybe Mom was too cheap to get her a car or help her pay for school. I do feel bad about that. I just wish I could remember exactly how Rowan broke her arm that time. But no matter how much I try, I can’t.”
Kanyth stroked her hair. “Ru believes that your mother had druid blood, and some skill with their magic. Mayhap she took the memory from you to save you grief.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, either. Why would Mom want me to forget an accident?” She drew back and studied his handsome face. “You believe me about my mother, don’t you?”
“I ken that you loved her, and saw her to be good,” he said simply. “I but wonder why Rowan doesnae feel the same.”
“They never got along,” she admitted. “My mother doted on me. Okay, honestly, she spoiled me rotten sometimes. I remember her trying to be affectionate with Rowan, too, back when we were little girls. But even then, my sister hated her, and refused to go near her. Mom stopped trying after a while, I guess. Maybe that’s why she treated my sister differently. She’s always been hard to live with, too.” She closed her eyes. “And now Ro’s trying to drive me away.”
“Brennus and I oft squabbled in our boyhood.” Her husband kissed her brow. “’Twill pass.”
She looked up, but instead of Kanyth’s black eyes she looked into the flat, lifeless face of an enormous wooden statue. The forge vanished along with her husband, and a dead clearing under a colorless sky took their place.
“I can refine the limbs with joints,” Perrin heard Rowan say, “but you’ve carved the feet too small. No way they’re going to support a ton of weight.”
Perrin turned around to see her sister walking with Hendry Greum down the line of gigantic carvings. More than fifty formed a towering line that stretched all the way into the woods. Rowan wasn’t trying to escape or even resist. Her sister was chatting with the mad druid.
“What reckon you would keep them from collapsing in battle?” the druid asked her sister.
“Another couple of legs as load-bearing struts would be nice.” Rowan stopped and crouched down to run her hand over the crude carved feet. She touched the thing as if she admired it before she squinted up at Hendry. “I could form a broader base for the foot, maybe, with some iron to reinforce them.”
Perrin shook her head, backing away until she bumped into a lean, hard form. She turned around to see a dark-haired, dark-eyed Taran Skaraven smiling at her with wooden teeth.
“She’ll become my mate,” he told her in Ochd’s grating voice, and grabbed her by the throat. “After we crush all of you to dust.”
She couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe, and as his fist tightened she knew her neck would break. She fought wildly, until his grip moved from her neck to her arms, and she stared up at Kanyth’s pale face.
“’Tis me, Perr,” he kept saying, over and over as he held her violently trembling body. “See me, aye, ’tis your Ka. You’re with me in the forge. You’ve had a vision again.”
Tears spilled down her face as she nodded. “It was Rowan, with Hendry. She was walking around some place with him and these huge famhairean. God, she’s going to help them. She’s going to use her power to build new giants.”
Chapter Eight
NOW THAT HE was alone, Brennus unfurled the lengthy message from Maddock McAra. After the morning meal Althea had gone to oversee the renovations she and Lily were making to the kitchens.
“Don’t get too involved in your scrolls,” she’d warned. “After I negotiate today’s détente between the Brit and your cook I’m coming back so we can go over the reserves in the money chamber.”
He’d given her a surly look. “You’re obsessed with counting our gold.”
“No, sweetheart, I’m determined to keep you from squandering it.” She leaned over to brush her lips over his, and said in a bare whisper, “Plus, the money chamber has a nice big bar on the door, and that lovely, roomy new divan I had moved there.”
He’d tried to pull her onto his lap, but she laughed and skipped off.
Brennus reluctantly turned his attention to the message from his ally. Since relocating his family and clan to his father-in-law’s stronghold the little laird wrote weekly with what news he could offer. As yet the McAra had not yet found a trace of the mad druids and their famhairean, but Lady Elspeth had regained her health and was now growing ripe with the laird’s child. Maddock ended the missive with his intention to name the bairn either Perrin or Kanyth, to honor their efforts to save his wife, children and clan.
You shall oblige me by overlooking that I once held your brother prisoner and threatened to kill him as prelude to a clan war between us, the laird wrote. Trust that my lady shall never permit me forget it.
Brennus chuckled, and then heard footsteps. He looked up from the scroll to see Emeline and Ruadri approaching. Both looked grim, and thanks to the nurse’s power he could feel her worry radiating from across the hall. He rolled up the message and set it aside as they joined him.
“We’d no’ trouble you with this matter, chieftain,” the shaman said. “But my wife fears the lass’s state willnae improve without aid that neith
er she nor I may give.”
He gestured for them to sit. “You speak of Rowan.”
“Every night she avoids sleep now,” Emeline said, nodding. “I noticed it when I saw her sitting in the hall more than once after midnight. I’ve been watching her, and she never goes to her bed.”
“The patrols say she’s also taken to walking near dawn,” Ruadri added. “She treks for miles in the snow without any real direction. She’s found her way back to Dun Mor each time, but without sleep at length I fear her mind shall grow confused.”
“You’ve offered her a sleeping potion,” Brennus guessed, and the shaman nodded.
“I actually dosed her with one last night, in an herbal brew,” Emeline said, her cheeks pinking. “It had no effect at all. She also seems unaware of how little sleep she’s had, but I believe that she’s been awake for almost a week.”
Sevenday without rest would have been a feat few Skaraven might have attempted, even as immortals.
“Ken you the cause?”
Emeline related what the dark lass had told her, along with the firm denial with which Perrin had countered her claims.
“I have very limited experience with this sort of condition, Chieftain. She may be reliving genuine, repressed memories from real abuse she suffered as a child. I feel no deception from her when she speaks of it.”
“Or something has bespelled her to twist her memories into horrors,” the shaman said. “I cannae find a trace of magic on her, but my knowledge of such spells, ’tis lacking.”
Brennus sat back as what the healers wanted occurred to him. “You wish to summon the old druid to see to her.”
“Bhaltair Flen has the experience with druid maladies that we don’t,” the nurse said quickly. “He knows Dun Mor’s location now, and he was very helpful with treating the McAra clan after the attack.”
Brennus grunted and eyed Ruadri. “A careful clout on the head could solve this as well.”
“My wife doesnae permit me hit females,” the shaman said with a perfectly straight face as he took Emeline’s hand in his. “I’ll wager Althea also wouldnae take pleasure in such an order, Bren.”
“Aye, and Rowan would likely hit back.” Brennus brooded for a moment. “Could this rift between the two prove part of the cause? Their memories of their mother seem as much at odds as they’ve been.”
Emeline exchanged a look with her mate. “We don’t believe they are sisters. For her own purposes this woman who adopted them may have forced Rowan to claim Perrin as her sibling. I think that, more than the falling-out, is contributing to her confusion and insomnia.”
Brennus felt a curious surge of sympathy for the dark lass. From the first time she’d challenged his authority he’d disliked her, but she had a will of iron even Kanyth likely couldn’t bend. That commanded his respect if nothing else. Over time he’d come to see that she also concealed how she’d suffered. He recognized that from the manner in which he’d endured the many torments of being bred as an indentured warrior. Those who were not destroyed by their burdens carried them without complaint.
“Send a message to Flen,” he told Ruadri. “Ask him come to Dun Mor to examine our carpenter, and determine if he may aid her.”
Ruadri left to attend to the task, but Emeline remained behind, her expression still troubled.
“I’ve done as you asked, my lady,” Brennus reminded her.
“I’m grateful, Chieftain.” She started to rise, and then sat back down. “There’s something more I wanted to tell you, but I’m not sure if I should. Too often my gift gives me insight into feelings that are, well, none of my business.”
“Does this matter affect my clan?’ he countered, and when she nodded he said, “You may be McAra by blood, Emeline, but you’re Skaraven by choice. Loyalty to the clan comes before all other concerns.”
She sighed. “You’re right, of course. I wasn’t aware of it until I saw you talking with Taran yesterday morning. He was watching Rowan from across the hall, wasn’t he?”
“Mayhap.” Brennus frowned, for he couldn’t quite recall what he had said to the horse master. “Why should it concern you?”
“It occurred to me later that I’d never seen the two of them in the same room,” Emeline told him. “The fact is that when I walked between them I felt something. I’d call it emotion, but it seemed deeper and stronger. I can only call it a type of powerful psychic connection. It ran from Taran to Rowan continuously, like a river no one could see.”
Once Brennus might have scoffed at such musings, but since mating with Althea he’d formed an unbreakable attachment to his wife.
“You believe she’s been marked by Tran’s centaur, then?”
“No,” the nurse declared flatly, startling him. “Pritani battle spirit energy is quite different, and since I share that with Ru I’m familiar with how it feels. I think what connects Taran and Rowan is a form of magic. Druid magic.”
Chapter Nine
AFTER ANOTHER SLEEPLESS night the last thing Rowan wanted to do was go on a long, cold ride. Still, she dragged herself out of the stronghold and found a spot where she could watch the stables until Taran emerged on his white stallion. She’d hoped he’d look as haggard as she felt, with big circles under his eyes and tangled hair and exhaustion dragging at his shoulders. Instead he appeared calm, perfectly groomed and well-rested.
It’s not even bothering him that I left. So much for him being obsessed with me.
She saw Taran glance toward her, and for an awful moment thought he’d spotted her. Then he touched his boot heels to Gael’s sides, and the stallion trotted off.
When he disappeared into the woods Rowan’s insides tightened so much she thought she might twist into a pretzel. Staying away from the horse master grew harder every day, but going back seemed equally impossible. He didn’t want her, and with the power he had over her she could never trust him again.
I can get over this guy, Rowan told herself as she slipped into the stables. I just have to stick it out until it doesn’t hurt anymore.
“Come on, Sulky.”
Ailpin’s gelding seemed especially determined to stay in his stall, and in the end, Rowan had to bribe him with a piece of her morning pear. By the time they were on their way she felt like she might keel over in the saddle and snooze all the way to the meeting spot.
Ceann’s mood improved, however, as they got through the patrols and approached the cave. His ears went up, and his pace quickened to a trot. Rowan gave him his head, too tired to do anything but go along for the ride.
Her addiction to Taran definitely hadn’t gotten better, judging by the weird pulling sensation she felt to turn around and head back to Dun Mor. The wordless need to be near him had been wearing her out as much as the ugly visions of Marion’s abuse and Perrin denying it had ever happened. No wonder she couldn’t sleep.
Rowan couldn’t feel bad about the thing with Taran. Maybe he hadn’t meant to, but he’d shown her that she could matter to someone. No, what she most regretted was wasting her life trying to protect her sister. Even if it hadn’t been her choice, she’d still lost too many years playing bodyguard. Being on the road and squandering her talent building stage props weren’t even the worst of it. The first time she needed Perrin to be there for her—the only time, in fact—her sister couldn’t be bothered.
As for the rest of them, Emeline had been nice, and Brennus more decent than she’d expected. Even Althea had tried to be friendly. But Rowan knew she didn’t genuinely matter to any of them. They’d never do for her what she now was doing for them.
“I’m the mortal no one wants around,” she told the gelding. “Only here because I’ve got the wood mojo. I’m the big reject. If you can’t beat it, you might as well embrace it, right?”
The horse swung his head around as if to look back at her, the sunlight gilding his long eyelashes.
“It’s okay, you can pity me,” she told Ceann as she reined him in and dismounted. “I wish we had your herd mentality. No m
atter what you guys always stick together.” She touched her forehead to the space between the gelding’s eyes. “Just don’t tell anyone that you’re the only real friend I’ve got left.” The gelding rubbed his black nose against the front of her jacket as if to comfort her. “Triple oats for you when we get back to the stables.”
This time she tethered him well away from the cave before she headed for it.
Ochd in his Taran body stepped out before she could enter. “Fair morning, my lady.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He didn’t go down on one knee this time, but Rowan had already gotten tired of the way he’d been sucking up to her. He’d changed his hair and eye color to match Taran’s, which made her queasy, and shifted his face to make it less flat and more like he had bone structure. From a distance, he probably looked just like the horse master, which wasn’t great.
“What’s going on at Camp Crazy?”
“Hendry has nearly finished building the totem army,” Ochd said as he stared at her face, his mouth curving. “I counted two for every famhairean.”
That would mean Hendry had over a hundred huge wooden giants to deploy. The clan would never stand a chance against that many.
“How soon will he have them ready to fight?”
“Once they finish carving, he has but to cast the guardian spell,” the giant told her. “’Twill awaken them as defenders, to fight against any attack made.”
“Terrific.” Rowan knew as soon as she got back to the stronghold she’d have to tell Brennus everything, but at least this would be the last time she had to meet Ochd. “When is he planning to spring them on the Skaraven?”
The famhair moved his shoulders stiffly up and down. “Hendry doesnae speak of it to me or in my hearing. He watches me more closely.”
Not the news she’d wanted to hear. “You think he suspects what you’ve been doing?”
“I cannae tell you.” He reached out and took hold of her hand. “You’re so weary, my lady. Come away with me this day. I ken of so many places where we may safely dwell.”