by Hazel Hunter
“Still resisting my superior culinary expertise,” Lily said, and toasted him with her mug. “I could use them to stuff you. Then maybe you could take a wife without resorting to kidnapping.”
The clan’s cook smirked with appreciation, noticed Cadeyrn’s cool gaze on him, and hastily retreated.
Bhaltair cleared his throat. “As you say, Lady Lily. ’Twill drive them to the sacred grove in the clearing here”—he touched an oval drawn on the scroll—“as the clan closes ranks around it. ’Twill be there that Lady Althea shall begin her work as the clan moves into position by the trees at the clearing’s edge.”
As the old druid detailed the closing of the trap, Taran felt his ire grow. He remembered the day long ago when Bhaltair Flen had come to the clan with his scheme to trap the famhairean and the mad druids. The way he had spoken then sounded exactly as he did now.
“In order for me to cast the spell,” the old druid said, regarding Rowan, “I shall need you to first finish the Wood Dream’s solstice ritual. You did claim that Murdina taught you the particulars?”
“Yeah, she told me everything I had to do, including making a human sacrifice,” she countered. “Which, obviously, I’m not making.”
“She’s mad, lass. It neednae be human blood,” Bhaltair assured her. “Goat shall do as well, or sheep. I can provide that.”
“It’s so great that you keep some on hand.” Rowan’s dark brows drew together for a moment. “Wait, you’re not a member of the Wood Dream tribe. Why do you need me to finish the ritual?”
“Druid magic—my magic—draws its power from nature,” Bhaltair said. “Everything there has been locked in death.”
“Whatever Hendry wants to wake up will be made viable, too,” Rowan said. She rubbed the back of her neck as she brooded. “All right, if we time this perfectly, you’ll be dumping him in the portal before he can do whatever he’s got planned. Or maybe I should–”
“You’ll do naught,” Taran said and found himself on his feet, his hands fisting. “This old man lies whenever his lips part. He’ll use you and the rest of us to get what he desires. No’ again,” he told Bhaltair. “I’ll no’ stand by and permit my lady and this clan to be made sacrifices on your facking altar.”
The old druid avoided his gaze. “As you wish, Horse Master.” He got to his feet with clumsy haste. “I’ll leave Dun Mor at once.”
“Tran, be easy now.” Brennus glanced at the druid before he said, “’Twas a mistake, I reckon. No’ planned, as I’ve long thought.”
“You dinnae see this bastart as I do, Chieftain.” He came around the table to block Bhaltair’s escape. “I ken what you bred me to be now. Half-Pritani, half-druid. Shall I call Ruadri my brother in truth?”
“No, lad.” The wrinkles around Bhaltair’s eyes and mouth deepened. “Your Pritani mother possessed druid blood, but she wasnae aware of it. Indeed, we didnae ken it until after your birth.”
“Why didnae you tell Taran?” Ruadri demanded.
“The elders thought him too weak to survive training.” Bhaltair sighed before he faced Taran. “They didnae recognize the strength of your gifts. By the time they did, ’twas too late. You’d bonded with the other Skaraven lads, and despised us. To take you from your clan would have torn your spirit in half.”
“So, you left me believing your lies.” Taran gripped the hilt of his dagger. “Why did Rowan share my other incarnations, and now the dreams we have of them?”
Bhaltair now looked shaken. “In those lives, were the two of you lovers?”
“Yes,” Rowan said before he could reply. She saw the Skaraven all around exchange looks but she plunged on. “We’re different people every time, but we always find each other and, ah, get busy.”
“You and the horse master have soul-mated,” the old druid said quickly. “Likely a choice you both made during your first lives. ’Tis very rare among our kind. No matter how many incarnations soul mates have, or who they become in them, they’re fated to come together. For eternity you may mate only with each other.”
“’Tis another great revelation,” Taran said, his voice heavy with pent-up hatred. All the sound in the great hall disappeared as he focused on the old druid’s perspiring face. “But no’ for you, Tree-knower. You saw it.”
“I admit, I suspected it,” Bhaltair corrected him. “The connection you share with the lady radiates a certain magic. ’Twas something I felt when visiting some old friends who’ve soul-mated.”
“Taran,” Brennus said, his deep voice tight. “Step away from him.”
“Since my lady came here, you said naught of your suspicions.” His dagger gleamed as he drew it. “You left Rowan and me to flounder, vexed and confused. ’Twas your silence that caused all this. You nearly ended us both. As you ended the clan twelve centuries past.”
He took a step toward the old druid, only to be caught and dragged back by the chieftain’s brutal grip.
“Put away your blade, Brother,” Brennus said, as gently as if he spoke to a raging stallion. “We need the old meddler’s magic to defeat the enemy.”
“Mayhap you forget, Chieftain,” the horse master growled. In disgust he drove his dagger back into its sheath, and Brennus promptly released him. “He cast the spell over the battlefield that defeated them, and yet never told us that ’twould take our souls as well.”
“I didnae ken ’twould happen as it did,” the old druid said. “I’d never attempted such a powerful spell. ’Twas why I ever meant to bring you back as immortals, to repay my debt to the Skaraven.”
“Are you saying that the giants didn’t kill you?” Rowan asked, her voice strained. “This old guy did?”
“Aye,” Cadeyrn said. “Though I reckoned ’twas no’ his intention.” He directed a wry look at Brennus. “No’ all Skaraven share my forgiving nature.”
Althea winced. “Well, that explains a lot.”
“Think on that now,” Taran said, “before any of you trust this bastart with your lives. I shallnae.”
He turned his back on the old druid and stalked out of the stronghold.
Chapter Twenty-One
AFTER BREAKING THEIR fast Althea accompanied Bhaltair out of the Skaraven stronghold, and walked with him down to the river crossing. The courtesy gladdened him, but he hadn’t expected it. Rowan had left the great hall soon after Taran’s abrupt departure. The other ladies had all visited dark looks upon him during the largely silent meal that had followed.
“We could send one of the guys to collect whatever you need, you know,” the lady told him. “It’s been a tough morning, and you look exhausted.”
“’Tis best I absent myself from Dun Mor for a time while the clan prepares.” He regarded her. “Veiling what we do and ken in secrecy, ’tis ever the way of druid kind. I’ve ever practiced such discretion. ’Twas never meant to inflict harm as I’ve done on the clan, Mistress Thomas, or the horse master.”
“You may never be very popular with the girls or the Skaraven, and I suggest you steer clear of Taran for a while. But you should know that you’ve earned my trust, and my husband’s.” She glanced back at the stronghold. “Don’t make us regret that, Master Flen. Pay your debt to the Skaraven.”
“I shall endeavor to, my lady.” He bowed deeply before bidding her farewell.
As Bhaltair crossed the frozen water and made his way to the hidden sacred grove, he thought of his friends Fingal and Cora Tullach, and how they had lived dozens of lives as soul-mates. Would that he could bring them together with Taran and Rowan, so that the young lovers might come to better understand their eternal bond. He doubted the horse master would permit it, however. Simply learning of his druid nature had pushed Taran near to murder.
What Bhaltair had told the horse master had not been all of the truth.
When Taran had been born with different coloring compared to the other bairns they’d bred, the Pritani had summoned the druids. Bhaltair himself had examined the wee lad, and noted the strange hues of his hair and eyes.
Both, he recognized, were known to be druid traits.
He himself spoke to the tribeswoman who had birthed him, and during that conversation had felt the tingle of awareness of her druid blood. Taken in as a young foundling by her tribe, she’d never known her birth people. She also had no desire to take back her son, whose sire belonged to the other tribe intent on breeding indentured warriors.
My mate shall never accept the lad, the woman had told him. Could I persuade him, with that pale hair and strange eyes he shall still be made outcast among our people. The younglings of our tribe are strong and dark.
Bhaltair had also spoken with Taran’s sire, who felt the same as the mother, and then tried to advocate for the lad himself. The elders overseeing the training of the Skaraven had also denied Bhaltair’s final request to remove Taran from the Skaraven so that he might be raised by druid kind. They had felt with two Pritani parents the lad had but a distant kinship with their people, and no particular worth. Bhaltair’s own doubts had convinced him to accept their ruling.
He’d said nothing to the horse master or Rowan, but after being in their presence he suspected Taran’s soul to be one of the most ancient among druid kind. It was even possible that he and Rowan might be reincarnated from the very first druids that had chosen to be soul-mated.
Never again shall I accept what I ken to be wrong, Bhaltair thought, and I will cease meddling in that which I cannae change.
“Master Flen,” called someone from behind him. Before he even turned he recognized Perrin’s sweet voice. “Before you go…”
He smiled as he turned, but his face froze when he saw who was there.
“Oriana.”
He’d no time to duck as the branch in her hands collided with the side of his head, and the ground rushed up to meet his face. All Bhaltair could do was blink as blood pooled in his eye, and he saw her lift the branch higher.
He closed his eyes and gave up thanks to the Gods for his long incarnation, interrupted only by a blast of tremendous pain, and the dreadful sound of his skull cracking.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ROWAN STOOD IN front of Gael’s empty stall for a long moment before an annoyed squeal drew her gaze to the one next to it. Ceann bobbed his head and batted his long eyelashes as she went over to give him a nose rub. All the other horses in the stables had retreated from sight, likely in response to Taran’s furious mood.
“But not you, Slappy,” she murmured to the gelding, who blew some air against her neck. “I want to chase after him, and I know you’d help, but I think he needs to process all this.”
She lingered for a while, mucking out Ceann’s stall and scattering some fresh straw before she brushed him down. Everything was an excuse just to wait for Taran, but the horse master didn’t show up. The work she did only added to the layer of grime and sweat that lack of bathing for a week among the crazies had created. After she promised the gelding a ride she probably wouldn’t be able to take, Rowan returned to the stronghold.
“Blimey,” Lily said as she passed by her, stopped and sniffed. “You really need a bathe, love.”
“On my way to detox right now,” Rowan assured her. She wasn’t sure what to say about the intervention, so she just went with what she genuinely felt. “Thanks for what you did for me. I know that interrogation wasn’t easy on you, either. If you ever want to go back and kick Edgar’s ass, I’m in.”
“Eh. Sod him.” The Brit winked at her. “We never have to go back, love. Only forward. Cheers.”
Down in the lower levels Rowan collected some clean clothes from her chamber. She passed Manath who was sharpening what looked like an already sharp sword. Waiting to attack at nightfall made sense, but it was hell on the nerves. She nodded to him as she walked down to the bathing spring.
“Cannily done, your sabotage, my lady,” Manath called after her. When she stopped and eyed him he smiled uneasily. “Forgive my ire earlier. ’Twas wrong of us to judge you.”
“The judging, not really. The spitting was gross, though.”
She gave him a cheerful salute before she continued down the passage.
At the entry to the hollowed-out cave that contained the bathing spring Rowan tied a rag strip on the outside handle to indicate it was occupied. Then she went in, closed the door and gratefully stripped out of her odorous clothes. Grabbing a bucket and a crock of the strong soap the Skaraven used, she went to the edge of the big pool to draw some water. Stepping into the smaller, adjacent scrubbing pit, which constantly drained through a slanted pipe, she doused herself with the bucket.
The steaming water washed away most of the surface filth, and left her dripping for the soaping phase. Liberally smearing a cloth with the lye soap, she started at the top of her head and worked her way down.
Washing away every trace of the Wood Dream settlement did nothing to get rid of her nerves, however. She didn’t want to go back there again, not even playing an escaped prisoner. Hendry would be waiting, and so would Ochd. She might be able to con them, but Murdina had gotten so crazy she might kill her on sight.
We never have to go back, love. Only forward.
Rowan scrubbed and rinsed until her skin glowed pink in the torch light, and then moved to the larger spring pool. Easing down into the hot water, she swam over to a natural shelf in the stone and propped herself there to soak.
What Bhaltair had told Taran and her still hovered at the back of her mind, as if waiting for her to decide how she felt about it. Like everything else that had happened since coming to this time, it seemed both bizarre and yet completely logical.
She’d chosen Taran long before either of them had been born. She’d choose him again and again until… There was no until. They’d spend eternity finding and loving each other.
Rowan took in a breath, held it, and sank under the water. The heat clasped and soothed her like gentle hands. Like Taran’s hands.
She surfaced as the door swung in, and swam to the front of the pool. “I’ll be out in a sec– Hey.”
“My lady,” Taran said. There was snow in his hair, and mud spatter on his boots and trousers. “Lily said I’d find you here.”
She could pester him with a thousand questions, or try to comfort him about all the old druid’s revelations. She went with the third option.
“Want to join me?”
Everyone had their way of dealing with the waiting. This was hers.
“Aye.” He glanced down at himself. “I must wash first.”
Rowan nodded, and swam back to her shelf seat. She tucked her hands behind her head to watch the horse master strip, which he did with flattering speed.
The torches cast their dancing light over his tall, sinewy body, which from the high arches of his long feet to the strong cords of his throat looked like creamy marble. He was one of the more massively ripped Skaraven, and she preferred his hard build. Her fingers wanted to feel those muscles bulging over his long bones. As for the serious business equipment, Taran had nothing to worry about whatsoever. In fact, Rowan felt sure that the clan’s stallions would turn green if they ever saw him naked.
Seeing him pour a bucket of water over all that gorgeous male beauty made her heart pound and her thighs shake. Hopefully he could scrub fast, or she might have to get out of the pool and help him.
“You’re staring,” he chided as he began to lather his chest.
“You’re naked.” She decided to even things a little more and hoisted herself up onto the edge. “But then, so am I.”
Taran watched her as she stretched out on her side, his eyes moving from her nose to her toes and back again. He liked what he saw, and judging by the way his penis swelled and rose to jutting attention, wanted to get closer.
Rowan propped her head on her hand, and shamelessly rolled her shoulders back. She had a build like his but with full, curvy breasts and hips made for a man’s hands. His hands. Her tan had mostly faded, but her skin had a natural rosiness to it that always made her look a little sun-kissed. Although she’d
never been a delicate waif like Perrin, she’d always felt comfortable in her hard, strong body.
As he sluiced off the soap Taran turned to face her. Watching the lather stream down his body made Rowan want to do the same thing with her fingers, her lips, her tongue.
Taran pushed the dripping fall of his white-blond hair back from his face and climbed out of the scrubbing pit. He stepped down into the pool, sinking into the water before swimming over to her side.
Rowan sat up as he surfaced, and wanted to forget about everything else in the universe as she looked into the glory of his eyes. Yet if they were to become lovers, she wanted him to know who she was and what she’d done before she’d found him.
“I’ve been with other men,” she told him. “I also spent a night with a beautiful French prop girl in Paris, just to see if a woman would do more for me. She didn’t, by the way.”
“I’ve had some pleasure lasses. A trainer brought me to one lad who wished to have me, but I felt naught for him.” His mouth hitched. “How did you fare with your male lovers?”
She considered that aspect of it. “I tried not to fall asleep during. You know. It seemed rude. How about you and the ladies?”
“I did what I could, but ’twas tedious. I’ve felt more pleasure watching you sleep.” He held out his hand, and helped her down into the water. “You’ll never be free of me, in this life or any other.”
“Sure, but you’ll have to listen to me snore for all eternity,” she pointed out.
He nodded. “While I steal the blankets from you.”
“And I warm my feet on your back.”
“Aye, but we willnae have to fack before two tribes in a henge,” Taran said gravely.
They could go on like this all night, but she needed to know one thing. “Are you still okay with what we decided as Ruadhan and Tairne?”