by Hazel Hunter
“Your ring may bring her back to us, lad,” the chieftain said. “Surely the Gods would reward her for this.”
“My ring’s lost,” Taran said, his voice choked. He touched her cheek. “’Twas taken from me by Ochd.”
There were angry murmurs from the clan and one of the women began to quietly weep.
Like the abyss that had taken the murderous tribe, Taran felt a hole open in his chest, and yet the ache wasn’t unbearable. It was familiar. How many centuries had he waited for her? How many would he wait again?
A boot appeared on the ground next to Bhaltair and Taran looked up through blurry eyes. Manath looked down at Rowan and took the clan ring from his finger. Without a word he placed it on the ground within Taran’s reach. One by one all the Skaraven moved to do the same, each man removing his clan ring and placing it by Rowan.
Soon the ground around her body gleamed with carved raven rings.
The dark lass that no Skaraven had wanted now might have had her pick of the entire clan. Taran only wished she could see this final tribute.
Althea knelt down beside him to take hold of Rowan’s hand.
“Just so we’re clear, Fight Club, I don’t want you as a mate,” she told the dark lass. “Got one of those. I only want you back.” From her own finger she removed Brennus’s clan ring, and placed it in the dark lass’s palm. “Please come back to us, Rowan.”
“Come on, love,” Lily whispered, as she did the same. “Don’t give up.”
Emeline gripped Taran’s shoulder and he felt her try to ease his sorrow as she silently laid her ring next to the others.
Perrin wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands and quietly sniffed. With trembling fingers she removed her ring and placed it in Rowan’s palm with the three others. Tenderly, she closed her sister’s fingers over them.
“Please, Ro,” she said in a quaking voice. “You can’t leave me now.”
But as she and the other ladies looked on, nothing changed. Rowan remained still and unmoving. Perrin began to sob.
Slowly Taran bent over his soul-mate. “Rowan,” he murmured as he kissed her brow. “I’ll find you again. Wait for me.”
But as his tears fell onto her face, he felt the ground under them shifting as green grasses pushed up through the once barren soil. They speared the clan’s rings, which began to glow along with the rings in Rowan’s hand. Sunlight poured down in a sparkling shower as a wave of green swept through the clearing, covering it with soft grass and wildflowers. The trees came to life and put out leaves. Birds flew over them, chattering and singing, while a herd of red deer wandered out from the forest. So much life appeared that Taran wondered if winter would ever return, but he suspected this was also Rowan’s doing.
“From death comes life,” Emeline said softly.
“Stick with life,” a hoarse but familiar voice told her. “Death sucks.”
Taran looked down into his lady’s open eyes, and watched as her hair began to grow out over his arm. Her pale face filled with a soft radiance as she returned his gaze. Then she glanced around at all the clan rings.
“Looks like you’ve got some competition.” She handed the four rings in her palm to the botanist. “Sorry, ladies. You’re cute, but girls are not my thing.” She looked up at the horse master. “He is.”
Taran drew her to her feet, hardly knowing what to think. “Did you do this, Rowan?”
“No,” she said and held out her other hand. In it was his clan ring. “You did.”
He couldn’t believe she had it. “How?”
“Ochd shoved this in my hand just before Hendry destroyed him.” She smiled sadly and sighed. “In the end I think he really did love me.”
Taran took the ring, and placed it on her finger. As the clan cheered he kissed her, with all the love that had spanned the dozens of incarnations they had shared.
“Well, that was refreshing,” Althea said to Brennus. At his curious look she added, “She came back. That girl never does what I ask her to.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
HENDRY FELT HIS stiff body gradually thawing in the cool darkness, and opened his eyes to see stars twinkling down at him. The blindness inflicted by the Skaraven’s shaman had been healed. He lifted his head to see the battered, broken bodies of the famhairean littering the small glen. They, too, began to stir.
He pushed himself up, all the fury leeched from him as he saw Murdina’s crumpled form. He crawled over to her, caressing her cheek until she opened her eyes and smiled at him.
“We survived their scheme, lover mine,” he told her, and with some effort helped her to stand. His body felt oddly heavy now, but likely the ice weighed down his garments. “We shall return and finish them.”
“I dinnae think we can, Hendry.” His mate looked around them before she saw something and walked over to pick it up. “’Tis a scroll box.” She turned around as she eyed the pieces of something shattered in the grass. “And shards of a white stone jar.”
He looked inside the box, but it had been emptied. “Come, we must speak with our caraidean, and rally them.”
The giants had begun rising as well, but as Hendry spoke to them they moved past the druids to stand at the edges of the glen. He followed, commanding them to attend him, but each famhair remained silent. One by one they stood and looked up at the stars as their bodies began to shift from human to tree form.
Dread filled Hendry as he gazed past his giants. The forest surrounding the glen looked endless, with so many trees they could never be counted.
“Murdina, I think we must flee this place. ’Tis filled with wicked magic.”
“I sense none, my beloved. Not mortal or druid kind,” she chided. “’Tis a new world, just as we’ve always wished.” She held out her hand to him. “Come, my love. Walk with me under the stars.”
He tried to take a step toward her, but his feet remained firmly planted on the ground. He glanced down and saw roots sprouting through the leather of his boots, and struggled to lift his numb legs. His rage swelled as he saw what was to become of them. “No, no’ like this. I shallnae have it. I shallnae.”
“I think we willnae walk after all.” Murdina let out a soft sigh. “’Tis good. I ever wished to become one of them.”
“My love.”
Hendry stretched out his hand to her, desperate to reach her. She did the same as their arms turned dark and branched off in different directions. He felt his body stretching as it grew tall and hard, and turned his head one last time to gaze upon his lady. Her branches were so near. If he could but move another inch he would again touch her.
His thoughts dwindled and disappeared as his mind faded. Like all those who became part of the grove, Hendry Greum no longer existed.
Ailpin came out of the forest, his fox at his side, and surveyed the new additions. He’d long waited to see this night, and sent up a prayer of gratitude to the Gods that had watched over him and his brothers.
He glanced down at his grinning companion. “’Tis time for our journey to continue to the next place, Brother. Shall we go?”
The fox nuzzled the side of his leg for a moment, but something among the trees caught its eye. Ailpin followed his companion’s curious gaze and the two of them went still. A magnificent white stag stalked silently out of the grove, its antlers like the trees themselves. Dark eyes glittering, it turned its great head to them and almost seemed to bow, but in the next instant leaped away.
The fox yipped joyfully and bounded off. With a laugh Ailpin followed.
Chapter Thirty
SPRING CAME TO Scotland remarkably early that year, thawing the icy highlands and melting the snow drifts as the Great Forest grew warm and green. At Dun Mor the Skaraven Clan began work on the stronghold, clearing away the rockfall that concealed it to build a new keepe atop the subterranean levels that had so long remained hidden. Brennus also tasked Taran and Rowan with the repair of the stable’s roof and also the design of the new stables he intended to build for the clan’s
growing herd.
“I think we should break ground once all the pregnant mares have foaled,” Rowan told the chieftain as they discussed their plans over the evening meal. “Tran and I have about thirty to deliver, and it looks like they’re all coming at the same time.”
“’Tis remarkable, how fertile our mounts have proven.” Brennus glanced at his horse master, who held his mate’s hand as if he meant never to release it. “The McAra is surprised as well. In fact, he bid me enter into a new breeding arrangement with his clan, so that he may share in our bounty.”
“Oh, lend him some stallions,” Althea scolded. “He did name his new baby after your brother’s wife.”
Rowan chuckled. “Now there’s a kid who’s going to be spoiled for life.”
They’d all gone to the McAra stronghold for baby Perrin’s presentation to the clan. Elspeth had been glowing with good health, and the little laird had proudly introduced his new daughter, who unlike all her siblings looked exactly like her mother.
After the thaw the chieftain received a dove from the Sky Thatch settlement, sent by Bhaltair Flen. The invitation to attend the first gathering of his Dawn Fire clan at first annoyed the chieftain, for he still didn’t care much for the old druid. Althea persuaded him to see it as a chance to form a new alliance and, as she put it, bury a hatchet.
“I’ll never be free of that facking druid,” he told her as they led the clan out of the sparkling waters of the loch by the Dawn Fire’s new settlement. “He’ll plague me for the rest of time.”
“Yes, but remember that he’s head of the druid conclave now,” his wife said, reaching over to pat his hand. “So when we plague him, he’ll really get things done.”
Bhaltair walked down to greet the chieftain and his clan, and suggested they turn their mounts loose to graze. Taran sent the herd to join the tribe’s horses in the clearing beyond the new settlement, where the emerald grasses grew tall and thick.
After clearing away the cottage and barn, the Dawn Fire had built their new homes atop the ruins of the old settlement. While Emeline admired the sprawling gardens that surrounded the tidy little cottages, Ruadri greeted the tribe’s shaman like an old friend. Lily and Kelturan brought the clan’s gifts of food and herbs to the center of the settlement, where they helped with the preparation of the evening meal. Cadeyrn kept a watchful eye on everyone as he spoke with the tribe’s young defenders.
“If I may have a word, Chieftain?” Bhaltair asked.
Seeing his mate give him a narrow look, Brennus nodded and accompanied the old druid to a small rise above the new village. The view afforded him the full scope of what the Dawn Fire had done to transform the old Wood Dream settlement.
“I yet cannae believe you willingly chose this place to resettle,” the chieftain said. “I reckon I’d have burned the place to the ground. But you’ve done well with it.”
“Aye, but ’tis bursting with life that’s waited twelve centuries to return,” Bhaltair said. “My people shall thrive here, and so shall the land. After so much death, ’tis no’ a place for an ending. ’Tis time for a new beginning.”
Brennus regarded him, and held out his hand. “I’d have peace between us, Conclavist Flen.”
The old druid took it and smiled. “Aye, Chieftain Skaraven. I believe we’ve earned it.”
After the evening meal Rowan led her mate down to the banks of the loch, where they stood and watched the sun sink slowly over the distant mountains. The light painted the sky dark blue and deep apricot, with a band of bright gold rising to gild the ridges.
“I know we’ve watched so many sunsets we’ve probably seen every kind that there is,” she told him. “But this one feels different, doesn’t it?”
“Aye.” He wrapped his arms around her. “’Tis our first spring as immortal Skaraven.”
Rowan turned around to face him. “And soul-mates. How do you feel about that?”
“Relieved. We’ll never be parted again,” Taran told her before he kissed her. “Mayhap eternity shall be just long enough for me to love you.”
She smiled. “Let’s get started and find out.”
THE END
• • • • •
Another Immortal Highlander series awaits you in Domnall (Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 1).
For a sneak peek, turn the page.
Sneak Peek
Domnall (Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 1)
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
A DROP OF rain plopped on Jenna Cameron’s face, rousing her from a sleep so deep she felt muddled. She saw trees, sky, clouds. Huge trees. Dark sky. Gloomy clouds.
As she regarded her surroundings shivers sprinted over her wet, chilled skin. Nothing looked familiar, and yet she felt a tremendous relief pouring through her. She had done something. She had reached something. Her thoughts felt remarkably peaceful, as if she hadn’t a care in the world now.
She never wanted to move again.
Wind came rushing through the trees, fluttering leaves and creaking branches. Pine and rain scented the damp air moving over her face. Everything around her felt soaked, from the wide, hard rough thing pressing against her back to the mound of things under her cheek.
Not things, leaves.
She felt her heartbeat speeding up as she tried to understand what was happening to her. All she knew was her name: Jenna Cameron. She didn’t know where she was or how she got here. She took in a quick breath and tried to recall anything else, but her mind felt wrong. A sharp, tight cord of pain began to twang slowly between her temples. Had she taken a blow to the head? She couldn’t remember.
All she knew about herself was her name. How was that even possible?
“’Twill be well, lass.”
Those four words drew her gaze to the mountain of a man standing over her. Jenna didn’t feel afraid of him, it simply confused her to discover him there. From his expression as he crouched down in front of her, he seemed just as bewildered.
Jenna liked his eyes. A beautiful shade of green, they tilted up at the corners, giving him a slightly feline look. Gold tipped his dark lashes, and caught the sunlight as it sifted through his long brown hair. He had very striking features, broad and bold and intensely masculine. Under his dark cloak he wore a rough, oddly-made shirt, wool trousers and fur-topped boots.
“Domnall mag Raith,” he said, his deep voice colored by a heavy accent she didn’t recognize.
It took her a moment to understand that he was telling her his name. “I’m Jenna Cameron. Where am I?”
“Scotland.”
That wasn’t very specific, but at least it put a name to his accent. She eyed his heavy belt and the sheath that hung from it. He had his left hand curled loosely around the hilt of what had to be a sword. When he saw her staring, he let it go.
“I’ll no’ harm you.”
Domnall took off his cloak and covered her with it.
Until he did that Jenna hadn’t realized she was naked. The warmth of his cloak felt so good she wanted to burrow under it and never come out.
They went on looking at each other, in a cautious, startled way that made her think of two accident victims who had just climbed out of their wrecked cars. Was this his fault or hers? Jenna had no idea.
At last he asked, “How came you here?”
“I don’t know.”
Worry invaded her comfort and started issuing demands for information. How long had she been out here in the woods? Had Domnall brought her? Hit her over the head? Was that why she couldn’t remember anything? Why was she in Scotland, of all places?
The wet, cold ground felt as uncomfortable as all those questions she couldn’t answer. She needed to get to her feet.
Domnall saw what she meant to do and took gentle hold of her arms, helping her up. As they both stood Jenna saw just how much he towered over her. Her head barely reached the middle of his chest. She glanced down at her feet as he wrapped his cloak more securely around her. She wasn’t th
at short. He was simply huge. Broad shoulders and big arms, long legs and bulging muscles everywhere. His hands covered most of her upper arms. If he wanted to hurt her, she was a goner. Right now, she should get busy with screaming, crying, or shouting for help.
Why aren’t I afraid of him?
“Jenna Cameron.” He said her name slowly, as if it belonged to a language he was trying out for the first time. “’Tis a Scottish name, but your voice.”
“American,” she said without thinking, and then smiled. “I’m from America.” There was something else, too, something important hovering just behind that. It made her head hurt to reach for it, but finally she dragged it out of her dark memory. “I’m an architect.”
Phantom sensations came over her as the fact brought with it fragments of memory. Water lapping over the toes of dirty boots. A groaning, cracking rumble roaring overhead. Then terror, bright and piercing, running and falling, being struck over and over by huge, heavy blows. Agony, despair, and then in that terrible darkness, light from above. Cold, glaring white light, and snowflakes falling on her face.
Jenna pressed one hand to her head, gasping as her headache swelled. Just as suddenly it vanished, and the terrifying memory bits went with it.
“I’m in trouble,” she told Domnall. “I think someone tried to hurt me. Maybe kill me.” She clutched his cloak, trying to draw it tighter around her shivering body. “They must have left me here.”
Jenna glanced around them, and that was when she saw the marks on the huge tree trunk behind her. She turned around slowly, her stomach clenching as she took in the long row of marks that had been burned into the tree’s bark. She couldn’t read the primitive glyphs but they looked very familiar. They also made every muscle she had tense, as if readying her for a fight.