by Zoe Tasia
“Greg is Grieg Ghillie?” I asked. Kay nodded in agreement. I gasped. “But that would make him hundreds of years old!”
“That he is,” Kay confirmed.
“But why is the geas failing now?”
“The curse would be in effect until the Ghillie learned to change his selfish ways and care for another.”
“So—who does he care for?” I dared not to hope.
Kay nudged me, a playful glint in her eyes. “Who indeed, Becca.”
“Me?” I felt a warmth suffice my body. Every instinct hummed, and I knew I should accept this as simple truth.
“I suspect that it started with your daughter since she resembles the child he lost. I’m guessing you look a bit like his wife too.”
“He did act like I was familiar.” I shook my head. “Why hasn’t he fallen for someone already here?”
“I keep telling you—up until now, we rarely saw him except from afar.”
I turned from Kay to pace. While I had been talking to Kay and not paying attention, Tate had moved to the window. As she stared outside, her jaw dropped and her eyes glazed over. She picked up the nail from the sill and stepped back.
“Tate! No!” I rushed to the window but before I could get the nail from Tate and replace it, the vampires broke the glass. They moaned as though in pain, but that didn’t stop one from reaching for me and pulling me outside. The sharp glass tore into my side and the vampire squealed with excitement as blood welled from the cut. Jessie shrieked in the background. I forced myself to look down and avoid staring into its eyes. Instead of feet, hooves peeped out from beneath its long dress. A tongue rasped my bleeding side. I lashed out with my fist, but it caught my arm and twisted it behind my back. Screaming, I struggled to get away. From the corner of my eye, I saw the other vampire drag Jess through the grass by her legs. Jessie twisted her body face down, her hands clawed at the ground. She freed one leg and kicked out hitting the vampire’s arm. It only grunted. Tate wandered out the door in a daze, Kay kicked her shoes off as she raced outside and sank her feet in the soil. Sensing a worthy prey, the creatures released us and descended on her.
A male voice, one I’d come to know well, called out, “Back! Back to where you belong.”
I looked toward him, but a bright light blinded me. The vampires shrieked. One of the creatures cackled. “The geas weakens, human. Soon you will not be tied to the land and have any power over us. Soon we will be free.”
The light dimmed, and I saw the vampires at the forest’s edge. In a blink of an eye, they vanished. Greg stood holding a large cross. He rushed to me, and I saw the worry and caring on his face just before I passed out.
When I regained my senses, Dr. Murphy was bandaging my side. “The girls? Kay?” I tried to rise, but the doctor admonished me to remain still.
“They’re all okay. I don’t think you’ve lost enough blood to need a transfusion, but you do need to rest. Your left side and leg needed stitches.”
I apparently had cut my calf too, but hadn’t noticed at the time. After tending to my other smaller cuts, he stood. Kay met him at the door. He exchanged soft words with her then left.
Kay sat on the corner of the bed. “I know you don’t feel well, but you need to speak to Greg.”
I shook my head.
“Yes, you do,” she insisted.
“I—I look a mess.”
Greg peeked around the door. “How are you?”
Kay motioned him in.
“I’m alive.” I tried to smile as Kay helped me sit up. “Kay told me—well, I figured out who you are, and she explained why she thought those vampire things attacked. Is it true?”
He cleared his throat. “I am careful with my feelings and a private man, but these are dire times, so I fear I must be blunt.” He twisted his hands together. “When I saw your wee one and you, she reminded me of my daughter and you, of my wife.”
I bristled with indignation. “Well, I’m not your wife.”
“Aye, I ken. And I ken I am making a poor job of this.” He walked closer. “We havena spent nearly enough time together, but I admit, I am attracted to you and I do care.” He sat by the bed. “How—how do you feel about me?”
I felt my cheeks redden. “Well, I guess—I care about you too.”
“There now,” said Kay. “We’ve settled that. The next question is what are we going to do? The geas is fading more and more quickly and, by admitting your feelings, it will fall even faster.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
Instead of answering, Kay stared at Greg. He stared back for a beat, then nodded.
“I ken what she asks,” he said. I quirked my eyebrow at him. “I must find the one who cursed me and placed the geas,” he explained.
“Okay, who was that?”
“He goes by many names, but you may know him as Herne, the fae leader of the Wild Hunt.”
I folded my arms around my middle and winced when my stitches pulled. “This is crazy.”
Greg touched my shoulder. “Is it, Rebecca? You see what happens on this island. Do you think we are crazy? Do you think you are crazy?”
“No, but—”
“No, buts—time is short.”
“Fine, but I’m going with you,” I said. “It’s because of me that all this is happening.”
“I’ll watch after the girls,” Kay said.
“Thank you. Let’s go, Greg.”
Greg helped me up, and I limped toward the forest. Howls, growls, and unearthly sounds I couldn’t identify filled the air. Because I was still weak, he lifted me in his arms, and the land blurred by, but not as quickly as it had when he had carried me before. “My powers wane. We must hurry.”
We reached the large dog at the crossroads that I saw weeks ago. It growled, but when Greg held out his hand, it sniffed his knuckles and then stood aside. Just beyond, there was a hillock. I remained in Greg’s arms as he sped around it and, as he did, the hillock changed and grew. As we circled, a cacophony of sound and a kaleidoscope of visions ravaged my senses. The third-time round, an opening appeared. “Ready?” he asked.
“I suppose I better be.”
Though we entered the hill, we weren’t underground. Instead, we were still in a forest, but such a forest! As I clung to Greg, I craned my neck, taking in my surroundings. Ash trees, their leaves turned up toward the sun, blossomed with clusters of blushed-purple flowers. Birch bark gleamed like polished silver furred with celery-colored moss. As the rich loam stirred under Greg’s feet, the scent of earth, edged with mocha coffee, perfumed the air. The colors, the smells, were darker and more intense. In front of us, a magnificent oak laden with shiny acorns stood. Greg stopped and lowered me to the ground.
“I dare not go any farther. I shall call to him and hope I have enough power left for him to ken me.” He shouted, “Cernunnos, Cernunnos, Cernunnos!”
I heard hoof beats and the howls of dogs. A party of hunters approached on horseback. Their mounts galloped toward us and, once stopped, stamped and neighed. A moment later, a pack of staghounds joined the hunting party. When I studied most of the riders, my eyes seemed to slide past, as though they were only shadows, but not so with the leader. Stag horns, larger and more magnificent than any I had seen on a deer, grew from his forehead. His umber hair fell below his shoulders and the skin of his bare arms and chest was adorned with ebony markings. These swirled, and my eyes watered if I looked at them too long. He frowned and his visage was so terrible to look upon, that I focused on his red-eyed steed instead. The horse snorted and pawed the ground as its mouth foamed.
“Why do you call me, mortal?” His voice was soft, and yet the timbre was hard as granite.
Greg shuddered but stood tall and resolute. “The curse comes undone.”
“That is good news, is it not, man?”
I risked a glance. One of the shaggy dogs resembling a wolfhound on steroids growled and crept closer. At a glance from the rider, it whimpered and returned to the pack. It was l
arge enough for Tate to ride.
“Yes, but the geas fails, and that is bad news,” Greg answered. “Though becoming the Keeper of the Forest was a curse, it has become my calling. I willna have those I have long protected suffer.”
The creature, who must be Herne, leapt from his saddle and, with measured steps, approached us. “What would you have me do about it?”
“Could you—” Greg paused and studied the ground then continued. “Remake it?”
Herne tilted his head and regarded Greg. “I could, but for the geas to maintain the barrier, there must be one to watch the borders.” His glance flitted to me.
Greg looked at me, his expression full of despair. “I must stay and remain cursed then.”
I shook my head. Though I had planned to return to Aberdeen, I didn’t want to lose the dear friends I had made here. I was drawn to Greg. Even though I had only just discovered he had feelings for me, I very much wanted to see where this mutual attraction led. “If you stay here, you’ll still be able to keep in contact with me, won’t you? I know you don’t have a phone, but we could write.”
“The geas weakens because of my feelings for you. We must avoid all contact and sever our budding relationship completely, I fear,” Greg concluded.
We looked at Herne, who nodded.
I’ll never see him again! He’ll never find the happiness he deserves. My heart clenched and I realized I couldn’t bear the thought. “No, Greg, there must be another way.” I clung to him and bit my lip, trying to hold back tears.
Herne’s mount neighed and reared. Without looking back, he clucked at the steed, and it calmed. “Think, man—how can you make this task a pleasure?”
Greg’s furrowed forehead smoothed and his eyes fill with hope. He turned to me and, holding my hands, knelt. “We havena courted nor known each other long enough for me to ask you to be my bride, but I care about you and I believe—” He continued in a stronger voice. “—I believe in us, given time. Will you stay and give us this time?”
I thought about all I had gone through and about how I cared about the island and its people. I actually felt at home in the crazy place, and yes—strange as our unfurling courtship had been—I loved Greg Gillie. Somehow, I knew this was our destiny. “Yes, Greg. I will remain.”
The horseman approached us. “They will be betrothed to each other and the land.”
Greg stood, his hands still grasping mine. Herne wrapped his hand around the pommel of his sword and tugged it from the scabbard. With an eldritch cry, the blade slid into view. Greg stood between Herne and me.
“Fear not. I will unite you with the Hill—” Herne called one of the hounds forth and cut a hank of fur from its scruff. “The land—” He plucked a large blackberry from a nearby plant and mashed it with the flat of his blade. The black juice sprayed onto the fur. He turned to us. “Show me your palms.”
I was afraid to do it, but even more afraid of what would happen if I didn’t do as he asked. Greg and I faced each other. We held out our hands so close that our thumbs overlapped. In a flurry, Herne drew the sword across our palms. Blood beaded from the wounds and before the pain could register, he slapped the smashed fruit and fur there. He closed our hands together and murmured words that I couldn’t understand. The scent of liquid iron, rich loamy port, and one other I couldn’t identify that teased with fear and longing assaulted my nostrils. The air felt strange on my skin, as if I were wrapped in a cloth crackling with static electricity. Herne’s words echoed in my head until I could hear nothing but his voice. I shuddered and swayed. Just when I thought I would pass out, it stopped. Greg and I staggered apart. Our palms no longer bled and the fur and fruit had vanished. I rubbed my arms and shook my head then turned to Greg. His shoulders bowed as if a great weight had been set upon them. Herne nodded to us. “It is time for you to leave. The geas is reinstated.”
Greg stopped me as I started to voice my thanks. “Never thank a fae, Rebecca. They believe by doing so, you undervalue what they have done. They consider it an insult.” He nodded at the hunter and drew me away.
As we approached the cottage, I slowed.
Greg reached for my hand. “You worry about what your daughters will say.”
“I’m not even sure how to tell them.”
Greg tugged me to the bench at the side of the house. “It will be all right, Rebecca. I promise.” His lips met mine, and my heart sang with joyful desire. He deepened the kiss and I smothered a moan.
“We’ve got to go in,” I gasped, my heart galloping as though I had sprinted home.
When we entered, Kay greeted us at the door. “What happened? Is everything all right, Becca?”
Jessie and Tate turned from the window, their expressions identical and solemn. I wondered if they had seen the kiss.
“A moment, Kay.” Greg tugged me forward until we both stood in front of the girls. He knelt before them. “I am not your father, nor will I ever be. But I promise to protect and cherish you, Tate.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “And you, Jessica.” Jessie crossed her arms, but Greg wasn’t deterred. He lightly touched her elbow. “Until life has left me and beyond.”
An unwilling smile graced Jessie’s face. Her eyes met mine, then she nodded, dropped her arm and allowed him to take her hand.
BEFORE I COULD EVEN contact Mrs. Grant, the deed to the cottage came in the post with my name on it. We were home.
The End
Dearest Reader,
Thank you for reading Kilts and Catnip. I hope you’ve enjoyed meeting the diverse people and creatures of the Shrouded Isle. Please consider taking a moment to write a short review. I’m grateful for all feedback.
Sign up for my newsletter at zoetasia.com to get the latest news and a free Shrouded Isle holiday short story, Spring Shenanigans, about the Keeper’s earliest experiences. Watch for the second book in the Shrouded Isle series, Tartan and Thyme.
Best regards,
Zoe Tasia
About the Author
AS A CHILD, ZOE TASIA idolized Barbara Eden, star of I Dream of Jeannie. However, she would have ditched the astronaut and married Captain Kirk. She can’t blink and make magic, nor did she wed a Starfleet officer. Instead, life had something better in store for her. She explores her imagination as a writer, is married to an understanding Greek, has two grown sons, and a crazy cat that thinks it’s a dog. Zoe grew up in Oklahoma and lived over seven years in Scotland. Now she resides in the great state of Texas, where everything’s bigger and better, or so she’s told by the natives. When she’s not giving her make-believe friends full rein, she enjoys the opera, ballet, well-chilled champagne and books, lots and lots of books. Her first book is Kilts and Catnip (The Shrouded Isle Book 1). You can find Zoe Tasia on Facebook, Twitter, and her webpage. She also co-writes under the name Zari Reede.