by Katy Baker
But try as she might, she could not see a way out. Even if she somehow managed to escape from the camp, she had no idea where she was. For all she knew she might be hundreds of miles away from Dun Saith. How would she find her way back to Callum then?
She glanced at the parchment and quill sitting on the table. So Rochford wanted her to betray Callum and the Order did he? He expected her to tell him everything she knew? Well, that wouldn’t be difficult.
She picked up the pen and began scribbling on the paper.
A while later footsteps sounded outside and the tent flap pulled back as Rochford entered the tent. He came to stand by her side.
“Glad to see you’ve seen sense,” he said as she put down the pen.
“Yes,” she said sweetly. “I’ve written down everything I know about the Order and its members. I’m sure you’ll be pleased.”
He snatched the parchment from the table and quickly read the words written there. His mouth pressed into a tight, flat line and his handsome face turned white with anger.
“Is this supposed to be amusing?”
Sophie spread her hands wide, putting on an expression of mock innocence. “You asked me to write down everything I know about the Order. That’s exactly what I’ve done.”
With a growl, he tossed the parchment onto the table. It came to rest in front of Sophie, landing face up. Her writing caught the light, showing the word nothing written over and over, like a child being given lines in school.
“Fine,” Rochford hissed. “But you will speak, believe me.” He crossed to the lock box again, unlocked it and took out a small pouch. He crossed to a brazier, lit the stack of kindling inside, and blew on the flames until a merry fire was burning.
Then he grasped her arm and jerked her from her chair hard enough to make her gasp, dragging her over to the brazier and pushing her roughly onto her knees in front of it. Rochford’s face was twisted with anger and there was a wild light in his eyes. She realized that it had been stupid to goad him. Her bravado might have landed her in a whole heap more trouble.
“What are you going to do?” she asked in a small voice.
He didn’t answer. She licked her lips. The heat from the flames washed over her skin and she began to shift backwards. Rochford’s hand snapped out to grip her shoulder, his fingers digging painfully into his flesh.
“You’re not going anywhere. Try to run and I will kill you.”
His tone was cold, emotionless, leaving Sophie in no doubt that he would carry out his threat. Rochford opened the small leather pouch he’d taken from the lock box and tossed some powder into the flames. Sparks flew up, burning brightly for a second before dissipating. When the light faded, Sophie found a pair of eyes watching her from the flames.
She gasped in fear, tried to scuttle back, but Rochford held her fast.
Is this her? a voice spoke from the fire. It made no outward sound that Sophie could tell. It was more like the words just suddenly bloomed in her mind.
“It is,” Rochford answered. “She can give us the key to destroying the Order but she will not talk.”
The eyes narrowed. She will give up her answers to me. The full regard of those burning eyes turned to study her and she felt suddenly small, like a fly trapped in a spider’s web. Malevolence burned in those eyes, a millennia-old hatred.
Well, said the voice and she detected a hint of amusement in the tone. Shall we begin?
CALLUM SAT HIS HORSE at the edge of the burned clearing, staring at what lay within. His horse stamped and shied, unnerved by the place. Callum shared the beast’s misgivings. This glade stank of wrongness. The scorched ground hadn’t just been burned, it had been obliterated. There was no life here at all. Nothing.
He swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted. Leaving the horse outside the glade, he walked slowly towards the center. His feet kicked up clouds of dust and ash, making him cough, and there was a cloying stench to the place that he would recognize anywhere: blood.
He reached the center of the clearing and halted. A single standing stone stood there. It was not large, reaching to his waist, but nonetheless, its presence dominated his senses.
It was like a hole cut into nothingness and he knew instinctively that the sticky substance smeared down its surface was blood. The whole place stank of the Unseelie.
The hairs rose on the back of Callum’s neck and a sudden nausea made him stumble to his knees, retching. As an agent of the Seelie, any place sacred to the Unseelie was anathema to him. Even walking on this ground was like poison.
His limbs felt suddenly weak, his strength leeching out of him like water from a burst skin. Waves of dizziness crashed through him, threatening to lay him out flat.
No, he told himself. I willnae be weak. Not now. Not when Sophie needs me.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his muscles to obey him and staggered to his feet. He reached towards the stone but did not touch it. He could feel the Unseelie magic writhing across its surface. The heat of it brushed against his palm, burning his skin. Rochford had opened a gateway here.
The power of the Unseelie that Rochford had used was not open to Callum. Trying to use it to follow Sophie would kill him.
He gritted his teeth in frustration, curled his hand into a fist and hammered it against the stone in rage, ignoring the burst of pain that ignited in his knuckles.
Sophie’s image flared in his mind. Where was she right now? Was she thinking about him? Was she hoping he would be riding to her aid? He growled. If Rochford had laid a finger on her, he would tear the man’s heart from his chest.
Rage and frustration warred inside him. The thought of Sophie in that man’s hands drove him mad with terror. He had to find her. Whatever the cost.
He looked down at the standing stone. Rochford had turned it into a thing of the Unseelie, of the dark Fae, but that didn’t mean that it had always been this way. It had been the Seelie Fae who had placed these monuments all over Alba as places of protection for travelers. Did some vestige of their benevolent power still linger in the stone? Could he find it?
I must, he told himself. I will.
He reached out and placed his hand flat against the stone. Burning pain shot through his fingers and up his arm, strong enough to make him cry out and gasp in agony. His teeth pulled back from his lips in a snarl, his nerves suddenly on fire. But he didn’t let go. He forced his will into the stone, searching.
The power of the Unseelie resisted him, snapping and snarling, determined to kill him. But he fought. He fought with every ounce of strength he had, ignoring the blisters that began to form on his palm, and imposed his will on the power within the stone.
Ye will obey me, he thought. Ye will do as I say.
His senses went questing down, down through the roiling chaos of Rochford’s blood magic, down into the roots of the stone where they lay buried in the earth, down into its benevolent, ancient core.
There!
He touched a slumbering awareness buried deep, a lingering remembrance of what the stone’s original purpose had been: to protect. At his urging, that awareness flared into wakefulness. The power of the Seelie Fae blazed to life, obliterating the darkness. Strength flooded into him. The nausea vanished.
“Take me to her,” he commanded.
Mist rose from the ground all around him, enveloping him in a thick white shroud. It filled his nostrils and he sucked its soothing coolness deep into his lungs. He could see nothing, not the stone nor the clearing, nor the woodland that surrounded him. He was lost in a white, gentle world of swirling mists.
A second later, the mist cleared to reveal he was no longer where he had been. He was standing on a wind-swept upland carpeted in heather. Perhaps a mile distant the ground began to slip down into a valley and in that valley he spotted the twinkling light of a campfire.
Callum raised his hand and examined his left palm. The skin was red and puckered, covered in painful, oozing blisters. No matter. It was a small price to pay to find Sophie.
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Setting his sights on the valley below, Callum broke into a run.
Chapter 14
Sophie screamed. The pain was excruciating. It felt like somebody had clamped an iron ring around her head and was slowly tightening it. The thing’s presence filled her mind, wading through her thoughts like a ransacking child, searching for what it wanted.
She pressed her hands to her forehead and leaned over until her head almost touched her knees. Her eyes were screwed tight shut but even through her closed lids she could still see those eyes watching her from the flames.
Give me the information I seek, the voice said.
“Get out of my head!” she shouted, pounding her fist into the floor.
Thoughts of Callum flowered and she knew she had not thought them. They were memories that the creature was trying to pry open, trying to break into in order to get the information it wanted.
Gritting her teeth, Sophie resisted. She forced her thoughts away from Callum.
Roses, she thought, come in several varieties. For beginners it’s best to start with something small, maybe a container variety that can sit on a patio or balcony.
Horticulture came easiest to her so she flooded her mind with information, focusing her thoughts on mundane details.
Climbing roses always look good against a fence or trellis but if you want them to flower well, it’s best to have the stems horizontal rather than vertical. And then there’s the ever popular English rose which has a wonderful scent but isn’t as hardy as others and you’ll need to make sure you keep your eyes peeled for any sign of disease.
What is this? the presence thundered. Give me what I want!
It launched a fresh assault on her mind, sending a stab of agony right through her brain. For a second, she felt it gaining control, felt the memories of Callum and everything he’d told her about the Order beginning to surface, and a stab of fear went through her.
No! She raged silently. I won’t tell you anything. She grappled with her thoughts, forcing them to obey her.
If you want easy maintenance, I’d recommend groundcover roses. They’re hardy and resistant to disease and they don’t grow very big. Excellent if you have a small area.
The presence hissed in anger and frustration. Who are ye? it demanded. How do ye resist me? It grabbed hold of something in her mind and latched on. A memory surfaced.
Several men and women sat in a circle. They bore grim expressions and each was armed. They wore a plaid that sparked a hint of recognition in Sophie although she couldn’t quite place it. Around each neck hung a pewter disk.
“What we do here tonight will bind us all forever,” said a dark-haired man, looking around at them all sternly. “It will bind us and our offspring down through the generations, down through the long years of history. There will be no escaping it.”
They nodded solemnly and the dark-haired man looked at them each in turn before giving a nod of satisfaction. “Then let us begin.”
Sophie gasped. She remembered this. It was the dream she’d had when she’d gone sleepwalking from the stone circle—the dream Callum had woken her from. But this time Callum was not here to rouse her.
“From this day forth,” said the dark-haired man. “We will not rest until our lands, our titles, our birthrights, are restored to us. Until that day we will be known as the Disinherited and we swear our service to the Unseelie Fae.”
The presence recoiled in shock. Then it laughed, a burst of cruel mirth searing through Sophie’s brain.
This is perfect! That meddling bitch, Irene MacAskill, took a great gamble by sending ye here. One gamble too many. Did she really think ye would help her? Blood calls to blood. Ye canna deny what ye are. Ye will—
A bellow of rage drowned out the creature’s words. She heard footsteps, a crack, a splash, a hiss of steam—and the presence in her mind suddenly disappeared.
She sank forward with a groan, forehead pressed against the floor, sucking in breaths through her nostrils. Strong arms suddenly went around her, pulling her up, and a voice spoke close by her ear.
“Sophie?”
She would know that voice anywhere. She blinked her eyes open. His face was only inches from hers, gazing at her intently. Was she dreaming? Was he really here?
“Callum?”
“Aye, lass. I’m here. Can ye stand?”
She nodded groggily and he helped her to her feet. Callum had dumped water over the brazier, putting out the fire. Where the burning eyes had been was now only blackened ash and rising steam. On the other side of the brazier, Rochford was picking himself up off the floor. He swiped the back of his hand across his face, wiping blood away from what was clearly a broken nose.
“All right, I’ll give you that one,” he said in a mock-jovial tone. “You did a good job of sneaking up on me. Although how you managed to follow us remains more of a mystery.”
“It was ye all along,” Callum growled, drawing his sword and holding it two-handed before him. “Ye who has been causing suffering to my people. Or do ye deny that ye are Disinherited?”
“I deny nothing,” Rochford replied. “I’m only surprised that it’s taken you this long to figure it out.”
“They will destroy ye, ye know,” Callum replied. “The Unseelie, I mean. Ye reckon ye’ve made a bargain with them? They are using ye and will discard ye like a broken tool once ye have served yer purpose.”
Rochford barked a quick, sardonic laugh. “Is that so? And how are you any different? You think Irene MacAskill has embroiled you in this out of the goodness of her heart? Oh, don’t look so surprised. My organization has known about her for a long, long time. She is the most irritating of opponents and don’t believe for one minute that anything she does is for your own good. We serve different masters but ultimately we fight for the same thing.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
Rochford drew his sword. It glinted in the candlelight. “Dominion.”
“Ye think that is what I want?” Callum growled. “Ye think that is the purpose of the Order? Then ye are a bigger fool than I thought. Ye and I are in no way alike. Aye, we both serve the Fae, but for very different reasons. I serve them because I would guard Alba against people like ye. Ye serve them because ye believe it will bring ye power.”
“And what is wrong with that?” Rochford snapped. “I want only what is rightfully mine! I want only the return of what was taken from me! My family lost everything during the Wars of Independence! We will have it back!”
“And ye would sell yer soul to get it?”
Rochford snarled and lunged at Callum. He parried the blade with a clang and pushed Sophie behind him. She staggered back, bumping into the table on which the lock box sat.
Her heart leapt into her mouth as Callum and Rochford fought, trading blows in quick succession. In the confined space of the tent there was not much room and she saw immediately that Rochford’s tactic was to drive Callum towards her so he would not have room to swing his sword lest he catch her in the process. Callum was no fool and saw it too. He dived forward, rolling beneath Rochford’s swinging blade, coming up behind him and forcing Rochford to turn and face him.
Their blades clanged together as they cut high and low, each searching for an opening that the other didn’t give. They were evenly matched, both expert swordsmen, and Sophie gasped as Rochford’s blade suddenly took a nick out of Callum’s ear, spraying blood against the wall of the tent. Callum ignored the wound, swung low and scored a slice across Rochford’s thigh that had the man shimmying backwards with a grunt of pain—right into Sophie’s range.
With a cry, she grabbed the lock box and swung it with all her strength against the back of Rochford’s head. It connected with a thud and he staggered a few steps before crumpling to the floor.
Sophie stared down at him for a moment, chest heaving. Callum grabbed her arm.
“Come on! We have to get out of here!”
He pulled her to the entrance and they ducked outside. Darkness had fall
en but the night was lit by a huge fire blazing on the far side of the camp. It looked as though several tents had gone up. Sophie heard the shouting of Rochford’s men as they fought to put it out.
Callum shrugged. “I needed a distraction so I could get into the tent.”
The men who’d been guarding Rochford’s tent lay just outside, unconscious or dead, Sophie couldn’t tell. Callum grabbed her elbow and together they stole through the camp, darting from shadow to shadow, Sophie still clinging desperately to the lock box. Any moment she expected to hear a guard shout at them to halt, but Callum’s diversion seemed to have done the trick and they reached a small copse at the edge of the camp without mishap. Here another pair of guards lay unconscious and a horse had been tied nearby.
Without a sound, Callum untied the horse and then boosted Sophie into the saddle. The leather creaked as he swung up behind her. He reached around her to take the reins and then nudged the horse into motion. Silently, they rode deeper into the woods. Sophie resisted the urge to look back. How long until Rochford’s men had the fire under control? How long till they found those dead guards? How long before pursuit was hot on their tail?
Callum obviously shared her concerns as, the moment they left the woods and came out onto the uplands, he nudged the horse into a gallop. They had to get away from Rochford. Sophie couldn’t bear to dwell on what would happen if he caught them.
Callum laid false trails and did all he could to obliterate their tracks. Every few miles, he reined in and stood in the stirrups, staring back along their trail, alert for any sign of pursuit. Each time, he reported that it was clear.
They rode for hours in silence and Sophie allowed herself the luxury of leaning against Callum, feeling his hard chest against her back, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He’d come for her. Despite everything, he’d found a way. She closed her eyes, drinking in his presence, allowing some of the terror to leak away.
Did she really think ye would help her? Blood calls to blood. Ye canna deny what ye are.