Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series)

by Strong, Jennifer

  James had been talking to her between strikes, keeping up the most annoying running commentary as he tested her ability to keep her mind on the task at hand despite distractions, despite growing exhaustion; mainly his own. While she had youth, and a dark fury, on her side, the leader of this small bit of North Carolina was far older than he seemed, than he looked. Ailill was exhausting him, with too little effort. As expected, she answered in monosyllables and growls; grunted with effort each time the man came at her from yet another angle, her breath saved for the task at hand.

  "You can't handle it," he hissed; a grunt of his own followed as Ailill lashed out hard, striving to prove him wrong.

  "You're too small... an itty bitty wee thing!"

  "Nay...grrr."

  "You need more... trainin'-wee lassie?"

  "Shut up-auld-man!"

  It went on like that for a long time, each remark answered with a flash of the sword. Tiring, feeling altogether winded, James thought of a new tactic to stop his seemingly tireless daughter.

  "You'll marry 'em... Abby!" he gasped.

  "Hmm?" she growled in return.

  "The-twins," he panted. "You're gonna- marry 'em-bothright-away." James was breathing hard, slowing down. "During the Gather," he forced through clenched teeth. "Here."

  Taken completely by surprise, Ailill hesitated just long enough to register her own sense of shock, mere seconds, inadvertently giving James the chance he had been seeking. With the flat edge of his sword, the man whacked her across the backs of her knees, knocked her flat on her back.

  From deep within her chest, an angry growl emanated instantly. Heedless of muddied water slipping down her spine, Ailill regained her feet in one fluid motion; crouched low, she met James' eye with a look of cold fury, her sword in one hand, a foot long dagger suddenly appearing in the other. "Nay, Shaemus Morna. I willna be marrit!" she spat.

  "Aha! Learned a few tricks, I see." He backed up a step, grinning rather maliciously at the deadly look in her eyes, daring her to strike him a revealing blow. "And- aye, ye will, mo gealbhan." His words, the Scots accent clearly mocking, the rich tone of his voice was far too close to that of her own beloved teacher.

  "I will not," she answered clearly, menacingly twirling the gleaming blade in her fist, eyes darkened nearly to black with fury, a shocking sight to those who noticed. "And youcanna-make-me." Blinking stinging drops of sweat from her eyes, Ailill's nostrils flared, filling her own oxygen deprived lungs with searing hot air.

  She lunged, both weapons swinging in widening arcs around her body, steadily advancing on her father until she had him backed into the nearby timber fencing. The small audience moved quickly, scrambling down from the railing, out of the path of the tiny woman's deadly motions, her feral expression causing a stir of unease to ripple through each and every one. With a simple flick of the wrist, she knocked the heavy sword from James' own hand and smiled for the first time since they had begun; a grin of such absolute ferocity that her father's heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. He knew exactly what their vast array of enemies saw in battle and it frightened him.

  "I-win," she stated simply and thrust her own blade deep into the earth at his feet.

  "You've done well, mo nighean Sidhe, and I've no qualms about admitting it," an admiring James stated a while later as they sat at the large kitchen table, eating a late lunch of cold roast beef sandwiches washed down with dark, rich, cool ale in heavy glass tankards. He was grinning across the table, sky-blue eyes twinkling with pride between thick, dark lashes exactly like Ailill's own.

  A huge, powerful man, James had been blessed with the same grace and beauty of form, the same fiery spirit and larger than life presence that he could see whenever he looked at his daughter. Always a few paces above other men in intelligence, much more than merely handsome, throughout his youth James had stood out amongst peers who, each, had a similar mix of genetics; as much as he did now as the leader of an ever growing village. Long of body, better made than most men, he still wore a mane as dark and glossy as Jacob and Micah's jet locks; despite being tanned to a deep golden brown, his chiseled face showed nary a wrinkle. Like every last one of his own kindred, James was an uncommonly good-looking man. Ailill smiled in return, noting an all too familiar similarity between her father and the twins in the older man's boyish grin. The smile did not reach her eyes; his admiration did not matter in the least. She doubted the sincerity of it, anyways; doubted many things in this dying land called America.

  "You surprise me, little one," he added, watching closely while the girl slowly chewed. There was a white crease above her brows, the only outward sign that anything yet troubled her.

  Ailill's eyes rose to meet her father's own, her expression calm, completely serious.

  "Never judge a book by it's cover, Father," she said softly. "No matter how interesting, how innocentit might look on the outside, there's always the possibility o' one hell of a nasty paper cut once ye look inside."

  Every single pair of eyes around the table stared in surprise at hearing such a bold statement from the girl. And then she giggled in her oddly low-pitched voice; such a perfectly childlike sound, so unexpected, that her father laughed aloud, the very air around the huge man suddenly so full of his mirth that the others were compelled to join in his laughter.

  "Your sense of humor matches your Mama's, Abby," James said moments later, wiping streaming eyes with his napkin. "And I gotta say, I'm damn proud of you. Not only have you grown into a real beauty while you were away, you also learnt well andbecame a smartass to boot!"

  Barking a laugh, Ailill said, "I came by it honest, at least; but I thank you for the compliment anyway, though it isn't necessary. I was trained to be a warrior by the very best in all the land, after all." Her eyes sparkled with a sharp wit, the sudden ease of her mind.

  "Nah. You're wrong there," said James, staring at her in sudden seriousness. "While you may have learnt from the best, I am of the opinion that you are far better than Himself." Blue eyes narrowed in speculation, James added, "But I believe you already knew that. Didn't you?"

  "Well, I did have that idea," she drawled smoothly. Her teeth clenched tightly, squaring her jaw, as close to baring her teeth to the man as she would come. "It isn't an impossibility for a wee lass to best the vast array o' braw men in her life, if that wee lass be myself."

  Ailill's gaze was drawn down the table to where Micah sat, his mug poised halfway to his lips. Setting it down slowly, he half-turned, meeting her eye. His face was flushed from the heat of the day and something more, something that darkened his eyes nearly to obsidian. He stared at her hard; she felt a trickle of sweat roll down the back of her neck at the intensity in those dark eyes.

  "Och, 'twas a rather sexist notion ye had, Shaemus; that which forced ye to challenge me," she added a moment later, intentionally broadening her accent to the rich dialect of home just because she could and because she knew how it irritated her father, who had requested that she lose the “odd speech” for the time being, to better her chances of attracting “the boys”. Her acknowledging look down the board flashed back in Micah's eyes; the lad was willing her to speak up for herself, to point out her father's mistakes while she had the chance. "Aye, being the naturally giftedlass that I am, I could easily take offense to your questionable practices, the unfair demands you've chosen to heap upon my wee shoulders these past weeks, as if I haven't enough on my plate already. Such contempt, aye, such open insultmight easily set me on the path toward escape, to hie back to the Highlands quicker than ye can blink, Father." James gaped, the surprise marring his handsome features completely unfeigned. With an icy glint in her eyes, she glared back. His notion of fun and games was now at an end.

  "You have proven yourself, Ailill... better than I'd expected," he argued wearily. "I know of MacDuff's penchant for testing your limits, pushing you as close to the edge as he can. He taught me in exactly the same way! I wished to see for myself all that you've learned while you were away. Tha
t was all." He attempted a beseeching smile that did not fit his strong, well-defined face. "Am I forgiven?"

  "No, Shaemus, but we'll work on that."

  James blinked slowly even as his daughter turned her gaze briefly back to Micah's; her eyes flashed, a glimmer of triumph and Micah gave her a barely perceptible nod. He'd heard what James was saying as he sparred with the girl, had been nearby when the man started in on her first thing in the morning. Talk of marrying her off to him and his twin would have been a delightful idea had he not sensed an inner struggle, a prideful anger that rolled off the tiny young woman in waves. And more... James had obviously expected her to sleep with them the night before, if what he'd overheard that morning was any clue. Shocking, the very idea that her parents would push her into something so final as that without any thought of her own feelings on the matter. The knowledge had made him angry; it bothered him that he now felt as if he had to step back from the man he had come very close to idolizing, that he had to scrutinize what had, and would, come out of James' mouth. He felt as if he and Jacob had been undergoing some sort of testing since they'd arrived and, because he had no idea why, Micah found it plain damn unfair.

  "If ye wished to know all that I have been learning whilst I was away," she intoned, fury deeply bedded in her soft-spoken, carefully controlled words as her eyes moved back to James, "Well, ye ken the way to Scotland, the land o' your own birth. Naught stopped you from visiting in the past dozen years, ye ken? But nay! You insisted that I come here, to a land that is alien to me and mine. And, rather than welcome me home as the long-gone daughter I am, you've the audacity to make demands upon my person. Not a fucking chance... it will take a bit more than pretty words to bring you even an ounce of forgiveness. All of you." Sweeping her gaze down the table, she stopped briefly on her mother, her father, before coming to rest on her grandmother at the far end.

  "I wish to see my cousins. Do ye arrange it, Fallon." Her tone was unapologetic, commanding in an imperial air, as if she were used to getting whatever she asked for or demanded. The only thing lacking that would have made her seem like a spoilt princess was a harping whine, in the brothers' silently shared opinion.

  The old woman glanced at the brothers. "Ye ken the impossibility o' that, Ailill."

  "Nay, I ken that youdo not wish me a moments comfort, a brief respite from your damned demands," Ailill snapped. "Perhaps I willleave this place... ye can't stop me. 'Tis why you're still here rather than at Skye. So that I won't just up and disappear, as I did so many months ago, no?"

  A slight shrug was the only acknowledgment the old woman gave, her strange eyes, not blind it turned out, swept back and forth between the two bewildered young men, the clear orbs glittering like diamonds. It seemed she was willing them to... what? Micah was not sure. Jacob felt words forming on the tip of his tongue before he understood what was happening; his mouth seemed to open of its own accord.

  "I don't want you to go, Abby," he said slowly, eyes wide with surprise. "I, we... need you, uh, aw shit... what's happening?" Nearly frightened out of his head, he shook himself hard, looked to his twin for an answer Micah could not have even begun to give. "You are the answer to everything. Your people are dependent upon the choices you make. Answer the call to duty and lie with us, Ailill. The time of innocence is no more." Horrified at the audacity of the words, spoken in his own voice, Jacob slapped a hand over his mouth and stared accusingly at Ailill, as if she'd suddenly bewitched him. Micah gaped at his twin with mirrored shock.

  "Stop it, Seanmhair!" Ailill commanded, furious. "Don't you dareuse these lads to gain what you desire for the Tribe. And don't you evermake demands upon my body again. I will give of myself only when I wish it, when Iam ready!" She stood, the muscles in her arms flexed, bulging with the effort to keep her voice steady. "This is myinnocence you are trying to rob me of, auld woman, not your own. I alone shall choose my mates, and you can bet I'll make a better match than you did; my men willna scatter their seed everywhere on earth except mywomb. Now, gather my cousins, bring them to me. I willna leave this place, much as I wish to. For now, at least."

  Turning to Jacob, she said, "I am very sorry my grandmother has used you in this way. It will nothappen again. My honor is my word and you've earned both." Straight-backed as a General, eyes trained forward, she stepped back one pace, turned on her heel toward the door.

  "The guardians cannot come, Ailill," the elder intoned quickly, before her granddaughter could make more of a scene, or simply leave, as had become her way in recent years. "They battle the Rogues down in the Borderlands." Ailill paused, staring sightlessly forward as the woman's words sunk in. Her grandmother hurried on.

  "Twas a fearsome battle this time, a great many men; it seems ye left the fight too soon. The fault is my own, for 'twas I who prematurely forced your leavetaking."

  "To put it mildly, Seanmhair," Ailill hissed through clenched teeth. "Not that you'd dare admit in company to ordering me carried off the field, trussed like a wild turkey if need be; and you know full well that my men would never have done so on any others word! It was they who hid me from you for all those months, after all."

  "Well, aside from the particulars, necessary after ye'd slipped awa' from Skye like a wily wee reiver, the point here is that the dastardly Rogues hadna run off to save their wretched necks, as we'd intentionally made ye believe." The regal woman steeled herself against her granddaughter's icy glare. "Nay, they had but fallen back only to reconnoiter, to gather more forces. I am sorry to say, but since ye left they have struck back wi' more ferocity than we've previously seen. Aye, 'struth, we've lost a verra few troops, but it seems ye kent those we did lose fairly well; and, ere ye should ask, nay, ye cannot rejoin the fight; 'tis quiteat an end and Tiernan is there just now... after so long, he doesna want to be seein' ye on yet another blasted battlefield!"

  Shock rippled through the girl in visible waves. Her eyes widened, narrowed in disbelief. "Tiernan?" all but roared. "Ye'd send a sickly lad into battle just to keep me a prisoner, a virtual slave to the whims o' the Elders? It has hardly been enough time since he took sick; barely two years, now, and I know it takes years to recover fully! He very nearly died that day! How dare you!" Her look of disbelief rolled smoothly to one of grief. Ailill's eyes were soon brimming, ready to spill over.

  Realization hit home almost at once; two fat crystalline tears rolled slowly down her smooth cheeks. "He wished to go. Because he kent that I was no longer there, that it would take the strength o' the Gentry to put a stop to the Black."

  "Aye, Ailill." Her grandmother leveled a gaze on the teary-eyed lass, her expression firm though not completely lacking in sympathy. "Tiernan kens ye too well, ar saighdear ruadh. He knew ye'd come if we told ye the full truth."

  "Aye, and so, despite the risks to our own, ye swore to say naught 'til the rage had died down a wee bit. Isn't that so?" Ailill stared hard into those prismatic eyes for a long moment. When she spoke again there was a tremor in her voice. "How has he fared... in my absence?"

  "He fares well enough. His body is fully healed, strengthened, though unused to wielding a claymoor after so long abed."

  "And his heart... how is that, after all that has happened?" Biting her lip hard to keep from crying, Ailill tensed at the slow shake of the woman's snowy head. Her eyes flicked briefly to the twin men, each staring at her warily. They were frightened by her reaction, discomposed by her tears, shed for another man. Sinking down slowly into her chair, Ailill said, "I mun ken all. What goes amiss, and what doesna. Ye ken it."

  Sighing deeply, Fallon sat forward, eyes closed. "Tiernan is a strong lad; he's pulled through the illness verra nicely, physically, but his heart aches daily. For you, Ailill. His reason for going to this battle is simple... ye have obligations other than constantly feuding o'er what is yours by rights, by birth and station. He wishes ye to hurry along wi' those duties, so that ye might return to him ere he dies o' a broken heart. Tiernan spent your eighteenth birthday at Inbhir Nàrann, lass...
alone and as miserable as any ha' seen him. That is the true reason MacDuff allowed him to go. Believe me when I say, Ailill, that your tutor doesna wish to see the firstson go through this. 'Tis why Jamie has been so uncharacteristically adamant since your return. It all comes back to love."

  The truth in the ancient's eyes was too much, her kindly spoken words did no good. Ailill felt the ragged edges of her heart crumbling bit by bit even as she carefully maintained her precise militaristic poise. She, as well, had spent her eighteenth birthday sitting alone on a beach, far from the picturesque Nairn; far from anyone who gave a damn. It had been the loneliest birthday of her life. But there was no time to dwell on heartache, on a birthday weeks past that had gone uncelebrated. "Whom did we lose?" she queried softly, shoulders stiffened against the expected blow to her sorely wounded pride.

  "Iain MacFayden, Keddy MacRitchie, Connor and Cullen MacCrimmon, Ewam Flannery, Angus Keir, Dalziel and Dugan Mackintosh, and Rafferty MacDougal." Fallon's tone was matter-of-fact, the names in the order they had been relayed to her; the order in which the men had died.

  A wash of tears spilled over in spite of her effort to stop them. It took many moments before Ailill could speak with any attempt at clarity. "Raffy was no but a wee laddie..." she choked out. "Hardly more than a wean. And the MacCrimmons... taught me to play the 'Mackintosh's Lament' when I was six."