Highland Fire (Guardians of the Stone)

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  For a moment, she watched the girl’s dark form creep up the hillside... alone, her bright red cloak fluttering behind her in the wind. And then, with a satisfied smile, she blew upon the milky stone in her staff…

  Her breath warm against the night, she blew until the mist coalesced about her lips. After a moment, she puffed it away, and continued to blow softly… until the cold night fog slipped like a protective blanket over the entire hillside.

  Down below, for an instant, before she was obscured from view by the lowering mist, Lìli froze, her arisaid swinging about as she peered in Una’s direction… as though sensing she was being watched. Unbidden, the girl’s gaze lifted to the tabled rock, and it was then Una knew for certain as she turned and hurried up the hillside… some day… aye, Lìli would be The One.

  Prickles traveled the length of the old woman’s spine, despite that her old bones could no longer feel the cold, and she felt gratified to the depths of her soul. Relief wound its way through the tangled coils of her mind, freeing her from worry.

  Nay, they had not spoken since yestereve... since before the king’s missive had arrived, but she sensed in her heart that Lìli would do what was right. This would not be the end … for even with the wind whispering through the crags, she did not hear Caoineag’s weeping.

  Not tonight.

  The storm seemed to have descended without warning.

  With each step along the ridge, Rogan’s boots sank deeper into the frozen ground. If that weren’t enough, a carpet of mist swept over the landscape, tangling about his feet, obscuring them from view. The whiteout did not alarm him—he was a Highlander to his bones. But the color of the moon gave him pause, for despite his men’s complaints about the ominous place they had made camp, and despite his assurances that the fields behind them held no more magic than his little toe, it gave him a strange sense of malaise. It would all be over soon, he assured himself, as he paced the camp, ignoring the quiet shivers and the worried looks of his men.

  Lest they attract attention coming up the mount—and set Aidan’s entire clan of barbarians upon them—he had brought only six armed warriors… it was too late to worry over their numbers.

  His choices had been plain: Ignore Lìli’s summons and keep his arse behind Keppenach’s walls, but he was not a coward; come armed to the teeth with his army, though he realized Aidan’s men would outnumber his still and, more, they knew this terrain better than he did; or finally, steal up the mount with a handful of trusted men and keep the child near. He knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Lìli would never endanger her son.

  Even now, one of his men held a knife at the boy’s back, and Lìli must know he would not hesitate to command the deed done. He had little love for the brat.

  If there was one thing Rogan knew about Lìli it was that she was incapable of lying. Aveline had further convinced him of that with her tearful promises: Lìli had discovered something significant here at Dubhtolargg. What it was Rogan did not know because Lìli had apparently refused to speak of her discovery to Aveline. But there was something… And just to make certain Aveline’s tongue was not forked, he had driven the blade of his dirk into each of her fingernails—until she had screamed with pain, beseeching him to stop.

  Never again would the bitch defy him.

  He would never have allowed her to be a vessel for his children. The very thought sickened him. She was no good to him there at Keppenach anymore, and when and if they discovered her body, they would mistake her bloodied nails for a desperate attempt to free herself from the wooden prison he had confined her to.

  But they wouldn’t find her.

  With his half-dozen men he had stolen up the mountain pass, careful to keep to the shadows in the crags. Once here, he had refused to light a fire, despite the cold, for they would not tarry here overlong. He had ushered the child into the remainder of an ancient cairn, just to shut his complaints over the biting wind. Peering out from the ruins, the boy sat, looking blue, shivering beneath the light of the full moon shining down through the cairn’s open roof. Cast with the red of the moon, he had a devil’s face that was unnerving his men. Would that he could kill the boy and simply be done.

  “D-d’ ye th-think she’ll come?” worried one of his men, stuttering over his half-frozen tongue.

  In answer, Rogan swung about to peer down the mountain path, turning his back to his men. “Of course she’ll come,” he said, more to himself. “She sought this meeting, did she not?”

  But the night was black, revealing not a single torchlight below. The vale appeared from the ridge much like a black hole, except for the moon’s reflection upon the distant loch.

  “W-what if ’tis a trap?” fretted another.

  Rogan did not care that the child could overhear. “Then we slit the boy’s throat,” he said his voice devoid of emotion. He was not so much fazed by the cold, because vengeance gave him sustenance. Their weakness annoyed him, and he cursed them for all fools, wondering why he could not find good men to garrison his keep.

  Where the hell was she?

  Lìli would not leave her son out here to suffer the cold overlong… that he knew. And when she came, he only intended to linger long enough to glean whatever information she thought to barter, and then he would take both her and her brat child back to Keppenach, where they belonged, and he would use the information she gave him to curry favor with the king—and her child to keep her in line.

  He watched the mountain path closely with his back to the Faerie Glen, knowing instinctively that these superstitious folk would never come that way—and since Rogan did not believe in ghoulies, neither would faeries or brownies. He’d hidden their horses just beyond the cairn. And finally he was rewarded. Down below, a flurry of red caught his eye, and he grinned.

  The rest of his men spied Lìli’s cloak, whipping blood-red in the wind, but her face was not yet visible. “Ach! W-what if it b-be a doonie?”

  Their gullible minds no doubt imagined all manner of brollachans in the swirling snow. Twas little wonder they saw shape-shifting brownies instead of a bonnie familiar face. Rogan cast them a quelling glance, and smiled and said in a tongue he knew they did not understand, “Toll-tòin.” Arse hole. “We’ll be on our way afore long.”

  Wind and snow whipped Lìli’s face, obscuring the way uphill, but she had walked this way a thousand times in her mind. Knowing her son must be just beyond the rise made her skin prickle with excitement and fear. If aught went awry, Kellen could be the one to pay the price.

  To her surprise, Rogan had not responded to Aidan’s letter at all, but she knew him well enough to know that he would be here despite that fact, for he would wish to possess the one thing Lìli claimed David would covet even more than Aidan’s death.

  Aye, but she had already decided she would never give it to him.

  In her hand, she carried a gift of uisge—the stoutest batch she could find in their stores—enough for Rogan and all the men he may have brought to drink themselves into a stupor, especially considering that it was drogued.

  The cold froze her nose and snow peppered her lashes, but she brushed the flakes away and kept marching, knowing that there was no turning back now. Whatever was to come, her path was set.

  Despite the mist and blinding snow, she found Rogan’s camp easily enough. The men’s silver armor winked under the moonlight. Aidan would think their armor an abomination, she knew, but she was glad for it tonight. And because she was looking for him, she spied her son, shivering inside the cairn. Seeing her, Kellen stood at once, looking first to Rogan and then to Lìli. Lìli wanted only to hold him in that instant and for a dazed moment, she could think of nothing else. His sweet face appeared just the same as it had the day she had left him, though his eyes were haunted and full of fear.

  “Lìli!” Rogan said in greeting, and offered her a tentative hug. Lìli forced herself to allow it, and even hugged him back, but not with much feeling, lest he suspect. “Please… first I must see my son,” she insisted,
and made her way toward the cairn.

  Rogan held her back by the crook of her arm and she forced a smile. “What is this?” he asked, lifting her hand and along with it the jug of uisge.

  She gave him a wan smile. “I brought a bit o’ warmth,” she said. “And ye may have it only once I have seen my son.” She met his gaze with a practiced look that revealed naught.

  With his free hand, he took the jug, laughing low, but he would not let her go.

  “Please, Rogan! I must see my son. I’ve missed him so!”

  He released his hold suddenly and she tugged her arm away and ran to Kellen. He hurled his little body into her arms, crying out, “Mama!”

  Lìli choked back a sob. He had not called her by that name since he was but three. “Kellen, Kellen, my sweet little boy!” She set him down and looked him squarely in the face, examining him, pulling his cloak up about his neck. “Are ye well?” she asked, noting he was a bit gaunt.

  He nodded jerkily, and realizing that Rogan was right behind her, listening, she added quickly, “Tomorrow we will go home, you and I.”

  “To Keppenach?” he asked, his dark eyes full of confusion.

  “Aye,” she swore. “To Keppenach. And then mayhap to see your grandminny, for I know she would love to meet her only grandchild.”

  A grin broke across her son’s face. “Ach, mama! It worked!” His eyes sparkled as he unfurled his hand between them, revealing the little talisman he had found that day out in her garden. The tiny stone was black as coal against the paleness of his hand. Snow fell between them, tangling in his lashes, alighting upon red cheeks that puffed suddenly with a grin.

  He shivered from the cold and Lìli’s heart nearly broke. She nodded, choking back another sob, and closed his hand so he could hold it secured, knowing that the hardest of her lies were yet to come.

  Behind her, Rogan sniffed the cork, watching them closely. The man who had been guarding Kellen within the Cairn stepped out, a gleaming knife in his hand. His smile had missing teeth.

  “You were ever a horrid liar,” Rogan said. “Di’ ye think to bribe me with a gift of uisge, Lìli?”

  Lìli stood, clutching her son before him, pulling her arisaid about his shoulders to keep him warm. “Nay, but I bring good tidings,” she swore, hitching her chin with false bravado and watching nervously as Rogan examined the jug. “Once you hear it, you may in truth wish to drink a toast,” she suggested.

  His eyes glittered through the darkness. “So I am told.”

  Lìli silently counted the men he had brought with him, far fewer than she might have guessed—six if all were present and accounted for. Their horses must be hidden somewhere else.

  As she watched, Rogan made his way to one of his men and offered the man the jug. “Ye look cauld,” he said to the man. “Take a wee dram.”

  The man looked first to Lìli, his look full of suspicion, and then to the jug, accepting it though reluctantly. He hesitated and Rogan commanded him, “Drink!”

  Shuddering, the poor man nodded and gave Lìli another wary glance.

  Lìli prayed the drogue was not so strong it would bring him to his knees at once. It would not kill him, but if he fell into the snow and no one warmed his bones, he would surely die from the cold.

  The man pulled the jug away from Rogan. He bit the cork out with his teeth and spat it out, then took a long chug, and brought the jug away and wiped his mouth. For a long moment, Lìli ceased to breathe. She held her son close, her heart beating frantically as Rogan’s man stood looking at her, cradling the uisge jug before him.

  When it seemed he was unaffected, Rogan turned to her at last, his eyes glittering dangerously. “So then, what is it ye believe to be so momentous that David may wish to spare your dún Scoti’s life?”

  Again Lìli lifted her chin, eyeing the man with the jug. As long as there was still a chance Rogan might drink from it, and that she might slip away with her son without bloodshed, she intended to continue playing her role. “First, I would beg safe passage to my father’s home. No matter what he says he feels for me, the instant Aidan realizes I have betrayed him, he will kill me, and I have no place else to go.”

  Rogan seemed to like the sound of that, for he smiled, and Lìli shivered, more afraid than cold. She felt her son’s shivers beneath her cloak and knew he could not remain out here so long without a fire. Rogan’s camp was dark and cold. It was clear to her that he did not intend to stay long, and her minutes were numbered.

  “Tell ye what I’d do, Lìli,” Rogan offered after a moment, bartering with her. “If I like what ye have to say, I will indeed send ye home to your Da… that is, if Padruig will have ye. And if nay… then ye may still have a place as the lady of Keppenach. Does that suit ye?”

  Lìli blinked. She commanded herself to breathe. But the possibility of being trapped under Rogan’s roof for even a single day made her stomach clench. Unwittingly, she pressed her fingers into her son’s shoulders, clutching him hard. He didn’t protest, for he too was watching Rogan. Rogan was like an adder loose in a room, dangerous and ready to strike with a deadly bite.

  “Aye,” Lìli agreed. But in her peripheral, she saw the man who had drunk the uisge waver on his feet, and she stifled a gasp.

  Rogan laughed, not yet noticing the man whose shoulders teetered. “So then… what is it ye may know that could change the fate o’ the world?”

  Lìli inhaled a deep breath, and began to speak, but the man who had drunk the potion dropped the jug suddenly. Soundlessly, it sank into the snow, melting ice as it drained liquid fire at his feet. Without a word, the man followed the jug, crumbling to his knees.

  Rogan’s gaze cut to his fallen man.

  Lìli held her son close, ready to fight unto her last breath.

  Aidan realized Lìli could not see him through the billowing drifts.

  He and his men waited in the forbidden fields, knowing the Scots would not expect them to violate the Faerie Glen. Most men believed that to do so invited the wrath of the gods.

  Painted white to camouflage horse and rider against the weather, seven riders sat upon pale horses, white mares born to this terrain and trained to ride over these craggy bluffs. The Scots and English might prefer geldings, but Aidan’s warriors preferred spirited mares, with bloodlines as pure and old as theirs, mares who did not look at each other with bloodlust in their eyes during battle. Sleek and sturdy, they were a warrior’s greatest ally, alongside the kinsman fighting at his back.

  He and Lael shared a glance. The handles of his sister's knives were covered with skins to keep the cold from icing them to her fingers and so their shine would not betray them under the moonlight, but tonight it wouldn’t have mattered, for the red shadow that had embraced the moon was not bright enough to pierce the billowing snow and mist. They didn’t speak, but he knew she would play her part. His sister was as capable a warrior as any of his men.

  In the distance, he saw the dark outline of a man topple to his knees and then plant himself face down into the snow. Fifteen more warriors were climbing the bluff below to block their retreat. He must know they were in place before he gave the signal, but they were out of time. Rage burned within his breast as he gave his warriors the sign to attack…

  Lìli's heart jumped at the sight of the pale riders emerging from the mist.

  They came out of the darkness, looking like white demons on ghostly steeds, with blue war paint smeared across their white-painted faces.

  She threw open her cloak and screamed. “Run, Kellen! Run!” She pushed her son in the direction he should go. But for an instant, he faltered, reluctant to leave, and Lìli’s eyes pleaded with him to go.

  Growling like an angered beast, Rogan fell upon her then, and only then did Kellen run.

  Lìli saw the eyes of the rider who rode after her son, green and sparkling with vengeance. Her black hair concealed by silver-wolf furs, she met Lìli’s gaze only an instant before she rode toward Kellen and scooped him up into her arms without haltin
g in her stride.

  Kellen screamed, but Lìli could not reassure him, for Rogan dragged her to her feet and set his blade to her throat as her husband’s horse came to a halt before them, showering them with snow from beneath his horse’s hooves.

  Immense pride brought tears to her eyes and she did not feel the slice of Rogan’s blade against her skin, nor the words Aidan spoke to him, for her ears were pounding with the beat of her own heart and her eyes were clouded with tears. She met Aidan’s gaze, telling him with her eyes not to cow before this demon among men. If she must die tonight, it was a fate she accepted, for she knew now that her son would be safe. Tears brimmed in her eyes, frozen for an instant…

  The moon slid completely behind its shadow, and it was as though God blinked. Even the sound of her heartbeat quieted in that instant. If this would be the end, she would not allow the words to remain unsaid. Her heart constricted painfully. “Tha gaol agam ort,” she whispered.

  The words hung between them, neither here nor there, frozen like the mist in the air.

  Shrieking in outrage, Rogan saw his men—all four who had remained—abandon him. No doubt they believed the dún Scoti to be demons arisen from the Faerie Glen.

  Lying bitch—she had betrayed him!

  One of his men lay face down in the snow—poisoned by the whore in his arms. He had trusted her word enough to lessen his numbers by one—had thought her so virtuous that she could not have lied to save her life. But there he was, face down in the snow, and Rogan refused to take responsibility for the man's downfall, no matter that he had been the one to hand him the jug. Another man was cut down before he could lift his sword from his scabbard.

  Hearing Lìli’s words were the final blow to his injured pride, and he smacked her hard against the temple with the hilt of his claymore as Aidan dún Scoti descended from the saddle into the snow.

  By God, if he would die tonight, he would die like a Scotsman, not a coward!