by Hazel Hunter
Senga came over to take her in her arms, and made soothing noises as she led her toward her bed chamber. “We’ll get you into something dry and warm. Ennis, go and make the lass a warming brew.”
Chapter Twelve
THE THUD OF approaching hobnail boots in the outer passage distracted Quintus from the illuminated manuscript he was trying without success to decipher. He closed the ancient text and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d forgotten to feed again, but these days even his hunger for blood barely registered.
“Come in,” he called a moment after a knock sounded.
His prefect entered and pulled back his hood as he knelt and saluted. In his right hand he held one of the tiny scrolls used to relay messages from the mainland.
Quintus suspected it wouldn’t contain anything of interest to him, but he still had to act his part. “What is it?”
“A message sent by an ally of your predecessor, Tribune.” Strabo stood and offered the scroll.
Gaius Lucinius had made few friends outside the legion, and even fewer among his own men. Feeling a twinge of curiosity, Quintus took the scroll and unrolled it to read the small, delicate script inside. He read it twice more before he glared at Strabo.
“Has this been verified as genuine?”
“It has,” the prefect said and described an older druid hand-delivering the message to the enthralled mortal keeper of their messenger birds on the mainland.
Quintus eyed the signature on the scroll. “Are you familiar with this druid Daimh Haral?”
Strabo’s upper lip curled. “I know that our former tribune made a pact with the man to aid him in attacking an island settlement. For what purpose, I cannot tell you, but we carried out the raid, and killed every member of the tribe.”
“Except Haral,” Quintus corrected as he stroked his chin.
“Whatever the druid wants, I advise against entering into another pact,” Strabo said. “He is a traitor to his own kind. He would not hesitate to betray the legion.”
“Ah, but the reward he offers is one I find hard to ignore.” Taking pity on the prefect, he offered him the scroll. “See for yourself.”
Strabo’s good eye darted back and forth as he read the message. “He offers the McDonnel laird in exchange for the son of a mortal.” He met Quintus’s gaze. “Why would he want the child?”
“What does it matter to us?” He smiled a little. “If Haral could deliver the laird for such a modest price, I think we might at last find the highlanders’ stronghold. One night, one massive strike by the entire legion, and our enemy will finally pay for all they’ve done to us.”
“The entire legion is at quarter-strength, Tribune.” The prefect crumpled the scroll in his fist. “We barely match the McDonnel’s numbers, and we are easier to kill than they are. We cannot hope to prevail. It would be the end of us.”
A dull anger rose inside Quintus’s chest. “You forever mewl about protecting the men. This is how we do that—forever. When we destroy the clan, we will remove the only hindrance to taking Scotland and all its mortals for our own.”
“Half of the men have never engaged the McDonnels in battle,” Strabo persisted. “There is only so much I can train them to do. They have no real experience.”
The tribune shot to his feet and went toe-to-toe with the other man. “Are you a Roman soldier or a cringing woman?”
Strabo’s scarred mouth worked for a moment before he dropped his gaze. “I am a prefect of the Ninth. I do not cower. I do not run.”
Quintus deliberately put his hand on the unmarked side of Strabo’s face. “When I look at you, I see the endurance. The gods know you have suffered, as do I. I made you prefect to honor what you sacrificed. I have done all I can for you, and you sneer and caper and back step every time we are presented with risk. Where is your courage, Titus? Where is the centurion who served the legion with strength and honor? Did Freyja’s Eye burn it out of you along with half your face?”
Strabo’s mouth peeled back from his teeth, and he went down on his knees to prostrate himself. “I am your man, Tribune. My heart and my sword are yours. Give the word, and I shall see it done.”
Quintus didn’t hear anything but sincerity in his voice and his posture. At the same time, he thought Strabo had said and done exactly what a high-ranking officer whose loyalty was in doubt would do to preserve his own hide.
“This is how it will be: we will take the child, and secure the capture of Lachlan McDonnel,” Quintus told him. “Once we have him, we will use him to get to the rest of the clan, and eliminate them all. Then, Prefect, we will have the world to enthrall.”
Strabo lifted his scarred face, and produced a convincing if grotesque smile. “As you command, Tribune.”
Outside the tribune’s door Bryn moved from her listening post down the passage, taking care to tread silently until she was out of earshot. The guards she and Strabo had instructed to keep watch inclined their heads as she passed them. She would have felt joyous, had she still been able to feel anything but deep, abiding loathing for Quintus Seneca.
Bryn returned to the training area, and used her mortal thralls to summon her ladies to her private chamber. The tribune had provided her with all the luxuries and comforts that a courtesan might desire, but Bryn didn’t care for the rich silk gowns and costly furnishings. Her bed slave, an eager young sailor she kept naked and chained by the hearth, roused from his sleep and immediately grew erect.
“My goddess.” He crawled over, his swelling penis bobbing as he tried to kiss her bare feet. “Permit me see to yer pleasure, I beg ye.”
At first his perpetual adoration and desire had amused Bryn, who had been well-used but never loved. Now it simply drove home yet another reminder of what Quintus Seneca had taken from her along with her mortal life.
“I might have found a widower wanting a companion,” she told her thrall as she idly wound a piece of her hair around her finger. “A rich old man with no family, who would have appreciated my skills, and left me his fortune. There were some who came through my village.”
The sailor nodded eagerly. “Aye, Mistress, for ye are a beauty rare. None could resist ye.”
She glanced down at him as he spread kisses all over her foot. “Dinnae make me kill you tonight.”
Her ladies arrived a short time later, and she sent the thrall out to be fed. She checked that the hallway was empty, then closed and bolted the door before turning to the other women.
“Quintus Seneca and Titus Strabo are squabbling over a druid who offers the McDonnel laird to them,” Bryn said. “If they strike a bargain, they’ll have to leave Staffa to make the exchange.”
Gerda and Jean, both of whom had been badly used as thralls, exchanged a look.
“It could be our chance,” Gerda said, her dark eyes sparkling.
“We must take it,” Jean agreed, as the other ladies nodded.
“Aye,” Bryn said. “’Twould seem our time soon arrives, but first we must make ready. Begin selecting the newly-arrived and enthrall them. Have them bring enough food and water to keep them alive for a moon.”
Gerda frowned. “Won’t they be missed by the procurer, Mistress?”
“I’ve seen to it that Strabo will deal with him,” Bryn said and looked around the room at the determined faces of her ladies. “Remember to be generous with the men. We cannae have them doubting for a moment our devotion to their pricks.”
“At least I dinnae have to fack Strabo,” Jean said, grimacing. “I cannae envy you that, Mistress.”
“Aye, for he looks like a leper, and swives like a bull,” Bryn said and smiled at her. “But his true hunger is for the tribune’s heart, buried around his dagger.”
“Do you think he’ll kill Seneca for us, Mistress?” one of the younger whores asked.
“If he has the moment to strike, perhaps,” Bryn said. “But we dinnae need any man to do our work or bring us pleasure, do we, my sisters?”
Chapter Thirteen
CATRIONA WOKE TO th
e sound of the endless whistling of the dotterels’ morning song from the garden. Spending most of the night tossing and turning had left her feeling even more tired than when she’d gone to bed. She glanced up at the shelves of all the toys Ennis had carved for her, which she still sometimes took down to hold. Each lovingly-whittled wooden figure eerily matched some creature she loved from the island. As a wee lass she would pile them on her bed at night, clutching a hare or a duck as she wept herself to sleep.
On the walls of her room Senga had painted the rolling fields of the glen, framed by oaks and scattered with wildflowers. The colors had faded now, but Catriona still found them a comfort. During those first months her new family had done so much to make her feel at home in this strange place, but wooden animals and painted glens couldn’t replace the island.
She would have to forget it, and find contentment here, where she was loved and wanted.
As Catriona stretched, her sensitive breasts pressed against the soft old night dress, and a mild ache welled between her thighs. The reminders of Gavin made her pull a pillow over her hot face. She’d given herself to him willingly, and had discovered pleasures she hadn’t known existed. She wouldn’t feel shamed over that.
Getting out of her childhood bed and dressing for the day had her finding marks from Gavin’s loving all over her fair skin. The little love bites and whisker burn made her sigh as she covered them. She’d carry more than memories with her for the next week. In a strange way she felt almost branded by him, as if the marks would turn into ink and become permanent, even if they were just in her memory.
’Tis done, Catriona thought as she touched a tingling spot on the side of her neck. I’ve naught to regret.
In the front room Ennis and Senga were having their morning meal, and smiled at her as she retrieved a bowl and filled it from the pot of oatmeal on the table.
“I’ve a new mint blend,” Ennis told her as he poured a mug of fragrant brew for her. “With a pinch of honeysuckle and verbena, to give it sweetness.”
Catriona took a sip and sighed. “’Tis very good.” She met his gaze. “But you neednae dose me with mint. I’m calm now.” She picked up her spoon, and idly stirred her oatmeal.
“That’s the face you gave us when you brought the neighbor’s cow herd into the yard,” Senga said. “Two hundred head, milling about you like happy kids as they ate their way through the garden. I reckon that was when we ken what we’d taken on.” Her expression softened. “Happily, lass. You’ve been a joy.”
“I didnae know what a garden was,” Catriona admitted. “You were very patient with me.” As they were now, waiting for her to confide in them.
“You look exhausted,” Ennis said and frowned. “There’s a bruise on your neck, too. Did you have a fall?”
“No, I…I dinnae wish to burden you.” She tugged at her collar to cover the spot, and felt her cheeks pinking. “I need work. I wonder if the cows still like me. Mayhap I should go to work at the dairy.”
Ennis reached across the table to touch her hand. “You can trust us, Moggy, whatever it might be.”
“Aye, I do. ’Tis just…I’ve been foolish.” She could keep it to herself, for they’d only worry more if they knew, but Ennis and Senga were more than family. They were the keepers of all her secrets. “Since last I visited, a man came to build a house on the island. A highlander.”
Catriona told them of Gavin, and how she’d tried at first to discourage him from settling on Everbay. How she’d felt when he’d crossed the barrier, and how quickly her feelings had grown from curiosity to longing. The way she had tried to help him learn the ways of the island, and how she had nearly betrayed herself and her secrets to him at the falls.
“I told him naught, but I gave myself to him before I left,” she said finally, ducking her head. “I wanted to have just one time to remember.” She looked up to see Senga frowning. “I ken ’twas wrong to be with a man unmarried. But I’m no’ a bairn anymore. I’m a woman now, and I cannae have a love of my own here nor on the island. I dare no’.”
“You love him, then?” the other woman asked.
“If I were free to, aye. I would. I would make him happy again.” She cradled her mug between her cold hands. “He works on a fisher, where he has friends. Friends who would talk of me, their Blue Lady.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “And Daimh would come for me and finish it.”
“So, you left this highlander no’ kenning where you’d gone?” Senga said and shook her head. “He’ll be driving himself mad now, looking for you. Lass, there’s naught crueler than that.”
“I didnae mean to hurt him.” She looked to Ennis for support. “His heart belongs to another. For him, ’twas but a dalliance.”
“If he’s as honorable as you’ve said, I think no’,” he said gently. “A man like that wouldnae rest until he found you again. If he’s druid kind, and found the portal… Lass, you were a bairn when you came here. Think what might happen if this man did, even by chance.”
The thought of Gavin enduring the terror of the first crossing through the portal made her heart skip a beat. Doubtless he would come out fighting, here in a place where no one could defend themselves against such a man.
“You must tell the highlander everything,” Senga said firmly. “All of it. Then hear what he’ll say, and who has his heart now.”
“You could bring him here with you,” Ennis suggested before Catriona could reply. “We’d help you both to settle, you ken that. And you’d both be safe from Daimh.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “You’d do that for me?”
“We prayed for a child, but were never blessed until you came out of that hayrick,” Senga told her. “You’re as much our daughter as you are Tavish and Isela’s child. Of course we would.”
All of her troubles unraveled as she realized it was the perfect solution. “But do I tell him about the portal, and you, or bring him through and then explain?”
“He wouldnae believe you,” Ennis said wryly. “Bring him here first. He’s a highlander, so ’twill no’ all be strange to him.”
A raven landed on the sill of the open window by the table, reminding Catriona of what she’d forgotten. “I’ve a nestling to return to the cliffs, and I would bring back some things from the village that belonged to my family. I’ll stay the night, and return on the morrow.” She let out a breath, and grinned at her family. “I dinnae ken how to thank you for this.”
“Leave his weapons on the island,” Senga advised her. “I dinnae fancy facing down a highlander who wields a dirk and cudgel.”
Gavin emerged from the brush and held his torch aloft as he scanned the muddy ground again. The flickering light revealed that the rain at dawn had washed away his own tracks, so he had no hope of finding Catriona’s. He had bellowed her name so often his voice had been reduced to a raw rasp.
Where could she be? Had she fallen and knocked herself out? Had he terrified her into leaving? How had she gotten off the island?
It was his own facking fault. If he hadn’t fallen asleep under the tree, this wouldn’t have happened. He’d have gone after her as soon as he’d realized she wasn’t coming back.
Gavin retraced his steps to the falls, and stared down into the churning pool as he went over everything in his head again. Yes, she’d been upset when she’d run out of the cave, and even after she’d calmed down she’d told him she was leaving. That had been the final straw for him, that and the good-bye kiss. He’d snapped, and poured all his frustrations and longings over her. He’d shown her exactly how he’d felt but she’d responded so freely and beautifully.
It couldn’t be the sex that had driven her from him. He’d given her the chance to walk away and she hadn’t. Everything that had happened after that had been by choice—hers and his.
It was something to do with the damned cave.
He went to the hidden entrance and walked through the cascade that hid it. He shielded the torch with his jacket, trying to preserve the flame. Insi
de the murky little recess, the torch dimmed then flared, showing him more of the interior than he’d seen. He saw a small pallet with old linens and blankets, and the scratched stick-figures on the walls.
She must have hidden in here before, when her uncle had chased her. The thought of Catriona as a little girl, concealing herself here long enough to nearly starve, made his stomach turn.
Tired and heartsick, he sat down and leaned back against the wall. This was where she’d slept, he guessed, on the pallet huddled under a wool blanket. She couldn’t have been very old to fit, perhaps a young child. The math began to add up in his head. Catriona looked to be in her mid- to late-twenties. Twenty years ago, she would have been a young child.
Twenty years ago, the undead had come to the island and massacred the druid tribe that had lived here.
Something caught Gavin’s eye, and he shifted the torch to illuminate the wall beside him. She’d etched another drawing on this wall. It was much larger than the other, and showed the stick figures of her tribe being throttled, bitten and torn apart by other figures with traces of chalk in their lines. Of course, chalk to make the undead figures white. She must have witnessed the massacre and etched it in the stone. Not for her own amusement, but so there would be a record of it. Now he understood the terror that had kept her so isolated and private about her life.
Catriona must have been a member of the tribe that had been wiped out.
Making that connection explained so much Gavin hadn’t understood. Her initial fear of him, and the strange accusations she’d made. She’d lived in so much terror that she had been in hiding her entire life. The village in the glen with its protective barrier was just a larger version of the falls cave. He’d done nothing since coming here but lure her out of the only place she’d felt safe.
Gavin would have slammed his head back against the stone wall, but knocking himself out wouldn’t help him find Catriona. He had gone to his cottage, the village and walked the shoreline. He’d searched every inch of the forest around the falls. He needed to be more methodical now. She wouldn’t have only two hiding spots on the island. As frightened as she was of being found there would be others. She’d disappeared from the trail to the pool, so he’d follow that, and see if it branched away from the falls. He might find her in another cave in the cliffs.