Gavin

by Hazel Hunter

  Catriona stopped at the barrier, and said to the laird, “Since you are no’ druid kind, my lord, you must hold your lady’s hand to pass through the boundary.” She turned to Cailean, who looked so woeful she almost felt sorry for him.

  On the other side of the barrier the laird, his lady and the druid stopped as they saw the village it had concealed.

  “I have been coming back a long time now, since the first year after I crossed over to the future,” Catriona confessed. She smiled as the animals began to emerge from the cottages to peer at the strangers. “I ken it seems strange, but the undead had torn apart the place. I couldnae forget what they did, no matter how many flowers I planted, so I pleased myself and my animal friends.”

  Gavin put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s beautiful, Cat.”

  The young druid said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her at all.

  “Cailean put in place the spell barrier around your village in his last life,” Kinley said in a low voice. “Seeing it now is likely bringing back bad memories.” She smiled as a pair of the leverets came bouncing over to her. “Aw, baby rabbits. How adorable.”

  Catriona could see now the face of the old druid in that of the younger. He kept darting looks at her, too, and twisting his hands in a nervous manner. “Come inside, my lady, and I’ll make up that brew. Gavin?”

  “We’ll follow in a moment,” her lover told her.

  Inside the cottage she led Kinley to her hearth, where she started a fire and then went to fetch water from the kitchen urn for the brew pot. She had blended several types of herbs and flowers for her brews, and selected a sack with sorrel, red clover blossoms, nettles and dried, slightly-overripe cloudberries for sweetness. To that she added a bit of chamomile, which would help ease tensions.

  It surprised her that she didn’t feel more nervous. Gavin had been the only visitor she’d ever welcomed to Everbay, and now she was making brew for three strangers as if nothing were amiss. But she sensed the laird and his wife had spoken the truth, and she already liked Kinley, whose frankness reminded her of Senga. Even if the druid was not to be trusted, he had attended to her tribe. If nothing else, she could be courteous to him.

  Catriona made up her brew pot with the blend and carried it and every mug she possessed out on a tray to the table by the hearth. There she saw Kinley with a lap full of leverets. “You’ve made new friends.”

  “They kept jumping on me until I picked them up. I am never going to be able to eat Meg’s rabbit stew again.” She stroked one small head as she watched Catriona fill the hearth pot. “The boys will probably stay outside to bicker until the downpour starts, so I hope you put something calming in the brew.”

  Catriona nodded. “Chamomile.” She busied herself with adding wood to build up the fire. “I took him back with me today to meet my family. His disease returned as soon as we arrived, and he fell very sick.” She met Kinley’s gaze. “He cannae live in his own time again.”

  “Neither can I.” The other woman described the massive injuries and disfigurement she’d suffered during her service, and how she’d been dying just before she’d fallen into the portal. “I was trying to wheel myself over a cliff when I dropped into your time. I had nothing left, and I wasn’t interested in a slow, painful death. After I came here I was completely healthy, but then I had to go back to my time. When I came out of the portal I reverted back to the injured and dying soldier I’d been.”

  “So you and Gavin are the same.” It made Catriona’s stomach tighten.

  “Yes. There’s more, too. Jema told me Gavin mentioned committing suicide just before they fell through the dig.” Kinley scratched one of the baby hares behind its small ears. “Jema wasn’t sick, but since her twin brother was, she had a very good chance at also developing ALS. It’s also always fatal. Diana happened to be dying of a brain tumor when she came here, and Rachel had been stabbed in the back, paralyzed, and was bleeding to death. You mentioned something about how you would have died if those people hadn’t found you in the future.”

  “I’d nearly starved while I hid from Uncle, and waited for my mother,” Catriona admitted.

  The mother hare came in and looked up expectantly at Kinley, who gently began placing the leverets one by one on the floor. “We all have druid blood, we were all facing death, and coming here saved our lives. In your case, same thing, just with you going to the future. What am I missing.”

  Now she understood. “None of us chose to cross over the first time. ’Twas the sacred oaks that took us. But why? Surely no’ simply because we are druid kind.”

  “I think if that were the case, there’d be a lot more of us.” Kinley frowned at the window. “That’s odd. It’s getting dark already.”

  “The storm is blocking out the sun.” Catriona filled the brew pot to let it steep as she went to look out at the men. Gavin and the laird had walked to the edge of the village nearest the shore, while the druid stood watching the sky and murmuring something to himself. The sunlight had all but disappeared, but she recalled the rainbow that had stretched over Gavin’s cottage, and how deeply it had moved her.

  A circle soon would close, but how?

  Kinley joined her. “Don’t mind Cailean. He’s pretty upset. The boy who was stolen is his son.”

  And he the druid who had cast the barrier around the village. He, too, was part of the circle, Catriona thought. “Was it Uncle who took the lad?”

  “We’re not sure, but Daimh may be involved.” Kinley frowned as the laird and Gavin trotted back and with Cailean hurried for the cottage. “Oh, crap. I think we’ve got new problems.”

  The men entered just as the rain began to fall. Catriona saw the grim expressions of her lover and the laird, and the druid’s blanched face, and knew they were in great danger even before Lachlan spoke.

  “We spotted four black ships sailing in fast from the west,” he said. “They’ll reach the island within the hour. We cannae fight so many Romans without the clan. Catriona, you and Kinley will come with me back to Dun Aran, where you’ll be safe. Cailean and Gavin will wait here in the village until I bring back my men.”

  She shook her head. “I willnae leave Gavin.”

  “And I’m sure as hell not going to run back to the castle,” the laird’s wife said, sounding just as firm. “You can use the spring in the glen to go get the guys. It’s closer than the grove. I’ll hold the fort here.” She waited and watched him. “You know it makes sense.”

  From the grim expression he wore, Catriona suspected the laird did indeed ken it.

  Lachlan seized Kinley, kissed her ruthlessly, and then touched his brow to hers. “Stay alive, Wife.” He gave Gavin a long look before he dashed out into the rain.

  “If Daimh is with them, then the barrier willnae hold them off,” Catriona said. “I’ve no weapons I can offer you, and they will be too many for three to stand against them. There is a cave beneath the waterfall where I hid when they last came, and they never found me.” She gasped as Kinley’s hands suddenly burst into flames. “My lady.”

  “Forgot to mention, I have a built-in weapon.” She shook out the flames, and her pale, slim hands appeared unmarked. “I can hold them back for a bit. They catch fire and burn pretty easily, but we need a better defensive position.”

  “The cliffs,” Gavin said. “They’ll no’ be able to come in from behind us, and if we’re overrun we can go through the tunnel and use the grove to escape.”

  “We cannae leave without Danyel,” Cailean said suddenly.

  “Lachlan and the clan will do their best to save your son,” Kinley said, and then jumped as the cottage door burst open and her soaking-wet husband came inside. “That was quick, even for you, sweetheart.”

  “I couldnae use the spring to leave. The water within has turned to black stone.” He regarded the druid. “’Tis your doing, lad? For we’ll no’ survive this without the clan.”

  “No, my lord, I swear to you.” He swayed on his feet as if he were about to colla
pse, and clutched at Gavin’s arm. “The McDonnels are the hope to save my son. And if Danyel is killed, then your lady and Diana–” As if horrified at what came out of him, Cailean pressed a shaking hand to his mouth.

  “If they’d wanted your son dead, they’d have killed him in his crib,” Gavin said to the druid. “Why would they bring him all this way to the island?”

  “I don’t know,” Kinley said flatly. “But in a couple of hours the sun is going to set. Then we’ll be up to our ears in undead. So, let’s figure this out. How do we get the clan here before the Romans come for us? What do we do to get Danyel away from them?”

  Outside the cottage the rain stopped, and all of the sunlight abruptly vanished, plunging the entire island into complete darkness.

  “Freyja’s Eye,” Gavin said, snarling the words.

  “No, lad,” the laird said. “The goddess herself took back that cursed gem.”

  Catriona felt as if her bones had turned to ice, but she forced herself to walk outside, and look up at the sky. An enormous, seething black disc hung where the sun should have been, and as she stared at it Gavin came to join her.

  “We dinnae have until sunset,” she told him in a strained whisper, and pressed her hand against her midriff. “’Twillnae be one. ’Tis Uncle. He’s done this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  WHEN QUINTUS SENECA sailed off to collect the McDonnel laird, Bryn had remained on the cliffs until the black ship disappeared from view. Although she’d suspected they could no longer see her, she’d continued to wave her kerchief in the air like a hopeful lover. Quintus had taken all of his fellow Romans with him, leaving behind the newly-turned and woefully-trained. Since no one of real value to him remained, he’d given her complete authority over the stronghold.

  All this, thanks to Titus Strabo’s recommendation, bless his blackened heart.

  For the rest of that night she made her preparations in her chambers, and had her ladies spread their favors liberally among the garrison to keep the soldiers that remained busy and out of her way. As she worked she dreamed of what she might do once she’d accomplished her purpose. She could take her ladies back to the mainland on one of the black ships, and set up a new, all-female lair in some town with deep cellars and rich men. She might enthrall a noble, have him marry her—in a midnight ceremony, of course—and live as a grand lady by night, holding gatherings and balls so she could have her pick of the local mortals on which to feed.

  The possibilities tantalized her, but only one truly satisfied: becoming the first female tribune of the Ninth Legion, with an army of undead females to command, and holding pens filled with enslaved male mortals they could use like whores.

  It amused her to think of such fancies, for she would dearly love to see the bastarts who had been abusing females all their miserable lives being forced to perform as they were, with all the humiliation it entailed. She could not guess how many nights the black ship would be away, however, and she could not let this one chance at revenge slip through her fingers before it returned.

  The madness that burbled inside her like a black fountain would surely settle then.

  The following night Bryn went to the kitchens. The cooks had already returned to their quarters for the night, so the large hall stood empty. Through it she walked until she entered the store room, where the meat, grains and fruits used to feed the island’s mortals were kept. There she moved aside a sack of dried apples in the corner to reveal a niche in the wall, from which she took the bottle she had labelled as whiskey and filled the night before with her special brew.

  Bryn uncorked the bottle but took care to keep it well away from her nose. The infusion she’d made of wolfsbane root and other, very lethal herbs could do as much damage when breathed in as it would when eaten or drunk. Seeing the colorless tincture made her smile fondly. It always brought back a memory of her father’s shop in the village. As a bairn she had sat and watched him carefully preparing his potions and poultices for the local laird and his household. The wealthy paid dearly for their treatments, her da had told her, when all they needed was to cease their excesses.

  A pity the facking Romans had never learned that.

  Bryn held the tincture at arm’s length to tip it over a plate of chopped vegetables and smoked meat, and sprinkled them well. She then returned the bottle to its hiding spot, covered the plate with a thick cloth, and carried it to her private chamber.

  There her bed slave greeted her with his whines of love and need, his naked cock rising and stiffening with equal fervor. “Mistress, I didnae think you would return so soon. How may I serve?”

  Pathetic, Bryn thought, just as she had been before being turned. The memories of all that the undead had done to her crowded in her head, gnawing at her like a horde of rats.

  “You’ll eat before you attend to me, for you need to build up your strength,” Bryn said as she handed him the plate, and uncovered the food. “Be quick about it, lad.”

  The mortal began stuffing his mouth, chewing and swallowing so quickly he nearly choked several times. Once the plate had been emptied he grinned hopefully at her. “Now may I pleasure you, Mistress?”

  A polite knock sounded on her door, and she smiled. “No’ just yet.”

  Outside stood two of her ladies and one of the newly-turned guards, who appeared to be one of the Hispanians taken as a slave and turned during Ermindale’s tenure. Bryn often wondered why the marquess had not survived longer. He must have been as dense as every other undead with a cock.

  “Is this the soldier you wished to reward, Mistress?” the younger whore asked.

  Bryn nodded, and opened the door wider to admit them. To the guard she said, “My ladies tell me you are the finest lover among the legion.” A terrible lie. All the whores feared the Hispanian’s brutality. “We give special attention to such men.” She gestured to the bed slave. “You may feed on my thrall tonight.”

  The guard scowled. “Feeding is not permitted while we are on duty, by order of Titus Strabo.”

  Bryn minced up to him, kissed his cheek, and murmured, “We willnae tell anyone.” She stroked the side of his face. “And you look so hungry.” She nodded toward her bed slave, who was not yet showing the effects of the tainted food he’d gobbled up. “I’ve no’ yet fed on him tonight. He’s just eaten, so his blood will be rich and hot.”

  That was all it took to persuade the guard. He bared his fangs, and then with three strides seized the bed slave. He bit deep, drinking the mortal’s blood as it spurted from the wound. Like most of the newly-turned the guard had not yet learned to control himself while feeding, so even if he tasted any taint in the blood, he would not be able to stop drinking.

  Bryn closed the door and locked it, leaning against it to watch as the guard stiffened and released the bed slave, who collapsed.

  “Something is wrong.” He tottered toward Bryn, almost reaching her before he fell to his knees. “What have you done to me?”

  “I’ve rewarded you,” she reminded him. “This was for beating Bridget so badly it took the blood of three mortals to heal her. For tearing into Agnus so savagely that she yet cannae walk without limping. And Gennie here, shall we remind him of what he did to you, lass?”

  “He remembers, Mistress,” the younger whore said tonelessly.

  Bryn waited until he fell forward onto his face, and then walked over to daintily lift her skirts and use her slipper to nudge him onto his back.

  “He doesnae turn to ash,” one of her ladies muttered. “Mistress, you said ’twould end him.”

  “The tincture willnae kill him.” Bryn bent down and prodded the guard, who remained stiff and staring at nothing at all. “As I thought, it has merely frozen him. Now we must wait and see how long it lasts.” She took out the small, sharp blade that she kept tucked in her bodice, and offered it to Gennie. “And what he can feel while it does.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  WHILE GAVIN HELPED Catriona barricade her cottage against attack,
Cailean went with the laird to cast a spell to reinforce the barrier. Kinley gathered all the old rags she could find, and soaked them with whiskey before stuffing them into empty baskets and crocks.

  “Undead bombs. I light them, you throw them,” she explained to Gavin as she arranged them on the kitchen table. “Boom.” She turned around, inspecting the room. “All I need is something for fuses. Catriona, do you have any wicks or reeds?”

  “The angelica stems I gathered might work if they were no’ soaking wet.” She looked unhappy as she took down a small box and opened the lid. “Would these do?”

  Kinley frowned at the tiny scrolls. “Are these messages?”

  She nodded. “I send them to Ennis and Senga by dove, through the portal.”

  The laird’s wife gaped at her. “You can send animals into the future?”

  “I must reach into the portal while I hold them, to make it open, and then think of my family, but aye.” She stared down at the scrolls and then at Kinley as she realized what the laird’s wife had in mind. “It’s so dark now. What if Uncle has done something to the portal, as he’s done with the spring?”

  “I happen to have excellent night vision,” the laird’s wife said. “As for Daimh, he might know some tricks, but the sacred groves can move people through time. I’ll put my money on them.”

  “Is there a portal near your clan’s stronghold?” Gavin asked her.

  “Oh, yeah. Right next to it.” She grinned, and then frowned again. “Catriona doesn’t know where Dun Aran is.”

  “You do,” Gavin pointed out. “You must be the one to release the dove into the portal, my lady.”

  “And I’d have to get to the portal here before the undead arrive, which with the total eclipse going will be any minute.” Kinley bit her lower lip as she thought about it. “I don’t have to worry about disappearing. If I do this, Lachlan is going to kill me. But I’m druid kind, so I might reincarnate.” She nodded at Catriona. “I need a blank scroll, something to write with, a friendly dove, and the darkest cloak you’ve got.”