by Hazel Hunter
“Name yourself and your purpose here,” the captain said, “and release my wife from this spell.”
“’Tis no’ magic,” the lad told him, smiling. To Rachel he said, “I am warded against your ability, my lady. You cannae read me, so you mustnae try.” Dimples appeared in his cheeks that matched Rachel’s. “The ward is somewhat mischievous.”
She staggered a little before she shook her head, and the color came back into her face. “He’s right, I can’t read him at all. I got caught in a loop of my own thoughts.” She gave Evander a wan smile. “Sorry. I’ve never encountered a mind like his. It was a little like being trapped in a mirror.”
“Whoever you are, you are no’ welcome here,” Evander told the druid. “Leave now, in peace, or you shall spend the night in our dungeons.”
“I cannae go, I fear.” The druid looked back over his shoulder. “And neither can they.”
Evander blinked a few times, but the hundreds of young druids walking down from the ridges did not disappear. “Dear Gods.”
The young druid smiled. “They are, indeed.”
Most of the newly-arrived appeared to be the same age as the first. Some wore newer robes and well-made boots, while others sported frayed garments and worn sandals. All of the druid children wore carved pendants made of bone, wood, stone or shell.
“He is like us,” one of the young druidesses said, nodding at Evander as she came to hold the hand of the first to arrive. She had hair so fair it appeared silver, and large, beautiful eyes. “So is his lady.” She smiled at Rachel. “Dinnae be afraid. We have all seen the grove of stars. We were sent here to you, Captain.”
Evander studied the faces behind them, and slowly replaced his spear. “Why would you come to me? Who sent you? The gods?”
The little druidess giggled.
“’Twas Fiona Marphee,” the boy druid said. “She showed us how to find you, and said you would help us.”
Rachel took hold of his hand, and only then did Evander realize it was trembling. “But Fiona is dead,” she said gently.
The boy’s face filled with a strange sort of kindness, as if she were the child now. “Aye, my lady.” He regarded Evander. “Will you help us, Captain?”
“She bid you to bury her in the sacred grove,” the druidess said. “She wished to sleep beneath the oaks. She told you thus when you were alone in the mountains, and she lay dying. No one but you heard her words. Do you remember them still, Captain?”
Evander nearly fell to his knees. “Aye.”
“I told you he would,” the druidess said.
“So you did.” The boy smiled down at her. “We have journeyed far, and would be grateful for a meal before we leave again.”
“Where are you going from here?” Rachel asked.
A messenger dove flew over the boy’s head as it headed for the castle’s cote. The young druid’s expression sobered. “Into darkness, my lady.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
CATRIONA FELT ALMOST dizzy with relief when Kinley and Lachlan returned to the cottage. That changed to dismay as the laird described the magic Daimh was using to break through the reinforced barrier.
“’Twill take at least some time for the dove to fly to Dun Aran, my lord,” she said. “Will the barrier hold until your men arrive, do you think?”
“From what I have seen, no, lass.” The laird exchanged a look with the druid before he said, “We must find some way to stall them. Any suggestions, I gladly welcome.”
“Catriona and I can create some chaos,” Gavin said, and nodded at the animals gathering outside. “She has the gift to communicate with the creatures who live on the island, and can direct them to help us.”
“That explains the very cooperative dove,” Kinley said. “What about– Gavin?”
Where the highlander had stood there seemed to be only an empty space. Catriona smiled as he came back into sight from the waist up.
“I cannae throw fire, but I can camouflage myself,” he told the laird’s wife. “When I shift I take on the colors and patterns around me, which renders me virtually invisible. ’Twas how I eluded you all after the battle on the skerry.”
“Well, no wonder everyone thought you were dead, Captain Chameleon.” Kinley looked slightly disgruntled. “And next time you’re taking the dove to the portal.”
“I can help as well,” Cailean said. “I will go to the barrier and speak to Daimh. He willnae see me, but he’ll ken my voice. He enjoys prattling, and will wish to boast of what he did to my poor master.”
Catriona nodded. “Uncle loves naught better than to puff himself up and preen. ’Tis his pride that troubled my father, for ’twas false. He thought his envy of others led him down the dark path.”
Gavin spoke of what they had planned, and Catriona felt glad when the laird agreed with the scheme.
“We’ll go to the barrier together,” Lachlan said. “’Tis so thin now they may see through it, and we wish them to think us all there, at least until Kinley shows them her fire.” He regarded his wife. “We’ll need a great ball of it to hurl at them.”
She pursed her lips, and then her eyes shifted toward the bombs she had made. “Cat, just how attached are you to that cloak you lent me?”
Kinley and Catriona spread the dark fabric on the table, where they began piling the baskets and crocks of whiskey-soaked rags in the center of it. The men took what was left of her firewood out to the chopping stump behind the cottage.
“We’re not sending out these guys, are we?” Kinley asked as she picked up one of the leverets pawing at her skirt.
“They cannae hop fast enough to get out of the way,” Catriona told her, and touched her belly where the little glow of her son warmed her. “Do you and the laird have bairns at home?”
The other woman shook her head. “We can’t.”
“Ennis and Senga could never have children.” She smiled wistfully. “I sometimes wonder if that is why the grove sent me to them, so that we might be to each other what we couldnae have alone.”
“Lachlan and I have talked about adopting an orphan, but it would be…difficult.” As she finished placing the last bomb on the cloak and gathered up the corners, she didn’t elaborate. “But I’ve been thinking about kids a lot since the undead snatched Danyel from his parents. If the legion ever did that to our kid, I’d go crazy.”
“I ken how you feel. I’m with child now.” Catriona hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but she saw sympathy well into the other woman’s eyes. “I’m no warrior, my lady. My tribe was killed before I could be trained as a druid. I’ve lost my parents, my people, and nearly my own life to Uncle. But I willnae allow Daimh to take Gavin or our son from me.”
The laird’s wife hugged her. “Quit my-ladying me. It’s Kinley.”
Gavin returned with a small, bulging sack as they were tying up the corners of the cloak. “I’d best carry that.” He handed the sack to Catriona and bent over to kiss her. “You ken where to go.”
She nodded, and embraced him before she stepped back. Gavin always made her feel good inside, but now she felt powerful. “Take care, my great beast.”
Lachlan and Cailean waited outside for them, and the five of them walked together to the spell boundary. The barrier had thinned so much it barely glimmered between them and the waiting legion.
Catriona flinched when her Uncle met her gaze and smiled broadly. He gestured to one of the men behind him, who brought a squirming bundle and dropped it at Daimh’s feet. A high-pitched yelp came from inside the blanket, and a dark little head poked out to glare up at the druid.
“Fair day, my niece,” Daimh said, and smirked up at the disc blotting out the sun. “Or mayhap no’ for you.” He gestured to another man who brought a covered basket and set in on the ground. Daimh shifted his eyes to Cailean. “You’ve done well for an ovate, lad, but your magic cannae match mine. I’ll be through this barrier and at your throat before you may blink.” He reached down and jerked the boy out of his blanket.
“Have you missed your son, Cailean?”
The druid’s expression remained impassive, although he did look at the silent child for a long moment.
“I’ve looked ahead,” Daimh said, “and I’m sorry to tell you that wee Danyel here shall be the only brat you ever sire.” Daimh patted the boy’s head. “The fate of your bloodline rests with him.”
Before the laird could reply, Cailean said, “You willnae use my children against me, Haral. Whatever you come here for, you shall no’ have it.”
“Nor you, Tribune,” Lachlan said to the Roman in the red cape.
The other man chuckled. “You’ve a mortal, a druid, and two women to match against my legion. I rather like my chances this time, McDonnel.”
“Do you, Quintus?” Kinley stepped forward, and lit up her hands. “So did Gaius Lucinius. You remember when he and I met? That little pile of ash of him that I left in the clearing? Oh, now I remember. You ran away as soon as the clan showed up. That seems to be your favorite move, running away.”
The Roman stepped closer to the barrier to glower at the laird’s wife. “I want her as well as the laird,” he said to Daimh.
“You can have them all, my lord,” the druid said, never taking his eyes from Catriona’s face. “I came only for the last Haral.”
“Why?” Catriona demanded. “I’ve done naught to you. I’ve never exposed what you did that night. I’ve kept silent all these years.”
“True, what you’ve done, ’tis meaningless to me. But you, Niece, you are quite everything to me.” Her uncle lifted his hands, which turned briefly dark red, as if coated with dried blood. “The Anubis ritual I began twenty years past when I brought the undead is nearly complete. You’ve only to die, and end our bloodline, and I shall live forever.”
Kinley gasped as Lachlan cocked his head back.
“You facking bastart,” Cailean screamed and lunged at the barrier, and would have gone through it if Lachlan had not grabbed him. “You sacrificed your people to the dark gods for eternal life?”
“Oh, aye. What more could tempt me to leave the faith?” Daimh picked up Danyel, and held the struggling boy like a shield. “You’re trapped, outnumbered, and at my mercy, Ovate Lusk. Your son for them. You may keep…” His voice trailed off as he looked past them. “Where is that mortal?”
“Here,” Gavin’s voice said on the other side of the barrier, and Danyel suddenly jerked out of Daimh’s hands. The boy zipped through the air as the highlander shouted, “Now, Cailean.”
The druid lifted his hands, murmuring quickly, and the spell wall collapsed. Kinley raised her flaming hands, and threw two fiery plumes at the dark ball that Lachlan hurled at the Romans. The cluster of bombs inside the dark cloak exploded outward, setting fire to dozens of the undead.
In the chaos that ensued, Catriona looked down at the creatures flanking her. She dumped the bulging sack she carried, emptying the slivers of wood wrapped on one end with wet rags onto the ground. Kinley nodded to her, and focused a stream of fire at the slivers, setting them alight.
Be fast, my friends.
Each animal picked up a piece of burning wood from the rag end, and hurried across the barrier. The doves and ducks and puffins swooped down to drop their slivers on the heads of the legion before soaring up into the sky. The hares and voles scampered to place their tiny torches near Roman boots, dodging kicks as they bounded back across to Catriona.
“No,” Daimh muttered. His robe flared as he whirled in every direction to see the flaming bodies of the undead fleeing, collapsing, and disintegrating into ash.
The hooded Roman shouted furiously at the men, but the tribune merely stood and stared at Lachlan, who had drawn his sword.
“This shall be the last time you underestimate me, Pritani.” Quintus smiled a little before he called out, “Meus caparum Romanus, impetus.”
Catriona’s blood chilled as hundreds more Romans emerged from the shadows and rushed toward the fallen barrier. But in the next moment Gavin thrust Danyel into her arms.
“Run,” he told her. “Take Cailean and run to the cave.”
Without waiting for an answer, Gavin grabbed Cailean and Catriona’s arms, spun them around, and shoved them in the direction of the waterfall. He whirled back to the approaching horde.
“You’ll need this,” Kinley shouted to him.
He turned in time to catch the tossed blade by its leather-wrapped handle. Though small for his tastes and the grip puny in his big hands, he tested its weight with a wicked slice through the air. He grinned at the laird’s wife. It would do.
Fire erupted from Kinley’s hands in two blazing streams that tore into the center of the Roman’s front ranks. Though ash plumed into the air and created a wall of gray, more undead ran through it. Kinley let loose with another barrage that lit up the artificial night.
As Lachlan charged left, Gavin attacked to the right. Sword held high, he waded into the pallid creatures as he had once before. Slashing and stabbing, whirling and thrusting, he carved a deep hole into the nearest squad. As they had on the skerry, they turned to ash when they were dealt a killing blow. Gavin didn’t waste time on anything else. All he saw were necks, spinal cords, and chests. He plowed through them without a spare movement, sighting his next victim before he’d finished with the current. Soldier after soldier rushed him and though he breathed hard, he realized most could barely use a sword. He parried their haphazard blows as sparks flew from the clashing steel, only to be snuffed out by a new cloud of ash.
But for all their ill-aimed attacks, Gavin’s progress slowly came to a halt. What they lacked in skill they made up with something he couldn’t battle—numbers.
“To me,” Lachlan shouted.
Slowly, Gavin fell back, careful to keep his attackers in front of him. But a quick glance in the direction of Lachlan’s voice told him the grim story. The Romans had flanked them. Kinley was burning the undead approaching from behind at a furious rate. Lachlan had his back to her, cleaving two undead in half with every swing of his massive weapon. But as Gavin finally joined them, he could see it wouldn’t be enough. There were simply too many.
Catriona led Cailean past the waterfall and into the hidden cave before handing over his son. In trembling hands, the druid gently clutched the tiny, crying boy to his chest.
“Danyel,” Cailean whispered hoarsely, trying to choke back a sob. “Danyel,” he said again as his voice failed him and tears began to fall.
Blinking away her own tears, Catriona turned away from them to gather some old linens to dry them all. But as she did, she smoothed her palm down her belly.
My son will be born. I’ll no’ die today.
When she brought back the old linens to help dry Danyel, she found the little boy had already fallen asleep.
“He’s exhausted,” Cailean said, his voice shaking, “but otherwise unharmed.”
“Cailean,” Catriona said gently, “you’re about to fall down from exhaustion yourself.” She guided him to the small pallet. “Here, lay down with him.”
Although Cailean knelt and lay the sleeping boy down, he rose to face Catriona.
“Bhaltair will have me disincarnated for this,” the young druid said, “but it cannae be kept secret.” He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth and glanced down at his son. “All was nearly lost today.”
Catriona placed a hand on his arm. “Your son is safe,” she assured him.
“No,” he blurted out, “not just my son. He’s more than just my son.” He moved them both away from the sleeping child and lowered his voice. “I mean…” He swallowed hard. “I mean the Great Design.”
“The what?” Catriona said, cocking her head a little. “Do you speak of some druid matter?” She shook her head. “I’ve no’ much training–”
“No,” he said grasping both her arms. “I mean, yes. ’Tis a druid plan, but only a few know of it. But it cannae remain thus. More must know of it.” He glanced at Danyel. “After today, I’m convinced of that.”
> “Cailean,” Catriona said, “now you worry me. Say what you have to say.”
“Aye,” said a voice from the pallet.
Catriona and Cailean both jumped at the sound. As she pressed a hand over her thumping heart, her mouth dropped open at what she saw.
“Daimh,” Cailean muttered.
The old druid hovered over the pallet, dripping wet from the waterfall, and held the tip of a sword over the sleeping child’s head.
“Or no’,” Daimh said, grinning. “Your prattle doesnae interest me.” He fixed his fevered gaze on Catriona. “Only one thing does.”
As the horde closed in, Gavin’s mind flashed to the garden outside his farmhouse, then to the secret village where he’d first met Cat. She would live, along with their unborn child. It was no matter if he died now. It had all been worth it. As he thought of the future that he would not share with her, his heavy arms inflicted a final flurry of parries and blows.
But from the distance came a terrible sound, as though the island had exploded. All heads ducked as an enormous column of gushing water and black stone shot up from the spring. The sky filled with debris as the larger boulders rained down on the Romans who were near it.
“The spring,” Kinley gasped. “What the…”
Gavin saw them just as Kinley and Lachlan did. Huge men wearing tartans poured out of the boiling, illuminated waters. Each man held a child, whom they set down on their feet before drawing their swords as the undead turned to face them.
“Clan McDonnel,” a tall man with spears in his hands shouted, as he swung down from his back a young boy. “Heid doon, arse up.” He hurled a spear that flew across the glen and impaled two Romans, who burst into clouds of dust.
The clansmen roared as they charged with the spearman at the undead.
Gavin saw the children the clan had brought joining hands in a circle around the spring. Up in the sky the black disc blocking the sun went gray and began to thin.