My Cursed Highlander

by Kimberly Killion

  “Get away!” Marea screamed. The inhuman sound pierced Taveon’s ears, but the witch inside her would not cede. Marea slammed the vicar’s face against her belly.

  He hugged her fiercely, even as he continued to cast her soul to Hell. “Begone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man’s salvation.”

  Taveon could feel the vicar’s fear, could hear it in the way his voice warbled.

  “Give place to the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church—”

  Taveon filled his hands with Father Cambry’s garments the same instant Marea curled her arm around the vicar’s head, cupped his chin, and jerked.

  Pop.

  “Shite!” Taveon hauled the priest’s body against his own and crashed onto the stone floor.

  Triumphant laughter echoed throughout the chamber—ripe, explosive… victorious.

  Mind numb with shock, Taveon scrambled backward toward the doorway, pulling Father Cambry’s limp body with him. The vicar’s head flopped against Taveon’s abdomen at an unnatural angle and sweat fell over his temple, but he was dead—his wide eyes still locked on the bitch that killed him.

  “No! No, no, no!” Marea cried and curled into a ball atop the bed. Unrestrained sobs sent her body into convulsions. She glared at Taveon. “You are a fool to believe you can beat her. She will win. She always does.”

  Chapter 29

  “Is it possible to die biding one’s time?” Viviana asked Miocchi this question as she sat in a meadow of saffron facing the burial ground.

  He whined, smacked his tail against the ground twice, and continued to hold his position. The days at Ravenhurst passed in such slow, painful, tedious seconds she was certain anticipation would be her cause of death. This was something she’d been dwelling on as of late.

  How was she going to die?

  Would she be alone? Would it be during childbearing or did the curse have something more creative planned for her? Would she survive the birth of her son only to tumble over her own feet, as she was wont to do, and crack her head open on a rock?

  She supposed it was the waiting that had her thinking such morbid thoughts; waiting for Taveon’s kinsmen to find Lily, waiting on Father Cambry to force the evil out of Sister De Rosa, and waiting for the right moment to tell Taveon about the babe.

  But none of these things happened.

  She sighed and inhaled the scent of rain. She could almost hear it shimmering above. Mist sat heavy on her cheeks as she waited for the first drop to fall, but like everything else, it did not come.

  A flurry blew across her face, first coming out of the east, then the west. The wind hummed and whistled, forming various tones that might have been construed as music. Viviana pictured the spirits of Taveon’s kinswomen playing wind instruments like she once had at the Medici Palace.

  Hugging her bent legs, Vivian propped her chin between her knees and wished she possessed the courage to actually walk among them. On the ground beside her was the chisel and hammer Taveon had obtained from the smith. With the assistance of his kinsmen, he’d even managed to wheel a stone into an antechamber on the first floor. No doubt he wanted her to lose herself in something mindless so she would give up her quest to speak to Sister De Rosa. She hadn’t even given thought to what she would sculpt before she’d positioned the chisel and tapped it with her hammer. The rock had been too brittle though, and broke apart in haphazard chunks.

  That’s when she heard the music.

  With her sculpting tools in hand, she’d walked out of the keep and over the grassy hillock, but Miocchi refused to go further. He’d whined and plopped down at her feet, which is how she ended up here, just yards away from the burial ground.

  An image of the boulder formed in her mind. She could sculpt an angel or mayhap two lovers entwined in the heat of passion for it was that act that had brought them all to this place.

  Pish. Her plans were a foolish waste of time. Even if she could decide on what to carve into the stone, she was terrified to enter the burial ground knowing who was there.

  Miocchi’s tail swished through the grasses before Viviana heard the approach of tiny footsteps. She retrieved the amulet from the folds of her skirt, draped it over her head, and then dropped the stone into her bodice. The radiant heat pulsing from the stone warmed her instantly.

  “They want ye to join their dance.” Makayla plopped down beside her.

  Viviana smiled, thankful Taveon had explained to Makayla how the amulet provided her with sight. Makayla hadn’t even questioned his explanation. Viviana supposed the child’s youth made her so trusting for it was not a trait she’d inherited from her father.

  “Will you show them to me?” Viviana held out her hand, palm up, waiting for Makayla to oblige her.

  The girl’s tiny fingers laced through Viviana’s and the darkness evaporated. The sky was just as Viviana pictured it. Dark, menacing clouds swept in from the sea and threatened rain, but it was not the weather that held Viviana rapt.

  It was the women.

  Hands linked, they sashayed in a circle, their opaque white skirts swayed this way and that around the rock. They seemed so at peace, so jovial, that Viviana might have believed them content. Mayhap even happy.

  There was so much Viviana wanted to know about them, about the curse. Were they trapped in the burial ground, forbidden to go further? Did they sleep? Did they feel pain? Did they have teeth? Did they need them? Foolish questions such as these filtered through her mind unanswered, and then she considered what it would be like to live among them. She was a realist, and the reality was, she would be joining them soon—too soon.

  Viviana mulled over this thought, and oddly enough, she wasn’t terrified by the prospect. They were never alone, and Viviana was almost certain she would be sighted in the life after.

  One of the women stopped, turned, and waved Viviana forward.

  A tickle settled over her skull. She squeezed Makayla’s hand a little tighter. “Which one is she?”

  “She is Elise.” Makayla popped to her feet. “Would ye like to meet her?”

  Miocchi growled, stood, and paced, expressing his obviously objection.

  Viviana shared her pet’s agitation. Her pulse flittered in her neck, her muscles squeezed, and her toes curled inside her boots. She wasn’t brave enough to face the woman who’d cursed Taveon’s clan. “I’m afraid.”

  “Ouish.” Taveon’s ridiculous word slipped out of Makayla’s mouth making Viviana smile. “Come. They willnae hurt ye.” Makayla pulled Viviana to her feet and began to drag her toward the burial ground, toward the cliff’s edge—toward them.

  Oh, cazzo! This is madness, Viviana thought, but closed the space between them, excited, yet terrified at the same time.

  “Yap, yap, yap…” Miocchi protested from behind, but Makayla paid him no heed.

  The figures became brighter, more defined, and the heady scent of saffron slid beneath Viviana’s nose. Elise stood in the forefront, and Viviana was now close enough to see a hint of color in her face. Pink tinted her cheeks and lips and her pale green eyes were mystifying. Without thought, Viviana raised her hand to touch the specter. To her surprise, the woman smiled and took her hand. She was warm, and there was a texture to her, soft, like woven silk.

  Viviana’s heart pounded beside the amulet that had become too hot to ignore. Elise reached for it. Her fingers pushed through Viviana’s chest and came up clasped around the amulet.

  “Kael.”

  The name echoed through Viviana’s ears just as Elise stepped impossibly closer then disappeared.

  Overwhelming sensations hummed through Viviana. She felt as if she were coated in honey and surrounded by buzzing bees. In her mind’s eye she saw a man who resembled Taveon in height and color. He was making love to Elise on a rock—the same rock in the center of the burial ground. The vision was dreamlike, surrounded in starlight and so surreal. Then all at once, the image filled Viviana with jealousy, anger, hate. She experienced a rush of sadness—a pain so
fierce she wanted to cry. Her knees nearly buckled, but she managed to remain upright, focused on the scene inside her head.

  Hues of red tinted the vision, dissolved, and then a babe appeared. Fresh from the womb, the newborn was blood covered and swathed in cloth. Viviana heard his first cry and felt a wondrous sense of joy at his arrival. How she knew the babe was a boy, she couldn’t explain, but she did just the same. A heartbeat later, the vision blinked out, and Viviana could again see the spirits of Taveon’s kin circling around her.

  She realized with startling clarity what she’d just seen in her head had been Elise’s memories.

  “This is my new mum.” Makayla’s voice was loud, physically jarring, and it was then Viviana saw the pride in the child’s face; broad grin, sparkling blue eyes… but that was impossible.

  “Janetta is my gramum, and this is Katerina, she is Dadi’s gramum, and…” Makayla continued the string of introductions, barely stopping to inhale, but Viviana only listened with half an ear.

  She shook her muddled head and looked down at the child’s hands—both of them, neither of which Viviana was holding.

  Still, she could see.

  She blinked. Rich reds and oranges filled the treetops and streaks of gold filtered through the dark clouds above. The world glowed in vibrant colors. Her world. From her perspective. She stood in awe for long moments before the rain began to fall. Tiny droplets bounced off the women’s ethereal bodies and coated them with in an iridescent sheen, making them look like they’d just risen from the sea.

  “Elise was married to Kael, and Margret was…”

  “She is a lovely child, but the lass does tend to be a chatterbox,” a voice said inside Viviana’s head and nigh stole the last of her bravery.

  She counted the women, but Elise was no longer among them. Viviana couldn’t explain it, but somehow through the power of the amulet, Elise was inside her. Talking to her. Sharing her eyes.

  Viviana blinked. Should she converse with the woman or run? Before she could do either, the women began to dance; arms raised, elbows bent, palms up, they swayed to and fro in a circle around the rock. Their laughter sounded like the tinkling bells at the top of the Duomo. There was no evil here, no tainted spirits. Just the brave women of the leaders of Clan Kraig, in all their splendor and glory.

  “Think ye they are still wonderful?” Makayla held Janetta and Katerina’s hands opposite Viviana.

  She nodded, unable to find speech in this place she both feared and treasured. She tried to wake, knowing she must be dreaming, knowing this couldn’t be reality, but she felt the wind in her hair and the rain upon her skin. She smelled flowers of the ripest blend and saw Taveon standing in the rain beside Miocchi.

  Taveon?

  “Viviana!” he bellowed, his deep voice cut through the hum of rain falling over them.

  She turned, as did the others. He wore his country’s garb, a purple and green plaid draped over one shoulder and black boots laced to his knees. The hilts of a half dozen weapon’s poked out of his belt, his boots, and the leather sheaths hanging from his hips, but the weapon that caught her eye was the massive sword hanging loosely from his hand. He looked like a warrior. A fierce warrior. An angry warrior.

  The man was a buffoon if he thought he could fight the undead with his sword.

  She found his blue eyes narrowed beneath deeply drawn dark brows.

  “Do ye love him?”

  “Sì,” Viviana answered Elise’s question without pause.

  A horrible feeling of sorrow brought tears to Viviana’s eyes—a sorrow that was not her own.

  “Come, Viviana,” he demanded, yet remained steadfast beside Miocchi.

  “He’s waiting for ye.” A void suddenly hollowed Viviana’s chest where Elise had been and blackness blinded her.

  “Go to him.” The echo returned to Elise’s voice behind Viviana.

  “Come, Makayla.” Viviana raised her sodden skirt and started forward with Makayla’s hand in hers. Taveon grew into an intimidating giant through Makayla’s eyes. Rain dripped from his nose and shadows darkened the flesh beneath eyes filled with failure.

  “Makayla, take Miocchi back to the keep.” His eyes were fixed on the burial ground.

  “‘Tisnae Mum’s fault. We just—”

  “Makayla,” he shouted, cutting off her excuse. “Go.”

  Makayla squeezed Viviana’s hand and departed. With every slosh of wet soil beneath Makayla’s boots, Viviana’s apprehension grew. Do not fear him, she told herself and awaited the scolding that was sure to come. He’d warned her not to go near the burial ground. In fact, he’d demanded she not leave the keep. Not because of the spirits for he denied their existence, but because of the cliff beyond.

  Taveon stepped close and to her surprise he embraced her with one arm in a fierce hug that trapped the air in her lungs. He kissed her hair then rest his chin atop her head and stared at the chapel nearly hidden in the wood. “I know not what to do.”

  With dread building at the hopelessness in his voice, she pulled back and raised her face to him. She cupped his unshaven wet cheek. “What has happened?”

  “Father Cambry is dead.” Though he spoke in monotones, the impact of his words made her knees go weak. “We forced the mon here against his will, and she killed him.”

  “Who killed him?”

  “Marea, Noreen, Elise…” He waved the sword in his hand at nothing in particular.

  Viviana shook her head in disbelief. “When? When did this happen?”

  “Only minutes past. I watched her kill him. She snapped his neck with one arm.” Taveon’s eyes slammed shut, he swallowed an audible gulp.

  She denied his words. It couldn’t be true. The image he’d painted caused a churning in her gut. “Sister De Rosa would not kill a man of God.”

  “Nay, but the evil that lives inside her would.” The muscles in Taveon’s forearm tightened beneath Viviana’s hand. “I know not how to fight her. I would run Elise through with my own sword if I could get to her.”

  “You are wrong. Elise was here with Makayla and I.”

  “Ouish.”

  “While I do not doubt there is evil inside Sister De Rosa, that evil does not answer to the name Elise.”

  “Damn-it-to-Hell, Viviana. If it is not Elise, then who?”

  “Her name is Gillian,” Makayla said from behind.

  Taveon whirled, sword raised. “I told ye to—”

  “Shush, husband.” Viviana stepped around him, frustrated with his warrior instincts as well as his lack of faith in his own daughter. “How do you know this, Makayla?”

  “Lily told me.”

  “When?” Taveon demanded.

  “Yestereve.”

  “Yestereve?” Taveon practically growled.

  Viviana pressed her back to his chest, holding him and his temper at bay. “Do you know where Lily is?” she asked in a soft, controlled voice meant to soothe.

  Makayla’s eyes cast downward presenting them with the crown of her head. Her hands became a balled mass in her tiny kirtle as she nodded.

  “Take me to her,” Taveon shouted in a gruff tone that would gain the fool nothing.

  Ever-defiant, Makayla wiped her eyes and raised her chin high. “Nay. I promised Lily I would—”

  “I will hang ye by your braids and—”

  Patience depleted, Viviana ripped a cluster of hair from Taveon’s forearm.

  “Shite, woman!”

  Viviana spun on her heel and pointed in the direction of the keep. “If what you say is true, a man of God lies dead in your home, murdered by a woman who devoted her life to the Church. You cannot fight a hundred-year-old curse with a sword and idle threats to children. Now cool your temper, Goliath.”

  Though silence fell among them, Viviana could hear the grating of Taveon’s back teeth. “This has naught to do with ye.”

  He had no idea how wrong he was. She should tell him here and now that he’d cursed her with his seed. The words dangled on the tip
of her tongue, and it was there her secret remained. “I am your wife, the lady of Clan Kraig, not just a woman who came with the amulet.” Anger and hurt heated the blood in her veins as she stomped up the hillock.

  “Viviana, I…”

  She ignored whatever apology he might offer and blew a breath when Makayla’s icy fingers sought Viviana’s hand.

  With Miocchi beside, the child jogged to keep up with Viviana’s angry strides. “Who is Goliath?”

  “He was the champion of the Philistines. A giant warrior who defeated leagues of men in battle,” Viviana answered without thought.

  “Like Dadi?”

  “Sì.” Viviana told the ancient story of David and Goliath as it had been recited for centuries.

  “Dadi tells me similar stories. Stories of gods and goddesses. I was born in the month of April. Aphrodite’s month. Do ye know who that is?” Makayla gave Viviana no time to answer. “She is the goddess of love and beauty.”

  “Your father is oddly enamored with the ideals of Greek mythology.”

  “Those are big words.”

  Viviana squeezed Makayla’s hand and walked back to the keep wishing Taveon possessed just a small portion of the romanticism he seemed to have instilled in his daughter.

  Ravenhurst was cold and barren save for a handful of servants who evaded direct contact with either of them. Their avoidance felt oddly familiar.

  Taveon followed, but at a distance. Viviana heard his footfalls behind them as they climbed the steps of the north tower toward Makayla’s chamber. She didn’t want to talk to him and give him the opportunity to hurt her with his callous words. Instead, she focused on gaining Makayla’s trust. Lily might very well be their only salvation.

  Viviana stopped just outside the arched door and stroked Makayla’s drenched locks. “We should get you out of your wet clothes and into a bath. Mayhap the next time you speak with Lily, you could ask her what else she knows about the woman who lives inside her mother.”

  “Mayhap ye should ask her yourself.” The little pixie swung the door wide and looked inside her chamber.

  Lily sat cross-legged atop the unmade bed writing in the wax tablet Taveon had brought home from their journey. Two brown braids poked out of her head at odd angles, and her cheeks were smudged with dirt. Makayla had no doubt been harboring her little friend while half the clan’s warriors searched for her in the wood.