by Karey Brown
“You’re going to make me spill this tea!”
“Then I suggest you stop showing off like a child with a new toy, and hold your cup with two hands.”
Bedframe cracked.
It was their only warning.
With a loud crash, the foot of her bed hit the floor and remained at an odd angle. “Great, Eldaryn. Remind me to thank you.”
“Ye’ fecker, ye’ve—
Emily burst out laughing. “Sorry. Your brogue and pronunciation of dirty words kills me.”
Broc’s lopsided grin provided another laugh.
Nonplussed, the beast settled. One head lifted, forever alert, the other nestled on thick paws. “A word to the wise, Dezenial’s mate, I like my fur. I’m especially fond of its clean scent. Burnt fur is not something I wish to be burdened with again—“
“Again?”
“You do recall who my master was? A particular moody Lumynari? Burnt fur is not something I will endure, just as I’m sure you do not want to endure a wooden leg the rest of your life.”
“Dare to bite, pooch, and—“
“Yes, I know. Puppy pâté.”
“I hate that dog,” Emily quipped to Broc.
“I’m still stuck at the part where it speaks. I haven’t begun to digest it has two heads.” The laird frowned. “Likeability will not be for some time.”
“You procrastinate explaining how the three of you came to be here . . . together.” Emily took another sip of her tea.
“Your sire knew you would need caring. And protecting.” Broc began pacing, but paused at the window.
“That’s the why of it.”
“Lass, ye’ avoid mi need to talk to ye’ about personal matters. I will no longer be waylaid. You must return to Castle MacLarrin, and you must do it before the birthing of yer’ bairns.”
“Why?” She had other plans. Plans that involved a cabin far from civilization. “Why the interest in my wellbeing, Broc? And, since you want to share your agenda, lets share all of it, starting with why the sudden concern in children who aren’t yours?” She thought she detected a slight flinch. Guilt surfaced, her words cruel. But voices from long ago replayed his vicious accusations. Whore. Guilt was duly choked, whimpering to the recesses of her mind.
There was derision and sympathy mingled in his glance. “Ye’ canna’ give birth ta’ yer twins here in your realm of moderns and nonbelievers.”
“I’m selling the house and moving to the mountains. Very remote mountains. There! Now you know.”
“Isolation is an effective solution.”
“You’re coming with me, Rover, so save your annotations.”
“Ah, I’ll be able to see how the other half lives.”
“Other half?”
“Wolves.”
Visions assailed her of hunters spying Eldaryn. Not pretty. The quest would be as intense as the hunt for Bigfoot. Grand plans unraveled. Much to her annoyance.
“And the bairns? When ye’ need ta’ go into town for supplies?”
“Uh, I would take them with me. Duh.”
Eldaryn and Broc shared a look before Eldaryn’s head swiveled to the door again. The other remained sleeping.
“Your point, Outlander.”
“I might remind she’s half Lumynari,” Eldaryn warned, “the granddaughter of Medusa, and pregnant.”
“I’m still the mohn here.”
Emily whipped blankets from her, smashed down her teacup onto the nightstand, and began stalking Broc. Eldaryn exhaled noisily and slid from the bed. “Tell me, human, do they send you to many negotiations or just those with the hidden agenda to actually start the war?” He placed himself in front of Emily and sat back on his haunches. Emily’s eyes glowed. Eldaryn yawned.
“Move, puppy.”
“You will simmer your temper. We still have need of the Outlander, and I kinda like the ratio.”
“You will not order me—ratio?”
“I refuse to linger in a dwelling with two females, one pregnant and forever threatening to eat me, singe me, and gouge my eyes.”
A smile quirked her lips. Animosity cooled.
“Speak quickly, Outlander, while her temper is fixated on me.”
Amber eyes re-ignited.
“Though ye’ be half Lumynari, ye’ doona’ show it, save for yer’ hair. But, in this realm, it is admired. Other than that, you do not show any outward signs. Your children will have more of the Lumynari blood than you. What will you do if their ears are long and pointed like their sire’s? Their eyes glowing red when infuriated or threatened? How about when the bloodlust overtakes their rationality during puberty?”
“Bloodlust?”
“You moderns suffer teenage hormonal rages—“
“Not unlike what we must suffer the next two trimesters,” Eldaryn interrupted.
Emily bared her teeth. Eldaryn’s were sharper, his lip pulling slightly back to show her.
“Lumynari teenagers will need to be surrounded by . . . shall we say, battle-ready warriors? Their tempers are quick and deadly. Teenage moderns, here in your realm, would not understand. What are you going to do when one of your twins is bullied? Or feel they’ve been slighted?”
Kids were cruel. How many times had her hair been viciously yanked, just to see if it was real?
“And your child strikes back? You’ll ‘ave more than school officials ta’ worry about, Lady Emily. Allen has traumatized us of what your society will do.” Broc’s pause was lengthy, affording her too much time to mull his words. When at last he resumed, she wished he hadn’t. Images her mind conjured put her in a killing mood.
“We assume you’ll have your children during their teenage years.”
“Excuse me?”
“More than likely, they’ll be whisked away at birth, their differences uncanny. Ye’ will be lied to, told they didn’t survive birthing, tha’ these things happen, meanwhile, yer bairns become experiments, poked, prodded, studied . . . caged—“
“Enough!” Emily threw up her arms. “Out! Both of you. Now!” Her hair ignited into white flames.
“Come, Outlander,” Eldaryn ordered, shouldering his girth out the recently damaged doorframe from his entrance two days earlier. Broc studied Emily for long moments before he followed the Oltheg. She’d presented her back, arms tightly folded. No woman was to be crossed when they took that stance. He’d try reasoning with her again when she cooled her lethal temper.
Not an hour following their banishment, she slipped into the kitchen, clothed in her garments from Balkore. “I’ll want to take my books.”
Broc nodded. Speech might make her bolt. He held his tongue.
“I would want to bring my sword collection, but since they’re replicas and now I’ll have ownership and access to the real thing,” she shrugged. “My clothes are all wrong for the highlands of Scotland.”
“Alba,” Broc whispered, hoping he was not misunderstanding.
“Alba.”
“When ye’ visit the village down below, ye’ step into Scotland.”
“Parallel universe. What happens if a tourist decides to go on a day hike and steps into your realm, and not that madness Reignsfeugh tried feeding me.”
Broc’s eyes twinkled. “They’d have ta’ traipse within Henry’s stable.”
“Oh. Weird. How was I able to drive there?”
“Allen. He is neither dead, nor alive. Portals are open to him, though the passage the two of you used, I’ve permanently sealed. Fey magicks. Allen now travels by way of Henry’s stable.”
“How do we get there from here? I know damn well you didn’t come through Customs with Rover here.”
Broc slid off the wicker barstool, beginning to lose his wariness that she would flee. “It would seem, maulkin, I’ve been granted a small measure of magick.”
“I’m not going to dash away.” She offered a sheepish grin.
Broc looked to Cianna, who in turn handed Broc several large leather pouches. They reminded Emily of old depictions
of hobos. “Make ready, lass,” he muttered to Cianna. The young woman convulsed. Emily lurched, Broc’s hand stopping her. In seconds, the lithe woman, usually clothed in bright colors, her long shiny black hair forever in a single braid down her back, hopped up onto the table. The raven blinked, taking turns with first its left eye, then its right, observing Emily.
“I’ve known you for a long, long time, haven’t I?”
The bird cawed, bobbed its head, wings fluffing.
“What do you turn into, Eldaryn?”
“A rabid mongrel when not fed.” He imitated the bird, both heads bobbing. “It is a most embarrassing spectacle I make of myself.”
Emily burst out laughing. “Oh my God, you loon! I’ll make sure to capture prisoners first thing, so you have ample supply of calves and thighs.”
“Your consideration humbles me.”
Emily’s grin captivated her audience. She’d not smiled since they’d arrived to bring her home. “What becomes of him when we enter your great hall?” Emily asked Broc, worried for Eldaryn.
“Oh, I’m sure Maeve has missed his absence, most especially now that his fur is likened to rushes littering her precious floor.”
“She does have an uncanny obsession with keeping that floor as white as possible.”
“Aye.”
“You’re smirking, Rover.”
“The Outlander does his best to remain at the top of my list when it comes time to choose my first human meal.” Eldaryn sniffed Broc, earning a growl from the Forest Lord.
Cawing erupted. Eldaryn’s temperament instantly altered. Sniffing the air, hackles raised, one head snapped back, studying the ceiling. Emily crouched down, she too now looking above. “How many?” Her senses crackled to life at an alarming rate. She withdrew the lethal dagger Dezenial had presented her within the cavern, giving quick thanks she’d discovered the blade morphed into various shapes, enabling her to carry it on her person, no matter her attire. Her armband tightened. “No, guardian, not yet,” she whispered to it.
“How many what?” Broc followed their gazes, his own hackles raising. He’d focus later, the disquieting change sliding over Emily, and her instant battle-stance.
Forever gone, he noted, was the naïve modern from Texas.
“If I’d still been in my room, none of you here . . .” Emily couldn’t finish.
“They’ve found her. Your magic must be now, Outlander, or she will not survive what trails her scent down the stairwell.” No sooner had Eldaryn given his warning, a keening rattled the windows. Pounding of feet could be felt, not just heard. Broc muttered words she didn’t recognize and whipped out an amulet from under his tunic. The house rumbled.
She felt as if her insides pulled apart. Stretched. Like funhouse mirrors. Then, the sensation of rocketing through air.
Sprawled upon cold stone, her only coherent movement was to clutch her stomach before everything turned blessedly black. And somewhere in the fog, a strange familiar harmonization of numerous male voices chanted in singsong fashion.
Keer’dra.
“Dezenial?” It sounded weak, far, fading. Impossible.
“Nay, lass.” From behind heavy eyelids, she heard resignation in his voice. Concentrating very hard, she forced her body to obey her mental commands. Finally, her eyes opened. She was no longer on a hard floor.
“I’m sorry. I thought I heard him calling me.”
“Your apology is no’ necessary. I ken yer’ loss ta’ be great, and still raw. The healing will take a long time.”
“Thank you,” she said, too weak to speak above a whisper. “Thank you for coming, Broc. I think if you hadn’t, by now, I’d have gone over the edge from grief.”
“And malnourishment,” a woman’s heavily accented voice stated.
“Maeve!” Emily scooted up, numerous pillows quickly being assembled behind her by a doting laird. She and Maeve hugged long and hard, both weepy when they pulled apart. Maeve touched Emily’s hair, her face, squeezed her arm, stared intently at the gold armband, nodded her approval, and re-caressed Emily’s face. “Strong magic guards you, and as ancient as my people of the Fey.”
“I will take my leave and see to our other guests.” Broc curtly nodded, turning away.
“Wait. Please. Eldaryn, Cianna? They’re fine? Why did the realm jump make me feel so . . . awful? I blacked out.”
“My magic is borrowed. Yours is part of you.” Longing, heartbreak, and sudden wash of emotion Emily gleaned in his obsidian eyes before Broc averted his gaze. His pain was great, his heart as heavy as her own. Forgiving himself, she knew, was his most difficult journey to date.
“And the voices? I distinctly heard male voices, as if in a cathedral—“
“The Elders. They used their power to save yer’ bairns,” he said as gently as possible.
Emily gasped.
“The jump was very hard on you in your condition.”
Her insides fluttered. Her eyes watered with relief. It was as if Kendara and Denzyr sensed she needed the reassurance they were still a part of her. Whispering, more to herself, she caressed where they lay. “They’re all I have left of him.”
Broc sighed heavily, his voice filled with anguish. “That was Xyn’s view as well. And why it took so long before we arrived. I feared the jump would harm ye’, and contemplated how ta’ utilize modern transportation. In the end, Inzyr threatened bodily harm if I did no’ make the jump immediately. He is most persuasive.”
Emily could only nod. She knew, all the way down to her core, that it took Broc everything he owned not to smash the door shut behind his stiffened exit. She and Maeve remained silent, hands clutched tightly, each lost in their own thoughts while they stared at the door. The moment proved just too awkward for mere words between the two bonded women.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Days melded into weeks, and weeks slid into months, each lacking any significance other than a weary winter sun gave way to brighter, cheerier orb. White skies were now cornflower blue, streaked with hues of yellow during sunrise and gorging reds at days end. Like elegant women, trees regained their allure by way of leaves overflowing from hibernation. Color swept both forest and vale, great waves of purple heather providing a playing field for Sister Wind and spring nymphs. And half a day’s walk, the loch again shimmered, seagulls squawking like old women laughing over raunchy jokes. Rowans and birch were scrutinized, the men arguing over which would provide the next Yule log as they smacked their arms free of midges. Emily smiled, and turned her face up to the sun, lost in her memories.
Maeve had spent days collecting bog myrtle, crushing the flower and making a poultice for exposed skin. She mixed a bit of lavender in, ‘makes ‘em smell a wee bit better,’ though the men grumbled about smelling ‘like a summer lass’. Maeve would pause her ministrations, ‘As if ye’ ken what one smells like, aye?’
Remembering the old woman’s scowl gave Emily a chuckle.
This past Winter Solstice had found many couples languishing under the mistletoe, wishing to be blessed with bairns. Emily had tried very hard to refrain from snorting. The brutal blizzard screaming its rage for nearly two weeks was what had actually done the trick. Now, all these months later, she wasn’t the only one stumbling around, arching her back, pausing to catch her breath while she cupped her stomach to ease the weight of her burden. They’d catch each other’s eye and share laughter, as if in on some grand scheme.
Yuletide festivities came to a close with a toast to Kavan’s memorial, his shield placed lovingly above the main central hearth in Broc’s great hall. Not a dry eye had remained as they’d sung a lewd ditty, one of Kavan’s favorites. The Yule fires had been kept burning, Broc explaining that until the next morning, fires stopped prankster souls of their dead from coming down the chimney. Her gawking had earned a hall full of good natured taunts and raucous laughter.
Girlish giggles snagged her back to the present. She looked down over the short wall. A man from a neighboring clan, she knew only by face,
surprised his lady love with flowers and a rolled up plaid. Lizza pulled back the towel covering her basket. Bread, cheese and other items Emily stood too far above them to discern. He took the basket, handed her the lighter load of plaid and flowers, then linked his arm with hers and walked towards the lower bailey. A picnic. Very romantic.
She turned away, afraid her envy would infect the couple. Tightening Aedan’s plaid she’d pilfered to use as a shawl, she waddled the length of the ramparts, enjoying peace and solitude. And a good view of untouched land. Shades of browns, greens, blues, purples, and yellows captivated her for several hours. Sister Wind weaved through her hair. Soothing. She smiled and muttered her thanks to the elemental.
Emily lovingly caressed her very swollen abdomen. It was a wonder she could even move. Now that ice patches had finally melted, she was allowed a measure of freedom. Gah, but winter had nearly driven her mad, Eldaryn growling and raging when last she’d snuck up to the tower. To keep the Outlanders from losing their minds, and one seriously pissed off hellhound from being skewered with their drawn blades, she’d complied to remain indoors until spring warmed the land. She’d argued that she seriously doubted spring would have any effect on winter, this far north.
Twenty faces had scowled.
Throwing up her hands in defeat, she’d relented, knowing they flipped out because they cared so much.
Aunsgar enchanted her for a while with games of backgammon, and she’d introduced him to Stratego, by way of Allen providing the board game. She should have known better than to play such a game with real life warriors. Not once had she succeeded in capturing Aunsgar’s flag! And now, Clan MacLarrin was addicted to the game. That, and Battleship. She’d ruined them! Gah, the shouting matches that had ensued between Aedan and Reignsfeugh!
Regardless their intentions, cabin fever took its toll. Emily could no longer concentrate on anything that required sitting for longer than five minutes. By February, Emily swore she was no longer able to speak, instead, every answer coming from her a growl. Once, she’d even bared her teeth. Aunsgar had a moment of insight and set up the great hall for her to practice archery and blade tossing. She’d been extremely frustrated at first. It seemed Aurelia had not deigned to leave her with skills she could use at will. Pregnancy rage did not count, though none around her were the wiser. The only one seemingly to lack fear—or commonsense—of her increasing temper, was Eldaryn. She was still formulating a plan of attack to pay him back for his endless snide remarks. As soon as she was in battle-form again, she’d skin him. Mental images of her parading the grounds in a cloak made of his precious gray fur kept her warm and fuzzy. Lately, Eldaryn had begun to suspect her secret smiles when she’d look his way, and had voiced as much to Broc. “She plots my demise.”