Shadows of the Keeper

by Karey Brown

  “Aye, mutt, be wary. No’ a triflin’ event, when a woman schemes yer’ downfall.”

  Grinning to herself, she reminisced how her rage had produced a ball of flame she’d thrown at the hound. Aunsgar had leapt from where he partook of his meal, his sword smacking the burning ball away from the fur coat of her protector. Eldaryn had refused to speak to her for a full three weeks.

  Until she’d skewered Urkani.

  Gazing up at the bright star, Emily frowned. When the hell had it become evening? These lapses in time were becoming more frequent. Waddling to a small bench, she sat down and focused on memories in order to chase away the dizziness.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to just have a gun?”

  “Must you shoot everything?” Urkani had said, not hiding his disgust.

  “I’m from Texas—“

  “That has been proven otherwise.”

  “We like our guns.”

  “And if you run out of bullets?”

  “Club ‘em to death?” Eyelashes fluttered at the Elf commander.

  Eldaryn had made a slight snorfing from his snout. Urkani remained undaunted.

  “Uh huh. Toss the dirk, Lady Emily. Try aiming for the target this time instead of the floor, chair, and wall.”

  “The target seems to be off center. I don’t understand why you have to be so frickin’ difficult. Just swallow your damn Elvin pride, and go fix it!” She’d even stomped her foot.

  With long, purposeful strides, Urkani stormed the length of the great hall, muttering under his breath. Their growing audience stilled at such a rare display of Elven fury.

  “If you have something to say, Elf, at least strap on a pair and say it loud enough for me to respond to.”

  Throwing her a look of pure malice, he turned his back on her, and backhanded the target in rapid succession. “Perhaps it is not so much that the target is ill centered, but, rather, the bearer of weaponry lacks skill!”

  “Hey, you’re right! The target is much easier to see now!” Emily flicked her wrist. Gasps and expletives filled the air. Weapon soared end over end—faster than Urkani could react to her wicked tone implying danger to his person.

  Thud of blade entering flesh plunged the hall into an unsettling hush.

  Slowly, Urkani pivoted, shock plaguing his beautiful features. Hilt of her blade protruded sickeningly from his shoulder, the blade poking out from under his collarbone.

  “Well, shit.” Her hands began throbbing. She held them in front of her, shocked. Why hadn’t they done this for Dezenial? The burning was fast becoming unbearable. “Get him down!” Garreck and Finnegan had already rushed to Urkani’s aid, slowly easing him to the floor. Boots pounding, Emily knew someone had dashed off to get Broc. Aunsgar, no doubt, was already on his way. “Turn him over on his side.” Her hands glowed white hot, the burning forcing her to speak through clenched teeth. The searing was unreal. A sharp kick in her abdomen, she doubled over. Footfalls neared. “No. You . . . can’t touch me when I’m like this.” She didn’t bother to follow the pair of legs up to see who’s face looked down at her. “Pull the knife,” she hissed.

  Garreck panicked. “Lass, yer’ white as death.”

  “Pull the knife, or he’ll die.”

  “Do as she requests,” Aunsgar’s cold voice commanded. Emily cringed. Fury leapt from Aunsgar, chilling her to the bone. Fisting the handle, giving her and Aunsgar a final look, Garreck leaned down closer to Urkani.

  “Mi’ apologies, Elf.”

  Urkani’s sharp intake of breath mutilated her conscience, playing her guilt like canastas. Quickly, she placed a hand over either side of the wound’s openings. Blood gushed. Otherworldly languages flowed from her as searing white light emanated from her into Urkani’s wounds. Peripheral ceased to exist for her. Male voices soared upwards, chanting likened to monks, she right along with them. Louder, pulsating with power, the voices rose, the chanting deafening. Light from Emily’s hands flared. Men raised their arms, warding off the brightness, peering from around their forearms. As abruptly as it began, voices waned and heat ebbed.

  Urkani’s screams silenced.

  With utmost care, the High Elf was rolled over onto his back. Plaids were bunched up and placed under him to ward off chill of stone floor and act as padding for his healed wound, now nothing more than a hideous bruise covered in dried blood.

  Their eyes locked. Something profound passed between Emily and Urkani. She didn’t offer apologies. ‘I’m sorry’ seemed puny against what she’d done to him. Strange, however, that it wasn’t anger she saw in the commander’s dark blue eyes, but empathy. The same compassion she’d seen on his face when he’d wrapped her in a plaid, offering reassurances—not judgments—when she’d first found herself thrust from Balkore. Lovingly, she fingered strands of his hair off his face. He grasped her hand, holding her open palm against his cheek for several seconds.

  A most unladylike grunt escaped her as she tried lifting herself from murderous position, her legs prickling from lacking blood flow. Hands grasped her elbows, helping her up. Assistance, she needed daily. She turned away from them. Shamed. There would never be an excuse for what she’d done today; never an excuse for losing her temper with such violence. None spoke. Their stares thumbtacked her spine. She was a terrible person. These men had done nothing but offer her safety, protection, friendship—her gaze swept to Kavan’s memorial.

  Some had even given their lives, Lumynari weapons lethal enough to kill an immortal warrior. Broc had opened his home; they’d all opened their hearts. They never doubted her, even though she doubted herself.

  She thanked them by being an unappreciative bitch.

  Her hand grasped the balustrade.

  “Lass, ye’ ken our ways. Ye’ doona need ta’ leave our presence. We ken yer’ pain, yer’ temper ta’ be expected.”

  She didn’t turn around. She would not look into the faces of so many she’d been a belligerent child towards. And she would not cry. Zeus knew, they’d suffered ample amounts of her tears. Heartache devastated her every coherent moment. And when she slept, the nightmare of his final moments played over and over, filled in with details that left her seeking a chaise in front of the hearth in an attempt to remain awake.

  Regardless her personal anguish, they didn’t deserve how she’d treated them.

  “I would request but one favor, mi’ lord,” she said softly.

  She didn’t see him stiffen, and look back at his men. Never had Emily paid him homage. “I would grant it,” Broc said. Anything. Anything ta’ see ye’ smile again, ta’ lighten yer’ eyes, to see me again, as a mohn, no’ yer’ enemy. But he kept these thoughts buried deep, not sure what power she possessed. He did not desire her to see his pain. She carried enough of her own. He did not want her to ever know how, each night, his heart shriveled when she thought she wept unheard.

  “Your word, Laird MacLarrin . . .”

  Emily sighed, brought back to the present, the cold night threatening to freeze the stream of tears upon her face. She shifted Aedan’s plaid. Regardless of it being June, the chill was more penetrating tonight. Down below, the upper bailey was bathed in the full moon, an eerie bluish lighting making her feel she’d stepped into Netherworld.

  Unbeknownst to Emily, Innya and her fellow watchmen made sure to take turns secretly standing guard over their queen during her nightly haunts upon the tower. Fixated on the heavens, bathed in moonlight, they’d been transfixed by the ethereal figure with tears glittering down her face like silver. Innya left plaids on the overstuffed chaise they’d hauled up several days earlier; the lone watchwoman apprehensive Lady Emily’s pregnancy now too heavy to remain standing for long periods of time.

  Emily slipped back into memories and guilt over Urkani suffering a ghastly wound because of her temper.

  “Once, your word was something an entire kingdom revered. Honor, Broc, was important to you.”

  “Still is.” He’d grasped her double meaning. “My words were reaction to a ph
otograph of Pendaran. I thought you secretly met with him. I did not ken he remained unseen by you. I should have. I should have known the druid conspired. Always, this was his way. And I should have asked you, but anger forever rules me.”

  Silence stretched, her hand still upon the balustrade. Behind her, the hall’s silence was as heavy as the twins she carried. Broc sighed, defeated. “Ye’ ‘ave mi’ word, Princess Emily.”

  “Isolation is where I will remain for the duration of this pregnancy.”

  “Lass—“

  “Your word is your honor, Forest Lord.” Finally, she turned to face him. Amber eyes glittered with tears, her face awash with their fall. “But, occasionally, healing hearts to proceed, your company would be . . . treasured.”

  Something in Broc expanded. Frozen heart reacted of its own accord from her offer. Instantly thawed, it flooded with the warmth of—dare he even think it—hope. Fear dragged a shroud to drape over him, for would he once again awaken, Emily’s words whispered in a dream? And then, he would be left to do what none knew . . . and he would die before admitting.

  Broc greeted each new day as he’d left the previous. Tears of torment, and self-loathing over what he’d done, vile words he could never eradicate from one he loved so deeply, he’d lay down and die in place of her beloved. Just to gain her forgiveness. To see her smile. Nearing the top stair, grasping tightly the balustrade, he could see, even from here, her knuckles whitening, her burden heavy. Determined to climb unassisted, she’d waved them off many times. He watched, unable to do ought else until she was no more than a memory having rounded the deep corridor long moments ago.

  The very minute she knew she was out from his line of vision, Emily sagged against the wall. Past experience, one stumble and they’d spill over themselves getting to her. They had done enough. Exhausted, her despair only became more acute. She’d not really taken into context what Dezenial’s warning had truly entailed, should one of them perish. How in the hell was she to carry on? And now, feelings for Broc blossomed. Betrayal to Dezenial’s memory. Pregnancy. Nothing more than crazy hormones. She rubbed her stomach, knowing she was about to be kicked, having dared think of another man other than their father. But no pulverizing of her innards transpired. She sighed, resting her head back, the wall doing a fantastic job of holding her up right now. There was an odd comfort this ancient keep gave her. A sense of being home. For the thousandth time, tears poured. Chin quivered. Torn. Confused. Angry. Bitter.

  And so very weak.

  Twice now, though she spoke of it to none, she’d been seized with severe dizziness. Sitting quickly, her vision would darken for several long moments. Consciousness would return with her slumped in the chair. Tell someone and have them hover, or—

  “Perhaps ye’ would allow me ta’ simply escort you to your chambers.”

  Emily opened her bleary eyes. “That would be nice. The stairs, you know.”

  “Aye, lass, ‘tis almost over.”

  “I’m scared,” she whispered, shocked she’d voiced such an intimate confession. Infuriating trembling resumed. Something was definitely wrong. She should send for Maeve. Daily, she weakened, but Colin could find no cause. Sometimes, her nails would turn blue. Was her heart giving out?

  “Of?”

  What had they been talking—oh. “Labor. Pain. Motherhood.” She looked down at herself. “My babies having only me.”

  “They need not be raised alone by ye’, Emily.” He held his breath, stunned he’d let that slip. She’d shred him for sure. Send him away. Never speak to him again. Set flame to him.

  Her tears turned her amber eyes into glittering jewels.

  “No riddles, Broc. Your words.”

  He fought valiantly, a silent war waging within.

  Emily sensed he was terrified to speak his heart.

  He took a hesitant step closer. Slowly, he reached out, his trembling hand settling over hers. Throughout the castle, there seemed to exist a pause.

  As if every living creature knew something delicate was coming to pass.

  “Would you . . . like . . . to feel?”

  “Aye,” his voice cracked. “I would be verra honored.”

  Delicately, she positioned his battle-calloused hand around the side of her stomach. She closed her eyes. Unbeknownst to Broc, Emily spoke to her children, conscious they read her mind as easily as their father had. She was grateful she couldn’t read theirs, feeling a child should possess the privacy of thought; she was positive, when they became teens, there would be regret for her lacking ability. She shared with them from the beginning when she’d first laid eyes on the Highlander. How she’d dreamt of him before ever meeting him. Memories of another lifetime, in another age. The spats they’d had, then and now. The love they’d once shared—and lost. Her great love for their father, though she knew this last part was redundant. She conveyed her fear, confusion of being so alone, and her fierce oath she’d protect them. Emily hoped they’d kick, allowing Broc to feel the life within her. She held her breath. Stillness would let her know she was to push him forever out of her life. They would never accept him.

  Their happiness came first.

  A flutter at first, so faint, she almost missed it.

  “Lass?” Broc whispered.

  She opened her eyes. Suddenly, she sucked in her breath. The kick to her side was so strong, she thought for sure she’d see bruising, if she looked in a mirror. “You’re grinning like a boy who’s just had his first kiss.”

  “Does it hurt? ‘Tis amazing!”

  “That one did, but it was meant to.”

  Quickly, he removed his hand. Kicking commenced to pound where his hand had been. She snatched his hand, pressed it back against her side and sighed with sweet relief. And placed his other hand on the opposite side of her stomach. Kicking softer against Broc’s hands, several times, commenced before the twins settled. “I doona’ understand why that was supposed ta’ hurt.”

  “They accept you.” She waited, daring him to claim impossibility. Instead, he nodded.

  “And their mother?”

  “Your vile words haunt me, even when I sleep.” His hands dropped and she instantly missed their warmth.

  “I am sworn ta’ protect you, cursed to never again be allowed to call ye’ mi’ own. Our immortality is punishment for abandoning you.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “It was a different time then.”

  “I allowed mi’ people ta’ turn on ye’. I encouraged it. And recently, have had revealed to me tha’ Na’Dryn conspired with Lumynari, which lead to so many deaths—deaths I blamed Aurelia for. Deaths tha’ were mi’ own fault for turning on the one woman whose heart I had been gifted with. Aurelia. She was no’ just the exiled royal. She was mi’ wife. Thirty-six hundred years, every day, I face tha’ I did no’ just betray my people and Aurelia, I betrayed mi’ self. I live with this every day I exist, Lady Emily. Every day.”

  His pain too great to witness, she looked down at her pregnancy. Profoundly shocked when she dared peek up at him, she almost reached out. Almost.

  Broc MacLarrin’s face was damp with tears. And, there was no shame.

  “I would raise the bairns as mi’ own. With all the pride I possess as a mohn, I give oath they will never be allowed ta’ forget their sire.”

  Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. She tried speaking, only to sob harder. She nodded several times, leaning towards him, head bowed.

  Laird MacLarrin pulled Emily into an embrace that encompassed her unborn twins . . . and a goodly portion of her heart. Neither witnessed smiles and tears of clan and Elves tiptoeing away, breathing sighs of relief.

  At long last, their laird forgave his past and his present.

  Icy gust of wind snapped Emily from her reverie. Warmth of fire was what she needed. Breath shuddered in front of her. She grabbed the low wall, steadying herself. Dizzy. So damn dizzy. All the time now. Peripherals evening out, she slipped back into the darkened alcove, and failed to notice Eldaryn from when
ce he watched. Nor did she see the hound drop his heads, softly whimpering over being powerless to heal his mistress’ sorrow.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Aunsgar interchanged hurtling and dashing down the wide stairwell that spilled from his private towers. Soft boots skidded to a halt in the great hall, his long white hair askew.

  Unusual Elvish display stilled and terrified every Forest Lord.

  Months had passed since their laird and lady had called truce. Were they warring? Nay, couldna’ be, the Lady Emily too weakened of late with the last stages of pregnancy. Still . . . why else would the austere Elf be charging towards them?

  “Lumynari arrive. Nay,” he waved them down. “Stay your weaponry. Allies!” No sooner voiced, thirteen Lumynari warriors stepped from thin air. None dared even flex, though sharp inhales and gulping sounded over three hearths of crackling fires.

  “Dad?” Emily called down, her voice quavering. Her hand covered her mouth.

  The deadliest of the brood stepped forward. His feral smile caused Maeve to step against Reignsfeugh. Any other time, the open display of affection would have been cause for ribald teasing.

  “I should cut out your tongue, addressing me as such in public.”

  Tears leapt to Emily’s eyes, glittering like amber jewels. “I’d torch you bald.”

  “A sound thrashing as well.”