My Immortal Protector

by Jen Holling

  But he had not been interested in her witchery. He had refused her offer, so what had she been doing in his head? It had only made him angry and confused.

  And then he had smelled it. Warm and sweet. Blood. And his body had ached worse. He knew then what had ailed him.

  Hunger.

  He'd needed blood. Once he'd realized that, the pain had centered in his gut, gnawing. The smell of the blood had only intensified the pain. And he'd heard the blood rushing. He'd thought he would die if he couldn't have it posthaste.

  He remembered very little after that. A struggle. Then there had been blood and he had been better. He'd begun to come back to himself.

  It had been a slow process, several nights in fact, but it had only taken him one to remember Deidra and what she was to him. That she was what had brought him to Hannah in the first place.

  "Love is so fleeting," Hannah sighed. "See how strong her affection was? It died with you. It always does."

  Stephen glared at her.

  Hate me. But you will never be free of me.

  "Get out of my head," he ground out through clenched teeth.

  "Then get into mine."

  He frowned at her, irritated and con­fused.

  "You can, you know."

  "Why would I want to? It would be like drowning in a cesspool of evil."

  Her lips twisted into a jagged smile. "You'd better start treading water, Ste­phen. Because you are not one of them anymore, and I'm all you've got."

  Chapter 18

  It took Drake’s scout several days longer than expected to return with news of Luthias. And the news of his where­abouts was far worse than any of them had imagined. He had been in Sterling petitioning the kirk assembly for a war­rant to arrest the Strathwick MacKays.

  Deidra's knees seemed to give at this news, and she had to find a place to sit. The fireplace was behind her, and she fell heavily onto the hearth, her fingertips pressed to her lips. Her father. Rose. They had never harmed a soul, only healed oth­ers, to their own detriment. Tried. Burned. All because of her. This had gone too far. So far that Deidra didn't know if there was any way of stopping it any­more. Luthias had a warrant. The king would soon be made aware that they were witches and her whole family would be hunted—outlawed, like the MacGregors.

  Stephen knelt beside her. "Nothing has happened yet. It's too soon for him to have reached Strathwick. If we leave now, there is still time."

  Her throat was choked with tears; they blurred her vision. Impotent fury rose in her chest like a swarm of angry bees. The dogs in the hall stood and began to bark. She had missed so many opportunities to stop him; she’d let them pass her by. No more.

  When she could speak, she said, her voice low and shaking, "I will kill him this time. And I don't care who is watching."

  They were not expecting him. They had grown complacent, wallowing in their evil ways. He was able to walk right up to William MacKay, who was in the little hamlet that crowded around the castle and loch, holding a wean, bouncing it and laughing at something someone said—un­til his attention was called to Luthias and his men’s approach. William turned, his expression immediately transforming from magnanimous overlord to grim war­lord. He handed the baby off.

  Luthias had never liked William MacKay, even when he'd thought the chieftain had been doing the Lords work. His magic gave him a brazen confidence. He believed himself beyond harm, beyond reproach. Invincible. And he had been, Luthias supposed. But not any­more.

  William did not walk to meet Luthias, standing his ground instead, hands clasped behind his back, watching as Luthias and his men marched to him. His hair had gone completely gray. It was unnatural on such a youthful face.

  "William MacKay!”' Luthias said in his loudest, clearest voice so everyone around could hear. "I hold here a warrant for you and your daughters arrest." He held the warrant up, the yellow seal clear for eve­ryone to see. "By order of the king."

  William’s gaze passed over the warrant, disinterested. "On what charges?"

  "Witchcraft."

  "What witchcraft? I am merely a healer.

  "No," Luthias said. "You are a baobhan sith."

  William’s brows shot up. “Am I now? And where did you come by this infor­mation?" He reached for the warrant, studying it with new interest.

  Luthias pulled it back, out of his reach. "Never mind that. All will be revealed during the trial."

  William’s eyes scanned the order from a distance. "I'm to be tried in England?"

  Luthias pursed his lips, irritated that William MacKay didn't seem at all dis­turbed by any of this. Aye!”' Luthias said reluctantly.

  "Good," William said. "My son is at court, and I miss him. 'Twill be good to see him again."

  "Do not start packing yet." Luthias rolled the document up and handed it to one of his men to slide into the pro­tective leather tube. "We are not leaving for England until we have your daughter as well."

  William lifted his shoulders. "I cannot help you. She has been gone a full moon without word."

  Luthias smiled. "Mayhap she is on her way home."

  William’s jaw tightened, giving Luthias a measure of satisfaction. "Let me tell my wife." He tried to walk past Luthias, but Luthias's men stopped him.

  "You stay with me," Luthias said. "I'll send someone to inform your wife and collect your things. If she wishes to visit you, she can come to us."

  William shook his head, his mouth grim. "You will regret this. Mark me."

  "I think not," Luthias said. "The only thing I regret is not pursuing you twelve years ago."

  William stared at him defiantly, com­municating with his eyes promises to kill and maim. Luthias motioned for him to be taken away, then he gave orders to shoot every animal in the village. Since they could not set up a normal camp without alerting his daughter and her cohorts the moment they arrived, he and his men would have to lodge with the vil­lagers.

  Luthias sighed, resigned to the fact that he would be sleeping on a heather-stuffed mattress crawling with lice for a while longer. He would bear it and more. The Lord had tested many men in worse ways. Job had lost far more than Luthias at Satan's hands. God would reward him tenfold, and all of this would be naught more than a bad dream.

  Chapter 19

  They rode without stopping, and this time Deidra didn't miss the rest. The horses couldn't move fast enough for her liking. But they understood her urgency. She communicated it to them constant­ly—and they pushed themselves harder. Drake had also sent word to the MacDonells. Deidra's stepmother was a MacDonell, so surely they would lend them aid. Unfortunately, their help might come too late.

  When they were still a few miles from Strathwick, Stephen made them stop to formulate a plan. They had been riding without any idea of what they would do when they arrived at Strathwick.

  "We can't just go in there, swords wav­ing, animals snarling," Stephen said as he gave Deidra a pointed look, "else someone will end up dead."

  They let their horses graze while they gathered in a small circle. Drake squatted on the ground and Deidra collapsed beside him, sitting cross-legged. Stephen and Hannah stood above them.

  "It will not be me who dies," Hannah said.

  "Is that so?" Drake said sarcastically, head tilted to the side to look up at her. "If you plan to sabotage us, then think again."

  "Enough!" Deidra said. She thought her head might explode if she had to listen to another moment of their bickering—or, more accurately, Hannah’s baiting and Drake biting back.

  They both fell silent.

  Hannah folded her arms beneath her breasts. At Drake’s she had managed to find more suitable clothing and now wore a wool gown suitable for travel, though a little too large for her slender frame, with an araisad wrapped around her shoulders and pinned at one side. She wore leather cork-soled boots. Yet still she looked dif­ferent, more refined than any Scots-woman Deidra had ever seen.

  Drake had brought a score of men, but they all seemed uneasy, watchi
ng Hannah and Stephen with wary eyes. They knew there were baobhan siths among them. They made signs of protection when Hannah or Stephen came near to protect themselves from evil.

  "We should split up," Stephen said. "Deidra and I will see to the rescue of her father, and you two take care of Luthias."

  "How are we supposed to do that?" Deidra asked, leaning back on her hands. Though she had not noticed it before, every muscle in her body ached. "We don't know where they're holding him."

  "Luthias came to Strathwick for you!”' Stephen said. "William is merely bait."

  “And that," said Drake, "is why we can­not just jig into the village and give our­selves up."

  Deidra worried her bottom lip as a plan occurred to her. She didn't particularly like it, but her father and stepmother would be near, so even if one of them was harmed there was an excellent chance the damage would not be permanent.

  She looked up at Stephen and then at her uncle. "I'll give myself up." Drake and Stephen immediately began to protest, but Deidra raised her voice to cut them off. "He will think I returned alone in defeat. He thinks Stephen is dead, and he doesn't know about you and Hannah. Once I am in his custody, he won't be looking for anyone else."

  "How will we know where you are?" Stephen asked.

  Deidra was warming to the idea. She sat up on the balls of her feet. "I'll send an animal to you. Luthias will have taken even more precautions than he did before. There will be no animals in the village." She smiled. "But even he cannot get rid of the rats. I will send you a rat."

  Hannah's lips curled in disgust and she rubbed her hands over her arms.

  Drake's brows drew together in confu­sion. “A rat will be intelligent enough to carry this out?"

  Deidra nodded. "You would be sur­prised. They are smarter than most dogs."

  "It’s a sound plan!”' Stephen admitted reluctantly. "But I do not like the idea of Deidra going in alone. I will go with her,"

  Deidra shook her head. "He thinks you're dead. If he wanted to burn you before, seeing you walking and whole after he killed you will make him certain that you are the devil himself."

  Stephen shrugged. "It will go to the grave with him, so what care I?"

  Drake considered Stephen for a moment, squatting, elbows resting on his thighs. He nodded slowly. "I think you're right." He turned to Deidra. "I would feel better if he accompanied you anyway.

  And besides!”' he said with a deep breath as he stood, "it will be good to have Ste­phen on the inside, and it will keep Luth­ias busy, distracted."

  Deidra looked up at Stephen, wonder­ing what prompted him to make such an offer. Love? He looked back at her, unsmiling, and she just didn't know. Whatever it was it warmed her. She would not admit it—not after the morn­ing in the garden—but she felt safer knowing he would be with her. It seemed ridiculous after her fear of him, but he'd had the opportunity to hurt her and he hadn't.

  Her hand went to her throat, touching the place where his sharp incisor had scratched her. It was gone, not even a scab now.

  Stephen’s gaze dipped, registering her action, and his mouth thinned. "Let’s go," he said gruffly and turned his back to her.

  Luthias was washing his face in a rain bar­rel when she arrived. She rode into the village as if she owned it, she and her companion, and he supposed she had rea­son for that. Strathwick, after all, was Deidra MacKays home.

  Luthias moved surreptitiously back so that his body would be hidden behind the cottage stones. His eyes narrowed as the villagers rushed out of their homes and waved at them. One grabbed the bri­dle of Deidra's horse and came close, urgently speaking to her. Deidra's head shot up, a line of confusion between her eyes.

  Luthias shook his head. Traitors to the king, the lot of them. He would deal with this whole community. But for now, there was only one witch he wanted. The rest could wait.

  His men swarmed out of the cottages, surrounding the two riders. Luthias's eyes widened, and his heart stammered pain­fully against his ribs. He'd been so focused on Deidra that he had paid scant atten­tion to her companion. But now he saw that it was none other than Stephen Ross.

  He had expected to see him—slung across a saddle, or dragged in a litter, not riding under his own power. And his face was completely unmarred, his hands whole and unblemished, not crippled at all.

  Luthias's bowels shriveled. He had seen many wicked things, but this was true evil. He had seen this man broken beyond repair—had done the breaking himself. And now he looked fitter than he had before Luthias had even started in on him.

  He found himself hesitant—nay, afraid—to even walk out in the open, to let Stephen Ross see him. Luthias swal­lowed hard and fisted his hands. This was another test. God had brought him this far, he would carry him the rest of the way. Luthias had faith that his fight was a good one.

  He squared his shoulders and walked into the road. His men had already pulled Stephen and Deidra down from their horses. They looked to Luthias for their next orders.

  There was no point in waiting. That would only give the witches time to mount a rescue, as they had twelve years ago. He would not give them the oppor­tunity. He had also devised a way to stop Deidra MacKay from calling on her ani­mals.

  "Secure them and load them into the wagon. Load up William MacKay as well."

  "What have you done to my father?" Deidra demanded, surging forward, hands balled into fists. His men held her back effortlessly.

  Luthias snapped his fingers, and one of his men brought him a leather box. Luth­ias opened it and removed a vial, which he unstoppered.

  "Drink this."

  Deidra's hand swung out to knock it from his hand, but he had anticipated such defiance and pulled the vial back.

  She stared at him, mouth obstinate, eyes on fire.

  "I'm sure that's not necessary," Stephen said in his placating voice, a voice that

  Luthias now knew was false.

  "You are the walking dead. You are evil incarnate. Do not speak to me."

  He took a threatening step closer to Deidra. "You will drink this willingly, or my men will hold you down while I pour it down your gullet then hold your nose until you swallow."

  Her jaw moved as she ground her teeth, obviously searching for a response and not finding it. The only possible response was compliance. She was a fool if she didn't see that.

  She looked up at her companion. His mouth was flat and grim. He gave a single nod. Her shoulders slumped. She took the vial from Luthias.

  She stared at the contents, then sighed and tossed it back. Her face twisted with disgust as she threw the vial on the ground.

  "What now?" she said.

  Luthias gestured to the men waiting with leather straps hanging from their hands. They came forward and secured Deidra and Stephen’s wrists behind their backs, then led them to the wagon and assisted them into the back of it. Stephen walked tall and straight. No limp. Luth­ias's bowels shrunk again. He was no longer a cripple.. .if he'd ever been one.

  As if reading his thoughts, Stephen looked back over his shoulder and smiled. It was a knowing smile, an evil smile, and

  Luthias fought with the urge to have him clubbed unconscious.

  He scanned the area nervously. Though He’d had all of the animals except his men’s horses shot and the horses secured by several men, he wouldn't put anything past Deidra. William was led to the wagon and pushed into it with his daugh­ter.

  William spoke to her in a low voice. She laid her head against his shoulder. She was already fading. The tightness in Luth­ias's chest eased.

  He hoped—nay, he prayed—that God had guided him straight this time and he had overlooked nothing so that finally he could accomplish God's will.

  Deidra's head bobbed against Stephen's shoulder in a jarring and surely painful manner. She was not yet unconscious, but she could not hold her head up. He wished he could ease her discomfort, but with his wrists tied behind his back there was nothing he could do.

  The poppy juice L
uthias had made her drink worked on her senses. She blinked groggily, fighting to stay lucid. Stephen only hoped it hadn't been too much for her. She was a tiny woman who did not take it with regularity, as Stephen did. He'd seen it kill people who'd taken it in excess.

  William watched his daughter with a worried frown that mirrored Stephen’s concern. "Did he give her too much, think you? Could it kill her?"

  Stephen shrugged. "Good thing you're here, aye?"

  “Aye, good thing nothing happened when I wasn't there to help."

  Stephen's mouth turned down. He'd known this was coming. "I sent you word. I told you I would keep her safe."

  William's shoulders thrust forward as he leaned toward Stephen. Aye, but you didn't tell me where she was. We searched for her."

  "If you were searching so desperately, what are you doing here now?"

  William fell back against the wagon. His jaw shifted, and he inhaled but didn't answer. He didn't have to.

  Stephen nodded. "Because Drake sent word, too, aye? Told you he had her and was protecting her. Only then did you rest easy, because Drake wasna the crip­ple, so he could actually protect her."

  William didn't answer. The wagon hit a rut and they all banged into the wagon's sides, jarring bones. The last time William had seen Stephen, such movement would have been excruciating to him. And Wil­liam was not a man to miss much.

  William's gaze traveled over Stephen, scrutinizing him. "You are not cripple any longer."

  Stephen shrugged. "It appears I am not."