Berneen cowered against Lyncoln, tears starting from her eyes.
Lyncoln put his arm around her, and held her close. Well, you see, Mary. She got into a bit of a scrap with Jocelyn. When I found her, Berneen was astraddle of Joc, banging her head against the floor."
"Why? Mary's face filled with incredulity.
"Berneen hated Clennan. He destroyed her father's business so that Berneen had no place to go and could not leave him."
"That's terrible."
"Oh, it gets worse, Mary. It gets much worse. Can we sit down?"
Mary gestured at the table, studying Berneen's face as if seeing her for the first time. Would you like a glass of wine, Berneen?"
"I think something stronger is called for, Mary. Would you have whiskey or gin about?"
"That cabinet over there, Lyncoln. That's where Todd keeps it. Mary's face crumpled into a freshet of tears as she corrected herself. That's where he kept it."
Lyncoln got Berneen settled into a chair, and fetched the whiskey along with three glasses. I think you could use a shot of this yourself, Mary. Todd was a fine mon and we all miss him. Clennan was a dastard of the darkest waters, but we're only beginning to discover many of the details. Like what he did to Berneen. Lyncoln placed a glass of whiskey in Berneen's hand, closed her fingers around it, and then squeezed her shoulder. Drink it down and then tell her about it."
Mary pulled herself together, wiping her eyes on a handkerchief. Tell me, please?"
Berneen's lips trembled. She struggled to frame her words without a sob catching in her throat. The Heatherford healers said it was Clennan's. However, he used to have Faerwald and Lairgan mount me while he watched. They would tie me up and beat me first."
Lyncoln refilled her glass, and spilled whiskey on the table as Berneen unlaced her bodice and pulled it down. Long scars that could only have been made by silver crisscrossed her breasts. Ungodly foul sodomite. Filthy piece of regurgitated goat-shite. Lyncoln continued to curse in colorful, inventive language for several breaths.
Mary moved to Berneen's side, hugged her, and pulled her bodice up. Let's take this to my office where I see patients."
Lyncoln tucked the bottle under his arm, gathered the glasses, and followed after them. Mary walked with a protective arm around Berneen.
Myn paused to stare, but no one tried to stop them until they turned the corner. Russa stood talking to Trevor in the hallway. He wore a bandage around his head where he had taken a long shallow gash during the fighting around the scaffolds.
Russa stopped talking and intercepted them glaring. What's she doing here?"
Mary gave her a quelling look. Clennan abused her. There's silver scars all over her. Help me get her to my office."
"Oh, my gods, what a beastly mon he was. Russa went from outraged to shocked. Don't you worry, Berneen. You're safe now."
Together, Russa and Mary rallied their family around Berneen as they proceeded through the hallways. Phoebe joined them.
"What's going on? Trevor fell into step beside Lyncoln.
Lyncoln rotated his neck as if he had a crick in it. I hate having to repeat this, Trevor. Kindly share it with those who need to know, will you? Berneen was held against her will by Clennan. He destroyed her family's livelihood, and abused her. She's been living in terror for months, and now she's ready to collapse."
Trevor's eyes went distant and considering. I'll get the word around so folks don't keep asking."
Mary's office had a desk, chairs, and sofas on the left and a folding screen and examination table on the other.
"Sit down over there, Lyncoln. Mary pointed at the chairs as Russa extended the screen.
"No. Berneen clutched at him. Don't leave me."
"I'll be back presently. Don't you worry. Lyncoln gestured for Mary to step outside with him. She is in very bad shape. Been on the edge of hysteria ever since I found her. Hadn't eaten since yesterday morning."
"I understand. Why has she come to me?"
"Tansy. I think it'd be better if you let her ask for it."
"How much liquor has she had?"
"Just the two in the kitchen."
Mary calculated for a moment. I think it's safe to give her a quarter dose of Narcantha. That will settle her."
When they returned, Russa and Phoebe had gotten Berneen out of her dress and into a comfortable robe. She lay on the table with the robe open. The lycans had no nudity taboos; such things did not work well when a full change to wolf required disrobing. Nonetheless there was a time and a place for such things; and a time and a place where nudity felt inappropriate.
Seeing the massive scars on Berneen's young body sent a wave of discomfort through Lyncoln as he recalled all the playful spankings he had given Terry, which never left a lasting mark on her. She grabbed at him and he caught her hand, holding it with gentle firmness. It's alright, Berneen. They're going to help you."
Mary swabbed Berneen's arm and injected her with the Narcantha. Russa and Phoebe continued to pat, stroke, and murmur words of comfort to Berneen.
Berneen's eyes grew heavily lidded and she reclined against a pile of pillows that supported her back. I want a dose of tansy..."
"You'll need to stay here overnight. We'll take care of you. Won't we, Russa?"
"Of course we will. Russa's voice carried a hard edge. If he weren't already dead, I'd go over and kill him myself. These scars are the worst thing I've ever seen."
Tears crept into Phoebe's eyes. Except for what they did to Grandfather."
Lyncoln remained quiet, feeling out of place before their grief. If Berneen had not kept holding onto his hand, he would have slipped out the door. He pitied her. He had never seen a bitch so broken and destroyed.
"Do you feel like telling me about it, now? Mary asked, her healer's voice filled with compassion.
"Yes. Berneen's tongue felt thick and awkward in her mouth, making her slur her words. Tansy. But I've ... wondered for so many weeks ... so many weeks..."
She started to drift and Mary brought her back with an encouraging question. What have you wondered?"
"Whose stick it was ... got me up. Berneen giggled, deep in the hollows of whiskey and Narcantha. Curses in the night ... and bad language. Whose seed I punished with death."
Mary searched the faces around her and the answer came from Russa, who was unusually serious. Closure, Mary. You can give her closure."
"How many were there? Mary returned her attention to Berneen.
"Faerwald, Lairgan, and Clennan. Only those three rump stickers. Berneen released Lyncoln and placed her hand over her mouth to stifle another round of giggles.
"Narcantha's odd stuff, observed Lyncoln.
Mary nodded. Especially mixed with whiskey."
"Can you do it for her? Give her peace of mind?"
"Probably. Sha has tissue samples from each of the three that I can use to make the comparison."
Mary sent for the crystalled samples. Holding one in her hand, she grasped Berneen's wrist and Read her. It's not Clennan's."
One by one, she went through the three crystals. It's Faerwald's."
A giddy smile lit Berneen's face. A pox upon the silly blighter ... ding dong all gone ... Faerwald is fairly walled in his coffin ... and his stick's in a jar. His nastiness we'll flush from my barrel."
"And now the tansy? Lyncoln stroked Berneen's hair. Poor little flower."
A gesture from Mary sent Russa for it.
"We'll want to keep her here over night in case there's a problem. She's close to three months. The farther into a pregnancy that you abort, the greater the chance of complications."
"I understand."
Berneen smiled into the glass she held in her hand. Thank you, Mary."
Berneen's legs were too wobbly to walk, so Mary put her in a wheel-chair and left it for Russa and Phoebe to move Berneen into one of the many extra bedrooms.
Lyncoln retrieved the whiskey and glasses before following Mary to a drawing room on the third floor.
He settled on the sofa, poured two glasses, and pushed one toward Mary. Nothing like whiskey to put the heart back in you."
Mary regarded the glass with trepidation. I rarely drink anything stronger than mulled wine."
"It's not a day for mulled wine. It's a day for something stronger. I only met Todd a few times, but I liked the mon. Not everyday a legend dies. Especially that way."
Mary sipped at the whiskey and grimaced at the glass. That's awful."
Lyncoln turned the bottle around so that Mary could see the Dragonsbreath label. Hold your nose and down it goes. You'll feel better, I promise."
"Are you still looking for a wife? Mary swallowed the rest of the whiskey in her glass with a wry face, and changed the subject.
"As Regina put it, I've been fishing the wrong lakes. But yes. Or rather, my Dad is hunting one for me. As a middle son, I have no inheritance coming. Terry was a love match. This time around? Lyncoln shrugged. Money and connections. Children are a commodity, even at my age. Dad wants an alliance out of my next marriage. No for love about it. But maybe a bit of fun."
"How do you feel about it?"
Lyncoln poised the bottle over her glass and she covered it with her hand. Oh, come on, Mary. One more won't ruin your day."
Mary moved her hand and Lyncoln poured her a second drink. You're trying to get me drunk, Lyncoln Wescot."
"Well, yes, I am. You're all tied up in knots, you've got the bloody big shiner, and I would bet good coin that you've not let yourself have a good cry yet."
Mary gave him an uncertain but game smile. You'd win the wager, Lyncoln."
"Yes, well... Lyncoln flinched away from the flash of grief in Mary's eyes. Now, back to this wife hunt. I'm indifferent, really. There's no replacing Terry. Still a dog is happiest when he's got a bitch to warm his bed and cheer his nights. Are you certain there are no unmarried Sinclairs or Maguires lurking about the premises? He winked at her. I would not mind fishing that lake."
"You just missed them. The Dreaded Horde would see you more as a target than a suitor anyways."
"Well, I'd rather be the bowmon than the deer. So I guess that's out. Lyncoln chuckled.
"No one strikes your fancy?"
Lyncoln stared into his fourth glass of whiskey. I wouldn't call it fancy. Whimsy, maybe. There's one I've daydreamed of bending over my knee and giving her the paddling her father should have given her."
"Jocelyn?"
He chortled. I'd tame that little trolleymog and teach her to laugh at my jokes. Must laugh at my jokes, even when they're lame."
* * * *
Cooley sat with the letter from his mother on his lap. He had not opened it yet. Nightmares had besieged his sleep. Silkie had been in all of his dreams; a face twisted by inhuman appetites, fangs long and threatening. They all ended with him dying; her fangs in his throat. Unable to shake himself free of the lingering images and the taste of terror, Cooley shoved the letter behind the cushions and walked away.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FUNERAL
They held Claw's funeral the day after solstice. Everyone in the village gathered for it wearing black and stayed at a respectful distance from the familya distance enforced by Reist and his guardsmyn. The crowd opened as Ossian approached, allowing him to walk into the cemetery. He had his right arm strapped down. Sha had been reluctant to allow him out of bed, but his brothers had promised to see that he did not become tired or worn. His presence as senior lawgiver was expected at the funeral of a chieftain as a matter of form. It was rumored that Kynyr would issue a formal declaration of war against Waejontor at the funeral.
The lawgiver had always wanted to see Wolffgard, their capital, but never expected it to be under these circumstances. Ossian had fought at the Battle of Three Stones where he had first met three of Pandeena's yuwenghau companions, Lokynen Willidar the Battle Master, Meleajys Sun-Child, and Hathura Waveskimmer.
The three Sinclair brothers stood with Kynyr and Kady at the graveside looking as stalwart as a castle wall. Stone had stationed himself to Kynyr's right.
"Now there's one I would not wish to go against, Ossian muttered.
Then he spied Malthus standing with his arms around Merissa who sobbed with her face pressed into his shoulder. Ossian disliked that mon. There was something about him that did not seem right. People had told Ossian that Malthus treated his wife badly and that Merissa was afraid of her husband, but no one would know it from the protective way that he held and comforted her.
Three children watched the scene from behind Malthus. Ossian recognized two of them as Malthus nieces and the other as Merissa's sa'necari bastard son. The girls looked blasé about everything, while the boy was in tears. Ossian could understand the tears, as he had been told more than once that Darmyk had been close to his grandfather. The girls were an enigma to him. If Malthus had intended harm to the realm, why had he not come alone? Enigmas were all around him and as lawgiver, people expected Ossian to decipher them. He had been there for weeks and barely scratched the surface of it all.
Ossian glanced at the thanes and their bitches. They appeared oddly subdued compared to how they had been at Aisha's funeral. He had left early from that one, and all he had of it were mostly secondhand accounts of what transpired there.
He supposed that their mood reflected more their reaction to all the bad news that had been laid on them the day that Kynyr made himself king, than actual grief at the loss of a chieftain whom many of them had been at odds with. As a matter of habit, Ossian counted the thanes to see if any were missing. There were sixteen of them. The only one missing was Clennan. By right, Kynyr could seize Heatherford since Clennan's murder of Todd and the subsequent attack upon the lawgivers constituted treason. Ossian found himself wondering if Kynyr would take the fief from Clennan's heirs.
A flash of orange distracted Ossian from his speculation and he watched that tiger-striped cat, which Darmyk had named Kerry, maneuver through the crowds, nearly getting stepped on several times. Once in the clear, the cat bolted over to Tarrant Redhand's gravestone and sat with a watchful poise.
"Odd creature."
"What did you say? Waid's intense blue eyes studied his brother. Are you tired? There's some benches in the back for those who need to rest."
Ossian shook his head. I was wondering about the cat. There's something strange about him."
"Looks like just a cat to me, Ultan scoffed.
"Maybe."
Pandeena moved to the graveside and the service began.
* * * *
Malthus stood with his arm around Merissa, who sobbed against his shoulder. He stroked her hair and patted her back. He schooled his face into an expression of concern, glancing surreptitiously about. His neck itched when he saw Ossian, remembering the day that the lawgiver had dropped that noose around his neck as a threat. That thrice-damned lawgiver was out to get him.
The debacle at the Sanctuary had made Malthus reluctant to go there again. Ossian had been sniffing around the refugee camp ever since Faerwald and Lairgan made hash of the rowdies who frequented the women there.
With the death of Clennan, Malthus had run out of cat's paws unless he could bring Bella to heel. However, there was nothing he could really use her for at that point, so it scarcely seemed worth the effort.
Kerry hissed at Malthus in passing, startling him out of his thoughts. Malthus wondered who had let the beast out. That cat had a talent for escaping the closets that Malthus locked it in. He had left poisoned food out for the cat several times, but although the food was always gone, the cat remained healthy. Malthus could not put his finger on why the cat bothered him so much, only that his gut instinct said there was something uncanny about the creature.
Pandeena's voice, ending the first part of the service and initiating the eulogies, distracted Malthus again. The bitch priest conducted the funeral as if she owned the manor. Malthus concealed his anger behind a mask of sorrow, determined to put on the proper show for the villagers as
the concerned husband who had loved his father-in-law.
Stone stepped up to give the first eulogy. He made Malthus nervous.
It's time to look for an escape route. But I'm not leaving without Merissa, my sons, my nieces, and that little bastard, Darmyk.
* * * *
Kynyr stepped forward, straight and strong, a fistful of dirt in his hands.
"Eighty years ago, my great grandfather, Claw Redhand, fought a war with the Waejontori. We lost. Twenty years ago, Claw negotiated with the Sharani, who had conquered this realm, for the autonomy of the lycan clans. Because of my grandfather, we have known thirty years of peace. He might not have been a great ruler, but he was a good one, a strong one, and a fair one.
"I came here six years ago to protect my family, the Redhands. In that I failed. However, I got to know my grandfather, which had been a dream of mine since childhood. I knew him as an irascible fellow. When I was wounded last summer in an ambush, my ancestry became known to him. Duty is where you find it. I found it the day that he gave me Tarrant's ring and informed me that I was his heir. The outpouring of love from him filled my heart with joy. I miss him."
"The bastard speaks well, Vertram muttered to Jocelyn.
"Pretty words do not a king make. Jocelyn tilted her head to a sullen angle. It's a shame that Faerwald failed to kill him."
"Those are treasonous words, Jocelyn. This is not the place to speak them."
"Are you afraid of him, Vertram?"
"No. I don't think I need to be."
"My uncles will tear him apart."
"Are you out of your mind, Jocelyn? We need a warrior-king. Once the snows melt, Hoon will be ravaging our realm no matter who is on the throne."
"My uncles would do it better."
"Shut up, Jocelyn."
Kynyr cast the dirt he held into the grave and moved away from it, signaling that the eulogies were finished. The line began to move forward, each person tossing a handful of dirt over Claw's coffin.
Once the family had done their parts, the thanes and elders followed and the villagers were allowed in a few at a time to send a handful of dirt over the coffin. Those who were too far back in line to get there before the coffin had been completely covered, laid sprigs of mistletoe, wreaths and pine boughs over the grave until it was so thickly covered that Claw's headstone disappeared beneath their offerings. Children laid pinecone dollies and cloth dolls amidst the other offerings so that Claw would not be alone in his grave, but have servants in the afterlife.
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