Her mother’s old room was elegant, from the four-poster bed she had made just to her specifications to the Grecian statues that she must have stolen from goodness-knows-where, unless Bearnard acquired them during one of his voyages. Everything was primped, polished, and dusted in the room thanks to Archibald’s wife, Moira, but other than that, Una’s possessions remained untouched.
Books lined the oak shelves in the bedroom. As Tara scanned their spines, she realized that most were in a language she could neither speak nor write. But as she grabbed a few and flipped through them, some had illustrations that could prove useful for her. There were other books she could read, and after taking down a few and stacking them precariously in her arms, she headed over to the bed and started her research.
It didn’t take long for her to realize she was in way over her head. Most pages seemed to be random recipes for spells, which would perhaps have been useful if she knew how to cast a spell, but for now they held no meaning for her.
Tara was about ready to give up when she spotted a book she’d yet to notice, bound in purple fabric with gold thread. As she scanned the contents, she realized that she still held an archive listing all the half-fairies in Scotia. She looked through the list, noting that most lived in the very far north of the kingdom.
There was one name that caught her attention: Rhona Thorne. According to the book, she was a half-fairy who called herself a witch, and she lived in Haddington, a town in the region of Lothian, in the Lowlands. The book described her as a “teacher of the old ways,” perhaps meaning half-fairies could come to learn their magic.
Tara wasn’t sure when this book was written, but the pages were still crisp and the ink still clear, so it didn’t seem to be too old. If what she read was true, this witch could potentially help her learn her magic, perhaps better than any books could.
Tara leaned back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought. She could go to Haddington to find this woman, but would she have time to?
What else could she do?
She kept mostly to herself that day. Bridget came by sometime in the early evening to serve her dinner, then, with Tara’s request, she retired to her own quarters for the night. Later, as Tara lay in bed, she closed her eyes and thought about her mother.
Now that Una was in the human realm, Tara ought to be able to create a link to her to find where she was located. They used to do that quite a bit when Tara was younger. Besides the dream she had the night before, the last time she had connected to her mother was seven years ago, when Tara helped Nellie locate where Una had taken Adam after the attack on Dunaid Castle.
Tara took a few calming breaths, trying to forget the nagging, panicking feeling of another imminent attack at Dunaid or Murdag. This time, she didn’t think her mother would go easy on any of them. In her dream, Tara had almost felt the anger that pulsed through the leannan sith’s veins.
She took another deep breath. All right, she was perfectly capable of doing this. The darkness behind her eyelids turned to a swirling midnight blue that was laced with stars and a sliver of the moon. The scene straightened, and Tara gazed around her.
She was standing on top of a hill, and thanks to the light of the moon, she saw a small village below. The grass was deep green and dampened from a recent rainstorm. Tara turned her head and noticed a small church built on the middle of the hill, the windows lit with candles. A woman in a cloak stood by the church, her back turned toward Tara. But she didn’t need to turn around for Tara to know who she was looking at.
It was her mother.
But Una didn’t seem to notice her. Tara edged nearer as the leannan sith tapped on the door to the church. A monk opened the door.
“How can I help you?”
“Please,” her mother said. “Please tell me where I am. I am lost.”
The monk furrowed his brows at the question, but must have realized that she wasn’t jesting with him. “Glastonbury,” the man said. “You’re in Glastonbury. Do you need to seek refuge here at our church?”
Glastonbury. She’d read about the sacred place in one of her mother’s books long ago as a little girl. Glastonbury was a major portal in England for both the Seelie and Unseelie Court. There was another large portal in northern Scotia, near Inverness, where the majority of the fairies and half-fairies resided. Tara didn’t believe Una would go back through the portal to the Unseelie Court and risk getting caught by the Unseelie Queen just to find the portal to Scotia.
If Una was still in England, then Tara still had a chance. She would have time to head to Haddington to visit this witch. At any rate, it would throw her mother off course if she found Tara in a place other than Dunaid or Murdag.
It was decided. She would leave for Haddington immediately.
Chapter 3
Castle Wymond, Northumbria, England
Colin looked at his brother as though he was a complete stranger. Out of the corner of his eye, from the other side of the window, he could see Baldric playing by the trees with his nursemaid. He wanted to gather the boy up in his arms and run.
“You’re mad,” he told Eldron.
“I can’t risk my reputation,” his brother explained.
“It is murder. And your own son! How can you even think of doing such a horrible thing?”
“Is it murder when it’s not a complete human we are discussing?” He didn’t look as distressed as Colin felt, but, then again, Eldron wasn’t the one who raised Baldric. Eldron didn’t care a whit about what happened to his son. The idea was simply sickening.
Colin shook his head in disbelief. “I cannot believe this. Surely, I am dreaming. It is horrifying hearing those words come from your mouth.”
Eldron pretended like he didn’t hear him. His back was turned toward him as he looked at a portrait of him and his wife hanging on the wall above the fireplace. “I should’ve gotten rid of the boy as I had gotten rid of the mother.”
Colin’s breath caught in his throat. “What do you mean?” he asked. Baldric’s mother, a selkie that Eldron had an affair with, had killed herself after Eldron refused to be with her—at least that is what his brother told Colin all of those years ago.
“Yes,” Eldron continued. “For my beloved Anne’s sake, I killed that selkie when she first showed me Baldric. And I blame my soft heart for not killing the boy right then and there when I had the chance.”
Colin’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. “I can take him. I can take him from Castle Wymond and continue raising him as my own child. I don’t mind, brother, if that’s what it takes to spare his life.”
His brother turned abruptly toward him. “Have you seen the boy? He has spoken in tongues! He is an abomination, a son of the devil. Why would you want to be near such a thing?”
“He is a just a boy, and only that!” Colin insisted. “A half-fairy boy. There are many half-fairies in this country who live normal lives, Eldron. I’ve read about it! He speaks not in wicked tongues, but his own language of his ancestors. There is nothing wrong with that.”
“He is to be disposed of this evening. There is nothing further I want to discuss with you.” Eldron’s guard, a tall man in imposing armor that had been lurking in the shadows, listening to the conversation, took two steps in front of him and grabbed Colin’s arms.
“You don’t need to drag me out of here, brother,” Colin insisted. “I am able to use my own legs.”
Eldron gave his guard a nod, and the man released Colin. Colin turned his back on them and stormed into his room in a rage, slamming the door shut. What in God’s name was he to do? There was no way he would let his nephew die.
After raising him from birth, Baldric was more of a son to Colin than he was to Eldron. He had given up his reputation to care for the boy, going so far as to say that he had been sired by a mistress. Not that he had much of a reputation to begin with. He did it for his brother—and for Baldric.
And although Baldric was half-selkie, for the first four years of his life, he d
isplayed no signs of the uncanny. He was just a regular, normal lad interested in all the things a fully human boy would be interested in. For a time, Colin almost forgot that he had fairy blood.
But in the past few months, just after his fourth birthday, Baldric began to behave peculiarly. As Eldron had mentioned, the boy would lie in bed, asleep, and speak in a strange language. If this wasn’t disturbing enough for the residents of Wymond Castle, one night he would not wake up from this sleep, frightening his nursemaid half to death. Colin could still remember the fear he felt when the woman burst into his chamber to declare Baldric dead and the blessed relief he felt when he realized the boy was still breathing, but caught in some sort of trance.
However, the most troublesome of the matter was when, during a trip to the seaside, Baldric had wandered into the water as though sleepwalking. He waded into the ocean, going in to about shoulder-height before Colin finally noticed and pulled him out. When asked what he was doing, the lad replied, “I was talking to my family.”
Oy, that was troublesome, indeed.
In the back of his mind, Colin knew he would have to deal with Baldric’s peculiar lineage at some point in his life, but he never expected his brother to go so far as to want to kill the boy.
He wasn’t worried, no. He felt some sort of resolve, instead, of what he must do. He just wished he didn’t have to do it.
Colin checked outside the window. Baldric still played with his nursemaid, his golden-blond curls glistening in the sun, his cheeks a flushed pink in the December chill. He would go into his room now and pack up the boy’s belongings, and then his own, and they would leave before his brother stepped foot in Baldric’s room with his sword in hand to kill him.
He would take the child to Scotia, he decided.
When Baldric was still a baby, Colin had sought out various people who could tell him more about raising a fairy child. He didn’t receive much information, as most fairies, half or not, tended to live secretive lives. Many humans in England did not take too kindly to their magical neighbors. He did, however, learn of a woman up north in Scotia who took in those seeking answers to their magical powers. Perhaps he could find refuge for Baldric there.
But that would mean they would have to leave immediately.
Colin left his room and trotted down the stairs, praying that he would not come across his brother. He opened the wide doors that led to Wymond’s gardens.
The boy had a line of wooden knights standing upright, and he had two of them in his hands, smacking them together in an imaginary swordfight. Colin squatted down next to him and picked up one of the knights.
“What battle are we fighting today?” Colin asked him.
“Oh, just the English fightin’ the Scots,” Baldric replied. “Wanna play with me?”
“I wish we could, Baldric, but we actually have to leave on a journey right away.”
That captured his inquisitive attention. “Where are we goin’, Colin?” he asked, his hazel eyes widening with excitement. To a passerby, Baldric looked like he could very well be Colin’s son, but from time to time, Colin had seen the spark of the uncanny in the boy’s eyes that told otherwise.
“It’s a surprise,” Colin told him. He didn’t dare say where they were going, lest Baldric revealed it to someone else.
“Will it have dragons?”
“Maybe,” Colin replied truthfully. Scotia was better known to be tolerant of magical beings than England, so he wouldn’t be surprised if they saw a dragon flying across the sky. “You better keep a good eye out. I hear that they are quick to miss.”
“I will!”
The aspect of seeing a dragon was enough to please the boy. Colin helped him gather up his toys and took him to his nursery. Baldric’s maid went to follow them, not knowing anything was amiss.
“The lord needs his bath,” Tilda said as she started pulling clothes from a wooden chest.
“That won’t be necessary, Tilda,” Colin told the girl.
Tilda frowned at him. “But m’lord, he is filthy from playing in the mud.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he reassured her.
The maid bowed her head and curtseyed before leaving them in the nursery.
Colin breathed a sigh of relief and started filling his bag with Baldric’s clothes.
“Will we have room for my knights?” Baldric asked hopefully.
“Of course. Put them inside this bag with the rest of your belongings.”
Castle Wymond was filled with people. Lord Eldron had a birthday celebration in his honor the day prior and people were still in the throes of celebration. Colin’s brother was mad to want to kill his child when there were so many guests about. Perhaps he planned on making it into an unfortunate tragedy where he could gain sympathy from his friends and allies, giving them no shadow of a doubt of his innocence in the whole plot.
For not the first time that day, Colin felt like he was going to be sick. Nay, he had to stay strong for Baldric. He hoisted the now-heavy bag over his shoulder and picked Baldric up.
“It’s time to go,” he told the boy. They were most likely to be seen as they escaped, but there was naught else he could do to prevent that.
The best he could do would be to slip out the postern door. Saved for times of battle and siege, it remained locked most of the time. As he quickly walked down the stairs toward the door, he was stopped by a familiar voice.
“Colin! Where are you going off to? That redhead you had eyes on is over in the great hall if you want to speak with her.”
It was his good childhood friend, Darwyn. He was there for the celebration, set to return to his home farther south by the next day. And aye, Colin had eyes for a pretty redhead that had visited Wymond with her father. Although Colin was known to be a womanizer, at this moment, he had no interest in pursuing women. He hadn’t been planning to tell Darwyn what he was doing, but he was the one person in this world he could trust, and he knew Baldric was half-fairy.
“I’m taking Baldric away from here,” he whispered to him so that Baldric could not hear. “It’s not safe here.”
“What do you mean?” Darwyn whispered back, frowning. “What’s happening?”
“My brother is planning to do something nefarious, and I need to escape as quickly as possible. Please, if you care at all for Baldric, you will not tell a soul.”
“I promise, Colin,” Darwyn told him. “You have my word on that.”
Colin gave him a grateful pat on the shoulder and turned to the postern door to unlock it. “Wish us luck, Darwyn,” he told his friend, then quickly slipped outside.
“Stay safe.”
The postern door led out just adjacent to the stables. If he were to gain any distance from Wymond Castle in an expedient manner, he needed a horse. The stable was almost packed to capacity with all of the guests’ mounts, so perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult to snatch one from the back of the building.
He pried the back door open, its hinges protesting. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the first horse he saw was a dusty brown mare, perhaps better suited as transport for a merchant than for a person on the run, but there were people at the front of the stables, and Colin did not want to waste any time. After resting Baldric down on the ground, he grabbed the first saddle he could find and strapped it over the mare. He closed the door softly behind him as he led her out.
He felt almost jubilant as he hoisted Baldric on the horse’s back and jumped up behind him. He made it; he was actually going to escape his brother and save Baldric’s life!
Granted, there was a chance that Eldron would send men after him, but, hopefully, his brother wouldn’t think he would be so bold as to cross into Scotia. The kingdoms were at war with each other, and it was a big risk to cross into a land where a Scotsman could decide to slit his throat if he didn’t like the looks of him.
Quickly, they took off from Wymond Castle. As the castle and his brother’s lands faded behind him, Colin began to plan out their journey. In his
haste to escape, he had completely forgotten about food and water, so they would need to stop soon at the next town to stock up on their provisions. There was a chance that he might be recognized, although he expected that most people he knew would still be celebrating at the castle. He still needed to be cautious and keep a low profile as much as possible.
The mare they rode was old, but hardy and solidly built, and didn’t seem to mind the pace he had set out for her. However, the journey to Haddington was going to take a few days, if not a week or so, and he didn’t know if the horse would last that long at their current pace. Indeed, he didn’t know Baldric would last that long either, sitting up on a horse. He was already squirming in his seat, as the saddle wasn’t made for a four-year-old boy.
Colin had an idea. If he could find a cart in Felton, the next town over, he could pass off as an inconspicuous merchant. He already had the mare for it, so why not make it work? The pace to Haddington would be slower, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about both Baldric and the horse keeling over from exhaustion. And at nights, they could sleep in the comfort of the cart, away from those who might recognize him if they were to stay in an inn.
Heartened by this prospect, he gave a nice pat on the horse’s neck to encourage her forward. “What should we name her, Baldric?” he asked the boy.
Baldric brushed his fingers through the mare’s mane. “How ‘bout Butter?” he said. “Her hair looks like butter, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” Colin replied, smiling. Baldric was completely unaware of the intensity of the situation, and his nonplussed attitude calmed Colin somewhat. “Keep it up, Butter. We should be at Felton just soon after the sun sets.”
Charming the Highlander Laird Page 3