by Hazel Hunter
“He’d best be,” Kanyth told him. “Much as I’ve learned from serving in his place, being your second demands too much thinking. I’ve no’ the head for it.”
Taran rode up alongside them. “The horses smell their kin.” He nodded at a grove a short distance ahead. “By the stream there.” He sniffed the wind coming from that direction. “They’re no’ wounded.”
That relieved Brennus, for he’d worried his mortal allies might try to capture the druids. “We’ll water our mounts there while I speak to the laird.”
When they reached the grove and dismounted, the McAra emerged looking quite sour.
“I wagered you’d have the pleasure of fighting the bastarts without us.” Maddock inspected them before eyeing the chieftain. “I should start a clan war and have you ride at our backs. Only they’d run like lambs at the sight of you.” He called for his men to help the Skaraven water their tired horses.
Brennus grunted. “And what of the druids?”
The laird’s amusement evaporated. “We tracked their cart to a market town three leagues to the north. I had the men block every road out before we began a search. I felt sure we had them cornered in a drying shed. Just as we were to storm it the earth shook and swallowed it whole. I mused on following the furrows east, but your warning no’ to brace them rang in my ears. You’ll make a cowering lassie out of me soon, Chieftain.”
“’Twas the prudent choice, Maddock.” Brennus’s respect for the little laird increased with every demonstration of his wisdom. “If by chance the McAra ever face a clan war, the Skaraven shall have your backs.”
“If I didnae like McFarlan so much, I might attack him on the morrow.” The McAra brushed something from his sleeve. “What now, then?”
“Cadeyrn, my second, discovered something after the battle that we didnae ken about the famhairean.” Brennus explained what had happened to Coig after the rest of the giants escaped. “I must consult with the tree-knowers to be sure, but I reckon ’tis their greatest weakness. They’ve gone to much trouble to conceal it from us. ’Twill be the means to set a fine trap for the rest.”
Maddock nodded. “Since the others ran before you tossed him in the water, they yet dinnae ken that you’ve got them by the baws. I’d take pains to conceal you’ve fathomed this. How may the McAra aid you?”
“I willnae have druids at Dun Mor,” Brennus admitted. “My brothers wouldnae tolerate it, nor will my belly. You and I might meet with Bhaltair Flen at your stronghold, if you’d grant me the favor.”
“Since I’m included, I’m happy to play host.” The laird rubbed his lower lip. “And have my map maker begin searching his scrolls for every deep loch that may serve your purpose.”
Brennus saw Taran watching them as if waiting for a chance to approach, and excused himself to consult with the horse master. “Are the mounts ready for the jaunt back to Dun Mor?”
“Aye, and I’ve checked their blinders.” He glanced at Maddock, who was speaking to two of his chieftains. “There’s a grand warrior stuffed in that wee laird. He’s fearless, and noble of heart.”
“’Twas a good choice to make the McAra our allies,” Brennus agreed, “but that isnae why you watched us, Tran.”
His horse master smiled a little. “I saw the black-haired lass before Cade took her and the others to Dun Mor. According to Lady Althea she may share the McAra name and, I suspect, the bloodline. She hasnae mentioned her to the laird, but now that she’s come to Dun Mor, word may reach him.”
Brennus had given some thought to the implications of having one of Maddock’s kin—distant as she was—under Skaraven protection.
“I know naught of the customs of this time,” he said, “but I’ll wager as blood-kin she’s still clan.”
In the time of the Pritani tribes young females had been highly prized, not only for their beauty but their fertility and talents. From what Brennus had seen of Clan McAra, the chieftains and high-ranking clansmen all had wives as lovely and shapely as Emeline. No doubt the laird had a hand in arranging or approving all the matches, just as the Pritani headmen once did.
“If she were a man, ’twould no’ matter,” Taran said softly. “But a comely lass with druid blood and healer training, ’tis quite another thing. I’ll wager she’s more valuable than a hundred of his finest mares.”
“Aye, McAra would be a fool no’ to claim her.” Brennus felt the weight of the new dilemma like a thick cloak in high summer. “Fack me, but for every knot I unravel two more appear. What do you advise?”
“Say naught for the present to the laird,” the horse master said, sounding wry. “Speak with your lady on the matter when we return to Dun Mor. We ken naught of the customs of her time. Then do as you ever would: what ’tis best for all.”
Kanyth came over with a bottle of whiskey. “I favor our mortal allies. They carry drink with them into battle.” He took a swallow and sighed. “Come, they wish to toast our success before we part ways.”
As the two clans gathered together around the laird, Brennus entered the circle to stand beside him.
“We’ve not yet defeated the famhairean, but I’ll wager that willnae be long in coming now,” Maddock said, winking at Brennus. “So, lift your bottles, lads, to the McAra and the Skaraven. Long may we remain steadfast friends.”
“To our clans.” Brennus touched his bottle to the laird’s, and took a long drink as he thought of how simpler it would be if the nurse had never been taken. Then he realized the course to take.
Likely the lass is anxious to return to her time. I must send the McAra healer back.
Chapter Twenty-Three
HIDING FROM THE mortals had infuriated Murdina, until the earth had swallowed them whole and something seized her. She fought against the hard arms pressing her against the unyielding chest. Her nose and mouth filled with dirt as she tried to scream, convinced she had been bespelled back into the endless darkness of the Storr. Why hadn’t Hendry saved her? Why hadn’t he killed her, as he’d promised?
Hadn’t Hendry promised to?
Slamming through a wall of rock, Murdina felt cold air pour over her as Dha dragged her from the pit in the earth. She threw her arms around him as she coughed out the soil, and sobbed until Hendry took her from him. He held her against his filthy robe.
“Why?” she shrieked into the grimy wool. “Why would you do this to me?”
“We had to escape, beauty mine,” he told her. “If the McAra had taken us, then all of it would have been for naught.”
“Wood Dream hurt?” Tri asked, hovering anxiously beside them.
“No, my friend. ’Tis only old fear and sorrow, and now ’tis over.” Hendry drew back and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears from her face. “Dinnae you see? They shall never find us here, lover mine. They shall never even think to look.”
Murdina blinked to clear her eyes, and saw the remains of the old ritual circle where she had been initiated as a novice.
“Oh, Hendry.”
He took her arm, and walked with her through the barren forest, following the trail that led to the ruins of the Wood Dream settlement. The stone hearth of his cottage still stood at the very back, now almost buried in the plants that had grown wild from his spell garden.
Falling to her knees, Murdina pressed her mouth to the scarred soil and tasted the magic that had never been dispelled. To be returned here made memories pour through her battered mind. Here she had skipped as a girl, tiptoed after Hendry as a lass, and slipped through the darkness to meet him as his lover. They had buried their parents here, and loved in secret for so long.
It had been over a thousand years since she had dwelled here, and yet it felt as if she had left only yesterday. She looked up at him and smiled through the tears.
“You brought me home.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
CADEYRN HELPED ALTHEA from the river outside Dun Mor. But when he made to accompany her on the path, she patted his arm.
“Go, Cade,” she said. “I c
an find the stronghold.”
“My lady,” he said gratefully and took off at a run.
A powerful dread moved his feet but he refused to give up hope, as he dashed into Dun Mor’s labyrinthine entry. Inside the great hall Rowan and Perrin sat swaddled in tartans by the hearth. Rowan’s arm now lay in a sling, while her sister held one of Ruadri’s herbal compresses to the back of her neck. Though they saw him, he couldn’t stop to speak.
At the curtained entry to Ruadri’s chamber he paused and pressed his hand against one of the raven carvings in the stone threshold.
“Please, let her be awake,” he whispered.
He stopped a step inside when he saw Lily on the shaman’s treatment table. He had wrapped her in blankets, and now stood over her head, his eyes closed as he murmured under his breath. A small pot of smoldering herbs laced the air with fragrant tendrils of smoke. Lily lay very still, with only the slight rise and fall of her chest to show she yet lived.
On the opposite end of the table Emeline hovered, leaning on a makeshift cane to keep her weight off her ankle. A length of linen was wrapped around her waist, and spots of blood stained it where it covered the spear wound to her side. She glared at Ruadri so intently she didn’t seem to realize Cadeyrn had joined them.
He went to the table, unable to wait another moment to touch his lady. Her hand felt cool and so still in his. “How does she fare?”
The shaman opened his eyes to regard him. “Naught has changed since you left the lady, Brother. She remains unaware and unable to move from the apoplexy. I’ve attempted a seeking spell to search out any thoughts she may have, but there arenae any. ’Tis a sign that her sleep may be one from which she cannae awake.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Emeline said, a hard edge to her voice. “I’ve seen many stroke patients recover and learn to speak and move again. The same with coma patients. There have been people who’ve woken up after decades of… Oh, never mind.” She grimaced at Cadeyrn. “Lily needs only time to rest and heal, lad. When she’s stronger, she’ll wake.”
“If she sleeps too long, her body shall wither,” Ruadri countered. “To give the lady a chance of life we must find the means with which to wake her.”
The nurse made a contemptuous sound. “With your mutterings and burning weeds?” She grimaced and pressed a hand to her wounded side.
“You need that tended to,” Cadeyrn told her.
Emeline wiped the transfer of blood from her palm to a rag. “The spear only pierced my abdominal oblique muscles. I’ll be fine.”
“Mistress McAra willnae permit me to treat her wounds,” Ruadri said. He flicked a glance at her. “When I offered she claimed I’m naught but a Roman hag.”
“Witch doctor,” she corrected, “and who could blame me?” She gestured around them. “I wouldnae be surprised to find shrunken heads and voodoo dolls in this chamber of horrors. Look at that clutch of pots and vials. How can you call yourself a healer when you can’t even properly label your concoctions?”
“I’ve only to sniff them to ken the mixture,” Ruadri told her.
“Oh, so you practice medicine by smell. I should have guessed.” The nurse shook her head. “He’s no’ putting a finger on me or my wounds. I’ll treat myself.” She glanced down at Lily, and the tight line of her mouth softened. “She will come back to us, Cade.”
Ruadri watched her go before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought she would be so different. Gentle and kind, like Lady Althea.”
Cadeyrn hardly heard him as he stroked Lily’s small hand and stared down at her pale face. Carefully he slipped his arms beneath her still form and picked her up from the table.
“I’m taking her to my chambers.”
“Cade, you shouldnae,” the shaman said, but then sighed. “No, you should. You should spend every moment you may with her. When her breathing… If it slows, then you shall ken that her passing is upon her. Hold her close and speak gently to her. Let her ken that she goes with your love.”
“She’s no’ dying,” he told the shaman. “I’ll drag her back from the afterlife if I must.”
“But she may return,” Ruadri said. “Druids may reincarnate, if they choose.” He saw Cadeyrn’s expression and ducked his head. “Forgive me, Brother. I but wish to give you some comfort.”
“You sound like a tree-knower,” Cadeyrn said, and immediately regretted the insult. “See to the others, and have Rowan attend to Emeline.”
Carrying Lily through the Great Hall and down into the stronghold’s lower levels, Cadeyrn felt only the light, soft weight of her against him. He’d always wondered why he’d never wanted a woman of his own, and now he knew. He’d been waiting for Lily. He’d been waiting for her to find him, even when he had not known that he was.
Inside his chambers, he took her to his bed and carefully lowered her onto the linens. He lit the oil lamps and left her to draw some warm water from the hall cistern. When he returned he placed a bowl of it beside the bed.
Tearing a sleeve from one of his old semats, Cadeyrn soaked it and began to wash the blood from her unmoving face. The faint whisper of her breath remained slow and shallow, and she did not stir. Once he had cleaned away the dark streaks he removed her damp clothing, and gently washed her body before he dressed her in his finest tunic.
She might never again wake, but she would always sleep beside him.
“I would see you in better than my garments, my lady,” he told her as he picked her up and climbed onto the bed to hold her in his arms. “With your hair you should wear amber silks, and black velvets studded with golden beads. Skirts that flutter when you walk, and your hair loose upon your shoulders. You have such wondrous hair.” He brushed a strand of it from her cheek. “When I dreamed of you, I so wished to touch it.”
Cadeyrn talked to her more of the life he knew they would never have now. Of walking with her through the Great Wood, and taking her to the old watch blind. There she could sit with him in the darkness and watch the owls as they awoke and flew on their nocturnal hunts. He described the exhilaration of climbing up to the Great Plateau, and bracing the wind to look upon the beauty of the Red Hills spreading out for miles around them.
“When we’d come home at night, lass, I’d bring you here to strip you bare, and wrap you in long strands of dark pearls to mark where I should kiss you.” Cadeyrn shifted his hand to her chin and traced the sweet curves of her lips. “I’d map every inch of your skin with my mouth, and then start anew, over and again.”
But no matter the words he spoke or the gentle touches he gave, his lady did not stir. Gently he placed his hand over her heart, remembering how she had opened his. Bitterness as he’d never known choked off more words. Though he was changed by her—and for her—the cruel neglect of the Gods would now take her from him. Even his battle spirit had played its part, binding her to him in body and soul. Immortality suddenly stretched before him, as dark and cold as his thoughts.
A faint glitter drew his gaze to his hand on her chest. His black raven clan ring glinted in the lamplight. He frowned at the memory of Brennus using his, still bespelled with the magic that had awakened the Skaraven, to bring back Althea from death. Seeing her healed and made immortal had so stunned Cadeyrn that he’d dropped like a stone. Though his lady was not dead, only locked in an endless slumber, Cadeyrn’s heartbeat quickened.
Might the ring rescue her?
He rubbed his thumb over the raven carving, the blackened wood made as hard as stone by time. In his heart he knew she would never awaken again on her own. Nor did he know how to use the magic that might yet be trapped in his ring to heal her. The spell contained in the ring awoke the dead.
She’d willingly paid the price to save him and the other ladies. If the Gods reckoned the weight and balance of mortal lives, surely that mattered. Cadeyrn removed his ring, and pulled the leather lacing from his tunic.
“’Tis how Brennus gave his to Althea,” he told her as he slid the ring onto the lacing, and then tied it around
her neck. “Mayhap if you go from me, ’twill bring you back.”
Lily didn’t move, and no great flash of light came from the ring. Rising from the bed, Cadeyrn covered her with the linens and sat on the edge to hold his head in his hands. Then he went down on his knees beside it and pressed his hands to the stone floor. He wanted to dash his head against it until his skull split. He wanted to soak it with tears. But instead he gave voice to all that was in his heart.
“Please,” he murmured as he touched his brow to the stone, humbling himself completely. “You brought her to me. You mated her to me. I failed her, I ken that, but so did you. Guide me and I shall do anything you ask. Anything to save her.”
Still there was nothing. Cadeyrn knew what he was asking: the impossible. As long as she wore his ring there might be some hope if she died, but as long as she lived she remained lost to him.
A terrible thought arose in his mind. If she died while she wore his ring…
“No,” he yelled, his fists pounding the floor. Fury surged through him as he shot to his feet. “Lily fought bravely for us, without a care of what ’twould do to her. I would give anything, even my own life, to save hers. But I willnae take what little you have left her. Do you hear me? I love her and I willnae kill her.”
All around the room his possessions began to rattle, and the sound of something huge and furious filled the chamber. Cadeyrn threw himself over Lily as a sweeping wave of magic blasted out from the bed, smashing everything in its path. The bed collapsed in a heap, as splinters of wood rained down to pelt his back and head.
Gods, what had he done?
A soft, muffled sound made him stop breathing.
Pushing himself up on his hands, Cadeyrn looked down at his love’s pale face, that now went rosy with new color. Her long hair flowed out over his hands and arms until a great mass of it rippled across the bed.
He blinked, convinced now that he was dreaming. “Lily?”
Her eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him as if puzzled. “Cade.” She slid a glance to one side of them and then the other. “Is this Dun Mor?” When he nodded, she frowned. “You chaps need a housekeeper. I only cook, you know. My father always had servants for the rest.”