Her Knight in Tarnished Armor: A Medieval Romance Collection
Page 13
He wanted—needed—a lifetime.
“Could I use my boon to keep Kylah with me, to restore her life and humanity?”
“Daroch?” she whispered, as though she dare not believe what she heard. “Why?”
Did she truly have to ask?
“You love her,” Tah Liah observed.
Daroch shook his head, but pulled Kylah closer. “I doona believe in love. But I canna stand the thought of spending the rest of a century sleeping without her by my side. I couldna return to my time and my people. I couldna live a life without her in it.”
A soft and knowing look passed between the new Banshee Queen and the woman he clung to. It puzzled him, but he dare not admit it as a sudden unsettling realization that he was outnumbered by women left him uncomfortably silent.
“It is nearly impossible, what you ask.” Tah Liah sounded as though she regretted her words. “The return of a life demands the balance of a human virgin sacrifice, one born of flames. You above all people should know that, Druid.”
His hopes fell with a heavy weight. Kylah would never allow the sacrifice of another innocent, not even to solidify their future together.
“What about me?” Kamdyn’s quiet voice permeated the somber cave. “I died in a fire, and was… am a virgin.”
Tah Liah’s silver eyes sharpened with interest.
“Kamdyn, no,” Kylah insisted. “You do not know what you are offering. These Fae, they are cruel and brutal.” She turned to Tah Liah. “I mean no offense, but my sister is young and impetuous, and after what happened to Daroch, I cannot allow this.”
“All those who are loyal to Cliodnah and Ly Erg will swiftly be dealt with.” Tah Liah gestured to Kamdyn. “I will be in need of a hand-maiden and you will be under my protection. I can promise no harm or degradation will befall you at the hands of the Fae, and you will only be set to tasks of the utmost importance. A high place, indeed, for someone who was once mortal.”
“Ye’re all mortal, now, Faerie.” Daroch couldn’t keep himself from reminding her. “I will ensure the use of Arborlatix is widespread and prevalent.”
Tah Liah speared him with an impatient, meaningful look. “I understand that, and it is more the reason to avoid humans in the future.” She turned to Kylah. “You would give up your new found immortality for this Druid?”
Daroch’s heart seized. He hadn’t thought of it that way. For the moment, Kylah was strong, immortal and he’d rid her life of her enemies.
Kylah glanced from her sister, who smiled and nodded, then to Daroch, and back.
“Without question,” she insisted, “I love him with all my heart. But… Kamdyn…”
“Stay with your Druid.” Kamdyn went to her. “Mother will have you and Katriona to look after her and as this ghostly Banshee, I can do nothing. I can have… no one.” She stole a shy look at Daroch. “Though I know I would have your love, I would truly be alone.”
A tear slid down Kylah’s cheek. “Oh darling, I didn’t even consider that.”
“What an adventure this will be for me.” Kamdyn’s soft green eyes began to sparkle with eager anticipation. “I want to do this, Kylah, for you, for your Druid, and for myself.”
Daroch’s heart swelled with gratitude, but he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“You’re welcome,” Kamdyn told him with a smile and turned to kiss the air next to her sister’s cheek.
Kylah gave a soft sob, but returned the ghostly kiss.
Kamdyn drifted toward Tah Liah, and took the hand of her new Banshee Queen. It was the last they saw of either of them, as they faded into the nether.
Kylah gave one last sob, and then a gasp as her entire form began to tremble.
“Kylah? What’s happening.” Daroch clutched her to him, felt her body grow incrementally warmer as Fae flesh became human, fused with blood and mortal energy. He dared not hope. He dared not trust the word of a Faerie.
Suddenly, she pulled back, a radiant smile catching the tears that fell from her eyes. “Could you have imagined, Daroch, when this day dawned that we’d have your vengeance, and then be blessed with my life… our lives?”
Daroch felt a smile overtake his own mouth and, for once, he did not fight it. “It truly defies the odds.”
“I love you, Daroch McLeod.”
Daroch sobered. “I… meant what I said to the Faerie. I canna imagine one single day without ye in it. I feel this—perplexing and primitive drive to possess every part of ye. To be what no other man could possibly be in yer eyes. I want ye to belong to me and to tell me what to do. I want to be the answer to all yer infuriating questions. I want…”
Kylah stilled the movement of his lips by laying a gentle finger on them. “If you said, ‘I love you, Kylah’, that would encompass all of that and save us a great deal of time that could be spent doing things other than talking.” Heat flared in her eyes and she made a gesture toward his antechamber.
“I love ye, Kylah.” Daroch tested the words and realized nothing he’d ever learned, studied, discovered, or confirmed ever felt more like the absolute truth.
Also by Kerrigan Byrne
The MacLauchlan Berserkers
Highland Secret
Highland Shadow
Highland Stranger
To Seduce a Highlander
The MacKay Banshees
Highland Darkness
Highland Devil
Highland Destiny
To Desire a Highlander
The de Moray Druids
Highland Warlord
Highland Witch
Highland Warrior
To Wed a Highlander
The Business of Blood Series
The Business of Blood
A Treacherous Trade
A Vocation of Violence (Coming 2020)
Contemporary Suspense
A Righteous Kill
Victorian Rebels
The Highwayman
The Hunter
The Highlander
The Duke
The Scot Beds His Wife
The Duke With the Dragon Tattoo
A Dark and Stormy Knight
Also by Kerrigan
The Highwayman
The Hunter
The Highlander
The Duke
The Scot Beds His Wife
The Duke With the Dragon Tattoo
How to Love a Duke in Ten Days
All Scot And Bothered (Coming in March of 2020)
About the Author
Kerrigan Byrne is the USA Today Bestselling and award winning author of THE DUKE WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO. She has authored a dozen novels in both the romance and mystery genre. Her newest mystery release THE BUSINESS OF BLOOD is available October 24th, 2019
She lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with her dream boat husband. When she's not writing and researching, you'll find her on the water sailing and kayaking, or on land eating, drinking, shopping, and taking the dogs to play on the beach.
Kerrigan loves to hear from her readers! To contact her or learn more about her books, please visit her site: www.kerriganbyrne.com
Maiden From the Mist
Tanya Anne Crosby
“The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best.
W.B. Yeats, The Celtic Twilight
Preface
Come the destiny star rising o’er the Minch,
leading a sweet maid through the mist.
With lang, saft hair and skin so fair,
she’ll tempt a lion from his lair.
Prophecy of the Maiden
Prologue
Dunrònaigh Keep, the Isle of Rònaigh, November 1135
Caden Mac Swein seized his grandsire’s halberd from its brace upon the wall. He stepped back to swing the heavy weapon, recalibrating its weight. “How many?”
“Fifty, near as we can tell.”
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br /> He swung the halberd yet again, cursing beneath his breath. Made of sturdy ash wood, the haft of the great axe was more than four feet long. The blade was a solid thirty-three inches of iron, edged with fine steel. In total, the weapon measured six feet long and weighed two stone. Only a man of Caden’s size and strength could ever hope to wield it, and anyone within an arm’s length of his swing could attest to his prowess with the weapon.
If they still had a head to speak.
He smoothed his callused fingers over the sharp blade. Far more than the great sword, the Viking weapon was his defense of choice. It once belonged to his great, great-grandsire, Swein of the North. “Beast” it was named, and once he set the Beast in motion, it unerringly met its mark.
Having dressed himself for battle, Wee Davie came rushing into the hall, bearing their father’s sword. At thirteen, the boy was oversmall for his age, and the length of the claymore was almost as tall as he was. “They’re gatherin’ by the Giant’s Cave,” he announced. “Let us go smite them from our land!”
Caden’s brow furrowed. The Giant’s Cave was a natural sea cave, with a ceiling so high it formed an echo. It was deep enough to conceal more than fifty men. If any were hiding within, their numbers could easily be misjudged. It was crucial they know precisely how many men they would face today. They were not so well-numbered that they could afford to take a chance.
“Have they gone inside?” he asked his brother, realizing Wee Davie must have spied them from the high tower. Built by the ancients, Dunrònaigh Keep was “laird of the North Sea.” Its enduring presence defied even the storm kelpies, who ruled the waters of the Skotlandsfjörð.
“Nay,” his brother said.
“Good.” Caden nodded. “Good.” To their great fortune, the cave by the shore was haunted and cursed. Most living souls would never venture within, where bones of hapless men and women still clung to stalagmites near the ceiling. Trapped by the rising tide, their bodies had been borne too high to ever retrieve them. Now, clinging to their berths, even in death, they awaited with shivering bones for the sea to reclaim them. And reclaim them it would, for theirs was a vengeful sea. No man who’d ever traversed the Skotlandsfjörð could ever claim the Blue Men weren’t the fiercest of foes. The Scots of the Western Isles all feared them, but clearly not enough to keep their filthy boots off Caden’s shore.
“Let’s go! I’m ready,” Davie announced, though he struggled to lift their father’s claymore. Eying his youngest brother with keen displeasure, Caden said, “Nay ye’re no’, Davie.”
The boy’s helm fell over wide blue eyes. “I am,” he argued. “Ye canna keep me from it, Caden. I’m a mon grown.” He cast a glance at Alec, hoping to win the captain’s favor, knowing full well he was the only man Caden ever listened to, but Alec wisely turned away. “Today, I fight like a mon aside my brethren,” Davie maintained. “I will fight beside you, brother!”
Caden softened his tone. “Nay, Davie boy. Ye’re of better use to me here.” Here. Meaning, inside the keep. Away from so many bloodthirsty blades. For all their past glories, Caden had once been the third of five sons. Only he and Wee Davie remained. Their forefather, Conn Cétchathach of the Hundred Wars, had been a high king of Éire. Wee Davie was no more than a boy, and already, during his scant years, he’d witnessed a quarter of the battles Conn had. One of them—either Caden or Davie—must survive to see the end of days with all their limbs and head intact. Caden aimed to see it would be Davie.
The youth pouted, his jaw set tautly in a freckled face.
“Davie,” Caden reasoned. “One of us must stay and guard the keep. ’Tis an honor, my brother. Dunrònaigh Keep is the heart of Rònaigh, and the glory of our people. If we should be overtaken, who will lead them to the ships? Who will command them if I am slain?”
“Gonadh! ’Tis a woman’s job ye would leave me to, Caden.”
Caden laid a hand upon his brother’s shoulder. “To guard the chieftain’s seat and all we hold dear? Nay, my brother. ’Tis a task befitted only a chief.”
Unconvinced, Davie screwed his face. “Then do it yourself!”
Caden’s fingers tightened about his brother’s shoulder. He hardened his voice, as well as his heart. “Dùin do ghob.” Shut your gob. “One of us must lead this fight, and until the day ye can wield this halberd in my hand, ye’ll no’ be the one to do so. D’ y’ hear me?”
Wee Davie lifted his chin. “Please, Caden,” he begged. “Please. I’m a mon now. Please!”
“Nay.” Caden scowled. “A mon need never claim he’s a mon. My resolve remains.”
Forsooth, there were not even noble women remaining to strengthen alliances abroad. This decision was not open to discussion. His brother would not fight this day. He would remain safely within the keep, so he might live to fight another day. He and Davie met eye to eye. To make his point, Caden handed the Beast to his brother and the heavy weapon sank with a thud to the floor, the iron spikes chipping the stone. It barely missed Davie’s foot, and the clatter it made rivaled the echo in the Giant’s Cave.
Davie stared at the Viking halberd, his brow furrowing with anger.
No more need be said. Davie might be scowling, but Caden had effectively made his point. The youth allowed Caden to lift the halberd from the floor without a word. And he was still glaring as Caden made for the door. All the men waiting in the hall fell in line behind him. His captain hurried to keep step aside him. Only after they’d quit the hall, Caden turned and said, “See my brother remains inside.”
“I shall try.”
“Nay,” Caden said, his voice resonating like a clap of thunder. “You will do it, Alec. If my last remaining brother comes to harm this day, I will take your head.” He brandished the halberd in both hands with great meaning.
It was a bold threat, one Caden Mac Swein would never carry out on his most trusted friend and advisor, but Alec understood his laird’s resolve better than most. At all costs, Caden would protect the youngest remaining Mac Swein from the evils of war. He, himself, might bear a dozen scars from his chin to his toes, but rather Caden should bear them than Wee Davie. In the end, it would be Davie Mac Swein who’d lead their clan, and Caden wouldn’t bear the loss of another brother. Even so, not even Alec had the luxury to remain inside the tower, for their numbers were far too diminished after so many skirmishes with the MacLeods. And yet, if he must, it would be a good day to die. The sun shone bright in a fair blue sky. The sea itself rumbled all about, turning November froth to ice crystal.
High on Dunrònaigh’s ancient tower, the Mac Swein standard whipped with a vengeful breeze—a lion rampant holding his bow. The cat’s powerful jowls snapped, and the wind was a snarl from its toothy grin.
Down by the sea cave, a throng of usurpers waited to be ousted, their steely weapons glinting maliciously against a merciless sun.
Three more boats navigated the foaming surf, their numbers increasing by the hour. Fortunately, there was only one place they could land: on the small narrow beach below. Anywhere else, and they suffered the possibility of smashing their skiffs against Rònaigh’s cliffs.
On such a wee island, their military force was beggarly, but every man and woman knew how to defend themselves. Their advantage was the sea, and the simple fact that, from the tower, one could see every inch of the isle and the sea beyond. Their greatest advantage today would be a swift course of action.
“Di’ ye see a banner?”
“None.”
“Greedy buggers,” Caden said, with a snarl. “I warrant ’tis MacLeod yet again. He craves this isle more than he does his firstborn son.”
“’Tis a point of pride,” Alec said. “He wouldst prove to your sire—even six feet below—that he was the better man.”
“Amadain na galla.” Fucking idiot.
Seventy of Caden’s men waited outside the keep. He raised his grandfather’s halberd to the bright blue heavens. “For Dunrònaigh!” he shouted.
“For Dunrònaigh!” they returned,
and together they marched down Dunrònaigh’s hill, sweeping toward the beach, where the sea churned with a ferocity born of the North wind. Winter was nigh, and nevertheless, despite the cold, Caden shed his cloak, and with the cloak of his forefathers, he shed the last vestiges of his civility. Icy wind awakened his nerve.
His men followed suit, wanting naught to impede them in battle. Like their Viking predecessors, they welcomed the berserker in their souls, each man prepared to defend this land until their dying breath.
As they marched down, they shouted ancient war cries, slicing shining weapons through the air, calling down the fury of the Blue Men—those willful storm kelpies who guarded the Minch and the Northern seas beyond. Every step was made easier by the pitch of the land, spilling them downward, like a deadly flow of molten silver. From the highest vantage, atop Dunrònaigh Keep, it would appear as though a human wave plunged toward the deep-blue sea.
By contrast, the usurpers came trudging up the hillside, weighted in their every step, although greed and bloodlust fueled their march.
“For Dunrònaigh!” Caden shouted one last time.
“For Dunrònaigh!” his men returned.
The sun glinted off helms and swords as the two forces collided on Dunrònaigh’s hill.
The battle engaged. The roar was deafening, the clang of metal relentless. Blood sprayed the land, a macabre rain that covered every blade of grass and turned the hillside red.
Battling tirelessly, Caden deflected incoming blades, swinging his halberd like a man possessed, felling all who came within reach of the Beast. The battle raged until all who remained were the fiercest of the lot.
Caden pressed on until his arms grew heavy. He fought even after ice-cold metal sliced through his shoulder. Pain shot like lightning through his brain. Black rage overtook him, for if he failed today, Wee Davie would be the one to pay the price. But nay! He would not fail his brother.