by K H Lemoyne
“She should have broken this fever, and she wrestles too much.” Grainne gave one last rub of liniment on Fiona’s feet, then set aside her bowls and towel. “Given I can’t get any nourishment into her, I worry for all the energy she burns.”
“What can I do?” Bri asked.
“I’m sending you to Agnes’s place, lass, for a potion. Take one of these two with you.” Grainne waved between Logan and Robert.
“I’ll go with the lass,” Hefin said, as he kicked the door shut behind him and hefted a large crock to the table with a thunk. “Leaving the MacKenzies to deal with Malcolm and trouble, if it comes? I think not,” Grainne said.
“I’ll go with Bri.” Logan stood and held out his hand to help her up. “Robert already has a rapport with Malcolm after the bridge incident.”
Robert threw a tiny pinecone into the fire, causing sparks of blue and green to spike with a pop and crackle. “His men are tracking down another crewman and the owners of a lockbox of jewelry we salvaged from the ship.”
“Not we, lad. You were the only one dimwitted enough to dive and search,” Hefin said.
“Don’t give me that look.” Robert glanced at Logan and threw another pinecone. The snap echoed and released deep, melodic tones, the notes alternating with colors in the fire. “I didn’t take any risks. Had a lifeline tied to me the whole time and a—” He glanced at Hefin.
“A moonfish,” Hefin snapped.
“Jellyfish-type thing suctioned to my face.” Robert gestured with his fingers over his nose and mouth. “It ingests water to use the hydrogen—hence the eerie glow—and then it expels oxygen. A little rich for prolonged use, but it worked well for a short, shallow dive.”
“Only the most dangerous fools would try.” Hefin’s bewildered look belied his gruff tone.
Logan shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Robert, you’re insane.”
“What? I’ve used a lot of strange devices since BUD/S training.”
“Buds? As in flowers?” Grainne asked with a raised brow.
Robert set down the pinecones, horrified. “No. Not flowers. Underwater gear for Navy—”
Hefin warded off Robert’s explanations with a raised hand and glared at Logan. “Bring her back before nightfall, MacKenzie.”
“Enough discussing fish and rules. If they leave now, they’ll stay with Agnes through the night and return on the morrow.” Grainne let out a small snort, and pointed a finger at Hefin before he could respond. “She’ll be safe with him. You know that full well.”
Hefin grumbled, his fierce expression turning into a scowl. Then he settled in his chair without another word.
“I’ll give you a basket to take, and then you’d both best be off,” Grainne added as she bustled about, gathering supplies.
Logan touched Bri’s elbow before she could step past him. “How is your foot?”
“Not even a twinge.” At her small lie, he lifted a brow. Bri accepted the provisioned basket and added, “Don’t worry. It’s only a twinge and the exercise will do me good.”
“Make sure Agnes sees the horehound,” Grainne urged. “She’s needed it for a bit.”
With a frown, Bri sifted through the items in the basket. Why would Agnes need an ingredient to ward against sorcery and poisons?
Robert followed on their heels. “I’ll walk with you two for a short way.”
They headed initially toward the small creek and waterfall, then veered north toward a cliff path. Logan and Robert stopped at a bend where the path overlooked the bay.
Uncertain if she should leave them to their discussion, Bri glanced farther along, but Logan stayed her with a hand on her arm. “We have no secrets from you.” He turned back to Robert. “What did you find?”
Robert pulled a heavy, gold-filigreed medallion and chain from his pocket. Three engraved scallop shells caught the sunlight.
“Fiona’s?” Logan palmed the gold disc and rubbed his thumb across the delicate, etched design.
Bri glanced from the medallion to the slight shake of Robert’s left hand. Before she could question him, he shoved his hand in his pocket and glared, a challenge in his gaze. She backed off. They’d achieved a delicate balance. One she didn’t want tested, much less broken.
Logan turned and placed the medallion in her hand.
“Might be her family crest,” Robert said. “My guess is down payment for services. It’s a distinctive piece. Malcolm has a second piece of jewelry he’s showing to people in the village. I’m hoping he can confirm my suspicions.”
“It’d be stupid to use a traceable family seal for payment.”
“I agree. It’s possible these pieces are untraceable, or spoils from a side transaction. Or they’re intended to throw suspicion on the wrong person. While she’s young—we can’t rule out a dowry.”
“Too many choices for us to guess the answer,” Logan muttered.
Robert nodded. “Malcolm is also checking with a man in a village farther south. He recently married into a family here, and has kin across the southern border. He might shed light on the crest’s origins. We’ll have to play it by ear.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I also found cases of clothes, a young girl’s clothes. I didn’t bother to haul them up. Parading her around in her clothes would only put a spotlight on her.”
“Why keep the clothes if they intended to kill her? Though perhaps they intended to sell them,” Logan added, staring at the medallion. “Whomever paid for her passage will also be seeking closure.”
“Why didn’t the crewmen take it with them when they abandoned the ship? The jewels, I mean,” Bri said, handing the necklace back to Logan.
“Don’t think they could get to it,” Robert said, rubbing his jaw. “I found a thick wooden desk wedged against a cabinet in one corner. Not sure if that was on purpose or if the ship’s movement sent things shifting when it sank. I managed to move it, but I don’t think they had enough muscle to retrieve the stash before the ship sank.”
“You’re evidently a stronger man than most,” Bri commented. He looked uneasy but dipped his head in acknowledgement. “One more layer of mystery for Fiona.”
Logan glanced back the way they came. “She’ll need more protection than Hefin and Grainne.”
“Figured you’d see it that way,” Robert said.
“Talk to Hefin about options while we’re gone.”
“Will do.” Robert slid the medallion over his neck and headed back toward the cottage.
Logan watched Robert disappear from view, but didn’t start up a conversation as they continued down the path.
“She’ll be fine.” Bri squeezed his arm. “We’ll get her healthy and then to somewhere safe.”
“Then what?” he added with a shrug.
“Here? She grows up happily ever after with a husband of her choice, or puts her powers to use for the laird—or both.”
Logan was silent for a moment. “You’re here and you’ve done neither of those things. What was your plan before your home was attacked?”
“It was a long time ago.” She opened her mouth for more but paused, realizing she had no answer. Aware she’d stopped and he waited several feet farther along, she brushed at her pants and picked up her pace. “I’ve been so fixated on looking for my brothers, living for the next sign, the next portal, trying to find ways to increase my power that I haven’t considered a future.”
“If you were safe at home now, what would be your dream?”
She shrugged. “I loved my home, the people. I was always busy and someone always needed help. Another life never really crossed my mind.”
“You were still young.”
She shifted the basket to her other hand, trying to figure out what made her so uncomfortable with this discussion. Was it her lack of a clear destiny, or the fact she didn’t see herself settled into any role she’d witnessed so far? Logan didn’t add his ideas, seemingly satisfied with letting her think out loud. “My father told us tales of the many places he
’d been. He promised to take me one day.”
“You’ve probably traveled farther than you planned. What if the portal opens and it doesn’t take you home?”
The bottom fell out of her stomach and she pressed her lips tight. She’d never allowed herself to consider failure, or that she, Christoph, Nicolai, and Daniel wouldn’t find each other. Then again, she didn’t feel comfortable trusting her life to fate either.
Both were equally unsettling.
“Change of topic.” Logan eased the basket from her hand and slid his fingers through hers. “How about you explain what Agnes uses the horehound for, instead?”
The first thing Logan noticed was the cottage, a composite of stacked stone. It differed from the timber and wattle of Grainne’s or those of the villagers. This house appeared fresh, new. Yet his senses told him otherwise. The tiny curl of smoke from the chimney, innocent and welcoming, clashed with the incredible power emanating from the stones and the ground surrounding them. Energy older than any he’d encountered so far in this upside-down rendition of his world.
The aromas of roasted meat and herbs teased Logan’s senses. An iron basket of lamb, tufts of rosemary poking from beneath the twine binding the meat, rotated on a simple spit over a circular stone pit. The spit’s long handle connected in joints and angles to a foot pedal on the ground.
A foot lazily pumped the pedal. Logan’s gaze followed the length of dark suede boots into the shadowed space under tree branches. Then the sweet, pungent scent of a pipe’s leaf filled his nostrils. A man relaxed against a tree stump, a pipe hanging from his hand, lazily draped over his raised knee. Logan couldn’t determine his age from the shaggy brown hair, a beard to match, and bright, crystal-blue eyes.
“Fair day, Briallen. Mother is waiting on you inside.” He didn’t stand to greet them, merely lifted one corner of his mouth, tapped the bowl of his pipe with one finger, and dipped his head in greeting.
A thick tingle worked its way along Logan’s spine, and tightened in his stomach as he gazed from the man to the cottage. Usually, he equated the sensation with a potential threat. Instead, the power spread, working along his skin in a soft rub, as if a familiar soul urged him toward the house, the effect strangely erotic.
He felt more than a little off-kilter. Logan pressed his hand against Bri’s back to ground himself, as he guided her through the doorway of the tiny home. His disorientation continued as they entered. But Bri’s ease permeated him through their contact, restoring his focus.
Passing a glance around, he noticed the one inhabitant. While he considered Grainne and Hefin small in stature, the tiny, almost withered woman qualified as gnome size. As they approached, she paused from snipping herbs and wrapping bundles at a large table, and turned. Her smile split her dried-apple face in two and she held out her hands to Bri.
“Lass, I’ve been expecting you. How is Grainne?”
“Home with a sick child, Agnes.”
Bri accepted the woman’s embrace. Over her shoulder, Logan got a clearer view of Agnes and forced himself not to step back in surprise.
She leveled a deep, cerulean gaze on him, her eyes the beautiful color with a cloudy haze. The blue accentuated her obvious blindness, yet she’d place a large blade on the table to hug Bri. One with a finely honed edge equal to that of his sword.
Still grasping Bri, Agnes stepped toward Logan and held out her other hand. “Tell me of your young man.”
Startled, Bri glanced at him.
“Logan MacKenzie.” He took the hand offered and breathed through the heady flow of power that lashed around him. When he would have moved away, Agnes held tight.
“Aye, your heart and soul are bound tight. He’ll waste much effort in his fight against you, Makir.” Agnes’s words rumbled with surprising strength. Logan could see from Bri’s confusion that she’d heard the strange litany, but didn’t understand.
Agnes shooed her away. “Go out to Magnus, girl. He has the aurum potable the child requires. Be warned, it will not return her memory, but her health—that it will correct.”
Bri nodded. After a questioning glance at Logan, she left him alone with Agnes. The old woman waited, her head tilted as if listening for the retreat of footsteps.
“Her heart is opening. When her control evolves, she will be a force to be reckoned with.”
The sway of Bri’s hips was still visible through the open door. Logan soaked in the brief sexy rhythm before she moved out of sight. “She’s a force to be reckoned with now.”
“Youth and passion.” Agnes turned back with a deep inhale, the eerie intensity of her blind gaze penetrating and uncomfortable. “You want more than mere passion from the daughter of the House of Aisalinore.”
The references from Rhiamon’s visions, the connection across the dimensions, rattled him.
“The ancient bloodline you carry is a powerful one, though a harsh legacy. A connection to the farthest worlds is open within you, despite evil’s attempt to eradicate your kind.” Her grip on his hands tightened as she leaned closer. “The Makir bond is their strength. Claim your partner quickly to ensure your generation’s survival, for the pairs either hold the gates or let loose the flood.”
“What is the distinction between the Makir and the sentinels?” he asked. “Aren’t they one and the same?”
“Separate, yet the same.” She swiveled her head. “If the veils fall, all you know will perish, in your space and ours. And he will not stop until he controls all.”
“You credit me with too much control over events.” Logan tried to release the woman’s hands, but she held firm. “If you know so much, why don’t you fight this battle? No offense, but I’m not convinced by the frail-old-woman persona.”
“So be it.” The woman’s features shifted beneath his gaze. The wrinkles and age shed like watercolors to the floor. Tilted, almond-shaped eyes, now vivid with the same cerulean gleam, bore into him from a delicate and ethereal face. The sweeping points at the tips of her ears poked from yards of silver tresses and the rise of her pearly-peach lips instigated a sudden constriction in Logan’s chest. Power greater than before crashed over him and held him tight.
He waited for her to allow him to breathe, having no control over his body. In the moment between dizziness and death, he was all too aware of the walls, table, and stones disappearing, becoming a wide expanse of dark and trees. Heavens, if his bloodline resisted the influence of external magic, he would hate to see what happened without protection.
He stood with Agnes on a dais, her entire focus on him. Only the faint gold glow of Bri’s power visible from the corner of his eyes kept him from sliding to the floor.
Soft shuffles echoed around them. People surrounded them: standing, sitting around tables, and more disturbing, hovering cross-legged over rocks. Bright slashes of moonlight on metal broke the darkness—sword poised in each hand, like silver exclamation marks as far as he could see.
“Do not think, young Makir, that I and my kind do not hold the line. The locks of space weaken and the portals have returned. You have seen the windows between the dimensions. You cannot ignore what is coming. You and your kind are the first and last defense to hold the evil at bay.”
He forced air past the crushing grip on his lungs. “How?”
With another sly glance through the dark to where the door used to be, she waved a hand through Bri’s golden threads. “Your heart, your instinct, your loyalty. They are all you require, Makir. The rest will be shared with you when you have need. Your kind are the legacy our people bequeathed to safeguard the worlds. We will seek you, and you will use us. Trust in yourself. Know that you are not alone.”
“Why my bloodline? Why Makir and sentinels?”
She said nothing for a long moment, her stare a heavy weight he endured. “Out of all of us, the Makir protect with their blood. Their power alone can close the portals. A balance of two—one Makir, one sentinel—each pair, together they release a greater power. You pay the price for those who pass.�
�� Her eyes shifted and examined him. “Your bloodline created the portals. The essence of the portals is within you.”
“I can’t control over the portals.”
“You have been called.” Her fist slammed over his heart and he gasped as a surge of heat and light pulsed through him, the shock paralyzing. “You must grasp the powers your ancestors carried, what has lain dormant within you. Bond and guard the gates.”
He choked against her hold, but managed to grind out his thoughts. “You have power. Why not you…or others?”
Her gaze intensified in a searing stream of blue, blinding to watch. Tears spilled down his cheeks. Then her emotions, swirling with her words, ripped through Logan. Covet. Need. Desire.
“The temptation is too great—the peril equally so,” she ground out. Her words washing over him like sandpaper. “Don’t underestimate the hunger your power creates. Only your kind can command the power you are born with. Others have tried. All have failed. That will not stop more from trying.”
“They destroy us instead.” He spat the words, anger gripping him. The memories of all the family he had buried overshadowed her threat.
A faint tsk and Agnes’s head bowed. “Aye. Foolish to destroy the Makir. More foolish still to destroy the mothers who would bear the sentinels. Once they are gone, there will be no hope.”
She turned away. The darkness brightened as the floor beneath his feet turned from stone to solid dirt once again. Her silver tresses faded to white, her slender hands once again wrinkled and gnarled. She grasped several small acorns on the table and pressed them into his palm, curling his fingers around them.
“For use against your enemies. You will know how to use them when the time comes. It will buy you only days, a week perhaps. It’s all I can give, or the tilt in the balance of power will be felt.”
Logan blinked and for a split second wondered if he’d imagined what he’d seen. Just as quickly, he discarded his doubt. He knew better. The faint scar along his arm pulsed, his tattoo burned, and his heart still thundered like a freight train. Everything about her was deadly real. Elven, or Fae, or perhaps something else he’d never heard of—Agnes was a formidable being. Not mortal. But for now, his ally.