by Hazel Hunter
“Keep her back!” Ruadri shouted, barely dodging Galan’s thrust.
A sly look crept over Galan’s twisted face, his eyes darting back and forth between his son and Emeline.
“More than a hoor, I’d wager,” the older druid said. “Look at her. The wench ’tis crazed with worry.” He smiled wickedly. “And the way you look at her.” He nodded in Emeline’s direction. “You’ve taken a mate. How I shall enjoy hacking you to pieces before her.”
Again and again his sire attacked, driving him back into the tunnel and toward the falls. Ruadri continued to call out memories from his boyhood exposing Galan’s cruelty, all the while handling his own sword with clumsiness. As he expected, the druid lowered his guard after inflicting dozens of minor wounds.
When Ruadri felt the falls at his back, he glanced past Galan’s shoulder to see Emeline rushing toward them as Domnall staggered back. He then employed his true skill and struck, slashing his father’s forearm from wrist to elbow, and knocking his blade into the water illusion.
Seizing Galan by the front of his robe, Ruadri pinned him against the side of the tunnel. “Now, we shall have our word alone.”
“You never said anything about a duel,” Emeline gasped as she joined them.
“’Twas easier to fight than talk.” Looking at his struggling sire, he said, “Your son yet dwells with the Skaraven, so I cannae summon them. The Gods sent me back in time to assure you do it.”
Galan’s eyes widened. “You came from time henceforward.”
“Aye, and ’twould please me to stay and tell your tribe of every wrong you did me.” He watched fear fill his sire’s eyes, but took no joy in it. “You shall summon my clan to help the Ara as we’ve asked. If you refuse, I’ll go to Bhaltair Flen and tell him all. He’ll have you removed as headman and brought before the conclave for judgment. You ken what they’ll do to you.”
Galan stopped writhing and sagged. “I’ll send for your wretched clan.” As Emeline came closer he lifted his head and his lips peeled back from his teeth. “Dinnae try your soul-sharing on me again.”
“It’s not as bad as you think,” she said, a terrible pity in her eyes now. “I know you’re upset by this, but we’ll be returning to our time. You’ll never see us again.”
Ruadri saw confusion replace his anger as Emeline’s influence changed his emotions.
“Come with me to the dovecote,” Galan muttered.
When they emerged from the tunnel, Domnall rushed over to them as Emeline held up a hand.
“My apologies, Overseer,” she said quickly. “My fear overwhelmed me. ’Twas never my purpose to share it with you.”
Though his angry expression said otherwise, he nodded his grudging assent to her.
Ruadri handed the bloodied sword back to Domnall. “My thanks. We’ve made peace, and now go to send a summons for the Skaraven.”
“Aye, and then you’ll go,” the overseer said, glancing at Emeline. He made a gesture that sent his men ahead of them.
Emeline kept focused on Galan and poured her magic into him. The headman trudged along willingly as they made their way to the settlement. In the small round house where the tribe’s messenger birds were kept, Ruadri wrote the summons himself on a tiny scroll. After attaching it to the dove Galan selected, he released it, and watched until the bird flew out of sight.
“We shall leave now by your sacred grove,” he told his sire, who stared back at him with dull eyes. “My thanks, Sire.”
“Fack you and your hoor,” Galan muttered.
“His own feelings are fighting mine, and mine are losing.” Emeline gave Ruadri a pained look. “We’d better hurry.”
Domnall escorted them to the sacred grove, where he regarded them both for a long moment. “Our headman shall punish me for my meddling, but ’twas worth it. No Pritani should endure without their tribe.”
“Nor druid kind.” Ruadri clasped arms with him. “Many thanks, Overseer.”
After Domnall left them Emeline stepped into the circle of stones with Ruadri, and held his hand tightly. “What if it doesn’t open this time?”
“Then we go to our mounts and ride away fast.” He drew their joined hands down to the grass and touched the earth with them.
Slowly the soil whirled open into a dark, spinning vortex, and Emeline heaved a sigh of relief.
“Thank heavens,” she said, and turned her head to look back at the settlement. Her back stiffened, and she lunged in front of him.
A thudding sound made Ruadri go still, until Emeline began to slide down his front. He caught her, and then saw the arrow shaft protruding from her chest. He jerked his head up to see Galan standing at the edge of the oak grove, notching another arrow on his longbow. Their eyes met, and Ruadri saw such gloating in his sire’s gaze that he nearly ran at him. Then his lips moved, and while no sound came to his ears, he knew exactly what Galan had said.
A wife for a wife.
“No, Ru.” Emeline uttered a liquid cough. “Home. Please.”
A second arrow sliced across Ruadri’s upper arm as he lifted her up, but he felt nothing. All he could do was look down at his lady’s still face. He could feel her blood soaking through her garments, and the warmth of her body ebbing. When a third arrow struck him in the thigh, he came out of his daze.
Holding Emeline close, Ruadri leapt into the portal.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BEING CARRIED IN Ruadri’s strong arms helped Emeline endure the hard, deep pain spreading through her chest. She couldn’t take a deep breath, and wondered if one of her lungs had collapsed. Then the world spun away into darkness, and her body filled with light.
This time, however, it couldn’t heal her completely, because the arrow still remained embedded in her chest. It stuck out from the exact spot where her heart still beat. From the way it quivered, her heart had healed around it.
Snow fell on her cheeks and brow, and spangled her eyelashes. She could see the thin white clouds of Ruadri’s breath puffing out over her. They’d traded summer for winter, but Emeline didn’t mind. The frigid air felt just as good as the pale sunlight. She didn’t resent the huge white snow drifts her lover trampled through as he carried her from the hidden grove. She might never have worn a wedding dress, but she’d loved, and had a husband, and she hadn’t winked out of existence.
Because of her and Ruadri, her bloodline was safe again.
The arrow in her chest, on the other hand, presented a problem that couldn’t be solved. She had spent too many years in the medical field to overestimate her chances. Even with emergency open-heart surgery she’d likely die. And since Ruadri was carrying her into Dun Mor now, that wasn’t going to happen. She understood the protector mark now, though. Somehow the moon had known what she would do to save her lover. It had been complete instinct.
“We’re home, my sweet lady,” Ruadri said.
As men shouted and a woman shrieked, she peered up at him. He looked terrible, covered in her blood, his handsome face almost as gray as his eyes. She glanced down and saw a bent arrow sticking out of his leg where it had healed inside the wound. He’d have to cut that out, and it would hurt like the devil. She wished she could stay long enough to help him, but her time with him was rapidly coming to an end.
Emeline saw the quivering of the arrow slowing as Ruadri lowered her to his work table, and gathered the dregs of her strength.
“What happened?” That was Rowan. “Where have you been? Emeline, are you all right?”
The carpenter loomed over her, furious until she saw the arrow. Then she dropped out of sight, and a man who looked like an angel picked her up and carried her out.
Rowan is fainting, and I’m seeing angels. That’s not good. Or maybe it is.
Lily came next with Althea, and their husbands, and their low voices whispered around her. Everyone was afraid, and that was something Emeline could do something about, even with an arrow in her heart. She adored these brave women, and their heroic men. This clan, her family
. She sent that love out into all of them, taking away their sorrow and replacing it with joy.
The effort made her tired, but she couldn’t sleep, not yet. She looked at her beloved shaman.
“Ru. I’ll come back.”
Her lover stopped what he was doing and leaned down to kiss her brow. “You mustnae go. I’ll take you through the portal again. I’ve but to cut out the shaft–”
“Can’t. It’s inside my heart. I can’t survive you removing it.” She managed to put her hand on his arm. “Be back someday. Wait for me?”
“Oh, Gods.” His tears fell, warm and soft, on her nose and cheeks. “I’ll wait, and I’ll love you. Until I’m no more, Wife.”
That would give her plenty to dream of in the next place, Emeline thought, and smiled. What did the druids call the afterlife? The well of stars. She liked that even more than heaven.
“Husband.”
She was glad she’d said that. It would be her last word, and she wanted it to be the best, brightest, most beautiful thing she’d ever said.
That he was.
Ruadri knelt beside the table, still holding her hands, and lay his head on her belly. Behind him a white, glowing sphere rose and hovered over them both. Before Emeline closed her eyes, she saw a face looking down at her from inside the moon. This time it wasn’t Althea’s. In fact, she’d never seen such a beautiful woman, and then realized she was looking at a face very much like her own. Maybe Ara’s tribe wasn’t the beginning of her bloodline after all. Maybe it went back long before druids and mortals.
Didn’t matter, really. A huge rush of emotion poured through Emeline, and wrapped her in the shining snowy silks of moonlight. Thank you, Goddess.
Remember love, my daughter.
Ruadri felt Emeline’s last heartbeat, and heard the breath sigh from her lungs for the final time. He knew what he had to do, but he stayed where he was, holding onto her even after she had gone. His love, his protector. His wife, who had sacrificed herself for him.
Standing and pulling the arrow out of his thigh barely dented his grief, but he had more precious work to do. He cleaned his wound blade, and used it to gently remove the arrowhead piercing her still heart. Tossing it away, he stitched together the edges of the wound, and then washed away the blood from her skin. His own pattered onto the floor, making it slippery until he poured water over the deep puncture, and it healed.
“Shaman.”
He looked up to see Taran on the other side of the table. Everyone else had left, probably when Emeline had died. He couldn’t think of how long ago that had been.
“You must tell them now.”
The keeper of the clan’s secrets, Taran had likely always known what he was.
When Ruadri did that, he could be with Emeline again. “Gather the clan in the great hall.”
The horse master nodded and left.
Ruadri wrapped his wife in his tartan, smoothing her dark hair over the folds before he carried her out into the hall. There he placed her on the fur by the hearth, and stood over her as the Skaraven assembled around him.
Althea came and held out a silver chain to him. “Kanyth finished this for you.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked at his wife. “He said it was for Emmie.” She choked back a sob as he took it. “I thought she…should have it.” The lairds wife covered her mouth with both hands as she wept.
Ruadri fumbled with the delicate catch for a moment, and then bent and clasped it around his wife’s throat. Looking down at her peaceful countenance gave him the courage to straighten and face his clan.
“I thought myself unloved until Emeline came to us,” he said. “’Twas wrong of me. All of you have loved me as a brother. For that you deserve the truth.”
He could hear the flatness in his voice as he related their journey through time. He was unmoved as he described how they had failed to save the Wood Dream but kept the tribe of Ara from being killed by the Romans. Brennus and Cade exchanged a surprised look when Ruadri spoke of compelling Galan to send the summons to them that led to the pact between the two clans. No one moved when he told them how his sire had tried to kill him at the portal, and how Emeline had shielded him to die in his place.
Finally, he confessed that he not only had been sired by Galan but had kept his druid blood a secret. He also detailed the reports he had given to the druids, and how he had been trained as a weapon of last resort. As he spoke of his betrayal, he looked directly at Brennus, who showed no emotion in response.
“Galan made me offer myself to the moon, in hopes I would be given the gift of her light,” Ruadri told the chieftain. “Had the Skaraven ever attempted to harm the innocent in our mortal life, I was to use my blinding power on the clan.” He looked around the hall at the shocked faces watching him. “I’ve been a traitor since boyhood. ’Tis how I returned your affection and brotherhood, with deceit and lies. For that I no longer deserve to be one of the Skaraven.” He removed his clan ring and handed it to Brennus. “I’m ready to die. I would ask that Cadeyrn take my life.”
He knelt before the chieftain but looked over at Emeline. In a few moments he would return to the well of stars, where she awaited. That was all he had left. That was all he needed.
“War Master, counsel,” Brennus said.
His second came to join him, and both men regarded Ruadri for a long silent moment.
“’Twas good of Ru to enlighten us,” the chieftain said. “But he didnae speak the complete truth, and that muddles my thinking.”
“Aye.” Cadeyrn stroked his chin. “No’ a mention of Galan’s threats to kill us as lads if he didnae serve as Watcher.”
“The scheme to blind us, should we turn to evil,” Kelturan put in. “That curdled my cream.” When the other men glared at him, he shrugged. “What if he mistook some mischief for evil? A man shouldnae have his eyes burnt out of his head for shouting and kicking some pots.”
Ruadri was completely drained as he looked up at Brennus. “Please, Chieftain. I shall beg your forgiveness as much as you wish, but ’tis done now. I wish only to be with my lady.”
“Aye, but hold your blade, War Master,” Brennus said as he walked over to Emeline’s body. He knelt beside it as he unclasped the chain, and slid Ruadri’s clan ring onto it.
Silvery white light glowed around the black ring, turning it silver. The glow expanded, and then burst out in a huge wave of magic. The force blasted tables and benches against the walls, and knocked over every Skaraven.
Ruadri pushed himself up from the stone floor to see Brennus helping Emeline to her feet. His lady looked bewildered but otherwise unharmed, and then saw him and ran. He staggered to his feet in time to catch her in his arms. He felt her warmth and softness and still could not believe it.
“Did I keep you waiting long?” Emeline asked, and snuggled against him.
Over her head he stared at the chieftain. “I spied on you. I betrayed you. I’m druid kind.”
“Half-druid,” Brennus corrected. “Had you been all druid, I might have ended you. But all that you did protected the clan. That and you cannot choose your sire, nor those in which you must confide.”
“I heard that.” A very wet and bedraggled Bhaltair Flen appeared and made straight for the hearth. “’Twas all my doing, lad. I made the mistake of revealing the truth of your past to Brennus. He knew all long before you returned to Dun Mor.”
“But you swore to keep my secrets,” Ruadri said faintly.
The chieftain snorted. “That he never does.”
“That pledge but slipped my mind. Be happy you shall never grow old,” the druid told him, and squeezed the hem of his robe into an ash bucket. “Lady Althea, may I trouble you for some dry garments to borrow until my own dry? Unless you favor the great puddles I shall make in your hall.”
Brennus came over to rest his hand on Ruadri’s shoulder. “We’ve much to tell you, now that you’re come home.” To Emeline he said, “I’m happy to welcome you as my shaman’s wife. Maddock McAra, howe
ver, wishes to inspect you with his own eyes, and I cannae predict how he shall take the news. Mayhap you and Ru shall help me convince him no’ to chop off my brother Kanyth’s head.”
“I’d be happy to talk to my laird, Chieftain,” she said, smiling. “I’d like to tell him about Ara and his tribe. They were marvelous people.”
As the clan began setting the great hall to rights, Ruadri slipped into his work chamber with Emeline. There he kissed her until they both lost their breath and laughed between gasps.
“’Tis as if I’ve been given a third life,” he told her as he stroked his hand over her dark hair. “One I wish to spend loving you and serving my clan. ’Tis what you want as well, Emeline?”
“I do.” She touched the clan ring hanging on her chain. “Forever.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
SOME DAYS LATER Maddock McAra entered his bed chamber to see his wife sitting by the window and unbraiding her fine hair. The moonlight caught some of the new silver threads in the long tresses, but he secretly thought they made her look even more beautiful. Even after all these years together the fact that she had accepted his hand still astonished him, something he also concealed.
“Again, pursuing your idle pleasures, Elspeth.” He came over and took charge of her plaits, gently releasing them into rippling waves. “Now that our guests have left, I reckon we have the place to ourselves again. The mad druids and the famhairean have vanished, mayhap for good, along with that acolyte of Flen’s. We’ve naught to worry on for at least fourday. Shall I chase you in your night rail through the halls?”
“With half our clan yet under our roof?” She shook her head. “You must confine your pursuit of me to the solar or our chambers.” She caught his hand and drew it down to her belly. “Until spring comes, when I shall be obliged to waddle, and become too simple to catch.”
“A new bairn,” he whispered. A smug happiness filled Maddock as he splayed his fingers over the gentle curve. “I thought as much. You’ve been aglow of late.” He pressed a kiss to his favorite spot on her long, lovely neck. “This one shall be your image.”