by Hazel Hunter
“All are good and kind men, but I expect you ken that. My master, Bhaltair Flen, sends his best wishes. He is in the lowlands attending to that wretched drover who betrayed you.” Cailean stopped to accept a bouquet of white roses from a maid, which he placed in Rachel’s hands. “A gift from your people.”
She lifted the flowers to her nose and breathed in their sweet scent.
“But it’s winter,” she said. “Where in the world did you….oh.” She smiled at him. “You enchanted some weeds. That’s pretty incredible.”
So was her ability to see into his mind. “The spell should last another day before they return to their natural state. I can teach it to you, if you like.”
“You just did,” she said and her expression turned rueful. “Cailean, I see that you’re worried, but you should know that I’ve discovered something about my gift. I can only remember what Evander and I have shared.” She glanced down at the flowers. “With the thoughts and memories from other people, after a day or so, they fade away. I’m a clean slate again.”
The knot in his chest loosened. “So what you saw in my mind in the cove is gone now.”
Rachel nodded. “Whatever secrets you shared are safe. Even the resurrection spell we used has disappeared from my memory.”
Cailean knew the conclave had been considering more drastic measures to prevent Rachel from interfering in their plans, and felt glad that they would no longer be necessary.
“You have given me a great gift, my lady.”
“Just remember,” she warned, “I can always read you again.”
Feeling very relieved, and somewhat disconcerted, Cailean escorted Rachel down the last staircase to the great hall. There he guided her up to the great hearth where Evander and Lachlan stood waiting with the visiting mortal lairds.
Cailean retreated to the upper hall to watch, and noted how Evander’s harsh expression abruptly vanished the moment he saw his bride. The handsome smile lit up his face, and made the druid feel a rare surge of envy.
How would it be, to live forever with a love who would always be with you?
As for Rachel Ingram, now to be Mistress Talorc, Cailean would likely never feel especially comfortable around her. The ease with which she had plucked from his mind all he knew, including every detail of the Great Design, had staggered him. While it would serve no purpose for her to reveal it—and now he knew she had forgotten it—that knowledge was very dangerous indeed.
“She’s a beauty,” a low, sweet voice said from behind him, and Lady Gordon came to join him.
She wore a pale green silk gown that showed her delicate figure, now restored after her confinement, and a veil of golden lace over the smooth, heavy braids that crowned her head.
He remembered the nights they had shared when her hair hung down to her hips, and the touch of her hands on his slim body had driven him to take her again and again. What had been a sacred duty had become so much more that Cailean would always burn with guilt—and still he went stiff at the sight of her.
“I cannae help but agree,” he said and glanced down to see Laird Gordon standing beside Lachlan. He liked the handsome young laird, who had always been congenial to him. He also hated him with every fiber of his being. “Shall I escort you to your husband, my lady?”
“That would be stupit, as he sent me to find you.” She stepped back and gestured toward the guest quarters. “Come, and I will show you why.”
Cailean considered inventing an excuse to escape her, but none came to mind. Bethany Gordon’s presence always reduced him to a callow boy.
“If you wish it,” he said.
Lady Gordon led him directly to the bed chamber that she shared with her husband. Once inside she dismissed the maid watching over the infant in the bedside cradle. As soon as they were alone she lifted the plump boy into her arms and brought him to Cailean.
“We named him Danyel,” she said and rocked her body from side to side as the boy’s eyelids lifted. He made a low, cooing sound. “Will you hold him now?”
Cailean hardly heard her as he looked into the bairn’s dreamy eyes. He had been chosen by the conclave to impregnate Lady Gordon because of his resemblance to her future husband, but the bairn was a tiny miniature of him.
“I dare not, my lady. I wouldnae wish to–” He gaped as she placed the little bundle in his hands. “My lady, what are you about?”
“I am introducing you to your son, Ovate Lusk. Danyel, this is your sire.” Lady Gordon folded her arms. “Dinnae make that face at me. Look at him. He is all over you. Do you no’ see his eyes?”
“I cannae see the resemblance, my lady,” Cailean said and took the boy over to the cradle and carefully placed him in it. “I am told that the difficult work of childbirth sometimes gives mothers strange notions.” Dear gods, was this drivel actually spouting from his lips? “To my eyes young Master Gordon greatly resembles his sire, the laird.”
“Surely he would, if Gordon had ever taken me,” she said, tapping her foot now. “Which he hasnae, and willnae. To the world we may be husband and wife, but alone we are like brother and sister.”
Cailean’s jaw sagged. “Surely no’.”
“Aye. When Gordon wishes pleasure he shares it with Eamus, his bodyguard. They grew up together as boys, and they’ve been lovers since they became men.” Lady Gordon marched up to him. “Now tell me Danyel is no’ yours, or that ’twas some miracle worked by the gods to bless me with a bairn. Isnae that what you were told to say?”
“Bairns often…’tis entirely likely that…oh, blind me.” He dropped onto the edge of the bed and buried his flushed face in his hands. “Forgive me, Bethany. I never meant to do this to you.”
She sat down beside him. “Cailean, ’tis no’ as terrible as you think. When my courses stopped I knew to be honest with Gordon. Since we had not been together, I didnae dare do otherwise. I told him that we had lain together before our marriage, and the bairn I carried was yours. I asked him if I might keep Danyel, and he agreed to raise him as his own.”
He dared a glance at her, and saw tears sparkling in her soft eyes.
“But why should he,” Cailean asked, “now that he has the truth of it?”
“The news thrilled him. He never expected to have a son, and he couldnae give one to me. We did try, you ken, for two clans depend on us, but with all women he is unable.” She took out a kerchief and dried her eyes. “’Twas in return in part for my keeping secret his love for Eamus. You ken what would happen to them if they are ever discovered.”
“I do,” Cailean said and took hold of her hand. “If I had been aware of his penchants, Beth, I would never have pressed for the marriage.”
“Yet you still would have lain with me,” she chided. “And found another husband to blame for siring Danyel, so the plan might continue.”
Now she was scaring him. “I dinnae ken your meaning.”
“Aye, you do. I’ve spoken with Lady McDonald, and Laird Darrow’s betrothed. They both carry the bairns of druids who came to comfort them, as you did to me. I expect there are many more.” Before he could deny it she shook her head. “I dinnae wish to be told of whatever scheme you’ve planned. ’Tis no’ why I asked you here.”
Now she wanted something from him. He could see it in the stubborn set of her chin.
“Then why did you, my lady?”
“I’ve done what the druids wanted. Now ’tis my turn for scheming.” Lady Gordon rose from the bed, and went to bolt the door. “Danyel will sleep for another hour, and the laird must attend the wedding feast. He will tell them that I am resting.” She came to stand before him. “Take off your robe. I desire you naked for this.”
He nearly fell off the bed. “We cannae. Bethany.”
“Och, Cailean, dinnae be such a dolt. You care for me, and I you. Gordon understands, and approves. I’m determined that Danyel willnae be my only child.” She dragged her bodice down until she revealed her milk-swollen breasts. “The druids need no’ ken. ’Twill be our secr
et.”
Cailean looked up at her, and saw the tenderness in her eyes as he began unfastening his robe.
“Aye,” he whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
AFTER THE WEDDING ceremony, the feasting and drinking began. Rachel was hugged and welcomed by the clan as if she were a princess instead of the wife of their Captain of the Guard. She danced to the pipers with Evander first, who guided her through the gliding, circling steps of a reel. After that the laird claimed the honor of the second dance, which was a line dance consisting of spins and bows.
“No flings,” Evander said as Neac approached her. “She’s a wee little lass, and you’ll break her.”
The chieftain flapped a hand at him and led Rachel onto the floor, where he and the Uthars taught her their tribe’s stomping, arm-flinging circle dance. By the time that finished she thought she would be flushed and out of breath, but it seemed that her new immortality came with endless vitality and excellent lung capacity.
“All right, boys,” Kinley announced as she and Diana took Rachel’s arms in theirs. “We ladies are going to get a little air and chat. Continue partying until we get back.”
Rachel glanced at Evander as the women hauled her out through an arch and into the back courtyard.
“So what’s this really about, my ladies?” she asked.
“She’s the lady, I’m the cop,” Diana said. “We’ve decided to form an all-girl mini-warband.”
“Oh, yes,” Kinley told her. “Because we are completely outnumbered.”
While they were both acting a little drunk, Rachel sensed that was for the benefit of any men who might be watching.
“So how would that work?” Rachel said, smiling.
Diana laughed. “I’ll track the undead, you’ll pick their brains, and then Kinley will torch them.”
“Great, I get barbecue duty again,” Kinley said. As they walked into the gardens, Lady McDonnel stopped and turned her vivid, white-laced blue eyes on Rachel. “Before all the killing and resurrecting, you didn’t happen to find out if the legion has built a new stronghold somewhere, did you?”
“My reads fade away after a couple of days, so no,” Rachel said, and explained the non-existent downside to her ability that she’d invented while talking to Cailean. Although she was lying through her teeth, both women looked as if they believed her. “I have a vague memory of something big somewhere near the water.” At least that much was true. None of the undead had thought about their stronghold around her. She’d plucked that thought from one of the captives.
“Well, that rules out the lowlands,” Diana said and dropped down on a bench. She took a swig from the wine bottle in her hand and passed it to Kinley before she shook out her skirt. “Since we’re having our first unofficial chicks from the future club meeting, I vote we address a few things.”
“This should be good,” Kinley said to Rachel.
“The lack of comfortable clothing and the TP issue are my main bitches,” the redhead declared. “And then there are the fish and raisin punishment pies. Which have to stop, Cap, or Meg and I are going to rumble.”
“The TP issue?” Rachel murmured to Kinley, and then realized what it was. “Oh, you know, birch bark works pretty well.” When both women stared at her, she said, “Not the outside. The inside. It’s really soft and absorbent.”
Diana nodded. “So noted, plus points for creative use of nature.”
“For clothing, we have tons of unused linen up at the cottage, too. Fiona couldn’t go anywhere, poor girl, so pretty much all she did was weave.” Rachel smiled sadly. “Would make great summer gowns.”
“Now I want to marry you,” the redhead said and sighed. But then she rose to her feet. “Oops, there’s my guy, and he looks like he wants my gown off me. See you all when I regain consciousness and hobble downstairs, sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
Kinley waved to Raen, and then asked Rachel to walk down to the loch with her.
“It’s really been a lovely day, and I’m so glad you’ve joined the clan. We ladies are the minority, plus it’s nice to have someone who doesn’t need me to explain things like sports cars, basketball and cheeseburgers.”
Rachel chuckled. “We should make some. We have almost all the raw materials here, except the ketchup.”
“God, I miss tomatoes. Tomato sauce. Grilled cheese and tomato soup.” The other woman sighed. “Okay, time for the serious stuff. My husband thinks you forced Cailean Lusk to bring Evander back from the dead. True or false?”
Rachel kept her expression blank. “What do you think?”
“I think you read his mind, and did it yourself, or made him help you. That’s what I would have done.” The laird’s wife glanced back at the stronghold. “In a way it’s good that your reads fade. But if there’s ever anything you pick up that endangers the clan, tell my husband.”
The cool detachment of her emotions surprised Rachel. “You don’t trust the druids.”
“I have my suspicions,” Kinley said and grinned at her. “Go on, have a peek.”
“Lady Gordon’s son is the spitting image of Ovate Lusk. He might be one of your ancestors, as Gordon is an old family name.” Rachel concentrated. “You’re also pretty sure that Diana is Bhaltair Flen’s direct descendent. Wow. That is interesting.”
Kinley shrugged. “It could be just a wild coincidence that two of us came here, but I think you might have something to contribute to my conspiracy theory.”
“My mother and father spent their honeymoon in Scotland,” Rachel admitted. “For their first anniversary my father gave my mother a stone table she saw over there. That same table is sitting in Evander’s cottage right now.”
“Whoa,” Kinley muttered and offered her the wine bottle. “Not to be extra nosy, but you look Italian to me. Where’s the Scottish connection in your family tree?”
“My mother was Italian, but my father was half-Scottish. His mother’s maiden name was Darrow.” Rachel nodded toward the great hold. “In fact, I just met a Laird Darrow and his fiancée, and I swear that lady has my dad’s ears.”
Kinley’s mouth flattened. “Damn.”
“I can read Cailean again, if you think it’s necessary, but he’ll be on his guard now,” Rachel said. “People can hide their thoughts from me, like you did, when you brought me out her to talk about this.”
“Let’s hold off on that for now,” Kinley said. She glanced past her and smiled. “Here’s your husband, and mine.”
Evander and the laird walked down to join them. After giving Rachel a paternal kiss on the cheek, and clasping forearms with her husband, Lachlan ushered his wife back to the stronghold. Rachel noticed Evander staring at one spot, and saw a flash in her own mind of the day he’d taken Fiona from the dungeon to run away with her.
“I didn’t get a chance to tell you,” Rachel said as she took his hand. “When I was in the grove with Fiona, she asked me to give you her love.”
“’Tis how I shall remember her, with the same.” He raised her hand to his lips. “Now, my lady, the laird has provided us with his lodge in the ridges for our wedding night. Lady Kinley has well-stocked it with a private feast and all we might want.” He glanced up at the sky. “We may be snowed in for a day or two.”
“It’ll be like we’re back at the cottage again. Just you and me, looking after each other, talking by the fire, and making love every night—but not just for a day or two.” Rachel stood on her toes and pulled his smiling face down to hers. “That’s going to be the rest of our lives, my love.”
THE END
• • • • •
Another Immortal Highlander awaits you in Tormod (Immortal Highlander Book 4).
For a sneak peek, turn the page.
Sneak Peek
Tormod (Immortal Highlander Book 4)
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
“Almost there, Gav,” Jema McShane said, and squinted against the bleak mountain wind. She scanned the horizon before she helped her b
rother away from the car. “Isn’t this a pretty spot?”
“Oh, aye, lovely,” Gavin McShane said. He gripped the handles of his rolling walker and glanced at the surroundings. “It’s Baltic out here, you mad quinie.”
Twilight crept up from the horizon as the late fall temperatures in the Scottish Highlands began a rapid plummet. In another hour they’d be courting hypothermia. Jema would have to be careful about how long she kept her brother out in the cold. Under his thick plaid woolens and trench coat, Gavin’s joints and limbs had begun to resemble spindly kindling. His sluggish circulation made him chill easily. In his condition pneumonia was not only possible, it would be lethal. She’d misjudged how much time it would take to get him this far, but at least they were here.
Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis had been eating away at Gavin’s brain and spinal cord for two years now. Because there was no cure for ALS, he wasn’t expected to live far beyond three.
At least helping him along the dirt path from the makeshift parking lot to the Neolithic dig wasn’t the ordeal she’d imagined. The grad students and volunteers working the site had carted out most of the heavy gear when they’d left for the day, packing the soil to a concrete hardness. Tomorrow they’d finish for the season by taking down the huts and collecting the cables and wires that provided power and lighting for the trenches.
How easy it was to ignore the fact that Gavin, who two years back had been a healthy beast of a soldier three times her size, now barely weighed two stones more than she did.
“Reminds me of those tyre graveyards they have in Kuwait,” Gavin said sounding bored. But at least he was looking around them. “Is this what they do with ours now?”
“Not typically. Usually they grind up tyres and pave the roads with them. All of Europe does.”
She tugged gently on his arm to bring him to a halt on top of the plywood. Active excavation units were surrounded with the broad, thin boards, keeping the pit walls from collapsing by dispersing the weight of the excavators. Slowly, she and Gavin turned the walker around so the seat faced the site. As she set the brakes, he all but fell onto the padded cushion. But when he realized she’d been watching him, he sat up straight and took the torch from her. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before she stood aside.