“At Killairig, Rowena soon presented Coinneach with a son, one whom the laird did not realize was half Fae. And the Laird of Killairig took Rowena as his wife. Once she held the title of his lady, Rowena began to poison Coinneach, not just filling his mind with lies but filling his body with toxin. Coinneach grew feeble and slow of wit, and Rowena took control of all he should have managed on his own. Thus she ensured that he could not change his thinking about her son. She had no desire for a regency, for power could be wrested from her while her son was young, so she allowed Coinneach to live until her son reached manhood. So intent was she upon ensuring her son would gain all she believed he deserved that she raised the taxes and demanded ever more labor of the people—even while she and her children lived in luxury. When any soul protested, he or she disappeared forever, or returned beaten and bruised. And so the people of Killairig became convinced that they would end their days in hunger and poverty, even as they feared to speak a word of protest.”
Florine stopped. The hall was utterly silent, every gaze fixed upon her. She took the last few steps toward Rowena.
“Until the son of Florine and Coinneach stepped out of the glamour cast by the Fae and came to Killairig himself to claim his stolen birthright.”
“Nay,” Rowena whispered. “I forbid it.”
“Aye,” Florine said and raised a hand to gesture. Annelise’s heart galloped as Garrett stepped out of the shadows, his clothing and body mired, but his gaze clear. He carried a small dagger. He walked toward Rowena, who scurried backward in her dismay. She flung curses at him and what Annelise believed must be spells, but she hastened away from him all the while, her fear obvious. “You killed my daughter!” she cried.
“After she killed the only parents I had ever known. Two innocents who deserved a finer fate.” Garrett paused to consider her. “You killed my father and blamed an innocent man for the crime.”
Rowena opened her mouth but no words came out. She had no defense, but her eyes flashed as she shredded the last of her glamour. She tipped back her head and screamed, making the stones tumble from the walls. The rain poured down into the now-roofless hall and the ground shook beneath their feet.
Yet none of them could move.
Save Garrett. Florine stood motionless and Rowena spun to flee.
Garrett immediately threw the knife across the hall. Annelise watched as it spun through the air, then buried itself in Rowena’s back. She stood for a moment, wavering, then turned to look at him. Her mouth opened in shock and gasped aloud.
Rowena fell to the ground, seizing the wolf pelt as she collapsed. Her blood flowed into the fur as she buried her face in the pelt.
Then she became a wolf with fur as black as midnight.
Florine crossed the room to kneel beside her sister. “I forgive you,” she whispered, though all the room could hear it. “I forgive you, Rowena, for you had the strength to see our parents avenged upon Coinneach when I could not.”
The wolf gasped, then Rowena was lying dead on the floor, blood all around her. Florine bent and kissed the cheek of the still woman before her, and her tears changed to flowers as they fell.
Garrett went to his mother’s side and they embraced.
“I wish it could have been otherwise,” Florine whispered and Garrett nodded.
It took Annelise a moment to realize that Florine’s spell had been broken and she could move again.
She realized as much because Orson seized her arm. “I will still have my prize,” he whispered, then hauled her from the board.
*
Garrett spun at the dismay in Orson’s thoughts, only to see the knight hauling Annelise forcibly from the hall. The knight’s mind was filled with fury and confusion. He did not know what to do and could not accept the fullness of his failure. He knew that Annelise was a maiden no longer, but had fixed upon taking her to wife. Florine’s spell seemed to have muddled him further, for his thoughts simply churned.
He thought of fealty and duty.
He thought of failure.
He thought it preferable to end his own life, even though he would be damned, than to face the wrath of the Earl of March.
Garrett feared the worst. He ran after the knight, tripping the squire when the boy might have come to the knight’s aid. What had happened to Andrew? Florine must have left him enchanted elsewhere. Garrett did not have time to seek him out, not if he was going to save Annelise.
Orson had already pulled Annelise into the bailey. The rain was slanting down, and lightning flashed overhead. The cobblestones were slick underfoot and the guards were only just rousing themselves from Florine’s spell. Some of the walls had crumbled and the others might well be unsteady.
Orson made for the stables but Annelise fought him with vigor far removed from her usual mild manner. She struck him and he hit her across the face.
Garrett shouted but the sound was lost in the thunder. The storm lashed at the keep, a frenzy in the air. Was this tumult the result of Rowena’s death? Garrett had to wonder, even as the wind kept him from pursuing Annelise with any speed, and the rain bore down upon him.
“My horse!” Orson cried, but the ostler barred the door to the stable against him. The horses, too, were stamping in their stalls.
“Only a fool would ride in this weather,” snapped the ostler. “And I will not risk the horse!”
“Disobedience!” Orson roared. “Insubordination! I shall see you flogged…”
But the ostler slammed the door, and Garrett heard the bolt shoot home.
Orson surveyed the bailey like a caged animal, then spotted Garrett. Annelise, Garrett saw with relief, had not ceased to fight her assailant. There was a fire in her eyes that he gave him hope.
All the same, Orson was taller and stronger. The gates were barred against the night, so he pulled her up the stairs to the parapet where the sentries usually walked. On this night, the narrow walk was empty. Garrett pursued them both, losing sight of them in the wind and rain at the top of the wall.
He followed the sound of Orson’s troubled thoughts.
And found the pair, backed into the corner. Killairig was built with one large tower that faced the sea. The bailey was on the inland side of the tower, high walls enclosing it. The gates were opposite the tower. The walls, though, were shorter than the tower, and for this reason, the sentries’ walk did not completely encircle the keep: it began at the tower, circled over the gates, then terminated at the other side of the tower. Orson, in not understanding the design, had miscalculated. He held Annelise against him, his knife at her throat, even as the rain poured down. He was against the tower, with nowhere else to flee, and Garrett barricading the sole path of escape. The sea churned behind Orson, looking dark and ominous.
“She was to be mine!” he roared when he saw Garrett, and his knife pushed into Annelise’s flesh. “You cannot steal from me, not the likes of you!”
The lady gasped and Garrett saw her blood flow on the knife. He halted. “I do not understand your meaning,” he said, wanting only to calm the knight’s erratic thoughts.
“You are common born! I am noble. She is noble. Like to like is what I always learned.”
“But he is not common born,” Annelise corrected. “He will be Laird of Killairig.”
“Nay,” Orson protested, but Annelise struggled to put some distance between the knife and her throat. She managed to get a finger beneath the blade.
Garrett had never felt so helpless in his life.
“He will have a holding while you do not,” she continued, and her comment enraged the knight. “He will have this holding. And he will have me as his wife.”
“You could have brought me a holding. With your hand in mine, I would have been granted one. You have defied me and challenged me…”
“I would not have made a good wife for you,” Annelise concluded.
Orson looked down at her. “So, you think I will surrender you to him?” he asked with disdain and deliberately sliced the finger she hel
d beneath the blade. Annelise caught her breath and moved her hand away instinctively, which let Orson put the knife against her throat again. “I would instead see you rewarded for all you have done,” he said, his voice silky with intent. “I will have none of my dreams, and you, who have stolen them from me, will be cheated of yours as well.”
His thoughts settled into a clarity of purpose that did not bode well for Annelise.
Lightning cracked overhead, the resonant boom revealing that it struck the land nearby.
But Annelise smiled at Garrett, confident in a way he was not. “His intent is clear, but only because he does not know all of the truth. Garrett, you must tell Orson what you can do.”
“What you can do?” Orson demanded. “What does she mean?”
Annelise was right, although Garrett would have preferred to not ever use this skill.
Garrett walked toward the knight with measured steps, his own heart in his throat. Had Mhairi been right about this, too?
Orson would have stepped back but his back was against the wall. He leapt up to the top of the parapet, taking Annelise with him. Garrett heard the stone crumble beneath his heel. “No closer!” Orson said. “Or I will cast her to her death. Stand there and tell me what she means.”
“She refers to my curse, which she believes to be a gift.”
“What can be both gift and curse?” Orson demanded wildly.
“You have only to ask,” Garrett replied.
“What can you do?” Orson shouted with impatience. “Tell me: what can you do?”
Annelise pulled herself away from Orson with a jerk and jammed her fingers into her ears. His knife grazed her throat but Garrett spoke quickly.
“I can hear the thoughts of mortals, both men and beasts,” he confessed. He had never done this before, and his heart raced at his audacity.
Orson stiffened.
As Garrett watched, Orson’s skin turned grey. A large rock took his place behind Annelise, one perched on the stone lip. The stones crumbled beneath its weight, and Garrett heard Annelise’s fear as the parapet shifted beneath her feet.
Garrett leaped forward and snatched at Annelise, catching her hand in his. The stone that had been Orson begin to tip toward the sea and Annelise went with it. Garrett held fast to her hand, even as the rock plummeted downward.
He had her, but only just.
Annelise held on tightly, dangling at the end of Garrett’s grip. The falling rock crashed against the stone cliffs, then splashed as it landed in the water. The rain made Annelise’s skin slick, and for a moment, he feared he might lose her. Garrett locked his hands around her wrists and hauled her back up to the parapet. She clung to him in relief and he felt how she trembled.
Garrett pressed a kiss into her hair, then cleaned the blood from her throat with his fingertips. He was horrified by what he had done, but knew he could have done no less. He realized he had not truly believed it possible, even though Mhairi had warned him of it, not until he saw the stones in the forest. Even the memory of their potent silence made him shudder.
Garrett would use that gift sparingly indeed, if ever again.
But Annelise was safe. He touched her beneath the chin, compelling her to meet his concerned gaze.
When Annelise looked up, Garrett saw alarm light her eyes. He spun to find Andrew in the highest window of the tower, watching them with a smile. He held up a ring that glinted in the light. “I have the signet ring and the seal,” he taunted. “Who then is Laird of Killairig?” With that, he pivoted and disappeared into the shadows beyond. A heartbeat later, he leapt out the window on the opposite side of the tower and began to run down the sentries’ walk.
This battle was not done.
*
“Annelise, descend with care,” Garrett said. His gaze was fixed on the fleeing Andrew, and she knew he desired that signet ring and seal.
She barely had time to nod before he raced away. Stairs descended to the bailey on either side of the gates, and the stables were on the far side. Over the top of the walls, she could see the rain pouring down on the village of Killairig. The town gave every indication of being abandoned.
“Here, boy!” Stewart cried. Annelise saw that he was hastening up the stairs, waving an unsheathed sword. Garrett laughed and plucked the blade from Stewart’s grip, barely slowing his pace, then leapt back up to the walkway and raced toward Andrew.
The pair met at the summit of the other staircase in a clash of steel so loud that it made Annelise wince. Garrett drove Andrew back from the stairs with a fury of blows, and the knight recovered from his surprise to battle back.
Annelise had no intention of missing any detail. She hurried along the top of the wall, stepping with care as the stones were slick and the rain fell in punishing volume.
“Have you a knife, my lady?” Stewart asked when she reached the stairs. She saw that he hovered in the shadows, avidly watching the fight even as he spoke to her.
“My eating knife,” she admitted and he rolled his eyes. He drew the dagger from his own belt and handed it to her.
“But—”
“The battle is young yet, Lady Annelise. Remain alert.”
“Aye, Stewart. But what of you?”
He smiled. “I can fend for myself.”
Annelise did not doubt it. She tightened her grip on the knife, feeling its weight, and nodded. “I thank you, Stewart.”
With that, he was gone, disappearing down the stairs. Moments later, Annelise saw him creeping up the second staircase, a larger knife in his grip. He kept his back pressed against the wall, as if to ensure that the men above could not see him.
Did Garrett know Stewart was there?
Andrew and Garrett meanwhile fought back and forth, so evenly matched in power and skill that Annelise feared Garrett could not readily triumph. What could she do to aid him? She did not doubt that if she stumbled, Andrew would be as glad to use her against Garrett as any other weapon.
Garrett moved with sudden vigor and his blade flashed.
“Fiend!” Andrew cried and Annelise saw that Garrett had nicked the knight’s cheek. Annelise remembered Garrett’s claim that Seamus had taught him to fight.
“Worthless fiend,” that knight declared, his voice dropping low and his tone turning malicious. He slashed at Garrett repeatedly, driving him back over the gates to the bailey. The walkway was more narrow there, plus they came closer to Annelise. She gripped the hilt of Stewart’s knife, knowing that if she had to help, she would have but one chance.
Lightning flashed and thunder boomed from close proximity. Andrew would back Garrett off the curtain wall, and send him plunging to his death.
“You are no better than a worm, Garrett MacLachlan,” Andrew continued, punctuating his words with blows. “You are a man unworthy to set foot in my father’s holding, much less to claim his estate.”
Garrett cried out and winced, then his grip faltered on the sword. One hand rose to his temple, as if he would compel his thoughts to be silent. Annelise was sure she saw him shake. Andrew laughed and lunged forward, stabbing at Garrett so that Annelise screamed in her fear.
Then she saw a shadow move on the opposite stairs. Stewart climbed to the wall behind Andrew stealthily, the sound of her cry undoubtedly helping to disguise any sound he made.
Garrett dropped to one knee, apparently in great pain.
Was he in pain? Or did he feign illness again? Annelise was so fearful for him that she could not think.
Andrew, in contrast, was gleeful and sure of victory. He bounded forward and made to thrust hard at Garrett, and even Annelise saw he moved too far too fast. He anticipated triumph before it was his, and she had seen her brothers defeated in practice by the same error.
Andrew lifted his sword over the fallen hunter, in the same moment that Garrett abruptly drove his blade upward with force. Annelise knew he meant to leave no doubt as to who won this battle. Just as she had resolved to make a first blow count, Garrett had done as much.
&nb
sp; He stood, his blade yet buried in Andrew’s chest, as the blood flowed. Annelise could see Andrew’s shock and pain as he fell to his knees. He looked to be astonished, even as his own sword fell from his hand and blood flowed to mingle with the rain. He dropped to brace his weight on one elbow, his hand moving to his wound as if he had to touch it to know it was real. He touched the pool of blood with his fingertips, as if he had never thought to see it flow so readily. In that moment, Stewart stepped up behind the fallen knight, his blade at the ready. Garrett bent to pluck the sword from the stone, where it lay beside Andrew’s limp hand.
Andrew looked between them and shook his head in wonderment, then coughed. There was blood on his lip and pallor in his cheeks. He coughed again and could not support himself any longer. He fell to his back and his eyes stared blindly into the rain as the breath left his body for the last time.
“We were brothers,” Garrett said softly. “It did not have to be this way.” Then he turned and flung Andrew’s sword from the high wall, as if to cast away the horrors of the past. He bent to take the signet ring and seal from Andrew’s grasp, even as Annelise watched the blade fly end over end through the air.
Lightning lit the sky again, just when the sword was over the village, and she covered her eyes at its brilliant flash.
“It hit the blade,” Stewart cried, even as the loud boom of the thunder made the wall shake beneath their feet. When Annelise looked, there was only the darkness of night again.
In the village, a light was struck and a lantern’s glow shone out into the night from some previously darkened window. Silhouetted against it was the smoking ruin of the sword, its tip buried in the roof of the chapel.
Killairig’s chapel had a new crucifix. It was a sign that all here would be well.
The three of them stared at the sight wordlessly, then Stewart nodded at Garrett and turned away.
Garrett offered his hand to Annelise and led her toward the stairs. “Are you hale, my lady?” he asked and she wanted to welcome him to her bed that very moment.
True Love Brides 02 - The Highlander’s Curse Page 27