Dark Truth

by Lora Andrews

  “Jesus Christ. Why did your Elders let Balor live?” Caitlin asked incredulously.

  “Did you think saving this realm was an easy endeavor?” Brigid rose and marched to the head of the table, every bit the queen she once was.

  “No,” Caitlin spit out. “What I think is you guys didn’t think this whole shutting-down-the-veil thing carefully. And now we’re left holding the proverbial bag.”

  Brigid laughed. “You were created to be our slaves. Half of my people protested a civil war to protect beings they considered lower than farm animals. Your own leaders refused to negotiate. Four gods sacrificed their magic to fuel the spell to seal Earth from Neridia, and still, it was not enough. Bres and his fallen, including Balor, wreaked havoc before we could engage the Elfenni. But their assistance came at a great cost.”

  “Balor’s life?” Ewen asked.

  Fionn backed away from the abbot’s chair and did a one-eighty. His head sagged.

  “Yes. Balor’s life. Sparing him was one of the conditions of our treaty. He is Elfenni.” Brigid sank into the chair in front of Caitlin. “An execution would have launched us into war—a war we could not win, weakened as we were after Bres’s treachery.”

  “Is this true?” Ewen asked the abbot.

  “Aye. Every word.” He pushed his chair back and rose, exiting the room with the unnamed monk trailing behind him, leaving poor Rupert to man that side of the table alone.

  “So you made a separate deal with the Elfenni to gain the magic you needed to close the veil?”

  Brigid nodded.

  “This is turning into a disaster.” Caitlin ran her hand through her hair. “Look, I’m sorry for snapping,” she said to Brigid. Fionn didn’t bother turning around. “That last bit was uncalled for on my part.”

  The goddess waved a hand in the air, dismissing Caitlin’s apology.

  “What now? “ Caitlin blew out a breath and looked to Ewen. “We need a plan. They could be anywhere.”

  “We start with the Campbells.” Ewen looked to his father. “I want a list of all Campbell holdings, every ally, every possible ally within a fifty mile radius of each death. If Bres masqueraded as a Campbell to kill my mother, then I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again. He could be licking his wounds inside a Campbell keep with no one the wiser.”

  True, but by the time they reached those sites to investigate via birlinn, horse, or by foot, Bres could be long gone. She didn’t have the heart to voice that fear out loud.

  The muscle at Ewen’s jaw twitched. “Brigid, is there magic to locate the man?”

  “Yes, but he’s managed to block our spells at every turn.”

  “We collected a sample of his blood from Fionn’s sword,” Brother Rupert said. “We’re searching the lore for a more personalized spell.”

  “Aye,” Fionn grumbled, twisting his body around to finally face them. “That’s all well and good. But he has the Norns working for him.” He punched the bookcase. “I cannot let him slip through my fingers again.”

  “What of magic that can warn us when he’s near?” Ewen asked. “Is it possible? An amulet or some such tool?”

  “Are you thinking the wedding, Ewen?” Lachlan asked.

  “Aye, I am. I’m thinking your forces need to be strengthened. We could be standing helpless in a crowd with the wretch at our backs.”

  “There is something,” Fionn said, his eyes sparking. “I may know of a spell, an ancient one, but I think it could work. It was designed to detect magic in food or drink and was worn as an amulet. In the presence of fouled victuals, the stone would change color.”

  “So like a mood ring?” All eyes turned to Caitlin, and by the quizzical expressions, they had no idea what she meant. “A ring worn on the finger that changes color by your mood. It’s popular in my time.”

  Fionn scrunched his face. “It’s possible.”

  “Good,” Ewen said. “Get to work. Have enough rings made for a small army. I’ll call the merfolk and request their assistance. Perhaps in their travels they’ve overheard something that can be of use. Now, onto the subject of transport.”

  Yes! Her man was a genius.

  “Until I’ve removed this cursed torque from my neck, I cannot open a portal,” Brigid said.

  Well, that sucked.

  “Have ye an estimate of time to give me?” Ewen asked.

  Brigid gestured to Brother Rupert. “Does your monk read Latin?”

  The monk huffed but didn’t dignify Brigid’s question with a response. Of course, he read Latin.

  Ewen shrugged. “Would you be willing to assist the goddess, Rupert? I’d be in your debt.”

  “You need not ask, lad. Aye, I’ll assist the goddess.”

  “We’ve got the bones of a plan. It’s a start,” Ewen said. “Is there anything else?”

  Fionn pulled out the abbot’s vacated chair and sat. “Will your abbot lend us artifacts?” he asked Brother Rupert.

  Brigid narrowed her eyes. “Are you thinking the cloak and Dagda’s harp?”

  “Aye, sister. I am.” Fionn folded his arms across his chest and leaned back into his chair. A cocky smile played across his lips. This was the Fionn she knew and loved, the man who’d sacrificed his future to save his wife and children.

  “Okay,” Caitlin said, glancing between Rupert, Brigid, and Fionn. “Someone fess up. What’s the deal with these artifacts?”

  “We are in possession of certain historical items.” Brother Rupert covered a hand over his mouth, strumming the tips of his fingers against his cheek as he considered Fionn’s request. “Ye have not asked an easy task of me, but consider it done. One way or the other.”

  Oh, boy, the monk was going rogue.

  We’re all going to Hell.

  Folding his hands over his head, Brother Rupert sharpened his gaze on Ewen, his black sleeves sliding down his long arms. “Well, lad, with an invisible cloak and a magic harp that will lull your enemies to sleep, I think you might have a feather of a chance.”

  Caitlin had a feeling it would take more than magic to turn the tide around. But hey, at least they had a plan.

  And now the real work could begin.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  THE JOLT SHOOK the bones in Caitlin’s arms. She blocked Brigid’s next thrust, her hands cramping around the sword’s hilt.

  “How much of your past have you recalled?” Brigid asked point blank.

  Caitlin circled to the right, watching the goddess’s feet. She’d had a fitful night’s sleep and now this. “You’re not even going to hide the fact you knew someone erased my memories?” And how the hell did she know?

  Brigid’s expression remained static—no twitchy eyelids or dilating pupils to give away her emotions or her next move. Dyn, her Draconian guard, hadn’t shown himself yet this morning, but Caitlin was sure he wasn’t too far off. She had the feeling the griffin-shifter stayed pretty close to his queen.

  Queen?

  “I remember everything. Fomorians attacked me a couple months ago. And…” There’d been those strange dreams involving Brigid. Or maybe they weren’t strange dreams after all.

  Faolan’s sword jerked in her hands.

  “Never close your eyes against an opponent.” Brigid tapped Caitlin’s blade again. “What else?”

  “The Vertendi were responsible for the first attempt on my life. I survived because the Brotherhood hired a”—friend?—“spy to guard me.” If not for Lila, she would have died. “Bres pursued my family. He knew about the stone.”

  Brigid lunged. Caitlin parried. Metal clashed against metal.

  “Duck or dodge to move yourself from the strike’s fall. Do you know what a dull blade will get you?” Brigid didn’t wait for Caitlin’s answer. “Killed. Your opponent is ruthless and vicious.” She thrust. “He will not dummy down his blows because you are not up to par.” Another swing. “He will not wait for you to catch your breath or get a better grip of your weapon. Every strike he makes has one goal. Death. So yours had better do so
me damage, girl.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. Tell me something I don’t know.” Dammit. Why did she let this woman get under her skin? Caitlin advanced, feigning right then thrust left when she saw the opening.

  Brigid jabbed Caitlin’s jaw with the pommel of her sword like a left hook.

  Caitlin saw stars. Oww. That was going to bruise.

  “Pay attention. You cannot allow yourself to get distracted.”

  “I wasn’t distracted!” Her jaw clicked when she spoke. “What happened to you? You were a hell of a lot nicer in my nightmares.”

  Brigid snorted. “Nice will get you killed.” The goddess slammed a fist against her heart. “Draw blood where it counts. I have but flesh here.” She pointed to where Caitlin had thrust her sword, then patted her liver. “Pierce a man there and he’ll die quickly.” She pointed to her lungs, neck, kidney, and probably all of her major arteries. “Know your opponent’s physical weaknesses. Cuts with enough force can slice bone. A human man is easier to kill than a Fomorian. Can you cut through neck, bone, and cartilage?”

  Caitlin’s stomach gurgled. She didn’t want to have to find out.

  “No?” Brigid assessed Caitlin through narrowed eyes. “You have no physical strength. You can barely hold up your sword.” The goddess circled her, then advanced relentlessly, her thrusts and strikes both graceful and deadly.”

  Dodging was proving difficult. Caitlin had run out of steam fifteen minutes after the training session had started. She parried against an overhead strike that made her teeth chatter. It was followed by another on the right. And that time, she’d barely lifted her sword in time to deflect.

  “Bres had been big and blond the night I ran into the grove.” The details were still hazy, but he’d attacked the cottage. Caitlin remembered Dyn’s body morphing into his griffin form. She bolted for the door and ran like the wind through the scary woods until he plucked her from the ground and dropped her in the bunker-like hole until it had been safe to go home.

  Wait a minute.

  “How could I have traveled forward in time without the words to the spell?”

  And there it was…the tic to Brigid’s left eye. The first crack in the stone armor she wore so well.

  “In the hands of a guardian, no spell is required. Only intention.”

  And the stone. “But Valoria said—”

  “A powerful spell can shift time, yes, but it requires magic, an exorbitant amount of magic—”

  “Like Balor’s Eye?”

  Brigid’s mouth clamped down. “Neither the stone nor the artifact can fall into Bres’s hands.”

  Before Caitlin could launch into a barrage of questions, the goddess whirled, metal slicing through the air with inhuman speed, aiming for her neck. Caitlin dodged left, swung up to block another strike when Brigid’s blade swung for Caitlin’s head. Then fate smiled upon her. Brigid exposed her right side. Caitlin stepped forward, her right leg crossing in front of the goddess, and she moved to grab Brigid’s elbow in a takedown maneuver Brigid foiled effortlessly.

  Argh. “Enough already,” Caitlin lashed out. “We’ve been at this for more than two hours. I’m done.” The goddess was brutal. Ten times worse than Faolan, and that was saying a lot. Even with Valoria’s memories to guide her, Caitlin couldn’t keep up.

  “You’re done? You cannot quit. If Bres is discovered today, or on the morrow, we fight. You will not survive an encounter against him.”

  “I barely survived the last one.”

  Brigid sheathed her sword with an angry stab. She drew a breath, then released it and froze, momentarily distracted by something in Caitlin’s hands.

  “What?” Caitlin said. She wasn’t bleeding, was she?

  “May I?’ Brigid gestured to Faolan’s sword and held out her hand.

  Politeness? Now? After she’d nearly killed her? What the hell was the goddess up to? Reluctantly, Caitlin handed over her sword and immediately stepped out of range in case Brigid decided to eradicate the team’s weak link.

  Deidre meandered over the hill toward them. She’d spent the better part of today trying to salvage their clothing from the recovered chest the merpeople had retrieved yesterday.

  Brigid peered at the scrolled design Faolan had engraved along the side of the blade. “Where did you find this weapon?”

  “I didn’t find it. It was given to me by the blacksmith who forged it.”

  Her gaze snapped to Caitlin’s. “Is that so?”

  “Why would I lie to you about that? He made me this dagger as well.” She pulled Faolan’s dagger from the strap at her thigh and showed it to Brigid.

  The goddess considered her for a long moment, longer than was comfortable, and then handed her back the sword. “It’s a fine weapon. Do not lose it.”

  “I’ll try not to.” It had already sunk to the sea floor once. Caitlin sheathed the dagger and then took the sword just as Deidre joined them. A look of relief must have crossed her face because Brigid arched one pointy brow, which told her she wasn’t about to let Caitlin off the hook.

  Caitlin spun, her back to Brigid, and mouthed, “Save Me” to Deidre.

  “Doona thank me yet. I’ve come to join you.” She looked the goddess in the eye. “Will ye teach me to fight? I don’t own a weapon, but if you say yes, I will secure one.”

  “Why?” the goddess asked.

  “You sacrificed yourself to save our world, and you were no’ born of this land. Do you really have to ask me that question? I willna stand by while men fight for the very air I breathe.”

  Caitlin felt two feet tall for griping about her lesson and crampy hands. “Here,” she placed her sword in Deidre’s hands. “If you really want to do this, use mine. I need to catch my breath.” She turned to Brigid. “If you truly champion my family, you will do me this favor.” And now the hard part. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time before.”

  Brigid held up a hand. “One of the Havet is at the shore.” The mermaid climbed over the rocks to the edge of the field. “Go see if the lass needs anything.”

  What a freaking b—

  Caitlin bit her tongue. “I’ll do that. Thanks for the suggestion.” She turned to face Deidre, who wore a simple, long sleeved woolen gown. “I’ll be right back.” Then she lowered her voice. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. We’re both going to need some serious potions and poultices when she’s done with us.”

  She squeezed Deidre’s arms in support and stooped to grab her cloak, her triceps protesting when she threw the garment around her shoulder. Spinning on a heel, Caitlin headed for the shore and shot Brigid a dirty look as she passed. Yeah, it was childish and immature, and although the goddess deserved her ire, she was too damned tired to reel in her frustration.

  About a hundred yards to her left beyond the abbey, warriors trained on the green grass. Lachlan had pulled the men he’d brought with him to Iona and would have sent for more if Ewen hadn’t stopped him. Duart could not be left undefended. So Ewen ordered his father back to Mull with the promise he’d arrive in two days with news.

  That was yesterday.

  Last night, they’d slept on cots upon the stone floor of the detached infirmary because the ornery abbot wouldn’t allow women to sleep in the abbey. Apparently, he modeled himself after St. Columba who banished anyone with breasts to Eilean nan Ban, the Isle of Women, in the Sound of Iona, and even went so far as to quote the saint. What were his exact words? Oh yeah. “Where there is a woman there will be mischief.” And something about cows.

  Mischief, my ass.

  Needless to say, a few very bad, very choice, very unholy words passed through her head when she next saw the abbot. The man was at the bottom of her do-not-like list.

  Right next to the goddess.

  Rupert later told her the Nunnery, located south of the abbey, was built after St. Columba’s death, around 1203, by Reginald MacDonald of Islay. Ewen’s aunt was the current prioress.

  Lachlan’s supplies began arriving this morn
ing. Tents. A pavilion-like thing. Food. Ewen chose a sheltered area of the grounds to set camp, much to the abbot’s annoyance. She’d enjoyed watching the holy man’s eyes bulge and his puny mouth pucker into a wrinkled prune.

  Meanwhile, her Highlander was in his element while directing his men, pitching tents, monitoring training sessions, and throwing her a sexy smile whenever their eyes met. She sighed, and by the time she reached the mermaid, she was smiling like a loon.

  The mermaid started for the shore.

  “Hey, wait.” Caitlin hurried after her. “Um… Vänta.”

  The woman stopped and tilted her head in a jerky, inhuman way.

  “I intrude not,” she said in Neridian.

  “It’s okay. I’m Caitlin.” The mermaid’s silver eyes followed the sweep of Caitlin’s hand when she touched her chest. “We met yesterday.”

  The mermaid mimicked the motion, those strange eyes unblinking. Out of the water, her skin was gray, thick, and slightly scaly. She seemed unaffected by the temperature—it was barely fifty-five degrees out—and unconcerned about her nudity.

  “Kära,” she said, her gaze migrating left where three groups of monks and highlanders trained together. “Peloton?”

  Peloton?

  Caitlin smiled. Fearless One. “Are you looking for Ewen?”

  Her hairless brows scrunched. “Yew-un?”

  The last syllable sounded too guttural to be human.

  Caitlin rolled her mouth to keep a straight face. “Peloton. Do you wish to speak to Peloton?”

  “Yew-un. No. Älskade. Orhavet seek. Kära stay.”

  “Okay.” Whatever that meant.

  Kära’s gaze drifted to Brigid and Deidre, and she became engrossed in watching the goddess demonstrate proper stance to the healer. Patiently.

  Wow. Maybe Brigid reserved her wicked witch act for Caitlin alone. Go figure. “Do you fight, Kära?”

  “With weapons yours? No.” The skin above her eyes wrinkled. “Why magic no use? You?”

  Caitlin touched her chest. “Me?”

  Kära nodded.

  “Well, I don’t have magic.” Not without the pendant. “Neither does Deidre, or the warriors, so we train with weapons.” She thrust with her right hand, mimicking the same technique Brigid was demonstrating to Deidre. “Swords. Axes. Weapons.”