“Likely no’. Excuse me. I must attend to the green house.” With that the falconer turned and retreated from the great hall.
Edane frowned. “I thought the work finished.”
“The storm damaged the roof,” Domnall told him, and used a hand signal at his side that only the men would notice. He then regarded his wife. “Perhaps you and the ladies should have a brew and talk in the kitchens while we see to repairs?”
“I’ve scones and a lavender tisane,” Rosealise put in. “The strawberry preserves we just made should go nicely with them.”
“I never met a cake that I didn’t like.” Nellie touched the archer’s arm, giving him what appeared to be a reassuring caress. “Go on with the guys. I’ll be fine.”
Edane, Broden and Mael followed Domnall out of the hall, and found Kiaran waiting for them in the outer passages. The five continued out through the side entry into a cleared pasture where they had built a timber-framed structure according to his wife’s specifications.
Loose wattle work and airy thatching allowed the passage of air and light. Inside, wooden benches held dozens of small clay pots containing herb and vegetable seedlings planted by Rosealise and Jenna, as well as sacks of crop grain they’d salvaged from the abandoned village of Wachvale. They’d all taken pains to make it appear that they used the green house for gardening work. During the building Edane had cast a spell that warded the structure within a permanent shroud of silence. This permitted the Mag Raith once inside its walls to speak freely without chance of being overheard.
Someone hidden within Dun Chaill had been watching them, and had nearly lured Rosealise to her death. In the months since she and Mael had escaped the underworld the Mag Raith had discreetly searched for the watcher. Although they found no sign of anyone living in the ruins, they continued to be on their guard.
“I shouldnae be long away from the lass,” Edane said to Domnall before eyeing Kiaran. “Why couldnae you offer Nellie proper greeting before you interrogated her so?”
The falconer shrugged. “She didnae arrive here as Mael’s mate did. You brought her to Dun Chaill. We ken naught of her.”
“I found her naked and chased by a demon,” the archer pointed out, scowling now. “With Sluath ink on her. What more must you ken?”
“More than you desire, Brother.” The falconer glanced up at the kestrels circling over the garden before he added, “She’s mortal, and admits herself useless but for her beauty. What value can she offer the clan?”
“Little, just as a half-dead lad orphaned by raiders,” Broden said, referring to how Kiaran had come to join their mortal tribe. “Or a bed slave’s unwanted whelp. Yet you and I learned to be of use. By the Gods, Brother, she’s only just arrived.”
“I dinnae trust her,” the falconer muttered.
“You trust no one, you cold-hearted arse,” Edane said and turned to Domnall. “What say you, Chieftain? Will you offer the lass sanctuary, as you did Jenna and Rosealise?”
Nellie wore her happy, carefree manner like a mask over such fear and distrust that she’d shaken with it. Whatever she was hiding, Domnall knew it terrified her.
“The lass wouldnae likely survive long outside our spell boundary.” Whatever Nellie concealed from them, he’d never permit her to come to harm. As for revealing his own misgivings, they would cause the disagreement between Edane and Kiaran to escalate into an ugly quarrel. “Mistress Quinn stays.”
Chapter Six
DEEP BENEATH DUN Chaill’s stone floors, Cul woke to darkness and pain. For weeks he’d been imprisoned by rubble inside a corner of his underground sanctuary. His injuries, which at first had hampered his ability to dig through the debris, had gradually healed. Yet the sharp bite of failure still gnawed at him. The sudden cave-in of the passages around the tower had come without warning. In his arrogance he’d never considered that his beloved Dun Chaill might try to bury him alive.
Looking up through the blackness, Cul felt the burn of his anger sending new strength through his twisted limbs.
I will not die alone in the dark, even for you, my beauty.
Certainly, he could hold his unwelcome guests responsible for his present circumstances. After the collapse he’d heard Mael and Rosealise speaking above him. Doubtless their return from the underworld had triggered the catastrophe. Yet Cul had sent them there in the first place, so he had to share in the blame.
He’d also been fortunate. His iron warriors kept their watch at the spell barrier and the castle’s warding spells were still intact. While they hadn’t protected him from the cave-in, they had prevented his underground warren of tunnels from being accessed, as well as concealing the collapse. Without them his presence would have surely been detected by the Mag Raith as they had worked to repair the damaged tower.
Cul also felt a grudging but growing admiration for the hunters and their females. Despite all his efforts to drive out the Mag Raith clan, they had remained at the castle. Their determination to make it their home seemed gallant. Since they shared his hatred of the Sluath, he thought of them almost as allies.
Allies who would kill me the moment I approached them.
He rose from the mound of rags he slept on and hobbled to the end of the passage he’d slowly excavated. Stacks of broken stone and mounds of soil that he’d already removed lined the sides of the tunnel. If he added too much more, no space would remain for him to work. Still, he reached into the deepest part of the recess and dug.
Air whispered against his fingers.
Carefully, he grabbed the edge of a broken rock and tugged.
Earth and stone poured out of the hole, knocking him back, but it was followed by a steady stream of fresh air. He stood and dragged it into his lungs before he stooped to look inside. Through the narrow gap he could see the other side of the passage. Some rubble littered the floor, but otherwise it appeared intact. It seemed only the passages where he’d been trapped under the tower had been damaged.
A very welcome discovery indeed. He would not have to leave Dun Chaill to hide in the ridge caves.
Bracing his hands on either side of the gap, Cul murmured a spell to hold back the looser debris, and then kicked out a larger hole. Hunching over, he squeezed his way through it. Limping down the tunnel, he checked each chamber he passed to find it intact. At last he reached the stores he concealed beneath the castle’s kitchens, and retrieved a cask of wine and a smoked haunch of mutton.
His nature had made eating and drinking unnecessary for centuries, but he’d come to enjoy indulging in such habits.
The vibration of movement above him drew his attention from his meal, and he went to one of his observation posts. A series of mirrors that were angled to catch sunlight allowed him to spy on the Mag Raith during the day. He saw no sign of the hunters in the great hall, but heard through the listening tube the faint sound of female voices coming from the kitchens.
Too many.
Cul shifted position until he stood directly beneath the voices, and listened. The other two women called the third Nellie and Miss Quinn as they spoke of their ongoing work at the castle. Nellie in turn laughed often but said nothing of substance. She seemed to be more interested in encouraging the other females to speak.
Curious now, he pressed his gnarled hands to the stone above him. Immediately he felt the newcomer’s tremendous power. But as soon as he recognized her gift, he snatched his hands from the rock and backed away.
Somehow the Mag Raith had acquired a touch-reader.
Cul retreated down a long passage to his bathing chamber. He no longer considered Rosealise a threat to him. Since she had attained immortality the Sluath could not force her to use her persuasion power against him. Yet this new female was still mortal, and more dangerous than all the other intruders combined—especially if the Sluath had sent her to infiltrate Dun Chaill.
Whether they had or not, Nellie Quinn would have to die.
Chapter Seven
WHILE SIPPING ROSEALISE’S flowery tea
and nibbling on a currant scone, Nellie kept Edane’s tartan tucked around her. Fabric made a lousy shield, but the scent of honeyed smoke he’d left on it made her feel protected. With its blazing hearth, shabby crockery, and abundant baskets of vegetables and fruits the big room they called the kitchens should have felt cozy. Instead the silent malevolence of memories permeating the old stone walls seemed to crawl all around her, waiting for her touch. She made sure to keep her hands in her lap while she listened to Jenna talk about her plans for Dun Chaill.
The other American adored the place even more than the others, and thought she knew everything about it.
“The chance to rebuild a medieval castle is an architect’s wet dream,” Jenna said, her pansy-colored eyes as shiny as her dark, sleek bob. “We’ve got all the raw materials right here. Now if I could just find a master-level mason, and a herd of stone cutters, blacksmiths, carpenters, and, oh, a couple of treadwheel cranes, I could make this place rival Guédelon.”
Or hell, Nellie thought, nodding.
“Unhappily we’re isolated here at Dun Chaill,” Rosealise said, taking a sip of her brew. Pale curls had escaped her bun to softly frame her pretty face, but her gray eyes held a hint of steel in them. “Since there are no villages close to us, all of the work has to be done by the clan.”
“You girls must stay busy.”
Maybe not by choice, either. From what Edane had told her they thought this place was completely shielded from the demons. Maybe the monster had added a work-until-you-drop spell to the protective barrier. Or one that kept the clan from realizing the truth of Dun Chaill.
“We’re up at dawn, every morning,” Jenna said, exchanging a wry look with the housekeeper. “But our men work even harder than we do.”
Nellie forced out a chuckle. “Well, that’s why they come with all the muscle, ain’t it?”
“You’re very comfortable around the Mag Raith,” Rosealise said. “I admire your fortitude and good cheer. The men made me feel rather nervous when first I came to Dun Chaill.”
She couldn’t admit that she’d learned about the entire clan from Edane’s possessions. That was her ace card.
“They’re nice guys, and they take care of their ladies. I can tell by looking at you two.”
Keeping up the right number of smiles and laughs was wearing her out, but Nellie couldn’t let down her guard for a second. The Englishwoman had said she’d been a governess in her time, but with her sharp eyes and shrewd observations she’d have made an excellent cop.
“Have you any inkling of what work you did in your time, Miss Quinn?” Rosealise asked.
“Don’t think I ever built anything except sand–” She grimaced as a throb of pain shot through her head. “Sandcastles at the beach. Jeepers, that hurts.”
“Really, don’t try to remember anything,” Jenna said quickly. “Whatever spell the Sluath used on us still hasn’t worn off.”
“Yeah, well.” Nellie shrugged. “What’s past is past, right? Live for today, I say.”
“Indeed, Miss Quinn, that we must,” the housekeeper said as she added some honey to her mug before offering her the pot. “Have you anything you wish to ask about our situation?”
Why are you all so dense?
Nellie glanced at Jenna. “You said that you don’t remember meeting me from the underworld. So, what was it like there? Were there, ah, joints like this one?”
Headache or not, hopefully that hint might jar a few memories for the chieftain’s wife, who really needed to stop loving this awful heap of death.
“Not that I remember.” Jenna described the sky bridge she and the others had used to escape before she added, “If not for the Sluath I’d love to go back there and have a better look. The underworld seemed strange and unearthly, like the demons themselves. It’s hard to believe such a spectacular place could belong to such evil beings.”
“We’ve deduced that’s how they’re able to enslave the wounded souls they find so quickly,” the housekeeper said. “In addition to our helplessness, we’re too startled and bemused by their beautiful appearance to resist.”
Not Nellie. When that demon had swooped down out of the clouds she’d run away. But she couldn’t explain how she’d known he’d hurt her.
“These Sluath, they’re all pretty angel types, like the one who came after me?”
“When they’re alive, yes,” Jenna said. “Domnall killed one who struck me with lightning. After death our men said that his beauty faded, as if it were just an illusion. His true appearance proved to be quite monstrous.”
Yeah, I know all about monsters.
Wherever she had been before this place, she’d been trapped and terrified. That feeling hadn’t gone away.
That notion made the puzzle of Dun Chaill fit together at last for Nellie. The demons used magic and mind tricks to look beautiful to their slaves. They’d also made them forget their pasts and the underworld and whatever they’d done to them there.
Supposedly Jenna and Rosealise and the boys had escaped them, but where had they ended up? Right back at the mysterious castle where the Mag Raith had been taken by the demons. A castle filled with magical traps built by a hideous thing that didn’t die and wanted to make people suffer—like the Sluath.
They never escaped, Nellie thought. The Sluath built this death trap, and maybe used mind magic on them to make them think they did. Because of my touch I’m the only one who knows what it is.
Telling them what she had discovered wasn’t going to happen. She needed her ace card. Besides, they’d probably think she was crazy or, even worse, working for the demons. They might even lock her up, the way Domnall had Jenna when she’d first come to him. Or the demons might be listening in right now, and come for her, and make the rest of them forget she’d ever been there.
She might not remember her life, but she knew this in her bones: nobody put the squeeze on Nellie Quinn.
So she had to keep up this dizzy doll act until she could get out of here. She’d be happy to quit this place and escape the demons and their mind tricks. But she wished that she could take Edane with her. Leaving behind the handsome archer would hurt, but she couldn’t risk him ratting her out to the clan, or alerting the demons to her escape. Even if she could persuade him to believe her, he’d never choose her over the guys. He regarded each of the Mag Raith as his brother.
Brother… Why did that word make her feel so blue?
“Are you feeling ill, Miss Quinn?” Rosealise asked. “You’ve grown quite pale.”
“Just that headache.” Nellie made a point to glance toward the narrow window next to the hearth. “Looks like the rain stopped. Jenna, want to go for a stroll with me? Fresh air would do me good, and I’d love to see what else you’ve done with the place.”
Taking the tour would also give her a better look at the lay of the land. Once she packed up enough food and water to keep her going, she’d steal a horse and escape—this time, for real.
Chapter Eight
WHEN HE HEARD low laughter coming from outside his new room Edane smiled and shouldered his tartan. The small storage room he now used for sleeping didn’t offer enough room for a bed or pallet, but he didn’t mind the cramped space. Nellie now occupied his bed chamber, and what sparse comforts he could offer he wanted her to have. Since she always slept in later than the rest of the clan, he waited for her to rise, so he could be the first to greet her.
For the three days that the lass had been at Dun Chaill she’d changed everything for him. He no longer felt the emptiness of eternity stretching out before him. Somehow he felt sure that Nellie would attain immortality, just as Jenna and Rosealise had, and she would need a mate. She’d already made it clear he was her favorite.
After rolling up his hammock bed, Edane stepped out just as the lass emerged from his room. “Fair morning, my lady.”
Nellie grinned. “It is now, my guy.”
Today she wore a dress he’d never before seen, which appeared to be parts of two other g
arments. The thin cream-colored wool skirt clung to her slim hips, where it had been sewed to the bottom of a chemise made of pale linen. She’d covered the seaming with a sash made of green and black plaid, which she’d tied in a bow at her side. She’d also made herself fingerless mitts from his tartan. One of his tunic laces encircled her head, and from that sprouted a cluster of gray and white ptarmigan feathers.
“What do you think?” Nellie asked, and twirled around, making the skirt flare. “I got some sewing stuff from Rosealise and put it together last night. Don’t look too close at my stitches. They’re awfully huge.”
He made a show of inspecting her all over before he smiled. “’Tis an enchanting gown, my lady, but ’twill never look as lovely as you.”
She laughed and flung herself into his arms, enveloping him in the wildflower scent of her skin. “You always make me feel like the prettiest girl at the party.” As he moved to press her closer, she wriggled free and wagged a finger at him. “None of that, Mister.”
“No touching?” Edane feigned alarm. “For us both, or only me?”
“You. For now. Later…we’ll see.” She seized his hand. “Come on, the sun’s been up for at least an hour. Everyone’s probably grousing that we’re making them wait on breakfast again.”
The rest of the clan had gathered in the great hall for the morning meal, but aside from a slight frown from the chieftain no one chastised them for their tardy appearance. Both Mael and Broden smiled as they took in her gown, while Rosealise’s brows rose. Kiaran ignored them to feed a bit of bread to the kestrel perched on his gauntlet.
Jenna greeted them with a two-toned whistle. “What a great dress, Nellie.”
“Thanks. Betcha it’ll be all the rage in, what, five hundred years? Look out, Paris.” She sat down beside the chieftain’s wife, and eyed her mate. “Sorry we’re late again, Chieftain. Takes me twice the time to look half as pretty as your girl.”
Edane: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 3 Page 4