“Indeed,” Domnall said, eyeing his mate with a fond smile.
Nellie regarded Broden. “Then there’s this guy.” She rested her chin on her fist and made her brows go up and down in a comical fashion. “If you ever wake up bald, pal, it’s because I shaved off your hair while you were sleeping to make me a swanky wig.”
The trapper grunted, but pleasure warmed his gaze.
Nellie sipped her brew. “Mmm. This is delicious, Rosealise. Almost makes me wish coffee never gets invented. What’s in this fabulous blend?”
“Lemon balm, cornflower and rosehip,” the housekeeper said, her brisk voice softening. “With honey for sweetness.”
“If she wasn’t already your wife, big guy, I’d marry her,” Nellie said to Mael, making the seneschal chuckle. She put down her mug. “All right, I’ll stop hogging the limelight. What’s the clan got planned for today?”
Over the morning meal, the men discussed the day’s work, which now included tending to the animals and thriving gardens as well as the ongoing renovations to the stronghold. Broden, who had taken charge of the livestock, reported on the black-faced sheep’s over-abundance of wool.
“The villagers must have fled before the spring shearing, for their fleeces have grown heavy and become soiled,” the trapper said. “Taking the wool now will keep them cooler for the rest of summer, and permit them time to grow enough fleece to weather the cold season.”
“I’ve done some shearing,” Mael said. “’Twill take two.”
Rosealise nodded. “Jenna and I can wash the fleeces, and put them out to dry in the sun before we store them. I’ve never woven wool, but if we fashion what’s needed to card and spin it, I can certainly knit winter tunics for everyone, and some proper mitts for you, Miss Quinn. Might I see one of those?”
Edane glanced at Nellie as she removed a mitt and handed it to Rosealise. “Ken you how to weave, my lady?”
“Me?” She giggled and shook her head. “I barely know how to get out of bed in the morning.”
“You’re a very good dress maker,” Jenna said as she passed her a platter of oatcakes. “In my time we buy nearly all our clothes ready-made.”
“Still, someone had to make them, right?” The flapper surveyed the shabby tunic and trews she wore. “Maybe I could put together something for you, Jen.”
“That’s nice of you to offer, but Rosealise is actually teaching me how to sew.” Jenna grinned at the housekeeper. “I’m all thumbs, but she’s very patient.”
Edane appreciated again how the chieftain’s wife always managed to be considerate, even with a refusal. She truly wanted Nellie to feel at home with the clan. He cast a dour eye at the falconer, who now regarded Nellie as if she had issued a threat against Jenna.
“I can tell that you’re great with birds.” Nellie said to Kiaran, seemingly unaware of his ire. “It must be exciting to tame them and have them come to your hand like they do.”
“’Tis work, Mistress Quinn,” the falconer said, his tone chilly. “We all of us work here. Mayhap you’ve heard of such?”
Edane stiffened at the criticism.
“Sure. It’s all you people seem to do,” Nellie said, and slipped her bare hand in Edane’s and squeezed his fingers. “I may not know how to build a castle, but I bet I can teach the clan how to have some fun.”
Before Kiaran could reply Domnall said, “’Tis a grand notion. We’ve no’ had a celebration since Mael and Rosealise returned to us.” He looked at the falconer. “I need more nails and joists finished for the timber work. Fire the forge today.”
Kiaran nodded but said nothing more, and quickly finished eating before he left the great hall.
“’Tis a fair morning, Edane,” the chieftain said. “You should take Mistress Quinn out to the forest mound to fetch more workable iron for our brother.”
Resentment flared inside him for a moment, as Domnall’s suggestion gloved an order to get along with his arse of a brother. Yet since the task would allow him to be alone with Nellie, he said, “Aye, if the lady wouldnae mind the trek.”
“I love strolling in the woods,” she said, and gave him a saucy wink.
Nellie offered to help Rosealise and Mael clear the table, but the housekeeper instead placed an empty willow basket in front of her.
“Would you mind collecting some wood sorrel on your walk?” Rosealise asked. “They make a lovely dressing for fish, but I’ve used up what little we had in the kitchen garden. They look like clover, but their flowers are different. Edane will point out the plants for you.”
“Sure.” Nellie took hold of the basket. “How pretty. Mael does nice work.” She smiled brightly.
“Yes, he does. Oh, here.” The housekeeper handed her mitt back to her. “How did you guess that he made it?”
“Saw him making one just the other day. Your guy seems very handy.” She tucked the basket over her arm as she rose from the trestle bench and grinned at Edane. “Ready to go?”
* * *
Nellie felt the knot of dread in her chest loosen as she and Edane left the stronghold and walked through the lush grass. Outside the air smelled fresh and green, and felt just a little cool. Bright daylight spangled the dew that beaded everything, and cast gold coins of light on the trail leading into the trees.
So much better out here.
Now she just had to resist the urge to instantly run away, as fast and as far as she could. On the sly she had stolen everything she needed for her escape, and watched Broden saddle one of the horses. She felt sure she could do the same when it was time to scram. Leaving at night in the dark would be risky, but she figured it the best time to keep any demons that might be watching the place from seeing her go. She planned to make her break a few hours after Edane and the clan went to bed.
I just need something to keep them knocked out when I do.
At first making her dress had brought more, awful visions of the past. The fabrics had belonged to a man and woman who had been riding in a cart piled with fleeces. The monster had killed them and their horse, and burned the cart. But Nellie had also discovered that if she covered her hands with Edane’s tartan, she didn’t read anything from what she touched. Making two swatches of it into mitts gave her the first good night’s sleep she’d had since arriving.
“Kiaran shouldnae speak to you with such little regard,” the archer said as they entered the forest. “Pay him no heed.”
“I don’t.” She realized how angry he was when she glanced up at his stern expression. “Hey, don’t be mad at him. He just doesn’t warm up fast to strangers. Besides that, he’s your family, and there’s nothing more important.”
The hard line of his mouth softened. “You ever find something kind to say about everyone, even one who doesnae show you the same.”
Lying to him made her feel lower than even Kiaran thought she was, and what she’d said about family made her head hurt again. “Maybe it’ll rub off on him.”
Strolling through the forest with the archer soon chased away Nellie’s headache. As much as she hated the castle, the grounds around it were utterly enchanting. The huge old trees formed an endless emerald roof of leaves over them, diffusing the light into a dreamy softness. Flowering vines hung like streamers and garlands everywhere, adding festive splashes of color. Birds swooped all around them, chattering and singing like excited kids. The scent from all the growing things made her feel warm, happy and, oddly, safe.
Like Edane does.
“Wish I could live out here,” she murmured as they stopped in a shady spot under an oak. “It’s so beautiful and alive.”
“Often I sleep under the stars.” Edane bent down and plucked a heart-shaped leaf from one of the tiny golden blooms growing around the roots. He held it to her lips. “Taste.”
She took a nibble, and the tart flavors of lemon and apple made her snatch the rest from his fingers. “Jeepers, that’s tasty.”
“Wood sorrel,” he said. “Clover tastes more sour and flowers in clusters of wh
ite or blush.” He rubbed a fragment from her lips with his thumb. “Yet ’tis safe to eat as well.”
Time seemed to slow as Nellie looked up into his eyes. She could see forever in them now, like an endless sky, like the kindness in him. Wanting throbbed deep and hot inside her. She’d bet he’d be the perfect lover for her, strong and tender, and yet just a little wild. Here Edane was all hers, as if the forest had become their private refuge, where they could be alone. No clan, no traps, no demons. Just a guy and a girl who wanted and lived for each other.
You’re not that girl, and if you stay too long, you’ll die with the rest of them.
“None of that, now.” Nellie took a step back and knelt down by the herb patch. “We should bring back some of these little ones with roots, so Rosealise can replant them. Don’t shake off too much soil.”
He dropped down beside her. “You must have gardened in your time.”
“I guess,” she said, as that crazy scent of his swirled around her.
She focused on picking the wood sorrel. Falling for this guy would only keep her trapped here with him. That couldn’t happen.
Once they had filled the basket, they returned to walk the trail. The shadows deepened around them as they approached a large mound of dirt that had been partially dug out.
“’Tis a hoard of travelers’ belongings,” Edane said. “Just after Rosealise came I opened it. It contains much clothing, weapons, tools, and such. We’ve been taking what we need from it for the stronghold and the clan.”
That puzzled her. “Why would these people bury their stuff?”
“Domnall believes ’twas hidden by the attackers that killed them,” Edane admitted reluctantly. “’Twas a common practice after a battle.”
“How horrible.” Even with her protective mitts Nellie didn’t want to touch anything from the mound. “Do I have to carry the iron, too?”
“No, lass, I’ll use the sled.” He gestured to a wooden pull-cart by the mound.
Beyond it Nellie saw a break in the trees, and a pair of slopes between which ran a narrow trail. “What’s over there?” she asked, pointing.
“’Tis the pass we rode through when first we came to Dun Chaill,” Edane said. “I’d take you to view the glen beyond it, but ’tis a long ride over rough ground, and beyond the spell boundary that keeps us safe.”
That sounded like the way out of this trap. “I thought you flew here on your magic horses.”
“Only when there’s a storm can we fly.” Edane looked as if he wanted to tell her more, and then shook his head. “Under clear skies our mounts may only ride as any others.”
“That’s okay,” she said, hating herself as she lied again. “I’d rather stay close to the castle than go exploring.” Now that she knew which direction to ride, and that the horses would stick to the ground, she simply had to get out of the castle without anyone stopping her. “Say, do you think Rosealise would mind me making something for the clan after dinner tonight?”
“Of course, she wouldnae.” He gave her a curious look. “What wish you to make?”
She wished she didn’t have to do this. “It’s a surprise.”
Chapter Nine
WITHOUT A STORM Galan couldn’t use his Sluath wings, so he took a horse to ride out to the wide glen bordering the ridges. Danar claimed the scout had been attacked just south of Wachvale, the village where Galan’s hired mercenaries were to have helped him raid and question the inhabitants. The men had instead slaughtered the villagers before becoming victims of the Sluath themselves.
Being reminded of that disaster didn’t improve the druid’s mood. Sending the few bespelled spies he had left to search for Nellie Quinn seemed to him utterly foolish. Like the Mag Raith, the wench could be anywhere now.
Relying on mortals had brought him no closer to the resurrection of his beloved Fiana. Neither had the Sluath and their empty promises.
As he passed by the ruins of Wachvale Galan reined in his mount to study the southern lands beyond it. Sheep no longer roamed the pastures, now overgrown. Doubtless other mortals had found and stolen the herd since he’d raided the village. He rode across the empty glen to the trees on the far side, but found no tracks or evidence left behind by the wench or Edane.
Fury rose inside his head, masking the world in a dull red. Danar had told him that the hunters could fly during a storm, which meant there would be no tracks. Once more the Mag Raith had triumphed over him.
The twisted shape of a long dead, lightning-struck oak caught Galan’s eye, and silently blasted all thought of the hunters from his mind. Instead he imagined the split trunk whole, the gnarled branches heavy with leaves, and a tall, strong woman leaning against the rough bark.
Cannae be.
Swinging down from his horse, he hobbled the animal before striding over to inspect the dead oak. He reached out to the crumbling bark, noting that the weather had scoured away all but a small patch. Bits of shell, driven into the rough wood, still held it in place.
No one but he could have made out the symbol the shells formed: a crude tree with two twined branches.
“Fiana.”
Galan fell to his knees as the past engulfed him.
That day long ago had been overcast, and the wind hard and flinty. Still he had slipped away with his Pritani mate to escape the watchful eyes of his druid brothers. They still believed in the farce of their pact with the two tribes, which had established the breeding scheme to create a clan of indentured warriors. They’d even agreed to allow the largest and mightiest ovate among druid kind, to mate with their tallest, strongest female.
None of them suspected that Galan and Fiana found love together.
“Ye’re mad,” she’d said as she watched him hammer the last shell fragments into the bark. “’Tis a sacred oak ye deface.”
“I claim it ours,” Galan corrected as he finished inlaying the glyph. “’Twill always carry the mark of our hearts.” He turned to kiss her, and saw the tears on her cheeks. “Why do ye weep?”
“Ye ken we’re no’ meant to love.” She pressed her hands to the bulging mound of her belly, caressing the unborn child she carried. “They chose us to bear a bairn to protect the tribes. ’Twas our sacred duty.”
“So say the fools posing as the elders.” He took her into his arms. “Come away with me. We can go to Britannia and make a home there. We’ll raise the bairn ourselves.”
“I gave my vow to the headman,” she reminded him gently. “And ye to yer council. Our lad, he’s too important to steal from them. The portents spell much grief and death if we dinnae breed the Skaraven.”
“Then leave with me after the birth,” Galan urged, and not for the first time. “They’ll take the lad and be done with us. We’ll escape and birth a dozen more.”
“Say naught of leaving.” Fiana pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Ye’re needed to train and keep watch over our Ruadri. The Gods wouldnae ever forgive ye for turning yer back on our son.”
“I dinnae care.” He took hold of her shoulders. “I want ye. ’Tis naught else in my heart. What matters a bairn they’ll take from us the moment he draws breath? Let another train him.”
“Ye’re hurting me,” Fiana said, and when he loosened his grip she sighed. “The elders foresaw Ruadri’s coming.” She touched her belly. “I felt the truth of their portents when he came to life in me. The Gods shall work through him to protect our tribes.”
“Fack the Gods,” Galan shouted.
“Husband, no.” She grimaced, and glanced down. Dark streaks appeared on her skirts, and a small puddle appeared between her boots. “My womb’s opened.” She met his gaze and smiled sadly. “’Tis time to welcome our son to life.”
Ruadri had been born the next morning, taking his first breath as Fiana bled out and took her last.
Now Galan turned his back on the shell inlay and strode to his mount. His cursed son might be forever beyond his reach, but a Sluath spell was all that separated him from his beloved. He rode from the d
ead oak into the forest, following a path that no longer existed except in his mind. When he arrived at the site of the ancient druid settlement, which the Romans had burned centuries past, he jumped down and drew his sword.
Hacking through the brush, he cut a path into a grove of evergreen. Only a single stone marked the place, but when he brushed away the layers of soil and rot the faint lines of the twined-tree symbol appeared.
It was the grave marker carved by Bhaltair Flen, his old enemy. The meddler had known of his forbidden love for Fiana. He’d also seen to it that Ruadri had attained immortality as one of the Skaraven Clan.
Galan dropped his blade and bent over, grinding his brow against the cold stone. “I shall bring you back to me this night, my love.”
Lifting the stone and tossing it aside, he began to dig.
Chapter Ten
AFTER THE EVENING meal Edane lit the torches in the great hall. Mael, Domnall and Kiaran had gone to perform the last patrol, but since Nellie had come to Dun Chaill there had been no sign of the Sluath. He suspected the chieftain and the seneschal had other reasons to leave the stronghold with the falconer, but refused to dwell on them. If Kiaran despised Nellie so much, he could go and live in the trees with his kestrels. The lass had done nothing to deserve his contempt.
As Edane finished his task he noticed Broden standing beside the hearth and plying a blade against a flare-ended rod. Small shavings flew from the rod into the flames.
“What do you there?”
“I make a chanter.” The trapper blew off some dust before he showed him the instrument. “I carved many for the Moss Dapple’s pipers.”
“Aye, but we’ve none here to play it.” As Broden put the reed end to his lips and produced a series of melodic notes Edane chuckled. “By the Gods. The dru-wids taught you that?”
The trapper lowered the pipe and shook his head. “I learned by watching them and practicing in secret.” The rasp of his voice grew softer. “Your lass reminded me of how long ’tis been since last I made music.”
Edane: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 3 Page 5