by Lora Andrews
Ewen laughed a bitter laugh. His heart felt too heavy to continue. “But she never called my name that day. They took her while I stewed in my fear, watching my uncle and your wife drag my mother away on a false charge. And when I’d finally found my courage, Old Morag stopped me before I could set foot outside the cottage.”
She’d kept him hidden, too.
“I broke free from the old woman’s watchful eye and found my way to the castle. No one cared if a wayward child ran about in a courtyard filled with merchants and hagglers. No guards were posted outside the cell of a mere woman accused of thievery.”
It didn’t matter.
He’d arrived too late.
He’d found her mangled body inside the ritual circle drawn on the dirt floor of her cell.
His vision blurred. He turned his head to the side to hide his shame. Caitlin slid her hand into his once more, and when he regained control of his cowardly tears, he scrubbed a hand over his face and met his father’s grief. Lachlan’s blue eyes mirrored the pain Ewen was sure was reflected in his own.
“You sent me to Iona alone, months after I’d lost my mother.” His father closed his eyes, but not before Ewen saw the flash of guilt. All these years he’d assumed his father wanted nothing to do with him. But now the truth stared him in the face, and it was worse than he’d imagined.
“You were ashamed your little bastard might grow to be a warlock. Was that it?”
“Nonsense,” his father said. “I did what I thought was best at the time to protect you.”
Ewen flung his free hand out to the room. “Sending your wee problem to the monks was your idea of protection, was it? Beat the demon from my blood through prayer, obedience, and discipline?” Rage built in his chest. “Who else knew my mother was more than a healer?”
Lachlan didn’t answer.
Ewen pointed at the abbot. “Did you know?” His voice grew louder with each word. He marched over to Brigid, dragging Caitlin with him. “Did you?”
No one spoke.
“For the love of god, tell me.” Ewen’s heart smashed against his ribcage. “Someone has to know what I am.”
Silence.
He swung around, his gaze darting from one shuttered expression to the other until he landed on Caitlin. The pity in her eyes nearly broke him.
Then the goddess spoke, her proud voice breaking through the tension in the room. “He sent you here to protect your blood from those who would use it for ill.”
“My blood?”
“Yes, your blood. Ealasaid MacKinnon was the daughter of a Draconian Guardian.”
A man-beast? “Nay, it canna be.”
A gasp sounded to his left, but his eyes were locked on the goddess. Her emerald gaze slid to her emissary, the warrior standing quietly by the wall.
Ewen turned to face the guard, his world crumbling beneath his feet. “You?” God’s teeth. It cannot be.
“Is it true?” he asked Lachlan.
Ah, Christ, let it not be so.
The small tilt of his father’s head opened the void wider, stabbing a dagger of cold certainty through the denial bleeding from Ewen’s heart.
The guard stepped away from the wall. “I am Braern Fagolor. Ealasaid was my offspring.”
“Oh, my god.” The words rushed out of Caitlin’s mouth. Her nails dug into Ewen’s flesh.
He looked down at their joined hands, his long fingers wrapped around hers. Fingers that were not fully human despite their appearance. He released her hand and fisted his knuckles against his hip, suppressing the urge to throw something, anything, to calm the wildfire burning in his chest.
“I never saw my mother turn into…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Ealasaid could not transform,” Brigid said. “Female births are extremely rare, and in lieu of wings, females are often born with unique talents that manifest later in their lives. For Ealasaid, it was the ability to heal.”
Christ, his mother was half-human, half-dragon. He should have put the pieces together before now. The villagers that lined up daily outside their door with their ailing bairns, begging for cures. The elderly. The weak.
Old hurts formed a knot in his throat.
“Your mother was slaughtered for her blood. It is why she hid you and refused to marry a chief. It is why I sent you to Iona. Why I allowed you to leave Scotland when you’d set your mind on fighting with the Galloglass. Why we waited year after year to see if your body would succumb to the magic in your blood. Your discovery is what Ealasaid feared most, more than the loss of her own life. I failed to save her, but I swore to myself I would not make the same mistake with you.”
Ewen looked from his father to his…grandfather? He clenched his jaw.
“We did not know how my blood would present in a mostly human child,” Braern said quietly. “A child born from a human and Draconian pairing has never been recorded in our history. Ealasaid was a miracle. A first. We had to be sure.”
Christ. He needed to sit down. “And are you sure now?”
Braern nodded. “Most Draconian males experience their first shift well before their twentieth year. You have not shown signs of change.”
“I don’t understand.” Caitlin bit the pad of her thumb. “The veil is supposed to suppress all magic except for what you infused into those damn artifacts that keep coming back and biting us in the ass. Bres is out there, hoarding magic to destroy the world. And now you’re telling us magic exists naturally?”
Brigid moved to the center of the room and leaned against the abbot’s table. “Every world in every realm has its own form of magic. Or energy, if that is what you would prefer to call it. How we harness that energy is what sets us apart. The variation is unique to each realm. Each being. When we drafted the covenant between our worlds, the removal of magic from Earth was a condition of our peace.
“But one cannot control magic. We can move supernaturals from one realm to another, and our Elders can drain a god’s power, but we cannot stop magic, and the draining of a god’s power is a delicate procedure beyond what a mere god can do alone. However, under the terms of the covenant negotiated between our Elders and your mortal leaders, we were granted access to spells that could bind magic.”
Caitlin snorted. “But those spells had no effect on Ealasaid because Draconians are resistant to magic.”
Heads, including his own, swung to the woman standing by his side. Caitlin stood fierce, staring down the goddess, still clad in her torn wool dress damp from the swim across the loch.
Brigid stiffened. “In Draconian form, yes. We did not expect it to be so in her human form.”
“So the Brotherhood is, like, what?” Caitlin shrugged. “A watchdog for this compact, covenant, or whatever it is you call it?”
“We are guardians of the lore,” the abbot said with a bit of derision, apparently unhappy with Caitlin’s choice of words.
“Guardians of the lore and the covenant.” Brigid touched the ruby pendant at her neck. “But the task of monitoring supernatural beings was left to me. The veil was never meant to suppress magic. It was meant to bar our kind from entering your world and harming your people.”
Caitlin began to pace in a tight circle. “So you gave the stones to the MacEwens and the other clans to aid you. To keep supernaturals from tearing down the veil. Did the MacEwens know? Because I’ll bet you didn’t tell the monks and the human leaders involved that you’d trapped supernaturals here or, at the very minimum, you sealed in those who’d refused to leave. I’m right, aren’t I?”
Adrenaline shot through Ewen’s system. Innocent people were going about their daily lives oblivious to the dangers around them. “How many? How many are out there?”
Brigid didn’t answer.
“Wait.” Caitlin pointed a finger in the air, then jerked her hand back and covered her mouth. She slowly dragged her fingers down her chin to rest over her heart. “You said realms. As in more than one.” Fear extinguished the indignation in her
expression. “Oh, god. Does that mean the portal only prevents entry into our world from yours and not those other places?”
“The only portal to Earth exists in Neridia. It has been sealed, I can assure you,” Brigid said in a cool tone.
“How can we trust your word when you failed to disclose the jail in Lismore?” the abbot asked. “This omission is a grievous infringement of the covenant. You know what this means.”
Energy rippled in the air. The goddess stood deathly still. “You will not breathe a word of this to the Vatican.”
“And why would I not? My oath is to the innocents of this world who deserve our protection. Not a lying goddess and her”—the abbot’s lip curled—“vile creatures. And what of the beings unleashed from Lismore? The others walking among us? With your lies, you’ve endangered the very souls you’ve sworn to protect.”
“You prideful buffoon.” The pendant glowed around Brigid’s neck. “You would dare to bring war to this realm after all I’ve sacrificed?”
“Whoa.” Caitlin stepped between the dueling pair, arms outstretched from both sides of her body. “Who said anything about war? You guys have a much bigger issue on your hands with Bres free.”
The abbot’s jaw locked.
“And which issue would that be, lass?” Lachlan asked. “The immortal creatures prowling the Earth or the spelled army threatening my people?”
“Father,” Ewen growled.
Caitlin opened her mouth to speak, then stopped.
“These Fomorians are the giants Donald reported seeing, are they not?” Lachlan asked Ewen directly.
Ewen let out a breath. “Yes. They look no different than you or I until they shift into their hideous forms. Caitlin was attacked by one of these creatures. She’s lucky to be alive.”
“You were bit?” Brigid blurted. And for the first time since Ewen had laid eyes on the goddess, he saw another emotion other than disdain cross her features.
Fear?
“Look, we’re getting off track,” Caitlin said. “Pitting the Brotherhood against the good gods isn’t going to help humanity. And, yeah, I can’t even believe I just said that.” She sighed. “I can tell you with complete certainty that Bres survives into the twenty-first century. He finds a way to circumvent the loss of his godhood through blood magic. He grows stronger. And somehow, he manages to locate the stones and the spell to take down your veil.”
“We”—Caitlin rotated one finger in the air in a circular motion—“all of us, need to work together to stop him. We have to put our differences aside. I get that a prison of supernaturals on Earth was a really bad idea”—she looked Brigid in the eye before surveying the others in the room—“but splitting hairs over it now means nothing if Bres destroys the barrier between our worlds. And trust me, he will stop at nothing to do so.”
“We know he’s killing to absorb power,” Ewen said, re-folding his arms across his chest. “And now it would appear he is using a different ritual to control men.” The evidence was clear as day. How had he not seen it before?
He faced Rupert. “Oscar, one of Alan Cameron’s crofters told me he witnessed three women lure Jaime and Hamish to shore. He called them rulers of destiny. The shapers of fate.”
Ewen swung his gaze to his father. “Alan also said villagers were fleeing Argyle. Tales of demons, phantoms, and other strange happenings. My gut tells me Bres was behind these rumors. Mayhap testing this new magic. The attack in Ardgour may very well have been his first trial.”
“For what purpose?” his father asked.
“He’s building an army. An army of men he lures and controls with magic. Men he stamps with a strange symbol upon their forearms.”
“A rune of some sort?” Lachlan suggested.
“No, a brand.” The abbot fixed an accusatory stare in the goddess’s direction. “It binds the individual to the caster and allows for magic to be directly channeled into the victim.”
“Bres has no magic of his own to control an army,” Caitlin said. “So the symbol has to be connected to the three witches who were chanting over the cauldron.”
The witches he hadn’t been able to see.
“Not witches. Norns,” Brigid corrected. “Descendants of the goddesses.”
“From the Norse legends?” Lachlan’s voice rose, the words buoyed by disbelief. “Creatures said to control the fates of gods and men.” He looked to Ewen. “So Alan’s man spoke true.”
“It would appear so.” Which didn’t please Ewen one bit. “Are these women immortal?”
“No,” Brigid said. “They are humans who carry magic in their blood. However, bound together, they are powerful.”
“So he used the cauldron to amplify their magic,” Caitlin explained. “But how did he get his hands on it to begin with? I thought the cauldron belonged to Valoria and Fionn. I don’t understand how you could let this happen.” She scrunched her forehead and looked from Brigid to Braern, then shook her head. “He didn’t escape, did he? He wasn’t imprisoned in that jail because, if he had been, Fionn would have killed him a long time ago to break the curse. Which means Bres risked getting caught to break someone else out. The only thing I can’t figure out is how you knew it was him. Or maybe you didn’t until Fionn’s sword glowed.”
Brigid eyed Caitlin warily. “What do you mean, how did I know? Would I not recognize my own husband?”
Caitlin’s mouth dropped. “He wanted you to see him…to know it was him.”
The goddess bristled. “Enough of this foolishness—”
“You really don’t know, do you?” Caitlin stepped back and bumped into Ewen’s shoulder, her gaze locked on Brigid. “How could you not know Bres can change his face? And his body. He can shape-shift into other human forms.”
Brigid’s skin paled. She glanced at Braern. “I—Bres kept these abilities hidden from the council.” She closed her eyes and laughed, the sound cold and bitter. “This is why Fionn has spent centuries hunting him, and why he continues to elude capture. Tell me, how did my dear husband appear to you in your time?”
“Tall. Dark-haired.” Caitlin lifted a shoulder. “Arrogant.”
Brigid walked to the center of the room and turned to the abbot. “We will need weapons.”
The abbot stood. “Agreed.”
“Magic does not always transfer in cross-breeds the way we think it will.” Braern spoke in a quiet voice. Ewen didn’t know if he was speaking to the group or consoling his goddess.
Christ, this man was his grandfather.
“Bres hid his Fomorian side from his people. His wife. His guard. And although the council removed his elemental powers, there was no forethought to bind his Fomorian talents, for not even his sire and king knew of their existence.”
“He fooled us all,” Brigid said.
“The possibility exists then that he has other abilities?” Gods teeth. How would they defeat such a foe? A being with the power to morph into any man?
“I know that, without magic, he doesn’t have super-human physical strength,” Caitlin said. “But with the right artifact, he can move things with a flick of his finger, and if that isn’t bad enough, he has the ability to get into your head and kill you.”
Brigid’s jaw slacked. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious. He killed a man and tried to kill me the same way.” Caitlin folded her arms across her chest. “Guess he hid that from you too, huh?”
“This demon must be stopped.” Lachlan tapped two knuckles against the abbot’s table. “I give my son full command of my army and the authority to act on my behalf in these matters. Do you understand?”
The abbot linked his hands together, then directed his gaze to Ewen. He neither spoke nor nodded, but the order was understood.
“Good,” Lachlan said. He turned to Ewen. “There is something else you should know. I’ve long held to the belief your stepmother’s actions were not of her own doing. Someone else was involved.”
Ewen stiffened. “Why did you no’
tell me?”
“I couldn’t. At first, my own guilt was at play. If you’ll remember, I spent years locked in the bowels of Tantallon Castle, helpless to do anything but mourn her loss.” Lachlan twisted his mouth. “Your mother lived well-hidden. She was careful with her friends and the people she trusted. I suspected the threat originated from Duart, but throwing an accusatory finger without having proof would have started a war I couldna fight imprisoned.”
“Duart? You believed the traitor resided within your walls?” Who? Ewen racked his brain. Other than his stepmother, no one else had motive.
“At the time of your mother’s death, we had a visitor. An important man and his traveling party. They arrived several days before your mother’s arrest and departed shortly after her death. This man had your uncle’s ear, he had access to your stepmother, and in light of all we have discovered this day, would it be a stretch to believe he might have been this Bres in disguise?”
Ewen’s throat went dry. “Who?”
“The king’s emissary. Duncan Campbell.”
“Jesus Christ.” It was Lord Campbell who Ewen’s older brother John had petitioned to help free their father from Tantallon Castle. And it was Campbell who had witnessed Swene MacEwen assault Ewen when he was an eight-year-old boy. He had watched from the doorway when Swene ripped Ewen’s mother’s dagger from his hand. He had watched when Swene proceeded to violate his body. And he had watched when John burst into the room, grabbed the wretched MacEwen by the neck, and slammed him against the wall.
Ewen tasted blood in his mouth. Campbell’s was a face he’d never forget. He ground his teeth and raised his eyes to his father.
“Aye, son. My sentiments, exactly. And in two days’ time, the bastard’s granddaughter marries your brother.”
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Ewen scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed air. “I’m going to check on Ian.”
“I’ll go with you,” Caitlin offered.
And that was all the encouragement he needed.
