Kanyth (Immortal Highlander, Clan Skaraven Book 4): A Scottish Time Travel Romance

by Hazel Hunter

  “Water,” she told him, and poured some onto his hands.

  Kanyth sighed with relief. “’Tis good.” He jerked as she splashed him with the remainder, soaking his burned arms. “And cold.”

  “I’m not giving you back the tartan, no matter how much you whine.” A cracking sound made her look at his hands, afraid to see his fingers falling off. Instead it was only his clan ring, which broke and fell into three pieces on his palm. For the first time that she could remember, there was fear in his eyes. “It’s okay, Ka. We’ll glue it back together after the battle.”

  The pieces dropped from his hand as he leaned over the wall. “We maynae have a chance, lass.”

  She took a look, and saw the famhair that had climbed up halfway to them. On impulse she picked up the second bucket and emptied it onto his head. The giant shrieked as if she’d doused him in acid, and immediately began sprouting branches and leaves out of his cracked face. As his head turned back into a tree, he lost his grip on the snow-covered castle wall and plummeted down to the ground.

  She and Kanyth watched as the other famhairean backed away from him. As they did Perrin felt her palm grow hot against the cold stone wall, and she looked down to see rivulets of water running out from beneath her hand. It wasn’t a vision. She was actually melting the snow on the wall with her scar. Without any fanfare the forge was showing her how to defeat the giants.

  “We don’t need fire or cannonballs, Ka,” Perrin said. “We need a moat.” She grabbed his arm. “Come on.”

  “Aye,” Kanyth agreed, following her to the stairs. “Naught would be better, but–”

  “Stone doesn’t burn,” Perrin told him as they hurried down the stairs into the great hall. “But it gets hot, and this place is wall-to-wall fireplaces.”

  At each barricade the stable hands still held their ground and shoved their torches at the famhairean. Ross glanced over his shoulder as Kanyth approached, his young face streaked with soot.

  “They come at us two and three now, Skaraven,” he told him. “The iron, ’tis bending and splitting from their blows.”

  “Stand fast, warrior,” Kanyth told him before he went with Perrin to the first hearth. In a lower voice he said, “Without the servants most of these hearths have burned down to ash now. We cannae build up fresh fires so quickly. Even seasoned wood needs time to catch and build a burn.”

  “Not if you add molten iron to the mix.”

  She threw some split logs onto the flames, and then handed him back the dagger he’d given her earlier.

  Kanyth grinned at her, heating the blade white-hot before tossing it on the wood. It caught fire at once. She added more wood, and after another minute they had a roaring blaze.

  “We have to do that to every one of them, and shove in enough wood to make the biggest fire we can.” She grabbed a pail and went to the next hearth. “Grab some of those blades the laird has on the wall.”

  They worked feverishly to ignite the massive fires they needed to heat the walls of the keepe. While they did the giants kept coming, ramming into the barricades, over and over. One jerked the torch from one of the boys, tossing it away before he hurtled at the badly-dented iron. The stable hand drew his sword and stabbed him in the eye, sending him reeling backward and howling with rage.

  “They feel pain,” Perrin called out to their young sentries. “If they take your torches, hurt them.”

  The hall grew so hot that sweat began to drip into her eyes. Perrin also had to stop and regularly douse Kanyth’s hands with water to keep him from burning them off. But as they finished stocking the last blaze with wood, she saw beads of condensation swelling and rolling down the inside of the heated stone walls.

  Suddenly the giants stopped charging at the barricades, and the hall fell silent. The stable hands peered out, and Ross shouted for Kanyth.

  “They retreat from the castle, Skaraven.” He turned to beam at him. “Look.”

  Perrin joined them and peered out through the battered bars. All of the famhairean were retreating from the keepe, which now had become surrounded by huge pools of meltwater running down from the outside walls. When the first giant turned and ran a cheer went up from all the boys. Elated, she hugged her lover.

  “You made them run like drippy noses,” she told the boy, and kissed him on the cheek as she winked at Kanyth.

  Ross blushed. “The Gods favor the bold, my lady.”

  “Work well done, brothers,” Kanyth said, looking at each young, tired face. “You’ve defended your home and your clan against the direst of enemies, and you’ve made your laird proud. Now we must tend to the sick. Ross, go and fetch the salt water from the kitchens. We’ll need empty buckets to catch the boak.”

  Perrin went with him to take down the furniture barricading the dining hall, and when they opened the doors they were greeted by Lady Elspeth herself, who held her husband’s jeweled sword ready to strike.

  “Och.” She lowered the blade. “Never tell me you’ve saved us?”

  “The gates and the lads from your stables held them off, my lady,” Kanyth said. “My lady and much meltwater did the rest.” He looked past her at the still bodies she’d covered with linens from the tables. “How fare the fallen?”

  “I havenae yet roused them.” She put down the sword and nodded toward the children, who sat clustered around the laird. “Maddock woke briefly after the spewing, but he drifted away again.”

  “It’s all right,” Perrin said and took hold of her hands. “Help is on the way.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  BRENNUS SIGNALED FOR his men to form a dense line behind him before they became visible to the McAra’s stronghold. The Skaraven had trained to ride in such close quarters that only scant inches separated each rider. Cadeyrn and Ruadri flanked either end of the cavalry wall, and Taran rode slightly behind it as he used his power to keep the tired mounts in check.

  Ahead of their position he could hear the sounds of chaos, shouting and the pounding of heavy running feet. A single famhair appeared, running wildly and just as suddenly stopping only a few strides from the chieftain. He gaped at the Skaraven, and opened his mouth wider as if to shout.

  Brennus vaulted off his horse, swinging his sword as he flipped through the air and landed behind the giant. As the chieftain turned, the famhair’s head rolled off his shoulders and thunked into the snow. Brennus kicked it aside as he strode back and mounted, lifting his arm to hold his sword high. Swinging it down, he gave the signal to charge.

  They rode as one into the midst of the giants fleeing from the castle, and splintered into their fighting ranks as they attacked. Horses wheeled away as floundering, surprised famhairean grabbed at them and tried to unseat their riders. Brennus took two more heads and several limbs, noting most had been burned. It gladdened him to see the evidence of his brother’s fiery touch, but he would wait to lay eyes on Kanyth before he celebrated.

  Turning his mount back to the thick of the fighting, Brennus caught sight of Ailpin. The hunter was chopping limbs with great circling swaths of his sword. But behind him, Bridei was pressing an attack on a famhair who turned to flee. As the giant spun and wildly flailed his sword, Brennus saw only too late where the tip would land.

  “Ailpin,” he called. “Down!”

  But the hunter had not heard him. The gleaming and bloody tip of the famhair’s sword jutted out from the front of Ailpin’s throat.

  “No!” Bridei bellowed, as he rode down the giant, separating him from his head with one mighty blow.

  Ailpin slumped forward, the sword still through his neck, and slipped from the saddle.

  Without seeing the limp form fall to the ground, Brennus knew the man was dead.

  A druid in black robes hurried out of hiding in the trees toward the furrows, catching Brennus’s attention. Though the chieftain rode hard through the thrashing, battling confusion to reach Hendry Greum, the druid’s gloating face disappeared into the earth.

  “Cowardly bastart,” Brennus shout
ed, and spat in the hole before he returned to the battle.

  Fighting continued, growing vicious as the giants recovered from their astonishment and launched themselves at the clan. Cadeyrn circled around and found a gap, which he exploited as he charged and hacked away with his blade, felling five by the time he wheeled back. Ruadri, unseated by a heavy blow, pitted his sword against two giants who collapsed headless into each other. Brennus saw dozens of yellow lights rise from the ruined bodies, only to sink into the open furrows left by the stronghold. Just as it seemed they would reduce all the famhairean to kindling and ugly glows, one of them shouted and the rest dove into the snow, disappearing into the earth.

  The Skaraven returned to their ranks, some whistling to their horses to return. Many had bloody wounds and battered faces, but they remained watchful as they held their blades ready for another clash.

  Brennus signaled them to hold the ground while he retreated a short distance to where Manath waited with Bhaltair Flen. “’Tis done. We shall ride ahead to the castle to see if more await.”

  The old druid trotted up to him. “I must accompany you. I ken I’m needed by Mistress Perrin.”

  “’Tis your hide, tree-knower.” Brennus cantered off to lead his men to their victory.

  They found more discarded wood bodies pitting the dirty slush around the keepe, but no giants left to challenge them. Brennus noted with interest the large channel of water surrounding the castle’s foundation. He signaled to Cadeyrn, who rode up to his side.

  “Do my eyes jest with me?” Brennus asked his second. “Did Ka divert a stream to engulf the place?”

  “’Tis meltwater,” Cadeyrn said with a grin. He nodded toward the walls at the front of the keepe, which unlike all the rest were bare of snow. “I didnae ken that his power worked on stone.”

  “It doesnae,” Brennus said and dismounted. “Post lookouts until we’re sure they’ll no’ return, Cade.” He handed the reins to his war master, but paused when their eyes met. “And see to Ailpin.” His war master’s smile faded as understanding dawned, and he solemnly nodded.

  Brennus approached the open entry and saw a young lad standing on the other side of a battered iron gate. The boy held a sword and a torch, and appeared ready to use both.

  “Fair morning, McAra,” Brennus greeted him. “I’m Chieftain of the Skaraven, come with my clan to provide aid to your laird. No’ that I see any need for it.”

  “Wait there,” the lad said, astonishing him, and disappeared.

  Ruadri walked up to survey the gate. “Ka’s been busy. It appears he’s fitted every entry and window with a portcullis.”

  “And he has bairns standing guard,” Brennus muttered. He saw the lad return with two others, and watched as they unchained the gate and raised it. The fear in their eyes wasn’t for him, however. “How may we help?”

  “We need a healer,” the boy said. “The clan’s been poisoned.”

  Brennus shouted for Bhaltair as he entered the keepe, and took in the fallen bodies and blazing fires. Ruadri went immediately to the first victim, checking the guard’s eyes and feeling for a pulse. He looked up at the chieftain and nodded, but he couldn’t rouse the man.

  Kanyth emerged from the dining hall, his expression grim as he came to greet Brennus.

  “Oriana Embry’s work, curse the Gods,” Kanyth said, his voice rasping with tiredness. “Tell me you brought the druid.”

  “I brought the facking druid.” At last the tight anger that had knotted in him for days unraveled, and he pulled the weapons master into his arms for a brief, hard embrace. “Dinnae again curse the Gods, my brother. They heed my prayers.”

  “’Tis beyond me how to revive them,” Ruadri said. The shaman sat back on his heels. “How many have fallen ill, Ka?”

  “All but ten stable lads, Lady Elspeth and her bairns, and Perrin.” Kanyth looked down at Ruadri beside the guard. “We’ve tried salt-water purging, but it hasnae worked.”

  Bhaltair came in hobbling so quickly he lurched, and stopped as soon as he saw the bodies. “What, they’ve all been dosed? How so?”

  “Your acolyte poisoned the clan’s morning brew,” Perrin said as she came into the great hall carrying a bottle, which she handed to Bhaltair. “We think she used this.”

  The old druid uncorked the bottle, sniffed it, and grimaced. “’Tis a spelled potion for obtaining blood from animals,” he added when Brennus eyed him. “We use it to keep the beasts still and asleep. They arenae killed, and we–”

  “Dinnae tell me for what purpose you take the blood,” the chieftain warned Bhaltair.

  “But it’s not poison?” Perrin said, and the druid shook his head. “But if she had the chance, why not kill them?”

  “’Tis more of a burden to tend the sick,” Ruadri said. “They kept you distracted.”

  Perrin had to admit it had done that. She looked around at the afflicted. “So once you’re done with the animals, does the potion wear off?”

  “After a day and night,” Bhaltair told her. “But a leaf of rosemary placed on the tongue can break the spell.”

  “Elspeth has a couple pots of rosemary growing in the garden room,” Perrin said and hurried off to the stairs.

  Brennus watched Kanyth’s expression as he followed the lady’s path with his gaze. His brother had weathered a ferocious storm, outwitted the famhairean, and kept safe an entire castle of mortals—all by himself. He’d also fallen in love with the lady, which anyone who saw him now would recognize. Yet instead of basking in the glory of it, Ka seemed troubled.

  “Shall I greet her when she returns as my true sister?” Brennus asked.

  “She’s my lover, no’ my mate,” Kanyth said, with such savagery it startled him. “And you’ll keep your mouth shut, and your overbearing arse out of it.”

  “I’m your chieftain,” he calmly reminded his brother.

  Ka’s eyes took on a curious softness. “Aye, Bren, but she commands my heart.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  THE SKARAVEN HELPED Perrin distribute the tiny rosemary leaves to all the fallen McAra, and less than an hour later every member of the clan had been revived. Out of deference to the laird, and to calm his frightened lady, Maddock received the first curative leaf, and stirred only moments after it had been placed on his tongue.

  “What do I here?” He worked his jaw and peered up at Perrin and an anxious Elspeth. “Dinnae look at me so. I’m the laird. If I wish to nap in my dining hall, then I shall.”

  “You may nap wherever you please, my love.” His wife clasped his hand to her swollen belly. “Oh, Maddock. I’m obliged to you for no’ dying.”

  “I’ve druid blood,” the laird reminded her as he sat up and kissed her. “I shall never die.”

  While the revived clansmen went to work raising the barricades, the laird ordered the furniture in the great hall pushed back to the walls. With his wife and their children gathered around him, Maddock listened to Kanyth’s account of the attack.

  “Guards, bring Ross McAra to me,” Maddock called as soon as he heard of the bravery of the stable hands. When the lad came and bowed before him, he looked him over with a frown. “I ken you. You’re my tanist’s second son. I’m told you sneak into the garrison to have meals with your brother, Duff.”

  “Aye, my lord.” The boy tried to smile. “Only when I’m done with my morning work.”

  “Well, pack your things, lad.” The laird stood, looking very stern now as he approached him. “You’re to join the garrison this very day, and begin your warrior training.”

  Ross’s eyes widened. “But I’m no’ yet fourteen, my lord, and they say I’m…too puny.”

  “You’ve fended off giants, made brother of a fierce Skaraven, and protected your lord, my lady and this clan. I shake in my boots to think what you shall do at fourteen.” The laird leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “And lad, they called me the runt of the litter.”

  Perrin stood back behind Maddock, Brennus and the Skaraven, co
ntent to watch the show. All day she’d felt Kanyth watching her, as he did now, and ached for a moment alone with him. She’d been such an idiot to fight what now owned her, body and soul. It didn’t matter to her what they called it, or what rituals were involved, or what it meant for the future. They were meant to be together—and she loved him, so much it made her tear up just to think it.

  “The little laird is married,” Kanyth murmured to her as he appeared beside her and regarded Maddock. “And I wouldnae cross his wife. She fights with blades.”

  “I’m already taken,” Perrin told him, and laced her fingers through his. “I think I’ll go up to our chamber so I can pack our things.”

  “’Tis much work, the business of packing,” he said gravely. “It may take the rest of the day, and the night, and the morrow. I shall give you aid.”

  “I know what you want to give me, you bad man, which is why you’re staying down here.”

  She brushed a discreet kiss against his cheek before letting go. But as she turned, a small figure darted out from under a table, a sword clutched in its fists—a sword aimed at Brennus’s back.

  “No,” Perrin yelled, lunging for the attacker.

  As though awakened, the revenant whirled, drew back the sword, and thrust it at her chest. Kanyth was there a heartbeat later, shielding her with his body as Wynda struck. The sound of the blade running him through slithered in her ears, and then pain became her universe.

  “Perrin.”

  Kanyth backhanded the revenant, knocking her away, with his lady behind him. He glanced down at the blade still bobbing from where it protruded from his tunic. The pain felt as nothing compared to his fear when he’d seen that Wynda meant to gut his lady.

  “Someone put that thing in irons,” his brother ordered as he appeared in front of him.

  Though Brennus’s dark face was almost white, he held Kanyth’s shoulder as he gripped the hilt and carefully drew out the blade. But no sooner was it clear than he tossed it aside, and quickly stepped around him.