Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid

by India Drummond

  “How do you feel?” she asked with a frown.

  He brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I love you,” he said tenderly. Whether his feelings had been caused by magic, manipulation, or they were his own, he wasn’t sure, but he did love her.

  “But you don’t want to bond with me?” Her voice trembled.

  God. If there was one thing he couldn’t handle, it was her tears. “I’m not ready,” he said softly. “I need time.”

  She nodded. “I understand. I will agree to not talk about bonding while we’re in London,” she said.

  Rory felt relief wash over him, and he wondered if there was any way he could extend their time away.

  ∞

  Munro leaned against the balustrade, his jaw set in grim determination. He couldn’t believe what Aaron had just told him he’d overheard. Munro’s face must have looked as thunderous as he felt because any servant who appeared in the corridor vanished when they caught his expression.

  A few words flitted through his thoughts: Send word if you need me. Eilidh must have sensed his dark mood through their bond.

  Munro glanced up when Tràth walked into the corridor from Douglas’ suite. The faerie prince appeared shaken and pale. He broke his stride when he saw Munro waiting for him.

  Munro stood up straight, wracking his mind for the right words. He had to do something. He couldn’t let his best friend’s son get swallowed by the darkness looming at every turn. Douglas’ harsh words might send Tràth into a downward spiral. The prince would never confide in Munro nor anyone else, but help had to be offered anyway.

  Tràth slowed his steps but kept walking until he came face to face with Munro. “Judging by your countenance, I assume Douglas spoke with you?” he asked.

  “No. Aaron did.”

  “Ah. He heard everything?”

  Munro nodded. “Near enough, I expect.” He watched the emotions play over Tràth’s face. He’d never seen the faerie so unguarded, but trauma had that effect on people. Munro turned his head toward the staircase behind him. “Hon!” he shouted. The steward would be lurking nearby, as always. Tràth jumped at the sound of Munro’s powerful voice, another sign he was not himself.

  The faerie steward rushed up the stairs. “Yes, my lord druid?”

  “A glass of whiskey for Prince Tràth, please. To be served in…” he glanced around. “Not my suite. It’s full of Maiya’s toys.”

  After a pause, Hon said, “Might I suggest the third floor reception room? The fire is lit, and it’s private.”

  The Hall had more rooms than Munro could keep track of. “Very well.” Munro gestured to the back stairwell at the opposite end of the corridor. “After you,” he said to Tràth.

  Tràth looked as though he wanted to do anything other than chat with Munro, but he was trapped. Despite their personal relationship, Munro was a Druid Lord. One didn’t refuse their requests. The prince sighed. “Hon, if you please, make my drink water. I’d like to try staying sober.”

  Munro nodded, but the faerie’s choice concerned him. As a former cop, he wouldn’t ordinarily suggest alcohol to deal with problems, but Tràth was a special case. Munro worried the time stream would overcome the prince when in such a vulnerable state. Nobody understood what else might keep the temporal magic at bay.

  The pair went upstairs, and, as promised, they found a lit fire in the small reception room. The chairs were the low, reclining style the fae favoured. Tràth seated himself but didn’t relax. When Hon arrived with the water, Tràth took the glass in silence but didn’t drink.

  “Thank you, Hon,” Munro said and gestured for the steward to wait outside. Once the servant had gone, the druid turned to Tràth. “Want to talk?”

  Tràth stared at his glass. “Not really.”

  “What are you planning to do?” Munro asked.

  “Do?” Tràth touched the side of the glass, using his barely-trained control of water flows to create a tiny whirlpool within.

  “So, you and Douglas have broken up. In my experience, the best short-term treatment is to stay busy. Find something to occupy your mind while your heart sorts itself out.”

  “Is that what happened?” Tràth’s voice trailed off, and Munro worried he was losing the prince’s attention, but Tràth went on. “We were never partners to begin with. He never wanted to bond with me, much less be my lover.”

  “You’re forgetting,” Munro said. “I was there when we met you for the first time, when we recovered you and all those villagers who’d disappeared. Remember? Nobody who saw him that night could deny Douglas was drawn to you. When we took you to the Isle of Skye, he refused to leave your side. He cares about you. He has from the beginning, lovers or not.” Munro paused. “You need to understand the way he was raised. Being gay wasn’t an option. His father, who sounded like a right arsehole anyway, would have killed him if he’d thought Douglas was attracted to a man.”

  Tràth frowned. “Why? In the fae tongue, we do not have such words as gay…or queer.” He looked away. “I’d never heard that word before tonight. I can guess what it means.”

  Munro shrugged. “I can’t explain the attitude in a way that would sound rational. It’s partly cultural, upbringing, and a lot of religious teaching.”

  “Did you not have the same upbringing?”

  Munro shook his head. “Not quite the same, no. Unlike Douglas, I wasn’t taught loving another man would lead to damnation in the afterlife. But I didn’t tell my family my wife has three husbands, either. They wouldn’t understand.” He sighed. “Douglas is young, and it takes time to sort out the truth from the fictions our parents taught us. He cares a bit too much what other people think, or what he imagines they think. Do you even remember what it’s like to be twenty years old?”

  Tràth winced. “I barely remember what it’s like to be a hundred. Twenty…I look back at the boy I was, and he seems like someone else.” He set the glass of water on a nearby table and relaxed into the chair. “Why are you trying to help me? I’m sure Douglas would tell you it’s no concern of yours who he beds…or doesn’t.”

  “Your father is like a brother to me. Your step-mother is my wife. My daughter is your sister. Whether you like it or not, we’re family in a dozen strange ways. Not only that, your bonded druid is my friend. You’re the only temporal faerie known to exist, and therefore you’re important to every fae kingdom. Besides who you are to other people, I’d like to think you and I are friends. In those early days, you were one of the rare faeries who accepted me and the others, back when we were treated like talking farm animals. And I haven’t forgotten it was you who stepped in when Queen Konstanze threatened my life.”

  Tràth stared into space for a long time before saying, “I can’t let him go. Breaking the bond would drive me insane, if not kill me.”

  “I know,” Munro said. “He doesn’t want that, either. Just because he’s not ready to deal with his feelings doesn’t mean he doesn’t want the bond.”

  “That’s not what he said.”

  “Ignore his words. What did the bond tell you?” Munro asked. “I can often sense Eilidh’s true feelings, even when she tries to mask them.”

  “My bond with Douglas is a lie,” Tràth said. Under the weight of Munro’s stare, he reluctantly answered the question. “Over the time we’ve been together, I have, at times, sensed some discomfort in him. I feel a fool for misinterpreting it. I thought his reticence was a reflection of his youth and sexual inexperience. I never had an inkling that he resented the bond. He must have buried the thought deep.”

  “Perhaps,” Munro said, not sounding convinced. “What did you sense today?”

  “At first, affection, then desire. Despite his claim that the emotions were false, caused only by the bond, they seemed real to me.”

  “Then Aaron came in?”

  “Yes,” Tràth said, looking surprised. “I understand humans are private. Douglas used to be shy, but I thought he’d gotten over that.”

  “Aaron gives h
im shit about you. He doesn’t mean any harm. It’s just his way. He would give me shit about Eilidh if he dared. Fortunately for me, the others are still intimidated by the fact that I used to be a cop.” He paused. “What did the bond tell you when Aaron came in?”

  “Douglas revealed he was ashamed of me.” Tràth’s eyes looked haunted, as though he was reliving the moment. “He hated me.”

  “No—” Munro began, but Tràth cut him off.

  “I know what I sensed!” A flash of anger darted over Tràth’s face.

  “He’s ashamed of himself. Not you. He hates himself. Not you.”

  Tràth frowned, knitting his dark brows together as though working on a puzzle he couldn’t comprehend. “Why?”

  “He’s twenty years old and an idiot. He needs time. He needs to grow up. He might come around, or he may not ever want to be lovers.” Munro shrugged. “But you and I both know the bond is about a lot more than sex. I could give up sex with Eilidh, because our connection is deeper than that. Sex is superficial. Love is forever. That’s not going away.”

  “I miss him, and you’re right, it’s not about sex,” Tràth said and then sighed. “I can give him time.” A half-smile tilted a corner of his mouth. “I’m good with time.”

  “Meanwhile, stay busy. You can go back to drugs and orgies, but I guess those things weren’t helping anymore?”

  “As my father rather pointedly said, my life is frivolous. Without Douglas, none of the usual recreations mean anything.”

  “Then find a pursuit that does mean something, even without him. Come to the library with me and search for runes about temporal lore. Begin a record of your efforts. You are the only known temporal faerie. Your knowledge and experience should be recorded and made available to others. We can talk to the Keepers. They will know which scholars you should work with.”

  “Thank you,” Tràth said. “But that’s where Douglas works. The bond…”

  “It would be intense. I get that. When Eilidh’s unhappy with me, being in the same kingdom is too much, much less the same building.”

  Tràth chuckled. “It’s good to talk to someone who understands.”

  “So will you head back to Caledonia? We’re planning to be in the Halls of Mist for another two weeks, but Eilidh would be thrilled to return sooner. She thinks I’m insane to keep Maiya out of the nursery. Come stay with us at Canton Dreich. We’d love to spend time with you, and I can help you get started. I’m sure the Keepers will send anyone we need to work with us.”

  Tràth picked up his glass and drank deeply. “Perhaps that’s a good idea,” he said.

  “Good,” Munro said. “In fact, why don’t you and I leave tonight? I’m sure your father and Eilidh will want to return as soon as possible after the dinner tomorrow night. They’re only staying because Eilidh is worried I’ll ruin Maiya with my Jaffa Cakes and play clothes.” He couldn’t help but grin, but then he turned serious again. “We all want to be there for you.” The two men stood, and Munro clapped his hand on Tràth’s shoulder.

  “Thank you,” Tràth said. “But I think I’ll stay another night. Queen Eilidh has invited me to dinner, and I should go, assuming she hasn’t already made other plans for the princess’ escort. It’s time I started taking on duties befitting a Prince of Caledonia.”

  Munro walked him out of the Druid Hall and said goodbye. As he watched Prince Tràth make his way to the Caledonian Hall, he reflected that Tràth had come around a lot faster and more easily than he had expected. He couldn’t shake the sense that it had been perhaps too easy.

  Chapter 5

  Tràth floated in the blissful mist of gahn-seh smoke. Petroc’s voice teased at his awareness, sounding urgent but distant. Sleep invited the prince back into its embrace. For some reason, Tràth’s annoying attendant refused to let him rest. He really should get rid of the boy, find someone older, more responsible, more accustomed to the proper way to treat a prince. But Petroc had lovely grey eyes. They reminded Tràth of…

  Reality threatened to intrude, but Tràth let the smoke carry the danger away. He understood, somewhere in his consciousness, something painful and impossible lurked, waiting for him to wake from his stupor. Maybe he never would. He longed to float for eternity in warmth and comfort.

  Someone slapped him. Hard. The pain shocked him into some level of awareness. When he opened his eyes, his father’s face was about two inches from his own. “He’s awake,” Griogair said. He turned to the attendant. “Get Queen Eilidh.”

  “Pardon, Your Highness?”

  “Now!” Griogair shouted. He pulled Tràth unceremoniously from his bed and propped him up on a seat near his dressing room. He gave instructions to someone else, but Tràth couldn’t understand what he said, not, at least, until hands touched him, removing his robes and fitting him with formal attire. Griogair watched his son in despair, and Tràth could barely stand the shame of it. “You will attend, as you promised when you returned to us, claiming you wanted to take on proper responsibilities. You assured my mate you would do this for her. For Caledonia.”

  More alert, but still strongly under the influence of the smoke, Tràth shrugged. He should care. His father was right. Even as attendants combed his hair and arranged his clothing, he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed. He couldn’t tell his father the truth. His heart was broken and he was too much of a coward to die for his druid. Better his father think him a worthless waste of royal seed than to know he was moping like an adolescent over a romantic humiliation.

  Griogair snapped his fingers. “This won’t do,” he said to someone. “Find another mantle.” Footfalls pounded around the room as faerie servants danced to the older prince’s demands.

  Someone else entered the room. Tràth turned toward the entry arch and was mortified when, through bleary eyes, he recognised the pity on Eilidh’s face. He could handle his father’s anger, even disappointment, but the pity crushed him. “Griogair, my love,” she said. “Would you and your attendants give me a moment with Tràth, please?”

  Tràth recognised that his father wanted to argue but wouldn’t. He leaned forward and spoke softly to his son. “I swear to you,” he said, “if you upset or embarrass her in any way, I will see you stripped of your titles and your holdings. You will spend the next thousand years working in some desolate swamp harvesting frog piss one drop at a time.”

  “I understand,” Tràth said. What he didn’t say was that he’d rather be in that desolate swamp right now. Anywhere would be better than here, where he could feel Douglas’ every emotion. When Tràth stayed in Caledonia and the portal separated them, he hadn’t been subjected to the dizzying array of unbridled human emotions. Here, Douglas’ seething shame and constant turmoil only abated when the druid lost himself in rapture with the Stone or sexual release. Even when he slept, the druid's mind was in perpetual tumult. If only Tràth had refused the call to the Halls of Mist, none of this would have happened. If only he’d not acted so impulsively in Douglas’ chamber. If only he’d paid more attention, he might have had some inkling of Douglas’ true feelings.

  Eilidh sat across from him, strikingly beautiful in her ultramarine gown. Its black mink trim complimented the pure white shade of her hair. “My poor Tràth,” she said. “Quinton thought you were doing all right.” She smiled. “You fooled him completely.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Tràth said. “I meant what I said to him, but I suppose good intentions matter little.” He met her eyes. “I am crushed to have disappointed you.”

  “I can clear your mind. Would you like me to?”

  The haze had lifted somewhat, but the effects of the drug still cocooned him from the worst of what waited. “Yes,” he said. He deserved the pain that would soon come at her hands, but he despised the self-pity in the sentiment.

  When she touched his temple, his mind became unhampered in an instant. Before the pain of his memories burst with full force, a gentle presence soothed him. Eilidh used a delicate touch as she calmed his thoug
hts. The darkness of his self-loathing receded.

  “Humans,” she said, “are turbulent creatures. I know this well. Although young by fae reckoning, Quinton possesses a maturity the other men of his Hall lack.” She smiled. “I understand what you’re enduring. Douglas is barely even an adult by their standards. I can’t imagine what the mayhem of his immature mind must be like for you to endure.” Tràth fought an irrational desire to defend his druid.

  Eilidh went on. “I didn’t speak to you of this before because I thought you and Douglas were…well, I shouldn’t have assumed. You seemed to be coping.”

  “Speak to me of what?” Tràth asked.

  “When Quinton and I were first finding our way together, I inadvertently discovered that I could block our connection.”

  “What?” Tràth’s attention snapped to Eilidh.

  “At the time, Quinton was furious with me. I couldn’t bear his anger. So, I shut the door between us. My mentor, Elder Oron, warned me not to do so again, and he helped me bring the barrier down. While that mental fortification remained in place, I remember I had some understanding that Quinton lived and our connection was alive, but I had no sense of where he was or how he felt.” She smiled. “Would you consider me disloyal to him if I said something in the discovery was bliss?”

  Tràth shook his head, sudden hope rising where he thought none might exist. “You’re saying I could dampen our connection without releasing the bond?”

  “No,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m saying I could. My magic is of the mind, while yours is of time. Who can say if what worked for me will work for you?”

  “But you will teach me how you managed it?”

  “Before I promise to try, I will give you the same warning Elder Oron gave me. Our people need them. I do not fully understand why we can bond with these Druid Lords, but it is not a gift to be thrown away lightly. Oron warned me that the longer I shielded myself from the bond, the more difficult it would be to restore the connection later.”