by Lucy Monroe
“Boisin said Mairi has to stay here, with him, to train in her calling as a seer.”
“It is no easy thing to leave your mate behind, even if it is for a short time, but for an indefinite period, it is damn near impossible.”
“Though sometimes it is necessary.”
“I trust you as I do no other, but I am dragon. You can stay here, with your mate, and know naught will befall a Chrechte of my power.”
“Even a dragon needs a friend at his back. I will come with you.” There could be no question of it. Their people, Éan and Faol alike, relied on the success of this quest.
“Thank you.” Eirik clasped his arm, forearm to forearm, in the way of warriors. “You will return to her.”
Feeling more at peace than he had since his first whiff of his mate’s scent, Lais stepped back. “I will. What do you think the Balmoral would say to requesting his priest perform another wedding this day?”
“He’s a man of action. He will understand the need.”
Lais found Mairi with Ciara, listening to more of Boisin’s stories, both women enraptured by the old man’s gift.
Smiling, Lais laid his hand on Mairi’s shoulder so as not to startle her.
She looked up, her pretty blue eyes filled with question.
“Walk with me a minute?” he asked.
She nodded.
Cackling, Boisin stopped his story. “Is that how you young men do it? Walk with me a minute, he says.” Boisin slapped his knee. “My own dear mate led me a merry chase. I’d have not asked her to walk with me for fear she would lay a trap ahead of time.”
Lais felt his face heat, but Mairi was standing and she shook her head in amusement at the elder. “Thank you for the stories, Boisin.”
“Aye, lass, you’re welcome. You’ll learn to tell them as well as my own daughter has done and her son after her.”
Mairi nodded, looking pleased and Lais’s worry at leaving her behind lessened.
He led her out of the cottage and around to the back. “There is a small loch a bit of a walk from here.”
His eagle had smelled the water and Lais had gone looking when he’d realized the old man’s barrel was half empty. He’d refilled it for Boisin, the least he could do after watering four large horses from the man’s reserves.
“You are leaving with the others,” Mairi said, resignation in her tone.
“I am coming back.”
She looked up at him, but he kept his attention on the path ahead of them. He didn’t want to have this conversation until they were well away from the cottage and keen Chrechte ears.
They reached the water and he guided her to a seat in the shade cast by a large oak tree near the bank.
“You are coming back? Why?” she asked, her blue eyes troubled.
“To collect my wife.”
Those pretty blue eyes widened now, shock shimmering in their depths. “Your wife?”
He smiled. “Aye.” He dropped to his knee beside her and took her small hand in his. “Mairi, sweet one, you are my mate.”
“That is not what you claimed in the boat.” She gave him a very disgruntled frown. “And you ignored me, last night in the guards’ hut.”
“I did not know when Gart would return; I could not risk him finding us in a compromising circumstance.” As it was, the guard had not returned at all, but Artair had come to the hut when his watch was over.
“Now you want to be my mate? Because Boisin threatened you with his randy grandson?”
“Because Eirik told me I was being an idiot and I agreed. You are a gift from God and to deny you is to deny the preciousness of that gift. That I cannot do.”
“You said wife.”
“I did.”
“You want to marry me?” she asked on a squeak.
“With everything in me, I do.”
“But…”
“Say you will accept me, my eagle…my past.” Perhaps it was not fair to ask it, but ’twould not be fair to consign them both to a lonely future, either.
Mairi was wrong on one count. Lais was not worried about Boisin’s grandson, not one bit. Because Mairi was his mate and he was hers. There would be no other, for either of them.
“And will you accept me…even if I never gain a wolf?”
That one was easy. “’Tis why I desire the wedding happen now.”
“I don’t understand.” But she was looking at him with such hope.
He would not disappoint her. “If you gain a wolf as you hope to and the wedding came after, you would always wonder if I only claimed you because you shared your soul with the wolf.”
“You are right.” Her eyes filled with tears that spilled over and she swiped at them. “I would have wondered.”
“Aye.”
“But are you sure? We have known each other such a short time.”
“My eagle knew you the moment Eirik laid you on the grass behind the Sinclair keep. I knew I was lost the first moment your eyes opened and caught my own.”
“But do you love me?” she asked as if afraid of the answer. “Can you love me?”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Is love the desire to be with you and no other? To protect you from all harm? The willingness to both kill and die for you? The need to touch whenever we are near? The desire to keep your heart as well as your body for as long as we both draw breath? If this is love, then I love you.”
“I will marry you.” Then she burst into tears.
He didn’t mind. The joy coming off of her was a heady fragrance to Lais’s eagle’s senses.
He decided that vow needed sealing with a kiss. And so he did.
In the end, Boisin sent word to his laird via one of his many grandchildren, and the priest met them in the clearing outside the Balmoral pack’s sacred caves. He spoke his blessing over Lais and Mairi before being accompanied by two warriors back to the castle.
The Balmoral then led the way inside the caves to the Chrechte remaining. Lais held Mairi’s hand, his heart full and her scent happy after speaking their vows. The others joined in a circle around them. Artair and Gart, who had accompanied their laird from the castle, the Balmoral and his family, Boisin and one of his grandsons, though clearly too young to be the one the elder had used as threat.
The Balmoral performed the Chrechte rite of mating and marriage, prompting Lais and Mairi to speak vows even more binding than those the priest had done.
Afterward, Lais claimed his new mate and wife with yet another kiss that was most satisfying.
Ciara smiled mistily at the couple still kissing.
Boisin chuckled. “Now, that’s how we let our mates know of our interest back in my day. Will you walk with me for a minute? the boy asked.” The old man shook his head, but then turned serious and faced Eirik. “Draw the Faol king’s sword, if you please.”
Eirik gave Ciara a questioning glance and she nodded.
He pulled the sword from its sheath and laid it across his hands as he’d done in her bedchamber.
Boisin motioned to Ciara. “Take the handle, one hand above the other.”
Remembering what had happened the last time she’d touched it, Ciara hesitated.
Boisin patted her shoulder. “Do not fear the visions, lass. They will lead you to the stone.”
She nodded, bit her lip and did as the elder had instructed, taking the handle of the sword and moving it so the tip pointed toward the rocky floor of the sacred cave. The handle grew hot against her palms immediately.
“Lend her your strength, dragon,” Boisin instructed.
And Eirik’s arms came around Ciara, his heat surrounding her like a blanket of safety, his hands curving over hers, promising strength if hers gave out. Peace stole over her and she relaxed against him.
Trusting her mate to keep her safe, her eyes drifted shut.
“Can you feel the presence of the stone in these caves?” Boisin asked her as if from the end of a tunnel.
She thought about
it, letting her wolf connect to the spirit of the stone through her grasp on the sword. “I feel the presence of Chrechte magic.” Profound magic. “But not the stone.”
“Good. For it does not reside here,” Boisin said in that strangely distant voice again. “Now allow your spirit to seek it. Do not fear whatever may come. You are safe in the arms of your dragon mate.”
She was safe, more safe than she had ever been. She could let the visions come and they would not harm her, nor anyone she loved.
She did as Boisin said, letting her senses seek outward as far as they would go in search of the Faolchú Chridhe. And between one breath and the next, she was in the cavern again, with the aged kelle.
The woman did not look through her this time, but met her gaze with eyes the same shade of deep green. “You are the one.”
No time or inclination for false modesty, Ciara dipped her head in acknowledgment.
“I am glad. There is both strength and goodness in your heart.”
“Thank you.”
“I am sorry for the years the dreams have beset you.”
“They are not your fault.”
“They are.” The old woman frowned, looking guilty but resolute. “I prevented you from finding the stone until you had a worthy protector.”
Galen had been her protector when the dreams started. “My brother was not worthy.”
“He was deceived by the Fearghall. He wanted to believe himself superior, as your father did.”
Chapter 22
Among all the kinds of serpents, there is none comparable to the Dragon.
—EDWARD TOPSELL
Ciara felt no surprise her father had been a member of the Fearghall. He certainly had ascribed to the first Fearghall’s belief that men were more valuable than women.
Yet, she felt compelled to say, “I am sorry.”
“Their pride is not your sin.” The kelle sighed. “No more than my son’s sins are my own. Though I am responsible for calling the conriocht spirit to him.”
“Did you know of the flaws in his character before you used the stone to bless him with the conriocht?”
The kelle shook her head, grief shining in her eyes. “I knew we did not need more protectors, but he was my son. His belief in his supremacy came after he learned to shift into the conriocht.”
“I am sorry,” Ciara said again.
But peace stole over the kelle’s features. “It was a long time ago. What happened when I walked the earth no longer has the power to hurt. Even Fearghall has seen the truth of love and embraced it.”
Ciara couldn’t help wondering how many centuries that had taken. “Where did you hide the Faolchú Chridhe?”
“Somewhere my son and those who took on his name would never have considered looking.” The kelle’s sadness had returned and was palpable. “He was too fond of war, respected the power to kill above all others. He had no respect for the power to heal, though his own mate was a gifted raven who had no need of the sacred stone to heal the most grievous injury.”
“His mate was raven?” Ciara asked in shock.
“Yes, he killed her the same night he took my life.”
“I…” To say she was sorry was simply not enough. Not in the face of such treachery.
“His refusal to believe in the power of love over might led to his downfall and eventually the fall of the Faol.”
“MacAlpin was his descendant.”
“Aye, along with a great many good Chrechte.”
Ciara looked around the cavern, taking notice of the carvings and their significance. The story of a mighty warrior and his protection of the Faol was told in picture along one part of the stone wall. “Fearghall was not all bad.”
“No, he was not.” The kelle smiled softly. “Thank you for understanding that. It is yet more proof of your good heart.”
Ciara did not comment on that. “Where would he and those who came after not think to look?”
“Deep in the earth. He was convinced his wife stole the Faolchú Chridhe and she had an abhorrence for dark, small places. As many of the Éan do to this day. It is not a natural thing for them to go deep in the earth when they crave the sky, particularly not to a place that requires a long journey through a tight, dark tunnel.”
“Was it in the sacred caves of the Donegal or the MacLeod?” Ciara asked, not recalling ever hearing of a cavern that required such a journey to reach.
The kelle’s brows drew together in confusion. “I do not know these names. Are they warriors of your pack?”
“No. They are the names associated with territories.”
“Like hunting grounds? You name them now, rather than warring over the right to them?”
“There is still plenty of fighting.”
The kelle gave a twisted smile. “I suppose there is.” She frowned in thought and then said, “The caves were ones the kelle used only for healing.”
“And Fearghall had no interest in healing.”
“No. He killed my sister priestesses in his fury at the loss of the stone, never to realize they were the only ones who might have led him to it or who could truly draw on its power.”
“Where are these caves?” Ciara asked, a sense of time running short assailing her.
“Do you know the most sacred caves used by the Faol, the Éan and the Paindeal?”
“The Paindeal left the Highlands centuries past.”
The kelle winced. “Because of Fearghall?”
“Yes. You did not know?”
“I know only what I have learned when called into dreams of the Chrechte since my death. It has not happened often and never before have I been able to converse so freely as I am doing with you.”
“Others claim my connection to the stone is very strong.”
“As strong as my own.” The priestess nodded as if to herself and then smiled reassuringly. “It will lead you to itself.”
“I hope so. The seer Boisin says if I do not find it, the Faol will all die from the Black Death.”
“It is coming.” A different kind of grief shone in the kelle’s eyes. “You must learn to connect to the Faolchú Chridhe and save our people.”
“I want to.” And it was the first time Ciara had ever genuinely felt that.
“Then you will. The caves…perhaps only the Éan and the Faol use them now?”
“There is a sacred place I know of that is like that. It has been used as long as anyone can remember. Hot springs bubble up into a large pool in the cavern used for the mating ceremony.”
“That sounds like the caves of which I speak.” The kelle sounded both pleased by Ciara’s intelligence and relieved. “Two days’ journey south and half a day going west from that place will take you to the healing caves.”
“Walking, or running as the wolf?” Ciara asked before trying to determine where the directions the kelle had given indicated.
“Running as a wolf. Walking takes so long,” the kelle said with a puzzled frown. “The wolf can run from dawn to dusk.”
Ciara did some quick thinking. That would be on MacLeod land, but not the sacred caves Talorc had spoken of. “Are there landmarks nearby?”
And would they still be there so many hundreds of years later?
“The healing caves are in a dell with a small river running through it. We called it Kyle Kirksonas.”
Hopefully Mairi would know where the narrow river of the healing place of worship was and what dell it ran through. Perhaps it was still called Kyle Kirksonas by the MacLeod. Place names did not change so quickly in the Highlands.
The kelle’s face twisted in thought. “The entrance to the caves is in the steepest brae, a hillside entirely of stone. It looks like part of the brae, but it is not.”
The stone wall that was not. “How will we find it then?” Ciara asked.
“There is a place on the wall carved with our Chrechte symbol for healing. It is this high and about this large,” the kelle said, making a circle with her hands about as large as a baby’s face
and near her eye level. “You must press the center with one of the small children from the Faolchú Chridhe.”
“You mean the stones like the one you wear in your circlet?” Ciara asked.
The kelle touched the tiny emerald dangling in the center of her forehead and smiled. “Yes. One of the children, though the key to our healing caves is bigger.”
It was a good thing there were “children,” as the kelle called them, in the handle of Ciara’s dirk and hilt of her brother’s sword. Hopefully one of them was of the right size to be the key.
An insistent noise buzzed at Ciara’s consciousness and the kelle looked as if she heard it, too. “It is time for you to leave this place and return to your world.”
“You will go back to wherever you were?”
“My spirit is always with God.” The kelle smiled, this one filled with a beautiful peace. “But when I am called to a dream, the form I had upon death is the one that comes.”
“It was an honor to meet you, kelle.”
“And you as well, princess of the Faol. Never doubt, we will meet again.”
Ciara went limp in Eirik’s arms and he grabbed her, allowing the sword to fall to the ground.
The Balmoral picked it up and put it back in the sheath on Eirik’s back. “Is she well?”
“I do not know.” And the possibility that she was not caused feelings inside Eirik that he was far from accustomed to experiencing.
Like terror.
Her breathing had grown increasingly shallow while she was in her vision, her color leaching from her skin until Ciara looked near death. If it were not for the faint but steady beat of her heart, he would be lost. As it was, he wanted to rip someone’s head off, preferably any Faol who still followed Fearghall, since the one responsible for the loss of the Faolchú Chridhe to the wolves was far beyond Eirik’s reach.
“She’ll be fine. The lass just needs a bit of rest,” Boisin assured them.
“You have seen this before?” Eirik demanded.
“Oh, aye…the more powerful and prolonged the vision, the more it will take out of you. But a little sleep and some food and she’ll be back to rights again.”
Eirik swept his wife into his arms. “Where is the healing chamber?”
