She had tried to lash out at him, kick him, but Lyall had jumped back, laughing at her feeble attempts. The man who held her arms pinned behind her tightened his hold, joining in the derisive laughter, his stale breath curdling in her nostrils.
Lyall stepped forward and removed the binding from her braid, fanning her hair out loose. Then he tugged at the neck of her shift, lowering the material to expose her shoulders and more of her than she would ever have shown.
“There. A much better display of our wares.” His laughter was that of a madman.
She had screamed as the hot breath of the man who held her flowed across her bared skin when he lowered his head, tracing the line of her neck with his tongue.
“No, Malcolm, I’m afraid I must deny you this. She’s no for the likes of you. We must turn her over unharmed and pure.” Lyall rubbed a strand of her hair between his fingers.
Robbed of any way to fight back, she had called him names then, spit at him before he had silenced her with a harsh backhanded blow.
“Take her to Dun Ard. Lock her in a storage room to wait for her bridegroom. He’ll beat some respect into her, I fancy.”
Mairi shivered again, the emotions fresh and raw, as if she could still feel Malcolm’s touch when he threw her across the saddle of his horse, his hands moving over her body on the ride back to Dun Ard.
Lying back down, she consciously slowed her panicked breathing, waiting for her racing heart to slow as well. She wiped at the tears silently tracking down her face and renewed her determination.
Rosalyn had been like a mother to her and deserved better than to lose her only daughter. Mairi would not allow the fear to prevent her from going back to help her aunt. It was time to face the fear, to move beyond it.
Tomorrow she would take the first step by claiming her right to the magic.
Tomorrow she would go to the Faerie Glen and confront Pol.
Three
THE FAERIE GLEN
SCOTLAND
PRESENT DAY
The strap of Mairi’s small backpack slipped off her shoulder again and she stopped, dropping the bag as she sat down on an old log beside the trail.
Her hands shook as she fumbled with the strapping. She couldn’t allow herself time to think about what she was getting ready to do. She’d done all her thinking, all her planning before she left home.
Home.
Had she left home or come back to it?
No more of that. There was no room for doubt.
She was very close now. She was sure of it. Not that she had ever been in the Faerie Glen before. There had never been a reason for her to be here.
Until now.
Still, she recognized it from the stories she’d heard. Cate and Jesse both had described Cate’s visit to this place. It certainly lived up to their descriptions. It was cool, quiet and lush with growth brought about by a wet climate. After almost a decade away, she’d nearly forgotten the odor of a moist woodlands, the smell of green, and the spongy feel of the ground beneath her feet.
She stood and hoisted the pack to her shoulder. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the scents of this forest. Memories beat at the door she kept so tightly shut, each one demanding its release. She refused them their exit. Just her olfactory system in hyperdrive. She’d read the studies about odor triggering memories. Their conclusions were much more convincing now that she experienced it for herself.
The stream widened as she moved deeper into the forest. She heard the waterfall up ahead, could visualize how it would look as the water rushed over the rocks, falling into the deep emerald pool.
His pool.
What if he refused to see her? The flurry of panic assaulted her again, but, as before, she brushed it away. She wouldn’t allow him to ignore her. She would…
What?
For once she wished she were a bit more like her brother. Wished she had done more planning and less barging in. Wished she were less impetuous. Wished she were less afraid.
Pushing through the branches and forest growth, she entered a clearing. Ahead of her a waterfall tumbled down into a deep emerald pool ringed with trees whose branches were covered in bits of cloth.
The heart of the Faerie Glen. Pol’s home.
She walked to the edge of the pool and squatted down, shrugging her backpack off her shoulders. Unzipping the bag, she rummaged inside and pulled out a water bottle.
The Glen stilled for a moment, silent, as if holding its breath, waiting for her to make the next move.
But Mairi wasn’t ready yet. As a woman surrounded all her life by warriors, she had learned a few useful things about battle. One of those was the importance of mental preparation. She needed her mind focused on the task at hand.
After a quick sip of the water, she unlaced her Merrell switchbacks and pulled them off, followed by her socks, stuffing them inside the hiking boots. She sat, her knees drawn up with her feet flat against the ground, and took a long, slow drink of the water. She concentrated on the feel of it in her mouth, the cool of it running down her throat, the damp grass beneath her feet as she wiggled her toes against the earth. It made her feel grounded, connected to the physical properties of this place.
Closing her eyes, she listened to the sounds of the forest, loud now to her ears, sensitive after the momentary silence that had greeted her. Chirping birds, irritated at her presence, rustled the leaves as they darted from tree to tree.
As she opened her eyes, a stray sunbeam filtered through the branches heavy with their cloth adornments and glinted off the emerald band on her toe. The ring Cate had given her so very long ago.
Cate. Her sister-in-law had been here, in this very place, and had done this very thing, had challenged their ancestor and demanded the right to save the man she loved. If Cate could do it, so could she, though her quest wasn’t for the sake of a man. She’d long ago accepted that any hope for a true love intended for her by the Fates had been left behind in time along with the family whose loss she mourned.
Shaking her head against the unwanted memories, Mairi stood and brushed the damp grass and leaves from the seat of her walking shorts. She was happy in this time, had advantages and opportunities she could never have imagined had she not come here. Even so, she often felt as if she had one foot in each world, in each time, yet truly belonged to neither.
Since she’d learned of the others, of what she might have been, should have been, she couldn’t help but wonder. If only she’d been allowed the power of her birthright, the whole of her history, and that of her family, might have been very different.
No matter. Now she intended to claim that birthright and make a difference for Rosalyn and Marsali Rose.
She faced the water and held her head high, tossing her braid over her shoulder. She had no reason to cower, no need to feel apprehension at being here. After all, this Fae owed her. Her and the multitude of women in her family, both before and after her, who had been abandoned by him.
“My name is Mairi MacKiernan. I seek an audience with Pol, Prince of the Fae,” she called, her voice echoing off the rocks, bouncing back at her from the water.
Nothing happened.
Not surprising. The old legends spoke of the temperamental nature of the Fae.
She spread her feet, placed her hands on her hips and tried again, more forcefully. “I demand my right to speak with Pol. Now.”
A gentle breeze fluttered through the Glen, lifting little hairs that had escaped from her braid, causing them to tickle her face and neck. The wind grew, blowing across the pond, raising ripples, slapping them against the bank near her feet.
“By what right do you make this demand?”
The words drifted as if carried on the wind, a multitude of voices speaking in harmony echoing in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she actually heard them or only imagined them. She chose to answer anyway.
“By right of birth. I am one of Pol’s daughters.”
The wind calmed, swirled about her, stroking her face, her shoulders,
her body. She had the fleeting vision of tiny hands sliding over her skin, caressing her.
“That is not possible. Go from this place. Leave us now.” The multitude of voices united in their command. The water calmed as the breeze withdrew.
“I won’t leave this place until I see my ancestor.”
“You do not belong here. You do not carry the mark of our Prince.” Fewer voices now, still in unison, neither masculine nor feminine.
“I carry no mark because it was stolen from me along with my birthright.”
“Impossible!”
The word echoed loudly, joined by a multitude of discordant denials. Mairi longed to cover her ears with her hands in an attempt to block the sound, but she remained still, holding her ground. Individual shouts, repeated, echoed, bounced around the Glen in a cacophony of indignation until one single command rose above the clamor.
“Silence!”
The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. As the word rang out, everything stilled—the shouts, the birds, even the breeze ceased.
“Who would have dared such treachery?” A single low voice, distinctly masculine in nature, came from behind her.
She turned slowly, knowing who the speaker had to be.
He looked exactly as Cate had described him. Tall, taller than she, with long blond hair framing his face, sweeping his broad shoulders, and tilted eyes the brilliant green of the forest, though they sparked with anger at this moment.
Pol.
“You dared.”
She spoke the words quietly, pleased by the startled expression that passed swiftly over his face. At least he didn’t simply disappear. The arrogant arch of his eyebrow that followed reminded her of her brother.
“Explain yourself, Mairi MacKiernan.” He crossed his arms and waited.
“You acknowledge that I am yer descendant?” It was important to her to know where she stood before she went any further. Everything she sought depended on this man. She was prepared to say or do whatever it took to convince him of her need.
Dropping his arms, and his frown, he approached her, reaching out to run a finger down her cheek. His touch felt exactly like the breeze that had caressed her before.
“I recognize the set of your jaw, the color of your eyes, the beauty of your face.” His hand dropped away. “You are my daughter, though I don’t understand why you carry no mark. I specifically set it on all my daughters to insure your protection.”
“No all yer daughters. Only a chosen few. And those of us without it were even cheated out of whatever gifts we would have had if you’d no intervened.”
His eyes narrowed. “Again, I must insist that you explain yourself.”
“The legend of yer blessing has been carefully passed from one generation to the next in my family. ‘My blessing on my daughters, and thus my accompanying curse, will carry forward for all time, passed from mother to daughter.’ Sound familiar?” She watched as his eyes clouded with memory.
“Yes.” His answer so quiet, she barely heard the first, but his voice strengthened. “My exact words. Spoken in anger and sorrow, but spoken to guarantee the safety of all my daughters from that day forward.”
“No. No all, no by any stretch. Those words guarantee the safety of the daughters of yer daughters. ‘Passed from mother to daughter,’ you said. But what about the daughters of yer sons? Did you never think of us? Did you never care that we were excluded from the blessing? Left without even the gifts our Fae blood would have given us were it no for yer interference?”
Pol looked confused. “I never considered…”
She cut him off. “Obviously you never considered. Never cared. Do you have any idea how many of yer daughters you abandoned, how many of us have stood by watching our families suffer, yet have no way of helping, no more power than a mere Mortal. Women who were forced into marriages they dinna want. Beaten. Murdered.” As she would have been had she stayed in her own time.
“What proof do you have of these things?”
“I am one of those forgotten daughters. I know this firsthand.”
Pol’s hand went to his heart. “I never intended…my words were meant to…” He stepped backward, sinking to sit on the boulder behind him. “I had no idea.”
“Words are powerful, especially when spoken by one such as yerself. Action taken in haste, in the heat of emotion, rarely yields the desired result.” Connor had lectured her with those very words a million times. She never thought she’d be turning them on someone else.
“I only wanted to protect my daughters from the pain their mother had suffered.”
“Yet I’m yer daughter as much as any other. Yer blood flows in my body as surely as in those who received yer mark, does it no?”
He looked up, a sad little smile on his face as he rose and glided to her. “It does indeed. My blood and that of my beloved Rose.” Reaching out, he again stroked her face. “You look so very like her. You are a daughter of my heart.”
The wistfulness in his voice struck at her, preventing her from continuing to rage against the man.
“What would you have of me, Mairi? Where do I begin to make amends?”
“I want what’s mine by rights. I want the gifts of my Fae blood denied me by yer blessing. I want my rightful powers restored to me and to all those other women like me.”
He stepped back, arms crossed, one hand lifted to his chin, his forefinger tapping against his bottom lip thoughtfully, as if he were assessing her request. His eyes narrowed, watching her as he paced.
“Where are the men of your family, daughter? The ones who should be guarding you even now? Your father, your brothers, your husband?”
“My father is long dead. My brother is protecting his own wife and children. I have no husband.” Will never have one. Since there could be no true love for her, she would never marry. “I live in a time when women take care of themselves.”
Pol watched her silently, his brow wrinkling before he finally spoke again. “There are dangers to you as my daughter that other women of your time don’t face. You need a man to protect you. A Guardian.”
“I dinna require a guardian or a bodyguard or anything else. I can take care of myself.” Saying the words out loud, she momentarily felt like her old self, like the Mairi she had been nine years ago, before her cousin’s betrayal stripped away every shred of her confidence.
For the first time since she’d met him, Pol smiled. A genuine smile of amusement. One that quickly vented itself in lilting musical laughter that filled the Glen, echoing off the rocks and the water. “You certainly have the arrogance to be my child. I sense you are a woman who follows the rule of her heart rather than her head. But what of your heart? Why do you believe there is no true love for you?”
How did he know that? How could she explain?
“Because my life is no my own. I dinna belong anywhere. I live between two times. In my own time I was to have died, so there would never have been a love for me there. This time I inhabit now is no my own, so there can be no one fated for me here.”
“You have much to learn about the ways of the Fates. Tell me, child, why do you come to me now? What do you wish to do that requires these powers you seek?”
Mairi hesitated. He might deny her right to save her cousin, as her family had. But she needed his help to proceed. And she felt strongly that nothing less than total honesty would sway Pol.
“It is for another of yer daughters. One who lived long ago, whose life was cut short unnecessarily. I want to save her to repay a debt to her mother, the woman who raised me after my own mother’s death.”
“Is that all? Simply to repay a debt?”
“To repay a debt and to find my place in the world. I feel it’s my destiny to do this.”
Pol watched her, silently mulling over her request, long enough that she grew uncomfortable. If he planned to refuse, he should just do it, not prolong the agony. When she thought she could stand the silence no more, he spoke.
“Very well,
Daughter of my Heart, I have searched your soul and seen your need. I grant you all you ask. And more.”
Before she could reply, a tingling sensation started in her toes, like tiny butterfly wings brushing over her skin. It traveled up to her head, to the very roots of her hair, and out to the tips of her fingers, growing, pulsing, heating her skin. The sensations overwhelmed her, continuing to build and swirl around and through her. She felt them center in her chest, burning and expanding until, with one final burst of power, there was nothing.
It left her breathless, weak, exhilarated.
Pol smiled at her. “The Fates have a way of bringing you what you need when you least expect it.” He gently kissed her temple. “The Fates and the Fae. Go seek your destiny, child.”
“What?” She drew back in surprise but he was gone, the warm tingling of her skin the only reminder that he had been there at all.
She walked to the pond’s edge and retrieved her backpack from the spot where she had dropped it. She picked up the water bottle, which had rolled to the side, and placed it in her pack. A moment later, she stuffed her boots in beside the bottle.
The pond was still, the Glen silent, as if nothing had happened at all. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe she wanted it so badly she had allowed her imagination to control her reality.
Slinging the pack onto her back, she turned to leave the Faerie Glen.
The leaves rustled with a wind she couldn’t feel and words drifted through her mind, vibrating in her chest:
“Remember, my daughter, with power comes responsibility. Playing with time is a most dangerous game. One whose rules you must never break. You cannot change the outcome of history. You can only alter the circumstances. To do otherwise would invite disaster of a magnitude you cannot imagine.”
Lifting a hand to her breast, she felt the vibrations resonating there long after the words were gone.
She hadn’t imagined that. It was real.
She was free to do what needed to be done. To fulfill her destiny.
Four
SITHEAN FARDACH
SCOTLAND
Soul of a Highlander Page 3
