Eternal Love: The Immortal Witch Series

by Maggie Shayne

  He looked as if he’d been hit between the eyes for a moment. Then he frowned at her. “It willna matter,” he said, his voice growing sharper now. “Tis time, Arianna, canna you see that?”

  “Why?” she insisted. “Tell me why. Tell me now or go away. Why, Angus?”

  “My mother is ailing, woman!” he blurted all at once. “How much longer do you expect her to run that household and care for me and my da and my younger brothers? ‘Tis your place, an’ the time has come for you to take it.”

  She rose, and the look in her eyes as she glared at him made me shiver, even from the distance between us. I actually feared for the lad for just a moment. I rose from my hiding place in the rushes without a thought.

  “‘Tis nay my place.” She poked him in the chest with a forefinger. “Tis neither my mother, nor my household, nor my brothers need carin’ for,” she said, poking him three more times. “I willna marry you, Angus. Not now and not ever, so you might as well stop with your askin’.”

  “You . . . you . . .” His face reddened. “You canna do that! You’re my betrothed! You canna—”

  “Katie McDaniel would swoon on the spot should you ask for her hand. Go find you a woman who wants you, Angus. ‘Twill never be me. I’d sooner go to prison, for that’s what life as a wife here would be like. Prison. Servitude. But there is more than that out there awaitin’ me, an’ I’ll find it someday. I vow I will, or die in the search.”

  He stared at her, dumbfounded. “Who’s been puttin’ such wild notions into your head, woman?” Then he looked at the ground when she didn’t answer. “Can it be true, what they’re sayin’? Can it be true, after all?”

  “Can what be true?” She looked exasperated with the entire discussion.

  Angus lifted his head, and with a sigh of apparent surrender, reached out to her. “No matter. No matter at all, not now. Will you give me your hand, then? A gesture of friendship in parting?”

  I went stiff, a little chill of warning creeping into my nape. Even as I started forward, she offered her delicate hand. Angus took it and gripped her hand hard. Too hard. I saw the alarm in her eyes, saw her try to pull free, and I raced toward them. But Angus had a blade in his free hand now, and with a ruthless swipe of it, he cut her. Blood sprayed from her wrist and she screamed. The sound cut right to my heart. Angus jumped backward, wide-eyed, terrified, first at the way she bled, and then as he caught sight of me bearing down on him.

  “I dinna mean . . . they say a witch doesna bleed when ye cut ‘em! They say a witch doesna bleed–”

  My fist crushed the better part of his face, and when he landed hard on his back, he was blessedly silent. I turned and gathered Arianna close as her knees began to give. I closed my hand firmly around her wrist, slowing the blood flow with pressure. I didn’t want her to die, only to revive into a new life; an endless life of fighting just to stay alive. Not yet. Not when she was so young, so innocent. She’d never survive.

  “There, lie back, lass. I have you.”

  “I’ll kill him,” she whispered through grated teeth. “That simpering, superstitious lout!” She lifted her head to eye the wound. “I’ll bleed to death.”

  “You know I won’t allow that to happen. Lie back, Arianna.”

  She did, reclining half across my lap, her side pressed to my chest. I tore a strip of cloth from her skirt and wrapped her wrist up tight. She winced in reaction and bit her lip. “I’m sorry it hurts you, lass.”

  “Fear not, Nicodimus. I’m committin’ every bit of this pain to memory, so that I can visit it back upon him.”

  “Hush.” I tied a knot in the makeshift bandage. “You’ll need stitching. Can you stand?”

  She nodded, and then clung to my neck as I got to my feet. She tried to stand without aid and wobbled a bit. I eased her into the crook of my arm. “Come down to the water’s edge, and I’ll wash some of the blood away.”

  “My head is spinnin’,” she whispered, but she walked beside me, lowering her head as she sank down into the grass beside the water. This time, she remained sitting up on her own, as I tore at my clothing and used the scraps to bathe her with loch water. Gently, I wiped the blood from her slender forearm. She sat still and silent, contemplating the loch as before. I rinsed the scrap of cloth, squeezed it out, and moved to her face, wiping as carefully as I could. Then I paused, my heart tripping, as I saw a teardrop slip down her cheek.

  “Don’t cry, Arianna,” I said, and I washed it gently away.

  She whispered, “‘Tis ironic, dinna you think? Now both the Sinclair sisters’ blood nourishes this water.”

  “Then this water must be very special indeed,” I said softly.

  She met and held my gaze. Her eyes were so brown and deep . . . and filled with far more pain and wisdom than a girl of nearly eighteen should know. She touched a palm to my cheek. “You likely saved my life just now, Nicodimus.”

  I shook my head, and concentrated on cleaning her face, trying to keep my touch cool and impersonal. “‘Twould take more than a cut such as that one to do you in.”

  She opened her mouth as if she would argue the point, but as she did, she spotted her beau on the ground. Her eyes widened, and I followed her gaze to where he lay. His nose broken, lip bleeding. I supposed I hit him a mite harder than I should.

  “Mercy,” Arianna said with a gasp. “Have you done him to death?”

  “I think not. He moaned a moment ago. And don’t pity him, Arianna. He didn’t get half the beating he deserves.” I scooped her up into my arms, cleaner now. At least not covered in enough blood to send her mother into a dead faint should she catch sight of her. “I never could abide a man who’d harm a lass.”

  Looking back at the lad, she told him softly, “Think how surprised you’ll be, foolish Angus MacClennan, when you learn once and for all that witches do bleed.”

  I knew exactly what she was thinking, though it didn’t take any magic to do so. Her thoughts were writ clear across her face. “If you think you can go about wielding magic for such petty causes as vengeance, lass, then you’ve had poor teachers.”

  She blinked up at me. “Are you admittin’ you know of such things personally, Nicodimus?”

  I scowled at her. “I’m only saying young Angus has done you a favor. He’ll consider this proof of your innocence.” I nodded toward her bandaged wrist. “Though I’d like to throttle him for it, all the same.”

  Her smile was sweet and slow. “You care for me far more than you know,” she whispered.

  I ignored that remark, finding it far too close to the truth. “When word gets out that Angus cut you and you nearly bled to death, then the speculation about you might well die.” I glanced down at her. “At least, until you do something to revive it all over again.”

  “Superstitious fools, all of them. They’ll never let it die. They’ll say the blood was an illusion, a trick, that I conjured the blood to appear and flow just to fool him.’“ She tilted her head. “At least Da canna expect me to marry the whelp now.”

  “Ahhh, you owe him for two favors, then.”

  She glared at me, and then sighed. “Where are you takin’ me, Nicodimus?”

  “To the keep.”

  “The keep,” she whispered, and her eyes turned to stare off at the fortress-like structure. Her slender arms clung more tightly to my neck, and her head rested upon my shoulder as I strode with her along the craggy path up the hill to the massive stone structure at its top.

  “Surely you’ve been in the keep before, Arianna,” I said teasingly. “You’ve nothing to fear there.”

  “Aye, I’ve been inside before. An’ I dinna fear it, Nicodimus. You’ve misread me entirely. I was born to live in a castle keep, and one far finer than this.” She smiled up at me. “Just as I was born to be with you, Nicodimus.”

  Chapter 4

  ARIANNA ROCKED AGAINST Nicodimus’s broad chest when he scooped her up into his arms and strode toward the keep. His arms were clamped securely around her, like some sort
of protective armor. His scent surrounded her, warm and musky and male. And this close to him, she could see the tiny bits of stubble that made his cheeks appear shadowed. Beautiful, he was. She’d never known a man so beautiful. And she knew she’d never felt so safe. She didn’t like the idea that she needed a man to make her feel this way. She’d never needed a man for anything, and she’d vowed she never would. But wanting a man, well, she supposed that was a far different matter. Not wanting this one, with his angular face and his wizard’s eyes, that would be impossible.

  Behind them, she heard Angus groaning. Raising her head to look back over Nicodimus’s shoulder, Arianna saw that Angus’s face was a mottled mess as he stirred himself to sit up. Nicodimus didn’t so much as glance backward at the boy. And she knew, even more surely now than she’d known before, that he felt something very powerful for her. It was there in the hard set of his jaw, in the furrow between his brows. In the way he cradled her against his hard chest so carefully even while his broad strides ate up the distance to the keep. And in the way he paused ever so briefly, and closed his eyes tight when the wind blew her hair into his face.

  Arianna felt a rush of uncertainty when he carried her through the outer gates and into the courtyard. Sounds of clanging metal rang in her ears. Men practiced with their swords, fighting one another in mock battle. Off to the left, there were men who shot arrows at straw stuffed targets fashioned in the shapes of men. Everywhere she looked, curious eyes in sweaty, wary faces seemed to greet her. To a man, they stopped what they were doing when they saw Nicodimus carrying her past. She could almost hear their thoughts as they stared at her. What sort of trouble has the fool girl got into this time?

  Laird Lachlan would not be pleased with her. True enough, Angus’s attack had not been her fault, but the laird would not likely see it that way. She was the one whose behavior had stirred suspicious minds to wild speculation. She was the one who’d caused the tongues to wag.

  She couldn’t help but stiffen in nervous anticipation as Nicodimus carried her nearer to the huge, banded doors.

  Nicodimus looked down at her as he strode closer. “What is it, Arianna?”

  She shrugged, averting her eyes. “I’m hardly dressed proper to be visitin’ the keep. Look at me. Barefoot.”

  “You’ve been barefoot every time I’ve seen you.” His gaze was indulgent and slightly amused.

  “My dress is but poor tartan, an’ stained with blood an’ loch water at that, Nicodimus. Perhaps I ought simply return to my mam an’ let her tend the wound.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond, she peered up at him, only to see his deliriously full lips curving at the corners. “Was it not you I just heard telling your beau that there was more awaiting you in this world than a dirt-floor croft and a life of servitude? Or was that some other barefoot hellion?” He shook his head.

  “So you were spyin’ on us the whole time, were you?”

  “I’d say ‘tis a good thing I was.” She pressed her lips shut tight, but he ignored her lack of response. “Joseph will have to know what happened sooner or later, Arianna. I cannot believe a girl of your spirit is afraid of her own chieftain.”

  “I’m nay afraid of any man!”

  Nicodimus lifted one brow. “Good. You’ve no need to be. And don’t worry yourself about your state of dress, Arianna. You shame the sun, and I think you know it. What you might be wearing has little to do with it And I doubt it would have any bearing on Joseph’s mood at any rate.”

  A thrill of warm liquid pleasure spilled into her belly. “Are you sayin’ you think I’m beautiful, then, Nicodimus Lachlan?”

  Nicodimus’s eyes darkened from a gleaming topaz-blue to the shade of sapphires at midnight. “You’re beautiful. But there is more than mere beauty shining from those brown eyes.”

  “What more?” Her words came out on a breathless whisper.

  He seemed to force his lingering gaze away from her face, and with a ragged sigh and a sharp shake of his head, resumed walking. “It is dangerous ground I’m treading. Best we speak of something else.”

  “Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me what you see when you look into my eyes, Nicodimus.”

  He looked down at her once more, and it almost seemed as if he could see right to her soul. He held her gaze with his, exerting some unseen force, even when she would have looked away. His eyes probed for a long moment, and what she saw in them was so intense, so powerful that it nearly frightened her.

  An instant later the large, arching door opened, and he never answered her question. Laird Joseph Lachlan appeared in the doorway, a strikingly beautiful woman at his side. Arianna had seen the dark, exotic woman in Stonehaven before. She seemed to come and go as irregularly as Nicodimus himself did. But she seldom set foot in the village, and seemed to hold herself aloof from the clan in the keep. No one seemed to know from whence she came. That she was a foreigner was obvious. That she was well liked and welcomed by the clan chieftain, equally so. And if Laird Lachlan trusted her, then that was enough for his clan. Few asked questions.

  But from the first moment Arianna had seen her, she’d burned with curiosity over the woman’s background. The mysterious woman exchanged a lingering, searching glance with Nicodimus that made Arianna want to leap from his arms and claw out her eyes. ‘Twas obvious they knew one another. And well.

  Her eyes were ebon, slanted, and lined in black. Jewels dangled from her ears and a single ruby pierced her nose. So many bracelets adorned her wrists that they made music when she moved, and around her neck she wore at least as many pendants on chains. She was willow slender, and very tall–taller than most men, in fact. Her hair hung to her waist, blue-black and shining, and perfectly straight. And her skin was a flawless shade of bronze.

  She met Arianna’s gaze, and her expression did not change. She was stone-faced, no smile of welcome, no frown of concern. Nothing. Just a gaze that made Arianna feel measured and weighed and judged all at once.

  “Come, bring her inside,” Laird Lachlan said, stepping aside, holding the door. “I saw you comin’ and summoned Nidaba. What’s happened to her?”

  Arianna stiffened in his arms as Nicodimus swept through the doors and into the great hall. Endless distance loomed above her, to the concave ceiling. She shivered at a chill so deep it seemed to reach out and touch her bones.

  “Her devoted husband-to-be cut her,” Nicodimus said. “To see whether she would bleed, he claimed.”

  The sound of conversation abruptly ceased as people in the great hall all turned toward Arianna. A lad with his arms loaded down with wood for the fire, the men who stood ‘round the plank table deep in some discussion, the women performing various chores–everyone stared at Arianna so intently she thought their looks were burned into her skin. Nidaba muttered a word Arianna didn’t recognize, but from the sound of it, it might have been a curse. She had no inkling whether it was directed at her or at Angus. The woman looked briefly into Arianna’s eyes and then away.

  “I will tend the girl,” she said, her voice as deep and rich as a vat of spring honey, with an accent too exotic to identify. “Bring her to my chamber.”

  There was no trace of the highlands in Nidaba. Her dark skin was sun-kissed, her nails long and curving, with tiny stones somehow affixed to them. And her dress was as scandalous as any other Arianna had seen her wearing. Black and tight and anchored only at one shoulder, leaving the other, and both arms, completely bare.

  She was frightening, and Arianna did not fear much. She bristled, and told herself she could hold her own against the strange woman, should the need arise.

  The chieftain turned and waved a hand to those in the chamber. “Go about your business. The lass is nay in need of your gawkin’ at her.” His voice lower, as they scurried away, he said, “Angus MacClennan is a foolish lad, if ever there was one.” He ran one hand over his bald head and sighed, walking beside Nicodimus as Nidaba led the way through an arching doorway and into one of the many dark stone corridors. Nicod
imus carried Arianna past what seemed like endless doors, and his steps echoed like ghosts all around them. While Arianna had often been in the great hall and the kitchens, she had never before been in the private wing or invited into the chambers of those who lived here. And yet, she couldn’t stop looking ahead, at Nidaba. The woman’s black dress seemed to be made of some magical fabric that shimmered when she moved and clung to her like skin.

  “He could have killed her!” the laird muttered angrily. “How many daughters does he think her poor family can stand to lose?”

  “You can see the damage gossip can do, Joseph. The tongue-waggers who started this ought to be horsewhipped,” Nicodimus said quickly.

  “Aye, indeed. Gossip can be a deadly thing, Nic. A deadly thing.”

  Arianna cringed a bit, knowing Nicodimus likely believed her own behavior had brought this upon her as much as the gossip of the villagers had done. He had warned her, hadn’t he?

  Nidaba opened a door, and they stepped into a large chamber. It was far different from the dark, rather barren parts of the keep Arianna was familiar with. The room seemed to be of some other world, filled with the most incredible collection of exotic items Arianna had ever seen. Glittering stones of purple and blue and pink, some colorless, some multihued, lined shelves on the walls. And there were daggers–countless different shapes and sizes, all from different lands, Arianna thought, perhaps even . . . different times. They hung on the stone walls, some crossing one another, some forming triangles, some fanning out like the tail feathers of some beautiful, deadly bird.

  Nidaba waved a beringed hand toward her fur-covered bed, and Nicodimus lowered Arianna onto it. Then he stepped aside to let Nidaba move closer to her. The woman’s black eyes met hers, and the ruby in her nose seemed to glow. Arianna shivered. And then the woman touched Arianna’s forearm, clasping it to begin removing the makeshift bandage.