by Amy Tolnitch
“Sorry?” He looked at her, wondering if he’d ever really understood anything about her. This woman was a stranger. “So am I. I lost my wife because you were too afraid to help her. Ailie lost her mother. Damn you!” He turned to leave, rage and disgust at himself roiling through his mind. He had never struck a woman in his life, but, by God, he was tempted.
“I am helping your daughter now,” Iosobal whispered to his back.
He stopped and turned, feeling as if a veil had suddenly been ripped from his eyes. “You knew,” he said slowly. “’Tis why you agreed to aid Ailie.”
She shook her head. “No, I—”
He curled his lips in derision. “But you did not tell me. You let me believe you were caring for Ailie out of kindness, when all along it was because you knew you had let her mother die.”
Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head back and forth.
Lugh was not moved. “You let me take you as a man takes a woman, knowing that you were the one who sentenced my wife to death,” he spat.
“I did not know.”
“I do not believe you. I remember when I brought Ailie to you. You looked at her as if you recognized her. At the time, I dismissed it as my imagination, but now I know the truth. You did recognize her because you had seen her mother.”
“Nay. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but it was not until now that I even fully recalled the dream!”
Lugh gritted his teeth. She lied. Trying to defend herself when there was no defense. “If you were anyone other than the Lady of Parraba, I would slay you where you stand.”
Her face blanched and she took a step back.
He stalked out the door.
IOSOBAL RECOILED AS LUGH SLAMMED THE DOOR BEHIND him. She slumped down onto the window seat and let the tears roll down her face.
He had every right to be angry. Memories trickled into her mind now, her mental shield splintered. She remembered everything, could envision Agatha clearly. She had been a beautiful woman, even in her illness. And she had fought to live. Fought hard. But it had not been enough. And Iosobal had known it.
She bowed her head, guilt and shame spiraling through her until her chest ached with it. But other memories intruded. The hate-filled gazes of the villagers. The shock she’d felt when they dragged her from the boy’s cottage. The look of disbelief and fear on his young face as they lit the flames, chanting “Death to the witch.”
Her mother’s expression of sorrow and understanding when she’d held Iosobal as she’d sobbed out her story. Stay on Parraba, her mother had said. ’Tis the only place for us.
Out in the sea, she spotted Amphitrite and Poseidon leaping and splashing, playing without a care in the world. How she envied them. For the dolphins, life was simple, each day the same as the day before.
Her life would never be the same again.
Lugh was right—she’d let fear and bitterness prevent her from saving his wife.
How could he ever forgive that?
Chapter
XVIII
That night, Lugh slept with Ailie wrapped closely in his arms. Or tried to sleep. He needed Ailie desperately, needed to hold onto something real, needed the reminder of what was important in his life.
He felt as if his face was frozen in an expression of disbelief and shame. Images of Agatha spilled through his mind. Her surprise when she’d found him in the bathhouse at Falcon’s Craig. The sweetness of her smile when they’d wed. Her tears of joy at Ailie’s birth. So many memories.
All of which he’d betrayed by falling in love with the one woman who could have saved Agatha, but had allowed her to die.
His grip on Ailie tightened.
But his thoughts wouldn’t rest. The story Iosobal told was not that surprising. Even her own villagers feared her, though they enjoyed the bounty her magic provided. He’d denied it to Iosobal, but in truth he wasn’t sure how the people of Tunvegan would have reacted to the arrival of the Lady of Parraba in their midst.
Hell, he wasn’t sure how he would have reacted.
Open the damned cave, and go home, he told himself. Take back Tunvegan from that whoreson, Lachlann, and return to your life. He vowed to see it done the next day, and put his mind to how he would draw out Lachlann.
He wanted to cut the traitor down himself.
With that cheerful image in his mind, he finally fell asleep.
LUGH STOOD IN FRONT OF THE CAVE AND SCOWLED AT Branor and Piers as they walked toward him. It was clear from the tired but pleased expressions on both of their faces that they had found what they sought in the village.
“Morning, MacKeir,” Piers said as he slapped Lugh on the back, apparently impervious to the fact that Lugh did not share his good humor this morn.
“Laird,” Branor said with a nod, then yawned wide and stretched his arms out.
“I take it you found Beatha,” Lugh remarked.
Piers grinned. “Aye. And the wench did indeed have friends.” He winked. “More than one.”
Lugh rolled his eyes. “I am pleased for you.”
“Is aught amiss, Laird?” Branor asked, eyeing him closely.
For a moment, Lugh considered sharing what he’d learned, but decided against it. He still hadn’t worked it all out in his mind. With the cool dawn, he’d been able to think past his anger, but he still felt he’d betrayed Agatha’s memory in the worst possible way. “Today, we open this be-damned cave. I tire of this place.” He shifted a rock. “I want to start for Tunvegan tomorrow.”
Piers nudged Branor. “It seems the laird did not find favor with the lady last eve.”
Lugh frowned at him, but Piers just gave him a mocking smile. “Get to work,” he told them.
With an audible sigh, Piers put himself to the task. Throughout the morning, the men worked in silence, slowly but markedly clearing the cave entrance. Lugh turned his wrath and frustration onto the rocks, removing one after the other. Though Branor and Piers occasionally stopped to swallow a drink of ale, Lugh worked on. The sun burned down on them, and Lugh stripped off his tunic but went right back to tackling another rock. He was so engrossed in his task that it took him a while to realize that Piers and Branor had halted and were staring at him.
He lifted his head. “What?”
Branor pointed.
Lugh followed the direction of his finger and smiled for the first time that day. Though a few rocks yet littered the entrance, the cave was open.
“What do you want to do?” Branor asked him.
“Discover what lies inside,” Lugh said as he started forward.
“Iosobal seemed most insistent that we not enter,” Branor said, ignoring Lugh’s dark look.
“Why?” Piers asked.
“Whatever lies within that cave is something she doesnae want us to see,” Lugh said grimly.
Piers grinned. “Then let’s go.”
They walked through a narrow tunnel into an immense chamber with more tunnels branching off further into the hillside.
“What is this place?” Piers asked, looking around.
Lugh paused and took in the chamber. From high overhead, sunlight filtered down through an opening. The very air felt different in here, heavy and strange, filled with the pungent scent of herbs. The floor was beaten earth, but the walls were absolutely astounding. Some held drawings, but others were covered in crystal, the surfaces catching the light and glowing with an otherworldly radiance. A firepit sat in the center of the chamber, and a pile of blankets occupied one corner. Other objects lay along a wall and Lugh moved closer to take a look. The objects were scattered in a jumble, but he could make out a silver chalice and a pile of what looked like jewelry.
“Do you hear that?” Piers asked in a hushed voice.
Lugh tilted his head. A faint sound flowed from one of the tunnels.
“It sounds like voices,” Branor said.
“I am going to explore,” Piers said as he vanished into one of the tunnels.
Lugh shared a
look with Branor, who knelt to examine the objects on the floor. He pulled the chalice out of the pile. “’Tis an impressive piece,” he said, running his fingers over the engravings.
“But no Templar treasure?”
Branor shook his head, his disappointment obvious. “’Tis not what I seek.”
Lugh left him to his search and walked over to study the drawings. They reminded him of the paintings on the walls of Iosobal’s unusual chamber. All manner of sea creatures were depicted, some real and some only a legend. Mermaids and mermen swam with dolphins. He edged along the wall, studying the pictures, and his boot hit something.
When he looked down, he found it, gleaming in the dirt. Iosobal’s necklace. He picked it up and felt a rush of warmth flow up his hand. It was a moonstone pendant, the large, oval gem a clear white color with hints of blue.
“You found the necklace,” Branor said.
“Aye.” Lugh held it out to him.
Branor held it up to the shaft of sunlight, but apparently felt nothing odd from the piece. “Nice,” he commented.
“Aye.” Lugh took the pendant and resumed his study of the walls. He halted before a vividly drawn painting. Blue, rippled lines evoked an image of the sea. Two figures were intertwined in an embrace, legs entangled, bodies pressed belly to belly. One was a woman with long, dark hair, her body perfectly formed, so well drawn that Lugh thought he could see the sheen of water on her skin. Though he couldn’t make out the color of her eyes in the dim light, he was certain they were purple.
His gaze fastened on the other figure and blood rushed to his head. The man was tall and dark, with a stern face and a sinewy body. Behind him rested a small boat, shrouded in low, billowing clouds. And instead of feet, he had fins.
The meaning of what Lugh was looking at gradually sunk into his brain. The man held the woman captive below the surface of the blue sea, but the expression on her face was sheer rapture.
He had heard the legends, of course, but had never paid them much heed. Here on Parraba, having seen the powers that Iosobal possessed, he was no longer so sure that the stories of selkies, mermaids, and fin-folk were not true.
The question was—which one was Iosobal?
PIERS FOLLOWED THE TUNNEL UNTIL IT EMPTIED INTO a small, sunken chamber. The walls curved up to form a dome of glistening rock. Veins of pale purple crystal snaked through the stone, catching a glint of sunlight from overhead. In the center of the chamber lay a pool of clear water.
The sound of voices had faded, but still Piers walked around the chamber listening. The only sound was the echo of his boots upon the stone. He put a hand on the wall and snatched it back when a tingling sensation shot up his arm. By Saint George’s sword, what is this place?
He dipped a hand in the water and found it pleasantly cool to the touch. The water rippled, as if something disturbed it from below. He knelt down and stared into the water.
And then he saw it. Under the water sat a golden chalice, like some treasure lost long ago at sea. He plunged a hand down and plucked it from the sandy bottom of the pool.
The first thing he noticed was that it was warm to the touch. The gold base evoked flowing rivulets from the cup, which was encrusted with dark blue gemstones. Piers let out a low whistle. A treasure indeed, he thought.
He peered through the water in the cup and blinked. At the bottom lay a large purple crystal. How odd, he thought as he scooped it up, intending on gaining a closer look.
As his fingers touched the crystal, everything went black.
LUGH AND BRANOR EMERGED FROM THE CAVE JUST IN time to see a visibly enraged Iosobal bearing down on them. “What have you done? I told you not to enter!” she yelled, planting her fists on her hips.
Branor turned away and gathered their supplies. “I am leaving this to you,” he muttered, before setting off for the palace.
“Coward,” Lugh said softly as Branor passed him. Branor just shot him a grin.
“You … you had no right to enter my cave,” Iosobal said.
Lugh shrugged.
“Where is Piers?”
“Inside.”
Iosobal bristled and stomped into the cave. Lugh followed her and leaned against one wall, his arms crossed.
She whirled around and glared at him. “Where is he?”
“He went down that tunnel to explore,” he said, pointing.
“Fool,” she swore, frowning at the tunnel entrance.
“’Tis an interesting place, your cave,” Lugh said carefully.
“Is nothing sacred to you? No place you will not intrude? I told you not to enter. This is my place and only mine.” She paced across the floor, shooting him dark looks.
“’Tis too late, Iosobal. I saw the drawings,” he said.
Iosobal abruptly stopped moving and stared at him.
“Some of them look like the ones in your dolphin chamber.”
“You should have respected my wishes. My orders,” she amended.
He dangled the pendant from his fingers. “I found your necklace.”
Relief spilled over her face, and she reached out a hand. He dropped the necklace into her outstretched palm. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she gazed at him with a peculiar expression.
“One of the drawings was particularly intriguing,” he commented, watching her face.
She paled and for an instant, he saw a hint of sorrow shade her features. “Oh?”
“Aye. And I am thinking that drawing is the reason you did not want me to enter your cave.”
“What are you talking about?” She looked toward the tunnel. “Piers!” she shouted. “Come out of there.”
Lugh narrowed his gaze. “You are more than you seem, Iosobal.”
She gave a light laugh. “Most people are more than what lies on the surface.”
“True, but there are differences in how many layers lie within a person.”
She stiffened her shoulders. “Thank you for clearing the entrance. You can return to Tunvegan now.”
“Yes, I can go home and leave you to hide with your secrets.”
Her eyes snapped fire. “You know nothing of what you speak.”
“Do I not? I saw the drawing. You know the one I mean.” He came off the wall and stepped closer to her. “The one of the woman with the Fin Man.” He pointed. “That one.”
Iosobal swayed and dropped the necklace. She bent down to retrieve it, her hair obscuring her expression. And then it struck him. She was afraid—no, more than that. Terrified of what he would think of her. Of what others would think.
“You are who you are. Donna be ashamed of that.”
She gazed at him as if he’d lost his wits. “How easy it is for you to say that. You were born and bred to be a Highland laird, and that is who you are. You do not possess an ancestor who remains a specter people still raise to threaten their children into obedience. The kind that has spawned a thousand tales, all of which talk of enslavement, sorcery, or death.”
Lugh lifted a brow. “The woman in the drawing appears quite content.”
Iosobal flushed deep red.
“You cannot hide from what you are. Who you are.”
“Aye, I can. I have done so for all of my life, as my mother and her mother did before me. I am the Lady of Parraba. Just that. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“Iosobal, you close yourself from living because you fear—” He stopped when Piers stumbled out of the tunnel. His tunic was damp and the look in his eyes was wild. Lugh stepped forward and took the man’s arm. “Are you all right?”
Piers just stared at him, then shook himself. “Of course.”
Iosobal eyed him with clear suspicion. “What happened?”
“Naught of importance. I explored for a bit before deciding to return.”
“You did not find any more caves?” she asked.
“Nay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I am going back to the palace. I reek of my day’s labors and I am famished.” Without
granting either Lugh or Iosobal another glance, he walked out of the cave.
Iosobal was still frowning as she gazed after him. Then, she turned to Lugh, her gaze cold and distant. “Our bargain is done. You will leave Parraba in the morn.”
The ice queen returns, Lugh thought. But now, he knew her cold haughtiness was like the shield he carried into battle. Protection. And though he had earlier said the same to Piers and Branor, he had changed his mind. “I am no sure I am quite ready to leave.”
“You will leave. It may as well be on the morrow.”
He mulled over her words. Something danced at the edge of his mind. You will leave. That is it, he realized. He stared at her and his heart softened. So beautiful, so giving, but here she hid away, afraid of how the world would treat her, afraid that no one could ever accept the unique creature that she was.
“I never saw you as a coward,” he said.
Her face darkened and he saw her shoulders quiver. “You do not know of what you speak.”
“Iosobal—”
“No!” She raised a hand. “The Lady of Parraba is destined to be alone. ’Tis how it always has been. No man has ever possessed the heart and courage to remain with her. My own sire did not even wait until I was born to sail away,” she finished in a bitter voice.
“So you never try. Never risk your heart. Never let yourself believe that a man could be different.” He shook his head. “’Tis no way to live.”
“Leave. Me. Be.”
“I donna think so,” he said as he grabbed the back of her head and tilted her face toward his. “Nay, I donna think so,” he said again as he kissed her. Kissed her with all of the anger and desire that had melded inside him into one conscious thought—he wanted her, all of her, and he wanted her to know it.
“Lugh!” a voice shouted. “Lugh!”
Lugh slowly released Iosobal’s lips. She looked every bit as stricken as the first time he had kissed her. He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her skin.
“Lugh, come quickly!” Branor raced to their side and blew out a breath.
Iosobal blinked and dropped her hand. “Is something amiss?”
