Shadows of the Keeper

by Karey Brown

  “As am I, spell caster,” Broc announced, rising and clasping his charge closer, moving steadily towards the stairs. “Aedan, yer’ mistress, I’m sure, will arise in several hours, wondering about her mouser. Seems she’s become quite fond of the beast.”

  Aedan bared his teeth, hissing towards those guffawing before he trotted up the stairs, trailing his laird.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Prince of where?” Emily asked while trying to execute good manners when all she really wanted to do was gag. Apple and banana coexisted amongst cinnamon, nutmeg, and delicious dough. Maeve was a baking goddess. But, after last night’s binge, food nauseated her. She lifted her gaze and found Broc keenly watching her. The dashing laird had kept his warm, strong arms wrapped around her throughout the night, though he’d slipped out as dawn kissed the windows. Both pretended indifference.

  She also pretended indifference to the rather detailed threats of dismemberment, and male growling within her head as she’d showered. The louder the growls, the more she envisioned it to be Broc’s hands soaping her body, versus her own. What amounted to a male scream was the last thing she heard before blessed tomb silence.

  “A land far from here,” Broc tentatively answered. He drank his coffee, eyeing her now mutilated muffin.

  “Quemori,” she muttered.

  Broc’s cup lowered. Men, who had been quietly breaking their fast, stilled.

  “How do ye’ come by this knowledge?”

  “Funny thing about scotch, hot baths, and weird dreams. Puzzles glue themselves together. Do you think Allen could drive me to the airport?”

  “What is your desire at the airport?”

  “Uh, that would be how people vacate one location in order to reach another.” She waggled eyebrows at him before popping another bite into her mouth. She did a remarkable job of ignoring Colin’s snorfing over her sarcasm. Sometimes, it was damn hard not to laugh at her own quips.

  Broc dropped his resting foot from his knee, and leaned in. “But I doona’ wish ye’ ta’ leave, Lady Emily.”

  His whispering accent caused her throat to close. And her stomach to flutter. If not for the boots Aunsgar had supplied her with, she’d probably be sitting here with toes curled as well. “Well, therein lies the crux of the matter, eh? It isn’t up to you. Now, since it’s my choice, I say it’s time for me to head on home.” She reached for more juice. Maeve had forbidden her coffee for two days until her stomach settled. Emily had plans to later hold the kitchen hostage, coffee her ransom.

  Broc eased back, and folded his arms. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Nay.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve been charged wi’ yer’ safety. Ye’ canna’ leave.”

  “Safety from what? And, charged by whom? While you’re at it, can you do something about the voice in my head?” Maybe if they thought she was insane, they’d contact authorities and have her hauled off to a psych ward. One way to get outa here.

  “They return,” Garreck announced. On cue, lightening erupted. Emily squealed. Juice sloshed her hand.

  “Does it always sound like cannons here?” She mopped her mess with a linen napkin.

  “Only when they leave or arrive.” Broc helped her.

  “When who leaves?” His closeness unsettled her. I just want to run my palms against his permanent five o’clock shadow, and maybe even—

  Do it and I’ll cut off your hands!

  Emily searched around, above and glanced under the table.

  “Lose something?” Reignsfeugh inquired.

  “My mind. There’s a male voice. You can’t hear it? Bastard just threatened to cut off my hands if I dared run my fingers through . . .uh,” she blushed and averted her eyes that seemed attached to Broc.

  “If you what?” Urkani asked.

  “Nothing.”

  Urkani moved closer, his demeanor grim. “How long has this male voice been in your head?”

  “About as long as this one,” Emily waved her hand at Broc, “has seen fit to keep me prisoner.”

  Broc lifted the silver pot. “Coffee?”

  Emily scowled. “Thought Maeve forbade my having any?”

  “I’m concerned ye’ might hunt down mi’ cook and hold her hostage ‘til coffee is poured down yer’ gullet.”

  “Wise man.” Grabbing a cup, she thrust it towards Broc. “Pour, oh gallant knight, while I plot my escape.”

  “Is it really so very bad here, milady?”

  “Please resume your growling and scowling. When you’re nice, I’m tempted to throw you down, straddle you naked and have my way with you.”

  Broc choked. As did his men.

  Emily preened, and repeatedly jabbed at the empty innards of her empty cup, hinting he needed to start pouring.

  “Nice try, lass, but threatening to ravage mi’ body will no’ distract me, enabling you ta’ escape. Sugar?”

  “Yes, wretch, and cream.”

  “I will no’ begin each day debating your need ta’ vacate mi’ guardianship, milady.”

  “Too bad you weren’t this concerned when Aurelia was in your charge.”

  Acute silence filled the hall. Tingling surged through her as her nape tightened. Broc’s visage crystalized; colors sharpened, as did her sense of smell. It was almost as if she were suddenly . . . primal.

  “S’blood,” she heard muttered around her. “Her eyes glow!” Some of the men rose, and moved back. Emily knew, without turning her head, they confiscated their weapons. “Ye’ said it was trick o’ candlelight,” Colin said. “That, laird, be no’ trick o’ flame!”

  With deliberate precision, she set down her cup. “Be very thankful, Outlander, that Aurelia wasn’t a modern.”

  “Regardless the power awakening within you, do not ever call me Outlander, Emily, nor speak of a woman you ken nothing about. I do no’ ken who speaks tales that are of little concern to—“

  “Bestowing her castle to your mistress would have found you sizzling from fire, had it been me who you turned your back on. I would have made sure your bitch burned with you as well.”

  Broc looked like a man slapped.

  “Mi’ lord—“

  Broc’s hand shot up.

  Garreck silenced.

  “Her blood already rests on your hands, whoever you are, as does the blood of mi’ unborn she carried.”

  Emily stood. Methodically, she folded her napkin. “No, Broc—“

  “Laird MacLarrin.”

  “Princess Emily.” She glared. “I do believe princess outranks laird, so listen up, little man.”

  He shot up, his chair clattering loudly. Unimpressed, Emily tossed her hair, then leveled glowing amber eyes on him. “Guardianship of Aurelia was a test. Did you not realize? History repeated itself. You failed, Outlander!” Garreck rose quickly, obvious to all he’d grab Broc, should the laird think to lunge for the lass’ throat.

  “Your people killed her once before. Sold her to . . .” Emily’s gaze flicked over his shoulder for mere seconds. “In every village, the infants wail, their mothers carried off by Lumynari. Soulless killers, Aurelia, you have brought down upon us.”

  Broc paled. “I spoke those words to Aurelia thirty-six hundred years ago.”

  “After which, you openly shunned her—me.”

  Broc was incredulous. “How can you be privy to privately spoken words thirty-six hundred years before your birth?”

  “Did you know, when your garrison rode away, I was beaten with sticks? They told you I fell.” Emily shook her head, disgusted. “Na’Dryn led the beating. She said you ordered her to wait until you and Aunsgar were gone, or the Elves would kill her. The village hoped it would be enough for Aunsgar to take me from you, I was a danger, I brought the Lumynari, or so they shouted as she beat me. Then, I was kicked, and that, Na’Dryn claimed was what you had wanted her to do for you.” Cold grin smeared her face. “You’re right. Her blood is on my hands. Apparently, I was rather skilled in self-defense.” Unimp
ressed with Broc’s face contorting with rage, Emily swiveled her gaze to Urkani. “You nursed me.”

  The Elf commander inclined his head.

  “As did you, Garreck.”

  Broc’s captain moved to her side of the table. “I knew the truth and what that bitch had done.” Something crossed his features making her wonder what else transpired from the hands of Na’Dryn. She turned away, regal in her walk towards the stairs. Abruptly, she whirled and came face-to-face with Urkani, who had been following her.

  “I will ask you but once, what or who are Lumynari?”

  “What have killed you twice before and what hunt you now.”

  “Finally, a straight answer.”

  “Perhaps you will be so kind and return the favor,” Urkani said.

  “You have a question? What could possibly interest you about me?”

  “I would have you tell me why you do not wish to speak of your deceased aunt when Maeve tries to inquire.”

  Striding back down the few steps she’d ascended, Emily grabbed the hem of her sweater. “I used to sketch. Whatever I drew, I signed with a symbol instead of my name.” She shrugged. “For whatever reason, doodling one day, this symbol seemed kinda cool and I ran with it.” Her audience looked confused. “I made a bunch of drawings and happened upon one I liked, so used it to sign my work.”

  Collectively, they nodded, now understanding her meaning.

  “My aunt, never having given two shits about me before, suddenly boasted interest in my work. I think it was an excuse for her to snoop. She went through my drawings, making fun of each one. Then she saw my signature. And tore up all my work.”

  Audible gasps erupted, several curses thrown in.

  “Never daring defiance, on that day, I unhinged.” Again, she shrugged.

  “Lass, the more ye’ shrug, the more something truly disturbs ye’,” Broc said in a soft voice. He searched his memory, but did not recall Aurelia ever drawing or requiring runes for her magicks. All she need do is have it be a thought and she could make it happen. ‘Twas why he blamed her for the death of his people. Her magic could have obliterated the Lumynari legion. Was that beating the true reason she’d held back from helping them? He’d never ordained something so hideous. How could he have been so gullible as to trust Na’Dryn, knowing she had a cruel temper? Minutes before riding out, he had caught her in the throes of a heated embrace with Hearn. Confession by sword, their affair had been occurring for several weeks. He would never know if the bairn was his or not. He would never allow his pride to suffer the admission. Not ever.

  “What is this ‘unhinged’?” Colin asked.

  “You left this crazed woman to make your own way in the world?” Urkani asked.

  “That would have a better decision. No, I uh,” she lifted the hem of her sweater, presenting her back to them. “I had the symbol tattooed to my lower back and I wanted it done in dark blue, not the traditional black.

  Gasps. Benches scraped, booted feet running up. Curses and oaths hissed. Embarrassed, she lowered her sweater and faced them again, her face red.

  “Nay, lass,” Broc said, not even a foot away from her. “I’ll look at yer’ marking again. Now.” Urkani nodded. Emily stepped backwards onto the next step, away from their scrutiny.

  “I willna’ hurt ye’.”

  “Leave me alone. You’ve caused me enough confusion.”

  “Lady Emily,” Urkani grasped Broc’s arm, stilling the laird’s advance. “The mark you chose. It is not accidental.”

  “You guarded my door.” At the commander’s muted stare, Emily elaborated. “I suffered humiliation, as did Owen. You guarded my door. A painting, Broc ordered from his sight.”

  Chaos erupted. Forest Lords spoke in rapid-fire languages she didn’t understand.

  Urkani remained motionless, watching her. “Lady Emily, you have chosen the crescent moon pierced with arrow. It was Aurelia’s birthmark, and from stories handed down from my father, the same mark upon the druidess Zaiyne.”

  “Zaiyne?”

  “What was your aunt’s reaction to marking your body with symbols already having made her craze?” Garreck asked so softly, she almost missed his inquiry over Reignsfeugh and Broc’s arguing. Simultaneously, both men silenced, turning their attention up to her. “Lass?”

  “I don’t want your pity.”

  “We aren’t offering any.”

  She glared down at Broc. “Well, you, I wouldn’t expect it from.” She tossed her hair, visually roving over them. Again, she looked at Urkani. “She tried burning it off with a hot iron.”

  “S’blood! I’ll kill the she-devil!”

  “Thanks, Aedan, but she’s already dead. My screaming out the front door brought a neighbor running, who rushed me to the hospital after threatening her with police. She missed my tattoo, but burned the shit out of my hip.” Emily shrugged, turned from them, and thought to resume her escape. A strong hand clamped down on her shoulder, halting her flight. Déjà vu hit her again. Something about his vice grip on her shoulder, but she couldn’t capture the elusive memory.

  “Ye’ shrug, lass, ‘tis yer’ way of hiding the more of it. Finish yer’ tale, Lady Emily. Did ye’ seek revenge for her attack?”

  She eyed the hand on her shoulder until Broc dropped his hold. “Let’s just say that, if my neighbor hadn’t seen her alive and gotten into a yelling match with her before he drove me away from that witch, I would be in jail the rest of my life.” She ignored their collective surprise. “Witnesses watering their yards reported hearing horrific screams inside our house and then, Millie appeared on the master bedroom balcony. Where she jumped.”

  “Suicide.”

  “Murder,” Emily corrected.

  “Nay, lass, she jumped.” Reignsfeugh moved closer to offer comfort.

  “Three black arrows, gold filigree designs spiraling their shafts, protruded from her back. Did I mention she’d been scalped? And her tongue was missing. Police never did find it. Thank God my DNA was nowhere near her mouth.”

  “Black?”

  “What? Oh, arrows. Yes. Black.”

  Cease your discussion, Keer’dra. Their stupidity was your death before, it will be so again.

  “Yeah?” Emily looked up at the high ceiling. “If they’re such untrustworthy idiots with my life, why don’t you swoop down here and protect me from . . . I don’t know, you perhaps?”

  Warily eyeing her, the men backed up.

  Urkani remained still as death. “Tell Dezenial six of Broc’s men have been found dead.”

  “Who? Dead? Who’s dead? Here? As in, dead-dead?”

  “The voice in your head. Thick accent?”

  Emily nodded.

  Urkani lunged, grappling her chin.

  “Hey!” She tried shoving him off of her as he forced her head to the side.

  “You’ve been bitten.”

  “Gnats. I’ll see Maeve about some bug spray. Get your hands off of me!” She kneed him, missing her aim as he leapt back, dropping his hold.

  “Fleas don’t have fangs that size.”

  “Fangs? As in, vampire?” Shit-hell-damn! It wasn’t a dream?

  “As in, Lumynari,” Urkani whispered.

  If he had shot her, she wouldn’t have more shocked. Bit her? Bit her! Fiercely, she rubbed her neck. A dream of passion. You really bit me? Silence. “Lumynari, they are, uh, tall, long glowing white hair?”

  “Lass,” Broc moved closer, but she jumped up another stair.

  “Dezenial. You said his name was Dezenial. Who is he? No! Don’t answer. I don’t want to know or hear anymore!” Emily turned and ran-leapt up the entire sweeping stairs.

  She missed Broc being tackled by Urkani and Garreck.

  “Let her go. I will confer with Aunsgar.”

  “Six of mi’ men are dead. Slaughtered. If tha’ bastard’s here, talkin’ to her—“

  “He’s her only hope of remaining alive. Time you faced a few facts about what is.” Urkani spun away from him, Elvis
h guards doing likewise. They stormed the vast hall towards another stairwell, and rapidly ascended to Aunsgar’s royal towers without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Emily ran her hands lovingly along the glass encasement, much the way a lover would touch the sinewy body of her mate. Oh, how she wished she could hold the claymore. A real claymore. Jeweled hilt, emeralds, sapphires and rubies—why kill with such a beautiful weapon?

  “Looks like it should be decorating a woman’s chamber, not strapped to a man’s back, thirsting to draw blood, wouldn’t you say?”

  Emily’s mouth opened and closed several times.

  Allen tilted his head. “You imitate fish rather well, my lady.”

  “Shouldn’t y-you rattle chains when you arrive?”

  “I say, that would be a bit over-the-top, don’t you think?”

  “It would offer a heads-up to whomever you’re about to appear to.”

  “I’ll consider it in the future. For your sake, my lady. Now, what is this crazed rumor I hear of you walking the turrets during the night?”

  “Full moons and constellations have always been a balm to me when . . .” she shrugged, and returned her attention to the décor of Broc’s library. “These statues are so life-like. Why do you suppose the artist sculpted all of them with their arms thrown up, shielding their faces?” Moving closer, she scrutinized. “They wear expressions of fear.”

  “Perhaps in his day, it was easiest to convey.”

  Shaking her head against Allen’s theory, she moved around to another statue. “These are Celts. See the neck torc on this one?” She gazed up at the realistic height and breadth of the warrior glaring right back down at her. Delicately, she touched his bare chest, half expecting him to pull back at her audacity. “Torcs signify royalty and leadership.” His eyes bore into her own, calling to her. This one didn’t raise his arms, warding off whatever befell them. He stood proud, fists clenched down at his sides, his expression defiant. The sculptor had designed him with thick, wavy hair falling to his shoulders, winged brows, his face smooth and void of hair. A simple cloth draped his waist, caressing his thighs much like paintings of ancient Romans. Not one detail had been left unattended. His arms boasted veins and muscles of strength. His thighs and calves as defined as a runner. Pure, raw masculine power. “Allen, if Broc is an ancient Pict, why would he have statues of Celts instead of his own kind?” She glanced the quiet spirit, thinking maybe he had vanished. “And how come you aren’t shimmery, like a ghost? You’re almost as solid as if Garreck were standing here.”