by B. J. Scott
“You are where it all began. Your life, the exchange of souls, and your return.” The woman lurking in the shadows stepped into view.
“Is that you, Beatha?” Gwen wasn’t sure if the woman was real or a figment of her imagination.
“Aye.” Beatha nodded, then frowned. “You summoned me, who else would it be?”
“I didn’t know I could.”
Beatha chuckled. “You never asked.”
“I have been through hell and back. Did you not think I would welcome your advice, if not your assistance?” Gwen didn’t mean to sound harsh, but she was desperate to find a way to get rid of Damen and help her ancestors. She also knew if she was caught, she’d be forced to marry Duncan Gower.
“You had many things to learn and were na ready. Nor was Kyle,” she replied. “Now you both know what is truly important and what is in your hearts, you are ready to proceed.”
“Proceed with what, where?” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Please stop talking in riddled and tell me what you mean.”
“Do you believe you were born in this time and sent away by your mother because she loved you more than her own needs?”
Gwen nodded.
“Do you love Caol MacKay?”
“I love Kyle with all my heart.”
Beatha smiled. “I have a feeling Caol has learned much about his ancestry and his own heart as well.”
“I hope so,” Gwen replied.
“Now, the only obstacle to your happiness is Damen, and only you can send him back.”
It amazed her how Beatha not only knew what was in her heart, but in her thoughts as well. “I would like nothing better than to banish him back to the netherworld, but don’t have a clue how to do it.”
“Getting rid of him willna be easy. Usually a changeling is left when the babe in question is newly born and the parents have let down their guard. Na often does a mother ask the fairies to replace their bairn.” Beatha stroked her chin and tapped her brow. “Many of the methods desperate parents have tried to rid themselves of an evil fairy can be quite brutal. They believe burning the babe alive, holding them over a pot of scalding water, or submerging them until they stop breathing will send the changeling away and bring their real bairn home.”
“Well he is a grown man and none of those ways of dispensing with him will work. Not that I would or could ever consider such things.” Wondering if there was any way to stop Damen, Gwen paced. “There has to be something that will send him back.”
“Most of the time, changelings dinna live to be much older than seven summers. But there are rare cases, as with Damen, where, if na discovered or they are na sent back, they can live for many years, sometimes through many lifetimes, wreaking havoc, causing poverty, misfortune, illness, and despair,” Beatha explained.
“That pretty well describes Damen. And to be honest, he scares me to death. He is pure evil and I am not sure I am strong enough to confront him.”
“I might recommend you carry a piece of iron and a twig of rowan with you at all times. The talismans will protect you from fairies and witches. But it is not a proven way to send him back.” Beatha pointed to a small bush at the edge of the forest. “Yonder stands a rowan bush. Being a witch myself, I canna help you obtain a twig,” she said, then laughed.
“And the iron?”
“A nail will do. For centuries cradles have been made using rowan or oak with iron spikes or adornments to protect babies from the fairies. Another way is to trick the changeling into revealing who and what they are. Once that is achieved, they often go back to the fae world.”
“How?”
“A common trick is to announce you plan to make a meal and rather than a pot, will cook it in an egg shell. A changeling will find this logic odd and feel compelled to recite this rhyme.
“Acorn before oak I knew, and an egg before a hen, but never before have I seen an eggshell brew dinner for harvest men.”
Gwen looked at Beatha in disbelief. “What an odd thing to do. How could that send a devil like Damen back to the fairy world?”
“After he has revealed himself as a changeling, all you need do is order him to return from whence he came.”
It couldn’t be that simple and there had to be more. If that was all it took, Gwen was surprised no one had caught on and cast him out sooner. But when she went to ask for more details, Beatha had once again vanished.
“Beatha, wait,” Gwen called, but got no reply. She had to find Kyle, and turned to run, but Damen blocked the path.
“We finally meet when no one else is around to disturb us. You were never supposed to return and it is time to fix that,” he growled and took a menacing step forward, reaching for her.
~ * ~
“No! Get back.” Gwen sat up with a start, her heart pounding.
“Is everything okay, sweetheart? You were in a fitful sleep, mumbling something about iron and rowan. I tried to wake you up, but couldn’t.” Kyle looped his arm around her shoulders and drew her against his chest. “You’re trembling.”
“I had a nightmare.”
Kyle buried his face in the curve of her neck, then nipped at her ear. “I can help you forget all about the bad dream.”
She placed her hand on his chest and gently shoved him away. “I’m sure you can, but I’ll be fine. I just need a minute to catch my breath.” To her relief, parts of the dream quickly faded. She eased out of Kyle’s embrace and stood. “We’d best be on our way before someone finds us.” She moved to where her clothes lay in a neat pile by the fire, and quickly donned them. As she reached for her slippers, she noticed the wooden cross Kyle wore as part of his disguise. She picked it up, admiring the detailed carving. “What’s this made of, do you know?”
“Blair mentioned it was made of rowan and said it was supposed to ward off evil.” He laughed. “Not that I believe any of it.”
“After what we’ve been through in the last few days?” She handed the cross to Kyle. “Put it on. Please.”
He cast her a wary glance. “I see no need to continue the ruse of me being a priest. I planned to wear my regular clothing.” He tugged on his trews and boots, then pulled his tunic over his head.
Gwen hoped that what Beatha had said was true and an item made of rowan could serve as a talisman against evil. “Humor me by putting it on,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Promise you won’t take it off.”
Once he’d put the cross around his neck, he glanced at Gwen. “Happy?”
“Yes, very.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “A taste of what’s to come later,” she teased, then scooted out of reach when he tried to grab her around the waist.
Kyle smiled. “I’ll hold you to that promise.” After throwing some dirt on the fire and tucking his dagger in his boot, he packed some supplies and tied the sack to the back of his saddle. “Are you ready, sweetheart?” He turned to face Gwen, but they were not alone.
Chapter Twenty-One
“This is an interesting turn of events.” Damen scowled at Gwen. “I thought you were on a ship headed for Kirkwall with the man I arranged for you to marry. I never thought I’d find you on your back with your legs spread like a whore for a MacKay.” He seized Gwen’s wrist and yanked her toward him, while two of his men restrained Kyle.
With her chin inclined, and despite pangs of terror squeezing her chest, Gwen returned Damen’s stare with one of her own. “As you can see, things have changed. I am not on a ship, I despise Laird Gower, and might I point out, I’m not a whore.”
Damen tightened his bruising grip until Gwen winced from the pain. “You will mind your tongue with me, woman, or I will cut it out.”
He leaned so close to her face that their noses brushed and she could smell the sour odor of stale whisky on his breath. “I’m not afraid of you, Damen,” she lied, and refused to look away. “You may be pretending to be laird, but you are not.”
“That is where you are wrong. My father is dead and that makes me lord of MacQuin Castle.”
/> Gwen raised a hand to her throat. She wasn’t overly upset about the death of Ronald MacQuin, but her concern quickly turned to Lilith. “What of your mother?”
“She sits in the dungeon awaiting her trial,” Damen said, an evil grin tugging at his lips.
“Trial for what?”
“Murder.”
Gwen blinked several times in disbelief, then coughed to clear her throat. She couldn’t imagine that Lilith would or could harm anyone. Her mother had to be one of the sweetest, most caring, unselfish people she’d ever met, and while she’d been sorely mistreated and had good cause, she would never kill her husband. “I don’t believe it. On what grounds do you accuse her?” The lawyer in her immediately kicked in.
“Belladonna was found in my father’s room and the scent of it on his breath when the maid found him dead,” Damen said. “When searched, we found a flask in my mother’s chamber containing an elixir made from the poisonous plant.”
“That doesn’t prove a thing. It could have been planted there to make her look guilty,” Gwen challenged. “Belladonna is used for all sorts of ailments.” She glared at Damen. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it was you who murdered Laird MacQuin to get his title.” The words left her lips before she could stop them and she regretted it the minute they did. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t curb her tendency to speak her mind.
“Bitch!” Damen let loose a backhand that sent her to the ground.
He was about to strike Gwen again when Kyle narrowed his gaze, pinning Damen with his stare. “Let her go. If you want to pick a fight, I’d be happy to oblige. Touch her again and I’ll send you back to hell where you belong.”
She was shocked when Damen released her arm, then stormed toward Kyle with his fist balled. Gwen wanted to run after him and do what she could to intervene, but despite what she’d said, she knew she was no match for Damen’s power or strength.
“I’d haud your wheesht if I were you, and will take care of you both soon enough.” Damen raised his fist, as if he were about to emphasize his threat by striking Kyle, but suddenly stopped, mumbled a curse, then issued orders to his men instead.
“Drag them out into the clearing and I’ll deal with them there.” Damen stomped toward the entrance of the cave.
Relieved when he didn’t hit Kyle, Gwen wondered why. If she wasn’t mistaken, he appeared to focus on the cross Kyle wore, then backed down—his reaction giving credence to what Beatha had said about fairies and the rowan bush. She gave her head a shake. Her conversation with Beatha about the rowan and iron talismans had been only a dream and this was very real. But that didn’t stop her from wishing she had an iron nail right now.
“Let’s go, Lady Gweneth,” a guard said as he led her to the entrance of the cave. Kyle followed, accompanied by two burly warriors, each holding on to one of his arms.
Gwen did as instructed and went along quietly. But when they stepped into the clearing and the guard clasped her elbow, she dug in her heels and refused to budge.
“You heard the laird, get moving,” he snarled, then shoved Gwen so hard, he almost knocked her off her feet. She stumbled, but managed to remain standing.
Kyle’s reaction was to wrench free of his captors’ hold and lunge at the man, tackling him to the ground. “That is no way to treat a lady. Especially mine,” he roared and delivered an uppercut punch to the man’s jaw, and then another, before two warriors seized him and hauled him to his feet.
“What is going on?” Damen bellowed. “Are you so weak and incompetent that two of you canna control one prisoner? If so, I best find warriors worthy of serving me.”
“Nay, m’lord. I can promise it willna happen again,” one of the warriors said.
“It had better na. You have yet to see the ferocity of my wrath,” Damen warned.
“What do you plan to do with them, m’lord?” another of his warriors asked.
“Punish them, but I have not quite decided how,” Damen hissed. He drew a dirk from a sheath at his side and examined it, running his fingers along the blade. “Whatever I decide willna be pleasant and will be the end of them both.”
He turned his attention to Kyle. “Bring MacKay here. I think I will start with him and she can watch as I carve him up, lopping off piece by piece. Their deaths will be a warning to anyone who dares defy me in future.”
“Are you na afraid to bring the wrath of the MacKays upon our heads?” one of his men asked.
Damen answered by drawing his sword and plunging it into the man’s gut. He loomed over his victim, watching him writhe on the ground in agony, then delivered a swift kick to his chest. A menacing grin crossed his lips as he held his sword above his head and addressed his men. “Is there anyone else who has a question?”
Gwen’s stomach twisted when she witnessed Damen’s brutal reaction to his warrior’s words, and she shuddered to think what he had in store for them.
When no one else dared to speak, Damen sheathed his sword and strode toward Kyle. “Make him kneel before me and remove that cross,” he ordered one of them.
“No! You can’t be so cruel as to strip a man of his only form of religious comfort when you are about to torture and kill him,” Gwen blurted. She hoped as long as Kyle wore the cross, Damen would not be able to harm him. But after what the fiend had done to his warrior, she doubted the others would challenge him.
One of the warriors restraining Kyle immediately grasped the leather thong and yanked until it broke free, then tossed the cross in the dirt a few feet away. “You heard Laird Damen, on your knees.”
“I refuse to kneel before the devil,” Kyle replied, but a sharp blow to his stomach thwarted his effort to resist and he dropped to the ground.
“I’ll take great pleasure in teaching you who is in charge, MacKay.” Damen cast Gwen an evil grin, then grasped a handful of Kyle’s hair and snapped his head back, forcing him to look Damen in the eye. “When finished, I will send you back to your clan in pieces.”
“Go to hell,” Kyle snapped.
Damen tilted Kyle’s head from one side to the other, then glanced at Gwen again. “Which ear should I lop off first, right or left?”
“You can’t do this, Damen. Your quarrel is with me not Kyle. Let him go and you can do with me what you wish,” Gwen begged. “Is killing him worth the risk of bringing the wrath of the MacKays upon the clan?”
“Silence. You will get your turn soon enough. But when my father died, I became laird of clan MacQuin and I fear no other clan.” His menacing laugh echoed in the clearing as he waved his dagger in Kyle’s face. “Left I think.”
Uncertain where the strength came from, Gwen twisted her arm in an attempt to break free from her guard. When he turned his body toward hers, she kneed him in the groin and he crumpled to the ground. Wasting no time, she bolted toward Damen, who in turn released Kyle and confronted her.
Eyeing the cross on the ground, she dove for it, catching Damen off guard. Once she had retrieved it, she stood and placed herself between Kyle and Damen. “Stay back. You are not the laird’s son. You are a changeling left in my place. An evil fae creature whose only goal is to wreak havoc and misfortune on the clan. I bet you murdered the laird and blamed your mother.”
A collective gasp resonated amongst the warriors, and to her surprise, no one rushed forth to challenge her. She wondered if they questioned if he was human or not and feared him too much to say so.
“Liar. You have nothing to base these accusations on. No one will believe the rantings of a madwoman,” Damen hissed. “Not that you will be around to say anything.” He addressed his men. “If any of you wish to join MacKay, speak up or swear yourselves to secrecy about this.”
When no one spoke, Gwen’s heart dropped. She’d hoped someone would have the guts to stand up to him. She raised the cross in the air as Damen stepped forward, but she knew she couldn’t hold him off for long. She shot a glance round the clearing, not sure what she was looking for, but she was desperate.
> “Remember the dream.” Beatha stepped out from the forest.
“What are you doing here, witch?” Damen asked.
“Setting a wrong to right, I hope.” Beatha moved closer to Gwen and looked her in the eye. “Remember the dream.”
“I can’t, but was thinking about making some dinner for these men,” she said. “But I have no pot in which to cook. Have you an egg shell I can use?”
Damen brought a hand to his brow, as if suddenly in pain. “What nonsense do you spout, woman?”
“Do you have an egg shell I can use?” Gwen repeated.
“Acorn before oak I knew, and an egg before a hen, but never before have I seen an eggshell brew dinner for harvest men.” The rhyme spewed from Damen’s lips as if he had no control.
“You see. Only a changeling would recite those words.” Gwen shouted. “He is an evil being who took my place at birth. I demand you return from whence you came and give me back my life.”
Damen’s face twisted and contorted, changing into that of a horrifying creature, his eyes blazing red. Despite the fact that Gwen held the cross in front of her, he lunged forward.
With nowhere to retreat, Gwen had no choice but to stand her ground. With the cross held before her, she closed her eyes and prayed. Jarred by the bone-crushing impact when Damen’s body rammed hers, she somehow managed to stand her ground. She braced for the final death blow, but when nothing happened, her eyes flew open in time to see Damen stagger backward, the wooden cross protruding from his chest. He crumpled to the ground in a pool of blood, shouted a curse in Gaelic, then disappeared.
In the commotion, the guards released Kyle and he sprang to his feet. “What possessed you to take such a risk?” he chided, then wrapped his arms around her and tugged her into his embrace. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Thank Beatha.” She looked at the old woman and smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
