But how was she supposed to do that? Beside her, Gavran swung his Lochabar and cleaved the arm from the straw-stuffed practice dummy. Was this something born into a man? Surely Lord MacDonald realized she had no idea what he meant.
He struck with his Lochabar. She flung hers up to block him. The blow slammed into the middle of her pole, down through her arms, her shoulders, her back, her legs. Her knees buckled, and she dropped the pole, her muscles throbbing.
Lord MacDonald growled. “That’s a kiss compared to what a blow from the nuckalevee will feel like. I don’t know what Salome was thinking asking me to train a woman to go up against a beast.”
“Then give me a weapon I can actually use.” She shoved to her feet and kicked the Lochabar aside. Her dadaidh’s face swam before her. She seemed doomed to face man after man who felt she wasn’t good enough, wasn’t worthy, simply because she was a woman. Maybe she couldn’t swing a claymore or control a Lochabar, but she’d learned to hunt to keep food in her family’s mouths when her dadaidh was too drunk to do it himself. “I can shoot. Give me a dorlochis of arrows, and I’ll show you I’m as valuable in a fight as any man.”
Lord MacDonald lowered his weapon. “Easy, easy. I intended no offense. If marriage to Salome has taught me anything, it’s that a woman is equal in many ways to a man.”
For as long as she could recall, she’d wondered if Gavran and his dadaidh were the only ones who saw women as people rather than property. Her face still burned thinking of the way her dadaidh and Robbie Forsyth had bartered over what she was worth as if she wasn’t in the same room or was too stupid to comprehend.
Lord MacDonald held out his hand, and she returned the Lochabar to him. “Whatever skills you might have with a bow won’t be enough. An arrow can’t penetrate the flesh of a nuckalevee.”
Gavran stopped his practice swings. “I thought you said it doesn’t have skin.”
Lord MacDonald shook his head in that slow, sad way Ceana used to think belonged only to a priest telling a family that someone had passed. “It doesn’t. But its flesh and veins are tougher than a grizzled bear’s hide. It’ll take more than an arrow, or even a volley of arrows, to bring it down.” He shifted the Lochabar to one hand and placed the other hand on her shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. “Your arrow will feel like nothing more than mosquito bites to the nuckalevee.”
What good was a mosquito against a monster? The best she had to offer would be nothing more than an annoyance to it. An annoyance, but perhaps if they worked as a team… “Would it be enough to distract it and give Gavran a better chance at slaying it?”
“Ah!” Lord MacDonald shot a grin at Gavran. “And now you see why I value Salome as well. These women look at things in a way we don’t. The Almighty certainly knew what he was doing when he took out Adam’s rib to create him a helpmeet.”
The memories of her old life rushed back in, like they were drawn to the vacuum created whenever she let go of the hurt of them for even a second. Why had her dadaidh been unable to value her, even though she was only a girl and not the son he wanted her to be?
She bit the inside of her cheek to try to drown out the sting in her heart with an ache elsewhere. It didn’t matter anymore. She’d never see her dadaidh again. What she needed to focus on now was freeing herself from her curse so she could build a new life and find her brother. Maybe she’d even be able to wed a man like Lord MacDonald or Gavran’s dadaidh who would take her as an equal partner.
“I’ll get you a bow to practice with before we go to seek the most likely place to meet the nuckalevee,” Lord MacDonald said, “but don’t underestimate it. Arrows won’t distract it for long. And it will look fragile when you see it, its veins exposed to the light. That’s its way of distracting you. It’s a fierce predator, with the stamina of ten men, and if you don’t kill it quickly, you’ll become its next prey.”
“Ceana won’t underestimate it,” Gavran said. “She’s smarter than that.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and clutched her elbows. She might one day find a man like Lord MacDonald. Or like Gavran.
A lump formed like a tumor in her throat and filled it ’til she thought she’d choke. She didn’t hate Gavran anymore, but that didn’t mean she had to love him again, either. It’d felt like frostbite charred off half her heart when she lost him before. She didn’t want to ever feel that way again, and that’s all that could come of allowing herself to care for him now.
He hadn’t loved her before the wishes. There was no reason that should change, especially since his family believed she was a witch and he was promised to wed Brighde.
This time, she’d be wise. This time, she’d keep a tight rein on her heart.
Chapter 17
Ceana perched astride the horse, following Lord MacDonald and Gavran. Since the nuckalevee only came out after dark, they needed to find and examine the likeliest spots for its arrival in the daylight. They’d spent yesterday training, and tonight they would attack.
Her horse danced, and Ceana grabbed the saddle. Lord MacDonald offered her a side saddle, but she hadn’t been able to figure out how to balance with the horse standing still, let alone once it moved. She’d much rather sit solidly, no matter what anyone else thought of her after. She didn’t have a reputation left to lose anyway.
In front of her, Gavran looked shakier than she did. Every time the horse shifted under him, he stiffened and yanked on the reins. His mare tossed her head and snorted. Gavran had never been much of a rider. The wishes hadn’t changed that.
Lord MacDonald reined in his horse. They caught up with him, and he pointed across the fields.
In the daylight, they looked worse than they had during their evening sprint to the castle. The furrows that should have been green with waves of oats and barley lay fallow.
Feeble curls of smoke rose on the horizon from only a smattering of the cottages.
Lord MacDonald jutted his chin toward them. “They haven’t the manpower left to replant this field, even with the extra hands and seed we’ve sent. Half the families living there and sharing these fields have died from the plague.”
According to what Lord MacDonald had told them on the ride, their farmers thought the crops died of some new form of blight. The nuckalevee needed to be stopped before there weren’t any harvestable fields remaining. Without at least some harvest, those who survived the plague wouldn’t make it through the winter.
A sickeningly sweet taste filled the back of her mouth. She knew what it was like to wake in the morning already worried about how to make stores stretch until the plants began to grow. She knew what it was like to give her portion to someone else so they could sleep for a night without the ache in their belly. Her brain had sometimes become so full with thoughts of making it from one day to the next, giving what small moments of happiness she could to those around her, that she went to bed empty and soul tired, too tired even to pray for a miracle.
Lord MacDonald nudged his horse forward. “The place you’re most like to spot the nuckalevee is at the center of where the plague and failed crops are worst.”
It made sense. The center of the devastation would be the spot the nuckalevee visited most often.
They rode in silence past fields that had been planted, but the sprouts were yellow and withered. The meadows were empty and too still.
“The nuckalevee, did it do something to the livestock, too?” she asked.
“Aye.” Lord MacDonald patted the shoulder of his mare. “Most of the sheep and oxen took sick overnight. Couldn’t identify a cause.”
Ceana shifted in her seat. Lady MacDonald’s claims that they didn’t want to further anger the fae suddenly rang false. The people and animals were dying, and the harvest would be too small to feed those who lived. What more harm could the fae do?
A field away, they passed a grove of trees that looked like they’d been burned up but left standing. Their leaves hung brown and crinkled from blackened branches. Her mount snorted and sk
ittered to the side.
“My lord?” she called.
Gavran and Lord MacDonald maneuvered their horses around.
She pointed at the grove. “I think this might be the center.”
Lord MacDonald squinted against the sun. “It’s worth the time to look.”
They angled their horses across the field toward the grove. Her mount snorted again, a single loud canon-like retort in the otherwise still morning. The gelding planted his feet.
Beside her, Gavran’s mare rolled her eyes, showing the whites. Her nostrils flared pink, and she tried to turn. Gavran straightened her out.
Ceana prodded her horse with her heels. Lord MacDonald was already at the edge of the clearing, but his horse pulled at the bit. Flecks of foam shot from its mouth, and sweat darkened its skin. She nudged her mount again. He tossed his head and refused to move.
A breeze rattled through the leaves, and Gavran’s mare reared, her front legs flailing.
Ceana’s gelding shied to the side and bolted. The lurch bent her backward and tore the reins from her hands, burning her already skinned palms. She grabbed the saddle’s pommel, her reins flapping loose.
One of the men yelled behind her, but she couldn’t catch the words. With every stride, she bounced in the seat. Sparks shot up her tail bone, and her heart punched against the bottom of her throat, making it difficult to catch a breath.
She had to turn the horse around before she traveled too far from Gavran. If she didn’t, she’d be sure to fall and break her neck or never find her way back to him or MacDonald castle again.
She dug the nails of her right hand into the leather of the saddle and forced her left hand to let go. At first, she couldn’t make it move. She focused and grabbed for the reins. She missed. The reins slapped her mount’s neck, urging him on.
She couldn’t have more than a few strides left before she’d be out of range.
She made another grab and wrapped her fingers around the reins. She yanked hard to the left, and the gelding slowed and turned in a wide arc. He dropped from a canter to a trot to a walk. His sides heaved.
She slumped in the saddle. Praise be to the Almighty. For once something went right.
She drew closer to the grove. Neither of the other horses were in sight. She swiveled in the saddle. Had she gotten too far away after all? She had no hope if she’d lost Gavran.
A shape she originally thought was a stump straightened up. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun. Flaxen and auburn tints in the man’s hair caught the light. It had to be Lord MacDonald. Gavran’s hair was dark.
Lord MacDonald leaned over another lump on the ground.
Gavran.
Chapter 18
Ceana urged her horse into a faster walk. She couldn’t risk asking him for more and losing control of him again. She stopped him outside the range of where the horses panicked before and slid to the ground. “Is he alright?”
She stumbled over the field’s furrows and dropped to her knees beside them. Dirt smeared the side of Gavran’s face. She couldn’t stop herself from touching her fingertips to his cheek. “Are you hurt?”
“I’ll be alright.” The white ringing his lips and dark around his eyes said he was in more pain than he wanted to admit. “I never did like riding. Much safer keeping my feet on the ground.”
“I think the fall knocked him unconscious for a spell,” Lord MacDonald said, “but he’ll be fine now.”
He grabbed hold of Gavran’s shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position.
Gavran grunted and clutched his right shoulder. His face paled to match his lips. His arm dangled at an awkward angle. “Something’s off with my arm.”
Lord MacDonald prodded Gavran’s upper arm and shoulder. “You’ve snapped it out ’o the socket. I’ll put it back in, and we’ll have the physician look at you once we return to the castle to see how badly you’ve injured yourself.”
Ceana sat back and covered her face with her muddy hands. She could barely feel the soreness in her skinned palms for the pounding in her head.
There would be costs to this quest. She’d known it. She knew it. If you slaughter a sheep to eat it, you shouldn’t be surprised to find your sheep gone from its pen. Yet countless times she’d watched her dadaidh make a desperate, lopsided deal in the market only to regret it the next day, the next week. Perhaps she was more like him than she wanted to own.
A snapping noise, and Gavran screamed. His cry pierced through her ribs and lodged there.
She lowered her hands. Sun filtered through the branches overhead and cast light and shadows across Gavran’s face.
When they’d started out, she’d insisted no cost was too high to free her from the curse-side of the wishes. Now she couldn’t shake the feeling that not only had she been wrong, but that this quest they were on was a fool’s errand that was going to cost her much more than she wanted to pay.
Ceana hung back outside the circle of Lord and Lady MacDonald and the physician, rocking toe to heel. Her desire to hover over the physician to see that he cared for Gavran and her desire to keep out of his way so he could warred with each other.
The physician fixed a sling of clean material to support Gavran’s arm, the elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle. “He’ll need to rest the shoulder for six weeks at least.”
Ceana released her death-grip on the fabric of her skirt. A timeline for healing was a good sign. “But he’ll heal completely?”
“As long as he lets his arm rest, and takes his recovery slowly, he should be back to full strength in a few months.”
A few months. Ceana stepped back. All that had registered at first was that Gavran would make a full recovery. She’d ignored how long it would take. Now the words six weeks and a few months rang clearly in her ears.
Even six weeks was much longer than Gavran had bargained on being gone from his family and their croft when he’d first freed her. Lady MacDonald said Gavran’s dadaidh and Tavish still camped nearby and appealed at the castle daily. Every day they waited for Gavran was an extra day Tavish’s young sons shouldered the burden of the two families alone. And with his injured arm, even if she released Gavran from his promise and he went home this day, the help he’d provide would be miniscule until near the end of summer.
“What if he uses his arm before then?” Lady MacDonald asked.
The physician nudged his spectacles higher on his nose with the back of his thumb. His bushy eyebrows lowered until they met in the middle.
“Lyall.” Lady MacDonald’s voice was soft. “This is a matter similar to those you’ve helped us with before. We cannot wait even a fortnight. What are the real risks of him using his shoulder before it heals?”
The physician ran his gaze up and down Gavran’s frame. “You’re a farmer?”
Gavran nodded. “Both of the land and a small herd of sheep.”
The physician tusk tusked with his tongue. “Unless it heals properly, he could spend the rest of his life with it slipping out of place. Unless his shoulder stays in place, he won’t be able to plow his land, harvest his crops, sheer his sheep.” He snapped his bag shut. “I’ve warned yeh. But yeh have to be the ones to decide if the risk is one you’re willing to take.”
Lord MacDonald walked with him out the door. Lady MacDonald sank slowly to her chair.
A chill crept up Ceana’s back like ice crystals taking over the surface of a pond. Breaking the blessing of the wishes she’d given Gavran was one thing. It merely set him back to where he would have been before. But this was more. What she’d done to him, what she was doing to him, could leave him worse off than before she’d given him the wishes. Just like her mamaidh and brother were worse off.
“Why can’t we wait even a fortnight?” Gavran asked, his voice pulled thin. “You never spoke of a deadline before.”
Lady MacDonald folded and unfolded her hands in her lap. “The balance is delicate. The unseelie fae are everywhere. Nothing stays hidden from them long, and you must catch t
he nuckalevee unaware. Surprise is the one advantage you’ll have over it.”
Ceana pressed her fingers to her lips and drew in long breaths through her nose. She’d set this in motion. It was what she’d wanted. She’d wanted Gavran to be forced to help her, but now it felt like custard turned to ash in her mouth. “He’ll barely be able to lift his arm without pain by then, let alone wield a weapon. And Lord MacDonald will tell you I’m not fit to learn in time.”
“You act like I’m the one making the decision.” Lady MacDonald flattened her hands on her skirt, as if she realized they betrayed her and she forced them into submission. “Even if the beast itself didn’t press our hand, how much longer do you think the people here can endure the tragedy it brings? Look at what it’s done in less than a single cycle of the moon.”
Once again she was caught between a bad choice and a worse one, only this time she wasn’t sure exactly which was which.
Save all those people, including herself. Or save Gavran.
She peeked at Gavran from the corner of her eye. His shoulders slumped forward, and he stared at the floor, eyes downcast. He raised his gaze to meet hers and gave the briefest nod. He was still willing. If she asked it of him, he’d go. He’d risk dying for her. For them all.
Dizziness swirled through her. She wouldn’t make this decision alone the way she’d done with the original wishes. This time, she and Gavran would make the decision together as they’d made the decision to fight the nuckalevee in the first place. “We need to—”
The door crashed open. Ceana jumped and spun towards it.
Lord MacDonald stood in the doorway, the hallway dark behind him. His look passed over her as if she weren’t there and stopped on Lady MacDonald. “Hugh’s arrived early.”
Ceana escorted Gavran down the hall toward his bedchamber. Lord and Lady MacDonald had vanished as if chased by the Cù-Sìth.
Gavran shuffled along next to her. With his arm in a sling and his hair sticking up, he looked like a bird with a broken wing. “Who do you suppose Hugh is?” he asked.
Cursed Wishes (Three Wishes Book 1) Page 13
