Mael: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 2

by Hunter, Hazel

  “Tree-worshipping scum,” muttered Prince Iolar as he tried to punch through Galan’s body ward. He snarled with rage as his efforts only produced a spray of hot sparks. “You cursed dirt crawlers murdered my scout. Was it your doing?” His golden eyes narrowed. “Did you betray my trust?”

  “Never, my prince.” Galan went down on one knee, and kept his head bowed low. It shocked him to hear that the demons could be killed, for they had always seemed utterly omnipotent. But if it had happened, he could conceive of only one band who might have accomplished it. It also occurred to him that he could immediately turn such knowledge to his advantage. “’Twas the Mag Raith that killed your man, I’m sure of it. They ken much of you and your kind from their time in the underworld. ’Tis the only reason they escaped.”

  Iolar uttered a vile curse and walked away from him.

  Galan slowly rose. “I shall take your scout’s place, if I may, my prince.”

  Some of the demons chortled as the prince glared at him. “Have you forgotten that you’re mortal and bound to the dirt, you idiot?”

  “No, my prince.” Telling them he no longer belonged to druid kind seemed the swiftest way to a bad end. “You’ve magnificent power, capable of such great transformation and magic. ’Twould be naught for you to give me the ability to fly, and such powers as I need to carry out your orders.”

  Iolar tilted his head to peer at him as if he’d sprouted another eye. “You want to become like us?”

  “I couldnae aspire to such eminence as you possess,” Galan said quickly. “But with wings, and more power, I’d better serve you and your aims.”

  The prince walked around him. “You will have to lower your wards for me to transform you.” He stopped in front of him and bared his teeth. “Have you the spine to do that, Aedth?”

  “If it needs be done, aye.” He could feel his body ward beginning to wane even now, so he had no choice but to take the risk. “’Twill serve as proof of my loyalty to you, my prince.”

  Galan removed the warding charms from his garments, and hurled them away. He then spread his arms and bowed his head, filled with such fear that bile flooded his mouth.

  Iolar reached out to press his claws against his tunic, and then used them to rip the garment off. Sweat ran down Galan’s face as he waited for the Sluath to ram his hand into his chest, but remained unmoving. He knew the fear of death then, as he never had before, yet life meant nothing to him without Fiana.

  “So, you do mean to serve me. Or perhaps yourself, but no matter.” The prince moved to stand at his back. “Danar, Seabhag. Hold him.” Against Galan’s ear he murmured, “Agony as you have never known awaits, Druid. Be a good boy and endure it.”

  The two Sluath came to flank him, and gripped his arms cruelly tight. Galan jerked as the prince’s icy claws tore down the flesh of his back, which he imagined to be the worst of it, until the Sluath rammed sharp stakes into the open wounds over and over. Galan emptied his belly on the ground before he gathered in enough breath to scream.

  “Do something about the noise, Seabhag,” Iolar said before impaling Galan again.

  The shifting demon stuffed something foul into his mouth, cutting off Galan’s air and voice. Yet the torture continued, on and on until a frozen blackness crowded into his head. It came from the wounds, which were puckering around the stakes protruding from them.

  When the two demons released him, he collapsed, his body wracked by such pain that he curled over, knowing that only his beloved could be worth such suffering.

  “Rise, Aedth.” The prince came to stand before him, his claws and wings dripping with blood. “Let me see if the change has taken.”

  Somehow Galan staggered to his feet, and flinched as Iolar slapped his hand against his chest. The chill that spread through him from the touch numbed the pain, however, and when he opened his eyes, his body filled with strange power.

  “You bear the feathers of our prince on your back,” Meirneal said, sounding petulant and envious. “Show your gratitude for his gifts.”

  Galan moved his shoulders, and great wings fanned out on either side of him. When he turned his head, he saw them, snowy white and scarlet red.

  “You remain mortal, but only just,” Iolar told him. “It will take a day or two before you fully heal, but when you do my feathers will allow you to fly, and with my power you may cast your spells.” He cradled Galan’s chin in his claws, smearing him with his own blood. “Betray me, Aedth, and this will seem a brief and loving caress.”

  “Never, my prince.” With some difficulty he folded his wings, bowed, and uttered the first real lie he’d ever told Iolar. “My thanks.”

  Chapter Five

  ROSEALISE COULD CLEARLY see that adapting to the rustic conditions inside the castle would prove a trial. As Jenna showed her around the keepe for the first time, the other woman seemed not to notice. But Dun Chaill had fallen to ruin ages ago, judging by the pervasive disorder and decay. Enormous trees grew in the most inconvenient spots. Moss greened the ashlar, and the leaf rot and detritus of centuries carpeted every floor and flat spot. What she wouldn’t give for a decent broom and a dozen young housemaids with strong backs.

  “You mentioned that Mael is in charge of the household,” she said to Jenna as they skirted a bed of fern sprouting from some rotted floor timbers. “Why hasn’t he hired staff to help with the restoration?”

  “We don’t have any money for that, and we’d rather keep the place to ourselves for now.” The younger woman sounded as if she were choosing her words carefully. “Domnall and his men tend to be very independent.”

  Aside from the great hall, and some of the surrounding chambers, nothing appeared to have proper roofing. Gaps in the stonework allowed both chill and wind to disperse what heat came from the fireplaces, some of which she suspected had chimneys in need of a thorough sweeping. The absence of furnishings and drapery completed the dismally hollow tableau.

  “We haven’t made much progress with the interior yet,” Jenna said. “As an architect I understand design and theory, but I have no practical experience at building and renovations. Neither do Domnall and his men, so it’s a lot of trial and error.”

  “One of the gentlemen seemed quite different from the others,” Rosealise said, and reached to brush a leaf from the other woman’s shoulder. “Edane, I believe his name was.”

  “Our archer.” Jenna said and nodded. “What he lacks in bulk he makes up for with accuracy with his bow. I’ve never seen him once miss a target. He was in training to become a shaman, a tribal healer,” she added quickly. “He knows a lot about herbs and plants, which I don’t, so that’s handy. He just hates… Oh, here’s your room.”

  Rosealise stopped with her in front of a newly-made door.

  “The castle’s main pantry is at the end of the passage, and that opens out into the garden and the kitchens, so we think these were servants’ quarters. We’re still working on the basic necessities,” Jenna said as she opened the door into a small chamber. “But at least you won’t have to sleep out in the hall.”

  Rosealise peered in at the lumpy, fur-draped wooden pallet, bare stone walls and cold hearth. Ends of greenery protruded from the edges of the low bed. A tiny window slit provided some air but very little light. She could feel the damp from where she stood at the threshold.

  A sense of having occupied many other such small, uninviting rooms came over her. Had she been too poor to acquire better? But wondering that sent a sharp ache through her head, so she turned her attention to the room again, and what she might do to enhance it.

  “It should be very cozy,” she said and glanced down the corridor at the other chambers. “Do the rest of you keep rooms here?”

  “Domnall and I are using the winery on the other side of the tower for our quarters,” Jenna told her, “and Edane and Kiaran are sharing the old granary beyond the opposite tower. But Mael and Broden are just down the hall if you need anything.”

  Knowing the strapping hunter sle
pt so close sent Rosealise’s emotions into a churn. She felt safest whenever he was near, and yet also somewhat undone. She didn’t feel familiar with being dependent on anyone, indeed quite the opposite, but his proximity made her insides pleasantly warm.

  Noticing Jenna’s regard, she said, “Once I’ve lit the fire and collect some proper ticking for the mattress, I will be quite content.”

  “We don’t have the materials to make real bedding yet,” the other woman admitted. “For the moment we’re using evergreen boughs under what sacking and furs we have.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ve tried to think of a better solution, but I’m not much of a housekeeper.”

  “Nonsense. You’ve done well for a lady alone in a household of gentlemen.” She thought for a moment. “I believe I saw a great, grassy clearing through one of the front wall gaps. Cut, dried and bundled properly, the grass should serve better as ticking, or fleece perhaps. By chance do you have sheep?”

  Jenna shook her head. “There are some villagers who herd theirs at the far end of the valley, but we have to be careful about approaching them. They’re not thrilled about us living at Dun Chaill. They believe a monster rips apart anyone who comes near here.”

  “You’re certainly proof there is no such thing, although your garden is rather beastly.” She touched the other woman’s arm. “Considering all the dangers you’ve encountered, it seems very odd that you’d choose such a place to inhabit. Is the reason to do with the other matters that you and the chieftain have decided to conceal from me?”

  “Yes,” the younger woman said and winced. “I didn’t mean to– You’re very perceptive.”

  “Yet not so easily shocked, I daresay.” She smiled. “Don’t fret, my dear. I’m a stranger to you all, and that is reason enough to withhold your confidences. I won’t press you. When you feel ready to confide in me, I will be happy to listen.”

  From there they returned to the kitchens, where Jenna showed her the small storage room which they had made into their current pantry. Someone had scrubbed it clean before coating the stone walls with a whitish paint, a prudent measure that would help reveal any vermin that might find their way into the stores. Aside from smoked fish and a few freshly-caught game birds they had stored very little meat. Ample bundles of herbs, greenery and root vegetables had been hung from boughs wedged between the stone walls. Some hastily-made wooden boxes held generous heaps of various berries as well. After inspecting everything and seeing no sign of insects or vermin Rosealise nodded her approval.

  “You’ll want to salt as much of the fish that you wish to keep for winter,” she told Jenna as they emerged. “That should better preserve them. Some of the herbs shall fare better after sun-drying. The berries as well, although we might wish to make some into jam or syrups before they over-ripen. I’d love to collect some strawberry leaves for a tisane.” She would consult with Mael first, of course, but the work could be started immediately. “Why do you look worried now?”

  Jenna sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know how to do any of those things.”

  “Oh,” Rosealise said, a bit surprised. “Well it seems that I do.” She was also dismayed at how quickly such knowledge had come to her when she remembered nothing of the life in which she had learned it. “I should be quite the glock when it comes to rebuilding a castle, however, so I shall leave that work in your capable hands.” She gazed around them and sighed. “You’ve no makings for a pot of tea. But with the herbs and berries I might manage a decent tisane.” She paused and turned back to Jenna. “If I may?”

  “Please do,” the other woman said. “And teach me while you’re at it?”

  Chapter Six

  AS SHE HAD predicted to herself, it took another few days for Rosealise to become accustomed to her new living arrangements. The rather haphazard manner in which the Mag Raith ran their household vexed her most. Everything necessary for daily life had to be improvised or done without until a substitute could be hand-fashioned. They lived completely isolated at the castle, with no neighbors. While nature provided an abundance of raw materials, they had few tools and little experience with tackling domestic tasks, as she discovered one morning when she and Jenna came into the hall.

  There they found Mael, his head and shoulders black with soot as he worked a large branch into the flue above the central hearth.

  “Gracious, sir, that won’t do,” Rosealise said, hurrying over to the seneschal to stop his inexpert cleaning.

  As soon as he drew the branch out of the hearth, she took it from him. The scent of him quickly enveloped her, as warm and cozy as if the fire still burned. Her hands itched to touch him in a most unseemly manner, to feel his firm, smooth skin gliding under her palms. Surely, she’d never been like this in the past that she couldn’t recall. It was most disconcerting.

  Mael smiled at her in such a way that made her toes curl inside her boots. “Fair morning, my lady.”

  The sound of his voice hummed inside Rosealise’s breast with butterfly wings. They stared at each other until Jenna cleared her throat, as if to remind them of her presence.

  “Forgive my wool-gathering. You must bundle with cording a great heap of holly to pass down through the chimney from its stack.” Rosealise brushed at the soot on his sleeves and glanced up at the thatching. “If one may safely ascend to such heights, that is.”

  “Aye, my lady.” Before she could say another word Mael hurried out.

  “Well, it seems I know how to sweep a chimney as well as insult a man’s hard work.” Rosealise gave Jenna a rueful look. “I should better explain the method to him. Would you please excuse me?”

  Jenna smiled. “Of course.”

  Walking quickly in the chieftain’s roomy pantaloons required a discreet adjustment of the cord belt Jenna had improvised for her. Rosealise had not yet seen any spare cloth she might sew into a proper skirt, and suspected her hosts had a sore need for fabric and dunnage. Although she had no memory of making any particular clothes, the methods seemed abundantly clear to her.

  As she passed through the kitchens, the scanty amount of cook pots and utensils concerned her anew. It seemed the Mag Raith and Jenna had come to Dun Chaill with little more than their horses. While feeding and caring for five men and two women could not compare to running a large house filled with staff, certain necessities needed to be addressed.

  Someone truly needs to help Mael by taking charge of the household.

  Since Rosealise was more confident now in her abilities, it might as well be her. She liked to work, which made her wonder if she had been in service. The prospect of taking some of the burden from the seneschal’s shoulders also felt entirely right. Moreover, the thought of teaching Jenna such skills pleased her immensely. Having the temerity to instruct the younger woman should have seemed presumptuous, and yet the notion felt very natural, as if she had often performed such tutoring in her vanished past.

  Perhaps I taught other household staff. I might have been a cook or a housekeeper.

  Outside the roofless passage leading to the garden Rosealise found Mael carrying a huge armful of thorny-leafed branches. Her heart girlishly skipped as she met his darkly bejeweled gaze. Could she never be near him without feeling such palpitations?

  “Here you are, Seneschal.” She forced herself to look at what he’d collected. “Gracious, that is certainly a generous bundle of holly.”

  A coil of rope Mael had tucked under his arm fell to the ground as he peered over the heap. “’Tis plenty in the pinewoods. I’ll fetch more, if needed.”

  “I’m sure you’ve gathered enough to sweep every chimney in the place,” Rosealise assured him. “Would you place that on the ground, that I may show you the portion to be bound, and the method?”

  He lowered the holly to the grass, but when he straightened several branches clung to his tunic, scattering the rest. He tried to pry a branch away, only to tear the fabric and prick his fingers.

  “You are too impatient. Do allow me.” Rosealise went to him and began
carefully removing the detritus. The excuse to put her hands on Mael pleased her as much as being so close to him, for she could discreetly breathe in his warm, fetching scent. “You’re a very obliging gentleman.”

  He seemed now fascinated by her efforts. “’Tis plain you ken more of such work.”

  “Unhappily I cannot attest to that with any real certainty.” Once she had freed the last branch and dropped it on the pile, she saw a bloody scratch on his neck. “Oh, you’re hurt.”

  “’Tis naught.”

  He bent down to retrieve the rope, and his arm brushed against the side of her leg.

  The sunlight vanished, leaving Rosealise blind and alone. When she blinked, the blackness remained, and all manner of odd thoughts filled her head. She marveled that it no longer hurt, for one thing, and yet she had been in no pain before this moment. She had the sense of having been thrown and injured quite recently, which seemed odd given that she had been standing beside…beside…

  Why couldn’t she remember the dear fellow’s name?

  The darkness about her seemed deeper than that of sleep. For a terrifying moment she wondered if all she had known before had been but a dream, or the fancies brought on by death. Had she been buried alive and awakened in her grave?

  No, it could not be so. No coffin surrounded her, and she could breathe.

  The use of her lungs brought another disagreeable discovery: stench. The brackish, rotting smell that came with every breath made her stomach heave. She gathered that the odor came from the wet, soft muck squishing under her hands. Perhaps she had rolled into a bog. If that were the case, then why couldn’t she remember it? Where was the sky? Even at the darkest hours there should be stars.