“’Tis an affliction that grows slowly but steadily worse,” he said as he tore the mint into shreds and dropped them into a stone mortar. “If you’re coughing but a wee amount of blood…” At his glance she nodded. “Then you’ve still some time. You must guard against tiring and overwork, take the tonic nightly, and eat much greenery.”
She stepped away from him. “I would not use my power, but I must know how much time is left to me. Please, sir, tell me.”
Edane thought of the old shaman, and the terrible revelation he had made to him. Such truths could be as vicious as starved martens, but the pain faded quickly. Not to know proved a torment that never ended, and could drive a soul to take reckless measures.
He met her gaze. “None I’ve seen stricken with the bloody cough lived through a winter. The cold and the damage within that the plague caused, ever ended them.”
“So, we could have summer and fall.” A dreamy look stole over her face before she caught his look. “I apologize. Mael and I have become paramours, you see. Since I cannot make him sick, and I’d rather not sleep alone again in that room, I’ll be staying in his chamber.”
The softness of her voice confused him, for she spoke as if he’d given her a gift instead of the prediction of her death. “You’d be content with such a short life?”
“I feared it might only be weeks,” Rosealise admitted. “Truly, any time we have left is precious to me.”
* * *
Broden moved silently from where he had stood listening outside the kitchens. He knew Domnall needed his knowledge to contend with this newly-found trap. Then there was the map and what new secrets it might reveal. Yet if he looked upon Mael before his wrath cooled, he might stuff the scroll down the tracker’s throat.
She’s chosen him. As I reckoned.
Longing and envy had poisoned his mortal life, and Broden would have none of it. He’d made brothers of the Mag Raith hunters. These men had been the only family he’d ever known. He’d never been especially close to Mael, but he deserved as much happiness with Rosealise as their chieftain and Jenna had found together. Indeed, the tracker had suffered much, perhaps more than any of them, and had earned the lady’s heart. Fargas mag Raith had been a swine, pissing on everything good and dear to Mael.
And yet why cannae I feel glad of it?
What remained unbearable to Broden was not knowing if Rosealise had first been his lover. He could close his eyes and summon the memory of the lass in his dreams. Every time her pale hair swept across his chest, cool and soft, it had been the same pale gold. She’d smelled of some dark flower he could not name, but he knew the scent. He’d held her and kissed her, and the splendid taste of her mouth roused such desire in him that his entire body had shaken with it. Yet the finer details of her—her features, the sound of her voice, what she had said to him—remained lost to him.
As Rosealise had become, now that she had chosen Mael.
Needing to put more distance between him and Dun Chaill, he headed for the mound. He paused only when a kestrel dove down into his path.
“Return to the keepe, Falconer.”
“My birds need to hunt,” Kiaran said and came out from behind a broad birch and fell into step beside him. “I need to stretch my legs. I reckon you need a brother’s ear.”
Impatience added a sharp edge to his simmering temper. “If I slice off one of yours, ’twill no’ grow back.”
“You ken my meaning.” The falconer’s gaze shifted, and the kestrel about to alight on his gauntlet smoothly soared back up into the canopy. He dropped his hand. “’Tis odd. You leave while Rosealise speaks, and yet hide to listen where she cannae see you. I cannae fathom your reasons.”
Broden stopped and regarded him. “Do you become a female now, that you must trot after me and beg my confidence? Go prattle to Edane.”
Kiaran patted his crotch. “No, still yet a man. You arenae Edane’s favorite matter of late, and the chieftain worries on you.” His expression grew sober. “’Tis the kind path I wish to take here, as a brother, to offer you consolation. Mayhap some counsel.”
“I’m no’ a wench, you’re no’ my kin, and Domnall needs tend to his own facking concerns.” Broden jerked his head toward the keepe. “You’ve seen to your duty. Begone with you.”
The falconer sighed. “The manly path, then.”
Broden’s head snapped back as Kiaran’s fist plowed into his jaw. He snarled and lunged, knocking the other man to the ground. Kestrels shrieked overhead as he and the falconer tussled, fists and elbows and legs churning. Broden managed to clout him hard enough to make him wheeze before Kiaran drove his knee into his side, flipped over him, and scrambled to his feet. Broden did the same, a dull roaring filling his ears.
“Now, brother, recall that I’m rather fond of my face,” the falconer warned as he circled, mirroring his moves. “It maynae be as pretty as yours, but ’tis precious to me.”
In that moment he heard Rosealise’s pretty voice in the kitchens again, and the words that had crushed his hope.
Any time we have left is precious to me.
Mael had become hers, and she his, and nothing remained for Broden but to accept.
The fack I shall.
He rushed at Kiaran, his fury erupting in a bellow of rage, only to be smacked in the face with claws and feathers and screeching.
The small bird pecked and clawed as if intent on removing Broden’s face a pinch at a time. If it had been the falconer, he would have defended himself, but the delicate bones of the fierce kestrels could not withstand even the slightest blow. He halted and squeezed his eyes shut to protect them, staggering until he felt Kiaran come near.
“Enough, Dive.” The falconer gently pried the furious little raptor away. “I’ll fight the arse myself.”
Trickles of blood ran down over Broden’s lashes from the scratches on his brow, which Kiaran mopped away with his sleeve. When at last he looked into the falconer’s midnight eyes, he saw the gleam of mirth.
“If you laugh at me now,” Broden muttered, “I shall cut off your head. This night, while you sleep.”
“Then my birds shall hunt you.” The falconer released Dive, who flew up to join the four kestrels circling over them. “And the next time, my friend, they’ll blind you first.”
“Gruesome wee fackers,” Broden muttered and spat a short feather from his mouth. “Why do you name yourself my friend?”
Kiaran shrugged. “We’re much alike. Mag Raith by fate, no’ by tribe. ’Tis an odd kinship, but one we alone share.”
An uneasy shame filled Broden as he saw how indifferent he’d been to the falconer’s unstinting camaraderie all these centuries. Even after they’d awakened in the grove, he’d paid no mind to how the other man might have felt to be stranded with the other hunters. Domnall, Mael and Edane had the bonds of their shared blood line. Like Broden, Kiaran had lost all his kin, but long before they had set out on that final hunt.
He put his hands on the falconer’s forearms. “’Twas foul of me to spill my spleen on you when you but wished to annoy me. Had you a heart, I’d ask your forgiveness.”
“Aye, and you’re an arse with boils. I’ve no notion why I bother with you.” Kiaran returned the clasp of comrades briefly. “Come. I’d like another look at that hoard.”
He accompanied Broden to the mound, but said nothing more. The trapper was glad, for melancholy had replaced his anger, and he might say more than he wished to. When they reached the hoard, they stood beside the smoldering remains of Edane’s latest fire, in which he had burned a heap of ruined wool. On the other side of the widened opening the archer had also begun sorting and stacking useable goods.
“The tools shall be welcome,” Broden said, nodding toward the archer’s neat pile of unearthed implements. Although many appeared rusted, and had rotted handles, the heavy forged metals looked sound. Working to improve them might keep him from brooding on Rosealise, too. “We’ve some ash I may carve and fit for new grips.”
“We might reuse old iron as well by smelting and recasting it. To earn my keep with the tribe I worked their forge.” Kiaran toed a scorched coin from the ash. “The chieftain maynae wish Roman goods in the keepe, but we may turn them into Mag Raith goods.”
His invocation of their tribal name made Broden think of Eara. The Pritani lass who had loved him, and who his sire had scorned him for it before the entire tribe, sometimes still haunted him. The only person in his life to love him, she’d suffered much disgrace and humiliation for her affections. Once she had been married off to the tribe’s smith, he had kept far away from her and her mate.
“How many bairns do you reckon Eara birthed?” Broden asked idly.
“None. Her mate couldnae sire any.” Kiaran nodded at his surprised look. “A horse trampled him as a lad. A hoof to the baws gelded him. ’Twas why he grew so fat, you ken. He yet doted on her.”
“Aye.” In their mortal lives Domnall had sometimes spoke of the lass, who after her mating had lived very well in the finest of brochs. The taciturn smith had seen to her every comfort, even bringing in other lasses to see to the cooking and cleaning. “’Twas why I never stole her from him. I wished that life for her, that I couldnae give.”
“You cannae give Rosealise any kind of life,” Kiaran said as he picked up the coin, idly rubbing the soot from its face. “The white plague shall take her by winter.”
“The Sluath struck down Jenna with lightning,” Broden reminded him, “and Dun Chaill made her immortal.”
“Did it, now.” The falconer frowned as his gaze shifted in the direction of the keepe. “I wonder.”
Chapter Seventeen
ADDING WOOD TO the fires in the great hall gave Rosealise something to do as she waited for Mael to return with the chieftain. The tonic Edane had prepared for her had proven quite unpalatable, but she could not deny its soothing effects. Even the smokiest of the hearths had not caused her to cough.
“Pinch your nose before you drink,” the archer had advised her. “And chew some mint leaves after you’ve swallowed.”
The mint had indeed helped.
She looked about the empty hall, ill at ease with nothing to do in the household. Everyone had hurried away, busy with their tasks. Idly she returned to the table, where the scroll map still lay. Unrolling it, she sat down to study it again. The blue ink used to draw it appeared very dark, and the parchment so flexible and sound as to be newly-made. It might have been done only yesterday, and yet Jenna had assured her no one had lived in Dun Chaill for centuries.
“Perhaps the magic of the arch kept it pristine,” Rosealise murmured under her breath.
She traced a path on the map from her chamber to the great hall. Directly above her finger sat a rectangle in which had been drawn an arch filled with blank ovals in staggered rows. Judging by the position of the inset detail to the larger area of the map around it, it suggested the great hall contained another hidden archway.
Rosealise looked up and studied the walls around her. As in her chamber, they appeared to be solid stonework. She rose and went to the nearest to inspect it. Weather had scoured away much of the outer surfaces of the mortar, leaving dark gaps between the stones. Remnants of yellow and red paintings still covered parts of each wall. None of the primitive designs of flowers and vines formed an arch, nor did anything interrupt their design. Tapping on the walls would yield nothing useful, she suspected, unless her touch disrupted the magic used to conceal the archway.
As she reached up to fit her fingers into a gap, the stroke of an unseen hand glided along her inked thigh. The tingling awareness between them had a decidedly carnal feel to it now and she smiled.
“You are spying on me, sir.”
“I didnae leave you here to climb the walls, lass,” Mael said from behind her.
“As it happens, I’m searching them.” She turned and took in his unhappy expression before she gestured at the table. “A detail on the scroll leads me to think another archway was hidden here, in the hall.”
“And now you seek it alone?” His scowl deepened. “These traps can kill, my lady, and if we never found you, I’d go mad.”
Such a prediction might have pleased her before they’d been caught in the vine trap. Now it only reminded her of how foolishly she’d behaved.
“I am now aware of the dangers of these arches, Seneschal,” Rosealise said. “I had no intention of entering it alone. I must do my part before my time comes to help keep you and your clan safe.”
“Dinnae speak so,” Mael said gravely. He strode over to her, and took hold of her hands. “You’re strong, and Edane’s clever. You’ve survived the Sluath. Dun Chaill healed Jenna–”
She pressed her fingertips to his mouth to stop the desperate outpouring.
“She was injured. I am ill. We cannot depend on it. For my part I will not waste another moment worrying on my affliction. You and I have much more gratifying experiences to share.” She smiled as she watched him kiss her palm. “After we find this arch, if you would care to help me do so.”
Mael’s sigh slipped through her fingers. “Show me what you saw on the scroll.”
After studying the map and listening to her theory, her lover pointed to her chamber. “’Tis no inset here to show the arch we found.”
“Yes, but that trap’s entry had been bespelled.” Rosealise stroked a knuckle across her lip. “I wonder if the arch hidden here may be concealed by other means. A section of wall built on a pivot, to open as a door would?”
Mael nodded, and eyed the lowest seam where the walls met the floor. “If ’twas regularly used, opening and closing it might leave scrape marks on the old slates we found under the doss.”
He walked with her along the walls as they inspected the pitted surfaces of the flooring stones. A few times Mael halted and crouched to touch the slate briefly, then shook his head and continued on with her.
“What do you see that I cannot?” Rosealise asked him.
“Much. When I awoke after our escape my senses had vastly sharpened.” He glanced at her. “Bid me number your lashes from across the keepe, and I’d give you the true count. Whisper to me beside the stream, and I’ll hear you in the kitchens.”
“Surely not perpetually,” she said, feeling alarmed now. Such an ability would cause him excruciating discomfort.
He shook his head. “Only as I wish to. Hold, lass.” He caught her arm and drew her back from a slate fitted in one corner. “Curving grooves, just there.”
Rosealise peered at the stone, which simply looked worn all over to her. Then she eyed the arrangement of stones on either side of the wall seam.
“A corner makes a terrible spot for a hidden door.”
He scanned the walls. “’Tis no’ a corner.” Putting out his hand, he covered the seam, which seemed to jump out from the stonework. “’Tis chiseled and stained to appear as such.”
As soon as he took his hand away the faux stone began to move, rearranging itself to one side. A panel of wood, painted to appear as a corner, swung out from a dark space. The sound of clanking and scraping metal assaulted them.
“No’ these bastarts again.” He seized her and dragged her back with him as a metal statue of a man appeared and took a step out of the chamber. “Keep well back from them, lass. I ken how to stop–”
He shoved her back and ducked to avoid the rusted blade the statue swung at his head.
Without thinking Rosealise grabbed the statue’s arm. “We are not your enemy. Stop this at once.”
Speaking to it as if it were alive seemed supremely ridiculous, but the iron warrior turned his head to stare blindly at her. He then lowered his arm and went motionless.
Another came out of the hidden room, an iron dagger raised above its head. Mael swiped at some moss covering its head, and it fell over onto its side with a tremendous crash.
From the sound of metal grating it seemed more would follow these two. “You and your cohorts must stop attacking us,” Rosealise told the first war
rior. “We will do no harm here.”
All of the sounds coming from inside the secret room went silent.
“Gods blind me,” Mael said as he stared inside the dark chamber. “They’ve all gone still again.” He gazed at her. “Your power persuades them, but they arenae living.”
“Let us debate that after we summon the others and reseal this trap,” Rosealise suggested.
* * *
Mael watched as Broden carried another of the heaviest stream stones into the hall. The trapper had tucked the sizeable boulder under his arm, as if it weighed no more than a sack of grain, and used only one hand to place it atop the others they’d piled in front of the corner trap panel.
Edane, who also watched him, rolled his eyes at Mael.
“’Tis enough?” the trapper asked as he surveyed the massive stone barricade.
“We’ll see to cutting some timbers for bolt bars in the morning,” Kiaran put in. “I can hammer some brackets to hold them from the old blades that cannae be salvaged as weapons.”
“That should keep it sealed for the night,” the chieftain said. “My thanks, Brother.”
“Mayhap you should instead dig out the whole of the mound on the morrow, Kiaran,” Edane suggested, his tone sneering. “Take Broden. He shall need use but a finger for that.”
The trapper turned toward him, his eyes glittering.
“I, too, wish to thank you, sir.” Rosealise stepped between the two men and smiled brightly. “Your gift of strength is rather astounding. We could not have managed this so quickly without you.”
The trapper’s jaw clenched as he glanced past her at the archer. When he met the Englishwoman’s gaze he nodded once, and then abruptly turned and strode out of the hall.
“Rumble averted,” Jenna murmured. “Nicely done, Miss Dashlock.”
“Broden deserved praise, not scorn,” Rosealise replied and frowned for a moment at Edane before she met Mael’s gaze. “I should go and tidy up. Please excuse me.”
Mael: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 2 Page 10
