Mael: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 2

by Hunter, Hazel

  Lack of light hid the mortal’s face like a black mask, also helpful to Galan’s aim. He walked up to the younger man, testing the feel of his thick hair. This one could be compelled to braid strands of it, as some of the others had, but he was too impatient to wait for a more convincing façade. He also hated that he could not pluck what he wanted from the mortal’s mind, as the Sluath did. He removed his dagger, plying the very edge of the blade against the farmer’s mouth.

  “Do you fear this blade, lad?”

  “Aye.” The man spoke without emotion, but he shivered slightly.

  “Do not move.” He had to be careful not to cut off the lips this time, Galan thought, and sent a surge of power through the dagger. “You’re named Edane.”

  “I’m Edane.” The lie came easily, as Galan already had him completely under his spell.

  He traced the tip of the blade down over the farmer’s chin and rested it in the hollow of his throat. Soon he’d have the real Pritani shaman at his mercy, but for now, this sham-Edane would have to do.

  Galan leaned closer, and put his lips against the mortal’s ear, licking the lobe before he said, “Tell me of your most dire fear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  MAEL WOULD HAVE happily remained in Rosealise’s arms until the underworld crumbled around them. Yet they had to find their way back to Dun Chaill before the Sluath returned, or face enslavement again. He also heard her breath grow shallower, and knew she was trying not to cough.

  “We must try again to find the portal in the tunnels,” he said as he rose and helped her to her feet. “Can you walk that far?”

  Though she nodded and smiled, her throat moved as she swallowed several times.

  As they passed the frozen slaves Mael looked into their eyes, which yet moved, and saw how they turned from side to side. He’d seen that motion before, beneath the eyelids of his sleeping sisters.

  “I dinnae reckon they see us,” he told his lady as he guided her toward the tunnel entry. “Their eyes move as when mortals sleep.”

  She glanced at the Roman they had first seen. “Surely the Sluath can’t make them dream.” She stopped and tugged on his arm. “I understand now. The duchess’s divan…they didn’t steal it from her castle. The stone took it from my memories when I drew near.”

  “’Tis using our thoughts to shape itself,” he agreed. He turned to the nearest stone wall, and took a step closer to it. Light and color poured over the rock, changing it into a tall hedge of brambles with blood-red thorns. “The maze in the garden at Dun Chaill, but I didnae think of the place.”

  “Nor did I once recall Her Grace’s furnishings.” Rosealise thought for a moment. “The maze at Dun Chaill tried to kill us. The duchess did the same to me just before the Sluath captured me. These illusions do not use ordinary thoughts or memories. I remember now. They prey on that which we fear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  AS THE FULL bloom of the warm spring had given way to the sweet grasses of summer, Jenna’s hope had faded like the garden. Hardly pausing on her usual walk, she stooped and gathered some sprigs of pastel purple heather and the drooping bluebells that matched them. As she passed the outer wall and made for the hedge maze, her feet found their way along the trodden down path they’d made.

  What would Mael and Rosealise think if they could see me?

  Rosealise would likely have to laugh at the skirt.

  Left with a mound of tartans brought from the cache, but without the Englishwoman’s seemingly endless knowledge of the domestic arts, Jenna had felt obliged to at least try her hand at sewing. The hem was longer in back than in front, the seams between the panels were unraveling at an alarming rate, and there wasn’t a single straight line in sight—anywhere. The men had certainly not clamored for her sewing skills. In fact she’d had the distinct impression that their faces turned away to hide smirks.

  If she and her skirt could help to lighten the mood, then it was worth it.

  But as always when she approached the small stone altar that Broden had made, her own mood sobered. A flat piece of gray slate was supported by two others that stood vertical, their bottoms rammed into the earth just outside the maze entrance. She brushed aside the withered remains of last week’s flowers. Though she’d given up on the formal prayers early on, she silently sent her usual entreaty to the Gods of her highlanders.

  Since the guys think you’re out there, how about proving them right? All you have to do is send Rosealise and Mael back to us.

  Silence, as usual, was the only answer—not that it surprised her.

  Maybe it was her imagination, but she’d recently noticed that the men seemed to mention the Gods less of late. One by one they had finally had to admit that Mael and Rosealise were gone. The frantic searching of the first few days had turned to staring at the sky during storms, but eventually the weeks had dragged by. Though Jenna had only known Rosealise for days, the bond they’d forged in the underworld had been strong. It also surprised her how much she’d liked having another woman in the keepe.

  With a sigh, Jenna lay the new flowers next to Edane’s candle.

  As much as she missed Rosealise, the men had suffered worse. Each had dealt with the loss of their brother in their own way.

  Domnall had worked ceaselessly to make Dun Chaill safer for them all, adding his own marks to the map that Rosealise had found.

  After complaining that a memorial was something that Mael wouldn’t have wanted, Broden had helped her build the altar anyway. She noticed that he’d taken great care to dress the edges of the slate beautifully. When it was finished, he’d crossed his arms and looked down at it, but nodded before he left.

  Edane and Broden had stopped their bickering almost immediately. It was as if they’d realized that even an immortal brother might be lost. Edane had brought so many candles to accompany her flowers, that concentric, puddled rings of melted wax covered almost the entire surface of the top slate.

  But it was the falconer that most worried Jenna. Kiaran had yet to say Mael’s name.

  The ink along her spine began to tingle and warm just as footfalls sounded behind her. Jenna smiled as Domnall’s big arms wound around her. She pressed her back against the hard muscles of his chest and hugged his arms closer to her. This was something new as well. Domnall found all manner of reasons to seek her out during the day.

  “I’ve brought your fresh eggs to the kitchens,” he said, nuzzling behind her ear. His warm breath on the back of her neck tickled. “Tell me again the name of that dish of yours.”

  When she tried to turn to him, he held her in place and nuzzled behind her other ear.

  “Frittata,” she said, wriggling a little, “and it’s not really mine.”

  Though she’d done frightfully little cooking in her time as an architect and even less during school, she’d learned a few simple things that had kept her from starving.

  Rosealise had probably known so much more.

  As though he’d heard her thoughts, he said, “Mael ’twould be better with the chickens. He kens the ways of the animals from all his tracking.”

  Jenna managed to turn around, looked up into Domnall’s lean face, and laid her hands along both sides of it.

  “I love that you never speak about them in the past,” she said.

  “For they arenae,” he declared.

  “Simple as that?” she said, as she placed her hands on his chest.

  “Naught ’tis simple about the Sluath.” He pulled her closer. “But aye, ’tis something deep in my bones.” He gazed steadily into her eyes. “I ken you feel it too.”

  Jenna thought for a long moment and glanced back at the altar. The couple’s disappearance had left a cavernous hole in everyone’s lives, yes. The clan all grieved in their own ways. But even now, after all this time, she somehow couldn’t give up the hope that Rosealise and Mael weren’t really gone.

  As she turned back to Domnall to tell him so, he lightly kissed her forehead and tucked her against his s
ide. Without another word, and with his arm around her waist, they started back up the path.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ROSEALISE COULDN’T HOLD back the cough that came then, or the blood that filled her mouth. She fell to her knees, coughing out as much as she could before she dragged in a shallow breath. Her chest felt as if she were gulping water instead of air.

  When she could get enough to speak, she said, “Could you take my arm, my dearest love?”

  Mael did more than that and carried her into the tunnel, where the stone walls illuminated with caricatures of herself. She saw herself dying, dead, and rotting. On one narrow ledge the duchess, now a skeleton in fine black silk, leered down at her as she pointed a pistol at Rosealise’s head. Yet as Rosealise stared back, thinking only of the love she had found with Mael twice now in the underworld, the illusion turned to dark green smoke and vanished. In its place the happy face of Mary, the duchess’s daughter, swam into view.

  Miss Dashlock! I’ve missed you so! I know it’s frightfully selfish of me, but I can hardly wait to see you again. Such happy days.

  Rosealise reached out a trembling hand to the smiling child. It wasn’t the pain of her lingering death that little Mary remembered—it was the love. But just as their fingers were about to touch, Mary shimmered brightly, then faded away.

  This is what the demons are hiding from us.

  “Mael,” she gasped, “look.”

  As a sharp pain lanced through her chest, she remembered with utter clarity how they could leave this place.

  * * *

  But Mael didn’t need to be told. An army of pig-headed brutes had pursued him down the tunnel, but as Rosealise’s breathing had become shallower, he clutched her tighter. Naught would stop him from finding a way out and giving her breath some ease. He hadn’t found her in the underworld twice only to lose her this soon.

  “Hold on, my love,” Mael said, his words turning the pig army into hundreds of tendrils of dark green smoke that wafted away.

  In their place he saw the lovely, smiling faces of his family, who now gathered like wraiths before him. He smiled back, astonished to see how tall and beautiful his young sisters had grown. His mother’s hair had gone white, but her face radiated quiet joy. She reached out to him, her slender hand marked with a bent reed, the mark given to a widow of the tribe. His sire had died, and not by his hand.

  Ye saved us, lad. I but wish we might have done the same for ye. Someday shall we see ye again, my son.

  Relief flooded through him and in that moment all came back. Mael knew how they could return to Dun Chaill.

  “The bridge,” he said, just as Rosealise rasped, “I remember.”

  * * *

  Peering through the darkness, Rosealise saw the small flare of light at the other end of the tunnel.

  “They’ve given the signal,” she murmured to the others before she looked at her lover. “Are you quite prepared for this, my titan?”

  Mael brought her hand to his lips. “Aye, my jem.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers, and quickly hurried with her through the passage. At the other end Domnall stood waiting to operate the mechanism that opened the storm stream.

  “Mael first, and then you, Dash,” he said as he grasped the lever. He looked worried, but then he always did. “Never two together.”

  Rosealise nodded. The demon had told them that if two went together, they would die.

  “Thank you, dear friend,” she replied.

  She turned to face her lover. Looking into his eyes wrenched at her heart, but she would be strong for him now.

  “I adore you, you know. You’re the kindest, gentlest soul I’ve ever known. If we survive this, I will be your wife and have your children and exasperate you for the rest of our days.” Or love him for as long as her consumption would allow, she added silently but honestly in her head.

  “I shall find you again,” he declared.

  Mael held her with the hard desperation of a man about to leap through time to an unknown destination. He lingered with her a moment longer, and then climbed up to the sky bridge.

  Rosealise had to blink back tears as she watched the cloaked demon guide him to the proper spot, and then lean close for a final confidence. When he jumped and disappeared into the cloud stream a wretched cry spilled from her lips.

  “Dash,” Domnall said. When she met his gaze, his stern expression softened. “’Twillnae be for naught. I vow it.”

  “I will hold you to that pledge, Hunter.”

  She went over to kiss his cheek before she made her way up to the bridge. There the demon took her hand, filling her with calm, and accompanied her to the edge. Looking down brought another surge of fear, so Rosealise looked instead into the demon’s eyes.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Rosealise said. “I fear I can never repay you for what you’ve done for us.”

  “Someday you shall,” the demon promised, and then touched her brow with cold fingers. “Until you find your love again, recall nothing of yourself or this.”

  She fell into a strange, soft grayness that made leaping into the stream a simple business. As the wind whirled her out into the darkness of the storm, Rosealise’s last thought was of that strange, large man with the jewel-like eyes, whose name she could no longer remember.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  CUL TILTED HIS head as he heard the thump of boots over it. He’d sealed the hatch in the tower base weeks past, so he had no fear at being discovered. The hunters had searched every inch of the castle looking for their seneschal and his lover, to no avail. Even the chieftain’s wife, who used her power to shift into wraith form and walk through walls, had found nothing.

  Diverting Jenna away from the parts of Dun Chaill Cul reserved for his own use had been simple. Although she didn’t realize it, using her power made her vulnerable to his own.

  Less gratifying was Prince Iolar’s refusal to leave the mortal village he occupied. While Cul had kept careful watch, the demons remained obstinately entrenched, sending out only a handful of bespelled mortals every few days. The humans all scattered in different directions, as if performing reconnaissance for their masters. Cul had been tempted to kill the two who strayed too close to his castle. Fortunately, they had wandered into the lower ridges, disturbing a large herd of red hinds that had trampled them to death.

  Cul suspected the druid had convinced the Sluath of some new scheme to open the gates. He would be stupid enough to use mortal scouts, of course. As for the demons, the longer they remained in the mortal realm, the more they would suffer as he had. Soon nothing but a return to the underworld would restore them—and then he would drop the spell protecting Dun Chaill, and lure them to the only gate left open.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  MORE BLOOD WELLED up from Rosealise’s wheezing lungs. Mary had died in this fashion, bewildered and yet courageous to the very end. She could be brave about it too. But she couldn’t avoid breathing the tainted air of the underworld, which added another twisting knife inside her chest.

  “Almost there,” Mael told her.

  As they approached the bridge and passed the lever, she saw him release it despite the fact that her vision was dimming. She spat out dark red blood and felt her head whirl.

  “You first, lass,” he said, and she felt him bend down.

  We are going home now, my titan, but I will not go alone.

  As he set her gingerly on her feet, still supporting her weight, her knees wobbled and blood trickled down from the side of her mouth.

  “The Gods ’twill give you safe landing,” he whispered, holding her to his chest. “Or they must answer to me. I pray your breathing ’twill be easier, as ’twas before.” He kissed her forehead. “I shall find you again.”

  But if there was one thing Rosealise could not abide, it wasn’t how she could no longer draw a breath. It was being separated from the man she loved. She could not risk landing in a different time, no matter the cost. Here at the end, being with him w
as all that mattered.

  We began this journey together, my titan, and that is how it will finish. We will not surrender. We will take our love back to our friends, and our home.

  His arms let go of her, and she tipped slowly backward. But as the underworld started to go dark, Rosealise used the last shred of her strength. She flung her arms around Mael’s neck and pulled him over the side of the bridge with her.

  “Rosealise!” Mael exclaimed as he clutched her, their bodies spinning as the cloud stream caught them.

  The storm rushed over her face, dragging her hair toward the floating black oval. As it swallowed her and Mael, Rosealise felt her heart go still.

  Wherever it took them, whatever death brought, in Mael’s arms she was already home.

  * * *

  Water pattered atop Mael’s head, sliding down over his face. It was warm and soft, as tears from the Gods might be. He could feel that he sat against a hard stone wall, and held a long, slender shape of a woman in his arms. Both of them wore nothing but their flesh. When he opened his eyes, he saw sunlight glowing on a sopping wet mane of pale gold curls, but it still took him a moment to remember her name.

  “Rosealise.”

  His voice sounded worse than Broden’s, but at least this time she would know it to be him. When she didn’t move or reply he swept back her hair and saw the tracks of dark blood running down her throat. No breath came from her, and the terrible stillness of her face had gone chalk-white. Raindrops fell on her delicate skin causing the blood to run in small rivulets.

  There is no escaping my death, she had said.

  “You cannae do thus, my lady.” He brought her closer, holding her against him and resting his cheek against her hair. “’Tisnae time for you to go away from me. We’ve the rest of spring, and summer, and fall, and I shall have them with you.”