If it comes for me I won't run, she told herself.
Something out in the black waters howled and splashed.
I'll try not to run, she amended.
"You say this is your home?" Bella asked, hoping her voice didn't tremble as much as the rest of her.
Ishbel smiled. "This is the between-worlds, Bella, where the souls of those who are neither dead nor living dwell. We are waiting here for the Fiosaiche to decide what becomes of us. She rules here… or thinks she does," Ishbel added slyly.
Bella dug her hands into her pockets, to warm them, to stop them from shaking.
"She wants me to say I am sorry," Ishbel mimicked viciously, "to show remorse."
"Perhaps you should," Bella said, as if her mind were on something else.
"But I am not sorry."
Bella believed it. Ishbel wasn't human, she had lost whatever it was that made her so. She was as cold and vicious as the creatures she ruled, and there could be no reprieve when she decided to take Bella's life. Bella wondered why she had not done so already, but whatever the reason for the delay, she was grateful. Another minute probably didn't count for much, but every breath Bella took bought her a chance to get away.
"How did you get through the door into my world if the Fiosaiche is in charge? Doesn't she have it all locked up tight?"
Ishbel smirked. "The witch is no' as clever as she thinks she is. In the ancient days the loch was a door used by the monsters. It was sealed, but I found it again, with the help of the hag. I made her feel sorry for me, poor Ishbel, and she told me what I wanted to know, how to open the stones and how to cast spells, how to creep into dreams. Nothing is beyond me now."
Bella shrugged off the boasting. "So there must be a similar door into Loch Ness," she murmured. "It would explain—"
"I dinna care for Loch Ness. My creature has been visiting Loch Fasail regularly, feeding on sheep and anything else that wanders too close. And I sent one of my father's men through the door, too, on his horse. To kill you, Arabella Ryan. I'm sure ye have no' forgotten that. MacLean interfered, playing the big hero, but he canna stop me this time."
Bella stilled. She had been twisting her fingers nervously in the bundle of cloth in her coat pocket, feeling the old leather strips and the silver disks, without remembering what it was.
The bridle.
When Brian called out to her, she had been polishing the thing and by chance had shoved it into her pocket.
Ye must watch for when the each-uisge is changing its form. That is when it is vulnerable. That is when it can be captured. Ye must have the magic bridle at hand. Dinna worry, I will see to it that you have such a thing before the time comes.
Or perhaps it was more than chance.
Slip the bridle on, but remember, the creature will no' be easily restrained, and if it knows what ye are about then it will kill you.
Bella did not want to die. She tightened her grip on the bridle in her pocket and wondered if she would have the chance to use it. The mental strength to use it.
She could die, or she could be alive when MacLean came for her.
And he would come for her, she knew that. He loved her as much as she loved him, and he would find her.
MacLean’s head brushed the dank ceiling of the tunnel, and he ducked lower, ignoring the crunch and crackle of crawling things dying under his feet. The labyrinths were just as deeply appalling as he remembered. Worse. Because he knew Bella was here, too.
Bella should not be part of this; she would not survive it. She didn't deserve it. He wanted to wish he had never met her, never drawn her into his nightmare, but he couldn't. She had made him mortal again, she had changed him from a dark and bitter creature into a man with hope.
Without her he was nothing, and would be nothing again.
"Bella," he groaned, "where are ye?"
Another turn in the tunnel. The ceiling seemed even lower, so that he was bent almost double as he moved forward. But there was no use turning back; he knew he had to go forward no matter what obstacles he encountered.
Water dripped.
MacLean wiped a hand across his face and felt the smear of blood and grime. The wound where his head had struck the stone had stopped bleeding now, but he still had a headache and it didn't help him to think clearly. Something scuttled into the shadows, watching him with luminous eyes, but he ignored it and pushed on.
After a wee while he realized that there was a pale glow up ahead, as if dawn were breaking through a long dark night. MacLean fixed his eyes on it and moved forward.
Bella gave Ishbel a sideways glance and tried not to let her growing anxiety show. The woman was annoyed. Bella had found a way to get under her skin. Despite Ishbel's threats and sly innuendos, Bella hadn't allowed herself to show any feeling. She shrugged her shoulder when Ishbel told her she would be torn to pieces by the loch monster, and, when Ishbel lingered on the details, replied that she wouldn't make much of a meal for something so big. She smiled vaguely when Ishbel swore to make her suffer more than any mortal woman had ever suffered. She sang a Dido song under her breath and pretended to inspect her nails when Ishbel raised her arms and cried out, and her creature answered her with a truly hideous howling.
Somehow she had to get Ishbel angry enough to transform into the each-uisge. Then she could use the bridle and save herself.
"My darling, my beloved," Ishbel was crooning. She cast Bella a vicious look. "It took me centuries to tame him, to make him mine, and now I will reward him with your flesh and blood, and we will travel through the door in the loch together and teach your world the power of the old magic."
"My world will laugh at you," Bella said. "We don't believe in magic anymore."
"You will be dead soon."
"You don't like to get your own hands dirty, then?" Bella asked. "You like to stand back and order your creature to do it for you?"
"You are beneath me," Ishbel said coldly.
"And maybe you're all talk," Bella retorted. "Maybe the best you can do is steal Gregor's sheep. Was it you who ate them? The terrible each-uisge chasing harmless sheep about. I'm shaking in my boots—"
Ishbel seemed to swell. "You insult me," she said, and her voice was different, odd. Her body shimmered, moving, realigning itself.
Bella's fingers tightened on the bridle in her pocket.
"You will see. I will kill you and eat you mysel'," Ishbel roared, and her head was stretching, changing into an animal's head, while her body rose and broadened. Bella recognized the pony. Ishbel was turning into the each-uisge, and in a moment the transformation would be complete.
It would be too late.
Bella dragged the bridle from her pocket, fumbling, twisting the leather strips into the correct position. They were tangled and for a moment she thought she wouldn't be able to open them in time, but then the silver disks fell into place, the bridle opened, and she was rushing forward, her heart hammering.
Ishbel was arching above her, and Bella could see the equine snout and those wicked green eyes. The silver disks flashed and Ishbel flinched, but it was too late. Bella slipped the bridle over Ishbel's head as if it had been made to fit, and as Ishbel opened her jaws, Bella pushed the bit between her sharp teeth. And pulled the bridle tight.
Ishbel screamed, a terrible sound that was neither woman nor mare but something of both. She spun away, stumbling back and forth, her head weaving as she tried to rid herself of the bridle. Her shape shivered grotesquely, one moment horse and the next woman, and sometimes both.
Bella staggered back, gasping, too shocked to speak.
"Bella!"
There was a lone figure standing far down the beach. A big man in a plaid with his legs bare, his dark hair loose to his shoulders, and his broadsword held ready before him.
"MacLean," she breathed, and she was smiling. She couldn't help it. "MacLean!" she shouted, waving her arms.
The thing that was neither Ishbel nor each-uisge twisted and writhed, churning the sand. It screamed
again, and now the monster in the black ocean heard. There was a great splash as it lifted itself up out of the water and replied with a groaning howl. Then it sprang forward.
MacLean was running toward her.
He knows, Bella thought, as her horrified gaze drifted to the water's edge. He knows that the loch monster is coming for me. And he knows that he'll never reach me in time.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-two
The loch monster was coming. As he ran, MacLean could see its head cresting the surface of the water, those savage eyes fixed on the shore where Bella stood. She had done something to Ishbel to incapacitate her, but he didn't know what, and he didn't care. All his attention was focused now on the loch monster and the need to stop it. He knew what it was capable of doing to Bella.
He knew that he would die for her, if he had to.
The monster reached the shallows and lumbered forward. The black shiny body was clumsy out of water but no less deadly. Water sprayed from its flipperlike legs as it picked up speed and the ground shook. The long snake neck weaved about, and it gave a moaning cry. And Bella didn't move. She stood before it, frozen, her head tilted back as it loomed above her.
MacLean pushed his strength, increasing his speed along the wet sand. He was closing in. His heart pounded, his breath was a ragged gasp, and he raised his claidheamh mor.
The monster lifted its head and howled again, the sound echoing all around them. Ishbel screamed in response, unable to escape whatever it was Bella had fixed about her face. The loch monster paused, as if preparing itself, and then it dove, straight at Bella.
MacLean took one last stride, and with a roar swung his broadsword down in a powerful and savage blow. The blade connected with the monster's neck, and he felt it jar on the hard scales and then bite. The monster, sensing his arrival, was too late to save itself completely, but was able to pull away from the full deadly power of his strike.
It had saved itself from being decapitated, but it was wounded.
With a low growl it lumbered to one side, turning awkwardly for another attack. MacLean pushed Bella behind him, and turned to face it.
"Dear God." He heard her whisper, and risked a glance. Her face was white, her dark hair tangled, and her eyes enormous. But she was alive and it was his intention to keep her that way.
"Run," he told her hoarsely. "Bella, run."
"There's nowhere to run," she said. "And anyway, you're here."
He swore, but it was in Gaelic and she couldn't understand. The monster was watching him with its large eyes, and now it feinted an attack, trying to force him forward, and MacLean realized it was far more intelligent than he had imagined. It feinted again, and this time he swung his sword, keeping the creature at bay.
He began to back farther up the beach, Bella still behind him, away from the monster's home—the water—away from where it was most comfortable.
The monster seemed to know what he was doing and roared its disapproval.
"What is the matter with Ishbel?"
He felt her cold hand at his back, clinging to his shirt. 'The bridle," she said, her voice breaking. 'The magic bridle."
MacLean didn't have time to consider what she meant. The loch beastie charged forth again, lunging at him ferociously. He thrust at it with his sword, trying to spear it in the head, but it withdrew at the last moment, swinging to one side with surprising nimbleness. He was caught off balance. He saw the wicked eye on him, the cruel triumph in it, and then it dove down on him again before he could adjust his position to protect himself.
He felt the impact, like a giant's fist pounding his shoulder. Luckily the monster had not been able to rake him with its teeth; the blow had been from its powerful neck, but it was enough. MacLean fell and struck the sand heavily. The broadsword was jarred from his grip.
Bella cried out something, but his skull was ringing with agony. When he landed on the sand he'd hit his head in the very same place as before, when he'd fallen on the rocks near the castle ruins, and the pain was so bad he was unable to function. His stomach lurched, the cavern spun dizzily. He could not remember where he was and why.
There was someone tugging at him, hurting him, and he growled, trying to shove them away. "Leave me be…"
"MacLean!" She was gasping, dragging at his arms, pulling him along the sand a few steps and then a few more. "MacLean, get up, get up. Please, get up!"
Her urgency pierced the fog. MacLean groaned and rolled onto his belly, pushing himself up on all fours. She was still hauling at him, trying to get him to his feet, but he shook her off and staggered upright alone. He lifted his head, although it hurt so much he thought he would faint, and that was when he saw it. The monster. It was moving, heaving itself over the sand toward him. Faster than he would have believed possible for such an enormous beast.
"My sword, Bella," he said in a strangely even voice, as if his belly were not clenching in nausea and terror, and his head were not exploding with pain.
The monster's neck stretched out and up, ready for the final diving blow. The killing blow.
Bella put the claidheamh mor into his hands, her fingers cold and shaking, and he gripped the handle hard and hefted the blade at an angle, the point up. The monster's head came down, jaws wide, and he thrust the blade deep. Into its throat.
For a moment it didn't seem to realize what had happened to it. It pressed hard onto his blade, impaling itself even further and knocking him down so that he fell to one knee, trembling with the effort not to be crushed. And then the monster wrenched away, head weaving back and forth, roaring and groaning, the sword still lodged deep in its throat. The ground shook with its fury and distress. It rose up and pounded down on the sand.
The sword dislodged and fell from its jaws, but MacLean did not try to retrieve it. He was beyond such effort, his body weak and aching, his head throbbing. He sat down on the sand, Bella huddled beside him, as the monster tumbled heavily to one side. It dragged itself up again, moving toward the each-uisge that was Ishbel.
Gently, almost tenderly, it took her in its jaws, and then hauled its big body into the shallows, finding new strength once it reached deep water. For a moment they were visible, Ishbel's long fair hair floating in darkness, and then they sank beneath the inky waves.
Slowly MacLean became aware that Bella's arms were tight around him, her cheek pressed so hard to his it was almost painful. But he didn't care; she was warm and soft and there was no one else in this world or any other he'd rather be with.
"I love you, MacLean," Bella was saying, as if they were the last words she ever expected to speak.
He groaned and turned to kiss her lips, and then he fell back onto the sand and lay unmoving.
Bella wailed, frantically pressing her hands to him, searching for the fatal wound she seemed so certain he had, wiping away the blood that trickled from the cut on his head.
"He's alive."
Bella looked up, her arm across MacLean’s body as if she would shield him from further attack. The woman standing before her was slight, but she wore a silver cloak, had auburn hair that was brilliant in the gloomy cavern, and her eyes were like blue ice. Goose bumps lifted all over Bella's body, and she knew she was meeting the Fiosaiche at last.
"MacLean will recover," the sorceress said in her low, commanding voice. "He has done what had to be done."
"I'm glad you're pleased." Bella heard the anger in her own voice and could not stop it.
The Fiosaiche smiled as if Bella's emotion amused her. "I am."
There was something truly awful in her smile. And her eyes… there were things in her eyes… Bella looked away with a shudder. "Can we go home now?" she asked in a much smaller, far more respectful voice. "Please."
The Fiosaiche sighed. "Of course. But you will have to decide, Arabella Ryan, where home is."
"Why does everyone have to call me by my full name?" Bella complained miserably. She gave the sorceress a brief glance—it was all she could manage. "What do you
mean, I will have to decide where home is?"
"You will see."
"Please will someone tell me straight out what is going on!"
The sorceress smiled. "You cannot know everything, Arabella Ryan, it is not your place to know all I know. You must be patient. You must wait."
"Bella?" MacLean was staring at her. He started to sit up and she helped him, glaring at the Fiosaiche as if daring her to stop her.
"It is time, MacLean," the sorceress said firmly. "You have done all I wished and more. You are the man I always thought you to be. Now you must go."
"To the world of the dead?" he asked bleakly, his fingers tightening on Bella's.
"No, you are not ready to die. You must go back to your own time and prove to me my faith in you was well placed."
"Home?" he whispered, and his face shone with joy. And then he remembered. "Can I no' stay here, with Bella?"
For a moment Bella allowed herself to imagine it, MacLean and herself, together, living a sort of eighteenth century life in twenty-first century Scotland. And then she remembered that even if it was possible to do that, they could not. The loch was going to change, Gregor was building a road.
"MacLean," she said sadly, "there's something I haven't told you." Briefly she explained what Gregor planned.
He sat in silence as he listened to her, but she could tell how much her words upset him. When she was done, he took her in his arms and buried his face in her hair.
"I'm so, so sorry," she whispered. "But even if the road wasn't going to happen, you'd have to go back to the past. That's your destiny, MacLean. That's where you belong. We both know that—we've always known it."
He touched her cheek and his eyes were fierce. "And what of you?"
"I must write my book. If… if you don't manage to save your people, then at least I'll have set history straight. You'll be remembered just as you always should have been."
"You will do that for me, Arabella?" he said, suddenly humble.
Immortal Warriors 01 - Return of the Highlander Page 25
