Gallowglass

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  “Is that how she tried to get you to be her, um, piper?”

  “It is.” Robert fell silent for a moment, a long finger tracing the edge of his mug. “If I had been a lesser man, I do no’ ken what would have happened to me. As it were, she offered me a glass o’ what I thought was wine; ‘twas the sweetest drink I’d e’er tasted. No one was more surprised than I when she tried leading me to her bower, and I declined the invitation.” Robert grinned. “Actually, Nicnevin might ha’ been a fair bit more surprised than me.”

  “You said no to the Seelie Queen, even after she’d used magic on you?” I murmured, and he nodded. When Robert had told me how he refused to break his marriage vows, I’d been impressed, but resisting actual magic was nothing short of amazing.

  “That I did.” Robert sipped his tea, then he scraped a generous lump of butter across his toast. “One thing I do no ken is if the elixir e’er wears off. Once I had attained the lofty status of bein’ the queen’s gallowglass, rarely again did I have the opportunity to taste its sweetness. Yet here I am, not a day older than when she captured me.”

  “Do you think you’ll age at all now that you’ve escaped?” I asked. I didn’t learn the answer to that, since Chris picked that moment to walk through the front door. “Are you just getting in?” I demanded.

  “I had a good night,” he replied. I shuddered and looked at my tea; some things you just did not want to hear the details of, especially when they were your brother’s details. “Is there breakfast?”

  “Tea, toast, no coffee,” I rattled off. “Where were you?”

  “The pub.” Chris sat between Robert and me and poured himself a mug of tea.

  “Robert and I were at the pub,” I said. “We didn’t see you.”

  “Rina, we’re in Scotland,” Chris said, rather unnecessarily. It was stamped on my passport. “There are pubs every ten feet, or so.”

  “Point taken,” I murmured. Still, I did not like the idea of Chris out at night among the Good People, dangling himself like fresh meat in front of gray monsters and Ice Princesses and who knows what else. Then again, since he couldn’t see them, he was probably a lot safer than either me or Robert.

  Speaking of Robert, he was eying my brother warily, his jaw tense. Chris seemed to have forgotten all about his distrust of Robert, or maybe he was just really drunk. Or tired, or hung over. I don’t know which explanation I’d have preferred.

  “I’m going to go down to St. Andrew’s today,” Chris announced, shoving his chair back from the table. “To visit Ethan and David,” he added, naming two of his former classmates from Carson. Both had secured teaching positions at the prestigious university, one in English, and the other in Divinity. Their presence in Scotland was how Chris had officially justified accompanying me on this trip.

  “They don’t have classes?” I asked, being that it was a weekday.

  “I’m not sure,” Chris replied. “Even if they do, we can catch up after class ends. May I take the rental?”

  “Of course,” I replied. With that, Chris rose, clapped me on the shoulder, and retreated to his room.

  “I guess he’s decided you’re not a serial killer,” I said, after Chris had shut the door.

  “’T’would appear so.” Robert shook his head, and left the subject of my brother behind. “Now, then, Karina lass, have ye more research to do? This old scholar would love to lend ye a hand.”

  “I have some notes to organize,” I said in a rush. “I-I might not have any time for field work today.”

  Robert nodded, his narrowed eyes telling me that he was well aware of my ruse. “As ye wish, lass. If I may be o’ any help, you’ve but to ask.”

  I smiled—okay, it was probably more of a grimace—and rose from the table. After refilling my mug, I hauled out a few sheaves of field notes, and spread them across the coffee table. If I was going to pretend to work, I needed to at least look like I was working.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chris

  I blinked myself awake, then I rolled over and steeled myself for the inevitable hacking fit that came after a night of drinking...but it didn’t come. In fact, I felt great. Amazing, even, better than I had in weeks, maybe years. I felt like I could take on the world, and win. And from now on I would have Sorcha beside me.

  Before I could dwell on her too much, I took a shower and shaved. While I took care of that, I wondered why I hadn’t told Rina about Sorcha. We had always been close, despite our seven-year age gap. I remembered when Mom and Dad had brought Rina home from the hospital, a tiny little being wrapped in pink that smiled and cooed at me, and how I’d resolved to protect my perfect baby sibling from anything that could hurt her.

  Eventually I’d transitioned from Rina’s defender against the neighborhood bullies—though I’d really lost that title when she delivered one Jonathan Morris a black eye, even though he had been a year older and thirty pounds heavier than her—to her best friend and confidant, just as she was mine. I’d told Rina about Olivia the first day she sat through one of my classes, and Rina had yelled at me to leave my students alone. When it was apparent that Olivia and I would be together regardless, Rina had counseled discretion, but that was all. Rina had always supported me, no matter the situation. Ever since our parents’ death Rina was the one constant good thing in my life.

  “I’m going to tell Rina about Sorcha,” I said as I put on my shoes. “She’ll be happy for me.” Filled with resolve, I opened the bedroom door and saw Rina sitting at the kitchen table with her field notes scattered around her. Next to her, Robert was flipping through one of her books; only my sister would take all of her textbooks with her on vacation.

  What does she see in that freeloader? Rina was a smart girl, too smart to fall for the nonsense this guy was peddling. I had half a mind to call the police and have Robert removed, maybe even file a restraining order against him… Then Robert pointed out a passage in the book to Rina. She read the lines in question, then she looked up at Robert and smiled. As I watched the scene before me, I realized where I’d seen the expression on my sister’s face.

  Rina was looking at Robert the way Olivia had once looked at me.

  I would give anything—no, everything—to have Olivia look at me that way, just one more time.

  Maybe Robert was just what Rina needed after that whole mess with Jared. What’s more, I was certain that Sorcha was exactly what I needed.

  “Morning,” I said as I entered the common room. I withdrew my phone from my back pocket, and saw the time. “Afternoon,” I amended. “I’m going to St. Andrews now. Would you like me to pick up anything on the way back?”

  “I think we’re good,” Rina replied. “Have fun.”

  “Aye, man,” Robert said. “Enjoy yourself.”

  I nodded, then I grabbed the keys and left. It was only after I’d pulled onto the road that I felt a twinge of guilt; not only had I lied to my sister, I hadn’t said anything about Sorcha.

  ***

  I parked the rental car and rushed through the narrow streets and alleys, not wanting to be late for my meeting with Sorcha. I’d never felt so strongly for a person after knowing them for so short a time, not Olivia, not anyone. After Sorcha and I had parted earlier that morning, I’d missed her so much I felt near-physical pain, as if I’d lost far more than just her company.

  And how did I know that I was to meet her precisely at three? I shrugged off the question like a duck sheds water; I didn’t care how I knew, so long as I knew it about her.

  I reached the pub and placed my hand on the door, having arrived with a scant five minutes to spare, when I remembered Sorcha’s exact words: meet me in this very spot. Unsure why she would prefer to meet in the street rather than in the warmth of the pub, I released the polished brass knob and moved a few feet to the left, and leaned against the brick wall I’d pinned Sorcha to only a few hours prior. And so I waited. And waited.

  Just when I decided that I’d been stood up, I felt a hand on my arm. “You’re ea
rly,” Sorcha breathed into my ear.

  I turned around, my bewilderment over how Sorcha had seemingly appeared out of thin air quickly replaced by desire. “Actually, you’re late,” I countered, taking a good long look at her. Sorcha was wearing tight faded jeans and a fitted tan leather jacket with a cream sweater and tan boots, her dark curls loose and tumbling across her shoulders.

  Sorcha stood on her toes, and kissed my cheek. “I do hope you will allow me to make reparations for my tardiness.”

  I draped my arms around her shoulders. “Of course I will.” I tugged her toward the pub’s door, but she slipped out of my arms and away from me. “You don’t want to go inside?”

  “I want you to chase me,” Sorcha replied, dancing away. I laughed and lunged at her, but she was too quick. Before long it was a full-on chase through the streets of Crail, heedless of the fact that I was running around like a loon after a woman I hardly knew in broad daylight. Others going about their days paid us no mind, and we cavorted like children, darting around people and objects alike.

  “Caught you,” I said at last, Sorcha squealing as I grabbed and held her upper arms. She twisted around to face me, and I kept my hands on her the entire time. After the mad chase she had led me on, I wasn’t risking her flight.

  “What do you demand?” Sorcha asked. When I cocked my head, she elaborated, “Your prize, for capturing me.”

  Instead of replying I kissed her hard. When we parted, she gazed at me from under her lashes, her lips red and swollen.

  “Follow,” Sorcha said, sliding out of my arms.

  “I’m not letting go of you,” I said as I gripped her hand.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Sorcha led me down a darkened causeway, until we were standing before a stately old home set far back from the road, the entry flanked by stone gate posts and a pair of apple trees laden with fruit. The entrance was a set of stone steps, topped by a pair of massive oak doors. I imagined that it had at one time been a grand manor, the home of one of the area’s elite families. I wondered if Sorcha was descended from one of those grand genteel names of old.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “This is my home,” Sorcha replied. “Will you come inside with me, Christopher?”

  “I’d love to come inside with you,” I said, then I cringed. That was the lamest thing I’d ever said, and I’d been using lame pick-up lines all across Scotland. Sorcha laughed and fluttered her lashes, unoffended by my sudden lack of wit.

  “I am glad.” Suddenly, she pulled me against her, her breasts flush against my chest. “You make me so very, very glad. Never leave me, Christopher.”

  In that moment, I realized several things about Sorcha: her utter lack of a Scottish accent, her unusual and quick declaration of feelings, that she’d brazenly demanded a commitment from me. Most importantly, I realized that I didn’t want to leave her, either.

  “I won’t,” I promised. “I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

  Her gaze heavy, Sorcha led me through the dark oak doors of the manor, down a marble hall, and into her chambers. I hoped she would never let me go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Karina

  Morning came, and I was no more eager to venture out into the world of gods and monsters than I had been the day before.

  One of my chief discoveries the day before was that the coffeemaker came equipped with an automatic timer. Eager to try out my new toy, I’d prepared the grounds before going to bed, and woke up bright and early to the greatest aroma in the world. Once I’d had a cup or three I made Robert and me some scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast for breakfast, then I moved on the living area.

  After we’d eaten I settled on the couch while Robert claimed the kitchen table. He spent the morning reading one of my geology books, while I alternated between flipping through channels and forcing my way through a four hundred page text all about the wonders of bedrock composition in Britain, which, unfortunately, was directly related to my other great discovery.

  Some of the places I’d visited on my Spiritual Sights tour had been reporting supernatural phenomenon for hundreds of years, which made me wonder how long certain rocks, like quartz, could retain vibrations. I was cross referencing this text with another, much slimmer tome, that detailed the various ways igneous rock eroded, and how long they retained their unique characteristics once they’d broken down to the size of gravel and eventually grains of sand. If I could establish a correlation between bedrock composition and reported spiritual activity, and prove that certain vibrations can remain accessible even after said rock had substantially eroded, my thesis would practically write itself.

  Of course, these two facets of my theory did not account for the fact that, in most cases, the erosion of igneous rocks takes place over thousands or millions of years, and the bedrock I was researching hadn’t had humans tromping around on it until the end of the Upper Paleolithic period, which was around eleven thousand years ago. Let’s face it, no one had ever, not even once, claimed to see the ghost of a dinosaur or dire wolf. This meant that I was barking up the wrong tree, the really really wrong tree. Which was why I was letting the television distract me. Sherlock Holmes, you know.

  Still, I would rather read about erosion and bedrock that leave the cottage and risk another encounter with the gray monster. Robert was determined to keep me company in my misery, and he amused himself for the better part of the morning by reorganizing the bookshelf. Good thing we had the books since he wasn’t interested in watching the local programming with me; he kept shooting the television these furtive glances as if the moving pictures were the results of tiny demons, and not radio waves transmitted through air and space. Then again, based on my recent experiences the former just might be more likely.

  “Why don’t you go for a walk?” I suggested, after Robert had alphabetized the bookshelf in ascending and then descending order. “Get some air.”

  Robert perked up at that. “Will ye come along with me, lass? ‘Tis a lovely day.”

  “No,” I said a bit too quickly. When his brow quirked, I added, “I really do need to get through these books.”

  Robert pursed his lips and nodded, obviously not buying my excuse, especially since I’d already told him that I didn’t think this avenue was going to work out. I got up and opened my daypack, and grabbed some money from my wallet. “Here, why don’t you pick us up some lunch? Hopefully, I’ll power through this book and be done before dinner.”

  Robert eyed my too-eager smile, the fistful of cash I held out to him, and decided to let me get away with my little white lies. For now, at least. “As ye wish, Karina lass,” he said. “Now, then, what would ye be likin’ for lunch?”

  “Fish and chips?” I suggested, glancing toward Chris’s still-closed door. I’d heard him stumble in shortly before dawn, which was typical Chris and Ethan behavior. I sure hoped Ethan didn’t have any early classes to teach. “Get three orders, in case Sleeping Beauty decides to join us.”

  “That I will.”

  With that, Robert took the money and set out to the fish and chip shop that was a few blocks over. As for me, I threw myself back into my research, deliberately ignoring the bright sunshine streaming through the windows, and the birds chirping away in the trees.

  ***

  A little more than an hour later, Robert returned bearing three brown paper bags. My first instinct was to ask him what has taken so long, being that one could walk to and back from the fish and chips stand in under ten minutes, but I held my tongue. There could have been a line, after all. Then I saw the dark smear behind Robert’s ear, and I knew what had really happened.

  “You saw one of the fuath,” I accused. He opened his mouth, but I countered whatever excuse he was concocting by grabbing a towel and wiping away the blood. “If it wasn’t a fairy monster, then explain this.”

  Robert eyed the bloody towel in my hand, then he blew out a breath. “Aye, lass, I did encounter one,” he admitted. “Rest assu
red, that beastie will trouble no one else from here on out.”

  I looked at him for a long moment, then I decided to concentrate on that which I had a hope of influencing. “Are you all right?” I asked, swabbing at his neck.

  “That I am,” he replied. “No wounds to speak of, no’ e’en a scratch.”

  Robert took the towel from my hands, then we tore into our lunch. As predicted, the scent of hot food roused Chris from whatever stupor he and Ethan had drunk themselves into. By the time Robert and I had unpacked the food my brother stumbled out of his room, growling like a bear emerging from hibernation.

  “What’s going on?” he croaked, staring at the takeout packages as if he’d never seen a white paper carton before.

  “Lunch is what’s going on,” I replied. “Robert went out for fish and chips.” I’d set out all three orders, but there were still two full bags. “What’s in there?”

  “Oh, I thought we were needin’ a few special items, as well,” Robert replied. He proceeded to unpack a newspaper, then a bag of apples and jar of marmalade. Before I could ask what was so special about these things, from the second bag he produced a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, a brown cardboard box filled with cookies, and a potted African violet.

  “Why the plant?” I asked, examining the terra cotta pot.

  Robert looked a bit sheepish. “Truly lass, I wanted to get ye somethin’ that would brighten your day. I considered a bouquet, but the plant will last a fair sight longer than cut flowers.”

  “You got this for me?” I asked, both surprised and pleased. “What about the wine and the cookies?”

  Dark red dusted Robert’s cheeks. Had I just made a gallowglass blush? “Well, I reckoned that if the plant was no’ to your liking, then the sweets or the wine may be.” He cleared his throat, and added, “The apples and jam are for a snack later on, ye ken.”