by Hazel Hunter
The explosion of power he’d expected never happened. Instead the light spear collided with his skinwork and bent into a V, and then spun away. As he surged to his feet and ran for Emeline, he saw the pointed end of the V hit her abdomen, and then it melted through his tartan and disappeared into her body.
He reached her in time to catch her as she collapsed. “No, no. You shall no’ take her from me.”
“It’s fine,” she murmured. Her hair shimmered as she shook her head. “I’m not hurt.” She took in a deep breath and pressed her hand over the spot where she had been wounded by the light spear. “It only feels a little strange. Why did you tell me to close my eyes?”
“My power blinds anyone who looks upon it. Until you and now.”
Ruadri pushed aside the tartan just as the last glimmer of light faded from her skin. On it now lay another crescent, as dark as his own ink, topped by an inverted, V-shaped rod. In disbelief he traced it with his fingers.
“She marked me again.” Emeline peered at the symbols. “Why is it different this time?”
“She’s chosen you again,” he said, covering the ink before he tucked her head under his chin. “’Tis an ancient sign, the V-rod shielding the crescent. ’Tis the spear bent away from the moon’s chosen. By it she names you as my mate, and my protector.” The moon must have decided he needed one now that he had become mortal again.
“She chose me to do all that.” Emeline sounded bemused. “That’s not really necessary.”
“’Tis no’ by your choice, but my battle spirit doesnae ask.” He waited for her to speak in anger, and when she remained silent he drew back to see her expression. She looked completely contented. “Emeline?”
“I don’t mind at all. The new ink does match my ankle.” She smiled up at him. “Maybe she knows how I feel.”
He wished he could. “Emeline, you neednae make light of this.”
“I’m not. She knows how I feel about you.” She took in a deep breath. “The first moment I saw you, when you came out of the shadows, she poured all her light over you. Maybe that’s why I knew I was yours before you even spoke a word to me.”
Did he dare believe her? “Why didnae you tell me?”
“I didn’t believe it,” Emeline admitted. “Then I became so filled with hatred and ugliness and pain that I couldn’t think about you anymore. Coming here didn’t just heal me. It brought me back to who I was before all this.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “This is what I feel for you.”
Ruadri felt her power as it swathed him in incandescent joy. She exuded so much of it he pulled her close and fell into her magic and the flowery grasses. In his mind he saw her bliss take form, first as a lush garden filled with bountiful greenery. It grew around them as petals opened and berries swelled. Then came the sound of a soft rain, pattering on a roof above them, and the whispering of a cool breeze through evergreens. He smelled fresh, clean linens and felt the brush of soft yarn sliding through his fingers. Books piled and opened themselves around him, with pages so thin and printing so fine he marveled.
At last a procession of white gowns whirled inside him. The garments had been so finely made and beautifully adorned they seemed worked from spangled clouds. In each one Emeline appeared, her midnight hair braided or curled, laced with ribbons and pearls. One by one the gowns darkened to the amber and black plaid of his tartan and folded themselves around her until she appeared as she was, in his arms.
“I thought it was the dress that mattered,” she murmured to him. “It’s the woman inside it who has the real beauty.”
He wanted to open his heart to her with equal willingness, but the weight of his past betrayal of his clan remained, as onerous and immovable as his guilt. “I’ve discovered something I must tell you. I’ve lost my immortality.” He showed her the cut on his palm. “Nor can I water-travel.”
“I guess we’ll walk to the Wood Dream settlement.” She gently traced the wound. “Tell me at least you don’t mind how I feel about you, or the moon might give me whatever mark that says I’m a weepy wretched stalker of shamans.”
Ruadri had never hated himself so much. “I’m no’ worthy of your heart, my lady.”
“Please, don’t say that.” Her fingers fluttered over him as if searching for a wound she couldn’t see. “Not after what we shared tonight.”
“I’ve never loved,” he told her as he captured her hands. “Two Pritani tribes bred the Skaraven to serve as their warrior slaves. My birth killed my mother, and my sire has never forgiven me. Even as I’ve served the moon, ’twas never from true devotion. But you’re too kind and loving to understand what ’tis to have an empty heart.”
“I know what it is to be unloved. My parents didn’t want children. I was an unhappy accident, and they always resented me for it. I had to take care of them both as they got older, so I never had time for romance. The one friend I had actually didn’t care about me.” She smiled wanly. “I don’t believe you’re any more incapable of love than I am. Look at how close you are to your clan.”
Now was the time to tell her everything and let her see him as he truly was. To her he was some dream, like the gowns, not the man he had become. Once he revealed himself, however, her feelings for him would be destroyed. For who could love a traitor?
“Shaman?”
Ruadri pulled her up with him and quickly arranged the tartan to cover her body. “We be here, Chieftain.”
Ara strode into the clearing, his expression grim. “I feared you be gone already. My allies’ watchers sent warning. Many Romans come from the south, hunting dru-wids. They shall reach the Wood Dream settlement by mid-morn. I must take the tribe to shelter in the high land.”
Ruadri’s hands bunched. He’d been a fool to assume they’d have enough time to warn the druids. “Be this the day of solstice?”
“Aye, but ’tis no’ time for rituals.” Ara gestured back at the village. “Be quick and come with us, and we’ll see you kept safe.”
Today the Romans would slaughter the Wood Dream, igniting the first flame of the death and destruction spawned by the heartless massacre. Preventing it had to be their task, but the portal had brought them back too late to stop it.
We must reach the settlement before the Romans do.
Never had a task—nor a chance at redemption—ever been made so plain to him.
“My thanks for offer of shelter, but to warn our kind and see them to safety be our duty,” Ruadri told Ara. “If you can spare us two quick horses, Chieftain, we shall ride to the sacred stones, and use them to save the Wood Dream.”
Chapter Fifteen
LEAVING THE MIDLANDS to return to Dun Mor took Brennus and his wife only a few moments, but it aggravated him even more than being forced to leave his half-brother in the laird’s dungeons. A bluster of bitter wind added insult by slapping his face as soon as he released his bond with the river and rode up onto the bank beside Althea. Cadeyrn, who stood with two patrols as if watching for their return, strode down to meet them. Sensing more trouble also waiting, Brennus dismounted, swung his wife down and gestured for the men to come and take the horses.
“The laird discovered we hold the McAra healer at Dun Mor,” he said to Cadeyrn. “He took Kanyth prisoner. He ordered us off his land and prepares for a clan war now. Bring Emeline to me.”
“No, Brennus,” Althea said before Cadeyrn could reply. “You are not giving Emeline to Maddock.”
“’Twill no’ be for long. Dinnae glower at me.” He regarded his second. “I must seek a truce before the McAra skewer themselves on our swords. For that I need show him the lady afflicted, ’tis all.”
“Ruadri and Emeline vanished in the night,” Cadeyrn said, stunning him. “The men have checked every level and chamber, but they’re nowhere found. Taran and the dark lass took sentries to search the forest for them.” He glanced at Althea. “Perrin awaits with Lily in the great hall. She endeavors to bring on a vision of where they go.”
“With her head injury?
Has she gone crazy, too?” She hurried into the stronghold.
Cadeyrn caught Brennus’s arm to prevent him from following. “Kanyth, held prisoner by the little laird? Surely you jest.”
“Maddock had him seized and taken to his dungeons. I couldnae slaughter our mortal allies for that or demanding their blood-kin returned. By mortal reckoning the Skaraven have caused the wrong and must remedy it.” He dragged his dripping hair back from his brow. “By the Gods, I go to make peace with the facking druid, and now we face a clan war. Come help me calm our ladies before they declare me their foe.”
“We cannae war with the McAra, Bren. ’Twould be like battling bairns.” His war master walked with him up to the castle’s tor maze and through it entered the great hall. “Manath saw Ruadri last night walking, but alone. None have seen Emeline since the guards took her below. Wherever they went from Dun Mor, they left no tracks.”
“Send our hunters to look again.” Brennus strode over to Althea, who was sitting beside Perrin with her arm around her. “My ladies, what news?”
The dancer squinted up at him as if in pain. “I have a brand-new headache.”
“No visions yet. Take another sip of this, Perr.” Lily urged a mug of strong-scented herb brew into her hands before she said to Brennus, “Your shaman was supposed to watch over Emeline. Why would he take her away from us?”
He thought of how angry Ruadri had become when he’d thought Brennus meant to give the healer to Maddock. But his shaman’s loyalty to the clan had never once wavered, so he could not believe he would steal away with Emeline.
“I cannae tell you, but we must soon find the lady.”
“Maybe we don’t have to,” Althea said. “We could send word to the McAra that Emeline has gone back to the future.”
“Maddock would believe that as much as my claim that she’s afflicted.” His wife’s suggestion put a terrible suspicion in his mind, however. “Cade, did you go out to the sacred grove?”
His second nodded. “’Twas the first place I checked. ’Twere no tracks or sign of them there.”
“But would there be, love?” Lily countered. “Maybe Ruadri covered his tracks to make it look as if he hadn’t used it.”
“Only Emeline may open it,” Brennus reminded her, and then recalled how Lily had first abducted his war master—by clouting him and shoving him into the same portal. “Cade, a word alone.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Althea shot to her feet. “Whatever you have to say, say it here. I want all this out in the open.”
Had one of his men challenged him so directly, Brennus thought, they would be brawling now. “Wife, ’tis no’ the time to question me.”
“On the contrary. We should never have left Emeline down in that pit and don’t tell me how much you trust your shaman. He’s gone. Our friend has a broken ankle, so she didn’t magically float out of the fear pit and run away. She also wouldn’t go anywhere willingly with Ruadri. She doesn’t even like him. You two know something more than you’re saying. That’s why you want to chat in private.” Althea looked from Brennus to Cadeyrn before she planted her hands on her hips. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
His war master shrugged. “I’ve held back naught, my lady.”
“Ru had a vision of Emeline before he awakened to immortality,” Brennus finally said. “The same that I did of you, and Cade his lady.” As Althea blustered Brennus regarded Lily. “You saw them alone together in her chamber. How did he look upon her?”
“The same way Cade looks at me,” Lily said, and sighed. “Completely besotted.”
Perrin took a big gulp from the mug. “Well, I don’t need a vision now. Ruadri definitely ran off with her. If not through the portal, then on horseback. Even using a cane, Emeline could barely walk.”
“Taran accounted for all the mounts,” the war master told her.
“I think the Gods despise me.” Brennus felt as if the answer were right before him, but he couldn’t fathom it. He clamped down on his surging temper and said, “We must find them at once.”
“Aye, but until we do we must keep the McAra from declaring war on us,” his second said. “When does he expect us to deliver the healer?”
Brennus braced an arm on the mantle and stared down into the hearth’s flames. “In threeday.”
“We might send a negotiator to ask a full week, and settle for five,” Cadeyrn said, and then frowned. “What of Bhaltair Flen?”
“I didnae kill him when he revealed to the laird Emeline being at Dun Mor.” Brennus knew what his war master meant, however, and added, “Maddock caught him in more lies and sent him back to the druid settlement near his stronghold. He willnae permit him negotiate for us.”
“We may ask,” Cade chided. “I shall send messages to the McAra’s allies that we seek aid with a truce–”
“Wait a minute,” Althea said quickly. “Bhaltair said he had a message from Ruadri about Emeline’s affliction. The shaman must have contacted him last night.” She thought for a moment. “Could Ru have taken Emeline to the druids so they could treat her?”
“See if Flen sent a reply to Ruadri’s message,” Brennus ordered Cade, who nodded and rushed off. To his wife he said, “We should change into dry garments.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want to catch a chill before the clan war with the McAra.” She stalked past him in a huff.
He followed his wife down to their chamber, where she went to the other side of the room to undress. Her back remained stiff, and she said not a word to him as she donned a warm green velvet robe and sat down by the fire to dry her bright copper tresses. He felt her worry as keenly as his own frustration.
“You ken I wouldnae have left Emeline with Maddock.”
“I don’t know what to think. You keep so many secrets.” She glanced up at him. “Like how you knew your shaman was in love with Emeline.”
“I but had a notion of it.” He ducked to avoid the damp linen she hurled at him. “Very well, I suspected as much. Ru asked that I look for the healer when I found you, and since has spoken fondly of her. Yet Emeline made it plain that she didnae care for him. I thought it a hopeless tangle. I didnae wish to worry you, Wife, so I said naught.”
“But now I’m extremely worried, and they’re both gone to God knows where. Maddock is furious with us, and we might even have a war on our hands in a few days.” Althea combed her fingers through her damp locks as she met his gaze. “I’m a member of this clan. I gave up my life in the future to be with you. Stop treating me like an outsider.”
Brennus knelt before her. “Althea, ’tis ever my first thought to protect you, naught else.”
“Yes, and I love you for trying.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “You and the Skaraven are my family, but so are these women. We need to work together to protect all of them.”
He would have kissed her but someone knocked on the door. “Come in and make it quick.”
Cadeyrn stepped inside and held out a tiny scroll. “Flen sent this, but no’ for Ruadri. ’Tis an invitation for you.”
Brennus considered tossing it into the fire, but instead stretched out the strip of parchment and read it. “Flen claims to have something of vital import to the clan. He doesnae name it, but he wishes to meet me at the Aviemore inn to talk of it.” He crumpled the scroll. “The tree-knowers have Ruadri and Emeline.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” Althea chided. “Besides, Bhaltair was with us this morning. Why wouldn’t he say something about this then?”
“He didnae get his truce,” he told her, and eyed his second, who looked just as perplexed as he was. “Never more than now need I your counsel.”
“The druids brought us back as immortals to fight the famhairean, which we now do,” Cadeyrn said. “Of all their kind, Flen has our true measure. He’s well aware that taking our shaman and the McAra healer as hostages invites only your wrath. The old man may be called many things, but never that foolish.” As Brennus started to speak he held up one hand. “If ’tw
ere anyone else who sent the scroll, would you have the same suspicion of them?”
Sometimes he hated his war master. “No.”
“Flen begs to talk,” Cade said. “’Twill cost you naught to learn what the old meddler considers of vital import. Mayhap ’tis a measure to mend the rift with the McAra.”
“Or more trickery.” Brennus glanced at his wife. “I’d have you remain here and see to the search with Cade. No’ because I wish to leave you out of the matter.”
“I can stay and do that,” Althea said, her expression serene. “See, I trust you not to unleash the wrath of the Skaraven on Bhaltair, no matter what he says, because you don’t want to start a war with the druids. Right?”
“Oh, aye. Cade, have a fresh mount saddled and waiting by the river for me.” He heard his second cough to cover a laugh and glared at him. “Before I name you Cook and Lily War Master.”
Once his second left, his shoulders still shaking, Brennus donned his boots and tartan but armed himself only with two long daggers. He rarely traveled without his sword, but no one could prod his temper like Bhaltair Flen.
Althea walked with him down to the river bank, where she stood on tiptoe to embrace him and press her cheek to his. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time. Be safe and come back to me.”
He enclosed her in his arms and kissed her until she shivered and sighed against his mouth. “Always, Wife.”
Mounting the big tawny mare, Brennus flipped down her blinders before leading her into the icy flows. There he released his physical form to bond with the water, and submerged into a mass of churning, bubbling light. Taking the horse with him, he streamed through the blur of the river and a few moments later surfaced in the loch nearest Aviemore.
As he guided the mare onto the bank she paused to shake her head and flanks before trotting up to the road leading into the tidy rows of cottages and shops. The beginnings of a freezing rain pelted them, and explained the empty thoroughfare as Brennus rode toward the inn. The gnaw of worry over the missing healers receded as the storm grew heavy. He dismounted and took the mare into the village stables, where he rubbed her down with wicking fleeces one of the grooms provided.
