Time Everlastin' Book 5

by Mickee Madden

  Braussaw ruffled his feathers.

  "Och, but Beth an' Laura an' Taryn have no' ma Blue's temper." He grimaced comically. "Nor did Lachlan, Roan and Winston and Broc do wha' I did to Blue. Mayhaps I deserve her mistrust. Mayhaps no'. A spell-induced grudge held for three hundred years is a wee much—even for a fairy! Aye, especially for a fairy! Mair so unfair since I be the brunt o' her displeasure, and me wearin' ma bloody love for her like a bright, shinin’ banner for all to see.

  "Fegs and nick ma wings on a thorn," he grumbled.

  Lifting Braussaw and setting him on his feet, Reith jumped up and ran from the gazebo. Although it shocked him that the mist had turned to cold, driving rain, it didn't stop him from running to the twisted oak by the carriage house.

  He braced his hands on the coarse bark and shouted, "Ye, win, Blue. I be done tryin' to woo ye! Live yer lonely life as you see fit, and I'll live mine! Ye have ma vow this night, I willna approach ye or touch ye again!"

  He stepped from beneath the branches, raised his face to the pelting rain, and released a cry of triumph, for triumph it was to have finally accepted the fact that—given she did not want to know the truth—he and Blue did not have a future together.

  "Much better!" he declared, slapping a hand over his heart, and stalked in the direction of the manor's front door. When it closed behind him, Blue fluttered down from among the branches where she had witnessed his outburst, and materialized into her human height. She shivered with cold and an abysmal emptiness that rankled her reasoning.

  She wanted him out of her life, didn't she?

  She wanted the ties MoNae had created between them severed. Didn't she?

  In honor of the fairies who had lost their lives to The Sutherland, and for the young prince who would have been the kingdom's new king and her justly appointed new husband, she would never forget the past.

  MoNae did not possess the power to right those wrongs, and the earth goddess chose forgiveness over justice when it came to Reith.

  So unfair.

  Her heart ached. Gloom was a mantle she couldn't shuck off.

  Tears streamed down her face as she pressed against the bark, hugging herself to ward off some of the chill that seemed to come from inside her and not from the fall elements.

  Resolve settled into her bearing as she straightened away from the tree.

  What good are Reith's word, anyway?

  He would never forsake the game, for his pursuit of her was just that—a

  game.

  A male's ego ruled their logic, and Reith was no exception.

  He wanted her guard down. He was setting her up for the grand finale, for a seduction ploy he believed would win him back his kingdom, his people.

  "When flowers burp," she muttered, and vanished inside the oak.

  Chapter 20

  His hunger satiated with two of Lachlan's favorite cold pork sandwiches, Broc strolled in the direction of the second floor nursery, where Beth had told him he would find Taryn. He had eaten slowly, procrastinating for as long as possible before he had to face Taryn. Lachlan had taken the revelation with surprising aplomb, but Broc now realized that oddities were an everyday occurrence in his son's life. And although Taryn had been indoctrinated into otherworldly existences, he didn't know her well enough to predict her reaction to what he had to confess.

  The door to the nursery was opened. He stood at the threshold, awe-struck by the scene. Winston and Deliah sat in matching rockers, side by side, hands entwined, their expressions radiant. Six human-sized fairies and countless wee ones fluttering about, blocked something between the two elongated windows across the room.

  Broc heard cooing sounds. A feminine voice.

  He was about to step into the room but hesitated, the presence of the fairies unnerving him. Heat gushed beneath his skin, and the food that had tasted so good minutes before, soured in his stomach.

  First one hovering fairy, then many, turned in his direction. Deliah and Winston looked his way. The larger fairies turned their heads, and parted, revealing Taryn standing in front of an oak crib, cradling Willem Chance Connery in her arms. It was as if an invisible fist hit Broc in the stomach, robbing him of breath. Never had Taryn looked more beautiful, her face glowing as she cooed and spoke to the infant. Amidst the fold of the white blanket, Broc could see a black shaggy head and a pink brow.

  "You're a sweetie...such a sweetie," Taryn said in a singsong fashion to the child. "Oooh, the ladies are going to flock to you, one day. Yes, they will."

  Broc's mouth went dry. How could he tell her?

  "Come in," said Winston, a knowing gleam in his eyes.

  Broc worried his lower lip when Taryn looked up and flashed him a smile.

  "Come say hi to Willem," she laughed.

  Broc crossed half the distance, and froze in place when several of the wee fairies buzzed around his head and giggled in his ears. He resisted a strong impulse to sweep them away with a hand.

  He met Deliah's vibrant blue eyes, eyes so very much like her brother's, Reith, and found he could not break the visual lock. She rose and stepped to his side, Taryn engrossed once again with the baby, and slipped an arm through Broc's.

  "Ye must learn to trust us," she whispered by his ear.

  "I have no fault wi' ye," he murmured, her proximity building the heat in his body.

  "Broc, come take a closer look," Taryn invited.

  Easing his arm from Deliah's, he forced himself to stand next to Taryn, and forced himself to look into the face of the infant. He wasn't sure why he dreaded this moment, for he had avoided getting close to Willem since his arrival at the estate. Now, although he remained edgy in the small confines with the fairies, he, too, was captivated by the child's angelic features. Rosy-skinned, black hair and eyebrows, and vibrant blue eyes. Willem's features were a combination of his parents.

  "He has such wee hands," Broc said, watching as the tiny digits of Willem's left hand closed about Broc's index finger.

  "Isn't he beautiful?" Taryn said, staring into the child's eyes. "So perfect."

  "Aye."

  "Tis time for Willem's feedin'," Deliah announced.

  Broc looked up to find the fairies—large and small alike—watching him with curiosity.

  His body temperature rose with alarming speed.

  "Taryn, I need to speak wi' ye."

  "Okay," she said, easing Willem into Deliah's arms. "Thanks for letting me hold him," she added to Winston and Deliah.

  "Any time," Winston said.

  Broc clasped Taryn's hand and herded her toward the door.

  "Something wrong?" she asked, and said when they entered the hall, "Your skin is hot. Are you sick?"

  "No," he assured, pulling her along.

  "Broc," she laughed unsteadily, "did you and Lachlan—"

  Broc stopped abruptly on the landing in front of the stairs leading to the third floor. "Taryn, I just need to tell ye somethin', and it canna wait."

  "Did Lachlan say some—"

  "Lachlan and I are fine, lass," he said impatiently.

  Taryn worriedly searched his eyes for some indication of what was bothering him. "You're not acting fine."

  Broc's shoulders slumped. "Forgive me," he sighed. "Tis just...weel, I need to get past this last hurtle. Please, Taryn, can we go to our room wi'ou' further delay?"

  "Sure," she said in a small voice, and followed him silently until their bedroom door was closed behind them, and Broc urged her to sit on the bed, while he set to pacing its length.

  "You're scaring me, Broc. Have I done something wrong?"

  "Naught but love the wrong mon," he said bitterly, without thinking, and stopped short and gestured an apology with his hands. "Tis so hard to...tell ye, lass."

  "I love you," she said quietly. "I can take whatever it is you have to tell me."

  "Can ye?" he asked, pacing again. "I wasna forthcomin' abou' the whole reason I pursued the treasure at the standin' stones."

  "Okay."

 
Broc released a breath through pursed lips. "I need to just tell the all, Taryn. Dinna say anythin', please, till I finish."

  "Okay."

  "I had to find tha' treasure, for it was the only way I could see to change ma standin' in the village. Ma kith and kin afeared me since I was a wee child, and I couldna bear no mair bein' shut ou' o' their lives.

  "I knew verra young I was an ou'cast. Ither children wouldna play wi' me, and folk couldna look me in the eye. I was abou' six when ma mither told me why. Reluctantly so, but she hadna the heart to hear me weep, or keep avoidin' ma questions.

  "A changelin I be, were her words, and it was some years on I learned the stigma o' tha' distinction. Ma mither claimed her rightful son was abducted by fairies who left me in the infant's place. 'How can ye be so sure I be no' yer own?' I asked, and she replied, 'Ma son was sickly, no' strappin' as be ye.' Her true son's hair was fair, while ma own, dark.

  "By village law, it was upon her to leave me far from home, and let me die. She couldna, and told the villagers she feared the wrath o' the fairies if she carried ou' tha' law. Afeared themselves, they chose to ignore me—all but a few o' ma cousins, who defied their elders when we reached puberty.

  "I told ye Rilla—the lass in ma village I wanted to marry—wanted ma cousin Kennaugh. Truth be, when we were sixteen, her mither caught us abed. She beat me till I was sure I was dyin', and by the time I was healed enough to leave ma mither's hut, she had forced Rilla to marry Kennaugh. Had I a bloody conscience, I would have let it end there, but, och! ma pride wouldna abide tha'!"

  Broc stopped pacing and ran his hands down his face. "There were ithers, girls who slept wi' me—the evil changelin'—because it gave them a thrill. I wanted Rilla. It didna occur to me tha' she could fall in love wi' ma cousin, but love him she did. Her mither hated the sight o' me. Feared I would bewitch her daughter and ruin her life. Tis when she cursed me."

  Broc looked into Taryn's bemused face and stiffened his spine. "Ye and I can never have a child, Taryn."

  Taryn blinked once. Twice. Then, as if unable to stop herself, she laughed outright. "I'm confused. Your mother told you you're a changeling, and Rilla's mother put a curse on you? Am I getting this straight?"

  "Tis no' amusin'," he said angrily.

  "What kind of curse?" Taryn asked, straining to hold back a grin.

  "Tha' me and any child I sire, as weel as the children they sire, will live a long life o' torment." Broc shook with the force of his raw emotions. "Canna ye see, Taryn? I'm over two-hundred years old! Do ye think ma life has been in any way...good? And wha' of ma son's life? Och! Raised by a sadistic mon, and then murdered by his own bride? Would ye say his life has been....good?"

  Sighing sparingly, Taryn stood and folded her arms against her chest. "Few people live a perfect life, Broc."

  "Knowin' wha' ma son has suffered," Broc said, trembling, "twists like a dirk in ma heart, Taryn. I didna go into details wi' Ciarda, but she knew I was cursed and promised me—swore on her honor!—if she found herself pregnant wi' ma child, she would end the pregnancy."

  Broc whirled away, turning his back to Taryn, and raked his fingers through his hair. "I didna tell Lachlan this—abou' his mither's promise. And I didna tell him tha' when I read the journal and knew twas ma son, this Lachlan, she wrote abou', I damned her in ma mind, ma heart, and ma soul!"

  "Because you worried what his remaining life was like after she died?"

  Broc nodded.

  From behind him, Taryn wrapped her arms about his middle, ignoring his feeble attempt to shuck off her touch. She rested the side of her face into his soft, thick hair, and sighed again, this time, contentedly. "Broc, are you really sorry Lachlan exists?"

  "Gawd, no," he moaned. His warm palms slid over her hands. "I canna explain wha' I feel when I see him, lass. Ma chest gets heavy wi' pride, and ma heart...ma heart kens such joy, tis frightenin'."

  "He's an incredible man," she smiled. "Like his father."

  "He be a better mon than me," he murmured. "No truer words have I spoken."

  "I happen to be quite fond of my MacLachlan half, thank you very much," she chuckled. Her tone grew somber when she asked, "So Lachlan knows abou' the changeling and curse?"

  "Aye. Weel...he kens the whole truth, which I've yet to tell ye."

  Withdrawing her arms, Taryn walked around to face him, and frowned when his gaze remained downcast. "There's more?"

  "Och, aye. Blue explained ma lineage."

  "Blue?"

  He nodded, his gaze creeping up to meet hers. "The good news be, I am no' a changelin', Taryn."

  "I already knew that!" she laughed. "C'mon! I can't imagine fairies abducting babies—"

  "They do," he interrupted. "Some. They have their good and bad, as do humans. The curse is verra real. She verified tha'."

  "Oh."

  "In Karok's chamber, she and Reith recognized me for wha' I truly am. So have the ither fairies, here. I canna hide from their knowin'."

  "And...what is it you're supposed to be?"

  "A uirisg."

  A new frown played across Taryn's brow. "I've heard that word before, but I can't remember where."

  "Willem."

  Taryn's eyebrows arched. "What about him?"

  "He be one, too."

  "I don't get it."

  "The offspring o' a fairy...and a mortal," Broc said, watching her closely.

  "You're...what?"

  "Accordin' to Blue, the womon who raised me is ma mither. But ma da...he was a...fairy. A fairy wi' ma color hair and eyes."

  "Oo-ear-sig," Taryn said, pronouncing the Gaelic word as Broc had. "How can she know this?"

  "Blue?" He sighed from the depths of his sorrow. "All fairies know o' every uirisg born. Accordin' to Blue, seldom be one born o' a love atween the two species, mair because a human or fairy created one to tip the balance o’ the two worlds."

  "Why to tip the balance?"

  "Blue told me, there was a time durin' the early Dark Ages when humans and fairies went to war, each determined to rule the Earth. A uirisg doesna require a ring o' passage to enter either world, because the configuration o' the two species in one body, defies the magic tha' protects the portals."

  "So, a uirisg was considered a powerful being," Taryn said thoughtfully. "But you're an eighteenth-century man, so it doesn't make sense you weren't created through love."

  "No, lass," Broc said sadly. "Mair likely, ma mither was seduced by this fairy—whatever his reason—and she used the changelin' story to appease—if appease be the right word—her husband."

  "And Blue's positive your real father was a fairy?"

  "Aye."

  A madcap grin broke out on Taryn's face. "So...that makes you half-fairy, and Lachlan a quarter. No wonder he gets along so well with them! Can you sprout wings?"

  "Och! no!" Broc said on an explosive breath. "Lachlan and I be spared o’ tha'!"

  "I think you would look adorable with—"

  Broc kissed her long and hard. Kissed her until her knees grew weak.

  "Do ye understand why we canna have a child, Taryn?" he asked breathlessly. "Do ye?"

  "No, I don't," she said, dreamy-eyed. Hands flattened to his chest, she edged him toward the bed. "But you know what, my big barbarian?"

  "Wha'?"

  "We can debate this subject...later."

  "Later?"

  "Much...later," she crooned, and fell atop him on the bed.

  * * *

  A weighty sadness woke Reith in the middle of the night. At first, he resisted leaving the bedroom Lachlan had fashioned for him in the carriage house. Resisted leaving the warmth of his bed, but leave it he did, and stepped into the cold night, and filled his lungs with the reviving air.

  Momentarily, he homed in on the unintentionally sender, and headed for the field behind the manor, where he spied Lachlan sitting beneath the oak, where his and Beth's headstones had once been. Lachlan's eyes were closed, and opened with a start when Reith settled beside him
, his back also braced against the trunk.

  "Canna sleep?" Lachlan asked.

  "Ye woke me."

  "Me, you say?"

  "Wha' saddens ye?" Reith asked, studying Lachlan's strong profile.

  "Wasna aware I was sad, ma lad. Just goin' over things in ma mind."

  Reith stared across the moon-dappled field. "The rain finally stopped. Can see stars."

  "Aye. Tis peaceful ou' here."

  Reith nodded. "Sir, may I ask ye somethin' personal?"

  "You can ask me anythin'," Lachlan said with a tired smile.

  "Are ye...disappointed wi' yer fairy lineage?"

  "Fegs, no," Lachlan chuckled.

  Moments of silence passed.

  "Beth heard yer declaration, earlier. At the twisted oak."

  "Ah. Twas time to let go," Reith murmured.

  "You love her, laddie. Dinna give up."

  "I have no say in this matter. Sir? Wha' brought ye here? To this land?"

  Lachlan frowned through a smile as he eyed Reith. "Was in the area and felt...drawn by it. Why?"

  "I was thinkin', sir, it be strange tha' a highlander comes here, and o' all the places he could settle, he chooses a land once occupied by a fairy kingdom—especially a highlander wi' yer lineage."

  "Hmm. I'm no' sure, Reith. How many kingdoms exist in the lowlands?"

  "Three. Six in the highlands."

  "Only nine in all o' Scotland?" Lachlan asked, surprised.

  "Aye. England, Wales and Ireland have hundreds."

  "Why so few here?"

  "The Sutherland," Reith said, his tone flat.

  "He was a warlock?"

  "Aye."

  Lachlan sighed. "He canna hurt anyone now."

  Reith's lips thinned. Ask me, Lachlan! When it became apparent that Lachlan would not continue that line of conversation, Reith said, "Be yer faither settlin' in?"

  "I think so."

  "I like him."

  Lachlan grinned. "He reminds me o' maself."

  "Wonder why," Reith quipped.

  "Funny how someone can go through life believin' one thing and discover the truth lies miles in an opposite direction."

  "Tis life, sir. Sometimes...the truth be there for the askin'." Ask me!