Broden: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 4, page 2
Chapter Two
FEELING THE CHILL of dawn creeping into the cottage, Galan Aedth tossed another log on the fire. While he prepared his morning meal, he knew it would only nourish his mortal body. The hunger that gnawed beneath his breastbone had become that which no hot brew or porridge would ever again assuage. Now he understood why the Sluath chafed at not being able to return to their underworld. All of them had grown starved for the myriad wicked delights awaiting them there.
Delights that he, too, would soon know, courtesy of Iolar. The Sluath prince had put the fulfillment of Galan’s dreams within his grasp—in exchange for his service.
The burly form of a lowland farmer came trudging into Galan’s front room, his ham-size fists locked around the scrawny throat of a purple-faced mortal female. Galan turned to his bubbling porridge and gave it a stir.
“This one I took on last night’s raid is defective.” The farmer tossed the wench at Galan’s feet. “Our prince wishes you to repair her so she may attend his needs.”
Galan glanced at the choking female, noting the thick, milky caste over her eyes. “Naught is broken. She’s blind.”
“What?” The farmer’s body shifted into that of a towering highland warrior as Seabhag bent over to peer at the wench’s mottled face. “How?”
Galan stifled a contemptuous laugh and instead took his morning brew from the hearth. Even the most novice of acolytes could have answered such a question. Though he’d shed his dreary life as a druid by leaving the Moss Dapple, he’d kept his knowledge.
“Sickness or injury,” he told the Sluath. “Some bairns come from the womb thus.” He reached down to send a flick of power through the woman, who went limp. “If Prince Iolar wishes to torment her, he must use something other than illusions.” Galan took a sip of his bitter black tea. “She’s four other working senses.”
“That is too much work. I will put her in the barn to see to the horses.” Seabhag eyed the steaming tea in Galan’s hand. “Even now you must drink. How amusing. Do you still piss as well?”
Galan’s grafted wings threatened to unfurl and he considered tossing the hot liquid in the demon’s face, but instead he saw an opportunity.
Though Iolar had given him more power than he’d ever dreamed he’d command, the resurrection of his Pritani wife, Fiana, still remained tantalizingly out of reach. To bring his beloved back from the dead Galan had but to locate and capture Culvar, the demon-mortal halfling that the rest of the Sluath believed dead. Secretly discovering that the outcast still lived had not only restored his hope of being reunited with his wife, but also fulfilled his other desire: the ability to cheat death forever. Through Culvar, Galan would become like the Gods themselves, eternal and invincible. Immortality would also give him ample time to find and avenge himself on the Mag Raith, once his to command but now the most elusive of enemies.
“I piss like the Mag Raith did, I imagine, when you captured them. Where did you find them as mortals?”
Seabhag grunted as he crouched down, shifting his form into a duplicate of the blind maid. “Nowhere. They found their way to us through one of the portals.” He glanced up at him. “It should have killed them. No mortals may pass through them.”
Galan went still as he realized something he’d always assumed: the Mag Raith had come back to the mortal realm made immortal by the Sluath. Yet he himself knew that the process required much more than mere magical transformation. None of the hunters had been given wings or the sort of power Galan wielded. Just how had they managed to convince their captors to bestow on them the gift of eternal life?
“Doubtless they used Pritani magic to protect themselves from the portal,” Galan replied. Now that he had confirmed his suspicions, he knew he had to go carefully. “More of such men came to the underworld in the past?”
Seabhag shook his head. “Now and then we’d find them in the midst of a cull, but…” He stopped and his eyes narrowed. “Why are you questioning me?”
“I merely wish to understand the process that I shall soon undergo.” Galan lifted the wench’s limp body, and covered her eyes with his hand. Murmuring under his breath, he removed the cataracts, clearing the irises. “There. When she awakes, she shall be especially terrified. I would give her to the prince now.”
“And what do you want in return?” the demon demanded as he snatched the wench from him.
“Do you remember what portal the Mag Raith used to enter the underworld?” When Seabhag nodded, Galan casually sipped from his mug. “Tell me where I may find it.”
“You already know. It’s in the ridges near that miserable village you burned to the ground.” The Sluath eyed him and then chuckled. “You can’t use the damn thing, idiot. Aside from the fact it would kill you, it was sealed along with all the others. You saw that yourself when you tried to open it.”
Galan hid a smile. “Indeed.”
Chapter Three
STARS STILL GLINTED in the sky when Broden finally abandoned his luckless attempts to sleep and rose to dress in the darkness. Leaving the stronghold through the rebuilt tower arch allowed him to avoid the great hall as he went out to the stock barn. There he found the cows already standing in their stanchions, ready to be milked.
That was the way of it. Life went on, regardless of him.
“Fair morning, sir,” Rosealise Dashlock said as she emerged from the storage room carrying just-washed buckets. A kerchief held back the unruly braids of her curly blonde hair, and she’d donned one of her voluminous aprons to protect her gown. “I used to milk our family cow, and after our grueling night I thought Nellie should like a sleep-in.”
Broden tugged at the bandage across his throat, and wished Rosealise had done the same. “’Tis kind of you, my lady.”
She halted and peered at him. “Egad, Broden, you look absolutely coopered. What is the matter? Should I fetch Edane?”
“No, my lady. As you say, ’twas a grueling night.” He took the pails from her. “I’ll see to the stock.”
The housekeeper reached out to touch his arm, appeared to think better of it, and sighed. “When you’re finished, dear sir, do come to the kitchens. I’ll have a hot brew and fresh scones waiting.”
Broden nodded, and took down his stool. Tending to the cows would take longer without Nellie, who had spent her girlhood on a dairy farm, but he didn’t mind. The rhythm of the work lulled him, unraveling his thoughts from their snarls. Nothing could be done about his wretched bitterness. That had dogged him long before his awakening in the Moss Dapple’s ash grove. That which he had hoped for had not come to pass. At Dun Chaill Mariena would be kept safe, and he’d seek contentment in that.
Unbidden, the last dream in which Broden had beheld his lover returned to him. Now he could see what before had remained a mystery: her handsome features, sun-dappled eyes, and the full lips she moved against his fingertips.
Gods, but she’d felt more dream than woman.
Her kisses had been so soft, like the whisper of silk over flesh. She’d not said a word, but crawled atop him, her body warm and pliant, her breasts pillowed on his chest as she’d bent her head to his. He’d worked his hands into all the pale, cool hair, then held her to look all over her face. Nothing had ever been, or would ever be, as lovely and rare and precious as her gold-shot blue eyes, filled with emotion. No one in his life had ever looked upon him with such love.
How could he have forgotten her? And Mariena, had she truly loved him? Or had Broden imagined it, riddled with envy and loneliness as he was over his brothers finding their mates so easily?
“You must show me how to attend to the milking,” Domnall’s deep voice said from behind him. The chieftain took the brimming pail from his grip. He cast a wary eye at the waiting heifers. “I should take a turn, but Nectan forbad me from such work.”
“Your sire couldnae bend to it, for the stick of pride he kept tucked in his arse. But you neednae, for I’ve finished.” Broden gave him a second bucket before retrieving two more and walking with him to the buttery. “’Twillnae do for you to play dairy maid, Chieftain. Your speed unsettles the stock.”
“Ah, well.” Domnall watched him filter the first bucket into a pan before he did the same. “Mistress Douet’s soon to awake. I’d have you remove the stones, that we may speak and mayhap break our fast with her.”
That wasn’t all that Domnall wanted from him, Broden thought, and scowled. “Dinnae give her a blade with her food.”
“I ken she’s no’ as you reckoned her, Brother,” the chieftain said, grimacing, “but ’twill sort itself out with time. I’ve no doubt she’s your lady.”
“I facked her in my dreams,” Broden corrected him. “Just as I took every dru-widess among the Moss Dapple willing to bed me, and more females from your tribe than you wish to ken. Dinnae frown at me. The whelp of a bed slave hasnae more to offer than such fleeting pleasures.”
For a moment Domnall looked as if he might argue the point. Then he said, “You yet ken the lady better than the rest of us. Until her memories return she’ll need to be watched, and somehow gentled. We cannot treat her as anything less than welcome. By my distrust and Kiaran’s suspicions we nearly lost Nellie. I’ll no’ have another female thus driven from the clan.”
“Nor I.” Thinking of Mariena running away from Dun Chaill made Broden’s gut knot. “What shall I do?”
“For now, show her you’ve no hard feelings over her attack on you.” Domnall nodded toward the keepe. “Befriend her if you may. Yet until we’re sure she’s accepted us as friends, I dinnae want her to stray far beyond your sight.”
“Oh, aye.” Broden almost laughed out loud. “Mayhap you should shackle us together.”
The chieftain grunted. “That I neednae do. You’ve given less attention to a wounded grice charging a blind.”
Domnall didn’t need to point out his ridiculous predicament. The fact that he’d been bewitched by a female he knew nothing about had to be obvious to everyone.
“I’ll watch over her,” Broden said.
Following Domnall into the stronghold yet called on all of Broden’s nerve, for in truth he dreaded seeing the lady again. Yet when he shifted the stones aside, he saw the trestle table standing on end, and Mariena standing on the short ledge of the window slit, half her body through the narrow opening. If she meant to jump–
He dashed across the hall to put himself beneath her. “My lady, no.”
Mariena slid back inside from the opening, frowned down at him, and then lowered a questing foot as she tried to reach the top end of the table. As soon as she planted her sole it tilted, and she lost her balance and fell.
Broden caught her in his arms, holding her too tightly for a long moment before he lowered her to the floor. A tingling warmth suffused him, and all he could do was look down at her, horrified and mesmerized. All of her loveliness, in his arms, against his body—it was as if he’d stepped into one of his dreams awake.
The Frenchwoman regarded him without expression. “You are quicker today.”
“You’re no’.” He wanted to stroke her back with his hands, but forced himself to release her. Try as he might, however, he could not step away. “I’m Broden.”
Wood scraped across stone as the leaning table fell over with a loud crash.
She didn’t even blink. “Enchanté.”
* * *
Broden seemed as enthralled as Mariena felt, which confused her. He should be angry over how she’d hurt and humiliated him last night. Her climb up to the window must have appeared to him that she was trying to escape. Should she explain she meant only to look outside and take in more of her surroundings? To see if anything about this place prompted her to remember why they’d been sent here? By doing so she might betray some details of her own mission…not that she could recall much of that.
Looking into his eyes seemed all she could do. She would find her tongue in a moment, as soon as this strange feverish heat faded. Why did she feel as if she might burst into flames just standing so close to the man? Did it come from him?
“I’ve no dagger for you this morning,” he murmured.
“Your voice.” Without thinking she reached for the wound she’d left on his neck. “You’re scarred.”
“Aye, my lady.” He stiffened as she touched him there. “A gift from another who wished me dead.”
Was that what he thought? “I don’t want to kill you, mon ange.” His eyes narrowed at the strange words. “I don’t want to kill you, my angel. But if you have a spare blade, I will keep it safe for you.”
“I dinnae wish to give you a blade,” Broden muttered as she kept her fingers in place.
Heat flashed through her, streaming through her arm and into her hand. Beneath her light touch the cut on his neck began to shrink, and Mariena quickly stepped back. Since Broden did not react, he must have felt nothing. But as new pain burned across her own throat she turned and strode to the pallet to retrieve the tartan she’d taken from him.
Until I can control this power, I must not touch anyone else.
His people came into the hall, and their unhurried approach made her suspect they’d been watching her and Broden. She counted four: the tall, austere-looking chieftain, the bigger, massive seneschal, the tall, stately Englishwoman and the petite, dark-haired American. Domnall, Mael, Rosealise and Jenna. Recalling their names made her head feel as if it were filled with needles, but a moment later the pain faded. It seemed more of the demon’s work, or perhaps part of the transference power.
The traitor did not want me to remember all.
She touched her throat to assure the wound had closed, and then draped herself with the tartan before she faced them. They appeared as uneasy as she felt, which proved a little reassuring. “Bonjour.”
Domnall looked from the overturned trestle table to her. “Fair morning, my lady.”
“’Twas but a mishap,” Broden told the chieftain.
“Pah. Don’t lie for me. I’m to blame.” Mariena studied the faces watching her, feeling her own wariness slowly receding. “None of you are French?”
The chieftain then performed introductions, confirming the names she had recalled, and identifying them as Scottish, English and American. “We welcome you to Dun Chaill, my lady.”
“I am happy to be here, Monsieur.” The one who seemed most familiar to Mariena was the pretty American with the curious eyes. To her she said, “You are the architect, no?”
“Yes, I’m Jenna Cameron.” The chieftain’s wife stepped forward, obviously fascinated. “You know me?”
“You and the others, yes.” The only face she couldn’t envision was the demon who had helped them flee. Then she understood. “Ah. You do not remember me.” That made everything more complicated. She’d hoped someone else might be part of this mission of hers.
“I’ve seen your face,” Jenna said slowly. “You were with us when we went to the sky bridge to escape. Other than that, well, we don’t know much at all about you. The Sluath took away nearly all of our memories of the underworld and each other.”
“The demons, they are pigs, no?” Mariena regarded the others. “It is true that we escaped together, the nine of us. One of the Sluath, a traitor, sent us to come here, to meet at the castle, to find…something. That I cannot remember.”
“Have you recalled anything about your past, or the time from which you were taken?” Rosealise asked, brushing back a wayward pale curl from her pretty face.
Mariena shook her head. “Those memories, they are gone.” She turned to the chieftain. “Monsieur, last night, I was confused. Broden’s face, it made me think him to be a demon. Now I see he is prettier than the demons. Forgive my hostilité.”
Domnall smiled, transforming his stern features. “’Tis already forgotten, Mistress Douet.”
A short time later Mariena sat down with the men and their ladies at the now slightly battered trestle table to share their morning meal. Rosealise apologized for the lack of coffee and tea as she poured a fragrant hot brew for her, explaining that neither had yet been introduced to Scotland in this time. Learning that she had dropped into the fourteenth century should have seemed beyond her understanding, but that, too, felt acceptable.
What the traitor wished them to find in a derelict castle like Dun Chaill remained an enigma, one that made her head ache whenever she thought on it. But why would the demon not let her remember that? Surely it had nothing to do with her mission.
Mariena sensed Broden paying close attention to her, and wondered if he would prove an obstacle. He might look like the dream of every woman, but his actions showed him to be clumsy and unwise. It had been far too easy for her to take his blade and use him as a hostage last night. Yet when she met his gaze for a moment, she felt that unwelcome heat stirring again inside her.
I cannot be distracted by him and his handsome face.
To feel marginally safe here Mariena would need a weapon. Jenna mentioned that the men carried swords because guns had not yet been invented in this time, which oddly comforted her. She would ask for a blade of iron like the one the chieftain carried in a sheath on his back. With that she could easily lop off a head, or cut open a demon from chin to belly, but even one thrust of iron into their bodies would poison them.
Her own thoughts gave her pause.
How do I know such things?
“Is there anything I can tell you about us or Dun Chaill?” the American asked.
More than she cared to inquire about, Mariena thought. “I remember another man who was injured, no?”
“That would be Kiaran.” Jenna grimaced. “He’s still, ah, recovering from the battle.”
And no one wanted to talk about him, she could see that. She filed away their discomfort for later, and asked, “Where are we in Scotland, and why did we come here?”
“This is the eastern highlands. We’re in the same place where our men were taken by the Sluath.” The chieftain’s wife described the region. “We came here hoping to find some answers about what happened to us. While the Mag Raith were in the underworld someone made this fortress into a castle, and then later abandoned it. There’s also a spell boundary that protects us from the demons. We don’t know who created it, but Edane believes the Sluath can’t sense us when we’re inside.”
