Broden: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 4, page 3
Complicated and mysterious—these were two of her least favorite things. “You went beyond the boundary last night.”
The architect explained why they had chosen to leave the safety of the castle to rescue their friend from the Sluath. Outnumbered as they were by the demons, it seemed to Mariena a preposterously foolish risk to take. Yet their loyalty to each other seemed stronger than their sense of self-preservation, and that made her like them even more.
Listening to Jenna tell the tales of the clan’s adventures also gave Mariena time to eat. Their food, while simple, proved delicious. She devoured the berry-studded porridge as if she’d been starved, and drank two mugs of the housekeeper’s fragrant flowery brew.
She also thought it interesting that Domnall allowed the women to inform her of what they had endured since escaping the underworld. He did not make it obvious, but he paid close attention to her, likely to gauge her reactions. She imagined little escaped the chieftain’s watchful eyes.
“Since we arrived I’ve been working with the men to restore the castle, and make it more livable,” Jenna said. “Rosealise has been kind enough to look after all of us as our housekeeper. Nellie’s family had a farm, and she’s very knowledgeable about the livestock, so I expect she’ll take over as our dairy manager.”
“The little one milks cows?” Mariena pressed her lips together as she nodded. “She is stronger than she looks.”
“We’ve all, ah, special gifts,” the architect said, giving her husband a rather pointed look. “They do come in handy.”
What the American seemed too polite to ask, Mariena thought, was what she could do. Since her past remained lost to her, she could not volunteer any particular skill. Her hard thoughts and ease with weapons made her wonder if she even wished to remember the life the demons had stolen from her.
She smiled at Jenna. “I do not remember my life, but I am a woman. I probably kept house and cooked food and perhaps milked cows. I do not think I built castles, but you do that already. Anyway, I will help.”
“You did swell just dropping in last night, doll,” a wry voice said.
As a lanky, red-haired man and another petite woman entered the hall, Mariena felt a surge of satisfaction to see Nellie, and how she moved with ease. Perhaps Mariena had done terrible things in her past, but here she had saved a life. That felt very good.
“’Tis fortunate the stronghold brought you back to me, my lady,” the man said to Nellie, and kissed her temple. “For I couldnae do without you.” He smiled at Mariena. “I’m Edane mag Raith. I’m the clan’s archer and shaman.”
“Hello.” They didn’t know she had taken Nellie’s wounds, Mariena thought, but why would Edane think the castle had revived her?
Again, the traitor’s words whispered in her head. You must tell no one.
As Rosealise made to fill two more bowls for the couple, the archer shook his head.
“No’ yet, my lady.” He regarded Domnall. “We should go to the greenhouse now, Chieftain. All of us.”
Chapter Four
IN THE WARREN of tunnels deep beneath Dun Chaill’s great hall, amber torchlight flickered over Cul as he watched the Mag Raith and their females leave the stronghold. His misshapen body shuffled back and forth as he studied the new, pale-haired female they had brought back from their battle with the demons. Unlike the Pritani, he could sense her healing power, which explained how Nellie Quinn had been restored to life after dying in her lover’s arms.
The little American had spent too much time in the underworld to survive the wounds. How perfect, then, the timing of the Frenchwoman’s fall, as if Fate itself had foreseen the outcome of the battle.
Cul snorted. He didn’t believe in Fate. Mariena Douet had been purposefully altered before escaping the Sluath underworld to save Nellie Quinn. But for what purpose? Surely the demon traitor would not care if the Mag Raith or their women lived or died.
I must learn more.
The secret system of mirrors and tubes he’d built to permit him to spy on every part of his castle had never been more vital to Cul. What he saw and heard dictated nearly all of his actions of late. He resented being made to scurry about and eradicate every trace of his spell work from the castle’s upper levels. But Nellie Quinn would be much harder to kill now that she had been awakened to immortality, and he could not risk exposing his presence again. The Mag Raith might decide to set fire to his beloved Dun Chaill.
He had not worked for centuries and come this close to attaining his vengeance for it to slip through his grasp over a woman.
Cul hobbled along the passage that led to the new listening post he had placed in the greenhouse. Although Edane had bespelled the structure to prevent anything said within from being heard outside, he had not thought to extend the magic across the expanse of the dirt floor. It had been simple for Cul to dig from beneath and place a tube under one of the work tables.
“There used to be a gate to the underworld in that cave,” he heard Nellie saying. “It was bespelled to kill mortals, so Galan had me touch-read the stone floor in front of it. The thing that built Dun Chaill—the monster—also sealed off that gate. From what I saw, I think it’s part demon and part human, but it looks just like Prince Iolar.”
“Did you tell Galan you had seen this thing here?” Domnall asked.
“No, Chief, I’m not that stupid,” Nellie assured him. “All I did was describe the monster to him, and then he said something strange: ‘Culvar lives.’ He also said he’d cut out my tongue and slit my throat if I said anything about it to the demons.”
So, the wicked druid had learned much, Cul thought, gripping the tube until the bronze began to crumple. Forcing himself to release it, he put his ear to the opening again.
“If the watcher that threatens your castle is this Culvar, then he could be what the demon wished us to find,” Mariena said. “He can perhaps do more than close off these gates.”
That a mortal female thought with tactical perception surprised Cul, who had assumed such insight beyond a woman’s experience and understanding. The newcomer might prove useful to him. But for now he had to attend to maintaining his own protection. With all the intruders outside the keep he could summon the last of his yet-hidden iron warriors to stand guard in the passages of his subterranean lair.
Cul limped back through the tunnels before he cast his summoning spell. He felt the muffled, metal footfalls more than he heard them, as his troops came to him from several tunnels. Each fell into a single line as they awaited his new commands. He posted pairs at each underground entrance. Drained and yet determined to make the most of the respite, Cul then went through the passages of the stronghold to neutralize the spells of the tracking stones Edane had scattered through the keepe.
Backtracking over his own steps, Cul cast another spell to erase every trace of his presence before descending beneath the castle. As he did, pain lanced through his crippled leg, now rendered almost useless from newly-healed breaks. The bones, which had already been distorted, had fused together in a crazed jumble after being shattered in the tower collapse. His immortality could repair almost any injury, but thanks to his human blood it would never make him whole or hale.
In his sleeping chamber Cul dropped onto his pallet and regarded the lumpy ruin of his leg. Being held captive in the underworld for so long leeched the humanity out of the enslaved, until they either went mad or changed into Sluath. He’d sensed that Nellie had been very close to transitioning.
Rubbing a gnarled hand over his twisted limb, he imagined it straight and whole again, as it had been before his escape to the mortal realm. If Mariena could heal a mortal who was mostly demon, could she do the same to a halfling like him?
Before he could even consider using Mariena, he would have to first test the limits of her power. His mouth formed its sneer of a smile as an idea of how to go about that took shape. If it proved successful, he might regain his former freedom of movement. If it did not, then the most inconvenient of all the intruders would be quashed.
In this he could not lose.
Chapter Five
MIDSUMMER CLAD THE outer walls of Dun Chaill with buttery light in the early mornings, spangling the glints in the weathered ashlar as Broden made his way outside. Warm air scented with wildflowers and ripening grasses washed over him as he followed the trail of small footprints in the dew toward the forest. Nellie was teaching Edane how to milk and look after the herd, so Broden was not needed in the barn. Still, he should be checking his snares, and then casting hook lines while the waters teamed with the warm season’s bountiful runs of salmon and trout.
So Broden would be attending to them now, had the canny wench not eluded him yet again.
Watching over Mariena as she adjusted to life at Dun Chaill had proven a more difficult task than Broden had imagined. Unlike the other ladies who had joined the Mag Raith the Frenchwoman said very little and kept to herself. She seldom retired until after midnight, and usually rose before dawn. After they had prepared a chamber for her use, she asked they remove half the furnishings. She then shifted what remained into a curious arrangement around the door. He only realized why after several days, when he heard the sounds she made before emerging from the chamber. When she’d left, he looked in and saw the state of the blankets she’d piled in one corner.
“She sleeps on the floor,” Broden later told Domnall and Mael. “The bed and wash stand she moves each night to barricade herself in the chamber.”
“Likely the lass fears an intrusion,” the big seneschal said. He didn’t have to name the watcher. They all remained on their guard when speaking where they might be overheard. “I’ll install a bolt bar within to ease her worry.”
“If ’tis the true cause.” The chieftain frowned at Broden. “What reckon you?”
He shrugged. Much about Mariena fashed him, from her terse, enigmatic manner of speaking to the care and silence with which she moved. “Mayhap ’tis a common practice in her time.”
“If so, then she’s learned few others,” Mael said. “She’s ever willing to work, but hasnae ease nor skill with any household tasks. She burned most of the morning meal while Rosealise was out tending the garden, and mangled a skirt she attempted to mend for my lady. How cannae a female no’ ken how to cook or sew?””
“Jenna didnae when she came to us,” Domnall pointed out. “Females lead very different lives in the centuries to come. I’ve no doubt Mistress Douet possesses other skills that with time we’ll discover.”
“She should be told now that we’re immortal,” Broden said abruptly, “and we’ve abilities beyond what we had before the Sluath took us.” Before either man could argue he added, “We kept much from Nellie, and she in turn concealed her touch power from us. ’Tis better no’ to make the same mistake again.”
The chieftain nodded. “Jenna said much the same to me. We shall speak with her when we gather in the hall.”
That night over the evening meal Mariena listened as Domnall revealed the truth about the clan’s long lives. Their injuries always healed, though their immortality had never been put to the test with fatal wounds. Old age and disease were something they would never know. He described their remarkable abilities until he’d finished relating the last of their secrets. Jenna then told her how the castle had brought her, Rosealise and Nellie back to life and bestowed immortality on them.
Mariena took a sip from her mug of water. “Is this why you think your tattoos changed color?”
“We’re not quite sure,” Rosealise admitted, “although it seems to happen just after death, when our bodies were brought here. Whatever magic revives us, it also changes the color of our husbands’ markings at the same time.” She touched the golden glyph’s on Mael’s arm.
Edane kissed Nellie’s hand and smiled. “I much prefer my ink, now that ’tisnae black.” He glanced up as Kiaran quietly entered the hall. “’Tis good to see you join us for the meal, Brother.”
“Rosealise made a medieval version of Mulligatawny soup,” Nellie chimed in. “It’s the bee’s knees.” She filled a bowl for him, and passed the bread platter.
The falconer murmured his thanks, nodded to Mariena as he took the food, but then carried it with him as he departed.
Throughout the remainder of the meal Broden watched Mariena’s face, but she showed no reaction other than interest. Later the question she had asked came back into his mind, echoing as he tried but failed to fathom why it nagged at him. Perhaps it was the fact that she didn’t speak perfect English, but nonetheless it stayed with him.
Is this why you think your tattoos changed color?
To keep his promise to Domnall and to satisfy his own curiosity about Mariena, Broden had taken to tracking her from a discreet distance wherever she went. This morning she’d left before the rest of the clan had risen, doubtless to again walk around the outer walls of the keepe. She did so twice before returning each day. Once inside the castle she said nothing of her walks, but would go directly to the kitchens to help Rosealise with the morning meal.
At first Broden assumed Mariena sought to look upon what lay beyond Dun Chaill, but she paid no particular attention to any of the woods, gardens or outbuildings beyond the keepe. Instead she looked as if she were surveying all of it for signs of something. Then the purpose of her walks came to him one night as he saw Kiaran leave to ride along the spell boundary.
Mariena didn’t leave every morning to go walking or explore the grounds. She went on her own private patrol.
At the edge of the woods Broden halted as he saw the lady’s footprints stray from her usual path into the woods between the stronghold and the river. His fists clenched as he peered into the trees, but he saw no sign of her. Nellie had taken the same path when she’d stolen a horse and escaped Dun Chaill, which in the end had led to her capture by Galan and the Sluath.
A tight anger seized him. With so many of her memories yet intact Mariena had to know how dangerous the demons were, and what they would do to her to learn where the Mag Raith had hidden. She’d put them all at risk by fleeing. Or did she mean to run from him? Had she at last recalled that they had been lovers?
If she had not, then by the Gods, as soon as he found her he’d tell her. He’d waited long enough.
Broden ran into the woods, dodging branches and tearing through the thick bracken. Twigs and leaves pelted his tunic by the time he emerged in the clearing by the river. A shaft of light flooded his eyes before he saw her. The soft rush of the water filled his head like a distant rain storm while his heart pounded in his head. She hadn’t run from him.
She hadn’t run at all.
White-gold sunlight poured over Mariena, who stood knee-deep in the midst of the currents. Only a short, sodden shift clung to her pale body as she bent over. Streams of water poured from her sleek tresses, which she held in a twisted mass she was wringing. On the bank she’d left the gown and boots Jenna had given her, neatly stacked atop his tartan. The smell of lavender and roses came to him, and he looked until he spied a small crock in the grass. It contained the mild herbal soap Rosealise had rendered for herself and the other women.
The reason she’d altered her path and come to the river was to wash her hair.
Relief and fury warred inside Broden as he strode down to the edge of the bank. Yet as soon as he drew nearer his steps slowed. Mariena’s Sluath tattoo showed through the shift she wore, made almost transparent by the water. Along with the black glyphs it showed every curve of her body with adoring detail, from the lyre of her hips to the ripe perfection of her breasts.
The light bathed her as beautifully as the water. Droplets glistened on her arms, with smaller beads nestled against her lashes and cheeks and lips like so many tiny, scattered crystals. The washing had turned her hair from white-gold to a light honey color, and when she released it the strands unraveled to spill over her alabaster shoulders like gilded silk.
For a moment Broden wondered if he still lay in his chamber, asleep and dreaming. Never once in his long life had he beheld a sight lovelier than this.
Finally, he forced himself to clear his throat. “My lady?”
“There you are,” Mariena said as she turned to regard him. Her brows arched over her gold-patched blue eyes as she took in his disheveled state. “You’re slow to catch up this morning, mon charmant. Did I walk too fast?”
* * *
Seeing the handsome Scotsman staring at her was nothing new, but Mariena had grown weary of his shadowing her. Domnall mag Raith had assured her the clan did not regard her as their prisoner. He’d also said that as long as she remained inside the spell boundary she could go wherever she wished. Yet from the day she’d fallen into his arms Broden had kept trailing after her, as if she could not be trusted. Occasionally, like this morning, she thought another member of the clan was doing the same.
Broden’s brows drew together. “Why do you call me those words?”
“Mon charmant?” Startled, she hadn’t realized she’d been addressing him in French. “In English it is like a charming one, what we called, ah…” She grimaced as a sharp pang stabbed into her head. “I cannot remember now.”
“Dinnae try. Remembrance brings pain.” He picked up the tartan she’d left on the bank and held it out to her.
“I’ll ruin it, drenched as I am,” she told him as she waded to the bank and climbed out of the water. Sitting down on the soft grass, she stretched out her legs and lifted her face. “The sun will dry me, and then I shall go back and help Rosealise, if she needs something burned. See to your rabbit traps.”
Broden dropped the tartan beside her but did not leave. Instead he kept his face averted, and stared at the ridges.
