Broden: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 4, page 4
Mariena squinted up at him. The morning lit his stunning face, adding a glow to all that perfection. She did not have to remember her life to know he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. No one in all of time had ever looked like Broden. The shining flow of his midnight hair seemed as polished as the dark diamonds of his eyes. His glorious skin might have been molded from some rare golden wood, and showed not a single wrinkle or blemish. His scent matched his allure, bold and yet unexpected. She admired the length of him, tall but not towering, and the shape of him, powerful yet not massive.
She tried not to imagine him naked. That made everything below her neck begin demanding she make him that way before she tore off her clothes.
Would Broden prove as magnificent a lover? She doubted it. For a man to look as marvelous as he did meant that he attracted the eyes of any woman. He had to do little more than smile to be lavished with fawning adoration. Like all such men he probably regarded it as his due. He likely had left a trail of broken-hearted lovers from here to France.
His expression seemed as remotely superb as ever, but the rigid set of his shoulders hinted at what he was feeling. Since he’d been following her, she had to be the cause.
“You are angry with me for coming here? Why? It is forbidden to be clean in this time?”
“I ken Jenna showed you the bathing chamber in the castle.” He made a sharp gesture at the river. “Yet you come here, with no word to anyone. I reckoned you’d run from us. If you’d slipped and fallen, or…” He stopped and looked away. “’Tisnae safe.”
“Pah. I fell from the sky into your battle with demons, and lived,” she reminded him. “I think I may survive a dip in this little stream.”
“Many mortals caught alone in these lands ended slaughtered.” His jaw tightened. “We protect our ladies at Dun Chaill, Mistress.”
Ah, so she’d offended him with her independent ways. Was that why he kept tag-tailing after her, out of some sense of misplaced gallantry? As fine as he was to look at, Mariena had no intention of allowing him to become her minder, not when she had to find her target. She could not remember her mission, but with her particular skills it seemed obvious: the demon had sent her here to kill someone. Since the traitor had helped these people, her target had to be the watcher.
“You are very gallant. I like this.” She picked up the tartan and wrapped it around herself as she stood, but then stepped close enough to grip the hilt of his dagger. “But who protects you, mon ami?”
His hand covered hers with a grip too loose to stop her from taking the blade. “You’ll no’ cut me again, Mistress.”
“Only now you see that I could, any time I wish. This is because I protect me. I do not require your assistance.” Mariena released the hilt and lifted her hand to pat his lean cheek. “Go back to the castle, Broden. You should not play at this. You’ll only get hurt.”
“Play at what, Mistress?” He caught her arm as she moved past him. “Make plain your meaning.”
“I think you wish too much to be like the other men. They are strong, and have the skills to fight, while you…” She paused, realizing how unkind her opinion of him sounded spoken aloud. “You have many other fine qualities, I am sure. Look at your hair. It is perfect.”
His fingers tightened. “You think me weak?”
Mariena sighed. Now she had put her foot in it.
“Rosealise, she says you catch most of the fish and game for the clan. Your people need food, so this is a very good thing you do.” Why was he tugging her back toward the water? “Come now, we will walk back together. It is time to, ah, break the fast with the others, no? And I am hungry now.”
“I shall first show you my finest quality.” He stopped by the large, flat-topped rock where she had left the housekeeper’s soap, which he took and put into her hand. “Stand back and watch.”
Taking a few steps away from him, she watched him bend over the huge stone and wrap his arms around it. As it was larger than a cow, and ten times heavier, she couldn’t think of what he meant to do.
As he gripped the moss-covered sides with his hands she grew alarmed. “You do not have to prove–”
Broden picked up the rock as if it weighed no more than a pebble, lifted it high over his head, and tossed it across the river. As it landed with a heavy thud, the ground under Mariena’s feet shook.
“Merde alors.” She stared at it as it rocked and then settled into the bank, and then turned to see him shaking the moss from his fingers. She’d swear it was a trick of some sort, but earlier she had leaned against the stone, and it hadn’t moved a fraction of an inch. “How could you do that?”
“I’ve the strength of a hundred warriors. I’ve been thus since we escaped the demons.” His gaze shifted over her face. “The chieftain told you how they changed us.”
Without their memories, it would be natural for them to assume that. She would have to choose her words carefully now.
“He did not say what sort of abilities they gave you.” Mariena walked to the edge of the river to look at the stone, and something occurred to her. “The night I came here, you did not fight me. This is why?”
When Broden didn’t answer her, she turned around to find herself alone again. She shadowed her eyes with her hand before she looked back at the castle, and saw a flicker of movement in the very top of the tower the clan was rebuilding.
It seemed the trapper was not the only one watching her.
Chapter Six
THE CLOUDLESS BLUE summer skies persisting over the highlands kept Galan as earthbound as the Sluath in the days after their battle with the Mag Raith. Without a storm, their wings were useless. Instead they rode on horseback to capture more mortals on their night raids, but Galan took no pleasure in what had become a regular, onerous task. It was almost as loathsome as his current duty. After a long night of listening to the increasingly shrill shrieks coming from the cottage occupied by Prince Iolar, it was time to clean up.
Galan hefted the dead wench’s body under his arm, and carried her from the threshold of Iolar’s door to the burial pit just outside the village. There he broke the spell covering the mound of bodies heaped inside it, and tossed the fresh corpse atop them. Flies rose in a black cloud from the bodies, buzzing angrily around his head.
Galan frowned at the wench’s milky-white eyes staring at him, her mouth still agape in frozen horror. He had removed the cataracts from her eyes, and yet they had reappeared.
“The prince did not care for her joy over having her sight restored,” Danar said as he joined him. “But blinding her again brought him great delight. I told him that was that your purpose in healing her, Druid.”
“My thanks.” He didn’t trust a word that came from the big demon’s lips, but it cost him nothing to offer words of gratitude. “A pity she didnae last longer.”
Galan sealed off the pit again, but as he walked away he took in the scant amount of mortals still alive after the night’s revelries. At the rate Prince Iolar was killing the humans they brought for his pleasure, they’d soon empty the local crofts and villages. To find more they’d have to raid more populated territories in the midlands. That would also bring them within the reach of many druid settlements. While Galan doubted his kind could do anything to thwart the Sluath, he had no desire to be captured and delivered to the druid council for disincarnating.
He’d end himself to deny them that victory.
No, what he needed was to learn more details about the Mag Raith, and how they had managed to enter the underworld. That meant consulting with one who had lived during the time of their mortal existence, and had knowledge of the disappearances of the hunters and their tribe. Galan knew by name who had written the original account of both incidents, as he had read it on the scrolls he himself had studied.
Druman of the Emerald Glen tribe would know all that he needed.
Gaining permission to go and consult with a druid required an inventive excuse, but Galan had grown expert at twisting the truth to serve his own needs. He’d also proven his loyalty time and again to the Sluath’s prince, who had grown to rely on him as both procurer and advisor in the mortal realm.
“This tree-worshipper would remember a wild tale from a life lived twelve centuries past?” Iolar demanded.
“Druid kind recall every moment of our former incarnations, my prince,” Galan reminded him politely. “Druman also wrote the official chronicle of the Mag Raith tribe when they vanished. The conclave demands such records be precise. Much could be gleaned from his memories of that time.”
Danar draped Iolar in a fresh white fur before shoving a bundle of blood-soaked garments at a hovering guard. “How will that help us locate the hunters and their women?”
Galan felt a surge of impatience now. “Before writing the scrolls the archivist spoke to other Pritani mortals about the hunters and their people. Those savages died out after the Romans came, so only his memory preserves their accounts.” He spread his hands. “Doubtless he’ll recall many details that werenae included in the archive scrolls, such as where the hunters went the day they vanished.”
“Your kind want you dead,” Iolar reminded him. “Not that this would trouble me, but I have invested a good deal of my power in you. Besides that, why would this scribbler tell you anything? You said he doesn’t know you.”
“I shall show you.” With a murmured spell Galan recast his body ward, which shifted and shrank over him like a second skin.
The big demon grunted. “Now I am sincerely not impressed.”
“Nor am I.” The prince scowled. “You only look older, shorter and fatter.”
“In truth, my prince, I look like the head of the druid council,” Galan corrected him as he glanced down at his illusion of plain robes over a protruding belly. “I wear the image of Bhaltair Flen, the most powerful conclavist in all of Scotland, as well as the highest authority among druid kind. He’s respected and even feared by those of small mind.”
“Ah. I remember now.” Iolar yawned. “He’s also the one who wants you dead. Clever.”
Galan sketched a bow of gratitude. “Since this illusion spell draws on your power, my prince, ’tis beyond the ability of druids to detect. Thus, when I order Druman to accompany me, he’ll believe me to be Flen, and trot after me with great eagerness. Once I lure him away from his settlement, ’twill be simple to question him until he confides all.”
The prince made a languid gesture. “Go then, and do not bring what’s left of him back here. Of all mortals, dead druids create the worst stench. That is one reason why I have not killed you.”
Chapter Seven
AFTER RETURNING TO the castle to change out of her damp shift, Mariena regarded the new bolt bar on her chamber door. Yesterday when Mael had installed it he’d assured her that the thick wooden crosspiece would keep her room secure while she slept.
“Use your bed for your slumber, my lady,” the seneschal said, tucking his hammer into his belt.
Mariena hadn’t enjoyed sleeping on the hard, cold stone floor, but personal comfort did not matter to her as much as her safety. The fact that the clan knew about her nightly barricading meant that someone, probably Broden, had come into her room. That he had obviously been appointed as her minder made her situation clear. She didn’t blame Domnall for having her guarded and followed. In his position she would have done the same. She just wished he’d given the task to one of the other men.
Once she changed into the loose tunic and trousers that Jenna had given her, Mariena left her chamber and went to the kitchens. There she found Rosealise finishing the preparations for the morning meal.
“You look very rosy-cheeked today,” the housekeeper said as she added some wood to the fire. She stirred a bubbling pot before she regarded Mariena. “The porridge will want another few minutes to cook. Sit down and have a cup with me. I couldn’t decide between lemon balm or rosemary to spice up the cornflower, so I’ve put them all in the blend for the brew.”
Suspecting she was about to be lectured on her visit to the river, Mariena took two mugs from the cupboard and brought them to the little table across from the hearth. Yet when Rosealise brought the kettle and filled them, she instead spoke of the work she had to do in the garden.
“From the size of the tops the carrots, they look ready to be pulled, and so do the leeks.” She added a small dollop of honey to her brew before offering the pot to Mariena. “I must also grind more oats and barley if I’m to make a blackberry crumble tonight.” She frowned at the stone quern sitting on her work table. “What I should give for a proper millhouse. I don’t suppose you remember grinding grain, do you?”
“I could try this,” Mariena said after sampling the flowery tisane. “But you have plenty of wood and stone here, and the river. With Broden’s power, and the water that comes into the castle from the river, you could build your own.”
“What a smashing notion. I will speak to Mael and the chieftain about the possibility.” Rosealise looked up as Edane and Nellie came in from the hall. “Good morning. My dear, do come and try some of this while I consult with your husband.”
Mariena guessed from her prattling about her work that she made the Englishwoman nervous. Jenna also seemed to regard her with the same wariness whenever they spoke, and now so did the archer.
Only Nellie seemed completely at ease as she sat down beside her. “Looks like you found your way to the river for a bath. How can you stand that freezing cold water? It turns my toes blue.”
“I wash quickly,” Mariena told her, watching as Edane and Rosealise walked outside. From the hushed tones of their voices they did not wish her to overhear. “Broden followed me there this morning. He was upset and assumed I meant to leave. Why would he think this?”
“That would be because of me.” Nellie wrinkled her nose. “I tried to run away—twice.”
As the American explained why, she inadvertently answered more of Mariena’s unasked questions. Rediscovering the love Nellie and Edane had shared in the underworld had also uncovered the startling truth of the American’s secretive past. During their enslavement the other two couples must have formed romantic attachments as well. Their deep affection for each other had been only too plain. Since she had been the last to escape, that meant one of the two men left unattached had likely been her lover.
Kiaran or Broden?
Since the falconer had barely glanced at her, and her Sluath tattoo matched the marks that had been inked on Broden’s arm, the answer seemed obvious. Mariena also suspected it as the source of the irresistible pull she felt to the stunning man. He must feel the same attraction, even if he didn’t yet realize it or remember her. For a moment she imagined what it would be like, to surrender to such passion and let it fill all the hollowness inside her. Broden, too, would no longer be alone. Her yearning faded as another emotion rose in her: fear, though not for herself.
Whatever they had been to each other in the underworld, Broden needed a woman who could love him. Not one who would have cut his throat in order to make her escape.
Resentment rose like a scalding tide inside Mariena. The traitor should never have put her in this position. By keeping silent about so many things she was actively deceiving the clan. She couldn’t find the target, and she couldn’t reveal her healing power. She still had not remembered any details of her mission.
For the first time a terrible thought occurred to her. What if the demon sent her here not to kill the watcher, but to help him? Was this clan her target?
“Using bed slaves to help turn mortals into demons is one of the Sluath’s favorite tricks,” Nellie was saying. “That’s why Danar gave Edane to me. He just didn’t know that my wickedness—golly, my whole personality—was an act.”
What Mariena felt was certainly not a pretense. Since she had come here she had been on her guard, watching the clan and scouting their castle and its lands. She could not sleep more than a few hours each night, and without weapons at hand she felt naked. Violence did not frighten her. When she thought of the demons, without a qualm she imagined the many ways she could kill them. Even today at the river she had threatened Broden, who had only been watching over her.
The darkness inside her head seemed nothing compared to the blackness that filled her heart. Perhaps that was why the demon had chosen to send her here, because she was as evil as this watcher. That would explain why she’d been told to say nothing to the clan.
“Hey,” Nellie said. When Mariena met her gaze, she reached over and touched her hand lightly. “You’re going to be okay, Sister. I promise.”
“I am well.” That was a lie. The sweat inching down her back felt like ice. Still, she knew what she had to do. “It is only that I think I must go. Can you persuade the chieftain to give me a horse and some iron weapons?”
Nellie’s smile faded. “The moment you ride beyond the spell boundary the Sluath will sense you. They’ll come for you.”
“This is why I need the weapons.” She felt the weight of other gazes and looked up to see that Edane and Rosealise had come in, and both frowned at her. “I will hunt the demons,” she told them, “and kill as many as I can.” She’d slip a knife between her ribs to assure they didn’t take her again, either.
“But surely you ken that you belong here with us, Mistress.” The archer sat down across from her, his vivid blue eyes filled with concern. “We escaped the underworld together, and now we must fight to remain free. ’Twas plain the night you came to us that you’re skilled in fighting. You’ve much to offer the clan.”
“Indeed,” the housekeeper chimed in. “And here you will be safe. We know from Nellie that you will likely be attacked the moment you go beyond the boundary. There are too many of them for you to fight by yourself, my dear.”
Mariena hadn’t expected they would want her to stay. “But I am useless to you, unless you wish more ruined gowns and scorched soup?”
