Page 32 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)
“W hat if she refuses?” Ishbel asked quietly as they floated over the rugged, snow covered land, safe from the storm while enclosed in their crystal orbs.
“And I still say we shouldha simply folded realities and stepped into their entry hall. Ye know they see us coming, aye? I spied them atop the skirting wall. They have tripled their guard, and knowing the chieftain, the army of the Dark Fae could very well be upon us before we know it.”
“And that is exactly why we did not fold our realities and enter MacStrath Castle without warning. We have mishandled this from the verra start and must do better—for Emily’s sake and out of respect to Grand Chieftain Gryffe.
” A sense of despondency filled Mairwen as they drew closer to the fortress.
The goddesses had made her see just how poorly she had managed this holy task—all because she had been so overwrought about the loss of her son and the extension of her husband’s sentence in Danu’s prison.
Lúnastal had sorely failed their vows because it had been he who summoned Carmen the witch’s sons to the stronghold in hopes of escaping.
Their own son’s blood was on her husband’s hands, and she would never forgive him for their precious Valan’s death.
As far as she was concerned, their vows were permanently severed, and Lúnastal was as dead to her as Valan.
Ishbel cleared her throat, then squeaked in surprise as the rising wind caused them both to bounce and skitter to one side. “What if she refuses to come with us?” she repeated.
“Bride and Cerridwen said she must come with us for her own safety.”
“For her own safety? What does that mean? Is Morrigan afoot? Has Nicnevin turned dark enough to be dangerous to Emily or the Veil?”
With a wave of her hand, Mairwen urged their protective enclosures to skim toward the castle even faster. “The goddesses informed me I would fully understand when I am meant to understand. I assume the same holds true for yerself.” That was a lie, but it was all she felt comfortable saying for now.
“If anyone has hurt our Emily—” Ishbel took the lead, her orb now spinning with an angry red glow.
Mairwen understood. However, what Ishbel didn’t know or understand was that they were to blame for Emily’s misfortune and soon to be misery.
They had failed this special mortal by not finding her fated mate first, and blocking the two of them from each other until their next incarnation—an incarnation that would hopefully include neither Weaver blood nor the blood of a Dark Fae in their reborn bodies.
Under no circumstances must a Weaver ever bind with an Unseelie.
The goddesses forbade it because only a Weaver’s blood possessed the strength to nurture and heal the nearly sterile Unseelie and enable them to procreate.
The Dark Fae, while not entirely evil and only a minor threat to the Highland Veil, had caused more trouble across the planes and realities than their existence was worth to the goddesses.
Their race needed to die out by natural attrition—so said Bride and Cerridwen and even the mighty Danu herself.
The mother goddesses had decided, in all their mercy, not to war against the Unseelie and destroy them outright.
They knew the race’s infertility would eventually complete that task for them.
In Mairwen’s mind, mercy had nothing to do with it.
The goddesses were afraid to confront the Dark Fae.
They were afraid the Unseelie would turn even darker and actively join the side of chaos and evil that was attempting to take down the Veil.
The temperamental Fae of the shadows were just as fearsome and strong as the Morrigan.
It would not bode well if they became allies and joined forces with the evil one.
The tall wooden gates of MacStrath Castle slowly swung open as they reached the skirting wall. Once inside the bailey, Mairwen allowed their crystal enclosures to disappear like morning mist touched by the sun.
The winter wind gusted, shoving and pelting them with ice and snow as if to tell them they were not welcome here.
Mairwen understood that better than anyone.
Emily had bonded with her fated mate. Securing such a bond could at times be a Weaver’s most challenging and rewarding task, but separating them—that was nie on impossible and not a task to be relished.
But Cerridwen and Bride had left her no choice.
The union between Emily and Gryffe had to be severed before they succeeded in creating a child.
Bowing her head against the wind, she gathered her cloak tighter around her throat and led the way into the keep. The immediate warmth and the loss of the wind’s cold, forceful shove nearly knocked her off balance. She pushed back her hood and swallowed hard.
Grand Chieftain Gryffe’s icy scowl raged with dark fury, leaving no doubt that she and Ishbel were not welcome. She offered a graceful nod, knowing it would not be accepted. “Thank you for allowing us entry, Grand Chieftain.”
He stood in front of his chair on the dais at the head of the room, stance wide and hand resting on the black hilt of his mystically lethal Unseelie sword that she knew for a fact he rarely carried. He sneered at her. “As if I had a choice but to allow ye entry.”
“One always has choices.” She swallowed hard again at the bitter taste of the lie. If one always had choices, she would not be here to sever Emily’s union. “We request an audience with Emily Mithers.”
“There is no Emily Mithers here.” He added a rumbling, low growl and bared his teeth like a cornered beast. The warrior clansmen lining the walls of the cavernous meeting hall did the same, aiming their venom directly at her and Ishbel.
Then an ominous silence fell, and the loyal kin returned their focus to their chieftain.
Gryffe squared his shoulders. “There is only Lady Emily MacStrath, my wife, this clan’s lady, and the mother of my child. ”
“They haven’t been together that long,” Ishbel whispered through the Ether, attuning her words so they would only reach Mairwen’s thoughts, and the rest of the Weavers would be none the wiser.
“How can our Emily already be with child? He is half Unseelie. It should be difficult for them to conceive. Did ye not tell me that must not happen?”
“Hush, Ishbel!” Mairwen thought back at her.
“I canna reason with a crowded mind.” Forcing a pleasant expression and another nod, she focused on the chieftain.
“The mother of yer child? Ye were bound but days ago. Surely, ye have not been blessed so quickly. Forgive me, grand chieftain, but ye must be mistaken.”
“Have ye forgotten my ancestry, old one? Ye ken as well as I that as soon as a bairn’s soul takes root in the womb of the one we love, the Unseelie hear the child’s awakening song.”
Knowing the goddesses would not be pleased, Mairwen struggled to keep the situation from devolving further. All life was sacred—even a child born from a Weaver and Unseelie union. “We must speak with her, Grand Chieftain. Her safety depends upon it. So say the goddesses.”
“Her safety depends on me.” Gryffe jutted his chin higher.
“And I assure ye, no harm will ever come to her while I live and breathe.” He slowly approached, descending the steps of the dais as if preparing to mow them down with his great sword of darkness.
“Yer kind cut her to the quick when ye rejected her at Seven Cairns. I shall not give the two of ye the opportunity to hurt her again.” He tossed a harder scowl at Ishbel.
“That one there hurt her the most when she backed away from my precious Emily on that day. Treated her as if she were the lowliest of the low.”
“Liar! I would never reject my Emily.” Ishbel shoved forward as if ready to fight the chieftain with her bare fists.
Taking hold of the Spell Weaver and pulling her back, Mairwen stepped ahead of her, studying Gryffe and searching for signs of deception. “When did ye bring our Emily to Seven Cairns? Someone would have fetched me. I would have felt her presence.”
“Not but a day or so after her arrival here. No one in Seven Cairns knew her. Lilias even asked me to take her away. Accused her of being full-blooded Unseelie and not welcome in the pub because it upset the customers.”
At a complete loss, Mairwen slowly shook her head. “Full-blooded Unseelie canna cross into Seven Cairns. The wards would never allow it. The only reason you yerself can enter the village is because of yer vow to the Order, and yer father’s blood that dilutes the Unseelie’s darkness in yer veins.”
“He speaks the truth, Mairwen,” Emily said from the archway to the right of the dais. “I didn’t see you that day, but I saw Ishbel, and she didn’t know me. Acted like I had the plague or something. And Lilias acted as if she despised me.”
Mairwen’s heart fell at the subtle golden glow floating around Emily’s middle like a protective halo to guard the new life in her womb.
Only another Weaver would be able to detect the telltale change in Emily’s aura that guaranteed Gryffe had not been wrong.
His beloved Emily was with child, even though her stomach was as flat and trim as the day she disappeared from Seven Cairns.
“It is true,” Ishbel whispered through the Ether.
“Be quiet,” Mairwen whispered back.
Emily moved to Gryffe’s side, and he pulled her closer, drawing his sword for good measure.
“My wife is safe with me, old one. Yer kind failed her twice—once by letting a spell tear her away from all she had ever known and loved, and twice by rejecting her. Ye will not be getting a third opportunity to break her heart and fail her again.”