Page 33 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

Mairwen stared at the pair. The goddesses would not be pleased, and whenever the mighty ones had their wishes denied and cast to the winds, disaster and discord always struck.

But if she could convince Emily to return to their world, the child could be hidden and kept safe.

The Weavers could guard the secrets of its ancestry with their lives.

But the longer she eyed Emily and Gryffe, the stronger her sense of right and wrong and moral justice balked at that solution.

The ancient mothers were not always right or reasonable.

Why should their wishes always be granted?

Her dreams and wishes had been dashed many a time.

And these two hadn’t been bound for long, but their union had been strong enough to start a new life.

That in and of itself made Mairwen know deep in her heart that Emily and Gryffe needed to be told the truth so they might decide what course of action they wished to take to not only protect each other but to keep their child safe as well.

“Would ye kindly grant us an audience with the both of ye?” she asked. “In private—and might I add that the safety of yer child and yerselves is at risk if ye dinna hear Ishbel and myself out.”

Gryffe glared at them for a long, hard moment before turning to Emily. “It is yer decision, my own. But know that I am ever beside ye—no matter what ye decide.”

With an anguished look, Emily rested her hand on his chest and looked into his eyes.

Mairwen knew then and there why a child had come to them so quickly.

The bond between these two had already grown stronger than most. No wonder the Highland Veil had hummed with such vigor for the past several days.

She should have known then that this task would be no simple thing.

“Emily? What say ye? I swear it is of the utmost importance. While I admit the Weavers failed ye in many ways, never have we lied to ye.”

“Is that so?” Emily said with a wry smile. “You’ve been known to get pretty creative with the truth at times. I was there for Jessa—remember? In fact, I seem to remember you admitted to lying when you told her you didn’t know Grant.”

There was that, and leave it to Emily to remember it. Mairwen bowed her head. “I am not lying this time, Emily. Never would I lie when it comes to the safety of a child.”

“I cannot lose another baby,” Emily said so softly that Mairwen almost didn’t hear her.

“We must talk with the both of ye then, child,” Ishbel said. “We dinna wish for anything to happen to yer precious wee one either.”

Emily looked at Gryffe again and barely nodded.

Keeping his arm protectively around her waist, he tipped a curt but meaningful look at the guard standing off to the side. “Bring them to my solar,” he said, then he and Emily disappeared through the archway behind the dais.

“Follow me,” the guard instructed.

“Warn the others,” Mairwen said to Ishbel through the Ether. “They must not speak a word to the goddesses or any of the Defenders about where we are or what we are doing.”

“So shall it be,” Ishbel replied as she fell in step behind Mairwen.

* * *

Gryffe had never seen himself as one who could take the life of a Divine Weaver with his deadly Unseelie blade—until now.

If Mairwen or Ishbel caused his precious Emily any additional distress, he would send their heads back to Seven Cairns in one wagon and their bodies in another.

He stood beside his precious one after escorting her to one of the chairs beside the window.

She patted the chair next to her and mouthed, sit.

He barely shook his head, then turned as Ferris showed Mairwen and Ishbel into the room. He pointed at the cushioned settee in front of the bookshelves, not caring if he seemed rude. “Seat yerselves and state yer case.”

Something thudded against the solar’s closed door, then it flew open and banged against the wall. Grimalkin entered, announcing her mood with a thunderous roar before hissing at Mairwen and Ishbel. Then she placed herself in a protective stance in front of Emily.

“This is Grimalkin,” Emily told Mairwen and Ishbel. “Nicnevin said she came to me from Fae because she felt it her calling to protect me.”

“A Fae panther,” Ishbel said, appearing suitably impressed.

Mairwen eyed the beast with a leery expression. “There is no loyalty or unconditional love like that of a Fae panther.”

“Why have ye come?” Gryffe asked. This was not a time for pleasantries or visiting. “What is yer claim regarding my Emily’s safety, and I assume, the safety of our precious bairn?”

“The goddesses have anxiously awaited eons for the Unseelie to be no more since their ability to bring forth children has all but left their race,” Mairwen said.

“King Roric was reported to be the last born to them, but there was a rumor he possessed no Unseelie ancestry at all. It was said yer mother saved him from the mortals’ home for foundlings.

” Mairwen’s eerily blue eyes glinted with her knowledge of the ages, making Gryffe’s skin crawl.

“The Weavers validated that rumor, and discovered ye were actually the last child born to the Unseelie.”

That had to be a lie, but flashes of Roric’s weaknesses and lack of magic throughout his life made Gryffe’s gut churn with uncertainty.

He stepped forward, moving in front of Emily.

Grimalkin rose and stood beside him, softly growling at the Weavers.

“I ken well enough that the Unseelie are the dark ones. Prone to wicked mischief and even cruelty at times, but humans are much the same. What gives the goddesses the right to do their damnedest to ensure the Unseelie cease to exist? What gives them the right to threaten the lives of my fated mate and our child?” The Weavers had yet to come out and say that was the true reason for their visit, but he saw it as clearly as if Mairwen had thrown it in his face.

“The goddesses would never harm a child,” Ishbel said, but her expression was anything but reassuring.

“No, they would just keep him or her locked up like an oddity at the zoo. Right?” Emily pushed around Gryffe.

“No one is taking my baby. No one.” She trembled with what smelled like rage.

“I thought the Weavers, especially you two, were my friends, my extended family in Scotland. But it appears those of Seven Cairns are nothing more than the goddesses’ dogs, ensuring their dirty work is done.

I thought you served the Highland Veil? I thought protecting the worlds and joining fated mates was your calling? ”

“It is…” Mairwen bowed her head, her shoulders slumping. She turned to Ishbel. “I can make no argument against her words, against a mother’s love for her child, against the bond of mates fated to be united. She is right in all she has said.”

Ishbel slowly shook her head. “I agree, Mairwen. Never did I think I would live to say it, but the mothers are wrong this time. How can they ask this of us? To take Emily away from her mate and back to her time? Ye know they will demand we surrender the child as soon as they hear its first cries.”

Gryffe drew his sword, making the metal ring with a deathly howl as he pulled it from its sheath.

“No one is taking Emily or our child. I will call upon the powers of the Unseelie kingdom to join the warriors of my clan in battle against anyone who tries. We will even stand against the mighty Danu herself if need be.”

“The goddesses forget that I know their weakness,” Emily said, tipping her chin higher to a proud angle.

“They are just like Morrigan. They cannot exist if they are not remembered. Believed in. They feed on the thoughts, prayers, and offerings from their precious mortals that they treat like pets. But if those mortals cease to believe and turn them into nothing more than fairy tales…” She wrinkled her nose at Gryffe and offered an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry—not fairy tales—but myths and legends. Powerless fantasies, then the goddesses will cease to exist. If they don’t leave me and mine alone, we will see to it that no one in this reality, and any other reality I can portal to, ever believes in them again.

We will protect the Highland Veil because it protects us.

But we will not acknowledge the goddesses’ existence if they insist on treating all of creation like their personal breeding ground for lab rats.

The Unseelie have as much right to exist as any other race.

From what I have seen of them, they are no worse than humans, and we all know what humans are capable of. ”

Gryffe wasn’t certain what lab rats were, but caught the gist of his dear one’s speech. He thumped the hilt of his sword to his chest. “So let it be spoken. So let it be done. So mote it be.”

Nicnevin shimmered into being at his side in her silver and black battle regalia.

Her armor devoured any light attempting to make it gleam.

Just as suddenly, her personal guard, clad in their war armor, with their softly glowing swords and spears of ebony at the ready, stood at attention along the walls of the room.

“No one threatens my son,” Nicnevin said, her voice echoing with the ferocity of a mother’s love. “The goddesses might wish to take another count of the Unseelie forces. Our numbers may have dwindled from the elder age of long ago, but we are still many and strong—and we stand united.”

For the first time in his life, Gryffe appreciated having his mother at his side.

“We will honor our oath to protect the Highland Veil, and I might also add that we wish the Weavers no harm.” He strode forward until he stood directly in front of Mairwen.

“But I know yer bloodline, old one. I also know yer story and yer pain. Ye understand these things lessen my trusting of ye. Are ye willing to give me yer blood oath? Yer allegiance to me and mine? Or must we declare war against the goddesses here and now?”

As Mairwen rose from her seat, the years seemed to drop away from her, making her appear more vital, stronger, and filled with life. With her gaze locked in his, she held her hand to Ishbel. “The crystal athame, Ishbel.”

He sensed Emily at his side as Ishbel rose and produced the Weaver’s hallowed blade used in healing, binding, and for initiates seeking to become Defenders. The dagger suffered nothing but goodness and truth. It consumed those seeking to do evil or turn to darkness with lies.

With the blade pointed upward, Mairwen nodded first at Emily, then at Gryffe. “Give me yer hands.” Her eyes flared wide with surprise as Nicnevin stepped forward and held out her hand as well.

“I will not allow my grandchildren to believe I did not offer my blood for them,” she said, glaring at the Weavers, daring them to deny her this right.

The athame started glowing with a blue white light as though it knew what was about to happen.

It hummed even louder and shone even brighter as Mairwen sliced her palm, then cut Nicnevin’s, Emily’s, and Gryffe’s.

She held out her bleeding hand, opening it so the other three could hold their wounds over hers and add their blood to hers.

Once their blood was mixed, she shared it with them, adding it to the cuts across their palms. Then they joined their hands in unity, pressing their palms together and allowing the blood to stain the floor.

“By our blood, we are bound through all eternity,” Mairwen said, “Unseelie, Weaver, and mortal.” She bent and touched the tip of the crystal knife to the dark crimson spot on the floor.

“A blood oath, a hallowed vow to protect Clan MacStrath, the Unseelie race, the Weavers of Seven Cairns, and above all, the Highland Veil. So let it be spoken. So let it be done. So mote it be.”

“So mote it be,” Emily and Nicnevin echoed, but Gryffe remained silent.

The old one dared to meet his gaze as she squatted with the knife tip dipped in the blood of their vow. “Grand Chieftain?”

“I want my children and my children’s children included in this vow. I want it spoken—not merely implied by mentioning our clan, the Unseelies, or the mortals.” He would not bend on this. The wily goddesses were known to find every loophole when it came to breaking vows.

Mairwen nodded and tapped the knife against the floor three times.

“This blood shall also protect any and all children of Grand Chieftain Gryffe and his beloved Lady Emily—and their children’s children down through eternity.

So let it be spoken. So let it be done. So mote it be.

” The bloodstain shimmered, seeming to grow and breathe with the addition to the original vow.

“So mote it be,” Gryffe said, then fisted his wounded hand tighter so more of his blood would fall and join that on the floor.

Emily did the same. “So mote it be.”