Page 35 of A Fine Scottish Spell (The Magical Matchmakers of Seven Cairns #2)

Whisperings, the disjointed hissing of words flowing fast and frantic, flittered through the eerie whiteness like annoying gnats, buzzing to be noticed.

Emily strained to capture the words, understand them, and decipher the goddesses’ plot.

Time to poke the bear and make them roar so she could hear them.

“I thought you three were supposed to be the good ones. The ones devoted to the strength and continuance of the Highland Veil? From what I have seen so far, you are little better than Morrigan. Yours is just a more subtle form of evil manipulation.”

Silence fell, but they weren’t gone. She could feel them fuming.

Time to poke them again. “The one true God, the Supreme Creator, the Great Spirit, put the Highland Veil in place, didn’t He?

What does that make you three, then? Fallen angels or something just claiming to be goddesses so mortals will notice you and give you the attention you seek like toddlers tugging on their mother’s skirts? ”

“We could make ye no more at this verra minute,” the trio of voices said, still speaking as one.

Emily nodded and squared her shoulders. “You could—but you won’t. What’s your angle? You’re afraid of something. What is it? I know you’re afraid of being forgotten, but there’s something else too. I smell it.”

“Sleep until ye learn some respect!”

* * *

“Please open yer eyes, my love.” Gryffe barely touched Emily’s face, watching her long dark lashes, longing for them to flutter and give him hope.

But she remained as still as she had been when Lady Tayda and Grimalkin had sounded the alarm and brought everyone to the sitting room where Emily had collapsed.

Nicnevin hovered close on the other side of the bed. “This is no sickness, my son. The mothers pull at her. See how she keeps her hands closed into fists and her jaw strong and tight? Our Lady Emily battles them. Hold fast to her and give her yer strength.”

“They will not take her from me.” He gently brushed her dark mane of wild curls back from her face.

She had undone her braids for him, revealing an abundance of long, silky coils that he couldn’t resist. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering to breathe her in and will her to feel his love.

“Fight them, my dear one. Fight yer way back to me.”

“I never realized the mother goddesses bore the Unseelie so much hatred and prejudice.” Nicnevin settled into a chair close to the bed, perching on the edge of its seat.

Her scowl puckered even harder as she shook her head.

“We are dark, that is undeniable, and full of mischief that sometimes turns wicked. But for the most part, those we visit our cruelty upon, earned it.” She released a heavy sigh, then offered him a sad smile.

“She holds tightly to the child and protects it. Hear its song?”

“Aye, I hear the wee one singing.” Gryffe rested his head on Emily’s middle and closed his eyes, drinking in the light airy song, as tender and lilting as a gentle breeze making a leaf dance across the grass.

Then another song joined in, a different melody that harmonized with the first. He sat up straight and stared at his motionless wife. “Lady Tayda was right. There are two.”

Nicnevin leaned forward and rested her hand on Emily’s shoulder. “A good omen, indeed. She is stronger with a pair of Unseelie bairns in her womb.” She patted Emily’s hand. “Fight on, my fearless daughter. We are with ye.”

She rose, rounded the bed, and brushed a kiss to Gryffe’s cheek. “I will see if the Weavers have arrived yet. Their strength will help her, too.”

He nodded without taking his gaze from his precious wife.

The soft click of the door told him it was just himself and Emily warring against the unseen forces that kept her as still and lifeless as a corpse.

He took her cold hand in his and slowly shook his head.

“I dinna ken why they have done this to ye, my love. I’ve bent to their every feckin’ whim in service to the Highland Veil.

” He kissed her hand, then pressed it to his cheek.

“Even the Unseelie have left them be for the most part. I dinna understand it.”

“It is Emily herself who worries them, my chieftain,” Mairwen said from the doorway. She came closer, her silvery head barely tipped to one side as she studied Emily. “It is Emily’s bloodline they fear.”

“Fear?”

“Aye.” The matron went to him, rested a hand on his shoulder, then took Emily’s hand out of his and held it. “Her great-great grandmother was the most powerful Spell Weaver ever to exist.” She gently squeezed his shoulder. “And do ye know why?”

“Just tell me, old one. I am too weary for more games.” Gryffe tensed, bracing himself for whatever Mairwen was about to share.

“Because she is like me, grand chieftain.” Mairwen took her hand away from his shoulder, but kept hold of Emily as if determined to keep her from drifting away.

“Emily’s great-great grandmother Esme was born from Cerridwen’s forbidden tryst with the Seelie king of the Seventh Realm.

As a babe, Esme was ordained a Weaver and taken to the hallowed grounds of Seven Cairns to protect her from the Seelie queen’s jealous rage. ”

Gryffe stared at Mairwen, fighting to come to grips with what she had just said. “Ye are telling me my Emily possesses no Weaver blood in her ancestry?—”

“Oh, she has Weaver ancestry because Esme fully embraced and became a Weaver—much as I have,” Mairwen said. “But yer Emily also descends from Cerridwen, the mighty Seelie king of the Seventh Realm, and some extraordinary mortals.”

“Has Cerridwen no heart, then? No caring for her own?” Gryffe rose, ready to call down the fickle goddess and demand she face him in battle. He pointed at Emily. “She is of her blood. The bairns she carries are of her blood.”

“The bairns she carries are also of the Unseelie,” Mairwen said so quietly that a chill raced across him. “It is the strengthening of the dark ones they fear. This will be the first time Seelie and Unseelie become one.”

“The Dark Fae are no worse than the goddesses themselves are.” He pushed away from Mairwen and paced the width of the room, no longer able to remain still.

Pointing at Emily, he bared his teeth. “We would never do this to our own blood, and the Unseelie kingdom was overjoyed when they heard the wee ones’ songs at their creation. ”

Mairwen seated herself in the chair beside the bed and gently arranged Emily’s long, dark curls across the pillows.

“I make no defense of the mother goddesses. They cost me my child and my mate. My only allegiance is to the Highland Veil and joining fated mates in search of their other halves to keep the Veil strong and the realms separated. Only the Veil has kept its purity and goodness throughout the ages.”

“Tell me how to steal her back. Tell me how to reach them.”

The old one’s heavy sigh weighed down his hopes. “If they have taken her to the in-between, there is no way for us to get to her.

“Like hell.” Gryffe paced faster, opening and closing his fists. “There has to be a way, and I mean to find it. Even if it means waging war against the Highland Veil itself.”

Mairwen gasped. “Dinna speak such blasphemy!”

He pointed at his wife. “All that matters to me is her—her and our bairns. If the goddesses force my hand, I will fully embrace the darkness of my Unseelie blood and make all creation pay.”

A flash of light blinded him. He shielded his eyes from the painful whiteness, struggling to regain his sight so he could protect Emily.

The ground beneath his feet felt solid, but everything else was misty white nothingness.

He blinked hard, then held up his hand and stared at it, thankful he could see once more.

His ears itched with buzzing whispers that made him wait for a horde of midges to swarm down and feast on his flesh.

“Are ye cowards, then?” he shouted into the void.

“Gryffe?”

His breath caught in his lungs. That voice. The voice he feared he would never hear again. “Emily!” He squinted harder, trying to see through the fog. “Where are ye, my love? Talk me to ye.”

“I am close,” she said, “because every time you speak, the clouds swirl. Talk so I can follow the movement.”

“Are ye injured? Have they hurt ye in any way?”

“They kept trying to make me sleep, but I told them I didn’t believe in their powers, and it worked. I stayed awake. I haven’t heard from them since.”

The pride in her voice made his heart sing. “They canna stand against the likes of ye, my own. Ye are too canny for them.”

She stepped into view, arms outstretched, swimming through the mists. “Gryffe!”

Catching her up in his arms, he crushed her to his chest, burying his face in the sweet softness of her hair. “I shall never let ye go, my love. Never.”

She clutched him just as tightly. “I don’t know how you got here, but I knew you’d come. I told them you would.”

“Maybe that is how I got here—yer belief that I would.”

She leaned back and smiled up at him. “I will always believe in you. Always.”

“This cannot be,” said a trio of voices, rumbling with distant thunder.

Gryffe drew his Unseelie blade while keeping Emily safely tucked against his side. “This is as it should be, whether ye wish it or not. My wife. My bairns. Do ye truly wish me to wage war against ye? Against the Highland Veil itself?”

“The Veil?” The voices wavered, trembling with barely controlled panic. “Ye are the Grand Chieftain of the Order. Ye would go against yer vows to unleash evil against the Veil?”

“What do ye know of vows? What do ye care?”

No answer came, confirming he was right.

“My Emily and I are bound for all time. Leave us be and all will be well. Fight us on this, and we will wipe yer names from history and erase yer existance from every realm. No one will remember ye. Ever.”

“I told them that too,” Emily whispered ever so softly. “So far, it hasn’t worked.”

“Believe,” he told her just as quietly, giving her a rare smile. His precious woman loved his smiles. He had no idea why, but if it pleased her, he would do his best to do it more often.

Cutting through the mists with his softly glowing blade, he bared his teeth at the unseen goddesses.

“Ye make yerselves out to be so much better than all others. Ye claim to be holy and good. And yet, ye do this to one of yer own, her and the bairns, treating them like an unwanted mongrel’s pups ye intend to drown to rid yerself of them—much as ye did Esme and Mairwen. ”

He knows echoed over and over throughout the nothingness, growing louder, then fading away only to grow louder again.

“What are you talking about?” Emily asked in the faintest whisper.

“I will explain later,” he said just as quietly.

Raising his voice and his sword, he continued, “Send us back and trouble us no more. Leave our descendants alone as well, and we will keep the truth of my wife’s ancestry secret.

All will continue to believe her the descendant of a Spell Weaver.

But if ye dinna return us, Mairwen will share with one and all that Emily descends from Cerridwen and King Zeerin, the Seelie king of the Seventh Realm, and therefore, our children are of Seelie and Unseelie blood.

Both light and dark. Both sides united for the first time ever. ”

“Ye canna tell the truths if we keep ye here. We would be better served to keep ye prisoner.”

“Mairwen can share yer truths, and if ye take her, she has left a sealed text with each of the Weavers to be opened upon her disappearance.”

“There is no way ye could have arranged that!” the voices said, squalling like a rising storm. “We took ye afore ye had time.”

“Nay, my pompous goddesses. It would seem ye are not so all-knowing. Mairwen spoke to me in my thoughts as the irritating witch is wont to do. She assured me this would be done. She knew it would be the only way to make ye listen—since ye wish yer indiscretions kept secret.” Gryffe threw out his chest with pride.

He had forgotten how satisfying it felt to fully connect with his dark side and create a lie so stunning he almost believed it himself.

Nothing but silence filled the eerie void of foggy brightness.

“Something’s about to happen.” Emily wrapped both arms around him and hugged him tight. “I feel it. The air…stings.”

Sword at the ready in one hand and his other arm around her, Gryffe braced himself. It wasn’t the air that stung. ’Twas the goddesses building fury.

And then their howling wails shattered the mist, louder and more piercing than any banshee could ever hope to be.

The place shook with their rage, making Gryffe wrap both arms around Emily and hold fast while trying not to drop his sword.

She buried her face in his chest and held on to him just as tightly.

At least if they died now, they died together.