Page 12

Chapter Eleven

A t the sound of the watcher’s horn Tasgall dropped everything and left the laird’s chamber through the passage concealed in the very back. Following the narrow space between the walls that he’d had made so the clan could move undetected, he emerged behind a tapestry in the great hall, where he saw his wife talking to a large group of females, most of whom were bickering with each other. As always Ava looked calm and composed, but even from a distance he could see the annoyance in her eyes.

“My lady.” He kissed her temple when he reached her. “Any report from the watchers?”

“The MacBren is approaching the castle,” she told him. “Two weeks early, according to Farlan. He’s herding our guys off to their defensive positions. Ladies. Ladies.” When the female vassals fell silent she gave them a smile of approval. “Please go to the kitchens and get the emergency food and water packs that Doon and I stored there for you, and take them down to the dungeons.”

“I’ll attend to them, my lady,” the clan’s cook said before regarding the other women. “Come with me to the butlery. Una, if I hear one more unkind word pass your lips I’ll gag you myself.”

Once all the vassals had left Ava sighed and rubbed her head. “We suspected conditions inside the spell trap had changed, and it looks like we were right. The cycle of events is moving faster now.”

“We’ll take time to fash such after the MacBren departs. Go down to the dungeons with our ladies, my love.” When she shook her head he almost chuckled. “I dinnae ken why I bother trying to keep you safe.”

“You do that because you love me. I am going to my new observation post that Ben helped me build.” She hesitated, and then rubbed her brow. “I forgot about Olivia Gibson. I promised she could watch with me.”

Tasgall was startled to see his war master enter the great hall with their latest arrival in tow.

“I’m right here.” The woman smiled at them both before she regarded Alec. “Go to work. I’ll be fine. ”

Incredibly the most unfriendly member of the clan kissed her cheek before giving them a short bow and trotting off.

“Is he pished?’ Tasgall murmured to his wife.

“He’s in love,” she whispered back before she grinned at Olivia. “Thanks for remembering to come down here. If you’ve changed your mind I’ll take you to where we hide our ladies in the dungeons.”

“And pass up the chance to safely watch what happens during these event loops?” the lass said, and grinned. “Not even if you paid me.”

Ava grimaced. “It’s not going to be much fun.” She gave Tasgall a resigned look. “But maybe you’ll notice something that I can’t.”

Olivia nodded, and as Farlan hurried in she followed Ava out of the hall. The seneschal had a fading bruise on his chin and wiped some blood from his nose.

“I had to separate some tussling scullery lads,” he said as he went to pick up the sand bucket by the hearth and began putting out the fires. “MacBren’s arrived two weeks early. Something’s gone amiss with the enchantment.”

“’Tisnae the first alteration of the curse we’ve seen.” He went to help Farlan extinguish the remaining hearth flames. “Those facking caterpillars grew to a monstrous size here to attack and cocoon us. Polly died after falling into the smelting furnace. Naught like either’s happened in the trap in nine centuries. Now Mistress Gibson’s forced inside through a pit, Elspeth’s been frozen and the MacBren arrives early. What purpose serves any of such?”

“You need ask Alec. He understands schemes like no other.” The seneschal flinched as the watchers blew their horn a second time. “The MacBren’s at the gate.”

S tanding with Ava in almost complete darkness on an elevated platform, Olivia tugged back a fold of tightly woven hemp cloth to peer through a narrow slit. On the other side, the fabric had been painted to resemble the castle’s interior stone, and the blind hung five yards above the great hall. The FBI agent had led her through a series of hidden passages to reach the spot.

Below, Olivia could see unfamiliar guards filing in to form ranks in front of the laird and his senior men, but so far no sign of Alec. Tasgall’s own guards came to stand toe to toe with them.

“Easy, lads,” the laird said. “Do naught without my command.”

Olivia saw some furtive movement up in the rafters, and squinted until she could make out the silhouettes of archers who had wedged themselves at strategic positions over the hall.

“Alec and some of our archers shadow the MacBren and his bunch as they enter the castle,” Ava murmured, and pointed up at the rafters. “Don’t worry. He’s always careful not to get caught.”

Olivia would have whispered something back, but a moment later a large fair-haired man with a sunburned face kicked the door open and came into the hall, his expression furious. The chain mail he wore had wet dark stains on it, and blood dripped from the sword he gripped in his hand. He looked as if he wanted to kill everyone in the hall.

“McKeran, you eejit,” he shouted as other large, heavily armed men flanked him on either side. “How dare you refuse the king’s summons? ’Tis treason to ignore his command.”

Olivia had often tried to imagine what medieval warriors had been like, but even knowing what they wore and how they lived, the reality was almost shocking. Some of the laird’s men had horrific scars on their faces; one had lost a hand recently judging by the bloody, filthy rag wrapped around the stump. The unwashed smell that came from them made it all the way up to the blind and was so revolting that she had to start breathing through her mouth .

Tasgall’s guards stepped aside to form a protective gauntlet as the laird came forward and bowed to the red-faced man as elegantly as if he were the king himself.

“My lord MacBren. I regret I couldnae attend our sovereign.” The laird’s gaze fell to the other man’s sword, and for a moment Olivia thought he might lunge at MacBren. “Matters of life and death prevent me from journeying to Dunfermline. I must remain here until I may resolve our concerns, which are many.”

MacBren spat on the floor between them.

“Liar. You but cowered here in your stronghold, too afraid to face the king’s wrath. When I left him to journey here, he told me to end you slowly and painfully. Indeed, I should gut you where you stand.” He flipped the blood from his blade before sheathing it. “If I name you my son, however, he shall forgive you all. Come with me now and marry Torra in the chapel where I wed her lady màthair . She awaits you with an eager heart.”

“As I’ve told you many times, I cannae marry your daughter.” Tasgall didn’t react when the other laird bunched a fist and threw a punch, which landed on the guard who stepped in front of him like a living shield. Tasgall steadied the clansman before he said, “ Attacking my men shallnae change my answer. ’Tis better you go now, my lord.”

Olivia’s gaze shifted to the rafters, where Alec had his bow drawn and ready to shoot the MacBren. If he did, would the arrow pass through him as if he were a ghost? Or would the spell trap heal him instantly?

“’Tis best I change your mind, you insolent whelp. Where did you hide that tall, pretty whore you paraded in front of me when last I came?” Without looking away MacBren said to his men, “Search this floor and the next for that black-haired wench he facks. Bring her to me alive. I shall use her to school her master.”

Olivia reached out and curled her fingers around Ava’s, which were trembling a little. The other woman gave her a grateful look.

Half of the MacBren’s men brandished their swords and left the hall. At the sound of a screech from outside Farlan surged forward, but a gray-feathered hawk with a coppery breast flew through one of the arches and soared across the room to land on Tasgall’s outstretched gauntlet.

“Damnable creature.” MacBren stared at the large bird. “What do you with birds inside your stronghold? Keep you an aviary here, McKeran?”

“The birds make their home with us.” He lifted his gauntlet, and the hawk shrieked again before flying out of the hall. “Would you call back your men, my lord? The lady you seek, she’s gone.”

“A canny wench.” He seemed happy to hear that. “Now you’ve no reason to refuse my Torra. Accompany me to my stronghold and wed her this very day. I shall name you my sole heir and successor. ’Tis a position every other man in Scotland would murder to possess.” When Tasgall didn’t move he drew his sword. “Refuse me again, McKeran, and I’ll take your head.”

“Our laird doesnae wish to marry anyone, my lord.” One of the guards disobeyed Tasgall’s orders and got between the two lairds. “Begone with you and your bastarts.”

“Kelso, step back,” Farlan hissed, although his expression appeared oddly resigned.

MacBren eyed the guard from his face to his boots and back again. “At least one of your lads possesses a spine.”

“I can part your head from yours, my lord,” Kelso offered, drawing his sword and holding it ready as he approached the laird. “Come and face me, and I shall–” An arrow landed in his right eye with a thud, and he sank to his knees.

As one of the MacBren’s men nocked another arrow to his bow, Olivia bit her lip to keep from screaming in horror .

“No more,” Farlan begged as he caught Kelso in his arms and eased him onto his back. “Och, lad. He’s done for.”

The guard gasped something, and then went limp.

“Pity. Brave, but foolish.” MacBren strode forward, shoving aside the clansmen that stepped into his path until he stood only a few inches from Tasgall. “Shall I tell my archer to do the same to you, or shall you come to your senses?”

Olivia suppressed a wince as Ava’s fingernails dug into her palm. Watching her husband deal with this horrid man was pure torture. Any minute the laird could be killed.

Only he won’t die. He’ll come back. But if that meant he disappeared like the others every time the event cycle repeated, Ava and Tasgall would only have a couple of months to be together—which explained why the laird’s wife was so scared.

How can they live like this?

“I shallnae marry your daughter.” When the other laird punched him in the face Tasgall rocked on his heels but remained standing. “I shall never wed Torra.”

MacBren shook his head and raised his hand. “Archer, aim for his cowardly heart. This is your last chance, McKeran. Oblige me or die.”

“Kill me.” Tasgall didn’t even blink as an arrow flew past his face, so close to his head that his hair flew up in its wake. “Mayhap your archer needs learn where to find the heart.” He pointed to the left side of his chest. “Aim here, lad.”

“Stupit bastart.” The other laird turned on his heel and stalked out of the hall.

Alec and his men dropped down from the rafters and followed him.

Ava fell to her knees, her shoulders shaking, and Olivia knelt beside her to brace her from keeling over entirely. Awkwardly she hugged the silently weeping woman until her trembling stopped and she used her sleeve to wipe her face.

“I’m sorry.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly before she added, “He never told me that he’d be attacked this time.”

“He probably didn’t want you to worry. He couldn’t stop it from happening again, right?” As Ava nodded she patted her back. “Let’s get out of here now.”

Helping the laird’s wife through the back of the blind and down the ladder to the passage, Olivia swallowed hard before she guided her into the hall. Yet instead of seeing Kelso on the floor, only a small puddle of blood lay where he had fallen.

“He actually disappeared,” Ava said through white lips .

“Wife.” Tasgall pulled her into his arms and held her close, giving Olivia a grateful look before he kissed Ava. “’Tis over for now.”

“No, my lord.” Alec returned, blood spatter staining his tunic, and the quiver at his hip half-empty now. “The MacBren, he didnae leave through the gates. After killing most of the gardener’s lads he ordered his men to set up an encampment inside the second wall, by the stables.”

The laird shook his head. “Never did he before, why now?”

“The same reason he appeared a week early, I think,” Ava told him. “Something has changed the time cycle enchantment.”

Olivia saw Alec watching her instead of the laird and his wife and went over to him. The blood spatter on his clothes made her stomach clench. “You okay?”

“As much as anyone.” He shouldered his bow and came closer, but otherwise didn’t touch her or even look at her. “I must head to the tower now to set watch on the MacBren. Go with Lady Ava to the dungeons and stay there.”

“Alec.” When he finally met her gaze she put her arms around him. “Please be careful.”

“And you, my dreòlan .” He hugged her for a moment before backing out of her embrace and gesturing to his men, who rushed with him out of the hall.

B odach flew out of the spell trap, shedding his butterfly form as soon as he crossed over the threshold into the real world. There Clagden stood waiting in his police officer guise, his mortal features displaying an appropriate amount of awe and admiration.

“You shift forms as if you are changing garments, Master,” the changeling said as he watched him resume his guise as Renard Beaumont. “Were you able to find that Gibson female you sent into the trap?”

“You’re very curious about my business.” He hadn’t told his new servant what he intended to do, but Clagden was proving cleverer than he’d assumed. The chain mail glove he sometimes used to breach the barrier had been moved. The creature also asked too many questions. “What does it matter to you what I do in there?”

“I only wish to be of service, Master.” The changeling bowed so low his nose brushed his knees. When he straightened, he asked, “Can you teach me to disguise myself as well as you do? ”

“Teach you?” Now in Renard Beaumont’s form, he slapped the dark Fae’s head. “No wonder you were abandoned. Do you mistake me for your parent?”

“I wish only to appear completely human.” He lifted the hem of his shirt, displaying the darkly mottled flesh of his abdomen. “My former master never taught me to hide more than my shape, face and limbs. I must rely on clothing to cover the rest of my hide.”

“Surely you don’t wish to scamper about the mortal realm naked.” As the changeling’s expression turned sullen Bodach guessed the motive behind his request. “Ah, I see. You desire a mate—have you a particular human in mind?”

The cop shuddered. “I would never waste my seed on a mortal female.”

“A pity. They can be quite amusing in their limited fashion. Remind me to tell you about the last one I used.” Bodach grew even more interested. “Have you found yourself another changeling, then?”

Clagden nodded. “I met a female who was abandoned by her mistress like me. She desires to take me as her mate and breed with me, but only in mortal form.”

“So you must refine your guise to please your female.” Bodach chuckled, amused by how dense the other male had proved. “I can teach you how to improve your glamour spell, of course, but you must first do something for me.”

The changeling nodded eagerly. “Anything.”

“I want to meet your female.” He grinned as Clagden’s expression turned sour. “Or you can spend the rest of eternity mating while dressed in your patrol uniform. It makes absolutely no difference to me.”

An hour later Bodach walked into a small art gallery in Carmel, where a number of oil paintings of illuminated sea waves, stunted cypress trees on cliffs and charming cottages with blazing yellow windows hung on the exhibit panels. Several fat white pillar candles burned atop brass stands, but their vanilla scent barely masked the musk of the otherworldly creature on the premises.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” A tall blonde female in a dark green gown came out from behind the reception desk. She walked with such small steps she seemed to float, and when she gave Clagden a narrow look a flash of dark magic briefly shimmered in her brown eyes. “I’m Jean Jahns, the gallery director,” she said, smiling at Bodach. “How may I help you?”

“Your paramour brought me to make your acquaintance, dear Jean. I must say, I’m impressed.” Looking over the seamless beauty of her glamour made him wonder why she had bothered. Her gown and the heavy boots he glimpsed under it provided a clue. “Do you have a back room where we can properly introduce ourselves?”

She went to lock the front door of the gallery before she led them through the exhibits and into an office. After pulling down the blinds and locking the door she regarded Bodach with a resentful pout.

“Please remember that I have to pass as human here,” she said, a faint whine in her tone now. “If you do anything to compromise my identity, it will take me years to–”

“Do shut up.” Bodach grabbed her by the hair, making her scream until he clamped a hand over her mouth. “You haven’t shown our friend Clagden here your true appearance yet. Drop your glamour.” When she started to struggle, he added, “Show him, or I will compel you to do so, along with several other things you will not enjoy.”

Jean sighed, and the scent of her perfume vanished as her shape changed, and her body shrank down. She became half her height and twice her width as her flesh grew lumpy and lost all its color. Her scalp turned bald, but thick clusters of greenish hair sprouted from her jaw and neck. Her arms hung so low her bulging knuckles scraped the floor. Her sagging breasts and buttocks made it clear that she was much older than her changeling beau, probably into her third or fourth millennium. The collection of old scars on her body suggested she had once served as a warrior, but not a very skillful one.

Then there was the stench of her true form, which grew so foul that it made even Bodach’s eyes water.

“You’ve found yourself a rather undesirable mate, my boy,” Bodach told Clagden, who stared aghast at the stumpy female. “She stinks like a swamp filled with dumped medical waste. What are you, lovely one, part troll?”

“I share a bloodline with the Baobhan Sith,” Jean said, her real voice a cavernous, rasping ruin. “That is all you need know.”

“You mean, I’m right,” he said, amused at her umbrage. “How did you come into being? Did your mistress amuse herself with a male troll who didn’t tell her he was in rut? Or was she somehow desperate for a slave even uglier than she was?”

Jean looked as if she might scream again, but then hunched her bony shoulders. “I was exiled here just after my birth. I’ll never know.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Clagden demanded.

“Let me answer that one, my dear,” Bodach said before she could reply. “Her mother is a vampire Fae, you idiot. How could you not recognize her as such? You feed off mortals.”

“Not their blood,” Clagden muttered, looking resentful.

“I only take their life energy,” Jean said quickly.

“You didn’t desire to mate with my servant,” Bodach said, chuckling. To Clagden he said, “She wished to feed on you.”

“I would have kept you alive,” she said quickly, giving the changeling a sorrowful look. “I’m only half Baobhan Sith. I don’t need to kill to live.”

Bodach studied her expression. “Oh, for the sake of all the gods. You’re actually in love with him. I think I’m going to puke now.”

Jean knelt down and bowed her head. “If you wish to kill me, Clagden, you may. I deserve death for lying to you.”

The changeling shed his mortal guise and stood over his paramour, and then knelt down and took hold of her ugly hands. “I’m no prettier than you. Is that why you wished me to improve my glamour, and mate with me in mortal form? So you wouldn’t have to show your true appearance to me?”

“I know I’m hideous.” Jean shifted back into the form of the lovely gallery director before she threw her arms around his neck. “I only wanted to be beautiful for you, my darling. ”

“Of course you did.” Bodach left them embracing on the floor, and wandered through the gallery until he found another, smaller office with the door marked “Bookkeeper.”

Inside a young woman sat working on a computer. By the pallid look of her skin and the dark marks under her eyes, she was Jean’s current victim, so the halfling had told the truth when she’d said she didn’t kill.

“May I help you, sir?” the woman asked as she got to her feet, her voice heavy with tiredness.

He bespelled her at once and had her accompany him back to the director’s office, where Clagden and Jean were grappling in their mortal forms on the floor like the most eager of new lovers. The way in which they mated seemed boring with their guises intact.

“Don’t mind me,” Bodach told them when they halted and glared at him. He sat down before pulling up the bookkeeper’s skirt and maneuvering her onto his lap. “Just change into your true forms before you continue. My little friend here needs entertaining as much as I do.”