Page 8 of Farlan (Immortal Highlander Clan McKeran #3)
Chapter Three
N othing attacked them, but Farlan saw the chips in the granite around them take on a strange glitter, casting tiny scarlet lights over them both. In all the centuries the clan had been imprisoned at Dun Talamh, he’d never seen the stronghold’s stone do such a thing.
“Why is the stone sparkling like that?” Grace asked, moving away from the nearest wall.
“’Tis likely flakes of some damaged crystals.” He hoped it was, anyway. Dawn would bring white lights as the enchantment repaired the castle—not red. “Or ’tis caused by the lack of light.”
She reached out toward one cracked stone, and then snatched her hand back again. “It’s so cold.”
“’Tis the nature of stone buildings.” He patted the stone nearest to him with his usual affection. “Even during the hottest summers, they keep us cool.”
Farlan relit the torch and found a spot to plant it while he looked at what lay around them.
The pile of rubble had formed a new wall between them and everyone else at Dun Talamh, and the spell trap’s magic cut them off forever from the outside world.
Looking at the lady’s exquisite face, which now had been smeared with dirt, made his heart twist.
“We shallnae remain here long,” he told her. “By sunrise an enchantment shall restore all as ’twas, and we may escape.”
She said nothing in reply, which made him wish he knew how much time had passed since the collapse. They might yet remain trapped here for hours.
“Here, now.” He reached out to her. “Come into the light so I may see if you’re injured.”
Grace winced as he touched her hand. “It’s nothing serious. Too bad your enchantment can’t repair a manicure.”
Farlan looked down to see two of her fingernails broken, and a long, bloody scrape on the back of her hand. “The same magic that created this place heals our wounds and hurts. If they’re no’ grievous, they vanish almost as soon as they happen. ”
“Magic instant healing, sure.” She took in a sharp breath as the scrape stopped bleeding and closed, and her fingernails slowly lengthened and healed. “I must still be dreaming.”
Her uneasiness made Farlan determined to reassure her. He glanced around them and spotted the only door in the passage that remained unblocked by the collapsed wall. It wouldn’t lead them out of the rubble, but he could use what was inside to give her some ease.
“Come here with me,” he said, taking down the torch and gesturing for her to follow him to the door, which opened after he kicked aside some rocks blocking it.
Inside the chamber the torch shed light on the many stores that had been stowed inside.
The collapse had caused some jugs to tip over, and a few crocks lay smashed on the floor where they had fallen.
The clan’s cook, Doon, had the habit of saving all the excess stores from her cold and dry pantries in such rooms. When the cycle of events repeated, the clan’s female vassals were often obliged to remain hidden for days in the lower levels of the stronghold.
These emergency pantries provided food and drink for them during such times.
“Sit here, lass.” He pulled out a crate and used a barrel as a table, atop which he placed a jug of perry. “Take a sip.”
Grace uncorked the jug and put it to her lips quickly, as if she were parched. She swallowed and coughed into her hand before shoving the jug back at him.
“Sorry, but I can’t drink alcohol.” She paired that with a cold look, as if she suspected he’d forced it on her for despicable reasons.
“Your pardon, my lady.” He checked several more jugs before he found one filled with Doon’s cold sweet brew, which she made from honey, blackberries and sage, and poured a measure for her in a fine goblet. “This shall do for you—’tis a kind of tea, but doesnae contain spirits.”
He noticed she didn’t touch the drink as he took down a pot of jam and some of Doon’s barley cakes.
As he used his dagger to prepare them for her, he could sense her watching him closely, and wondered if another man had used drink to disarm and hurt her.
He’d be happy to beat such a bastart bloody, but offering to do thus might only frighten her more.
Besides, like her he could not escape the spell trap.
Putting the food atop a barrel, he smiled at her.
“Please, eat.” When she didn’t touch them he said, “’Tis but cake with fruit jam, Mistress Johansen. ”
“I’m not hungry, thank you.” She turned her face away, making her rumpled hair spill over her shoulder like hammered gold. “Where are we?”
“One of the passages in my clan’s stronghold.” When she regarded him with a raised brow he nearly cringed. Revealing that she had come to a place she would never escape seemed too brutal a truth. He would not repay her with such dismal coin after she had been so generous with her trust and efforts.
“Just tell me,” Grace said.
Farlan saw a weary patience in her eyes, which made his heart ache for her. It also prompted him to reveal the details of her new home.
“My brothers and I, we’re the half-mortal sons of a Fae hunter-warrior.
We found each other and built Dun Talamh, our stronghold, in the Scottish highlands.
Nine hundred years ago someone cursed us to be imprisoned forever in this place, which holds our castle out of time and the real world.
” He finally dared to look upon her, and saw she beheld him with her full attention.
“’Tis possible to come into our prison from the outside world, as you did tonight. Only once you’re here, you can never–”
“Escape, I know. I’m familiar with the legends.
My grandmother disappeared inside McKeran’s Castle seventy years ago.
I’ve read everything I could find about your castle and your clan, because I was hoping to find her.
” She reached for the thin gold chain she wore around her throat and tugged out from her bodice a round locket with fine scrolls etched all over it.
She opened the locket to show him the tiny portrait inside, and then read to him the note she’d found inside it.
“’Tis Inga, our chatelaine,” Farlan said, realizing at last why Grace looked so familiar. “Och, you’re the image of her.”
“Not quite, but thank you for the compliment.” Her expression grew icy again as she closed the locket and tucked it away. “It’s a little hard to believe that my grandmother really is still alive. She’d be almost a hundred years old by now.”
He understood why she might not believe him. “We dinnae grow older here, none of us. My brothers and I, we’ve Fae blood that keeps us from such. The enchantment that holds us has done as much for our vassals. ’Twill be the same for you, lass.”
“Why would someone curse you with immortality?” she countered. “There are people I work with who would literally do anything to stop aging.”
“We remain young, ’tis true, and we never suffer sickness or disease,” he admitted.
“Yet our vassals, they remain parted from their families. They cannae bear bairns or escape eternal servitude. Terrors from the past that go on repeating in the same procession, year after year, torment us. None trapped here should call our life sublime.” He saw her dismay and silently cursed himself for being the cause.
“You may call upon me anytime you’re in need, my lady.
I shall do anything you ask to put you at ease. ”
“Why would I do that?” Tensing, she got to her feet. “You know my grandmother, not me. You don’t owe me anything.”
The flatness of her tone made it obvious she disliked relying on others. “Still, I shall attend you when you’re in need.”
“I’m perfectly capable of attending to myself, thank you.” Grace walked back out into the passage.
Her behavior baffled Farlan. Why did she put such effort into fending him off, as if his kindness had deeply offended her?
Perhaps it had something to do with the customs of her time.
Lady Ava chose to care for herself rather than permit a maid to attend to her, and now worked as her husband’s chief investigator.
Lady Olivia likewise did not depend on the staff, although that may have been because of her husband.
Possessive and suspicious by nature, Alec did not care for anyone coming near his lady wife, much less touching her.
Farlan walked out into the passage, but only saw shadows. The cold had grown much more intense, making him wish he’d wrapped her in his tartan. “Mistress Johansen?”
He nearly jumped out of his boots when he felt her hands slide around his waist, and her cheek press against the back of his shoulder. The heat of her sank into him, dispelling the chill that had enveloped him and sending a surge of hot blood through his veins.
“Seneschal.” Her voice brimmed with devout emotion. “I thought I was dreaming again.”
Why did she speak now with such obvious affection, when only a few moments past she’d spurned his offer of aid? There also seemed to be an odd echo to her voice, as if the passage had suddenly tripled in size. Had the collapse caused something to strike her head?
“’Tis time we awaken, then,” he said carefully. He knew if he startled her she might try to run, find she couldn’t and fall into hysterics.
“I don’t wish to. You’re always in my dreams.” She glided in front of him, keeping her arms wrapped around his waist as she shifted closer. “Whenever I’m afraid, when I think I can't go on, you remind me that I’m not alone.”
By the Gods, did she think him another man? And why did that make him angry? “We’ve never met before tonight, my lady. ”
“You don’t see me.” Her voice grew sad. “I’ve lived for the moment when you might notice me, and touch me, and call me yours, Seneschal. You speak so sweetly that I want to be with only you.”