Mael: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 2 Page 11

  “Sounds like a plan.” Jenna kissed her husband before she retreated as well, leaving the four men alone.

  “’Twill grow beyond words, this discord,” Mael said to Domnall, who nodded his agreement. “We soon need settle it, else tempers reach for blade or bow.”

  “If you speak of me and Broden, tracker,” Edane said hotly, “do so to me, no’ the chieftain. I’m a man, no’ a sick wench to be cossetted.”

  “Aye.” Domnall folded his arms, his disapproval plain. “Very soon, Seneschal.”

  “Keep prodding tempers, Archer,” Kiaran said mildly, “and we’ll be digging up another hole, sized for you.” He watched Edane stride out of the hall before regarding Mael and Domnall. “Those two arrange themselves as a deadfall trap. ’Twill no’ take but one more nudge to trigger it.”

  “But ’twasnae set by Broden,” the chieftain said, his expression growing thoughtful. “I’ll speak to Edane on the morrow, after he calms. Fair night, Brothers.”

  Banking the hearth fires and extinguishing the torches gave Mael a few more minutes to brood. Although Edane and Broden had never been close, they’d seldom clashed so frequently as they had of late. The taunts and threats the two men now traded seemed born of natural dislike, but he sensed more behind it. Any suggestion of weakness set off the archer, who then made Broden the target of his ire.

  Rosealise’s illness also seemed to be involved in aggravating Edane, but how?

  As he made his way to his chamber Mael decided to let Domnall handle his battling brothers. The chieftain had always kept the peace among them, and he commanded their respect. Mael had other, far more pressing concerns with his lady.

  Aye, and pleasures.

  It had been so long Mael had almost forgotten the delight of having a lover. The few dru-widesses who had come to share his bed had never stirred his heart, nor had they remained with him until morning. His lady had given him such satisfaction his body roused just thinking about it. He couldn’t wait to have Rosealise in his arms again, and the thought of being with her hurried him down the last passage.

  His chamber, however, stood empty.

  Mael spied the tunic and trousers his lover had been wearing, neatly folded atop his bed, beside the heavy tartan he had left there. Since she had no other garments, he hurried down the hall to the old pantry. There Rosealise knelt just inside the threshold, wearing a shift made from sacking she’d somehow cut and tied together. She held a torch over the piles of wool Edane had brought in from the mound.

  “Lass?”

  “Edane’s remark to Jenna earlier about the cloth made me curious. I took some sacks to make this shift.” She rose and passed the torch to him. “If we fashion some bone needles and spin thread, there is enough here to make several garments for all of us. I would very much like to teach Jenna to sew clothing, and with her make a proper wardrobe for the clan.”

  “You neednae do thus,” he assured her.

  “Oh, but it would be such a…” Her face fell as she stared down at the pile of cloths. “…pleasure.” She looked up at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I will not be here long enough to do so.”

  Though Mael’s heart clenched in his chest, he forced his voice to be light.

  “Dinnae think on such things.” He encircled her waist with his arm. “’Tis better to live in this moment.”

  Rosealise regarded him. “I will not live past winter. I told Edane the few months I have left are enough, but they’re not.” A gleaming drop slipped down from her lashes. “There’s so much more that I want, and I have no time for it.”

  Mael brushed the tear from her cheek. “You have me, my jem, and I shall fill every moment that we share with joy. Let me be your strength, lass.”

  She accompanied him back to his chamber, where she stood before the hearth and looked down into the flames.

  “We should speak about what happened tonight in the hall.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “How could I control those iron men as I did?”

  “I cannae guess. ’Twould be wise to ken how much power you possess,” Mael admitted, and then an idea occurred to him. “We might fathom something of it together.” He took hold of her hand, and laced his fingers through hers. “Persuade me remember the underworld, and what the Sluath did to us.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  AS NIGHT SPREAD over the highlands, Galan surveyed the clear sky and frowned. For the first time he understood Prince Iolar’s frustration. Without a storm, he and the Sluath remained earthbound. Flying over the ridges would have permitted him to quickly spot tracks and signs of the Mag Raith, and possibly follow them to wherever they now hid. Without use of his new wings he’d again become a weak, worthless mortal.

  Aye, mortal, but no’ druid kind. The weight of his decision to turn away from his faith had never been more onerous, for one misstep now and all he’d suffered would be for nothing. I must attain the secret of immortality, or this life ’twill be my last.

  Galan felt a sharp edge cut into his palm, and smelled his own blood. He looked down to see he clutched too tightly the shell pendant carved with his dead wife’s likeness. It dragged him out of his worry, and returned clarity to his thoughts. He might yet be mortal, but he would never be weak. For his beloved Fiana, and an eternal life together, Galan would suffer anything.

  “Odd that we found no trace of the rebels,” Danar said as they made their way back to the cave. “Even on foot they should have left some sign of their passage.”

  “If you think to blame me again, as Seabhag did,” Galan said sharply, “consider the nature of your gates. The prince said the gates kill mortals.”

  “Yet you claimed Pritani magic the cause.” The big deamhan stopped and caught his arm. “Was that a lie, Aedth?”

  “Drag any druid here and they shall tell you the same,” he snapped. “’Tis the only likelihood. You made the Mag Raith immortal. Only they could use their tribal spells and survive the gate’s magic.”

  Danar released him, but then turned around to look toward the west. “How long has it been since the Pritani dwelled in these lands?”

  “The tribes have been gone for more than a thousand years.” Galan made an impatient gesture. “Prince Iolar awaits.”

  “Stop flapping your lips.” The big demon crouched down, pressing his claws against the soil. He closed his eyes, and the air around him shimmered with Sluath magic as he reached toward Galan. “Give me your hand.”

  “What?” He recoiled. “Why?”

  “I need some of the power that Iolar gave you for a magic seeking spell.” His wings flared out, displaying the dozens of blades strapped to them. “Now take hold of me, or I will tear off your head and use your neck as my goblet.”

  As soon as Danar’s claws curled around his hand Galan felt his power draining. Since resisting it might prod the demon to attack him, he instead focused on the magic flooding into the air. Although druid and Sluath spells had proven completely different, he felt the same spread of sensing that came from a seeking incantation.

  Whatever Danar wished to find, however, did not reveal itself.

  The power flowed back into Galan a moment later, and with a vicious sound the Sluath shoved away his hand.

  “Doesnae your spell work?” Galan asked, feeling safer in playing the fool mortal.

  “There’s nothing of it.” Danar gazed around them, clearly frustrated. “Nor could there be. It’s long dead.”

  Galan saw the worth of having aided the demon. “Then we must report to the prince that we were unsuccessful.”

  A strangeness came into the demon’s polished bronze eyes as he regarded him. “Never flout your failure to Prince Iolar,” Danar warned him. “He tore apart the last Sluath who did. With the mood he’s in, he won’t show such mercy to you.”

  Galan thought quickly. “You all need shelter until we may reopen the gate. I ken a village no’ too far beyond the ridges. They’ve no defenders, only farmers and drovers. I’ll propose to lead you and the others t
o it. You may enslave the mortals to serve our prince’s desires.”

  “A clever distraction.” His steel-colored hair glinted as he nodded. “What will you do about the gate?”

  “Can you use your seeking spell to search for Pritani magic?”

  Danar confirmed Galan’s suspicion by nodding. “As it’s being used.”

  “We shall work together then. Use it to find and capture the Mag Raith’s shaman, Edane. ’Twillnae be difficult if we take him when he’s alone, for he’s the weakest.” The archer had kept Galan from killing Jenna Cameron, so he’d particularly enjoy seeing him suffer. “Then bring him here and persuade him reopen it.”

  The Sluath eyed him. “Now you begin to think as we do.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE GLOW OF firelight enveloped Rosealise as she knelt down with Mael on the fur he’d spread in front of his chamber hearth. She suspected he’d suggested this to make her feel less wretched, but she now worried about what using her power might do to him.

  “This seems unwise,” she told him. “By forcing you to remember I might cause you some harm.”

  “The past cannae injure me, for ’tis done and gone. I ken that I’m safe in your hands, lass.” Mael met her gaze as he reached out to her. “Try, and we may learn something more about our time together in the underworld. To ken how the Sluath changed me could save you, lass.”

  “I cannot see how.” Being so close made her want to touch him, which wasn’t helping her resolve. “You must not hope for the impossible.”

  “We’re impossible, my jem,” he chided. “A grand lady from the future, and a lowly hunter from the past, meeting twice in two different times? Naught could be less likely.”

  “I am not grand, nor you lowly.” Rosealise saw how determined he was, however, and her own curiosity got the better of her. “If I see you in any discomfort, I will stop, and that will be all we do. Do you agree?” When he nodded, she slipped her palms over his. “Mael, tell me what you remember about the underworld.”

  “The white chamber. You with me. The spring pool, where we first loved.” His fingertips glided over her skin, caressing her now. “I’d never felt such pleasure. You gave yourself to me so sweetly.”

  His voice purred with a masculine satisfaction that made her own desires swell. It had been real, and they’d become lovers in that terrible place.

  “I wish I could remember it,” she said, just as she realized she might not have to. “How did I give of myself?”

  Mael’s hands glided up her arms, and he pressed her back against the furs. Braced over her, he nestled between her thighs.

  “Ye ever bid me do as I wished with ye, all I wished.”

  His voice sounded different now, deeper and rougher, with a much thicker accent. It seemed to reach inside her and wrap around that part of herself now going slick and full. Sparking sensations raced along her inked thigh, and she rubbed it against his hip. When she stroked his tattooed arm, she felt the same bright power beneath her palm.

  All thoughts of discovering more about the past fled from Rosealise’s mind. She needed her lover, and he wanted her.

  “If you wish to reacquaint me with your wishes,” Rosealise whispered, lifting herself so she could rub her pulsing quim against the thick girth of his erection, “I am most desirous to know, sir.”

  Mael dragged up the hem of her shift, baring her body to the top of her breasts. “I looked upon ye,” he muttered, his gaze taking in her heaving mounds as he brought one big hand up to caress them. “And touched these pretty chebs. Ye made sounds as I put my mouth to ye that came as music.”

  Rosealise heard herself whimper the moment he began kissing her breasts, his tongue laving her hard nipples. He suckled and nipped at her while his fingers moved down her belly and between her legs. The enveloping heat of him sank into her, spreading a deep flush from her brow to her toes. One sensual stroke of his hand parted her, and she could feel her wetness greet him with a gushing fervency.

  “’Twas naught ye wouldnae give me.” He found the pearl of flesh hidden by her folds and caressed it slowly. Then he shifted his hand to penetrate her with two thick fingers, and slowly pumped them in and out. “’Twas so good, my lady, I hardly let ye slumber.”

  “No part of me wants sleep when you touch me,” Rosealise whispered and drew his head down to hers. “What more did you put inside me, my titan?”

  Mael rose up, smiling fiercely before he gripped her thighs. Then he bent to kiss her belly, sliding back as his lips roamed lower. Rosealise pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle a cry as he buried his mouth against her sex, his tongue plunging into her heated quim.

  To be kissed in such a wicked fashion should have made her swoon, but it was too delicious. Seeing his face nestled in her thighs, and the hungry sounds he made added to the luxurious decadence of the act. He used his mouth with such avid, shocking skill that Rosealise became immersed in bliss. It was when he suckled her pearl that she thought she might drown in ecstasy. Somehow her hands now clutched his thick hair, and her hips jerked as her back bowed. With all her senses a-jumble she burst from the depths of aching delight to find him over her and his shaft plowing into her.

  “Ye’re mine,” Mael said against her mouth.

  He took her with hard, deep thrusts, his body claiming possession of hers with ruthless determination. She came a second time as he did, unable to resist the pleasure he reignited. That long, shuddering climax made him groan as if he also felt it. Then he came out of her, clamping his hand around his shaft as his cock jetted his seed. He came on her belly and breasts, working his hand up and down as he painted her with his cream.

  Rosealise roused from the drenching rapture to admire the gleaming streaks on her pale skin. “I wear you again, sir. I like it very much, but why did you do that?”

  “’Twas so we wouldnae start a bairn.” He took his hand and rubbed his semen over her skin, his expression almost thoughtful. “I feared I might, we loved so oft.”

  So Mael had tried to avoid making her pregnant in that dreadful prison. She understood why. To bear a child while a Sluath prisoner would have been horrid, and no doubt have ended badly for her and the infant, but it also saddened her.

  “We would have made a beautiful baby together.”

  Mael gathered her in his arms and carried her to his bed before he pulled on his trousers.

  “I’ll warm some washing water for you.”

  You, not ye.

  He’d stopped remembering their time in the underworld, and when she saw how miserable he looked she was confused.

  “I am grateful to you for protecting me, Mael. I daresay if not for you I’d never have survived the wretched place.”

  He froze, and peered at her as if she’d insulted him. “I do naught but use you, my lady.”

  Rosealise sat up. “I don’t believe that. What we did here we both wanted. Why do you hold yourself in such low esteem? Surely you see who you are, not only to me, but to your clan. You’re the very best of men.”

  “I’m a bastart,” he said flatly.

  Her lover left the chamber before she could say anything more. What had she said to make him so unhappy? She rose to put on her sacking shift, and wrapped Mael’s tartan around her before she hurried out into the hall. There she nearly collided with Broden coming out of the tower arch.

  “Did you see where Mael went?” she asked him.

  “Out through the old pantry.” He nodded toward the other end of the passage before he peered at her face. In a much angrier tone, he demanded, “What did the tracker to you?”

  “Nothing at all. I caused the harm to him by persuading him to remember the underworld.” She brushed past him, and then stopped to glance back. “Why would you suspect otherwise? Mael has always been kind and gentle to me.”

  “Fargas mag Raith wasnae.” His gaze narrowed. “Mayhap Mael recalled ’twas another who claimed you in that place.”

  Completely confused, Rosealise faced him. “I don�
��t understand.”

  “You shall when you remember.” He took a step toward her, his handsome face losing its near-perpetual scowl. “Only ken that you’re ever safe with me, my lady. I vow it.”

  Rosealise suddenly understood a great deal about Broden’s odd behavior. He’d formed a romantic attachment to her. Alarming as that was, learning why would have to wait for another time.

  “I thank you for your concern, sir, but I am with Mael.”

  Broden looked for a moment as if she’d struck him. Without another word he turned and retreated into his chamber.

  Chapter Twenty

  EDANE WAS IN no mood to listen to Kiaran reprove him for the clash with Broden, and decided to spend the night under the stars. From the mound he took a soft hide bundled with strong cord, and set about fashioning it into a large swag bed. Tossing it over his shoulder atop his tartan, he strode past the mound into a grove of silver birch. The trees grew close enough together to allow him to stretch and tie the swag bed enough to fit his lanky frame.

  He considered building a small fire to warm himself, but the light might draw more unwanted attention. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it another tongue-lashing from the chieftain. Tonight, Edane just wanted to be left alone and brood.

  Broden likely now sits warming himself by a fire, the preening cock.

  Ignoring the chilly lash of the night wind, Edane pulled off his boots and clambered up onto the swag bed. Once he’d settled himself, he shook out his tartan to cover his body. The hide swung gently with his movements, making the birches creak. The thick plaid smelled of the herbs he’d ground for Rosealise’s tonic. He’d have to make much more of it before the dark, cold season arrived.

  Gods, we’ll have to bury her in winter. The prospect made Edane feel sick, and he closed his eyes. I’ll dig the grave after summer, and hide it until her time comes.

  He hadn’t slept through the night since Rosealise had come to Dun Chaill. At first, he blamed the mound, and the gruesome aspects of the hoard within, but he never dreamed of violence or death. Rarely did he dream anymore. He’d take to his bed, sleep for a few hours, and then wake with his heart pounding and sweat soaking the ticking beneath him. To keep from waking Kiaran he’d leave the granary and take refuge in the great hall. There he’d doze off near the hearth, only to jerk awake again.