Mael: Immortal Highlander, Clan Mag Raith Book 2 Page 8

  ROSEALISE SAT SILENTLY in the silken cage of her slave cell, her gaze fixed on the far wall. The short, diaphanous peignoir she wore fluttered with every breath she took, as if meaning to ceaselessly taunt her. She ignored how deplorably she had been clad, in the same way she’d disregarded every other unpleasant aspect of her captivity.

  Soon it would end, by escape or by death. Both seemed the same to her now.

  She wished she could see through the stone to what lay beyond it. The dreadful terrors that abounded here didn’t frighten her as much as the atrocious creatures who reveled in them. The small, childlike monster that had stolen her from her time had proven especially vicious. Yet her fear centered not on her fate, but that of the gentle titan who shared her cell. Just after they had awakened the Sluath had come for him, leaving her to wait alone for his return. Here there was no day or night, only endless stretches of idle time, each passing hour dragging slower than the last.

  Mael, what have they done with you?

  Battling her own dread had become a daily trial. The Pritani hunter had protected her almost from the moment she’d been dragged into this infernal netherworld. Without him she’d be at the mercy of the demons, who relished tormenting their slaves. Lately she had lived for every moment spent with Mael. Thinking of him always helped hold back the terror lurking in her heart, for he had become her one, unbreakable grip on hope. Now she had another reason to live, but it would tear them apart.

  What would you do to see him free? That was the question she constantly put to herself. The answer had never wavered, nor would it now. Anything, anything at all.

  The wall finally dissolved into a shower of light, and Mael staggered into the chamber. His garments hung in shreds from his bloodied body, attesting to the violence he’d endured. Rosealise hurried over to him, tucking herself under his arm as she helped him over to a divan. He smelled of sweat and death, and sand caked his boots.

  They put him back in the arena.

  The Sluath took great delight in making slaves fight each other, Mael had told her, but he wouldn’t describe exactly what happened during those bouts. Her imagination and his appearance made that only too plain.

  “No, don’t move,” Rosealise told him as she tore a sleeve from her gown. “You’re badly injured.”

  “’Tisnae my blood, lass.” He took the sleeve from her and used it to wipe the gore from his face. “That wee fiend wants naught but to see me a wet smear on the sands, the facking ghoul. If only I might put him to my blade.”

  “They’d kill you if you tried.” She sat down beside him, and took one of his bruised hands in hers. “Oh, blazes. Did Meirneal force you to fight one of your friends?”

  “’Twas a Roman,” Mael said but his shoulders hunched, and he wouldn’t look at her. “He’d gone mad from the torments, so mayhap ’tis merciful that I ended him. Gods help me, but I cannae feel ’twas.”

  “This was their doing,” Rosealise told him, “not yours.” She brought his hand to her heart, and leaned close to put her lips next to his ear. “Jenna got word to me. All is prepared for the next culling feast.”

  His arms came around her, and Mael held her for a long moment before he sighed.

  “Now ye shall need a bathe,” he said. “Go on, lass. I’ll wait.”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Rising to her feet, she tugged on his hand and led him over to the sunken spring pool they used for bathing. When he started to protest, she pressed a finger against his lips. “They brought me here to serve you, remember? Yet you always attend to me. Allow me to do this for you.”

  Rosealise helped him remove the tattered remains of his clothing before she went to work with the soap. Her hands lingered and stroked him as she washed away the blood from his flesh. She didn’t care how wanton that made her. In a few days all of this would be decided, but she couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen to him.

  We have a few more nights before the feast.

  After she rinsed away the soap with a bucket Mael stepped down into the pool, sinking to his shoulders and sighing as the steaming water engulfed him. His expression remained defeated, however, until Rosealise shrugged out of her ruined peignoir and slipped into the pool with him.

  The luxury of immersing herself in the spring’s heat paled beside the wicked delight of being unclothed with him. Society would have soundly condemned her as a trollop for such behavior. Here it seemed the most loving gift she could offer her friend.

  Not my friend. My lover.

  “I’d keep my vow to ye, lass,” Mael told her, his big hands gripping her waist when she moved closer. “But ye’re all the beauty I ken in this foul place, and I’m no’ made of stone.”

  “I do recall how you promised that you wouldn’t bed me, just after I swore never to kiss you.” Rosealise pressed her body to his, gasping a little as his thick erection did the same between her thighs. “We’re not in the bed now, my titan, and I will happily forego the kisses.”

  “You ken what I meant,” he argued, and yet stroked his palms up along her back. “I’ll no’ fack ye. ’Tis what they want.”

  “I agree.” Filled with tenderness, she pressed her cheek to his. “You should instead indulge my passion for you.”

  The water darkened around them, and then the strange blue-white fires in the braziers and hearth extinguished. Suddenly the cell vanished, and all around her appeared feathery ferns bathed in sunlight. Tall white flowers with golden hearts rose from the thick carpet of fronds, their petals glistening with remnant dew. The air smelled of ripe fruit, and when she glanced up, she saw why. Gray-green vines heavily laden with silvered blue grapes nearly covered the weathered stone walls of the roofless chamber.

  A tendril of breeze from above brought downy seeds with it, spangling the air.

  Being wrenched from that erotic vision to this enchanting garden room made Rosealise feel giddy and disoriented, but the warmth beside her made her turn her head. Mael, his eyes filled with disbelief, lay next to her in the ferns. As the sun-warmed air rushed over them she saw the blood trickling down from a gash on his brow. More stained the edge of a stone by his head.

  “You’re hurt,” she cried out, reaching for his wound.

  * * *

  Mael felt the blood stop flowing and the raw edges puckering as they shrank, even as Rosealise made to press her fingers against his gash. Her eyes widened, and her hand stilled an inch from his face.

  “How can you heal so swiftly?”

  “I ever do.” He wiped the blood from his brow. Belatedly he realized their bodies were touching, but before he could break the contact, he told her the rest. “Naught may sicken me, or cause me grow older. No matter how grave, my wounds mend as you now see. ’Tis made me immortal.”

  She peered at him, but her gray eyes seemed unfocused. “The Sluath did this to you?”

  “I dinnae recall it, but we ken that the demons move through time,” Mael said. “They took us from the first century, but we escaped and awoke in the second. ’Tis been twelve centuries since the Mag Raith escaped the underworld.”

  “That is the truth?” When he nodded, she made an odd sound. “Oh, my dear friend. I cannot think of what to say.”

  He took hold of her hand, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Say ’twillnae make you fear me.”

  Rosealise’s lips curved. “I could never be afraid of you, Seneschal. Not after how we were together in the underworld.”

  “Do you remember when I came from the arena?” he asked, recalling his own vision.

  Rosealise described what she called a dream of him, which matched in every detail what he had seen. She seemed unaware that she had wedged herself against him as she had in the spring pool, so that her sex closely nestled against his. Mael knew it to be unseemly, but he wouldn’t have moved away if his life had depended on it.

  “So, you see, it all makes sense now,” she said at last. “What I know of love you taught me. The dream proves it.”

  “’Twasnae a
dream but a memory shared. I saw the same before I awoke here.” The ferns rustled around them as he started to rise, but Rosealise clung to him. “My lady, we must find our way out. ’Tisnae wise to linger.” His head had already begun to spin with heat and desire for her, and if his cock swelled any larger, he’d disgrace himself.

  “I agree. Absolutely imprudent.” A laugh slipped from her as she drew him back down beside her. “No wonder you seemed so familiar to me.” She ran her hands over his chest and arms, her eyes sparkling with reckless joy. “Since the moment I fell into the maze I knew you. I only wish I could remember more of you—of us, together as we were.”

  “’Tis enough that we ken.” Before he could think Mael wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against the full length of him. “I reckon ’tis why I’ve longed for you every night since you came. To wake and wish you in my bed, to share the quiet hour before the day begins.”

  “I should be shocked, but I am not.” Rosealise released a slow, sensual sound. “What would you share with me, my titan?”

  “My body. My heart. Everything I’ve to give.” Mael looked all over her face. He could feel her pebbling nipples through the wool of his tunic now. Gods, but he wanted her. “And you’d do the same.”

  “As I’d do now,” she murmured, rubbing the outside of his thigh with the inside of her own. “If you would kindly disrobe me first. I long to feel your hands on my skin.”

  “Like so?”

  Mael slipped his fingers under the edge of her tunic, sliding his palm over her bare belly and up to her throbbing breast.

  When the roughness of his hand covered her mound Rosealise arched her back. “Oh, dear Mael. I feel so ripe and hot.”

  “Aye, and you look it.” He massaged her, his fingers tracing and then gently squeezing her puckered nipple. Her skin moved under his touch like mist made flesh. “I want to see you naked again.”

  Rosealise suddenly pulled up her tunic, baring herself to his gaze. “I think if you only look, I would weep. Oh.”

  He put his mouth to her breast, caressing her nipple with his lips before taking it into his mouth. She tasted so sweet he groaned, and Rosealise answered him with a softer sound of delight. She clasped him with her thighs, and shifted onto her back, rolling her shoulders as if inviting him to adore her other mound. In another moment he braced himself over her, his mouth ravishing her curves and tormenting her peaks until she gripped his hair and pushed her hips against his.

  She was ready and eager and yet everything that felt so good also felt wrong.

  Mael took his mouth from her. He shook his head, trying to clear away the fog clouding his mind.

  “You’re a lady. I’d never–”

  “But you have. We shared the memory of it.” Rosealise laughed like an excited bairn, and then stopped and frowned. “How strange. I never giggle.” She stroked the back of his neck. “But no matter. I admit, I cannot offer you a bathe here. Oh, Mael, I don’t wish to use my power, but I’m so fraught with wanting you.”

  “Your eyes, they’ve gone almost black.” He stared down at her until something emerged from his muddled thoughts: the memory of Fargas after a long night of drinking. “Fack the Gods.” He pushed himself up and tugged her into a sitting position. “We must escape this trap now, my lady, before we become too addled.”

  “Must we this very moment?” Rosealise took a petal that had caught in his hair and drew the soft edge across his lips. “I’d much rather stay and reacquaint you with my nakedness, if that is your wish.”

  “I want naught else, but no’ if it costs our lives.” He lifted her up with him, holding her upright as he took in the chamber again. The air had grown heavy, sweet, and hazy. Tiny threads of silver that matched those covering the fruit hanging from the walls floated thick around them. “’Tis the grapes. Every breath tastes of wine. ’Tis making us drunk.”

  “I have no memory of ever indulging in spirits,” Rosealise told him, and then rubbed at her face. “I think you are correct. I can no longer feel my nose. Do you see the arch?”

  “Aye.”

  Mael used the last of his will to swing her up over his shoulder and staggered toward one of the walls.

  “You needn’t hurry,” she said. “Do you know, upside-down this chamber looks like a vineyard roofed with a garden. It’s so charming. If you wish to, we could linger a few more minutes, surely–”

  Mael got to the arch and stepped through it. A shimmer of light burst over them, and the garden chamber vanished. Back in her chamber again, he lowered her to her feet, and tugged her tunic back down over her breasts.

  Rosealise’s hand went to her throat as the dazed expression cleared from her face.

  “Forgive me–” he said, just as she gasped, “I’m so sorry–”

  They both lapsed into silence.

  Mael glanced at the wall but it looked as it had before they’d gone through it. Remembering the garden, Mael thought of his sire. He saw Fargas sprawling on the floor of his broch, snoring off another night of swilling ale and beating his mate and daughters. Suddenly he understood the man as he never before had, and it disgusted him.

  “Forgive me, my lady.” Mael started for the door.

  “No, don’t go away,” Rosealise said, catching his arm. When her power stopped him, she yanked back her hand. “I didn’t mean to control you. Of course, you can leave.”

  “Aye.” Mael said, turning to face her. To see the distress on her lovely face piled shame atop his self-loathing. “I must, else I’d never leave you again.”

  “I’d never want you to.” She held up her hands, as if to show him that she wasn’t touching him. “Please, Mael, do as you truly wish.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  GALAN RODE THE last surge of the storm across the western midlands, his healed wings effortlessly gliding through the rough air. Now he understood the Sluath’s contempt for ground-dwelling mortals, for flying proved so thrilling he never wished to again land on his feet. The strange magic of the wings, however, disappeared as soon as the skies cleared. Compelled to circle down until his boots touched the earth, he flexed his shoulders to fold the gold-tipped white feathers into a hump that he concealed with a murmured body ward spell.

  The muddy ground squelched under his footsteps as he strode across the glen. Soon he would have to report to Prince Iolar that he had been unable to locate the Mag Raith.

  I should return to the Moss Dapple and question those facking fools. Domnall may have confided in one of them.

  As he reached the edge of the glen Galan saw a female and stopped in his tracks. The plump-cheeked dairy maid sat on a horse outside the shepherd’s shelter he had been using. Her coy expression made his upper lip curl.

  “You’ll find no drovers here to trifle with, slut. Begone with you.”

  “I never cared for drovers in my trifle. Too stringy.” The maid’s body shifted to that of a huge, scarred Norse warrior. “Iolar would make use of you now, you fatuous tree-licker, or I’d happily make you my next meal.”

  The demon’s angry bitterness had nothing to do with him, so Galan kept his own expression neutral. “What does he wish me to do?”

  “He’ll tell you.” The Norseman shifted into a wizened druidess, who scratched under her pendulous breasts. “Get your mount.”

  They rode from the glen up into the highlands, where Seabhag led him to the spot where Iolar had created his wings. Glancing down at the dark spatters that still stained the ground, Galan dismounted. Iolar and Danar emerged from the cave along with a dozen angry-looking demons, who promptly encircled him. Galan bowed deeply, but before he could speak Seabhag seized him by the back of the neck and shoved him down on his knees.

  “Here I think is the traitor, my prince,” the demon said, driving the tips of his claws into Galan’s flesh. “He knew we use the caves. No other has reason to betray us.”

  “With your power augmenting his magic,” Meirneal said, excitement sharpening his cherubic features, “he could easily
seal off the gates to the underworld.”

  Danar made a disgusted sound. “The tree-worshipper only discovered our existence recently. The other gates were sealed long before that.”

  “You know how long these inviolate fuckers carry their memories,” Seabhag said, crouching down as his face shifted into a nightmare of twisted flesh. “You knew of us in a former life, didn’t you, worm? Confess and reopen the gate, and I will kill you quickly.”

  To respond in any manner would only end his life, Galan suspected, so he deliberately glanced past the monstrous visage. “You summoned me, my prince?”

  “Release him, Seabhag,” Iolar ordered and loomed over him, his godlike face set in a peevish scowl. “While we hunted, someone sealed our last gate to the underworld. Until it can be reopened, we remain trapped here.”

  “Permit me to behold the gate,” Galan said carefully as he rose to his feet, “and I may sense the manner of magic used to seal it.”

  Iolar nodded, and led him into the cave. The tunnel he took abruptly ended in a wall of stone that appeared as ancient as the rest of the rock faces around it.

  “Well?” the prince demanded.

  Galan lifted his hands, holding them an inch from the stone, and murmured a simple revelation spell. Dark blue lines rayed out from beneath his palms, spreading and curving until they formed an archway. The tunnel echoed with the sound of grating rocks as the wall expanded another inch out, sprouting new angles and outcroppings as the dark light grew more intense.

  The backlash of the power left in place burned Galan’s palms, and he took several steps back and shielded the prince with his own body. As soon as he moved away the arch of light quickly faded, and the rock face stopped expanding.

  “’Twasnae done by druid magic,” he said, turning to face Iolar. “Nor that of the Sluath. ’Tis mortal magic, very ancient.”

  “No, no, no,” the prince said. “Our gates kill any mortal who attempts to pass through them.”

  “Mayhap they didnae have to enter the gate to work this magic,” Galan said. “Or their power protected them. A powerful Pritani enlisting the aid of a battle spirit, or the Gods themselves, might do such. Only the one who sealed it may remove the spell.”