Shadows of the Keeper (19 page)

Dezenial turned, offered Aunsgar a
regal nod before he and his small retinue walked several paces away . . . and
vanished.

No one moved. 

Broc found his voice first. 
“Canna speak
whose
name?”

Aunsgar nodded to several of his
guards, waiting until they slipped out into the night before answering the
laird.  “Pendaran.”

Ancient Forest Lord loudly expelled
his breath, fingers violently raking his hair back off his forehead—a sure sign
the laird’s nerves stretched taught.  Emily’s battered face drew his
attention.  Luminous white hair soaked with blood—her blood.  Tawny
skin now sallow.  Held lovingly at the top of the stairs by whom
else—Garreck, the captain waiting as Corbin and Urkani caught up with him. 
Broc’s attention slipped to Aedan.  Save for encrusted blood, he was
sitting up as if having just awakened from a nap.  Maeve clutched her son
and sobbed, Aedan patting her, mumbling comfort.

Emily had restored the shield
master’s life.  With her hands.  Broc returned his glare to
Aunsgar.  “
Glowing
hands,” as if the prince had read his
observations.  “Unlike Aurelia, she didn’t hesitate to use the magic
within her to save one of my own.”

Aunsgar too looked from Emily to
Aedan and back again.

“You and I have much to discuss,”
Broc said, an ancient rage consuming him.  “I think I’ve been kept
unapprised about a great many things.”  He spun around, not waiting for
Aunsgar to acquiesce.  “Follow me, Aunsgar.  We’ve need of your
magicks—again!  You can explain those ancient voices that filled mi’ hall
as we assist in healing
your
queen.”

“Isn’t this how we met?” 
Emily found herself mummy-tucked into a massive four-poster bed. 

Broc’s smile warmed her. 
“Aye, but ye’ willna’ be running amuck, attempting ta’ skewer mi’ face.”

“Give it an hour or two.”

His laughter filled the chamber. 
He’d had time to contemplate much.  Especially that Emily had saved Aedan’s
life.  Hadn’t hesitated.  Hadn’t sought permissions. 

“I don’t think there’s an inch of
my body free of pain.”  Her eyes fluttered, their weight unbearable to
hold open.

Broc squeezed her hand.  “I
have coffee.  Maeve will skin mi’ arse, if she finds out.”

She felt soft giggles bubble up.

“She swears ye’ need ta’ start wi’
tea. I won’t tell, if ye’d don’t.”  He leaned closer.  “Even sneaked
ye’ a wee bit o’ scotch.  Mi’ foynest secret stash.  Had Allen bring
it from Milngavie.  Aged forty years, your realm.  Boggles mi’ mind,
‘til I’ve ‘ad a few shots.”  He shrugged.  “Then, it’s shits and no
brains.”

Emily laughed, which turned into
moans.  She reached up, trailing her face.  Knots lined her
cheekbones.  Her fingers traced higher.  Broc grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t, lass, it isna’ good. 
You’ll only upset yourself.”

“I want to see.”

“Can’t.”

Her eyes widened.  “Can’t?”

“I’ve had all the mirrors removed
from the room—“

Gleam in her eye warned him.

“From the castle.  Every one
of them, smashed.

“Smashed?”

“Aye.”

“Seven years bad luck for each
broken, ye’ ken?”

He arched a brow at her Gaelic and
brogue.  “Canna’ be any worse than livin’ for three thousand years, now
can it?”

Exhausted, she nodded slowly. 
“You have a point.”  She lifted her hand, examining the bandage
encompassing her hand and half her arm.  “All this for a pinky?”

“Colin’s handiwork.  He’s like
an auld woman and a small child.  Clucking over you, and excited ta’ use
knowledge he brings back from Inverness.  Your realm, no’ ours.”  He
waggled his dark brows.  “In this realm, we would ‘ave used leeches.”

“Put those things anywhere near me,
and I’ll choke the brogue outa ye’.”

“Indeed.”

“Couldn’t Aunsgar have done one of
his hocus-pocus thingies, and fix all this?”

Broc’s eyes were suddenly red and
watering. 

“Broc?”

“Lass, a week has passed since your
abduction.  You’ve slept . . . lost so much blood.”  He looked away,
biting his lower lip several times.  He looked down at her again. 
And gave in to his inner agony.  He dropped his head against her shoulder,
his hand squeezing her hip.

Shock enveloped her.  Broc’s
shoulders trembled.  She dug around for something to say, but came up
empty.  Instead, she cupped his head, pressing him close, her cheek
nuzzling the top of his head; his warm hair.  “I’m okay.  Aches and
pains, but I’m here, safe with all of you.”

“He could have killed you,
Emily.”  Slowly, he raised up and gazed down at her.  Unashamedly,
tears continued to flow.  “I canna lose ye’ again.”

“I’m not Aurelia, and Dezenial
would never kill me.  Don’t ask me how I know.”

“I speak of that wastrel, Peter,
and I doona want ye’ ta’ be Aurelia!”

Emily flinched.

He settled, patting her in apology
for his outburst.  “A part of you is her.  Regardless how much ye’
deny it.  But who ye’ are now,” he wiped his face.  “I ‘ave fallen
under the spell of a madwoman from some God awful hellhole called Texas.”

Emily grinned.  “It is pretty
damn hot there.”

“Aye, so I gathered from the wee
bit o’ clothing ye’ brought when ye’ first arrived.”  His sheepish smiled
endeared her.  Again, he swiped his face, this time using his sleeve.

“You might as well say it. 
You mean from the tiny panties and bra I was wearing.”

“I was being a gentleman.”

“Right.  Bathed me in the
nude, I’m unconscious—Aedan.”  Her eyes smarted.

“Ye’ speak o’ baths and you think
of Aedan?”

“O’Shay.  He took a bullet for
me.”  Her lips and chin quivered.  She covered her face and
sobbed.  Broc stared at her, clearly baffled.  “Aedan.  He was
there. I’d taken him, thinking he was O’Shay.  He changed right before
Peter shot him.  He was trying to protect me.”

“Lass, do ye’ no’ remember?”

“Of course I remember,” she
sobbed.  “I saw it!”

Abruptly, Laird MacLarrin
stood.  He crossed the chamber in long, smart strides and threw open the
massive oak door.  “O’Shay!  Get yer’ arse in here!  Lady Emily
‘as need of her mouser!”

“What?” Emily tried sitting up. And
flopped back, too weak.

“Ye’ healed him”

Emily squinted, about to argue when
a very large red cat bounded up on the bed.  More tears sprouted. 
“O’Shay!”  Red mouser trotted closer and was immediately dragged into a
cocooning embrace.  Repeatedly kissing his furred faced, schmoozeling and
crooning unintelligible words into his neck, she hugged him close to her bosom.

“Lass, ye’ ken he’s Aedan. 
Yer’ holdin’ him against—“

 She kissed the cat’s forehead
several times, nuzzling and rubbing her forehead against O’Shay’s as if a cat
herself.  O’Shay purred loudly.  Lying back down, she pulled the cat
with her, tucking him under the blankets where she held him tightly against her
as her eyelids closed.

“Lady Emily.  Ye’ canna be
serious ta’ allow that fur ball ta’ sleep in mi’ bed, and against you in such a
way—“

“He stays.”

A deep sigh escaped
him.   Running fingers through his hair—a nervous habit Emily had
weeks earlier commented on.  “Aye.”  He nodded, though he glared down
at the beast.  “Perhaps it will calm Maeve for a time if her son finally
rests instead of pacing outside yer’ door.  Watch over her, mouser.” 
He turned to take his leave. “As ye’ ‘ave always done, Aedan.”

Emily sighed.  O’Shay’s purr
served as her lullaby.  “Dezenial left me.  He speaks in my mind, saves
my life, and leaves.”  She sighed, slumber taking her away to shores of
deep dreams, enabling the other within her to rise.  The voice muttering
was no longer Emily’s.  Instead, a thick accent replaced Emily’s Texan
lilt.  Nor was it speaking Emily’s language.  Red tom raised his
head, green eyes studying the female, most curious how she could sound so much
like Aurelia.

“Your laird fails to hide his
contempt towards Emily.  I wonder his reaction if he knew his precious
Na’Dryn conspired with the Lumynari to kill me and Broc, her ultimate goal, to
become Lady of Castle MacLarrin?  What would he say if he were to find out
that the babe in her womb was not his, nor the lover he caught her with, but
the Lumynari warrior who used her to gain inside knowledge to my whereabouts?”

O’Shay lunged from the bed.

*   *   *   *   *

She was no more prepared to defend
against Drakar and his evil than when she’d been a toddler of four. 
Emily.  Her voice was Zaiyne’s, her visage, Aurelia.  Dezenial
grinned.  But, her courage and sarcasm were all her own. 
Zaiyne.  “
Find me
.” Her dying words.  She’d known she’d live
again.  Neither knew where or when. He’d failed to realize King Breton’s
daughter was his returned beloved.  “I
have
found you this time,
though not knowingly, not at first.”

Screaming her entry into the world,
none had been able to silence her bloodcurdling wails.  Refusing to
withstand the assault to his hearing one minute longer, he’d snatched the
newborn from her father’s arms.  Shocking to the few allowed to be
present, little Emily silenced, nuzzled her tiny face against him, her body
shuddering before turning those amber eyes up at him.  Infants, he had
passing knowledge of, lacked ability to focus in their first few days.

Emily scowled up at him as if appalled
he’d taken his sweet time plucking her from her father.  It was that
precise moment he claimed her.  She sighed deeply, resumed nuzzling her
face against his chest, and slept.  Her father, in his usual arrogant
fashion, nodded.  “As it should be,” was all he’d said before tending his
dying mate.

Regrettably, their world was no
place for an Im’pyur.  Emily would be sacrificed, too young to defend
herself.  His own enemies, forever devising plots to bring him down, would
pounce at the prospect of causing him anguish by kidnapping her, annihilating
her mind . . . perhaps even one day encouraging her to lead a death squad
against him.  The irony would be laughed at for centuries.  No. 
Better the land dwellers beyond the forest rim raise her until he could claim
her as mate.  Then, he would mentor her in the ways of weaponry, magicks,
and teach her abilities far exceeding what Lumynari’s knew.  Even then,
Dezenial had known, should the spirit of his beloved return, he’d resigned
himself to never again allow her into his world where she would be sacrificed
because of who he was.

Placing the child with land
dwellers, those who basked in the sun, had all-too-soon failed to offer Emily
the sanctuary he had sought for her.  Rumors had begun to plague until his
personal guards brought confirmation that shook him to his core: the child
summoned flame from her hands, moved objects with her mind . . . and spoke in a
language none could decipher.  The Daemon guard he’d sent repeated the
child’s words to his master, having committed them to memory.

Quemorian.

Zaiyne-Aurelia had returned. 
No
wonder
she’d ceased wailing when he’d held her.  Souls
intertwined.  Hers had recognized his in an instant, even as a newborn.

And Drakar’s armies were not even
minutes away from attack.  Regrettably, Dezenial had been left no other
recourse but to reveal his true self in order to reach little Emily in
time. 

Pendaran had arrived as well. 
Dezenial sighed deeply, memories of that long ago day still troubling
him.  And now, Emily’s life was in danger,
again
. 

And all he could concentrate on
were her lush curves, tawny silky skin, and a mouth he didn’t know whether to
shred or kiss into obedience.

*  
*   *   *   *

Foreboding.  Emily swept heavy
blankets from her barely clad body and rose.  Her head lurched.  She
remained sitting for long moments, her feet dangling over the side of the high
bed.  At long last, the room righted.  Clothing.  Hot bath the
previous night, drying in front of a crackling fire Broc had been kind enough
to keep burning high until her thick tresses dried, it was still a far cry from
a true outing.  Not to mention her need for solitude from so many
hovering, terrified she was on the verge of cracking. 
I am not
porcelain.  I’m from Texas
! 
If they knew what a markswoman I
am with a .45 semiautomatic, their plaids would shred.  My shooting can
put their swordplay to shame
.  She chuckled.  She loved her
Forest Lords, their peculiarities, their mothering, but right now, she needed
fresh air. 

Peter.

Her heart seized.  She pushed
the memory away, but it gave way to Dezenial.  Laugh, or cry?  He was
so beautiful, deadly, strong, safe.  And had walked out of her life. 
Emily donned the sweater borrowed from Aedan, jeans purchased by Allen and
boots fashioned especially for her from Aunsgar.  More than ready for an
outing, and to clear her mind, she didn’t care if a blizzard was blowing. 
Glancing herself in the antique vanity, she was still amazed no visible marks
remained from Peter’s attack.  She highly suspected it had something to do
with those teas Urkani hounded her to drink several times per day, the
commander hovering with arms folded until she finished.  Once, during a
rather heated battle with Allen about Britain governing Scotland, Urkani had
continuously interrupted, reminding her to drink.  “What’s in this tea,
Elf?”

“None of the poisons your noxious
coffee possesses.”

Emily counted how many hours it had
been since Urkani’s last visit to her chambers and realized she’d better hustle
if she was to avoid him.  He’d stop her from vacating her birdcage. 
Striding past a large hanging tapestry covering an entire wall, she
paused.  There had been a flutter.  Well, certainly proved castles
were drafty.  Still . . . she peered in gloomy corners, the room full of
shadow, now that the hearth had died down to embers.  Was her guardian
here, even now, camouflaged in shadow?  Emily paused, closed her eyes and
simply felt the room.  No.  The aura was all wrong.  The room was merely cast
in shadow due to lack of light.  Nothing more.  Another ripple passed across
the pond of ornate needlework.  Where most tapestries throughout Broc’s
castle depicted medieval scenes, this was woven threads of rich male colors of
black, gold, burgundy, and contrasted with silvery blue. 

Flutter.

Emily took a step back. 
Ghosts?  Like the one in her mind?  No longer besieged with the rich
timbre of Dezenial’s voice, she stifled back tightening of throat, fought
against searing pain squeezing her heart and the smarting of her eyes. 
He’s
gone.  Left.  Body and spirit.  Vacated, just like the few
others I dared allow in. He saved my life, and for that, I’ll be ever
grateful.  He took Peter.  Galling.  Left me, but took the pig.

Peter’s voice stampeded her memory,
mocking cold laughter—Emily turned away, throwing up an arm before realizing it
was only her imagination swinging his fist towards her face.  She frowned
at the full length mirror, slowly lowering her meager defense.  Fog
swirled within the glass.  Shackles pinned Peter’s arms high above his
head in a darkened room made of what looked like granite.  His back was
shredded.  Lumynari abruptly blocked her view, his words making Peter’s
image cloud.  Shadow warrior swung around, and glared.

“You!”

“You’ve no business here,
Keer’dra.  Away!”  His hand flung out leaving her to stare at her
shocked reflection.  Eyes pricked.  Heart rate accelerated. 
What
the hell did I just see?  More to the point, how did I see that?
Aunsgar.  He’ll know.