Shadows of the Keeper (22 page)

“Okay, points for you.”

“I promise not to gloat,” Blade
hissed in his odd voice.  “Just quench my thirst, and soon.  It has
been a very long time since I’ve had anything to drink.”

“I’m sure we can find ale.”

“Blood, Lady Emily, blood is what I
require.”

“But, of course.  Pfff.”

“Halt your ascension, my
lady.  No longer do we dwell alone.”  Blade extinguished.

“Can you tell who it is?”

“A
what
would be more
appropriate.  A furred beast of four legs.”

Emily grimaced.  “Rats?”

“Mouser.”

“Aedan.”

“Lord Aedan?”

“I don’t know about any ‘lord’
madness, but, yes, one and the same.”

“He is even older than Prince
Aunsgar and your Outlander.”

“You will enlighten me when this is
over.  Aedan looks to be in his twenties.”

“The beast comes this way.”

“Know how to scare away a cat that
can change into a man?”

“Lord Aedan has mastered his
gifts.”

“Why do you refer to him as ‘lord’,
but for Broc, you drip contempt and refer to him as Outlander, which, I
know for a fact, he hates being called.”

“The son of a Fey king, Lord Aedan
far outranks any of the mortals.”

“Fey?  As in fairy?  None
of that stuff is true.  King?”

“Hmmmm.  You converse with a
sword and have obviously witnessed Lord Aedan change from mouser to man, yet doubt
something as simple as the existence of Fey.  Curious.”

“Better think of something fast or
Aedan’s gonna be here, and they’re not going to jump for joy over your
resurrection.”

“Too weak.”

“How do I strengthen you?”

“Blood.”

“I had to ask.  What, you want
me to slip my throat?”

“Your finger will do well enough.”

“Get us out of this and then I’ll
feed you.”

“I will have to leave you in
darkness, my lady.”

She squeezed his hilt.  “You
better not hurt Aedan, Blade, or I’ll make good my threat, and melt you down.”

“Impossible without Elvish blue
fires—“

Emily swirled her hand over his
hilt.  Leather caught fire.  Before damaging, she blew the tiny flame
out.

“The beast will simply be
redirected.”

“Glad we’re of an accord.” 
Emily swept strands of hair out of her face.  “What now, throw you like a
spear?”

“Banish the thought!  I
possess ability to stand.”

Snorting, Emily released her
hold.  “Blade, I really hate the dark.”

“Close your eyes.  If you keep
them open, your head will feel as if it swells.  Do not move.  You
have yet to master your senses.  I will return.”

“Seems there’s a whole lot I’ve
failed to master, especially patience.”

Silence and solitude.  Never a
problem.  Except when coupled with pitch black.  What a large
presence Blade commanded, not appreciated until he was gone.  She analyzed
some of his revelations until echoing screams made her flinch, scattering her
thoughts.  Not too far from where she remained rooted, O’Shay mewled then
hissed.  Seconds of silence passed, then the unmistakable sounds of feet
running atop stones followed by cursing.  Emily grinned.  Aedan
obviously assumed she had stumbled and screamed, by the sound effects Blade was
creating. 

Time passed.  Pitch
black.  Alone.  What the hell?  Where was Blade?  Walls
pressed in.  Opening her eyes, she looked down behind her.  Nothing
but an abyss.  Shuffling her foot in front of her, she felt for the next
step.  Steadying herself against the roughened stone innards of the
castle, she dared take the first step.  Unannounced, silver light bloomed.

“I commanded you not to move.”

“Yeah, well, my report cards used
to say: does not follow directions.  Besides, you’re male.  I have a
very difficult time obeying your gender.  Sorry.”

“Some things fail to change.”

“Get me out of this tunnel,
Blade.  I’m serious about the dark.  I’m about to bring down every
stone by screaming my head off.”

“Lord Aedan hunts in the
nude.  Mayhaps the dark is a good thing?”

“Oh, look who’s acquired a sense of
humor.  Get.me.outa.here!”

They began to move along.

“Of all the beasts, he opts to
change into a feline.”

Emily grinned.  “His mother is
a falcon.”

“I never did understand the Fey.”

At last, the top of the winding
stone stairs came into view.  Emily doubled over, gulping.  “I think
it would be better if you remain hidden in this alcove.”

“The naked human returns.”

“Place yourself under this stone
bench.  None will see you.  I don’t think it’s safe for you in Broc’s
chamber, which is where I’m housed right now.”

“You swore oath to a feeding.”

Emily snorted. “Aren’t I being
searched for?”

“I could distract him again, more
permanently?”

“You are very difficult.”

“It is from milady that I acquire
such skill.”

“Shut up, Blade.  Will it
hurt?”

“Put out your hand, Lady Emily,
and, no, I would never permit you to suffer pain at my expense.”

Hesitantly, Emily complied. 
Blade remained softly illuminated, turned on his side and skimmed her index
finger.  Resting his tip against her finger, the sound of lapping
commenced.

“If I wake up in the dead of night
with the uncontrollable urge to suck blood from someone’s neck, I’m hammering
your edges until blunt.”

Lapping ceased.  “Why would
you have a desire to commit such a vile act as to drink from a human’s neck?”

“You are the epitome of an
oxymoron.”

“I am sated.  For the
moment.  Thank you.”

Emily swiped her hand across her
jeans.  “I have to get back.  I’m about to tell doozy amounts of lies
and you’re to blame.”

“I stand ready for punishment.”

“Hide, Blade.  Oh, and Blade?”

“Yes, milady?”

“Attack none.  Even if they
enter my chamber through this secret passage, do you understand?”

“I will not forfeit my duty to
protect you.  In that, I answer to The Elders.  But, I will be wary
of who enters your chamber before I see fit to slice their neck.”

Emily stared at the sword for long
moments.  He held many answers, of this, she was sure.  “We’ll have
to continue our history lessons.”

“Yes.  You have much to
reacquaint yourself with before the next battle.”

“Battle?”

“These tunnels fill rapidly with
humans and Elves.  We will speak of it another time.”

“Emily!”

“I’m here!”

As if thrown, Broc erupted onto the
terrace. He did not seem heartened by the sight of her reclining on a very
modern sun lounger, her arms folded, warding off the cold.

“Must have dozed.  Why are you
shouting?  Has something happened?”

His eyes darkened, brows drawing
together.  “We could not find you.”

“But, I’ve been right here.”

“So it would seem.”

“You look pissed.”

“Clothed and not in bed where I
left you.”

She stood, hunched and rubbed her
arms vigorously.  “I needed fresh air.  Cabin fever.  Only, I
think I’ve been out here too long.  Freezing.”

“I will take you riding, on the
morrow.”

“Horses are not what I had in
mind.” She made to move past him.

“What happened to your trews?”

“Trews?”  Following his gaze,
she looked down, brushing at her seat.  Dirt showered the floor. 
“Shit!”

“Aye.”

“I don’t know, Broc.  Guess I
grabbed a filthy pair, anxious to get out of that bed.  It’s been a long
time since anyone has allowed me any further than the restroom—garderobe—and
even longer since I’ve been allowed to dress in anything other than the massive
shirt of yours.  It was rather dark in there, just candlelight, because
you have this thing about electricity, and I just wanted air—“

Broc moved swiftly, placing a
forefinger across her lips.  “You’re nervous, milady.  Tell me.”

“I was asleep.  You barged in,
yelling.  Kind of a freakish way to wake up, somebody screaming as if
there’s a fire.”  Her eyes lacked their usual flash of defiance. 
They darted everywhere but upon his face.  His gaze narrowed, black orbs
glittering.

“I’m also hungry for something
other than broth.  I’m liable to eat the cat!”

“I will allow you to accompany me
to the hall for dining.”

Emily curtseyed.  “I am forever
in your debt,
milord
.”

He snorted at her sarcasm.

“I would like to change into clean
clothes, if you don’t mind.”

“Yes, and you may wish to discover
a brush to free your hair of those twigs,” Broc said, pivoting upon booted heel
and storming back into her chamber.  She had the grace to flinch when oak
door slammed in the wake of his exit.

*   *   *   *   *

“I’ve been informed the lass has
been found?”

“Call off the hunting party.”

Garreck mulled over his laird’s
temper.  “One would assume to find you pleased she was simply in
chambers.”

“Aye, that would be the case, if
trees and such grew atop the terrace she lounged on.”

“Mi’lord?”

“She claimed ta’ be napping on the
terrace.”

“ ‘Tis a bit cold for that.”

“Weather is the least of my
concerns.”

“Chess, milord?”

Without warning, Broc halted. 
Garreck plowed into him.  “I am not playing games,” Broc disentangled
himself from his captain, “of questions and answers.  Lady Emily’s hair is
filled with twigs and brambles.”

“From the terrace?”

“From the terrace.”

“But, nothing grows upon the
terrace, save for mold—I think intentionally to incite Maeve.”

Broc’s dark brows narrowed. 
“It would seem the woman has a penchant for lying.”

“Maeve?”

“Emily, fool!”

“Ah.”

“Ah?” Broc flung an arm out in
disgust. “What is this ‘ah’?”

“
Ah
, you have entered a new
level of your, uh, guardianship over the lass. 
Ah
, at last. 
Ah
,
when a woman holds her secrets, you find you are verra much endowed with her
life, no longer on the outside looking in.”  Garreck grinned. 
“Hence, her need ta’ lie.  A bit of pretending indifference always loosens
their tongues.”

“I’m thinking a sword to throat
will
still
yours!”

Garreck’s lips trembled with the
need to smile.

Broc loudly exhaled. 
“Clearly, I’m dealing with a bog-brained twit.”  He slowed his
speech.  “She claimed to have fallen asleep whilst breathing fresh air
upon the terrace, yet her hair is filled with brambles.  So, where was
she?  Why the need to lie?  How did she arrive anywhere that twigs
could tangle in her hair, if she didn’t pass any of us in mi’ hall?”  Broc
moved until he was nearly nose-to-nose with Garreck.  “I checked that
terrace several times.”  His teeth clenched.  “In my fear, I checked
several
times
.”  Broc spun away with such rage, Garreck waited until his laird
had gained several paces lead before following down the long corridor. 
Why
would
Lady Emily lie about something as trivial as taking a stroll
outdoors?  And
how
had she slipped past them?  Garreck
stopped.  Hair filled with twigs would be no easy accomplishment with the
entire countryside blanketed under several feet of snow.

Realization rocked him. 
Garreck broke into a run.  “Mi’lord!”

*   *   *   *   *

She would apologize for keeping
secrets.  She’d level with him about Blade.  A valid reason must
exist for the sword to have been buried.  Maybe it was best for her not to
second guess in areas far exceeding her knowledge.  All she wanted was
peace to remain between them, and maybe, just maybe, he would relent and see to
helping her eventual return to Texas. Home.  She’d had enough of this
adventure.

Several back stairwells routed to
various sections of the castle including Broc’s library.  No doubt he was
there, downing scotch, as was his way whenever they disagreed.  At this
rate, he’d be a raging alcoholic.  His door slightly ajar, his voice now a
familiar monotone, she smiled at being able to predict where he’d be.

“Every day that I look upon her
face, I see the eyes of mi’ dead clan lookin’ back.”

Emily stilled, unable to push open
the door; unable to enter his library.

“She’s forever beggin’ ta’ return
to her home.  Send her on her way.  Rid us of the nightmare before it
begins.  Again, milord.”

Reignsfeugh?  That’s what he
thought of her as?  A
nightmare
?

“Four more sentries are dead. 
Mutilated.  Not much of them ta’ even offer the eastern winds.”

More
deaths?  What the
hell?  Shouldn’t authorities be called?  Did any exist here?

“Aurelia turned her back on mi’
people.  By her own confession, they’d been rough on her and for that,
they deserved ta’ die?  Where was her great magic when the very people
offering her shelter were slaughtered?  Perhaps she consorted with the
Lumynari devil even then!”

“It warrants thinkin’ upon.”

“You’re patronizing me.”

“Lady Emily is a modern. 
She’s no’ even half aware of who and what Aurelia was.  As for Na’Dryn, I
saw wi’ mi’ own eyes the cruelties they rather enjoyed doling out to yer’ wife
when you were away.  Aurelia was verra kind to me when none other
dared.  Remember, it was a time when I was still looked upon as a wild
man, no’ part of yer’ clan.  Aye, I patronize ye’, hoping ye’ will see the
ridiculousness of yer’ accusations.”

“Perhaps ye’ warmed her bed as I
warmed Na’Dryn’s?”

“Perhaps ye’ would care ta’ step
out into the lists that I might show ye’ a thing or two ‘bout respect?  A
thing or two we Celts are still known for, even in Emily’s realm!”

“I canna keep her here.  If
she’s well enough ta’ lie about her whereabouts, then she’s well enough ta’
leave mi’ keep.”

“Pendaran will have your
head.  Hell, mohn, all of us will perish from
that
one’s wrath.”

Something slammed wood.  Emily
jumped. 

“Think you, I give a damn what
trickery that wizard will mete out this time?  For all Pendaran’s power,
he arrived to take Aurelia’s corpse. 
Corpse
, Celt.  They
dinna arrive ta’ save her, they waited until she was dead.  Where were
these Elders when Aunsgar’s sister attempted ta’ take Aurelia’s soul? 
Hmmm?  She dedicated thirteen years o’ her youth to them.  When most
maids marry, ‘ave bairns, Aurelia did not.  You were yet ta’ join
us.  You do not ken the trials I spied that wee lass being put
through.  And you ken their appreciation? She was sent home under the
guise her training complete only ta’ arrive in time ta’ face her mother’s
sword, and her father’s demise.  Aurelia killed her mother in
self-defense, but was too late to save her father.  That very day, she lit
his burial pyre, and sent his ashes to Danu.  Did they save her from
Drakar, her half-brother?  Did they save
any
of us from Drakar?”

“The lass possesses uncanny ability
again.  But nary a sign of Pendaran or the Elders, if they even
exist.  None has seen them since our banishment.”

“None have spied Pendaran since
Aurelia’s passing either, Celt, yet here he is, in this photo, posing for the
wench!”

Long silence passed.  Emily
reflected on what she’d heard.  Whomever these Elders were, they sounded
like a group of assholes.  The sound of a lid spinning off a bottle
reached Emily.  Liquid poured.  A male sigh followed.  What Broc
said next, she wished she’d come down the main stairwell, joining the others in
their meal.  Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss.

“Whether she be Aurelia, or Emily,
she is a whore and the cause of mi’ people ta’ die, just as she was three
millennia ago.”

“Doona allow Garreck ta’ hear ye’
speak in anger.”

Neither man realized that, outside
the very aged door, a woman’s lip trembled over ultimate insult. 
Whore.  Peter had said as much as well.  Whore. 

The word repeated over and over in
her mind.

“Too quick ta’ be her hero and
escort, I can only conclude he’s sampled the traitor’s wares as well. 
Lugh’s blood, we ‘ave our very own Lancelot.”

Reignsfeugh gave a short
laugh.  “Ye’ hardly resemble Arthur.”

“Nay, and she is hardly the lady of
the castle, now is she?  Pack her up, send for Allen, I wish her gone from
mi’ sight by fall of this night.  Let the bitch destroy someone else’s
life and clan.  These photos prove she conspires ta’ bring down upon us
our doom and I willna’ suffer treasonous whores.”

“I think your words harsh and
spoken in light of old angers and accountability, but if the lass’ departure is
what ye’ seek, aye, I will assist her.  Stay yourself from her
person.  Ye’ may badmouth the lady in private, but I’m no’ at liberty ta’
turn a deaf ear if ye’ insult her directly.  I will raise mi’ sword
against ye’.”

“Aye, Celt, I’ve never doubted ye’
wait fer a chance ta’ stick yer’ knife in mi’ gut.”

“Drink your misery alone, Forest
Lord, I have a
lady
ta’ prepare for departure and a Sassenach spirit ta’
endure.  Ye’ make a grievous mistake, as ye’ did thirty-six hundred years
ago, but ‘tis yer’ clan ta’ destroy, no’ mine.”

“Stay yer’ quickness ta’ do my
bidding.  The scheming bitch requests ta’ dine.  I’ll no’ have it
said Broc MacLarrin lacks etiquette.”

Chairs scraped.  It was all
Emily could do to galvanize down the hall, slipping into a darkened alcove
without a moment to spare. 

A very long time passed, crying and
humiliated over Broc’s words.  Her name echoed throughout, several calling
out to her.  There was no way she’d ever show her face to any of them
again.  What did it say about her if even ancient warriors loathed her as
much as Peter, a modern man, had?  First her aunt, then Peter, and now,
Broc.  Not even a whisper from Dezenial since her ‘rescue’.  Discarded. 
What had she done to the Fates to deserve such hatred from each significant
person in her life?

She dried her eyes.

Can’t stay here.  Broc may
have closed off the way one reaches here by car after the Peter-Incident, but I
know there’s a way Allysyn and the others still get here, since they show up
nearly every day
. 

First thing, though she wondered
the wisdom of it, was to see these photos Broc had mentioned.  He’d said
they proved she conspired with another to bring down his clan.  She’d
taken landscape shots and then snapshots of the hams around her, each loon
striking a pose of exaggerated manliness every time her borrowed camera swung
their way.  Usually, she ended up laughing too hard and knew the pictures
were probably going to come out blurred, due to much doubling over and laughing
until her sides ached.  Gah, medieval they may be, but they sure loved to
show off. 

Except when on duty up in the
towers or the wall-walks.

They took sentry duty very
seriously.  Then, they’d come down, having exchanged their watch with the
next shift.  They’d share ribald tales of days gone by while she taught
them a game of Quarters.  Colin’s cello oft times played in the
background, and on several occasions, Reignsfeugh added in the sounds of his
bagpipes.  These were the photos she couldn’t wait to view, men on the
watchtowers; life in the great hall.  Allysyn had said it would be two
weeks before they were ready.  And then, Peter’s attack.  In all
honesty, she’d completely forgotten about her hobby.  Bless-his-heart,
Allen must have brought them for her.  Or Allysyn, being that she’d
recently begun helping Maeve with castle-chores. 

Emily pushed open the door to what
was now dubbed ‘The Pout Room’.  She made a face over the days earlier
argument she’d had with Broc.  She’d referred to him as Sir Pout. 
Reignsfeugh had teased, along with Kavan, about making a nameplate for his
library door.  Lord Cretin. 

Emily’s heart iced over, pushing
the memory away. 

After what she’d just overheard,
nothing about these men warmed her
.

A cursory glance up and down the
corridor, she slipped further in and pushed his door closed.  Upon his
massive desk, her photos were categorized into three columns.  The first
consisted of Forest Lords captured in various stages of their everyday
life.  Even in the face of ugly, Emily caught herself grinning. 
Aedan was being chased by Kavan.  Having filled Kavan’s helmet with
watered down waffle batter, Kavan resembled more a statue having come to life
chasing after Aedan, than a seasoned warrior.  The next pile consisted of
landscapes.  Snow.  Trees covered with snow.  The castle. 
Views from atop various wall-walks.  Emily moved to the next pile.