Caledonia Destiny Page 22

  Donn’s kinsmen seemed to catch onto his dark mood and withheld further questions. When he felt his legs would not betray him, Donn released the horse and relieved Arailt of his burden, cradling his marrae in his arms. Arailt led the way through the growing crowd of gawkers, many wanting to catch a glimpse of Donn’s marrae. Such an event was usually an occasion to celebrate. With the dire events of the few hours past, the discovery of a marrae was a flash of bright light within the gloom, something Donn’s kinsmen could grab hold of in these dark hours to grant them hope.

  So, much as he wished to, Donn did not growl or snarl at those who came nigh to peer at them. Instead he followed quietly behind Arailt, his arms straining by the time they entered the great hall. The night had been long, and Donn had not rested properly in a day. His strength was not unlimited but he would force it, make the reserve he had enough until the man in his arms was secured.

  Two large candelabras hung from the high ceiling of the great hall, exposing the dark beams that crossed the expanse. The light cast by them added to the glow thrown by a hearth big enough to fit six grown men standing shoulder to shoulder, the fire within warming the room nicely. Two long tables butted against either side of the cold roasting pit in the centre of the room. Upon the wall by whence they had entered was the archway to a stairwell leading to the salon upon the next floor and farther up to the third floor where bedchambers awaited. At the other end of the grand room was a raised dais with another long table. There, only Ewen and his family dined. The double doors beyond led to a smaller hall for more private gatherings, and Ewen’s bedchamber.

  Freya stood at the end of one of the tables, next to the spit whence a space was cleared and white linen spread across the table behind her. She had changed from her nightshirt to a full-length blue leine with a green brat, pinned with a silver brooch fastened at her breast.

  “Let me see what ye have brought home.” She indicated for Donn to place his marrae upon the linen-draped surface. When he paused, she snapped, “What be ye waiting for? Him to bleed all over ye afore ye put him down?”

  The fire in her voice had Donn’s feet moving afore he could think. Freya’s brisk behaviour could straighten the backbone of the stoutest of warriors upon a normal day. But those who knew her best could hear the brittle note in her voice. She cared for Ewen’s and Catriona’s babes as if they were her own. That Brigid had not been returned put all upon edge, Freya even more so.

  “What be he called?” she inquired in a softer tone.

  Donn felt his cheeks warm. “Not sure. Many of his words be unbeknownst to me. He spoke the name Fordel afore he gave way in a faint. Whether the name be his or another’s, I know not.”

  With great care Donn lay his marrae upon the table and removed the edges of Arailt’s cloak. Some of the wounds had fused to the cloth, the pull causing them to seep again. It escaped not Donn’s notice that Freya discreetly scented Fordel afore she bade the maid servants to fetch more clean linens.

  Freya’s gaze sharpened upon Donn’s marrae. “Fordel be a name of old.”

  Donn agreed. “Aye. It be a miracle that more of us do not bear the namesake of our forbearer. Too many believe the tale of the Lost One be only fable. Yet he be named aptly so, if that be what he be truly called, for his mathan be larger than any I have witnessed.”

  Her eyes softened somewhat. “Much the pity, aye? His parents bestowed upon him an honourable name. Let us see what I can do about these wounds.”

  Edan entered the great hall, eyes searching until they met Donn’s, and he hastened to Donn’s side. “Roi gave this ointment to me after the battle at Renfra to use upon my shoulder wound. I thought ye could make use of it.”

  Accepting the small jar, Donn clasped his cousin’s hand in gratitude. Just as quickly, Freya relieved Donn of the jar and gestured he leave with a wave of the back of her hand.

  “I shall attend to Fordel. Ye have men awaiting ye, along with other duties. I promise to take good care of yer marrae. Now go, be away with ye.” She turned her back, dismissing Donn whether he liked it or not.

  All the riders who had returned now awaited Donn’s counsel. With heavy feet, he strode away from his marrae, each step feeding a rising panic Donn had to tamp down hard. If he left his marrae, who would come to his defence when he was so vulnerable? Freya may be one of the oldest in their settlement, but would her mathan be virile enough to keep Fordel from all harm? Gods! How had Ewen stayed away from Roi a sennight? Just the thought of leaving the room threw Donn’s thoughts into turmoil.

  Pushing his thoughts aside, Donn spun upon his heel. “Edan! Arailt! Bring the men to Ewen’s banquet table. I want all the maps we have of the area. Where be the captain of the guard?”

  As he shouted orders, Donn climbed the platform and pulled out Ewen’s grand chair. At one time, it had been their father’s seat. From this vantage point he could see all else in the hall. The door to the courtyard, the entrance to the stairwell to the upper floors, and more importantly the table where Fordel lay, were within his sight. Freya stilled over Fordel’s body, her face pinched in consternation, probably guessing Donn did not have the trust or fortitude to leave his marrae in her care. He was suspicious of every touch, every look. Fordel’s name alone would rouse suspicions amongst the wyrbears. The lore said that once Fordel had been reunited with his mathan, the curse upon them would be lifted.

  Was it coincidence that his marrae had arrived here at the village of the ruling clan after the whispers began? Donn’s kin were answering the call of the forest at a younger and younger age. It was telling that Freya was the oldest in the immediate area at eighty years, though she appeared no more than thirty. Others younger than she had succumbed to the call of the forest. Da had once told Donn the wyrbears used to live for centuries. When Donn asked why that had changed, his da said something had caused an imbalance in the curse. How he knew, his da divulged not afore he too was lost to the call. With the sudden arrival of marrae for both Ewen and himself, and with the appearance of sorcerers who dabbled in dark magick, Donn was convinced Da was more aright than he knew. The question now became what was the imbalance, who caused it, and why.

  Donn hoped Ewen guarded Roi well, for he had a feeling both Roi and Fordel were in grave peril. And none knew from whence the danger would come.

  Edan dropped the maps upon the table. Arailt and the other riders gathered around with their tales of stalled pursuit. His cousin opened a small box and placed a coloured stone at each place the trail of magick had halted. As he heard the reports, Donn always had one ear cocked, listening to Freya as she guided the maid servants in washing Fordel’s wounds and slathering them with Roi’s ointment afore wrapping them in clean linens.

  By the time the men finished their reports a rough circle of stone outlined the area of the Black Wood, suggesting it be whence the buildsears most likely disappeared into.

  “Good work. Go rest. The couriers shall leave soon to find Ewen and bring him home. Check with the goodwives and see if they know of any charms to protect us against sorcery. I would not want to venture into that part of the woods unprotected. Meet me back here for evening meal.”

  XX

  ARAILT AND EDAN helped Donn carry Fordel up the stairs to Donn’s bedchamber. Freya huffed when he insisted upon being the only one to change Fordel’s dressings from there on out. Regardless of her personal thoughts upon the matter, she bestowed upon Donn what remained of the salve and clean linen strips afore she left. The fire had been stoked in the hearth and a tray of assorted meats sat upon Donn’s writing table by the fire. With Fordel tucked into his bed, Donn finally gained a moment to himself. Sitting heavily upon the cushioned box chair afore the fire, Donn mused over the night’s events as he stared into the flames.

  Every part of his body ached in such a way that he wished desperately for the oblivion of a deep sleep, yet he dared not. His niece, Brigid, had been snatched from under his very nose. The sorcerers would not catch him unaware again. Tired of mulling ove
r the why of her abduction, Donn wished only to skip to the spilling of blood. Brun grunted in agreement.

  Leaning over, he began to unlace his soft-sided boots. With slow, measured movements, he removed every article of filthy clothing afore padding over the cold floor to the washstand. The pitcher of water had been refreshed, filled to the brim, and in Donn’s lethargy he nearly missed the basin as he poured. Thankfully, the icy water revived him somewhat as he scrubbed away the grime.

  Donn had teased Ewen about his beard, for nobles wore them not for the most part. Some men indulged in moustaches, but full beards were regarded as uncivilized. Mayhap Donn should listen to his own words of wisdom. Retrieving the straight edge from the satchel he had yet to unpack, he stared at his wavering reflection in the polished pewter plate the size of his hand. Resolute, Donn scraped off the hair upon his cheeks and chin. After a moment of thought, he also removed the moustache. Using a whalebone comb, a gift from Ma afore she died, Donn then combed his dark locks, wondering for the first time if he was comely. Would Fordel think him fetching? Pleasing to behold? He had not considered his visage with a critical eye ere now. Then again, he had not wished for another to look upon him and find him desirable, either. This need brought to the fore a vulnerability Donn thought left behind with the uncertainty of his youth.

  He shoved the unpleasant thoughts away. Donn had no time for frivolous worries. His niece was missing, buildsears befouled their forest, and a grievously wounded marrae lay in his bed. Once he discovered who had wounded Fordel so, he would hunt down the curs and send them on to the next life.

  Fordel moaned, his legs churning under the coverlet. Donn rinsed the foam from his face and snagged a clean linen as he crossed the room. He shoved aside the heavy, dark blue curtains that shielded the head of the bed, allowing the firelight to push back the shadows. Fordel’s amber eyes were open, wide with alarm, and his gaze snapped to Donn’s.

  “Peace to ye. Ye shall come to no harm in my care. Lie still. Ye be too injured to be up and about at the moment.” Donn pointed a finger at Fordel to reinforce his words as he crossed to the writing desk. Next to the platter of meat and cheese sat a pitcher of mead. He poured a cup and lifted the platter. When he turned, Fordel had raised up and the coverlet pooled at his waist as he rested upon an elbow, his dark hair falling about his face, the ends brushing his chest. The sight of his bare chest exposed betwixt the linen bandages was arresting, but not what halted Donn in his tracks. Fordel’s amber gaze glowed with heat as it traversed the length of Donn’s body, as if he could not decide where he wished to rest his eyes. The very look caused Donn’s heart to pound like a drum in his chest and his manhood to thicken. He had planned to don a nightshirt afore crawling under the covers, yet the attention Fordel graced him with stoked a boldness in Donn, and he rejected the thought of covering up.

  With sure steps he crossed the room to sit upon the bed facing Fordel, forcing his marrae to look him in the eye. He handed Fordel the cup. “Drink, ye must be parched.”

  Fordel sniffed the liquid afore taking a sip. The grimace told Donn he partook not in mead oft, which was curious. Mead and ale were staple drinks.

  “Do you not have a simple water?” Fordel’s voice was raspy, his tongue heavily accented.

  “It be not safe to drink water from the loch. One oft contracts the bloody flux from imbibing. Yet it can be used for ale or mead without causing us ill. The streams that come down from the mountains be safer, but too far away to be transported. The number of pails the keep would need for the many people who live here would be too numerous. The mead be the safest to imbibe.”

  Donn pushed the cup back to Fordel’s mouth, encouraging him to finish it. Fordel shot a mistrustful glance at the contents afore sipping again. When done, Donn helped him to sit up in bed, fluffing cushions and pillows behind him.

  Warm, rough fingertips ran up Donn’s outer thigh to his hip, goose-flesh springing up in the wake of the caress. With all the fortitude Donn could muster, he withdrew and fetched another cup of mead, reconsidering covering up even though he enjoyed how Fordel stared at him. Placing the cup upon the bedside table, Donn crossed to the chest, recovered a pair of trouse, and quickly donned them, tying the string about the waist as he returned to the bed.

  “You covered up. I make you uncomfortable.” Avoiding his eyes, Fordel stared hard at the platter of meats.

  “Nay,” Donn was quick to deny. “Ye be injured, and I would like to have words with ye without my nakedness getting in the way.”

  Fordel did not meet his gaze, refusing to glance up from where he pushed the bits of meat around upon the pewter platter. Donn could not sit next to him again, the desire to touch Fordel threatening to overwhelm his good sense.

  “Do you understand who I am to ye, Fordel?”

  “Nay.”

  Donn blinked in shock. How could Fordel not know about marraes? Where had he spent his life? Where were his kin?

  “My name be not Fordel.”

  “I thought… in the forest…” Ire rose within Donn. He did not enjoy the confusion that stole his thoughts and hampered his tongue.

  “I beg pardon. Fordel be my brother, my twin. I am searching for him. He be in grave danger.”

  Donn’s feet quickly carried him to the door where he hastily barred the bolt. He lay his forehead against the cool wood, trying to still the galloping beat of his heart. Donn turned to take in his marrae. How could this be? It was not possible. Legends usually had little truth to them, or stretched the truth so far the reality was barely recognizable. His marrae stared back at Donn as if what he had said was of little importance.

  “Ye be…” Donn cleared his throat. “Do not tell me ye be called Avory.”

  Brun’s marrae grinned, his whole visage becoming angelic. “You know of me?”

  With a swiftness he could not halt, Donn’s legs weakened and he fell to one knee, his body a tremble, his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. Fables, legends, tall tales to entertain children. The curse was real, thus Fordel was real, but whence Fordel had come from, Donn had thought that to be pure nonsense. Yet Avory, Fordel’s twin, was here in Donn’s bed. Was he the companion to a legend? Was Avory the reason the sorcerers were here?

  Heedful of the danger they found themselves in, Brun’s fierce growl echoed off the stone walls of the bedchamber. How could they even protect one such as Avory? His mathan was four times the size of Donn’s. They— he would fail. Just as he had failed last eve.

  Donn squeezed his eyes shut as his head spun at all the ways the buildsears could defeat him to get to Avory if they knew where he was. Warm hands cupped the sides of his face, yet he could not bear to look upon Avory for Avory to see all that Donn lacked.

  “You inquired if I knew what we be to each other. Aye, the first time your scent stroked my senses I knew you were meant to be mine.” Avory’s breath ghosted over Donn’s face, and in his mind’s eye Donn fancied him to be merely a breath away, but he dared not open his eyes.

  “Nay, I cannot be yers. Ye need someone stronger than I. I do not have the ability to shield ye from the sorcerers or anything else that would dare threaten ye.”

  Avory was quiet, and Donn imagine he agreed with Donn’s assessment. “I would have you open your eyes and gaze upon me.”

  With a wave of defeat, Donn did as Avory asked. His marrae was so close their noses were barely a hair’s width apart. His golden eyes held Donn prisoner with their intensity, their conviction, and a scorching heat.

  “I respectfully disagree. Cerridwen would not tie us together if we did not complement each other. You entered the sorcerer’s befouled forest unharmed. I had been searching fruitlessly for a way free, yet you crossed over and led me out when I could not free meself.”

  “Nay, there be no danger from the cursèd line of trees.” Donn denied Avory’s assessment. He had not been assailed by dark magick upon crossing the line, thus it was something anyone could have done.

  “You know not what you speak o
f, young princeling. The gillie dhu could not cross the line and come to my aid. Nor could your kin. And yet you crossed without consequence. Your hand allowed me to leave the cursed place, though not without pain.”

  Donn bit his tongue upon another denial. Arailt had voiced his reticence, spoken of the unease of his mathan. Yet Brun had given no such warnings.

  “I scent magick about the keep.”

  Donn nodded. “Aye, sorcerers attacked us, allowing brigands to escape with my niece. The men were befuddled, stumbling around knowing not what to do or where to go. It were nigh impossible to breathe through the stench.”

  His gaze narrowed. “And you be the only one not struck dumb?”

  Donn opened his mouth to deny Avory’s assumption, then thought back to last eve. He had walked amongst men who seemed to have gone mad as he attempted to discover what had afflicted them. Breath whooshed out of him and he almost swooned, his sight turning hazy as, in his panic, he forgot to breathe. “Nay, the human mates be untouched by the magick also.”

  “Come.” Avory’s strong hands helped him to stand then guided him to bed, the feather ticking giving under Donn’s weight. Avory waved a morsel of meat beneath Donn’s nose. “Mayhap a bit of food shall fortify you.”

  Donn scowled, expecting to see wry humour at his expense. Instead he beheld a visage rife with sincere concern. Avory nudged the morsel against Donn’s lips and he opened. His marrae gave a satisfied nod as Donn chewed. However, Donn frowned deeper.

  “It be ye who need be coddled and cared for, Avory. Shoo.” Donn took the platter from Avory’s hands and gestured for him to climb back into bed. “Ye should not be up and about as hurt as ye be.”

  “I am hale, and much better than when ye found me in that accursèd place which kept me from healing. Have a look.”