Chapter Twelve
C allum’s hand tightened around the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword. He was a warrior, a protector. The odds were not in his favour, but he would defend Gille with his life, if that’s what it took. He forced himself to relax, to lighten his stance and wait as the enemy approached.
Behind him he heard the staccato sound of hoofbeats against the soft earthen ground. A quick glance back made him start. A pack of boars. The animals stopped beside Callum and Declan, their snouts twitching, their eyes wary. Callum extended a hand to the boar that had greeted Gille and him earlier. The animal nuzzled his fingers, its rough fur sending a shiver up his arm.
Suddenly, the sound of hooves thundering through the darkness shattered the moment. A group of armed men on horseback burst into the clearing. The man at the front dismounted. “Hold,” the man bellowed, his voice familiar.
Callum’s grip on his sword lessened as his eyes widen in surprise. “Tormod?”
Callum’s brother nodded, his expression softening. “I was not certain who or what we were approaching. I could only see shadows.” Tormod’s gaze strayed to Declan, and his expression became stern, then anxious when he saw the boars. They watched the men before them with curiosity.
“’Tis well, Brother,” Callum said, stepping forward. “Declan is no threat. He was helping us.”
“And the boars?” Tormod asked.
Callum sheathed his weapon, then accepted the return of the sword he’d lent to Declan. “It seems they are protecting us.”
“Us?” Tormod asked, searching the area. “Where is Gille? When you did not return, we worried and came searching for you.”
“I am here,” Gille said as she and the little girl emerged from the shadows.
Tormod’s gaze lingered on Gille’s face for a moment before shifting to the leather-bound bundle in her hands. “You found what you were searching for?”
“Aye, right before you appeared,” Callum said, his voice filled with relief.
Tormod waved one of his men forward with a horse that had no rider. “Then it is good we have come to take you home. We brought your horse, Callum. You and Gille can ride together. I will take the little girl, and Emery can take Declan with him.”
Callum assisted the little girl and Declan on the backs of their horses before he mounted his own. He offered Gille his hand, but instead she handed him the package containing the pelt then moved among the boars, stroking each head. Callum’s chest lifted with a swell of amazement at Gille’s connection with these creatures.
During their days in the woods, he had seen Gille do strange and wonderful things, but this was something altogether different. With the boars, she had forged a bond that defied their wildness. While she was no longer the beast in the forest, she remained connected to the very essence of the woodlands and the inhabitants within.
If they failed in their mission, and Gille became a tree, Callum wondered if the plants and creatures of the forest would protect her even when he was too old to do so himself? At the thought, his chest ached. They still had two days to break the curse. He would move heaven and earth to see that Gille was free of both the curse and Oberon for the rest of her life.
Gille finished saying her goodbyes and extended her hand to him to assist her up onto the horse. Before he could take her hand in his, a roar echoed through the woods, a sound filled with rage and frustration.
A swirling mist appeared, then as it cleared it revealed a tall man whose skin shimmered with a silvery glow, as if sprinkled with stardust. His eyes were a piercing sapphire blue. A crown of shimmering leaves adorned his head, and his robes, nothing made by man, but perhaps woven from moonlight and mist, flowed gracefully around him. Oberon’s presence was both majestic and intimidating, a testament to his power as king of the fae.
Callum tucked the package inside the tail of his tartan then jumped from horseback to the ground to stand beside Gille, his heart pounding in his chest. “You have no authority in the human realm. Leave.”
“I rule wherever I wish.” Oberon glared at them, his eyes burning with malice. “You have found Lottie’s pelt,” he hissed, his voice like a venomous serpent as his gaze settled on the bulge beneath Callum’s tartan. “You think to break Gille’s curse, do you?”
Callum stepped forward, his voice steady. “We must.”
Oberon scoffed. “And what of me? I desire that pelt for myself. It is powerful and could grant me untold power.”
Callum straightened, knowing the pelt was safely out of the fairy king’s grasp because of the iron band he wore on his left wrist. “I will never hand over this pelt to you.”
Oberon’s anger flared. “You dare to defy me? You shall regret this insolence. I will do anything, to keep you from learning the song that will break Gille’s curse.”
“A song?” Gille asked a little breathlessly. “I knew the song the selkies sang on the day we met was somehow a part of all this.”
“Damn my loose tongue,” Oberon growled. “You will never get the chance to learn anything further because when I am through with you, you will both be dead.” With a flick of the fairy king’s wrist, the forest seemed to rise against them. The skeletal trees twisted and turned, their branches reaching out like grasping hands.
Behind them, the horses whinnied in fear. “Go,” Callum called to his brother and his men. “Save yourselves.” His words were carried away by the wind as the burnt, disfigured trees bent towards Callum and Gille, their branches, whip-like tendrils, lashing out.
Callum drew his sword and swung, his blade biting into the wooden assailants. His weapon slashed through the branches, sparing him and Gille from a beating.
“No!” Oberon cried and, raising his hand once more, he swirled it in a circle at the forest floor.
No sooner did Oberon’s motions stop than the ground trembled as unseen forces manipulated the earth, creating a deepening pit to their left and raising boulders on their right.
Callum took a moment to note that Tormod and his men, instead of retreating, kneeled in the dirt, sketching out how they meant to re-engage. Turning his attention back to the situation before him, Callum’s mind raced. He could not wait for Tormod to save him and Gille. He had to work that puzzle himself and quickly. Boulders shifted and rolled towards them.
With a cry that was part anguish, part anger, Gille rose up, stretching her palms towards Oberon. Odd words erupted from her mouth as she called on the ancient magic within her. Her hands began to glow with the same ethereal light Callum had seen when she had healed both the fawn and the young girl. Instead of sweeping them into the pit, the boulders dissolved into dust.
Oberon’s shriek of rage echoed all around them as he unleashed another assault, summoning a whirlwind of leaves and debris that swirled around the pair, obscuring their vision and lashing at their skin.
As the vortex closed in, Callum could hear Gille’s breath coming in ragged gasps beside him. She was growing tired from fighting Oberon’s magic. In that moment of vulnerability, she reached for his hand. She raised her other hand towards where Oberon had been before their vision was obscured. Callum searched her face and saw her eyes glowed with an intensity that rivalled the tempest around them.
A surge of power erupted from her, a counterforce to Oberon’s magic. The whirlwind faltered, then dissipated, leaving behind a dead silence as Gille and Callum staggered before Oberon.
The king of the fae’s eyes blazed with cold, calculating anger. “You will not succeed against me.” He raised his hand, a flicker of power dancing at his fingertips.
Just as Oberon was about to strike, the pack of boars charged, their tusks gleaming in the moonlight.
Oberon’s eyes flared, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. He re-raised his hand to defend himself, but the animals were too fast. They knocked him to the ground, their hooves pounding into his body.
Gille and Callum seized the opportunity. They turned and ran deeper into the woods. Tormod and his men had taken to their horses and now waited nearby with the riderless horse. Callum mounted and drew Gille up in front of him before flicking the reins, setting the horse in motion. As they raced through the forest, they could hear Oberon’s enraged shouts fading behind them.
“The boars.” Gille’s voice cracked, and a wave of agony passed over her features.
“They will find a way to survive, as will Oberon.” Callum drew her back, holding her more tightly against his chest. The leather-bound package was safely nestled between their bodies. Perhaps all was not lost...
*
Gille watched as Callum led them through the forest to return Declan and his daughter to Dunvegan village. A sliver of moonlight guided their way through the charred trees and underbrush. The skin on Gille’s back crawled, signalling how vulnerable it felt to be out in the open. The rigidness of Callum’s chest behind her and the arms around her told her he felt it too. She should be alert to dangers, but she could not help but steal a glance back at Callum’s face.
She could not read his emotions as easily as his body language. He glanced down at her briefly, offering her an encouraging smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come when he returned his gaze to the path ahead.
He’d admitted to loneliness over the past many years since his mother had died and he’d been left alone at Dunvegan. As he was the only male still in residence, she suspected the running of the estate had fallen to him at an early age. Had he had training? An adviser? Or had he been forced to determine how to move forward on his own much as she had in Fairyland?
Callum had not said as much but she suspected he’d had a hard, harsh life trying to navigate the estate and tempering his father’s brutality while that man had lived. Not to mention the guilt Callum must bear over the death of his mother because of his father’s neglect. He’d had every right to be self-absorbed and angry when they had first met. And yet, in the days since then, he had gentled. He’d shown her that side of himself last night when he had kissed her. She craved more warmth and tenderness, having received little of those things herself over the nineteen years of her life.
Oberon was determined to rob her of any joy, warmth, and happiness she might find in her future—with the MacLeods or anyone else. Yet, it was the fairy king’s obsession with vengeance that strengthened her resolve to succeed. She might only have two more sunrises to undo the curse upon her, but she had to believe that was all the time she needed to see the task completed.
She turned her attention back to the forest as they delivered Declan and his daughter to their cottage before moving on. They rode hard and fast until the gates of Dunvegan Castle came into view. The portcullis rose, giving them access to the front courtyard before it closed behind them once more.
They dismounted and while Callum secured the horse, Gille tried to remain upright. She hadn’t realised how much her battle against Oberon in the forest had drained her energy. But now that the threat had passed, her legs trembled beneath her. She moved back towards the castle wall, leaning against the sturdy walls for support.
The evening torches had been lit, casting a pale-yellow glow across a courtyard that teemed with activity as the men dismounted. Others waited to take the reins, leading the horses to the stables. Alastair, Orrick, and other men spilled from the castle to greet those who had returned.
As Gille watched the exchange of happy greetings, someone brushed past her, touching her shoulder for a moment. A strange sense of warmth spread through her, and a surge of strength returned to her body.
Gille looked around, her eyes scanning the courtyard, not seeing anything unusual. Yet, a strange presence lingered in the air. She had not felt anything like that since leaving Fairyland. After several minutes of searching, Gille finally shook her head, dismissing the sensation as a trick of her exhausted mind, even though she did not feel quite so tired anymore, for which she was grateful.
Callum approached with Alastair and Orrick, cutting off further thought. “We are so pleased you have returned safely, and with the object of your search,” Alastair said. “Let us go inside. Gwendolyn awaits. She is eager to make certain you are unharmed. She has laid out a meal for you.”
The hour was late, well past suppertime, but at the mention of food Gille’s stomach grumbled loudly. “Thank you. Were we truly gone for two days?”
Alastair nodded. “What happened to you both out there?”
Callum’s dark gaze met hers. “Oberon. But we were successful in retrieving the pelt.” He lifted the parcel for his brother to see.
“Well done,” Alastair said, then sobered. “Somehow, I knew we were not quite done with that fairy.” He waved them forward into the castle. “We can discuss this more once you have eaten.”
Together they moved up the stairs, and into the great hall where a cheery fire crackled in the hearth. The table on the dais and another below had already been set with bread, fruit, cheese, and tankards of malty-smelling ale. At the sight of them, serving maids carried platters of savoury-smelling meats to the tables.
Callum held out a chair for her at the table on the dais. When she was seated, he settled beside her, and she placed the leather-wrapped parcel between the two of them. Alastair and Orrick joined them, as did Gwendolyn. At the lower table the men who had been a part of the search party sat, awaiting the meal.
“It is pleased I am to see you, Gille,” Gwendolyn said. “I was worried when you did not return as planned, but Alastair tells me the extra days were worthwhile. That you were successful.”
Gille nodded just as the food was served. She ate sparingly despite her hunger. All around her were the sounds of people celebrating their success. The noise eddied and swirled past her, leaving her filled with restless energy instead of peace. They still had so much to accomplish, and only two more days to do it in.
She was spared from further contemplation as another presence appeared in the chamber. A white mist rolled from the doorway to the dais before solidifying into the more substantial form of Lady Janet. She appeared unchanged from when they had left two days prior. Clearly, the restoration of some of her memories had helped keep the ghost from vanishing into the spirit realm for now.
You found Lottie’s sealskin. Pleasure warmed Lady Janet’s grey eyes. My memories helped?
“Aye,” Callum said.
We must give the sealskin back to her immediately.
Callum frowned. “We may need to use it as leverage—”
A shuffle sounded at the doorway as Lottie appeared, the colour in her cheeks bright in her otherwise pale face. Hastening into the chamber, Lottie stopped beside the ghost; her gaze fixed on the leather-bound package on the table. “My pelt.”
“Aye,” Gille said, pushing the parcel closer to her.
“I can return to my true form, tonight. I can see my family again,” she said in a voice so hushed the words were nothing more than a whisper. Yet the flare of her eyes revealed her fear and excitement. She came forward to accept the package, but Callum placed his hand over the leather, stalling her.
“We need something from you in exchange for your pelt,” Callum said in a brusque tone that startled Lottie. She jerked her hand back.
“Nay,” Gille objected, as her stomach knotted. “We cannot make such demands. If she helps us, it must be of her own free will.”
I agree, my son. Lottie has already sacrificed much to be with us over these past many years.
Callum removed his hand. “As you wish.” His displeasure was obvious in the clipped tone of his voice.
Lottie touched the package tentatively, sliding the leather aside to reveal her pelt. Tears welled in her eyes. “It is exactly as I remember it.” Her fingers reached out to graze the soft grey pelt with a silvery sheen. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I ... I do not know how to thank you.”
Gille smiled. “I am happy you will be able to return to your family after you have helped the MacLeods so much over the years.”
“Aye, Lottie,” Gwendolyn said, “thank you.” Others murmured agreement with her sentiment.
Lottie nodded, her gaze fixed on the pelt. “I ... I must go,” she said, her voice trembling. “I must return to the loch.”
Gille reached out and placed a comforting hand on Lottie’s. “We understand,” she said.
Callum stood. The look in his eyes said he would still seek a promise from Lottie for help. “Before you go, may I ask you something?”
Lottie looked up; her eyes filled with questions. “What is it?”
Callum explained their situation, telling her about what Oberon had said about a song that could break Gille’s curse. “We need your help to remember the melody and the words,” he said. “We had hoped you might convince the other selkies to help us remember.”
Lottie hesitated; her expression filled with doubt. “I do not know if they will help, and I am not sure how to get them to agree,” she replied. “It’s been so long.”
Gille nodded. “We understand,” she said, her voice filled with a hint of desperation. “But I need your help. Please, can you ask?”
Lottie sighed and her eyes filled with sadness. “I will try,” she said, “but I am certain there will be a price for that assistance.”
Callum’s body tensed beside Gille’s. “What is it?”
Lottie looked at him, her eyes filled with a strange intensity. “The Fairy Flag,” she said. “We want the Fairy Flag.”
Callum’s face paled. “The Fairy Flag is a sacred relic of the MacLeod clan, passed down from generation to generation.”
Lottie shrugged, her previous trepidation seeming to have vanished. “It is the only way,” she said. “If you want us to help you, you must give us the Fairy Flag.”
Gille knew the MacLeods would never part with their precious relic, but if they did not, she would remain cursed.
Callum looked at Gille and his eyes filled with remorse. “We cannot give you the Fairy Flag,” he said to Lottie. “But we can give you something else.”
Lottie raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Alastair stood. “We can offer you anything you want,” he said. “Anything at all.”
Lottie’s eyes narrowed. “Anything?”
Alastair nodded. “Anything,” he repeated.
Lottie hesitated, her gaze shifting between Callum and Alastair. Finally, she spoke. “If anyone knows the song you seek, it would be Minerva, the selkie queen. She has always longed to possess the Fairy Flag, but in its absence, she would also accept one of your children as tribute.”
Gwendolyn’s face went pale. “Nay!” she cried. “You cannot ask such a thing. The sacrifice of a child... it is unthinkable.”