Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
A va opened her eyes to see Polly Carter dragging her into a torchlit room. From the strong smell of hot steel and burnt charcoal she knew the gardener had brought her into the forge. Her body remained paralyzed, but at least her head was clearing. Under her breath Polly was grumbling about how heavy she was, and how Ian had bailed on her again.
That told Ava everything she needed to know.
“You put something in that drink Ben gave me,” she said, startling the other woman, who halted and peered at her as if she’d come back from the dead. “You meant to knock me out, or maybe even poison me. Have you forgotten that you can’t kill anyone here?”
“I haven’t forgotten anything, Agent Clueless,” Polly said, mocking her tone of voice. “I’ve been talking to my hubby when he visits, and he told me a way I can get rid of you and anyone else I want. I think I’ll do that little fruitcake war master next. He’s too smart and way too pretty for my liking.”
“Come on, now, Miz James.” Some sensation had come back to her toes and fingers, and she tried to wriggle both. Although many of the torches were out she could see the murderess was headed for the smelting furnace, and then it all made sense to her. If I’m burnt to ashes, there won’t be anything to come back alive. “You don’t have to get any more blood on your hands.”
“I swear, you’re as dumb as a box of rocks. Don’t you get it?” Marianne grunted as she stopped and hoisted her onto a hook that caught the back of her bodice laces and held her fast. “I like the blood on my hands. Sticking it to every pecker head who stuck it to me or looked down on me is justice, not killing. I’ve been doing it since I was seventeen years old, too, so I’ve gotten real good at it.”
“You didn’t kill your boss at the supermarket.” Ava was able to brace her feet on the floor, but her arms still wouldn’t move. “He died of a heart attack. I read his autopsy report, and he’d ejaculated right before he died. He raped you that night, didn’t he?”
“Sure he did. That’s what men do.” The other woman laughed. “Oh, aren’t you precious, acting like you’re sorry for me now. Don’t you know that I could have pushed him off when he went limp and started wheezing and called nine-one-one? Only listening to him die was so good, it made me come harder than I ever did rubbing myself.”
“I’m not sorry for you.” Dangling there made it hard to sound calm and reasonable, but Ava’s life depended on trying to reach the traumatized girl still lingering inside the vicious black widow. “I know what it is to grow up poor. My folks were drunks who used and abused me.”
“Yeah, my daddy was that way. After Mama left him, all he cared about was what he could get out of me.” Marianne’s expression darkened. “So, how come you became a fed but I ended up like this?”
She thought of all the times she’d been tempted to steal money from her jobs so she could get away from her shameful life. There had been a few nights after she’d taken a beating that she’d even thought about setting her parents and the trailer on fire, too. That had always been the reason she couldn’t abide thinking about them and how they had died.
“I got lucky, is all,” Ava told her. “I think if one more thing had gone wrong for me, then I might have gone the other way.”
“How nice for you.” She went over and opened the doors to the furnace, and tossed more wood onto the flames. “You know my manager came in me like two seconds after he stopped breathing?” She snickered. “Guess the devil let him get one more load off before he dragged him down to hell.”
Ava knew not all men were like the one who had set Marianne on this path. She also knew the murderess would never believe that.
“What if you agreed to stop killing?” she asked her. “I can’t take you back to our time, and I’d say this place is as good a prison as any. You could have a better life here, Miz James.”
“I already did before you showed up, Agent Dumbass.” The murderess came back, took hold of a hanging chain and began to yank on it. “I’d have you eat out my pussy before I drop you, only Tasgall can do that later. Sure hope you go quick, honeybunch. Knowing this place, it’d try to heal you up while you’re in the midst of turning to charcoal, and wouldn’t that be like burning in hell?” She laughed.
The hook rose with every jerk Polly made on the chain, until Ava dangled higher than the top of the furnace. The murderess then tugged on the chain, pulling her along the support frame until she hung directly over the fire.
“You should beg me a little before I drop you in,” Polly suggested. “I know you think I’m pretty, and you got kind of a dyke vibe. Never know. I might change my mind.”
“Dinnae kill her,” a deep voice said from the doorway. “If you spare Ava, I shall give you my life instead, Mistress. I reckon ’tis more pleasing to you, killing a man.”
“Did you hear that? He’s already calling me his mistress.” Marianne turned and stared at Tasgall as he stepped inside. She wrapped the chain around her fist. “Don’t you come another step closer, Big Hoss. If you really wanted to save her, you should have fucked me first. No, for real you should have married me. Then I would have killed you before her.” She laughed as if the gruesome prediction were a joke.
“’Twas my mistake, my lady.” The laird focused on her, but Ava could sense his entire attention was on the chain in her hand. “Permit me to do right by you. We shall have the wedding tonight, I vow.”
“Liar liar pants on fire.” Polly spat on the floor, and released the chain, catching it again and laughing at him. “Scared I’ll do it for real, now, aren’t you? Aren’t you going to tell me more lies to try and stop me?” She glanced up at Ava. “How about that? He’s a shit bastard after all, just like all men.”
“She’s my life, lass.” Tasgall spoke with utter solemnity. “If she dies, you may as well hurl me into the flames after her.”
Every time Polly became distracted, the laird moved toward the workbench, but with such subtle movements that the murderess didn’t notice.
“Well, now, if you want to go with her, why don’t you climb up there and hug on your skinny whore?” Polly said, snarling the words. “I’m happy enough to dump you both in the–”
The rattle and clang of chains filled the air, as something long and thick lashed out toward Ava, wrapping around her like a giant boa constrictor made of metal. One tremendous, hard jerk from Tasgall sent her flying through the air toward him, while Marianne was yanked off her feet by the chain she’d wrapped around her hand. The other woman ended up over the smelting furnace, while Ava dropped into Tasgall’s open arms. As soon as he pulled her off the hook, the chain holding Marianne released, causing her to scream as she plummeted into the billowing fire.
“We have to get her out of there,” Ava rasped as her lover set her on her feet.
Tasgall ran for the furnace, but when he opened the doors huge flames shot out, driving him back. Ava couldn’t see or hear the woman, and when he slowly closed the furnace she did the same with her eyes.
The laird said nothing as he came back to her, lifting her into his arms to carry her out of the forge. Ava clung to him, and when he finally sat down with her in front of the hearth in the guest chamber she looked up at him.
“She would have been put to death in Texas for Ian’s murder,” she said, and pressed her cheek against his heart, which thudded rapidly. “If not there, then in Florida for killing the husband before him. I know all that and still wish we could have saved her.”
“Dinnae wish me to do the same. I yet quake at the memory of you dangling over the smelter.” He tucked her head under his chin and stroked her arm. “I love you, Ava.”
She never wanted to move again. “You don’t have to say that.”
“Indeed, I must, for I’d ask a favor of you,” he said slowly. “’Twillnae prove anything difficult, I reckon, only you must refuse if you cannae bear the prospect of how ’twill change your life.”
“Yes, I’ll marry you, and stay here, and go back with you to the twelfth century once we break the spell. If that’s possible,” she tacked on, and then lifted her head to see his astonished expression. “What, you thought I didn’t love you? Do you remember what all we did in that dungeon room?”
“No, ’tis only I intended ask that once we end the curse, and that I might go with you to your time and live in your world, if ’twas possible.” He looked all over her face. “You’d live in Scotland with me? A Scotland with no guns, no phones, and no Netflix and chill?”
She nodded slowly. “And what about you? You’d leave behind Darro and all your brothers?”
“No, I’d bring them with me,” he said, deadpan, making her laugh. “I’m no’ joking, love.”
“I know you’re not, Mr. McKeran. Don’t worry about the twelfth century, either. I’ll always be there to keep you warm.” She kissed his jaw and then his mouth, lingering there until the sound of a shout from outside the chamber made her sit back and give him a rueful look. “We should go and let them know we’re okay. I love you. Let’s go cut some folks out of those cocoons.”
“Tell me you love me again,” Tasgall said, and when she did he kissed her breathless.
R ob woke from his endless dream to see the laird and the newcomer woman looming over him. Ava Travars gently wiped something from his lips as the McKeran himself pulled pieces of the white cocoon away from his body. Behind them he saw guards dragging more cocoons out of the shed. His own had been attached to one leg of the worktable.
“You okay, there, Mr. Rob?” Mistress Travars asked.
It took him a few tries before his mouth worked properly.
“Aye, my lady.” As he recalled what had happened he tried to sit up. “You must take care, my lord. ’Twas a giant worm that attacked me–”
“I ken, lad,” Tasgall said. “We ended all of those creatures.”
“You slew them, my lord?” As the laird nodded Rob tried to fathom such an alien notion. “How could you do such? ’Tis never happened in all the centuries since the curse.”
“I cannae tell you lad,” the other man admitted. “I’m but grateful that we could.”
Mistress Travars studied his face. “You know something that we don’t, Mr. Rob?”
He didn’t wish to condemn Polly, as at the time he had dismissed her claims. Yet he found himself telling her about his lover’s discovery of the caterpillars, and how quickly they must have grown from worm size to giants.
“Where in the gardens did she claim she first saw them?” the laird asked.
“’Twas a bed she’d been sent to weed,” he said, and tried to recall the exact spot before shaking his head. “Forgive me, my lord, but I cannae remember which one. You should speak with her.”
“We shall be grateful for our lives.” Eachann appeared beside him, and once the last of the webbing had been removed from Rob, helped him to his feet. The old man’s face turned grim as he said, “Polly attempted to slay Mistress Travars, but our lord thwarted that. She’s gone now, lad.”
Relief came over him along with a wave of remorse. He hadn’t liked her much in the end, but he’d never wanted her dead. He wasn’t even sure how she could be dead, so he simply said, “I hope she didnae suffer.”
The head gardener nodded. “Come away now.”
“Wait a moment, please, sir.” Mistress Travars reached for something clinging to Rob’s tunic and held it up to study it in the light from the window. “This looks like a butterfly wing made of silver.”
“Aye.” Vaguely he recalled seeing something glitter on the worktable. “’Twas something I reckon belonged to Polly, my lady.”
Ava gave him a troubled look before she handed it to the laird. “Thank you, Mr. Rob.”
From there Rob went with Eachann into the stronghold, where the newly freed were directed to go to the great hall to be examined by the clan’s healer. Benedict Miller stood examining them, one by one standing in a long line, some still picking at bits of webbing that clung to their garments. Elspeth sat near them and watched the healer with open admiration in her eyes.
So he’s her secret love. His heart sank, but also filled with sympathy. Since coming to them the man had never shown any desire to take a lover. Many of the lasses and some of the lads thought him a eunuch, but Rob had other suspicions.
“Robby.”
He flinched as a flurry of clan plaid and red hair hurled itself at him, and found his arms full of Siofra, one of the chambermaids.
“I reckoned you gobbled up by those horrid beasts,” the small, plump lass sobbed against his chest, clinging to him as tightly as a handful of burrs.
Siofra had come from his village and had always tagged after him when they’d been wee ones. She had been the one to leave home first to work at Dun Talamh and had mentioned to his màthair that they needed gardeners at the stronghold.
“I’m well,” he told her, awkwardly patting her back.
“I prayed they’d soon find you, and the Gods, they listened.” Her smile wobbled before it disappeared. “Did you hear about Polly, then?”
He nodded and waited for her to condemn his former lover.
“I’m sorry you lost her.” Siofra’s cheeks pinked as she added, “You’ll no’ wish to choose a wife, then, when the binding ceremony comes.”
Suddenly Rob thought of all the times he’d caught this lass watching him with her sad eyes. In all the centuries she’d been in the trap, she’d never taken a vassal as husband, spending her time instead with a clansman, but not often. She’d also never uttered an unkind word about Polly, or any of the other lasses Rob had taken to his bed.
“Shall you offer yourself this year?” he asked her, and as she cringed he added, “I think I shall as well, if you’ll pick me.”
Siofra sobbed for a moment, and then beamed at him through her tears. “I’ll pick you Robby. Now and always.”
T wo days after slinking into his lair, Bodach awoke healed and once more empowered. He would have to ensure that all was right in this world before he worked on what he needed in order to retrieve his treasure from the spell trap. He would also have to come up with another plan to get the clan and their vassals out of his way so he could search the stronghold without endangering himself. The fact that they had discovered how to slay his creatures dismayed him, more than what he learned when he consulted his window scroll. In it, he saw Tasgall McKeran free Ava Travars and fling Marianne into the inferno of the smelting furnace.
So that murderous bitch was dead, and his children had failed him.
He had no love for his former wife, but losing his caterpillars upset him. His unruly temper made it impossible for him to do anything for the next hour except pace and fume, infuriated by his defeat at the hands of halflings. He had chosen the wrong insect to enchant, for that much he would take the blame. He needed to employ something faster and more vicious than those fat, lazy caterpillars—something that could defeat all of them, including that big armorer and the strange magic that protected him. Indeed, he would create something so powerful that it would assure no one and nothing inside the trap could thwart him again.
Hunger and weakness began to plague him, and to dispel them he placed a hand against the wall of the cave, absorbing directly as much power as he could. He needed to keep filling the void more often these days, but he wasn’t sure why. It was then that he noticed how dull some of the red crystals had grown. To keep them empowered they needed to feed on living things and had already sucked the life out of most of the plants and animals around the cave.
My beauties need a decent meal.
Bodach dressed in a conservative suit he took from the wardrobe he kept in the cave, and then climbed up to where he had parked his car. A pair of young mortals dressed as hikers approached him, both looking surprised as they took in his attire.
“Are you all right, sir?” the teenage girl asked as she adjusted the straps of her backpack.
"I am, but I could use some help,” Bodach told her as he took out his cell phone. “I got flagged down by a kid who said some of his friends got hurt while they were climbing. I couldn’t get a signal, so I left them in a cave about halfway down that trail there.” He gave her a hopeful look. “Would you and your friend mind staying with them while I call nine-one-one? They’re all about twelve, and really scared right now.”
“Poor kids. We’d be glad to,” the teenage boy said, and took the girl’s hand as they headed down the trail.
“Hello, nine-one-one? My name is Renard Beaumont, and I need an ambulance for some injured children near my property.” Pretending to listen to the dispatcher he hadn’t actually called, Bodach gave a thumbs up to the teens, watched them go down the trail, and then pocketed his phone. As soon as he heard their muffled screams coming from the cave he climbed into his car. “And people say the young are so selfish these days.”
J ust before sunset Ava walked through the gardens with Tasgall, both of them sharing a comfortable silence. Now and then some vassals carrying buckets of cocoon remnants passed them as they made their way to the fire pit at the back of the stronghold. In the lists Darro and the clansmen also had a bonfire started, which they were using as a pyre for the remains of the caterpillars. Red smoke rose from both and drifted up to the green sky, where it disappeared.
Alec intercepted them and bowed before he said, “We’ve inspected the smelting furnace, my lord. ’Tis naught left of the outsider but ash.” He gave Ava a quick nod and smile before he headed off toward the lists.
“There’s the pickle,” Ava said. “The wood you burn each day doesn’t make itself into new wood in the morning. Only your woodpiles replenish themselves. Yet no one and nothing has ever died here. If Marianne suddenly shows up tomorrow morning with a couple dozen giant worms, I’d say we’re in for a rough ride.”
“We defeated them once, my lady,” the laird chided. “I ken we shall do so again.”
“Speaking of burning wood,” she said, “a torch came out of nowhere in the corridor when we were escaping. Is that part of the spell?”
“If ’tis,” Tasgall said, “none has seen such before now.”
He looked almost as worried as she was—and adding to that was the answers they had gotten, which had mostly produced more questions. After talking with Rob, Una and Rory, it seemed that Marianne had known who had created the caterpillars, and why. She’d also mentioned looking for a treasure and her disgust with her ex-husband, which suggested Ian James was still alive.
“What if the clan wasn’t cursed because of the MacBren murders?” Ava asked as they came to one of the gates. “There might have been another reason, such as the treasure that Marianne was looking for. The treasure Ian wanted.”
“Neither of them would have known about the spell trap.” Even as he said that his brows drew together, and then he shook his head. He took hold of her hand. “Come up and stand on the wall with me.”
They climbed the stairs that spiraled up through the fifty-foot high and twenty-foot wide curtain wall. When they emerged onto the catwalk where the defenders stood at their positions, all of the men bowed to them.
“Keep watch, lads,” Tasgall told them as he went to the arrow loops to look out at the blurry forest illusion. To Ava he said, “The MacBren shall return soon with a larger force of men. Many will be mercenaries he hired that served during the wars in Francia. They’re brutish killers who think naught of murdering men, women or bairns.”
She leaned against him and tightened her grip on his hand. “How many folks will they kill while they’re here?”
“In the past they beat to death five young lads and two lasses. We hide those fated to die every year now.” He regarded her. “When they come, you must go with the other ladies. Please,” he added when she started to protest. “To those bastarts you’re but a helpless female. Dinnae give them the pleasure, or me the grief.”
“If I’m killed by the MacBren’s men, wouldn’t I come back to life the next day?” she countered.
“Mayhap. They’ve never caught and slain an outsider. ’Tis possible you could never come back to me.” He turned and pulled her into his arms. “And that, my lady love, should drive me mad forever.”
Ava curled her arms around his neck, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m never leaving you again, sir. You’re stuck with me now.”
F rom the hayloft window of the stables, she could see the laird and his new lady embracing on the wall, and sighed with envious pleasure. From there she went down the stairs, across the lists and into the stronghold, brushing past maids and guards who paid her no mind.
No one ever did, of course. They didn’t know who she was, or what she did right under their noses. She had never told them, either, for it would make no difference.
She went up to the garden solar, the little hothouse that pleased her more than any other spot in the castle. Her lady màthair would have loved the place, but then she had always been pleased by simple things. She would have busied herself there most of the day, tending to the flowers and small fruit trees in the sunlight, humming under her breath as she did.
Imagining that made her sad once more. She would never see her màthair again, and that she could never change.
She came out of the solar to look down at the magnificent sprawl of Dun Talamh. This had been her home for almost a thousand years now, and she knew every stone in the walls, every brick in the hearths, every leaf in the gardens. All of those things had become part of her days, and she adored them. She had to, for she could now hardly remember her life as it had been before the clan had been cursed.
Seeing the MacBren and his wife arrive for the first of many, ugly visits had made her weep, both with joy and with sorrow. It did every time the events of the year repeated, but especially now, as it was one of only two visits Lady MacBren would make to the McKeran.
She left the topmost spot in the castle and went down to the passage outside the forge, where she had driven out of the trap that disgusting dark Fae trickster who kept sneaking inside. He had heard her curse at him, she was almost sure of it. So now she would have to guard her thoughts and use what she had learned to drive out the bastart who had cursed the clan and ended her own life. She might even find the means with which to kill him.
That, Torra MacBren thought, would be her pleasure.
THE END