Chapter Eighteen
Rachel
I shake Joey hard, so hard in fact that I fear I've jostled all the brain cells out of his head, and soon they'll come tumbling out of his ears. My first response is to panic, but I take a deep breath and urge myself to relax. Mayhap Ashray-inspired sex was simply too much for Joey. But no, he's a strong lad. Only Joey Finnegan would have dared to punch Alisdair MacLeod.
He will come through. He must.
Since I cannae wake him with any amount of shaking or slapping, I have just one option. I must somehow drag him back to the castle. But I dinnae dare leave him here alone and unconscious. So, I grasp him under the arms and attempt to heave him up. Sweet Mary, the man is heavy as a boulder---all that muscle weighs more than it seems. With a mighty struggle, I manage to get him half-upright before my arms begin to shake with the effort.
"Joey Finnegan, I swear by all the witches of the Highlands, if ye dinnae wake up this instant, I'll hex ye into the next century," I holler, though my threat lacks conviction.
I resolve to get us both dressed before I attempt to drag him home. By the time I've finished my task, I'm out of breath and speckled with dirt. Joey is also filthy. I'll wash his clothes for him later. Right now, I need to find a method of getting him home.
I let him slide back down gently, cradling his head so it doesn't thump against the ground. His face is remarkably peaceful in unconsciousness, those whisky brown eyes hidden beneath closed lids. I explore the area, hunting for anything I might use as a litter. After what feels like hours, but couldn't have been more than a few moments, I find two branches lying on the ground and a few smaller ones that I use as crosspieces. Then, I stretch my shift across the entire framework.
Aye, this might work.
I take a wee break to eat some of the food in our picnic basket. I'll need energy to haul Joey back to the castle. The sustenance helps, and I feel strong enough to undertake my journey. Fortunately, the waterfall isn't far from home. I allow myself only a few breaks to rest along the way, arriving at the rear of the castle just as the sun is beginning its descent. The bakehouse is attached to the rear, and it's closer than the garden door. So, I drag Joey into the bakehouse and set the litter down on the floor as gently as I can.
Once I've caught my breath, I fling the bakehouse door open and shout, "Help! Help!"
My parents are in the courtyard. They race toward me, reaching me swiftly.
"What's happened to Joey?" Father asks. "He seems pale."
"And not well at all," Mother interjects. "Let's get him into the house. Rachel's explanation can wait until later."
"Aye, it can." Father lifts Joey off the floor and throws the laddie over his shoulder. "Alyssa, go and get the aunts."
She races away, following his orders.
My father carries Joey out of the bakehouse and marches straight into the house. As he stomps up the staircase, heading for Joey's room on the third floor, my mother and my great-aunts emerge from downstairs wearing anxious expressions. I'm worried also, but I cannae think about what has happened to Joey. He will be all right? Or won't he? Aye, of course he will. He must.
But what if someone has poisoned him with dark magics? I'm being ridiculous. The aunts would know if such a thing had been done to him.
Father stalks into Joey's chambers and lays him down on the bed. Then he turns to me. "You lasses can take care of him now."
Kieran MacTaggart departs the bedroom, his footfalls growing softer and softer until I can't hear them at all. He didnae even ask why Joey was naked, thank goodness. I dinnae care to explain that.
My mother and the aunts set about working on Joey. I know I should help, but I cannae tear my gaze away from his limp form and his pale complexion. I stand frozen, my heart pounding in my chest as I watch the women fuss over Joey. His face is ashen, his breathing shallow. What if he doesn't wake up? What if I've lost him forever? The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
"Rachel, leannan ," Great-Aunt Lachina says in a gentle tone that disperses my panic. "Fetch us clean cloths and water, will ye?"
I nod curtly, grateful for something to do. As I hurry to gather the supplies, I can hear the hushed whispers of my mother and the aunts, though I can't make out their words. They're speaking in Gaelic, that's all I can tell.
When I return, Morna is holding her hands over Joey's chest, her eyes closed in concentration. A faint blue light emanates from her palms, pulsing in rhythm with Joey's shallow breaths. I hand the cloths and water to my mother, who begins to dab at Joey's forehead with a damp cloth.
I wring my hands. "What's wrong with him?"
Efrica glances at me. "It's not poison, dearie. But there's a darkness clinging to him, like a shadow that doesn't belong."
"Is it...because of me? Because I brought him into the castle? Mayhap those dark forces are after Joey because they know I care for him."
My mother pulls me into a firm hug. "Hush now, sweetie. This is not your doing. Something far more sinister is at work here."
I watch as Morna continues her ministrations, the blue light growing stronger. Joey's chest rises and falls more steadily now, but his eyes remain closed.
"There's a battle raging within him," Morna declares, her eyes still closed. "Something is trying to take hold, to claim his very soul."
"Can ye help him?"
"We're doing what we can, gràidh ," Lachina assures me, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "But this is unlike anything we've encountered before."
Joey's body suddenly goes rigid. His back arches off the bed, and a pained groan escapes his lips. I rush to his side, my pulse pounding in my ears.
"Joey!" I reach for his hand. But as soon as my fingers brush his skin, a jolt of energy courses through me, and I stumble backward.
"Rachel!" My mother exclaims, steadying me with her hands on my shoulders. "What's wrong, sweetie?"
I lean down, clasping Joey's face with my hands. "Please come back to me, please. I cannae lose you."
His eyes dart back and forth behind his lids.
As I gaze at his impassive face, desperate to help him, I suddenly understand what I must do.
I crush my lips to his mouth.
A faint moan escapes his lips---along with a single word. "Rachel..."
I pull him into my arms, clutching him to my breast. A rush of power courses through my veins. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced before----raw, primal, and ancient. The magic of my ancestors, passed down through generations, pours out me in a torrent that threatens to overwhelm my senses. I cling to Joey, anchoring myself to him as the energy builds. The shadows writhe and shriek around us, their inky tendrils recoiling from the growing light that emanates from our embrace.
I gasp, and my eyes fly open, but my lips still pressed against Joey's. His eyes snap open too, wide and disoriented. We stare at each other wide-eyed, both panting heavily.
"Rachel?" Joey whispers, his voice hoarse. "What just happened?"
"Ahmno sure. But it seems like dark magics got hold of you."
"Was it the Ashrays?"
I shake my head. "That cannae be. The Ashrays are good folk---fairies---not demonic forces."
Joey's grip on my hand tightens. "I remember...darkness. And cold. So much cold."
He shivers, and I instinctively move closer to him, offering my warmth. I grab another blanket too, draping it over him.
"Ye fought it, Joey," I assure him. "Ye didn't let it take ye."
"Because of you. Your presence was a white light in the darkness." He pushes up into a sitting position. "I can't explain it, but while I was unconscious, I felt a presence hovering around me. Something dark and dangerous. It wanted me, sure, but also you and everyone else here at Dùndubhan."
I sweep a lock of hair away from his eye. "We will figure this out together."
"There's something else." He pushes up on his elbows. "When I was out of my head, I saw things. A dark place. Visions, maybe? Flashes of the past and...things that haven't happened yet."
The room falls silent, all eyes fixed on Joey. Even my great-aunts, usually unflappable, exchange worried glances.
"What sort of visions?" Great-Aunt Lachina asks.
Joey's brow furrows as he tries to recall. "It's all jumbled, but I saw...battles. Ancient ones, with men in kilts wielding claymores. But also, modern warfare with guns and explosions. And I saw...us. Me and the whole family, fighting against something dark and terrible."
"There's more," Joey continues, his voice growing stronger. "I saw a figure, shrouded in darkness. It was controlling everything, pulling strings across time itself. And I heard a name...but I can't remember it now."
Lachina grows pale. " An Bodach . Tha e tighinn ."
I stare at Efrica, unable to believe what Lachina has said.
Joey's gaze flicks to me. "Is she speaking Gaelic?"
"Aye. Lachina said 'The Old Man is coming.'"
"What old man?"
"He is a malevolent spirit from ancient folklore." I glance at my great-aunt again, just as she seems to come out of her trance. "What did you see, Lachina?"
Her eyes refocus, her gaze sharp as she studies Joey and me. "I beheld what your laddie saw---darkness stretching across time, threatening to engulf us all. The Old Man, An Bodach , he's more than simply folklore, Rachel. He is an ancient evil that has slumbered for centuries."
Joey shifts uneasily on the bed. "And now he's waking up? Why?"
Efrica steps forward, her face grim. "The barriers between centuries, between worlds might be weakening."
"Cracks that An Bodach might exploit," Morna adds.
A shiver ripples down my spine, raising the hairs at my nape. "So, what do we do? How do we stop him?"
Lachina shakes her head slowly, her gaze distant. "It won't be easy, leannan . An Bodach is cunning and powerful, according to the folk tales. You and Joey might be the twin poles around which everything turns. He'll seek to divide us, to turn us against each other with his trickery."
Joey's hand tightens around mine. "We won't let that happen."
I give him a reassuring smile, but a flicker of doubt gnaws at me. How can we fight something so ancient and terrible?
"First things first," my mother interjects, her practical nature asserting itself. "Joey needs to regain his strength. Rachel, that broth, if you please. We can deal with ancient, unseen evil another day."
I reluctantly disentangle myself from Joey and head for the door, but his voice stops me.
"Rachel," he calls softly. When I turn, his eyes are intense, filled with an emotion I can't quite name. "Thank you. For saving me---again."
I flash him a tight smile, then walk out of the room. But the vision Lachina's dà-shealladh showed her haunts me. I pause in the corridor, leaning against the cold stone wall to steady myself. The weight of what's happening bears down on me like a physical force. An Bodach . The Old Man. I've heard whispers of him since childhood, tales meant to frighten wee bairns into obedience. But now...
The kitchen is empty when I enter, and the hearth fire still burns at a low level. The smell of burning wood and simmering broth wafts around me, a comforting scent that contrasts with the fear and uncertainty swimming in my mind. I ladle broth into a wooden bowl, trying not to focus on the dire news we've learned tonight. As I turn to leave, a chill passes through the room, causing the flames to flicker and dance. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.
The moment passes, and I hurry to bring Joey the broth.
My rapid footsteps echo loudly in the stillness of the castle as I climb up to the third floor, halting at Joey's door. I knock gently.
Efrica opens the door. "Give me the broth, dearie. You should find Kieran and inform him of the laddie's condition."
Efrica shuts the door.
As I walk downstairs, I cannae help twisting my fingers in the folds of my skirt, a nervous gesture that's unlike me. Joey will be fine. I believe that in my heart and my soul.
How quickly our moment of passion had turned to terror.
When I enter the solar, my father is sitting in a big chair by the hearth, where a blazing fire crackles. The moment he looks at me, I fall to pieces and sob.
He pats his thigh, inviting me to sit on his lap. "Come, mo nighean , cry on my shoulder the way you would when you were but a wee lassie."
I rush to him, crawling onto his lap, and weep the tears I had struggled to hold back until this moment. My father makes shushing sounds and begins to stroke my hair.
Joey will recover. I know it to be true. And I am more grateful than words can express that my family loves and supports me.