27 A CIRCLE OF THORNS
“ARE YOU READY?”
Darach looked up, his jaw bunching. “Aye,” he replied gruffly. “Although we don’t really have time for this.”
Ailsa tossed the trout bones onto the fire and watched the flames devour them. The crackling sound reminded her of when she burned her nail filings. Glancing down at her hands, she frowned. Her nails were growing. Again.
“No, we don’t,” she agreed. “But we’ve traveled as far as we can today … and time is running out for you.”
He grimaced at that yet didn’t argue. He knew it was the truth.
Wiping off her hands with a piece of moss, she glanced once more across the fire at where Darach sat cross-legged.
Like her, his hair was damp, not from the rain, which had finally abated, but from bathing.
They’d both taken turns to wash in the icy burn earlier.
Ailsa’s teeth had chattered as she crouched in the freezing water.
However, after days on the road, scrubbing herself clean was necessary.
Darach’s strong face was stern, a furrow etched between his eyebrows.
A man who’d lost everything.
“Look at it this way,” she said, flashing him a wry smile. “I probably can’t make it worse.”
He snorted and pushed himself to his feet. “Right.”
While he unlaced his breeches, Ailsa dug into her satchel and pulled out Kayla’s tightly rolled, precious tattooing kit. She then laid each item out before tipping a little dried woad and ash into a small clay mortar.
Pausing, Aisla took a long look at things that had been part of her world for as long as she could remember. Kayla’s things.
Her throat tightened. How she missed her.
She pulled herself together then and opened another stoppered vial.
This one contained cooled boiled water, which she mixed with the dried woad to form a paste—dark blue and pungent-smelling, ready to stain the skin.
After that, she held the points of two of her carving implements, a long iron needle and a slender blade, into the fire, letting them glow red-hot and then cool.
Catching Darach watching her, she met his eye. “Kayla always told me the importance of keeping things clean. There’s less risk of the tattoo souring afterward.”
He gave a wary nod.
“This will take a while,” she warned him. “And it’s going to hurt … it’s a shame we don’t have any ale or strong wine to take the edge off.”
“I don’t need it,” he replied. “Just do what you must.”
She eyed him. Tough words, although he might eat them soon.
Darach lowered himself to the ground, his breeches removed now, although his tunic covered his arse and groin.
It didn’t stop Ailsa from admiring the long, muscular lines of his legs though.
Curse her, she couldn’t help herself.
Shifting close to the fire, he rolled onto his side, away from her. “Get on with it.”
Wordlessly, she moved behind him, noting how the back of his tunic had ridden up, revealing the swell of one hard, muscled buttock.
Her gaze lingered there—then snapped away.
Irritated at herself for being so easily distracted, she pulled the garment down.
She had to focus now, to delve deep and draw upon the earth magic that slumbered in her veins. Every Marav had that power inside them to some degree, Kayla had told her—whether or not they bore a druidic gift—but few were capable of using it. Her mentor had taught her how.
Ailsa’s hand slid gently over Darach’s tattoo.
Heat radiated beneath her palm.
Before she could help herself, she inhaled the scent of fresh sweat, leather, and male. Beneath it all, she detected something sharper—muskier—and her belly convulsed in response.
She jolted.
Gods. Not now.
Clenching her jaw, she tried to block out her awareness of him, willing her senses to dull.
A moment later, she focused once more.
The warmth of the tattoo wasn’t a good sign. It was just as well she was going to try and help him now. And the red lines emanating from the inflamed edges of the tattoo were more worrying still. They hadn’t been there when he’d shown her the tattoo the night before. She hoped she wasn’t too late.
Keeping her hand lightly pressed to his thigh, she closed her eyes, and then she began to murmur the words Kayla had taught her.
They flowed in an ancient, lilting tongue—clumsy at first and then growing more fluent as she grew in confidence.
And as the chant drew out, she felt the rose tattoo on her calf begin to tingle.
Good.
She was beginning to channel earth magic.
She continued the chant.
The corrupted tattoo pulsed beneath her palm. Heat surged through it. The snarling cat seemed almost to writhe beneath the skin. Pain lanced through the center of her palm.
Her hand jerked. Shit.
There was no way she could banish the beast. It had dug its claws in and wasn’t letting go.
However, she could give Darach back some measure of control. The tattoo she planned on doing would help him leash the clag-doo—would keep him safe until they reached Kayla. He’d also be able to decide when and where he released it … and be able to call it back … hopefully.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, deliberately keeping her tone light and conversational.
She could feel his tension. His silence wasn’t an easy one.
“Fine,” he replied tersely.
Taking the hint, Ailsa reached for her tattooist’s needle.
She then inhaled slowly. Hold fast … and do this right. Make Kayla proud.
She removed her hand from the snarling clag-doo’s face, leaned in, and began her first cut.
Darach’s body spasmed under her, but she placed her other hand on his hip, pressing down gently. Reassuring yet firm. “You must stay still. I don’t want to make any mistakes.”
He ground out an oath, but he heeded her.
Ailsa worked slowly, methodically. There was no rushing this. The light of the fire wasn’t ideal to work by, but she did her best.
And with each cut, Darach’s muscles locked under her hand. A breath hissed between his teeth and sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn’t move.
And despite everything, she found herself enjoying the work.
It was a thrill, in many ways, to work like this without Kayla watching over her.
In all the years she had worked alongside her mentor, she’d never once let her work unobserved. It was as if she’d never fully trusted her apprentice not to make a mistake—as if she were looking out for something.
Waiting for Ailsa to fail her.
At the time, she’d told herself Kayla just liked to be in control, but now, she couldn’t help but suspect there had been another motivation at play.
The knowledge that there was something wrong with the lass she’d brought up as her own.
Swallowing, Ailsa shoved the thoughts aside.
She needed to keep her mind wholly on her task.
And so, she began to repeat the words of the sain—the binding chant. It had a lulling effect on Darach, too, for despite each cut, each prick, stinging, his body slowly relaxed beneath the weight of her hand.
As time stretched out, a slender band of thorns formed around the tattoo. It was a circle of protection, one that people often asked for if they feared faerie creatures or malevolent spirits.
Years earlier, during those dark times when spirits had hunted freely at night—breaking into people’s homes and stealing away children—many folk had turned up at Kayla’s door requesting such tattoos. Usually, Kayla would do an encircling ring around someone’s ankle, wrist, or bicep.
But this tattoo was different.
It contained magic, and it caged the clag-doo.
Sweat beaded on Darach’s forehead as Ailsa worked. He lay there, still and silent, staring into the dancing flames. He didn’t utter a word. He didn’t move.
Once the final cut had been made, Ailsa reached for her pestle and mortar, dipped a brush in, and began to push the dye into the incisions. She’d finished her sain now, the circle complete. But the dye was necessary; it would keep the magic in place.
The tattoo on her calf still pulsed.
“I feel different,” Darach spoke up then, his voice rough with pain.
“How?” she asked, pressing the stiff-bristled brush into the bracelet of thorns she had designed.
“Calmer.” He paused then as if searching for the right words. “Earlier, I could feel it clawing at me, mewling in my ears. But now … it’s gone quiet.”
Ailsa pulled a face. “I suppose that’s better.”
Silence fell once more as she continued to push dye into the cuts. Inch by inch, a delicate circle of entwined thorns emerged. “Kayla might know a way to banish the beast permanently,” she said finally. “But this circle will allow you to become its master … for the moment.”
He stiffened. “So, I really will be able to stop it from emerging?”
“That’s what I’m hoping.” She stopped speaking then, focusing instead on pushing the dye into the last swirl. Finally, she sat back on her heels and observed her handiwork. “It’s done.”
In truth, it was hard not to be proud. The design was beautiful, delicate yet unbroken. She’d been careful not to leave any gaps in it anywhere. The snarling clag-doo, whose eyes had glowed red in the firelight, was now caged.
After everything that had happened of late, it felt good to have achieved something tangible. It pulled her thoughts momentarily away from worries for Kayla—and from herself. For a few precious moments, she forgot the fear that one morning she’d wake and discover she wasn’t herself anymore.
Rising to her feet, she moved across to where a burn trickled over rocks and scrubbed her hands clean, using a clump of moss to wash away the blue woad staining her skin. A faint bluish tinge remained. Woad was hard to get rid of.
“Has it worked?” Darach asked, pushing himself upright and inspecting the tattoo.
“We won’t know until you test it,” she replied as she tossed aside the moss. “You should be able to leash the clag-doo now … as well as call upon it and shift back afterward.”
He frowned. “I don’t want to draw the fucker out.”
“I understand that,” she answered with a sigh. “But you might need its help one day … best you test it now. Go on.”
He cast her a rueful look. “I’m not doing that … not with you here.”
Ailsa waved his concerns away. “I’ll take precautions.” She nodded to the large pine tree at the edge of the clearing. “I’ll climb that and watch from safety.”
He snorted. “And you don’t think clag-doos can climb trees?”
“Maybe, if it’s hunting,” she admitted. “But just call it forth, let it sit for a few moments, and then … change back.”
He eyed her. “That easy, eh?”
“You already had some control,” she pointed out. “Every night you’ve changed, you’ve held on long enough to put distance between us.”
Not waiting for him to argue further, Ailsa moved to the tree and began to climb.
She understood his caution, yet it was vital for him to find out if her tattoo actually worked. At least, this way, she wouldn’t be caught off guard.
Climbing the pine wasn’t easy. Branches thwacked her in the face, and her boots kept slipping as she rose higher, yet she didn’t give up. The sharp scent of resin caught in her throat as she settled onto a high branch and peered down. “I’m ready.”
He stared up at her, brow creased. “I fear we may come to regret this.”
Ailsa huffed a frustrated sigh. “I will, if I have to perch in this tree like a crow all night. Go on.”
He scowled. “All right … but you stay up there until I say so. Got it?”
“Aye.”
Casting her another baleful look, Darach stepped back from the fire and unlaced his vest. He shrugged it off.
When he reached for his sleeveless tunic, Ailsa’s pulse fluttered. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think? I have to be naked when the change comes,” he replied, chin lifting as he met her gaze once more. “Otherwise, it rips my clothes to shreds.”
Ailsa swallowed. Oh—she should have realized that.
A moment later, he pulled the tunic over his head and tossed it aside.
And there he stood, naked, his broad, powerful body gilded by firelight.