Chapter 7 #2
“Right, Lochran told me that you’re from the dark Fae queen’s realm.
What’s it called? Elephant? Elevated? No, it’s Elphyne.
” She smiled as he gave her a sour look.
“Someone mentioned that you were abducted and taken there by your father when you were just a little boy.” She’d actually overheard two guards talking about Cath. “How long did they keep you prisoner?”
Lochran cleared his throat rather loudly before he said, “Mistress Brooke, I wonder–”
“Dinnae attempt to shield me, Night Watch.” The war master met Lucy’s gaze.
“Aye, when Rune learned he’d sired me on my màthair he returned, tore me from her arms and took me to his natal realm.
I trained as his apprentice in the Fae otherworld among monsters that should drive you mad if you beheld them once.
Several times I begged my sire return me to my kin, and his answer, ’twas to beat me bloody. ”
“Why would he need you to become his apprentice?” Lucy asked. “And why didn’t you refuse?”
“I never thought to ask him. He liked to slay those who annoyed him, so declining, ’twas out of the question.” His brows rose. “What, now, Mistress? Do you pity me?”
“Why, do you need me to?” As he recoiled slightly she cradled her brew mug between her palms. “I’m mean, sure, I can say that’s terrible, you poor thing, what a horrible way to grow up, but I don’t really know what you actually suffered.
The same way you don’t know anything about me, or how I grew up, or what was done to me. ” She met his gaze. “True?”
Cath nodded.
“So, want to try some oatmeal?” she asked, nodding at the pot. “There’s no meat in it, Mr. Vegan.”
“You do regard us as veg.” His mouth curled on one side in what might have been a partial smile. “Another time, mayhap. Fair day, Mistress.” He rose from the table and left.
“That guy should form a secret society of one.” Lucy sighed and swirled her wooden spoon through her now cold and lumpy breakfast. “Is he always like the Bermuda Triangle?”
“I dinnae ken your words, but that, ’tis the kindest I’ve ever heard him speak to an outsider,” Lochran said. “You’ve earned his respect, I reckon, and you ken you’ve mine. The laird values your counsel and your company.”
That’s not all he values, Lucy thought.
“Tair may like my advice, Night Watch, and you enjoy my company, but no one else likes me being here. I’ve gotten that memo many times,” she assured him.
“You can tell Beinn to stop making the morning threats. Also, your seneschal really needs to stop with the unkempt, possibly diseased maid service.”
“You dinnae seem to care for Sgathan,” he said, as if inviting her to tell him why.
“Let’s not talk about Sgathan.” She and the seneschal would never be friends, but he wasn’t like Scary Twin. “I’d like to know something about his brother, Big, Dark and Psychotic.”
The big man took a drink from his mug before he asked, “I’m no’ certain who you mean. Do you ken his given name?”
“How many brothers does he have?” Lucy countered, aghast to think the twins might be triplets.
“Me, the laird, and all the other MacRune,” Lochran told her. “We share the same sire, Rune. Surely you’ve noticed the likenesses we share.”
“So that’s why you’re all huge, black-haired and ready to brawl at a moment’s notice?” When he nodded she sat back. “But there are hundreds of you here. How could your father have so many sons? The record in my time is only eighty-something—and where are all of your sisters?”
“”Tisnae my place…you must speak of such with th e laird,” he said, nodding toward the room behind the curtain where Lucy had had sex with Tair.
“I’ll mention it to him later.” Just not now, she decided. “So what does Big, Dark and Psychotic do around here, anyway?”
T air watched through the curtain as Lucy collected the empty dishes on her table, placing them on a tray and carrying them off as she walked with Lochran toward the kitchens.
She also caught his arm and adjusted his direction to prevent him from walking into a maid carrying a platter of food.
Her show of kindness toward his day-blind brother made Tair’s hands curl into fists.
She likes him. Mayhap more than she cares for me.
Before dawn he had unchained Lucy and left her fast asleep as had become his habit.
She had learned her way around the stronghold quickly, and managed every encounter with his surly, bad-tempered brothers like an exasperated maiden aunt.
In a few weeks she would likely take over the castle and have the garrison obey her commands instead of his.
When would she do his bidding? he wondered, ignoring the constant throb in his smalls from his neglected cock .
“Forgive me, my lord,” Beinn said from behind him, hanging his head like a guilt-riddled bairn. After his encounter with Lucy earlier he’d come to confess his mistake. “I didnae apply the scar paste proper, and she saw, for she yanked it from my face–”
“Dinnae fret, lad.” He’d have to remind Sgathan that their simple-natured brother should not be used anymore to attempt to frighten Lucy.
For one so large the lad had ever been bashful, and while his size and appearance often terrified outsiders who beheld him for the first time, he could never be as convincing as the rest of the clan. “Return to your duties.”
“Aye, my lord. My thanks, my lord.” After several quick bows Beinn fled.
While it had been some time since they’d come together in here, Tair could still smell a trace of Lucy.
She left her scent everywhere to linger and torment him, but here she’d made him spill like a lad with his first woman.
He pushed aside those heated memories, for if he recalled too much his shaft would remain stiff and swollen all day.
Did the wench even realize what she was doing to him by making him wait?
Was this her revenge for the night she’d spent in the dungeons?
“You shouldnae dally with Mistress Brooke,” Dorchad said as he brought over a pitcher of ale and refilled his goblet. “She’s far too clever, and suspected us even before Beinn’s blunder. Send her off to work in the village.”
“She doesnae ken how to do their work.” The thought of her growing fond of and possibly marrying one of the village men made his gut clench.
The chieftain grunted. “The baker’s wench married and went south last summer; he’s yet to replace her and he doesnae grow younger.”
Tair knew the baker he spoke of; he was an old man slowly losing his battle with various ailments of age.
His wife had long ago died in childbirth, and he had raised his only daughter alone.
He would be glad of the help and companionship, he imagined, and would treat Lucy well.
Only the prospect made his gut knot. The thought of his golden-haired beauty rising just after midnight to stoke the baker’s ovens and prepare dough for the day’s baking made Tair lift his goblet and drain it in three swallows.
She was too fair for such hard work; she should do naught but stay in his bed all day, preferably naked.
Yet if she did he’d never leave his bed chamber.
He couldn’t say as much to Dorchad, but he was curious as to why his second wished sorely to be rid of Lucy. He had never cared for any female, either.
“Why do you hate women?” he asked his chieftain. “Because your lady màthair abandoned you and Sgathan as bairns to die in the snow? ”
Dorchad didn’t answer, but then a horn blew, and he went to the arrow loop to look out at the inner bailey.
“’Tis a messenger come to the gates,” he said. “He wears the MacAlen’s pasty colors.”
Tair rubbed his tired eyes. Aside from the stupit pledge he’d made to permit Lucy time to decide if she wished to become his lover, he did not stop outsiders from coming to the island.
If he’d had his watchers kill the first dozen or so that crossed the waters to plague him they would have stopped, but it was too late for that.
Now the facking MacAlen was sending him facking messages again.
The man was like the pestilence, always returning.
A chilly wind blasted through the arrow loop, making Dorchad swivel to one side.
“I should go and discover what the MacAlen requests, my lord.” The chieftain bowed and left.
Tair eyed his morning meal, which he’d barely touched, and the ale pitcher, which he’d nearly emptied.
Sweat beaded on his upper lip and trickled along his hairline, and when he glanced down he saw he’d clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles appeared ready to pop out of his skin.
He suddenly understood what the dark Fae queen had meant when she’d said she needed something to kill.
Sick of himself and his temper, he strode out through the hall and into the nearest passage leading to the bailey. From inside the arch he watched Dorchad with the MacAlen’s messenger.
“–to Dun Maor so that he might discuss the problems of late with slavers selling captives to east port hoormongers in Aberdeen,” the courier was saying.
“He’s recently learned a pack of slavers even now travel to a dockside brothel.
They’ve captured a young druid to sell, and you ken how the young magic folk cannae defend themselves.
Aye, the evil bastarts hand over bairns as well, some barely weaned and walking–”
Dorchad held up his hand, silencing the man. “’Tisnae our duty to rescue anyone beyond the shores of our island. That your lord’s been told time and again.”
“’Tis your obligation as a highlander clan to protect the innocent and helpless.” The messenger cringed as the war master stepped closer. “You may beat me as you wish, Chieftain, only you ken ’tis truth.”