Brennen
“Och, I’m glad that’s over with,” Garrick says, rolling the tension from his shoulders as we leave Iomallrùin.
“Though someone could have invited us in for a dram after our long journey to protect their village, don’t you think?
And why didnae you let them feed us? We’ve eaten nothing but cheese and apples since we left the castle. ”
“You think anyone actually wanted us in their homes? Wearing these?” I ask, gesturing to our uniforms.
Garrick puffs out his chest. “Aye. Have you seen my muscles?” he asks, flexing his biceps. “The lasses love a man in uniform.”
I laugh. “Not when the man in said uniform is there to figure out if they’re a traitor or not.”
He waves me off. “I knew we wouldn’t find any,” he says, and I once again wonder if he missed the young man or turned a blind eye. I almost ask him, but stop myself. He’s here to act as Cailleach’s ears.
Though, is it possible I can trust him? I’ve known Garrick for a verra long time, and he is a good man.
An honorable soldier, even if he likes to pretend he doesnae care about anything other than booze and women.
If he chose not to question the boy, I could confide in him.
I consider it for a long moment, deciding I cannae risk it, but I find that even though I cannae speak freely, I’m glad he is the soldier riding alongside me.
It’s the only reason I do not break completely from my fear of Cailleach’s threat. Fear for my family.
For Bea.
It’s an unwanted emotion, caring about what happens to her, but it’s there, undeniably tucked next to my heart. I picture her blue-grey eyes. The way they crinkle at the edges when she smiles. How impossibly wide they become when she is afraid.
What will Cailleach do to her now that she believes Bea was questioning her power? Is her pride so strong that she would ignore my warning that the women who have disappeared are actually dead, and then punish me, my family, and Bea?
Garrick finally speaks as we pass the loch, the wind off it damp and cold.
“Are you ever going to tell me what's happened with the Cutter? Or am I going to have to pull the reason out of those constantly scowling lips of yours? I mean, really, Brennen. Would it kill you to not look as if you’ve been sucking on lemons?”
I roll my eyes. “I dinnae scowl.”
“He says with a scowl. Now go on. Why did she really send us here?” he asks, and my jaw clenches tight. I dinnae ken where to begin.
“The Washwoman. She's no what I thought she’d be,” I admit, testing the waters.
Garrick bursts out in a belly laugh, and I pin him with a glare. He straightens. “Oh. You’re being serious?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Of course, she’s not the creature from the legend,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Have you heard the version where she has the body of a serpent?” He laughs again, but it dies off as my expression darkens.
He clears his throat. “Right. Okay, then. How is the monster different?”
I meet his eyes, holding his gaze for a long moment as I try to decide exactly how much to tell him.
He knows my family, and I’m certain he cares for them.
I grew up with him, after all. Joined the Dìdeanair together, and we trained side by side for years.
If pressed, I would probably say he is my closest friend.
But is that enough for him to keep my secrets from The Cutter?
It has to be.
“I dinnae think she’s a monster at all. Not anymore,” I say, unable to hold it in any longer—the feeling that has been steadily growing with each of Bea’s acts of kindness and compassion.
But it’s not the only reason I tell him.
If I’m going to convince Cailleach about the disappearing women, I’m going to need help from someone who has her favor.
Garrick stops his horse, his expression shifting from good-natured teasing to pure shock. “You're speaking of the Washwoman, right? The same woman who killed Marsaili?”
I stiffen at the name, a surge of protectiveness washing through me, but not for Marsaili. Garrick had loved her like a sister. Her name on his lips is a comfort. It’s Bea I feel defensive of. “I ken how it sounds, but she's no what we’ve been made to believe.”
He shakes his head. “I dinnae understand. What are you saying? That you don't think she killed Marsaili? Killed her family?”
“No.” My hands clench into fists, and I shake my head.
How am I to explain my feelings to Garrick when I can hardly understand them myself?
“She did. She’s said as much. But it wasnae really her.
Her mind broke that day. She doesn’t remember any of it.
Thinks maybe the curse caused her to go mad when she escaped.
” I nudge Sable forward again. Garrick follows suit, but remains silent.
“You know of the women who have been disappearing?” I ask.
“Of course. What of them?” he asks, his voice wary.
“I dinnae think they're disappearing at all. I think they're dead. That is what I told Cailleach.”
Garrick pulls his horse next to mine. There's disbelief in his eyes, but I can tell he's listening. “Something’s been happening with the Washwoman. She's having visions of the women who are going missing. One of them, Betty—”
“From home?”
I nod. “She disappeared over a week ago.
Bea had a vision of her. I saw it with my own eyes.
Her gaze went glassy, and she was singing this strange song.
It made no sense. I shook her. Shouted her name, but she didn't flinch, didnae react at all.
And then when she came to, she was holding something from Betty's house in her hands—a portrait of her parents. I recognized them immediately.”
Garrick grips the reins tighter. “You're certain she didn't have it before?”
“She couldnae have. I searched her myself when I arrived. She has no possessions, and she's chained to the shore. How would she get a picture of Betty's parents without something magical happening?”
Garrick sits up taller. “The Fates control all magic.”
“Do they, though?” I ask.
He stiffens, lifting his chin to assess me, but I dinnae back down from his stare. “What are you saying?” he asks.
My shoulders inch toward my ears at his reaction, and I choose my next words carefully. “All I’m saying is Bea washed Betty’s clothes. She has to be dead.”
“Then the Cutter would know,” he says, and part of me wonders if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I cannae tell him my fears. My doubts. Garrick is always at the Cutter’s castle. Is it possible he’s closer to her than I thought?
I rub my forehead. “One would think. Would hope. But would it truly be so impossible for someone to work outside the Fates’ rule?
These ceatharnaich groups we find and fight.
The written magic that was destroyed. What if more remains than we think?
What if there is someone with more power than we’re aware of, and that’s why the Fates are so obsessed with us finding and eliminating them? ”
A scream of pure agony pierces the air. Sable’s ears perk, and Garrick and I meet each other's eyes.
Without a word, we dig our heels into our horses' sides, their hooves kicking up peat as we steer them toward the noise.
The scream rings out again—the rawness of it piercing through the air.
We race forward, the Faerie Mounds coming into view.
Hollow Hill rises in the distance, the standing stones on top looming over the braes.
The scream stops, echoing away into silence.
“Hello?” Garrick calls. “We are guardians of Cailleach! Are you in need of help?”
I strain to listen for an answer, but there's nothing but the sound of the wind rustling the heather. I hop off Sable, trekking to the top of Hollow Hill. I peek around the standing stones, but there’s no one here. No one hiding.
“What was that?” Garrick asks, breathless as he joins me. “An animal?”
“No. That was human. A woman.” I say, certain of it.
“Then where is she?”
I can only shake my head.
We search for an hour, then two, walking every inch of the rolling mounds, but find nothing.
“Maybe she fled,” Garrick says, and I nod.
“Aye. She’d have gone that way,” I say, nodding toward a deer-worn path through the birch trees.
“Then that way we'll go,” he says. My heart pounds with nerves as we travel, but we do not see anyone, and we do not hear any more screams.
“Is it possible we heard one of the women dying?” I ask.
Garrick’s eyes flick to mine. “Anything’s possible,” he says, pausing. He lowers his voice to a near whisper. “You need to be careful voicing your worries aloud, Brennen”
My brows lower. “Why’s that?” I ask.
“There are people you can question. The Cutter isnae one of them. I thought you’d know better. She’s executed higher-ranking members of her court than you for far less. I’ve watched her do it more times than I can count.”
I square my shoulders. “It's no death I'm afraid of. No my own.”
He appraises me, all traces of his usual humor gone from his features. “Then what are you scared of?”
I do not answer, because to give voice to my fears would be blatant treason, and while Garrick is warning me, he is still a guardian, and I cannae risk telling him more than what the Cutter already knows.