Page 109 of Luthias

He still wanted Emery for himself, and despite knowing she loved Luthias he had no qualms about stealing her from the MacRoss. He could give her a better life at Dun Deigh, and in time she might transfer her affections to him. He could learn to love her as well. Adorned in Carack baubles and silks, her every wont fulfilled, aye, she could reconsider her choices.

He did not yet love her, Callum thought, but he would have her.

“One blow with a blade to your neck,” a dry voice said from behind him, “and I’d be laird. I might even blame your death on the MacRoss and no one would ever ken the truth.”

Callum turned around to face his brother. “Dinnae sport with me, I’m no’ in the mood. What news?”

“Fierce summer storms keep the ships from crossing now, so the MacRoss black sheep remains in Francia. I sent riders down to Athdara’s village in the lowlands, but she’s no’ gone home or sent word or coin to her kin.” Struan smiled sourly. “Her sire even spat on the ground when my men asked after her, cursed her for a slut and claimed she’s shunned for life. Her people, they’ll no’ welcome her back.”

It took a moment for Callum to remember the jewel-setter’s sly smile. “Aye, I believe that.”

“You’ve found no trace of the thieving wench?” When he shook his head Struan leaned against the alder beside him. “’Tis no more reason for you to continue the ruse. Return to Dun Deigh now before one of the MacRoss grows a brain and finds you.”

The prospect of going home should have made him happy––Callum had tired of playing woodcutter––but dual images of Athdara and Emery smiling at him got in the way. “You’re eager to give up the dais.”

“I’m your war master. I protect my laird as well as my clan, which I cannae do while you play woodcutter to spy on Luthias and dally with his wench.” He nodded toward the north. “Our watchers saw the clan searching the woods near their pasturelands. Every man in their garrison, or so ’twas reported. The MacRoss also summoned a druid to one of the old burial mounds. He’d do that if ’twas disturbed, I reckon. The bone cobbler yet works on.”

“You’ve kept the clan at Dun Deigh since they found the cave, havenae you?” When Struan nodded he felt better and worse at the same time. “Then he must be a MacRoss, or a bastart half-Fae.”

“Mayhap.” The war master studied him for a moment. “Take the wench or no’, but come home. The bastart may next move to our lands.”

He thought of what the MacRoss had said to Emery in the forest earlier. He wouldnae permit her leave the stronghold alone again, Callum suspected, but it would be nothing for him to slip into the castle or lure her out. If he took her to Dun Deigh, he knew he could keep her safe.

Aye, and keep her from that fack Luthias.

“I leave on the morrow,” he finally told Struan. “I shall bring Mistress Parker with me when I return to the keepe. Prepare a chamber for her near my own.”

His brother smiled his approval. “Aye, my lord.”

The next morning Emery tried to tiptoe through the great hall on her way to the kitchens, but nearly collided with Camdyn as he came out carrying two platters of food.

“Watch yourself,” he said, and then frowned at her. “Only now do you arise, you lazy wench?”

“I had a late night.” And an early morning, she added silently, feeling her face going pink. “Can I come to the forge after breakfast and–”

“No.” The armorer stalked off to thump the platters down in front of Taveon before he sat down to eat.

“I’m so popular.” Emery saw Darach walking with some of his soldiers out to the lists, but no sign of Luthias. Sighing, she went into the kitchens, where one of the maids gave her a bowl of pottage, some bread and her favorite morning brew on a tray. “Where’s Cook this morning?”

“She’s with a master druid in the gardens.” The other girl sighed. “He’s handsome, but so young. I reckoned he’d look old and wizened, to hold such high rank.”

“A real druid, huh?” Emery went over to the window to peer out, but all she saw was Cook’s broad figure by a tall, slender one in a dun-colored robe that vaguely resembled those worn by the sages. “Why is she making a fuss over him?”

“Cook’s blood-kin, they came from a Pritani clan. She doesnae follow the old ways, but she’s ever respectful of the magic folk.” The maid glanced at her. “They never truly end, you ken. ’Tis said they’re born anew after they die, and live over and again.”

Emery eyed the door leading outside. She’d promised Luthias she wouldn’t leave the castle again by herself, but the herb gardens were between the two curtain walls. Technically speaking they were located inside the stronghold, or that was what she would tell him if he caught her.

Quietly she walked out, checking both ways before she crossed the grounds to the first of the herb beds. She was glad the sage plants had grown so tall, for they provided excellent cover as she crouched down and listened.

“’Tis enough for my needs, Mistress,” a low, soft male voice said. “My thanks for providing the ritual herbs. I hadnae thought to bring much with me from home.”

“Come back tonight, and I shall pack you some food for your journey back, Master Lusk,” Cook said. “You shouldnae eat the swill they serve at the village inns. I vow, ’twill poison you.”

“You’re kind and generous. Surely the Gods shall smile on you.” The druid stopped a few feet from where Emery crouched and cleared his throat. “The laird tells me you’ve a lady from the future visiting the clan. May I greet her before I leave?”

The druid knows about me? Emery thought, panicking a little.

“If you but toss a stone there,” Cook said in a dry tone, “You may hit the silly wench in the head.”