Page 6 of Luthias

Heavy footsteps thudded on the stone behind him, and Luthias turned to see the hooded figure of his garrison chieftain.

“My lord, what do you here alone?” As soon as he saw what Luthias held in his arms Darach stopped in his tracks and drew his blade. He shifted to put a wall behind his back as he peered around the room. “Show yourselves, you cowardly bastarts.”

“’Tis only the lass,” Luthias told him. “She came with the Fire Sword.”

“That jinx of a blade brought you a wench?” Darach sheathed his weapon, pulled back his hood from his tightly-bound bronze hair, and came over to inspect Emery. “Such a wee thing.” He sounded more annoyed than angry, but the dark red birthmark that engulfed his left eye always made him appear furious. “Och, and she’s dead, the poor maiden.”

“She’s but swooned.” He shifted Emery in his arms so that her head lay against his shoulder. “Take the blade to the forge for now, and send Sage Duine to my chamber. Bid him bring a soothing elixir. She’s suffered a fright.”

“Hold, my lord.” Darach stepped into his path. “This wench, she’s unknown to us, strangely-garbed, and crept into the stronghold without a single guard’s notice. You’ll no’ put her in your bed. What ’tis that smell?” He leaned over and sniffed, and then recoiled. “Gods blind me. She’s Fae?”

“’Tis the Fae magic that brought her that you smell,” Luthias said, and glanced over at the ancient sword. “As the sages ever swore, the old legend, ’tis truth.”

Darach had fought in countless battles over time, and no matter how badly he was wounded, never left a fight until the last of their enemies fell. He was the bravest of the MacRoss, and yet now he looked ready to puke.

“Touch her,” he told the chieftain.

Darach lifted his big hand, and then pressed his fingertips to Emery’s hand. A faint sparkle of red and gold shimmered on her skin. “Ah, fack no.”

Rubbing his hand against his tunic, the chieftain backed away, and went to retrieve the blade.

“A poor jest, my lord,” he said when he came back. “You had Duine rub one of his shimmer potions on her skin, aye? So you might prod Camdyn for his poor mood of late. She’s a crofter’s bairn or some such. I shallnae spoil your fun, only tell me truth now.”

Luthias looked into his chieftain’s eyes. The one covered by his birthmark had a red caste over it that grew darker whenever he became angry or agitated. That eye now looked as if it were filled with blood. “’Twill be well, Chieftain.”

His words echoed in the silence of the armory as they stared at each other.

“I’ll send guards with the sage,” Darach said before he left the armory, every muscle in his long arms bulging.

Using the back passages Luthias carried Emery to his chamber, which he’d inherited from his sire after being named the new laird. He’d removed most of the tapestries, furnishings and paintings from the rooms, preferring a simple, uncluttered space where he could be alone with his thoughts. He’d never brought a woman into his chamber since his sire’s death, but when he lowered Emery onto his bed he realized he would have to keep her safe until the threat to the clan could be revealed.

He leaned over and drew up his blanket to cover her against the night’s chill. Her hand caught his, and she held it tightly.

Slowly Luthias sat down beside her. Emery had fainted after learning she’d travelled through time; he would have to conceal so much more from her. The clan would keep quiet, as they ever did around outsiders, and the mortals who served them had sworn to do the same. Building their stronghold deep in the mountains away from towns and villages kept others unaware of the MacRoss and their unusual natures. The sages who served the clan worked diligently at safeguarding their secrets.

He reached to touch one of her tiny pearl ear baubles. Now I must protect you, lass.

A knock sounded, and two guards opened the door to his chamber and flanked the inside as a stout sage in a brown robe hurried in with a tray. He nearly dropped it as he saw Emery on the bed, and then quickly set it down and brought a small cup of sapphire-colored liquid to Luthias. His hand shook, spilling a little of the contents onto his own fingers.

“Chieftain Darach bid me attend you, my lord.” The sage couldn’t take his eyes away from the lass, and his round face grew even paler. “I prepared a soothing elixir for Armorer Camdyn, but ’tis suitable for a young female as well.”

Luthias took the cup and slid his arm under Emery, lifting her up so he could put the brim to her mouth. “Drink for me, my lady. ’Twill ease your heart.”

Her lips parted, and she took a sip, but then turned her face away to bury it against his chest. Luthias handed the cup back to the sage and climbed onto the bed to hold Emery, who rolled on top of him. The Fae magic that still enveloped her sank into him like a lover’s caress over every inch of his skin.

“Shall I take her to the enclave, my lord?” Duine asked as he arranged the blanket over them both. “We may treat her for her nervous condition.”

Luthias stroked her sleek, dark hair back from her pretty face. “She stays with me.”

The sage nodded. “Where found you the lass?”

“The armory.” He took in a deep breath as he resisted his dazzled senses, and looked up to meet the sage’s worried gaze. “The Fire Sword brought her back from a place she called New Hampshire, and the Pelton. She told me her time, ’twas the twenty-first century––or ’twill be.”

Duine stopped what he was doing and carefully straightened, lifting his hands as if surrendering.

“The legend, ’tis true, then.” The bottom half of his robes shook, and as if his legs gave out he suddenly sat down on the end of the bed. He gripped the footboard with a white-knuckled hand. “I wished to believe thus, my lord, but ever I’m a man of the realm. I couldnae believe in what I didnae ken with my senses.”

“Nor I,” Luthias said, and glanced down at Emery, who lay sprawled over him like an exhausted child. “I’ll ask healer Mairi to look in on her.”