Page 26 of Connal

That reminded her of another question she had yet to ask. “I know that the Finfolk can breathe air as well as water, but how long can they stay on land?”

“If they’re accustomed to emerging, some hours,” the laird said. “The knack for them requires practice. Those who rarely leave the sea cannae long remain above.”

As soon as they reached the top of the grassy hills Valerie stopped to admire the wide plateau stretching toward the base of some mountain ridges. At one side stood a small, dark cluster of large trees that had pale leaves. None of them moved, but some birds slowly glided overhead before landing on their black branches. She also spotted what seemed to be an oval of tombstones in the center of the still trees.

She thought of Dale’s grave, which she had marked with a bronze plaque engraved with only his full name and birth and death dates. “That’s not a cemetery, I hope.”

“No. A Pritani tribe served as my sire’s first mortal vassals.” He nodded at the circle. “They carved and set such stones for holding their Naming and Choosing rituals there.”

The closer they walked to the stone forest, the more astonishing details Valerie saw. The trees themselves only vaguely resembled the living variety, and appeared as if they had been sculpted out of gleaming, angular obsidian. Their leaves turned out to be both white and transparent, like streaked ice that had been cut and polished like a gem. Nestled between some she saw tiny acorns the same color as Dun Ard’s gold stones.

The mild temperature began to suddenly drop, until Valerie had to tuck her hands under her arms to keep them warm. When Connal stopped at the edge of the fossilized forest so did she, although she had a strange urge to keep going until she reached the ritual stones in the center. Then out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw a squirrel, but when she turned to look, she saw the animal, like the trees, appeared to be carved from black stone. From there she spotted other animals––an owl, several terns and even a little mouse sticking its head out of a hole in some roots––that had been made from stone.

Not made, Valerie thought, recalling what Connal had said. Something turned them. “What do you think happened to this place?”

“Fletcher believes ’twas a curse cast by a melia,” he said. “They’re woodland Fae who dwell inside trees, and my sire brought many to the island to protect them as well. Woodland and water elementals among the Fae often choose each other as mates.”

“Like the prince and his first wife.” She was beginning to understand now. “Didn’t Derdrui murder her before your father came to our world?”

“Aye, but many melia greatly admired Prince Mar.” Connal’s gaze grew distant. “After Princess Eilonwy died they fled to the mortal realm with him, and ever looked after him. When he ended himself in the sea, I reckon all the melia on the island came to this forest to do the same.”

“So they’re in there? They turned to stone, too?” When he shrugged she took a step toward the nearest black tree. “Can I touch them?”

“Would you wish hear the thoughts of a melia trapped for a thousand years?” Connal countered.

“On second thought, maybe not.” She frowned. “Is that why you brought me here? So I could find out if these tree Fae are still alive?”

“No, my lady.” He gestured at the trees. “Melia, they’re kind and gentle creatures, so other Fae think them weak. I remember them from my boyhood, and they ever seemed to me fiercely loyal to the prince. My sire’s death didnae turn them to stone. Grief did. Yet it couldnae bring him back. It couldnae change what he did. You should think on such.”

“You think I’m like them? That I’ve turned myself to stone over my dead husband?” She nearly slapped him. “What have you done to yourself since your wife died, Laird MacMar? That bed chamber of yours is no different than these trees.”

“I’m old and half-Fae.” He sounded tired rather than angry like her. “You’re young and mortal. Your life, ’twill be brief.”

“I understand. Because your father was Fae you’re allowed to grieve until you die or turn to stone or the end of time, but I’m not. I’m just an idiot full mortal who should get on with her brief life. Okay, then. Maybe Merrick will still be willing to turn me into a big fish.” She turned on her heel and marched back to the trail.

Connal’s hand caught her wrist to stop her. “’Twasnae what I meant, Valerie.”

She yanked her arm free, and suddenly the truth came pouring out of her. “Before my husband drowned himself, he had an affair with a girl twenty-two years younger than him. He also squandered most of the money we’d been saving up so we could afford to have a child together. I didn’t know he just wanted to have good times and adulterous sex with a kid.”

Connal reached out to her, and then seemed to think better of it. “I didnae ken. Forgive me.”

“Dale’s teenage lover blamed me for driving him to kill himself. She screamed at me at his funeral in front of all our friends.” The headache she’d been trying to avoid began pounding at her temples. “A year later that child was still so upset she knocked my car into the lake where I nearly drowned. The only thing I did to deserve all that was being the wife of a depressed man who didn’t love me. Sound familiar?”

The laird flinched. “I wouldnae cause you any suffering, my lady.”

“And yet, you brought me here to lecture me on my grief.” Valerie took in a deep breath. “I don’t know the story with you and your wife, but I would never tell you how you should deal with her death. I’d never presume to tell you how to live. Don’t you dare do this to me again.”

She walked off before he could see the tears in her eyes.

Chapter Nine

Duncan finished pouring the aromatic mixture he’d made into clean crocks, and began carving stoppers for them out of solid beeswax. The salve would provide ease for their older vassals during the next fall and winter, when the colder winds would cause their swollen joints to stiffen. Most of the remedies he made came from centuries of experience treating the mortals who served the clan, so he had complete faith in the salve. Knowing he could never take away all their pain, however, made him again wish he could hand his position and the work of healing over to another.

’Tisnae enough.

A knock sounded on the door, and when he bid the visitor enter, Valerie Baker came marching into his infirmary.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Healer, but do you have any aspirin?” At his blank look she pressed her fingertips to her temple. “Sorry, no, ah…some willow bark, maybe? Do you have to chew that?”