Page 56 of Tair

Fifer carried the boy to his mount, but as he placed him on the saddle and swung up behind him the lad suddenly jolted awake.

“No, please, Master, dinnae beat me again,” he begged, shaking violently as he tried to cover his head. “I shall do as you wish. You neednae give me food. Just a ladle of water, I beg you...”

Fifer turned the lad around so he could hold him against his chest. “Be still now, lad. You’ve been freed, and soon you shall have as much food and drink as you wish. I shall protect you henceforth.”

“May the Gods shower you with joy and luck for your kindness, my lord.” The boy tucked his narrow face against Fifer’s neck, still trembling.

He rode back to Dun Maor as quickly as he dared, murmuring to the lad as he did. He told him of the music of the morning harps he would hear when he woke, and the skill of the master flautist who would heal him, and the wondrous paths through the forest that even now were becoming carpeted in wildflowers that they could walk together. Indeed, he babbled on like a fool as he dismounted, leaving his horse in the care of his stablemaster so he could carry the boy inside the keepe. Ignoring his astonished guards, Fifer went directly to his own bed chamber, where he placed Kiamh’s battered body on his bed.

“My lord, permit us to look after the lad,” Ivor said from behind him.

Fifer shook his head. “He doesnae ken anyone here. Send up a maid with warm water, salve and bandages. Food and drink as well. He’s near starved to death.”

Kiamh’s eyes opened a little, and a sweet smile curved his mouth before he sighed and fell back to sleep. Fifer watched him as he removed his tartan and tunic, and quickly washed the grime and blood from his torso before pulling on a clean leine. He then refilled the basin and brought it over to the bedside table, and soaked a linen in it before squeezing out the excess water and placing the cloth over the lad’s feverish brow.

Memories poured through his thoughts as he tended to the boy, all welcome and yet unwelcome.

When he’d returned to his village to find those he loved dead in the charnel house, he’d gone mad. His former neighbors had stood by helplessly as Fifer had carried both his mother and friend out into the sunlight, placing them on the ground and kneeling between them, trying to shake them awake. He recalled clouting the village headman when he’d come to insist on burning them to prevent the spread of pestilence. Fifer had wrapped and carried their bodies to the dunes, where he dug their unmarked graves deep in the white sands. In time the tide would reclaim their remains, taking their bones out to sea.

From whence we came, so we must return.

His fledgling clan had arrived and silently helped as he buried his first and last loves. All knew well that Gael wasn’t blood kin. Still not one man asked about him, or why the lad mattered so much to Fifer. Their unwavering and unquestioning loyalty to a man they barely knew had given him new purpose to pull him out of his grief. Instead of joining those he had lost, he forged ahead and created a new life with the kin who had found him. In time they gathered more of their brothers and built Dun Maor, a stronghold to protect them and the vassals that so loyally served them. In time they had chosen him as their laird, and that trust made Fifer place their needs forever before his own.

“You’re safe here, I promise you,” Fifer assured the lad in a low, soothing tone.

At the sound of his voice, Kiamh’s long lashes fluttered, and he looked up at him as if dazed. “My thanks, my lord. My life, ’tis yours.”

Chapter Fifteen

Osgan woke to squint against the bright morning sun, and sat up to inspect his naked body, on which fading bruises yet remained. His secretive visit to the MacRune stronghold had proved a disaster, thanks to the drunkard who had spent most of the night beating and violating him. Thankfully the immortality bestowed on him by the Fae hollow had not healed his wounds too quickly, or he would have lost the advantage they gave him when he subsequently visited his two lovers. Both had believed his lies, of course, for his appearance proved his false claims.

Now all that remained was to eliminate the one man who could expose him.

Instead of rushing back to Gealladh to take up his search for the cluet again, Osgan had forced himself to resume the life he’d taken from his third lover. No one would suspect him an imposter, thanks to the pains he’d taken to perfect his appearance. The one he’d killed so he could step into his life had been a small-minded, greedy fellow who had no idea that his one night of forbidden passion would be his last.

Even as he lay dying, the dagger in his chest quivering with the last beats of his heart, the fool looked up at Osgan with tears in his eyes. “I cannae bear to leave you, my dearest love.”

“If you truly love me, then you ken you must go to protect me.” Osgan gripped the hilt and twisted it. “Go now.”

He rose from his comfortable bed, draped himself with a robe and walked outside to look to the north, where a thin trail of smoke rose lazily from the remains of the slavers’ encampment. He smiled as he imagined the one-eyed fack and his brutes being carted before the midlands magistrate and made to explain the charges against them. Their claims of raiders painted like shadows and the whirlwind they had summoned which had flung them about like poppets would no doubt be regarded with contempt. Those they had tried to enslave would come to give testimony against them, which would result in harsh punishments. If they were not sentenced to be executed for the stealing and selling of people, they would face imprisonment for life, which many considered a fate much worse than death.

They deserved such, of course. All the brutes of the world did.

Osgan walked out until he could see the shimmer of the loch on the horizon. He did not have enough power to destroy the castle built on the island, but he could do much to remove the MacRune Clan and their vassals. With the stronghold empty, searching it for the cluet would be simple, so his plan now was to arrange matters so that all the people of the highlands blamed the sons of Rune for their woes.

Nothing gave him more pleasure than to mislead others so that they dealt with his problems, leaving him to enjoy his next conquest.

“Fair morning,” a voice said from behind him. “How do you fare, my friend?”

Osgan turned and smiled. “As always, better and better.”

Garia met Lucy in the laird’s bedchamber, and took in her ragged appearance with a horrified look. “My lady, need you the healer? I shall fetch him.”

“No, it’s all right. I’m not hurt.” She pulled off the tattered cloak and tunic to show the maid. “You see? Just some dried blood on my clothes.”

“The Gods surely adore you,” the maid whispered in awe as she gently touched her back. “’Tis no’ a mark on your skin. You’ve become like the clan, then?”

Lucy shook her head. “I think it was a one-time gift.”