Page 48 of Dorchad

He would release her from this terrible life of hers.

“Death, ’twill be kinder,” Kiamh promised, brushing the fingers of his other, gloved hand over her gaping mouth. “No woman should live as you do. And you ken how to write, aye? Even if I cut out your tongue before I freed you, doubtless you would expose me to my enemies.”

She tried to speak, but the lethal balm he’d rubbed on her lips blackened them, and then sank into her flesh and spread through the veins across her face. It leeched the color from her skin as it raced through her body, destroying everything inside her until she was simply a shell of herself. Kiamh sat back on his haunches, watching the poison snuff out the last flicker of her life. His hands shook oddly as he placed around her the objects he’d brought to be discovered along with her remains.

“When they find you, they shall assume you murdered by our enemy.” He stood and looked over his work, swallowing bile as he did. Why should her richly deserved death trouble him? “Farewell, hoor.”

Kiamh left the root cellar. He’d done her a service, killing her, even if it had made his stomach turn. He then stripped and walked into the freezing waters, submerging himself so he could rid his own body of the stink of her.

I’m no’ like her. I fack for love.

When he surfaced he sensed someone watching him, but saw no sign of any clansman, vassal or villager on the shoreline. The shadows of the forest concealed everything. The danger mattered little to him, for he could do much worse than he’d done to Malvina. Indeed, if someone tried to expose him, he could drive them mad with a few words.

Soon the laird shall be mine, and then, the world.

Sgathan watched from his vantage point in the canopy as on the other side of the loch Kiamh waded up onto shore and dressed in his garments. Seeing the moonlight on the druid’s pale, thin body made him imagine him dead and floating in the loch. It would prove simple to snap the mortal’s neck and leave his body in the water. For a time he let himself dream of indulging in such an act. He had never yet slain a mortal, but all his instincts told him that Kiamh was a threat to the MacRune.

Sgathan couldn’t kill the druid because of the oath he’d sworn along with his clan to protect mortals. He also no longer trusted his instincts, particularly at this time.

He glanced up at the wide grin of the half-moon before he dropped down and walked deeper into the woods surrounding Gealladh until he reached a small clearing. During the day his duties kept him busy enough to ignore Dorchad and his dalliance with Rebecca McIan, but at night the empty hours gave him too much time to brood. He had considered taking the healer away from the island and placing her with a trusted mortal family that would arrange a suitable marriage for her. That likely wouldn’t end well for a woman from a time when she had been permitted to make all her own decisions. Convincing his twin that becoming entangled with a mortal would end in tragedy could not be done without revealing why, which he’d kept from Dorchad all their lives.

Knowing he was a coward for keeping that terrible truth a secret didn’t make it any easier a burden to carry.

“Cannae you sleep, Brother?” a mellow voice asked from the shadows.

Sgathan turned to see Lochran emerge from the trees surrounding the meadow, his dark eyes reflecting the faint silvery moonlight. “No more than you, I reckon.”

The Night Watch chief chuckled. “Day, ’tis my night. You saw that druid in the loch?” When he nodded his easy grin flattened. “He didnae wear the sling that Healer McIan fashioned for him tonight, yet he does when he comes to her.”

“Even with the sling he doesnae move like a mortal hurt,” Sgathan said. “I reckon he only puts on a show for her when she’s inspecting the injury.”

“So, then, why should a free slave druid desire to ingratiate himself with our females?” As he snorted the chief frowned. “I ken you dinnae care for the healer, but thanks to the cluet she’s ours—and your brother’s.”

“She’s more trouble than that druid lad.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, and quickly added, “These females ever demand special attention, and distract us from our mission.”

“Lady Lucy’s mostly kept our lord calm, and the skies clear,” Lochran reminded him. “As for the healer, she shall prove invaluable keeping our vassals healthy.”

That annoyed him, probably because it was the truth. “They dinnae belong in our time. We need discover the manner with which we may send them back to their future.”

The chief eyed him. “Much luck with convincing the laird and your twin of that. Fair night, Seneschal.”

“And you, Night Watch.” He continued on his way as if to circle behind the stronghold, but once Lochran disappeared from view he changed direction and went directly to an old side gate that had been blocked off years ago.

Much planning and careful work on Sgathan’s part had gone into creating a way in and out of the stronghold that only he knew. At first he’d had to create blinds to cover his efforts from the watchers on the walls and passing patrollers before he could begin removing the stone and wood that had been used to fill in the old gatehouse opening once the portcullis had been relocated. He’d then installed doors of wood with the removed rubble attached to the outside to disguise the open gate. He’d then dug out tunnels from the disguised gate leading into the forest and under the inner wall, with entrances hidden by a thick layer of brush on one side and the floor of the granary on the other.

Finally, to secure the new gate against trespassers, he’d added some spell stones on both sides enchanted to permit only him to pass through the hidden opening. If anyone or anything else attempted to cross the threshold the intruder would be hurled back into the forest. Making the secret gate went against everything he’d sworn as a member of the clan, of course, and flaunted the laird’s authority over him. Sgathan knew it was wrong, and if ever discovered, he would have to leave Gealladh rather than reveal the reason. As blood kin Tair and his brothers deserved better from him, as did Dorchad. Yet despite his affection and ties to them, he could never tell them the truth.

They should slay me at once, and despite all, I yet wish to live.

Passing through the gate without notice took a few minutes of waiting, timed to the circuit of the patrols and the shifting of the wall watchers so he could approach the concealed door above the tunnels. Sgathan had enjoyed the ability to move in complete silence since he could walk, and often employed it during the nights when he couldn’t bear to spend another moment trapped in the stronghold. It took all his self-discipline to return and take up his role as seneschal, for he despised it and all he had to do to rule over the household. Yet it gave him a ready excuse not to leave the island.

Here at least I’ve a chance to live with my secret.

Once he’d walked through the narrow tunnel under the inner wall, he emerged into the granary, and picked up a sack of oats before stepping outside. The watchers could not see that side of the out building, and anyone spotting him from the stronghold would believe he’d just fetched some grain for Ronan. He would claim the same if asked. The many, carefully constructed lies he told often sickened him, for he grew weary of never speaking with truth. Yet what choice did he have?

Once inside the stronghold he carried the oats to the dry pantry, and added it to the large pile of grain sacks already there. The nerves along his spine suddenly prickled, and he drew his dagger as he turned around to face the hulking figure coming up behind him.

“Seneschal.” Beinn MacRune, his giant body encased in furs, bowed his head. “I thought you Cook. I didnae eat enough at the evening meal, so I reckoned…” He darted a look on either side of the passage before he whispered, “I reckoned I’d nibble on the last of the apple tarts. Do you ken where Ronan hid them?”