Chloe's Guardian (The Nephilim Redemption Series Book 1) (28 page)

CHAPTER
36

“This is taking entirely too long,” Horatius blasted at the sky.

“I know,” Billy said walking alongside Horatius on the mule. “You told us a hundred times already today. And another hundred afore that.”

Horatius’ throat burned. All he could think about was beer. Except when he could put beer out of his mind and think of whiskey.
Then
he could forget about beer. He needed to numb the agony in which this ridiculous curse had left him. His vow to virtue was useless if he couldn’t do a thing to take care of himself. The sun beat down on him, the mule was as comfortable as riding a tree trunk, and he had not had a decent meal in days.

“I dinna think it will be much farther,” Billy said. “See?” His skinny finger stretched out at a tiny pin prick on the horizon where smoke swirled in the sky above a distant town.

It took too long to get there, and when they finally did, Horatius was ready to forgo lodging and food and go straight to Billy’s source for atoning sacrifices. He had to transfigure, find the girls, and make things right.

“Who is it who makes blood sacrifices anymore? How do you know about him?” Horatius asked.

“He used to be the priest in my village. Afore the purge. Afore he had to flee. He owes me a favor.”

“Priest? As in
Catholic
priest?”

“Is there another kind?”

“Catholic priests do not make blood sacrifices.”

“A course they do. Grisel Fergusson told me. Grisel said they even—” Billy mimed swooshing a sword then stabbing it forward. “—kill little bairns!” Billy stretched up toward Horatius on the mule’s back to whisper, waving him to bend down. “They do all sorts a heathen rites and such. Grisel saw them—”

“Who is Grisel?” Horatius demanded.

“The baker’s wife. She knows everything.”

“She knows nothing.” This was all a useless journey, chasing after a vicious rumor. “We came all this way following a newsmonger’s imagined nonsense. A hag like that should be drawn and quartered for all the harm she does.” His words snapped out harsh and edgy. Now he really needed whiskey. And lots of it.

After a couple of minutes, Billy was gone. Horatius twisted around and looked behind. Billy stood in the middle of the road far back with his arms crossed in defiance. If he had been closer, Horatius knew he would see a withering glare that would take a few feet off his height.

“Billy,” Horatius shouted. “Come on, now. Don’t just stand there.”

The knot of Billy’s crossed arms tightened and his chin rose higher. Horatius kicked and prodded and yanked and jostled the mule until it finally turned around and returned to where Billy stood rooted.

Children’s temper tantrums can go to the devil.
What was he supposed to do with such obstinance?

“That is enough. It is nearly nightfall. Time to go into the town.”

Billy looked past Horatius and refused to acknowledge him.

“Did you hear me? I said that’s enough. We are going in.”

He didn’t move. Did not even blink.

“Do not make me come down there!”

A smirk escaped Billy. But he suppressed it quickly.

“I mean it! I will give you a whipping like you never imagined.”

Billy let go of all pretence of being deaf, dropped his defiant arms, and turned to look right at him with a giant smile. “A course you willna come down here and beat me, you big oaf. You canna even walk.” He laughed without a bit of ill will. “You need me more than ever now.” He grabbed the mule’s bit, turned it back around with exasperating ease, and led it toward the town. “The priest will help us find a rabbi then. They kill things.”

“No, they do not. Not anymore.” Horatius could barely keep up with Billy’s caprice.

Billy looked back at him. “Nay?”

Horatius shook his head.

“Then a Muslim. Those Infidels still kill things, I am sure. Grisel said—” He stopped himself. “I have heard they like to sacrifice goats.”

More than ever, Horatius needed a drink. A drink would soothe away the disappointment that Billy’s plan all along was for an obsolete priest and take his mind off his inability to transfigure.

They entered through the town gates and the mule clopped among the pedestrian traffic with carts and animals, taking Horatius and Billy toward the center of commerce.

“We should find a pub first and slake my thirst. And I suppose you might want something, too. It has been awhile since either of us had anything.”

Billy didn’t answer. He was watching the commotion and buildings along the narrow, crowded street. He moved in close to the mule and squeezed against Horatius' leg. The edge of Horatius’ tunic was crumpled in his fist.

“Billy. Bil-lee?” Horatius sang.

Billy’s eyes were too big for his face. The fright in his expression was something Horatius would not have believed possible. Fearless Billy was terrorized.

“Have you never been to the city before?”

The faintest tremble shook his head. The boy who had talked nonstop for three days was suddenly struck mute.

Horatius put his hand down on Billy’s shoulder and Billy melted in close and tight. A few more pounds could not make a difference to the mule.

“Want to come up here with me so you can see better what is going on?”

Billy was up sitting in front of Horatius before he finished asking the question. He shrank and disappeared against Horatius. He stayed hidden there as they plodded through the town. After passing along several streets, Billy finally spoke.

“It is so…big.”

“It looks big compared to where you come from. It’s no more than lots of what you know jammed into a small space. And the buildings are taller for sure. One there even has a third floor.”

Horatius could feel Billy’s head moving back and forth against his chest taking in the sights. But he was not letting any daylight get between him and Horatius.

Horatius decided to skip the drink for now. Maybe the priest would offer something better quality than watered down tavern lager.

“Let’s get to your priest so I can get you out of here.”

“I didna know there would be so many people.”

“We will find the priest and leave. Okay? Where does he live?”

“I mean,” Billy emphasized, “I thought we could just ask the first person we saw and he would tell us. I thought he would be easy to find.”

Horatius stopped trying to direct the mule to process Billy’s words. The beast stopped in the middle of the street and brayed long and mean.

“You mean to tell me, you do
not
know
how to find him?”

Billy shrunk against him and whispered something.

“What?” Horatius sounded harsher than he wanted to.

“Sorry.”

“What is his name then? Maybe I can find someone who knows where to find him.” It took more control that Horatius thought he could muster to keep his voice steady.

Billy squeaked out, “Hugh.”

“That is his given or surname?”

“I only ever heard him called Hugh.”

Horatius could not help it. His yell came out of its own volition.

“How in the name of all the blasted saints are we to find a stinking priest who cannot admit he is a priest whose first or last name might be Hugh in the midst of a thousand people?”

Billy did not answer. Of course not. Because there was no answer. They would never find him. They had come this far for absolutely nothing.

He could not take it anymore. He had to do something. He
had
to transfigure. Horatius raised his arms, sat as tall as he could, and roared.

CHAPTER
37

The eye patch man led the three of them to a small door in the wall behind the castle. A man up on the wallwalk signaled him and he unbarred the door and yanked it open. He pushed the three of them out and slammed it shut again. The beam thumped back in place behind the door.

Outside of the wall, an army idled across the open field. At the far edge of the cluster was one closed wagon with a team of four giant black horses. The fighting Chloe imagined wasn’t happening. It was like they were all just waiting for something, like for a picnic to begin, or for someone to give them directions.

Agnes led the way. “Come with me.”

She lifted her full skirts and marched forward. She approached the group of soldiers and an older officer stepped out to meet them.

“Sir Kirkcaldy,” Agnes said.

“What of this?” he asked.

“The door will remain closed to us. We must be back to Aberdeen.”

“But your aunt—your laird husband thought for certes she would listen.”

“She will not. Ready the men. We will return at once.” Then to the girls she said, “Come along. You will ride with me in the litter. I want to hear more music.”

As silly as she’d acted inside, Agnes carried herself like a queen when she gave commands. And it seemed certain she was taking them away.

“How far away is Aberdeen?” Chloe asked. She hoped it wasn’t so far that Pan wouldn’t be able to track them.

“About twelve or thirteen leagues, I venture.”

She didn’t know what a league was but it sounded too far.

“We should be there by late tomorrow,” Agnes added. “Plenty of time for much music.”

“Don’t worry, Cello. Pan will come. Mrs. Gordon can tell him we went with Agnes. Then Pan will be sure to find us.”

They climbed up into the wagon. A man yelled at the horses and the wagon jolted to a start. Chloe and her cello lurched and she sat down hard on the cushioned bench. She didn’t want to play. She wanted to go home.

Kaitlyn played a piece so Chloe didn’t have to. It was sweet and beautiful. Chloe closed her eyes and tried to relax. Which was impossible, the way the wagon jiggled around. She was surprised Kaitlyn could even play.

At least an hour passed, maybe more. Kaitlyn was tireless. Chloe finally relaxed enough to doze in and out, letting go of her worries for a brief time. She didn’t know how long she’d been out when she roused and repositioned. The music had stopped.

“Where are you from?”

Chloe opened her eyes. Agnes was watching her.

“Your speech is very unusual. And your clothes. They are they strangest I have ever seen. Is that what they are wearing in France now? Is that where your home is?”

“No. Much farther away than France.” The thought of home tightened her throat and filled her eyes with tears. Kaitlyn looped her arm through Chloe’s elbow.

“You miss your home. We will go to the Queen then I shall take you to my home. We will stay there while my husband goes with his sister to subdue George Gordon.”

“What did George Gordon do—besides not let you into his castle?”

“That is a long story.”

A little window next to Chloe framed a whole lot of open space. “We’re not going anywhere for, what, twelve or thirteen leagues?”

She smiled again—her beautiful, gracious smile. “Gordon is an arrogant magnate of the northern Highlands. And he is still Catholic. His errant son John has been harassing Queen Mary all along her entire northern campaign. And he is a criminal. He nearly killed James Ogilvy, Master of the Queen’s household. Then he escaped prison and came north and has been harrying the Queen since. With his father, they have together attempted to kidnap the Queen so that John can marry her. Absurd, to say the least.”

“You guys kidnap a lot, huh?”

Agnes pulled her eyebrows into a frown.

“Is it bad to be Catholic?” Kaitlyn asked.

“For twelve years Scotland has been Protestant. But Queen Mary is privately Catholic, though forces none of her courtiers to be. In fact, it is because she is a papist that Gordon thought he could join forces with her to convert all of Scotland back. Again, absurd.”

“The queen is your husband’s sister?” Chloe said.

“Aye.”

“Why isn’t your husband king then?” Kaitlyn asked.

Agnes chuckled. “James Stewart was not born of the legitimate bed of King James, Queen Mary’s father. He leads her troops and is her cherished advisor, but he cannot be king.”

Kaitlyn sighed. “I bet you’re
glad for that.”

“Why ever would I be grateful for such a thing?”

“She means it must be a hard life to be married to a king, rather than just an advisor.” Should they really be talking about all this? They might say something outrageous and not even know it.

“As you can see, I still must undertake arduous tasks. This delegation, for example, is a strain. I would much rather ride a horse than sit in one of these litters, but when the Queen commanded I come as emissary, my husband insisted I only go if conveyed this way. He worries overmuch about my safety.”

The only sound for a while was the whir of the turning axles and the wheels rattling over the packed earth.

“Do you have any children?” Kaitlyn said.

Agnes laughed, looking quite young. “Nay, we only wed in February. I am not yet with child.” Her face brightened into a broad smile. “I do hope for it soon though. What about the two of you? Do you both have a man or children somewhere?”

Right then the wagon hit a particularly big bump and jostled them enough to give Chloe a moment to consider her emotions. Did she have a man somewhere? She knew now Todd was out of her life. Somehow, that had become easier to realize since Horace had come into it. But what was Horace to her? They’d had so little time together when things were falling apart, burning up, or exploding, but something had happened between them. Some spark, some connection. But what if what Pan said about him was true? What if he’d just been trying to seduce her? Nothing fit together or was easy to work out. When he was at her back door that night, when he stayed with her at the store, when they’d been together at the Renaissance fair, he’d never pushed for anything. He only took care of her. If he meant to manipulate her, would he have been so slow to act? Helped her mother? Given Benji such a great day at the fair? Risked his life for her? If only he would show up and take them home. Then she could figure out if he was really there to help or not.
Is he going to come? Is he even alive?
She decided to keep all
those
feelings to herself for now and just admit to what Kaitlyn already knew about—Todd.

“He left me for another girl,” Chloe said.

“Ah.” Agnes gave a knowing yet sympathetic look. “That can be difficult.”

She looked at Kaitlyn.

Kaitlyn giggled. “No time. I’m taking AP English and I’m no good at algebra.”

“Hmm,” Agnes said, though she couldn’t have understood Kaitlyn. “I was almost too busy myself with obligations to my family to notice at first that James was wooing me.” She smiled and gazed ahead, seeing some memory of her past.

Many voices drew Kaitlyn and Chloe to one of the windows. The wagon came to a stop. Horsemen on either side blocked any view so they couldn’t see what the commotion was. Agnes reached around them and yanked loose the ties that held up rolled window coverings. They unfurled and dropped down with a thump.

“Dinna draw any attention to the litter.” She sat far back on her bench and shrank.

Chloe’s heart raced. If Agnes was afraid, things were scary. All kinds of outlaws could be on the road. What if John Gordon was out there? They could be dead in no time.

Muffled voices were all that reached them inside their wagon. The tension inside expanded and took out all the oxygen. The close compartment became hot and stuffy. Chloe was ready to scream. Kaitlyn tightened her linked elbow and grabbed Chloe’s other hand. Agnes reached over and put her own hand over Chloe’s and Kaitlyn’s joined hands. Agnes was pale and pasty, her breaths short and fast.

“Better slow down your breathing,” Chloe whispered. “You’re going to hyperventilate.”

Agnes appeared to try to do as Chloe said. Her hand was shaking on top of theirs.

When the door flew open, all three of them shrieked.

The man who was in charge bent down and stuck his head in the door. “Lady Agnes, pardon the intrusion, but there has been a delay. There is a verra large dark man who wishes to speak to your charges.”

“
Horace
!” Chloe couldn’t help yelling. She knew he’d come!