Shadows of the Keeper (52 page)

She felt as if her insides pulled
apart.  Stretched.  Like funhouse mirrors.  Then, the sensation
of rocketing through air.

Sprawled upon cold stone, her only
coherent movement was to clutch her stomach before everything turned blessedly
black.  And somewhere in the fog, a strange familiar harmonization of
numerous male voices chanted in singsong fashion.

Keer’dra
.

“Dezenial?”  It sounded weak,
far, fading.  Impossible.

“Nay, lass.”  From behind
heavy eyelids, she heard resignation in his voice.  Concentrating very
hard, she forced her body to obey her mental commands.  Finally, her eyes
opened.  She was no longer on a hard floor. 

“I’m sorry.  I thought I heard
him calling me.”

“Your apology is no’ necessary.  I
ken yer’ loss ta’ be great, and still raw.  The healing will take a long
time.”

“Thank you,” she said, too weak to
speak above a whisper.  “Thank you for coming, Broc.  I think if you
hadn’t, by now, I’d have gone over the edge from grief.”

“And malnourishment,” a woman’s
heavily accented voice stated.

“Maeve!” Emily scooted up,
numerous pillows quickly being assembled behind her by a doting laird. 
She and Maeve hugged long and hard, both weepy when they pulled
apart.  Maeve touched Emily’s hair, her face, squeezed her arm, stared
intently at the gold armband, nodded her approval, and re-caressed Emily’s
face.  “Strong magic guards you, and as ancient as my people of the Fey.”

“I will take my leave and see to
our other guests.”  Broc curtly nodded, turning away.

“Wait.  Please.  Eldaryn,
Cianna?  They’re fine?  Why did the realm jump make me feel so . . .
awful?  I blacked out.”

“My magic is borrowed.  
Yours is part of you.”  Longing, heartbreak, and sudden wash of emotion
Emily gleaned in his obsidian eyes before Broc averted his gaze.  His pain
was great, his heart as heavy as her own.  Forgiving himself, she knew,
was his most difficult journey to date.

“And the voices?  I distinctly
heard male voices, as if in a cathedral—“

“The Elders.  They used their
power to save yer’ bairns,” he said as gently as possible.

Emily gasped.

“The jump was very hard on you in
your condition.”

Her insides fluttered.  Her
eyes watered with relief.  It was as if Kendara and Denzyr sensed she
needed the reassurance they were still a part of her.  Whispering, more to
herself, she caressed where they lay.  “They’re all I have left of him.”

Broc sighed heavily, his voice
filled with anguish.  “That was Xyn’s view as well.  And why it took
so long before we arrived.  I feared the jump would harm ye’, and
contemplated how ta’ utilize modern transportation.  In the end, Inzyr
threatened bodily harm if I did no’ make the jump immediately.  He is most
persuasive.”

Emily could only nod.  She
knew, all the way down to her core, that it took Broc everything he owned not
to smash the door shut behind his stiffened exit.  She and Maeve remained
silent, hands clutched tightly, each lost in their own thoughts while they
stared at the door.  The moment proved just too awkward for mere words
between the two bonded women.

Days melded into weeks, and weeks
slid into months, each lacking any significance other than a weary winter sun gave
way to brighter, cheerier orb.  White skies were now cornflower blue,
streaked with hues of yellow during sunrise and gorging reds at days end.  Like
elegant women, trees regained their allure by way of leaves overflowing from
hibernation.  Color swept both forest and vale, great waves of purple heather
providing a playing field for Sister Wind and spring nymphs.  And half a day’s
walk, the loch again shimmered, seagulls squawking like old women laughing over
raunchy jokes.  Rowans and birch were scrutinized, the men arguing over which would
provide the next Yule log as they smacked their arms free of midges.  Emily
smiled, and turned her face up to the sun, lost in her memories.

Maeve had spent days collecting bog
myrtle, crushing the flower and making a poultice for exposed skin.  She mixed
a bit of lavender in, ‘makes ‘em smell a wee bit better,’ though the men
grumbled about smelling ‘like a summer lass’.  Maeve would pause her
ministrations, ‘As if ye’ ken what one smells like, aye?’

Remembering the old woman’s scowl
gave Emily a chuckle.

This past Winter Solstice had found
many couples languishing under the mistletoe, wishing to be blessed with
bairns.  Emily had tried very hard to refrain from snorting.  The brutal
blizzard screaming its rage for nearly two weeks was what had actually done the
trick.  Now, all these months later, she wasn’t the only one stumbling around,
arching her back, pausing to catch her breath while she cupped her stomach to
ease the weight of her burden.  They’d catch each other’s eye and share
laughter, as if in on some grand scheme. 

Yuletide festivities came to a
close with a toast to Kavan’s memorial, his shield placed lovingly above the
main central hearth in Broc’s great hall.  Not a dry eye had remained as they’d
sung a lewd ditty, one of Kavan’s favorites.  The Yule fires had been kept
burning, Broc explaining that until the next morning, fires stopped prankster
souls of their dead from coming down the chimney.  Her gawking had earned a
hall full of good natured taunts and raucous laughter.

Girlish giggles snagged her back to
the present.  She looked down over the short wall.  A man from a neighboring
clan, she knew only by face, surprised his lady love with flowers and a rolled
up plaid.  Lizza pulled back the towel covering her basket.  Bread, cheese and
other items Emily stood too far above them to discern.  He took the basket,
handed her the lighter load of plaid and flowers, then linked his arm with hers
and walked towards the lower bailey.  A picnic.  Very romantic.

She turned away, afraid her envy
would infect the couple.  Tightening Aedan’s plaid she’d pilfered to use as
a shawl, she waddled the length of the ramparts, enjoying peace and
solitude.  And a good view of untouched land.  Shades of browns, greens,
blues, purples, and yellows captivated her for several hours.  Sister Wind
weaved through her hair.  Soothing.  She smiled and muttered her thanks to
the elemental.

Emily lovingly caressed her very
swollen abdomen.  It was a wonder she could even move.  Now that ice
patches had finally melted, she was allowed a measure of freedom.  Gah,
but winter had nearly driven her mad, Eldaryn growling and raging when last
she’d snuck up to the tower.  To keep the Outlanders from losing their
minds, and one seriously pissed off hellhound from being skewered with their
drawn blades, she’d complied to remain indoors until spring warmed the land. 
She’d argued that she seriously doubted spring would have any effect on winter,
this far north. 

Twenty faces had scowled. 

Throwing up her hands in defeat, she’d
relented, knowing they flipped out because they cared so much. 

Aunsgar enchanted her for a while
with games of backgammon, and she’d introduced him to Stratego, by way of Allen
providing the board game.  She should have known better than to play such a
game with real life warriors.  Not once had she succeeded in capturing
Aunsgar’s flag!  And now, Clan MacLarrin was addicted to the game.  That, and
Battleship.  She’d ruined them!  Gah, the shouting matches that had ensued
between Aedan and Reignsfeugh! 

Regardless their intentions, cabin
fever took its toll.  Emily could no longer concentrate on anything that
required sitting for longer than five minutes.  By February, Emily swore
she was no longer able to speak, instead, every answer coming from her a
growl.  Once, she’d even bared her teeth.  Aunsgar had a moment of insight and
set up the great hall for her to practice archery and blade tossing. 
She’d been extremely frustrated at first.  It seemed Aurelia had not
deigned to leave her with skills she could use at will.  Pregnancy rage
did not count, though none around her were the wiser.  The only one
seemingly to lack fear—or commonsense—of her increasing temper, was
Eldaryn.  She was still formulating a plan of attack to pay him back for
his endless snide remarks.  As soon as she was in battle-form again, she’d
skin him.  Mental images of her parading the grounds in a cloak made of
his precious gray fur kept her warm and fuzzy.  Lately, Eldaryn had begun
to suspect her secret smiles when she’d look his way, and had voiced as much to
Broc.  “She plots my demise.”

“Aye, mutt, be wary.  No’ a
triflin’ event, when a woman schemes yer’ downfall.”

Grinning to herself, she reminisced
how her rage had produced a ball of flame she’d thrown at the hound. 
Aunsgar had leapt from where he partook of his meal, his sword smacking the
burning ball away from the fur coat of her protector.  Eldaryn had refused
to speak to her for a full three weeks.

Until she’d skewered Urkani.

Gazing up at the bright star, Emily
frowned. 
When the hell had it become evening
?  These lapses in time
were becoming more frequent.  Waddling to a small bench, she sat down and
focused on memories in order to chase away the dizziness.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just have
a gun?”

“Must you shoot everything?” Urkani
had said, not hiding his disgust.

“I’m from Texas—“

“That has been proven otherwise.”

“We like our guns.”

“And if you run out of bullets?”

“Club ‘em to death?” 
Eyelashes fluttered at the Elf commander.

Eldaryn had made a slight snorfing
from his snout.  Urkani remained undaunted.

“Uh huh.  Toss the dirk, Lady
Emily.  Try aiming for the target this time instead of the floor, chair,
and wall.”

“The
target
seems to be off
center.  I don’t understand why you have to be so frickin’
difficult.  Just swallow your damn Elvin pride, and go fix it!” 
She’d even stomped her foot.

With long, purposeful strides,
Urkani stormed the length of the great hall, muttering under his breath. 
Their growing audience stilled at such a rare display of Elven fury.

“If you have something to say, Elf,
at least strap on a pair and say it loud enough for me to respond to.”

Throwing her a look of pure malice,
he turned his back on her, and backhanded the target in rapid succession. 
“Perhaps it is not so much that the
target
is ill centered, but, rather,
the
bearer
of weaponry lacks
skill
!”

“Hey, you’re right!  The
target
is
much
easier to see now!”  Emily flicked her wrist.  Gasps
and expletives filled the air.  Weapon soared end over end—faster than
Urkani could react to her wicked tone implying danger to his person. 

Thud of blade entering flesh
plunged the hall into an unsettling hush.

Slowly, Urkani pivoted, shock
plaguing his beautiful features.  Hilt of her blade protruded sickeningly
from his shoulder, the blade poking out from under his collarbone.

“Well, shit.”  Her hands began
throbbing. She held them in front of her, shocked.  Why hadn’t they done
this for Dezenial?  The burning was fast becoming unbearable.  “Get
him down!”  Garreck and Finnegan had already rushed to Urkani’s aid,
slowly easing him to the floor.  Boots pounding, Emily knew someone had
dashed off to get Broc.  Aunsgar, no doubt, was already on his way. 
“Turn him over on his side.”  Her hands glowed white hot, the burning
forcing her to speak through clenched teeth.  The searing was
unreal.  A sharp kick in her abdomen, she doubled over.  Footfalls
neared.  “No.  You . . . can’t touch me when I’m like this.” 
She didn’t bother to follow the pair of legs up to see who’s face looked down
at her.  “Pull the knife,” she hissed.

Garreck panicked.  “Lass, yer’
white as death.”

“Pull the knife, or he’ll die.”

“Do as she requests,” Aunsgar’s
cold voice commanded.  Emily cringed.  Fury leapt from Aunsgar,
chilling her to the bone.  Fisting the handle, giving her and Aunsgar a
final look, Garreck leaned down closer to Urkani.

“Mi’ apologies, Elf.”

Urkani’s sharp intake of breath mutilated
her conscience, playing her guilt like canastas.  Quickly, she placed a
hand over either side of the wound’s openings.  Blood gushed. 
Otherworldly languages flowed from her as searing white light emanated from her
into Urkani’s wounds.  Peripheral ceased to exist for her.  Male
voices soared upwards, chanting likened to monks, she right along with
them.  Louder, pulsating with power, the voices rose, the chanting
deafening.  Light from Emily’s hands flared.  Men raised their arms,
warding off the brightness, peering from around their forearms.  As
abruptly as it began, voices waned and heat ebbed.

Urkani’s screams silenced.

With utmost care, the High Elf was
rolled over onto his back.  Plaids were bunched up and placed under him to
ward off chill of stone floor and act as padding for his healed wound, now
nothing more than a hideous bruise covered in dried blood. 

Their eyes locked.  Something
profound passed between Emily and Urkani.  She didn’t offer apologies.
 ‘I’m sorry’ seemed puny against what she’d done to him.  Strange,
however, that it wasn’t anger she saw in the commander’s dark blue eyes, but
empathy
. 
The same compassion she’d seen on his face when he’d wrapped her in a plaid,
offering reassurances—not judgments—when she’d first found herself thrust from
Balkore.  Lovingly, she fingered strands of his hair off his face. 
He grasped her hand, holding her open palm against his cheek for several
seconds.

A most unladylike grunt escaped her
as she tried lifting herself from murderous position, her legs prickling from
lacking blood flow.  Hands grasped her elbows, helping her up. 
Assistance, she needed daily.  She turned away from them. 
Shamed.  There would never be an excuse for what she’d done today; never
an excuse for losing her temper with such violence.  None spoke. 
Their stares thumbtacked her spine.  She was a terrible person.  These
men had done nothing but offer her safety, protection, friendship—her gaze
swept to Kavan’s memorial. 

Some had even given their lives,
Lumynari weapons lethal enough to kill an immortal warrior.  Broc had
opened his home; they’d all opened their hearts.  They never doubted her,
even though she doubted herself. 

She thanked them by being an
unappreciative bitch.

Her hand grasped the balustrade.

“Lass, ye’ ken our ways.  Ye’
doona need ta’ leave our presence.  We ken yer’ pain, yer’ temper ta’ be
expected.”

She didn’t turn around.  She
would not look into the faces of so many she’d been a belligerent child
towards.  And she would not cry.  Zeus knew, they’d suffered ample amounts
of her tears.  Heartache devastated her every coherent moment.  And when
she slept, the nightmare of his final moments played over and over, filled in
with details that left her seeking a chaise in front of the hearth in an
attempt to remain awake. 

Regardless her personal anguish, they
didn’t deserve how she’d treated them.

“I would request but one favor, mi’
lord,” she said softly.

She didn’t see him stiffen, and
look back at his men.  Never had Emily paid him homage.  “I would
grant it,” Broc said. 
Anything.  Anything ta’ see ye’ smile
again, ta’ lighten yer’ eyes, to see me again, as a mohn, no’ yer’ enemy
. 
But he kept these thoughts buried deep, not sure what power she
possessed.  He did not desire her to see his pain.  She carried
enough of her own.  He did not want her to ever know how, each night, his
heart shriveled when she thought she wept unheard.

“Your word, Laird MacLarrin . . .”

Emily sighed, brought back to the
present, the cold night threatening to freeze the stream of tears upon her
face.  She shifted Aedan’s plaid.  Regardless of it being June, the
chill was more penetrating tonight.  Down below, the upper bailey was bathed in
the full moon, an eerie bluish lighting making her feel she’d stepped into
Netherworld.

Unbeknownst to Emily, Innya and her
fellow watchmen made sure to take turns secretly standing guard over their
queen during her nightly haunts upon the tower.  Fixated on the heavens,
bathed in moonlight, they’d been transfixed by the ethereal figure with tears
glittering down her face like silver.  Innya left plaids on the
overstuffed chaise they’d hauled up several days earlier; the lone watchwoman
apprehensive Lady Emily’s pregnancy now too heavy to remain standing for long
periods of time. 

Emily slipped back into memories
and guilt over Urkani suffering a ghastly wound because of her temper.

“Once, your word was something an
entire kingdom revered.  Honor, Broc, was important to you.”

“Still is.”  He’d grasped her
double meaning.  “My words were reaction to a photograph of
Pendaran.  I thought you secretly met with him. I did not ken he remained
unseen by you.  I should have.  I should have known the druid
conspired.  Always, this was his way.  And I should have asked you,
but anger forever rules me.”