Caledonia Fae 05 - Elder Druid (3 page)

Munro gave his wife a stern look. They had an agreement. He wasn’t going to be talked into letting them keep his daughter locked away, even if it was the fae tradition to leave child-rearing to the professionals. Every moment he spent with his daughter, nurses were lurking around, seeming relieved when he let them take her for feeding, bathing, or a nap. “How long are you staying in the Halls of Mist?” he asked again. Munro adored his wife, but he was weary of their arguments over Maiya’s upbringing. He looked forward to some time alone with his daughter, even if it was only a few days. They’d return to Caledonia and Maiya to her regular routine soon enough, but this was her birthday. He wanted the moment to be fun, even if she wouldn’t remember it when she was older. He’d even gone to Scotland and bought a camera for the occasion.

“I’ve arranged to stay at least a fortnight,” she said. “We have a state dinner tomorrow. Koen may be eager to return to Caledonia in a couple of days, but Griogair and I will remain here until you’re ready to come home.”

Although her words sounded as though she wanted to be with him, her worry and consternation over Maiya rippled through their connection. This wasn’t normal separation anxiety, though. Eilidh wasn’t accustomed to seeing Maiya on a daily basis. He knew she worried his unconventional interference with Maiya’s upbringing would somehow harm the tiny princess. The distrust made him bristle. She didn’t have time to hover around the Halls of Mist for a week, watching him with Maiya. Nearly her every waking hour was spent travelling, in meetings with advisors, signing documents, or visiting with dignitaries from other kingdoms. Considering she had only recently returned from a month away with Prince Koen, she would be busier than usual.

She must have sensed his annoyance because she changed the subject. “Tràth will arrive soon.”

“So tomorrow’s the dinner with the Zalian delegation? You know it’s a waste of time, right?”

She stiffened. “I wouldn’t say that.”

Maiya gurgled in his arms, drooling copiously on his thumb as she chewed with her one, barely uncovered tooth. “Well, good luck,” he said. This wasn’t the way he wanted to leave her, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to be away from the Caledonian Hall. Maybe when he and Maiya returned to the Druid Hall, he’d relax some. Hon, the Hall’s steward, had set up a suite for her near Munro’s. He’d wanted to just throw a crib in his own suite, but Hon had pointed out the nurses would need a place to sleep, too. Munro turned to the nurse who still hovered nearby. He knew he shouldn’t resent the fellow, but he hated that someone else spent more time with his daughter than he did. “Is everything ready?”

“Of course, my lord druid,” the nurse replied. “I’ll tell the others you’re ready to depart.”

“How many?” Munro asked.

“Ten of our staff have travelled with Princess Maiya, my lord druid.”

“Ten?” He glanced at Eilidh, then back at the nurse. “Four. No more than four.”

“Quinton,” Eilidh began.

“I do not need ten
professionals
looking over my shoulder every minute of the day,” he said, struggling not to raise his voice. “Four is a ridiculous number, and it’s the maximum we can accommodate at the Hall.”

The nurse inclined his head, and Eilidh reluctantly nodded. “If you’re certain you don’t need them,” she said.

He kissed Eilidh’s cheek, looking forward to the day when they could put this argument behind them. In time, as she grew more accustomed to his desire to be with Maiya and be a part of her upbringing, Eilidh would ease up. He hoped.

“Will you come by later and speak to Tràth?”

Maiya started to squirm and fuss. “I’m not sure how much he’d listen to me,” Munro said, bouncing Maiya gently in his arms to soothe her. “And I’m not convinced this plan of yours is a good idea.”

“You said yourself the druids have little access to the Zalian borderlands,” she said, sighing with exasperation.

“With the new Mistgate, we don’t need to travel through any kingdom to reach the human realm.”

“So you intend to violate the borderlands and bypass the queens altogether?”

This was another argument they’d had before. None of the queens liked the idea of the druids travelling freely in what they considered their territory. The druids, all being human, didn’t acknowledge the queens’ authority in the human realm. Now that the druids didn’t have to move through the kingdoms, the queens’ wishes were irrelevant.

Maiya’s fussing turned to a full-blown cry.

“If I may, my lord druid. It’s past time for Princess Maiya’s early evening rest period,” the nurse said. He held out his arms to take the child. Munro had little choice but to comply.

“Take her to the Druid Hall for her nap,” Munro told him. “My steward will show you to the suite we’ve prepared.”

“As you wish, my lord druid,” the nurse replied. He took Maiya before Munro had a chance to say goodbye to his daughter. She went with him willingly, as though accustomed to his care.

Munro felt suddenly bereft without her in his arms and watched as the nurse carried her into an adjacent room. He looked at Eilidh, who was observing him closely. “Will you come speak with Tràth?” she asked again.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the baby drool off his fingers. “If Maiya is still napping when he arrives, sure,” he said.

“If she’s awake, you could bring her. He hasn’t seen her since she was a newborn,” Eilidh said.

Munro hated the suspicion creeping into his thoughts. He should be happy at the offer. Often born decades if not hundreds of years apart, fae siblings, especially step-siblings like Tràth and Maiya, rarely saw each other in the early years. However, he doubted Eilidh requested that he bring her because she wanted Tràth and Maiya to know each other. He suspected she didn’t trust him to know how to care for Maiya or to ask for the nurses’ help. “Fine,” he said. “Send a messenger when he arrives. I’ll come if I can.”

“This is important,” she said, testiness creeping into her tone.

“So is spending time with Maiya. But, as I said, I’ll come if I can.” He softened his tone. “I promise.” He did his best to stifle his emotions and hoped she didn’t feel them through their bond. They were going through an adjustment because of the baby and their recent separation after Eilidh’s third wedding. Everything would be fine once they were home together and had established a routine. She’d grow used to him caring for Maiya and realise that although he was not a trained fae nurse, he could handle a few hours with his daughter.

“Thank you,” she said. She stepped close and kissed him. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, even though no one else was around.

Munro kicked himself. He was so wrapped up in his own emotions that he’d not made allowances for how difficult things had been for Eilidh. Marrying Koen had taken a toll. Munro had tried to get to know the young prince better, but the new consort was proving difficult. “Will you spend the days with me while you’re here?” he asked. The fae rested during the day, but didn’t need as many hours of sleep as humans. Most of the day was spent relaxing and in light recreation with friends and family. Even a queen rarely worked when the sun was up.

“We’ll see,” she said. “I have much to do to prepare for the Zalian delegation’s arrival. Much depends on how the dinner goes. They will likely desire the peace of their own Hall, but Griogair suggested inviting them to stay. They may find some pleasant diversions with us before they take their rest.”

“All right,” Munro said.

The nurse returned, this time without Maiya. “We’re ready to move the princess to the Druid Hall,” he said.

Munro fought not to laugh. “She’s a baby, not a convoy. We’re only going a hundred metres down the road.”

“Of course, my lord druid,” the nurse replied.

“All right,” he said. “I’d best go make sure she settles in,” he told Eilidh. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Goodbye, my love,” she said, and kissed him lightly. “Thank you. Your help with Tràth will be much appreciated.”

∞

“How come they aren’t back yet?” Jago complained.

“You have to be patient,” Lisle said. “Her father hasn’t seen her in a long time, so you will have to wait your turn.”

“It isn’t fair,” Jago said.

Lisle’s patience was wearing thin. Jago talked of little besides Maiya recently, and once he set his mind on something, he was difficult to distract. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s work on your lessons while you wait. Choose a book, and we’ll read together.”

Jago walked over to a shelf on the opposite side of the large suite he shared with his grandmother. She watched him look over the choices, then turn to survey the rest of the room. Many of his books, along with his toys, were strewn across the living room only they shared. None of them seemed to suffice, because Jago disappeared into his bedroom.

“Hello, Lisle,” Leocort called from the entryway.

Lisle smiled. Of all the people with whom they shared their new home, only Leocort seemed like a true friend. Perhaps Lisle's age contributed to her sense of isolation. Granted, in fae terms, she was quite young, barely old enough to be considered an adult at just over eighty years. But despite the strength and vigour granted by the Otherworld, the other druids seemed like children.

Leocort, on the other hand, understood. He still treated her with a touch too much respect, only recently agreeing to stop calling her by her title in private. She still felt awkward about
having
a title.

Jago ran up, book in hand. “Is Maiya ready to play yet?” he asked Leocort.

“I don’t know,” the faerie said. “I haven’t seen the princess yet.”

“But you’re a Mistwatcher. You’re supposed to know everything that happens in the Hall.”

“Jago,” Lisle snapped. “Your badgering is becoming tiresome.” She sighed. She shouldn’t take out her tiredness on the boy, but his demanding nature never ceased.

Leocort bowed to Jago. “Forgive me, my lord druid,” he said playfully. “I have been remiss in my duties.”

“Don’t encourage his nonsense,” Lisle muttered.

Leocort winked at her. The gesture tickled her so much that she laughed. She’d never imagined faeries would wink, especially not a soldier like Leocort. He was, generally speaking, a serious soul, but he had a way of putting her at ease.

“Will you read with me?” Jago asked him.

“It depends,” Leocort said. “Script or runes?”

“Not runes,” Jago explained. “Omi told me the faeries said I should learn script first.”

“English or German?” Leocort asked.

Jago held up the book,
Der Kleine Drache Kokosnuss Kommt in die Schule
.

“All right,” Leocort said. “Let’s see.” He took the book from Jago and the boy climbed up on his lap. He opened to the first page. “
Kokosnuss, aufstehen!
” he read.

“No, no,” Jago interrupted. “You’re not doing the voice right.” He turned on Leocort’s lap and gave the faerie a sour look. “You’re supposed to say it like this: ‘
Kokosnuss, aufstehen!
’” He employed the same dramatic inflection Demi always used when reading to her son.

Lisle leaned back on her seat, watching the pair: Leocort listening patiently and Jago reading the storybook with enthusiasm. Most faeries treated Jago with cautious respect, appearing protective but distant. The druids treated him kindly, but they had work to do, and Lisle had to ensure he didn’t get underfoot. At one time, Demi considered sending him to a nursery in Caledonia. Perhaps they should at least visit one and see what it was like. They would miss him, and yet, he was a bright child who needed his mind occupied. Before long, he would need to learn subjects neither Demi nor Lisle could teach him. He was half fae, and those abilities would require skills none in the Druid Hall possessed.

Leocort laughed, and he and Jago chattered about the book in German. She was glad to hear it. Jago’s German had been neglected since they came to the Halls of Mist. Nearly all of the other druids were Scottish, except Huck, the American. All of them spoke only English. If Jago went to a fae school, she realised, he’d be taught the fae tongue in addition to others. She wondered if German was on the list. It probably depended on the kingdom. Leocort had told her that faerie children often didn’t speak at all until they were three years old. They learned many languages from the start, and when they did begin to speak, they frequently mixed languages at first.

Watching them, she felt a tug in her heart. She’d grown fond of Leocort. Of course, she was old, and even though he was older, in a way, he was younger. If she didn’t bond, she might only live another ten years. The thought depressed her. She wanted to bond, simply because she wasn’t finished with life yet. She felt younger and stronger than she had in decades. More importantly, she felt needed and important. And then there was Leocort. She wanted more time with him. But if she bonded, would that relationship be taken away from her? Would she, like Munro and Douglas, develop an intimate attachment to another faerie? She sighed. Not that Leocort would have such thoughts about her. He was devoted to Demi. The relationship between him and Lisle’s granddaughter didn’t seem to be flirtatious. Leocort would never make such a presumption.

From down the corridor outside, Lisle heard an unmistakeable squeak.

“Maiya!” Jago shouted. He scrambled off Leocort’s lap and raced out the door.

“Thank you,” Lisle said. “He’s been a handful today.”

Leocort chuckled. “I understand. I didn’t see much of my daughter at that age, of course, but I do remember her being small. They have so much energy,” he said.

Lisle realised he was humouring her. He had the strong, lithe form of a faerie barely in middle age. She had to stop herself from admiring him as he sat, gracefully draped over the lounging chair in her room. Twenty years ago, she would have sworn she was too old for such thoughts. Now, in her eighties, she realised the Otherworld air had renewed more than her eyesight.

Within a few moments, Munro arrived, carrying Maiya. Jago zoomed past, heading for his bedroom. “I have to get her present!” he shouted as he sped through.